she continued: 'I mustn't tell you what Mr Tinkler's play is about; some of you who acted in it will know already, and I dare say there are others among you who may have seen it at the Abbey Theatre, that very delightful performance in that dear little theatre which, I am sure, is the-the . . .' she broke off, 'I forget what Mr Yeats called it. But we all know the Abbey Theatre, and how wonderfully it has changed the life of Dublin since the days which my friend here, Colonel Newton, remembers, when it was a mausoleum.'

'Morgue,' said Colonel Newton, and this correction was repeated by others.

'Was it a morgue?' said Mrs Burns: 'I didn't know : that makes it almost more interesting, like Paris. But there, I mustn't keep Mr Tinkler waiting any longer; all I can say is that I saw "Deirdre" at the Abbey Theatre'-she hesitated, and appealed to Mr Tinkler: "It was "Deirdre" I saw, wasn't it?' and, without waiting for his reply, finished brilliantly: 'After all, what does it matter? The great thing is to hear Mr Tinkler read his play, and, whether we like it or not, if such a thing were possible, to discuss it afterwards; for, after all, the great thing about reading is not so much the reading itself as the conversation that arises from it afterwards. I am sure that Mr Tinkler's delightful poem, yes, I mean poem: it is a poem, though an unusually long one, will give us much food for conversation. I know, for instance, that the Marchesa della Venasalvatica, who took a leading part in it, will have much to say which will be helpful to all of us.' At this there was a burst of ironical applause, through which Adam could just hear Mrs Burns saying: 'I will now again call upon Mr Tinkler,' and sat down, clapping her hands, as if summoning Mr Tinkler in the manner of the Arabian Nights.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

MR TINKLER READS HIS PLAY

WHEN he had got used to the author's method of delivery, which made it difficult to guess which of the characters was supposed to be speaking, Adam liked Mr Tinkler's 'Deirdre of the Nine Hostages' pretty well. The opening of the play was moderately clear. King Conchobar had an interview with his wife in these terms:

Conchobar: Remember, Deirdre, you are the High King's wife, and I am he.

Deirdre: How could I forget? Do you not know that I have given nine hostages to you and Fate? Conchobar: Who is Fate? Is he some strolling player that frets an hour in the booths at the hurley matches?

Deirdre: Conchobar, you jest with me. You love great laughter.

Conchobar: I am all for greatness and broad jest. Subtlety is not for me. I have forgot how many hostages you gave me. Who am I to waste my time counting an endless flock? Write down their names in a fine hand in the Holy Book, and I will, some great day, perhaps, to come, commit the lot to memory. Yours and mine.

Deirdre: They are all yours, Conchobar.

Conchobar: I thought you were a widow when we married?

Deirdre I have counted only your children

Conchobar: And they are nine. I had reckoned

between seven and eight. But it becomes not a king to doubt his own greatness. Let them be seven score. What care I, if I am not disturbed at my writing? I will remember that you have said that they were nine. Let you remember to see, in times to come, that they are neither more nor less. For, if doubts creep in, I can be great even in doubt. Let you not forget this, Deirdre, and, above all, let you remember .

Deirdre: What?

Conchobar: Let you remember not to forget yourself with.

Deirdre: Whom?

Conchobar: Never let his name be spoken within the grove of the sacred tree of Clonmacnoise.

Naisi: (His face appearing through the branches of the sacred tree) He means me. I am Naisi, the lover of his Queen. I would die for her a thousand times. I have not yet, but the hour of my passion is at hand. Conchobar is going out and I am coming in. But the end of love is rarely satisfaction. And all is already over before it has begun. And I am not sorry that it is so. To love Deirdre is to long for death. Still, I must not let him see me yet. Else he should think I came in homage to the High King and not to I must be a dissembler and hide my head. (Conceals himself in tree.)

Deirdre: Why do you leave me, Conchobar?

Conchobar: Great kings have greater kings to rule them. They greater still. And so on into infinity. Deirdre: You will be writing in the castle all the day? Writing, perhaps, late into the night?

Conchobar: Question me not too closely. These times is there warring upon us. I can see one that should be carrying a hackbut 'midst the gallowglasses, could I clap hands on him.

Deirdre: (As if thinking of looking round) Where is he...? Who, O King?

Conchobar: It is Naisi, the nameless one.

Deirdre: (Inaudibly) Naisi!

Conchobar: He is hiding in the sacred tree (Distractedly) Would I had my ebon catapult with but an elastic and a stone, and I would mend his manners.

Deirdre (As before) Thy catapult will sever my heartstrings if it pierce but a hair on Naisi's head.

Conchobar: (Even more distractedly, tearing two volumes of the archives from an ancient chest) Ask him how many river horses drink the Nile. He is an idler. Even a hurley stick breeds terror in his soul. I am a king. (Fumbling in chest and throwing papers about in his madness) Where is my pen? Will my archives never be full? (Flings down the lid of the chest and exit stormily.)

Having got rid of Conchobar, Mr Tinkler paused, and sipped a glass of water. 'That is the end of the first scene,' he said, 'and before I go on I think that, as there may possibly be someone here among you who has not seen the play as it was performed at the Abbey Theatre, that there are things they must visualise for themselves as I read. For instance, King Conchobar always carried two volumes of the archives about with him.'

'How does he carry them?' asked Mr LeaperCarahar portentously.

'He carries one in each hand,' the poet explained, obviously grateful for his host's interest.

'Thank you,' said Mr Leaper-Carahar, and promisingly cleared his throat. 'I take it the volumes would be of moderate size?'

'They must not be too small,' the poet said deprecatingly. At the Abbey they were not quite what I would have wished.'

Mr Marcus Pim rose in his place to say: 'As a matter of interest, I noticed at the time that one was the Douay Bible and the other Thom's Directory,' and sat down again amidst laughter led by himself.

'I shudder at the thought of what happened at the Abbey Theatre,' Mr Tinkler declared, 'and even more of what was written about it in the papers.'

'Hear, hear,' broke in Mr Macarthy resoundingly. Mr Leaper-Carahar spoke again, this time consulting his notebook: 'Why does His Majesty carry two volumes of the archives about with him?'

'To show that he is a man of action,' said the poet readily. 'That is pure symbolism; taken as a whole, my "Deirdre of the Nine Hostages" is a static, rather than a kinetic, play.'

'One moment,' said Mr Leaper-Carahar, stepping forward to wave a fountain pen under the poet's nose: 'How do you spell the last word?'

'PLAY,' Mr Tinkler informed him with a baffled

air.

Mr Leaper-Carahar frowned and shook his head. 'No, no . . . The word before that.'

Mr Tinkler consulted his manuscript for the necessary information. (Which, Adam noticed, was conveyed not only to Mr Leaper-Carahar's book, but the shirt cuff of the policeman, who appeared to think there was something in it)-And, after an awkward pause, went on: 'Conchobar carries his archives to show that he is a man of action. Naisi and Deirdre just exchange beautiful speeches and do nothing.'

'How I look forward to the first of the beautiful speeches,' cried Mrs Burns ecstatically.

'We are coming to them in a moment,' said the poet. Mr Carahar cleared his throat again. 'Am I right in supposing that you did not intend the opening remarks of their Majesties' to be anything in particular?'

Mr Tinkler shuffled on his feet. 'I hoped I must not say more than that I hoped, these lines had a charm of their own, considered as pure protasis . . . 'Pray be so good as to spell that,' Mr Leaper-Carahar broke in, and swept round to his company to explain: 'In my position you cannot be too exact.'

A.C.

Y

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