excitement； whether it is but the hysterical excitement of the women over the pigs； or some primary passion。 once indeed； the hidden passion instead of finding expression by its choice among the passions of others； shows itself in the most direct way of all； that of dream。 last night； he writes； at innismaan； after walking in a dream among buildings with strangely intense light on them； i heard a faint rhythm of music beginning far away on some stringed instrument。
it came closer to me； gradually increasing in quickness and volume with an irresistibly definite progression。
when it was quite near the sound began to move in my nerves and blood； to urge me to dance with them。
i knew that if i yielded i would be carried away into some moment of terrible agony； so i struggled to remain quiet； holding my knees together with my hands。
the music increased continually； sounding like the strings of harps tuned to a forgotten scale； and having a resonance as searching as the strings of the cello。
then the luring excitement became more powerful than my will； and my limbs moved in spite of me。
in a moment i was swept away in a whirlwind of notes。 my breath and my thoughts and every impulse of my body became a form of the dance； till i could not distinguish between the instrument or the rhythm and my own person or consciousness。 for a while it seemed an excitement that was filled with joy； then it grew into an ecstasy where all existence was lost in the vortex of movement。 i could not think that there had been a life beyond the whirling of the dance。
then with a shock； the ecstasy turned to agony and rage。 i struggled to free myself but seemed only to increase the passion of the steps i moved to。 when i shrieked i could only echo the notes of the rhythm。 at last； with a movement of uncontrollable frenzy i broke back to consciousness and awoke。
i dragged myself trembling to the window of the cottage and looked out。 the moon was glittering across the bay and there was no sound anywhere on the island。
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Synge And The Ireland Of His TimeXIII
gxiaoshuowang
in all drama which would give direct expression to reverie； to the speech of the soul with itself； there is some device that checks the rapidity of dialogue。 when oedipus speaks out of the most vehement passions； he is conscious of the presence of the chorus； men before whom he must keep up appearances children latest born of cadmus line who do not share his passion。 nobody is hurried or breathless。 we listen to reports and discuss them； taking part as it were in a council of state。 nothing happens before our eyes。 the dignity of greek drama； and in a lesser degree of that of corneille and racine depends； as contrasted with the troubled life of shakespearean drama； on an almost even speed of dialogue； and on a so continuous exclusion of the animation of mon life； that thought remains lofty and language rich。 shakespeare； upon whose stage everything may happen； even the blinding of gloster； and who has no formal check except what is implied in the slow； elaborate structure of blank verse； obtains time for reverie by an often encumbering euphuism； and by such a loosening of his plot as will give his characters the leisure to look at life from without。 maeterlinck； to name the first modern of the old way who es to mind？？reaches the same end； by choosing instead of human beings persons who are as faint as a breath upon a looking？glass； symbols who can speak a language slow and heavy with dreams because their own life is but a dream。 modern drama； on the other hand； which accepts the tightness of the classic plot； while expressing life directly； has been driven to make indirect its expression of the mind； which it leaves to be inferred from some mon？place sentence or gesture as we infer it in ordinary life； and this is； i believe； the cause of the perpetual disappointment of the hope imagined this hundred years that france or spain or germany or scandinavia will at last produce the master we await。
the divisions in the arts are almost all in the first instance technical； and the great schools of drama have been divided from one another by the form or the metal of their mirror； by the check chosen for the rapidity of dialogue。 synge found the check that suited his temperament in an elaboration of the dialects of kerry and aran。 the cadence is long and meditative； as befits the thought of men who are much alone； and who when they meet in one anothers houses？？as their way is at the days end？？listen patiently； each man speaking in turn and for some little time； and taking pleasure in the vaguer meaning of the words and in their sound。 their thought； when not merely practical； is as full of traditional wisdom and extravagant pictures as that of some aeschylean chorus； and no matter what the topic is； it is as though the present were held at arms length。 it is the reverse of rhetoric； for the speaker serves his own delight； though doubtless he would tell you that like rafterys whiskey？ drinking it was but for the panys sake。 a medicinal manner of speech too； for it could not even express； so little abstract it is and so rammed with life； those worn generalizations of national propaganda。 ill be telling you the finest story youd hear any place from dundalk to ballinacree with great queens in it； making themselves matches from the start to the end； and they with shiny silks on them 。。。 ive a grand story of the great queens of ireland； with white necks on them the like of sarah casey； and fine arms would hit you a slap。。。。 what good am i this night； god help me？ what good are the grand stories i have when its few would listen to an old woman； few but a girl maybe would be in great fear the time her hour was e； or a little child wouldnt be sleeping with the hunger on a cold night。 that has the flavour of homer； of the bible； of villon； while cervantes would have thought it sweet in the mouth though not his food。 this use of irish dialect for noble purpose by synge； and by lady gregory； who had it already in her cuchulain of muirthemne； and by dr。 hyde in those first translations he has not equalled since； has done much for national dignity。 when i was a boy i was often troubled and sorrowful because scottish dialect was capable of noble use； but the irish of obvious roystering humour only； and this error fixed on my imagination by so many novelists and rhymers made me listen badly。 synge wrote down words and phrases wherever he went； and with that knowledge of irish which made all our country idioms easy to his hand； found it so rich a thing； that he had begun translating into it fragments of the great literatures of the world； and had planned a plete version of the imitation of christ。 it gave him imaginative richness and yet left to him the sting and tang of reality。 how vivid in his translation from villon are those eyes with a big gay look out of them would bring folly from a great scholar。 more vivid surely than anything in swinburnes version； and how noble those words which are yet simple country speech； in which his petrarch mourns that death came upon laura just as time was making chastity easy； and the day e when lovers may sit together and say out all things arc in their hearts； and my sweet enemy was making a start； little by little； to give over her great wariness； the way she was wringing a sweet thing out of my sharp sorrow。
％％。
Synge And The Ireland Of His TimeXIV
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once when i had been saying that though it seemed to me that a conventional descriptive passage encumbered the action at the moment of crisis。 i liked the shadow of the glen better than riders to the sea that is； for all the nobility of its end； its mood of greek tragedy； too passive in suffering； and had quoted from matthew arnolds introduction to empedocles on etna； synge answered； it is a curious thing that 〃the riders to the sea〃 succeeds with an english but not with an irish audience； and 〃the shadow of the glen〃 which is not liked by an english audience is always liked in ireland； though it is disliked there in theory。 since then the riders to the sea has grown into great popularity in dublin； partly because with the tactical instinct of an irish mob； the demonstrators against the playboy both in the press and in the theatre； where it began the evening； selected it for applause。 it is now what shelleys cloud was for many years； a fort to those who do not like to deny altogether the genius they cannot understand。 yet i am certain that； in the long run； his grotesque plays with their lyric beauty； their violent laughter； the playboy of the western world most of all； will be loved for holding so much of the mind of ireland。 synge has written of the playboy anyone who has lived in real intimacy with the irish peasantry will know that the wildest sayings in this play are tame indeed pared with the fancies one may hear at any little hillside cottage of geesala； or carraroe； or dingle bay。
it is the strangest； the most beautiful expression in drama of that irish fantasy； which overflowing through all irish literature that has e out of ireland itself （pare the fantastic irish account of the battle of clontarf with the sober norse account） is the unbroken character of irish geniu