By Lida Prypchan
The High King fought the battle of Clontarf. After his triumph, he spoke to a poet to sing about his victory and write him a playlet. He told him: Would you like both of us to become immortal? Are you able to carry out what I have asked you? The poet, after affirming this, told him about his long studies over the past twelve winters, how knowledgeable he was in meter. Satisfied and tired of the poet’s speech, the King said: in one year you will recite your playlet before the court and the school of poets. Make a great effort and you will see how the reward will be worthy of your inspired insomnia. Once this time had passed, the poet stood before the court and the school of poets. The poet recited his playlet with certainty and from memory, without omitting a word or letter that he had chosen so well. The King would approve, nodding his head while the poet recited, and everyone seconded his approval, imitating him. He finished his recital and the King stated: I accept your work. You have been guided by the classics, that is, if their work disappears you could substitute it with your own. You have skillfully handled everything regarding poetry, including rhymes, meter, and a well-versed rhetoric. Everything is well, my beloved poet, but nothing has happened. You may ask, what do I mean by this? Blood does not run faster in people’s veins! No one yelled out in battle, no one faced the vikings! And to conclude let me tell you and give you something! What I have to tell you is: I will give you one more year to prepare another playlet. This silver plated mirror is given to you as a sign of approval. The poet only said: I give thanks and understand.
Each person will interpret the compensation given by the King to the poet in their own way. I interpreted it as the King asking the poet to reflect. Something along the lines of saying: look at yourself in the mirror. I will give you one year to look inside yourself and then come back. I analyzed it in this way because of the how the story continues. Let us continue with the fantastic borgian story.
The year passed and the poet appeared before the court and the school of poets. Differently from the year before, he did not recite it from memory but read it with a visible uncertainty, omitting passages as if he did not understand them or did not wish to profane them. The incredible part of his playlet, in that moment, was that he read it as if he was in the battle. He lived his playlet with emotion. The King spoke: this surpasses the previous playlet and it annihilates it. This is worthy of erudites. This sole copy will be stored in an ivory chest. We will give you one more year since we expect an even greater work. As a sign of our approval, take this gold mask. The poet responded in the same way as before: I give thanks and understand.
The interpretation that I gave to this second part of the story was that the poet reached the point of feeling the battle itself, and when he did so he was able to touch the soul of the King, who had achieved such a splendid triumph in his tactics. He gave him a mask and kept in an ivory chest a piece of work that was only known by the court, the school of poets and the poet. Take this mask in order to hide the secret you now know! You have stopped being a poet that refined word for word, now you have entered through the doors that almost no one enters: understanding my soul!
The next year passed, and for a third time the poet went before the court and school of poets. This time, the poet did not bring a manuscript with him. The palace guards realized this immediately. Not without astonishment, the King looked at him; he was almost another person. And this phrase, in my opinion, is the most beautiful of the story: “something that was not time, had creased and transformed his features. His eyes seemed to look into the distance or had been blinded.” The poet begged the King to speak a few words with him. When the chamber was clear the King asked him: have you carried out the ode? The poet sadly responded: “Yes, I wish Christ our Lord would have forbidden me.” I do not dare to recite it! The King told him: I give you the courage you need. The poet recited the poem. It was only one line. Not wanting to say it out loud, the King and poet savored it. Both looked at each other with pale faces. The King began to name all of the wonders he had seen and ended by telling him: these are wonders, but they do not even compare with your poem. What kind of sorcery gave it to you? The poet answered: at dawn, I remembered saying one word that at first I did not understand. These words are a poem and I felt I had committed a sin, maybe the kind that the spirit does not forgive. The King said to him: the one that we both now share. The one of having known beauty, which is a gift prohibited to men. Now we have to expiate it. I will now give you your third and last gift and he placed a dagger in his right hand. We know that when the poet left, he killed himself with the dagger the King gave him, and we know that the King is a beggar that walks the roads of Ireland, which was his kingdom, and that he has never repeated the poem.
This third and last part of the story was the part that most confused me. I saw it as getting to the deepest part of the story, removing branches and more branches in order to find the fruit. I interpreted it as that the poet had known the darkest and the most beautiful part of the King’s life or life itself. And this is how after the battle of Clontarf was fought, a King and a poet were reduced to one word.
