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Celtic Twilight
by
William Butler Yeats
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Regina, Regina Pigmeorum, Veni
ONE night a middle-aged man, who had lived all his life far
from the noise of cab-wheels, a young girl, a relation of his, who was reported
to be enough of a seer to catch a glimpse of unaccountable lights moving over
the fields among the cattle, and myself, were walking along a far western sandy
shore. We talked of the Forgetful People as the faery people are sometimes
called, and came in the midst of our talk to a notable haunt of theirs, a
shallow cave amidst black rocks, with its reflection under it in the wet sea
sand. I asked the young girl if she could see anything, for I had quite a number
of things to ask the Forgetful People. She stood still for a few minutes, and I
saw that she was passing into a kind of waking trance, in which the cold sea
breeze no longer troubled her, nor the dull boom of the sea distracted her
attention. I then called aloud the names of the great faeries, and in a moment
or two she said that she could hear music far inside the rocks, and then a sound
of confused talking, and of people stamping their feet as if to applaud some
unseen performer. Up to this my other friend had been walking to and fro some
yards off, but now he passed close to us, and as he did so said suddenly that we
were going to be interrupted, for he heard the laughter of children somewhere
beyond the rocks. We were, however, quite alone. The spirits of the place had
begun to cast their influence over him also. In a moment he was corroborated by
the girl, who said that bursts of laughter had begun to mingle with the music,
the confused talking, and the noise of feet. She next saw a bright light
streaming out of the cave, which seemed to have grown much deeper, and a
quantity of little people,[1] in various coloured dresses, red predominating,
dancing to a tune which she did not recognize.
I then bade her call out to the queen of the little people to
come and talk with us. There was, however, no answer to her command. I therefore
repeated the words aloud myself, and in a moment a very beautiful tall woman
came out of the cave. I too had by this time fallen into a kind of trance, in
which what we call the unreal had begun to take upon itself a masterful reality,
and was able to see the faint gleam of golden ornaments, the shadowy blossom of
dim hair. I then bade the girl tell this tall queen to marshal her followers
according to their natural divisions, that we might see them. I found as before
that I had to repeat the command myself. The creatures then came out of the
cave, and drew themselves up, if I remember rightly, in four bands. One of these
bands carried quicken boughs in their hands, and another had necklaces made
apparently of serpents' scales, but their dress I cannot remember, for I was
quite absorbed in that gleaming woman. I asked her to tell the seer whether
these caves were the greatest faery haunts in the neighbourhood. Her lips moved,
but the answer was inaudible. I bade the seer lay her hand upon the breast of
the queen, and after that she heard every word quite distinctly. No, this was
not the greatest faery haunt, for there was a greater one a little further
ahead. I then asked her whether it was true that she and her people
[1. The people and faeries in Ireland are sometimes as big as we are,
sometimes bigger, and sometimes, as I have been told, about three feet high. The
Old Mayo woman I so often quote, thinks that it is something in our eyes that
makes them seem big or little.] carried away mortals, and if so, whether they
put another soul in the place of the one they had taken? "We change the
bodies," was her answer. "Are any of you ever born into mortal
life?" "Yes." "Do I know any who were among your people
before birth?" "You do." "Who are they?" "It would
not be lawful for you to know." I then asked whether she and her people
were not "dramatizations of our moods"? "She does not
understand," said my friend, "but says that her people are much like
human beings, and do most of the things human beings do." I asked her other
questions, as to her nature, and her purpose in the universe, but only seemed to
puzzle her. At last she appeared to lose patience, for she wrote this message
for me upon the sands--the sands of vision, not the grating sands under our
feet--"Be careful, and do not seek to know too much about us." Seeing
that I had offended her, I thanked her for what she had shown and told, and let
her depart again into her cave. In a little while the young girl awoke out of
her trance, and felt again the cold wind of the world, and began to shiver.
I tell these things as accurately as I can, and with no
theories to blur the history. Theories are poor things at the best, and the bulk
of mine have perished long ago. I love better than any theory the sound of the
Gate of Ivory, turning upon its hinges, and hold that he alone who has passed
the rose-strewn threshold can catch the far glimmer of the Gate of Horn. It were
perhaps well for us all if we would but raise the cry Lilly the astrologer
raised in Windsor Forest, "Regina, Regina Pigmeorum, Veni," and
remember with him, that God visiteth His children in dreams. Tall, glimmering
queen, come near, and let me see again the shadowy blossom of thy dim hair.
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