  Hall of the COUNTESS CATHLEEN as before. SERVANT enters and goes towards the oratory door. SERVANT. Here is yet another would see your ladyship. CATHLEEN [within]. Who calls me? SERVANT. There is a man would speak with you, And by his face he has some pressing news, Some moving tale. CATHLEEN [coming to chapel door]. I cannot rest or pray, For all day long the messengers run hither On one another’s heels, and every message More evil than the one that had gone before. Who is the messenger? SERVANT. Aleel, the poet. CATHLEEN. There is no hour he is not welcome to me, Because I know of nothing but a harp-string That can remember happiness. [SERVANT goes out and ALEEL comes in. And now I grow forgetful of evil for awhile. ALEEL. I have come to bid you leave this castle, and fly Out of these woods. CATHLEEN. What evil is there here, That is not everywhere from this to the sea? ALEEL. They who have sent me walk invisible. CATHLEEN. Men say that the wise people of the raths Have given you wisdom. ALEEL. Upon the grassy margin of a lake Among the hills, where none of mortal creatures But the swan comes—my sleep became a fire. One walked in the fire with birds about his head. CATHLEEN. Ay, Aengus of the birds. ALEEL. He may be Aengus, But it may be he bears an angelical name. Lady, he bid me call you from these woods; He bids you bring Oona, your foster-mother, And some few serving-men and live in the hills Among the sounds of music and the light Of waters till the evil days are gone. [He kneels.] For here some terrible death is waiting you; Some unimaginable evil, some great darkness That fable has not dreamt of, nor sun nor moon Scattered. CATHLEEN. And he had birds about his head? ALEEL. With some old trusty serving-man, who will feed All that are starving and shelter all that wander While there is food and house-room. CATHLEEN. He bids me go Where none of mortal creatures but the swan Dabbles, and there you would pluck the harp when the trees Had made a heavy shadow about our door, And talk among the rustling of the reeds When night hunted the foolish sun away, With stillness and pale tapers. No—no—no. I cannot. Although I weep, I do not weep Because that life would be most happy, and here I find no way, no end. Nor do I weep Because I had longed to look upon your face, But that a night of prayer has made me weary. ALEEL. [Throwing his arms about her feet.] Let Him that made mankind, the angels and devils And death and plenty mend what He has made, For when we labour in vain and eye still sees Heart breaks in vain. CATHLEEN. How would that quiet end? ALEEL. How but in healing? CATHLEEN. You have seen my tears. And I can see your hand shake on the floor. ALEEL [faltering]. I thought but of healing. He was angelical. CATHLEEN. [Turning away from him.] No, not angelical, but of the old gods, Who wander about the world to waken the heart— The passionate, proud heart that all the angels Leaving nine heavens empty would rock to sleep. [She goes to the chapel door; ALEEL holds his clasped hands towards her for a moment hesitatingly, and then lets them fall beside him. Do not hold out to me beseeching hands. This heart shall never waken on earth. I have sworn To pray before this altar until my heart Has grown to Heaven like a tree, and there Rustled its leaves till Heaven has saved my people. ALEEL [who has risen]. When one so great has spoken of love to one So little as I, although to deny him love, What can he but hold out beseeching hands, Then let them fall beside him, knowing how greatly They have overdared? [He goes towards the door of the hall. The COUNTESS CATHLEEN takes a few steps towards him. CATHLEEN. If the old tales are true, Queens have wed shepherds and kings beggar-maids; God’s procreant waters flowing about your mind Have made you more than kings or queens; and not you But I am the empty pitcher. ALEEL. Being silent, I have said all—farewell, farewell; and yet no, Give me your hand to kiss. CATHLEEN. I kiss your brow, But will not say farewell. I am often weary, And I would hear the harp-string. ALEEL. I cannot stay, For I would hide my sorrow among the hills— Listen, listen, the hills are calling me. [They listen for a moment. CATHLEEN. I hear the cry of curlew. ALEEL. Then I will out Where I can hear wind cry and water cry And curlew cry: how does the saying go That calls them the three oldest cries in the world? Farewell, farewell, I will go wander among them, Because there is no comfort under a roof-tree. [He goes out. CATHLEEN. [Looking through the door after him.] I cannot see him. He has come to the great door. I must go pray. Would that my heart and mind Were as little shaken as this candle-light. [She goes into the chapel. The TWO MERCHANTS enter. SECOND MERCHANT. Who was the man that came from the great door While we were still in the shadow? FIRST MERCHANT. Aleel, her lover. SECOND MERCHANT. It may be that he has turned her thought from us And we can gather our merchandise in peace. FIRST MERCHANT. No, no, for she is kneeling. SECOND MERCHANT. Shut the door. Are all our drudges here? FIRST MERCHANT. [Closing the chapel door.] I bid them follow. Can you not hear them breathing upon the stairs? I have sat this hour under the elder-tree. SECOND MERCHANT. I had bid you rob her treasury, and yet I found you sitting drowsed and motionless, Your chin bowed to your knees, while on all sides, Bat-like from bough and roof and window-ledge, Clung evil souls of men, and in the woods, Like streaming flames, floated upon the winds The elemental creatures. FIRST MERCHANT. I have fared ill; She prayed so hard I could not cross the threshold Till this young man had turned her prayer to dreams. You have had a man to kill: how have you fared? SECOND MERCHANT. I lay in the image of a nine-monthed bonyeen, By Tubber-vanach cross-roads: Father John Came, sad and moody, murmuring many prayers; I seemed as though I came from his own sty; He saw the one brown ear; the breviary dropped; He ran; I ran, I ran into the quarry; He fell a score of yards. FIRST MERCHANT. Now that he is dead We shall be too much thronged with souls to-morrow. Did his soul escape you? SECOND MERCHANT. I thrust it in the bag. But the hand that blessed the poor and raised the Host Tore through the leather with sharp piety. FIRST MERCHANT. Well, well, to labour—here is the treasury door. [They go out by the left-hand door, and enter again in a little while, carrying full bags upon their shoulders. FIRST MERCHANT. Brave thought, brave thought—a shining thought of mine! She now no more may bribe the poor—no more Cheat our great master of his merchandise, While our heels dangle at the house in the woods, And grass grows on the threshold, and snails crawl Along the window-pane and the mud floor. Brother, where wander all these dwarfish folk, Hostile to men, the people of the tides? SECOND MERCHANT. [Going to the door.] They are gone. They have already wandered away, Unwilling labourers. FIRST MERCHANT. I will call them hither. [He opens the window. Come hither, hither, hither, water-folk: Come, all you elemental populace; Leave lonely the long-hoarding surges: leave And, shaking the sea-tangles from your hair, Gather about us. [After a pause. I can hear a sound As from waves beating upon distant strands; And the sea-creatures, like a surf of light, Pour eddying through the pathways of the oaks; And as they come, the sentient grass and leaves Bow towards them, and the tall, drouth-jaded oaks Fondle the murmur of their flying feet. SECOND MERCHANT. The green things love unknotted hearts and minds; And neither one with angels or with us, Nor risen in arms with evil nor with good, In laughter roves the litter of the waves. [A crowd of faces fill up the darkness outside the window. A figure separates from the others and speaks. THE SPIRIT. We come unwillingly, for she whose gold We must now carry to the house in the woods Is dear to all our race. On the green plain, Beside the sea, a hundred shepherds live To mind her sheep; and when the nightfall comes They leave a hundred pans of white ewes’ milk Outside their doors, to feed us when the dawn Has driven us out of Finbar’s ancient house, And broken the long dance under the hill. FIRST MERCHANT. [Making a sign upon the air.] Obey! I make a sign upon your hearts. THE SPIRIT. The sign of evil burns upon our hearts, And we obey. [They crowd through the window, and take out of the bags a small bag each. They are dressed in green robes and have ruddy hair. They are a little less than the size of men and women. FIRST MERCHANT. And now begone—begone! [They go. I bid them go, for, being garrulous And flighty creatures, they had soon begun To deafen us with their sea-gossip. Now We must go bring more money. Brother, brother, I long to see my master’s face again, For I turn homesick. SECOND MERCHANT. I too tire of toil. [They go out, and return as before, with their bags full. SECOND MERCHANT. [Pointing to the oratory.] How may we gain this woman for our lord? Would make it shine like His we dare not name. Now that the winds are heavy with our kind, Might we not kill her, and bear off her spirit Before the mob of angels were astir? [A diadem and a heap of jewels fall from the bag. FIRST MERCHANT. Who tore the bag? SECOND MERCHANT. The finger of Priest John When he fled through the leather. I had thought Because his was an old and little spirit The tear would hardly matter. FIRST MERCHANT. This comes, brother, Of stealing souls that are not rightly ours. If we would win this turquoise for our lord, It must go dropping down of its freewill. She will have heard the noise. She will stifle us With holy names. [He goes to the oratory door and opens it a little, and then closes it.] No, she has fallen asleep. SECOND MERCHANT. The noise wakened the household. While you spoke I heard chairs moved, and heard folk’s shuffling feet. And now they are coming hither. A VOICE [within]. It was here. ANOTHER VOICE. No, further away. ANOTHER VOICE. It was in the western tower. ANOTHER VOICE. Come quickly; we will search the western tower. FIRST MERCHANT. We still have time—they search the distant rooms. Call hither the fading and the unfading fires. SECOND MERCHANT. [Going to the window.] There are none here. They tired and strayed from hence— Unwilling labourers. FIRST MERCHANT. I will draw them in. [He cries through the window. Come hither, you lost souls of men, who died In drunken sleep, and by each other’s hands When they had bartered you—come hither all Who mourn among the scenery of your sins, Turning to animal and reptile forms, The visages of passions; hither, hither— You shapeless fires, that were the souls of men, And are a fading wretchedness. SECOND MERCHANT. They come not. FIRST MERCHANT. [Making a sign upon the air.] Come hither, hither, hither. SECOND MERCHANT. I can hear A crying as of storm-distempered reeds. The fading and the unfading fires rise up Like steam out of the earth; the grass and leaves Shiver and shrink away and sway about, Blown by unnatural gusts of ice-cold air. FIRST MERCHANT. They are one with all the beings of decay, Ill longings, madness, lightning, famine, drouth. [The whole stage is gradually filled with vague forms, some animal shapes, some human, some mere lights. Come you—and you—and you, and lift these bags. A SPIRIT. We are too violent; mere shapes of storm. FIRST MERCHANT. Come you—and you—and you, and lift these bags. A SPIRIT. We are too feeble, fading out of life. FIRST MERCHANT. Come you, and you, who are the latest dead, And still wear human shape: the shape of power. [The two robbing peasants of the last scene come forward. Their faces have withered from much pain. Now, brawlers, lift the bags of gold. FIRST PEASANT. Yes, yes! Unwillingly, unwillingly; for she, Whose gold we bear upon our shoulders thus, Has endless pity even for lost souls In her good heart. At moments, now and then, When plunged in horror, brooding each alone, A memory of her face floats in on us. It brings a crowned misery, half repose, And we wail one to other; we obey, For heaven’s many-angled star reversed, Now sign of evil, burns into our hearts. FIRST MERCHANT. When these pale sapphires and these diadems And these small bags of money are in our house, The burning shall give over—now begone. SECOND MERCHANT. [Lifting the diadem to put it upon his head.] No—no—no. I will carry the diadem. FIRST MERCHANT. No, brother, not yet. For none can carry her treasures wholly away But spirits that are too light for good and evil, Or, being evil, can remember good. Begone! [The spirits vanish.] I bade them go, for they are lonely, And when they see aught living love to sigh. [Pointing to the oratory.] Brother, I heard a sound in there—a sound That troubles me. SECOND MERCHANT. [Going to the door of the oratory and peering through it.] Upon the altar steps The Countess tosses, murmuring in her sleep A broken Paternoster. [The FIRST MERCHANT goes to the door and stands beside him.] She is grown still. FIRST MERCHANT. A great plan floats into my mind—no wonder, For I come from the ninth and mightiest Hell, And mix with all her thoughts a thought to serve. [He calls through the door. May we be well remembered in your prayers! [The COUNTESS CATHLEEN wakes, and comes to the door of the oratory. The MERCHANTS descend into the room again. She stands at the top of the stone steps. CATHLEEN. What would you, sirs? FIRST MERCHANT. We are two merchant men, New come from foreign lands. We bring you news. Forgive our sudden entry: the great door Was open, we came in to seek a face. CATHLEEN. The door stands always open to receive, With kindly welcome, starved and sickly folk, Or any who would fly the woful times. Merchants, you bring me news? FIRST MERCHANT. We saw a man Heavy with sickness in the Bog of Allan, Whom you had bid buy cattle. Near Fair Head We saw your grain ships lying all becalmed In the dark night, and not less still than they Burned all their mirrored lanthorns in the sea. CATHLEEN. My thanks to God, to Mary, and the angels, I still have bags of money, and can buy Meal from the merchants who have stored it up, To prosper on the hunger of the poor. You have been far, and know the signs of things: When will this yellow vapour no more hang And creep about the fields, and this great heat Vanish away—and grass show its green shoots? FIRST MERCHANT. There is no sign of change—day copies day, Green things are dead—the cattle too are dead, Or dying—and on all the vapour hangs And fattens with disease and glows with heat. In you is all the hope of all the land. CATHLEEN. And heard you of the demons who buy souls? FIRST MERCHANT. There are some men who hold they have wolves’ heads, And say their limbs, dried by the infinite flame, Have all the speed of storms; others again Say they are gross and little; while a few Will have it they seem much as mortals are, But tall and brown and travelled, like us, lady. That makes men bow, and flings a casting-net About their souls, and that all men would go And barter those poor flames—their spirits—only You bribe them with the safety of your gold. CATHLEEN. Praise be to God, to Mary, and the angels, That I am wealthy. Wherefore do they sell? FIRST MERCHANT. The demons give a hundred crowns and more For a poor soul like his who lies asleep By your great door under the porter’s niche; A little soul not worth a hundred pence. But, for a soul like yours, I heard them say, They would give five hundred thousand crowns and more. CATHLEEN. How can a heap of crowns pay for a soul? Is the green grave so terrible a thing? FIRST MERCHANT. Some sell because the money gleams, and some Because they are in terror of the grave, And some because their neighbours sold before, And some because there is a kind of joy In casting hope away, in losing joy, In ceasing all resistance, in at last In casting all sails out upon the wind: To this—full of the gaiety of the lost— Would all folk hurry if your gold were gone. CATHLEEN. There is a something, merchant, in your voice That makes me fear. When you were telling how A man may lose his soul and lose his God, Your eyes lighted, and the strange weariness That hangs about you vanished. When you told How my poor money serves the people—both— Merchants, forgive me—seemed to smile. FIRST MERCHANT. Man’s sins Move us to laughter only, we have seen So many lands and seen so many men. How strange that all these people should be swung As on a lady’s shoe-string—under them The glowing leagues of never-ending flame! CATHLEEN. There is a something in you that I fear: A something not of us. Were you not born In some most distant corner of the world? [The SECOND MERCHANT, who has been listening at the door to the right, comes forward, and as he comes a sound of voices and feet is heard through the door to his left. SECOND MERCHANT [aside to FIRST MERCHANT]. Away now—they are in the passage—hurry, For they will know us, and freeze up our hearts With Ave Marys, and burn all our skin With holy water. FIRST MERCHANT. Farewell: we must ride Many a mile before the morning come; Our horses beat the ground impatiently. [They go out to R. A number of peasants enter at the same moment by the opposite door. CATHLEEN. What would you? A PEASANT. As we nodded by the fire, Telling old histories, we heard a noise Of falling money. We have searched in vain. CATHLEEN. You are too timid. I heard naught at all. THE OLD PEASANT. Ay, we are timid, for a rich man’s word Can shake our houses, and a moon of drouth Shrivel our seedlings in the barren earth; Fear jogs our elbow in the market-place, And nods beside us on the chimney-seat. Ill-bodings are as native unto our hearts As are their spots unto the woodpeckers. CATHLEEN. You need not shake with bodings in this house. [Oona enters from the door to L. OONA. The treasure-room is broken in—mavrone—mavrone; The door stands open and the gold is gone. [The peasants raise a lamenting cry. CATHLEEN. Be silent. [The cry ceases. Saw you any one? OONA. Mavrone, That my good mistress should lose all this money. CATHLEEN. You three upon my right hand, ride and ride; I will give a farm to him who finds the thieves. [A man with keys at his girdle has entered while she was speaking. A PEASANT. The porter trembles. THE PORTER. It is all no use; Demons were here. I sat beside the door In my stone niche, and two owls passed me by, Whispering with human voices. THE OLD PEASANT. God forsakes us. CATHLEEN. Old man, old man, He never closed a door Unless one opened. I am desolate, For a most sad resolve wakes in my heart: But always I have faith. Old men and women, Be silent; He does not forsake the world, But stands before it modelling in the clay And moulding there His image. Age by age The clay wars with His fingers and pleads hard For its old, heavy, dull, and shapeless ease; At times it crumbles and a nation falls, Now moves awry and demon hordes are born. [The peasants cross themselves. But leave me now, for I am desolate, I hear a whisper from beyond the thunder. [She steps down from the oratory door. I may have grown forgetful. Oona, take These two—the larder and the dairy keys. [To THE OLD PEASANT.] But take you this. It opens the small room Of herbs for medicine, of hellebore, Of vervain, monkshood, plantain, and self-heal And all the others; and the book of cures Is on the upper shelf. You understand, Because you doctored goats and cattle once. THE OLD PEASANT. Why do you do this, lady—did you see Your coffin in a dream? CATHLEEN. Ah, no, not that, A sad resolve wakes in me. I have heard A sound of wailing in unnumbered hovels, And I must go down, down, I know not where. Pray for the poor folk who are crazed with famine; Pray, you good neighbours. [The peasants all kneel. The COUNTESS CATHLEEN ascends the steps to the door of the oratory, and, turning round, stands there motionless for a little, and then cries in a loud voice.] Mary, queen of angels, And all you clouds on clouds of saints, farewell! ACT IV.The cabin of SHEMUS RUA. The TWO MERCHANTS are sitting one at each end of the table, with rolls of parchment and many little heaps of gold before them. Through an open door, at the back, one sees into an inner room, in which there is a bed. On the bed is the body of MAIRE with candles about it. FIRST MERCHANT. The woman may keep robbing us no more, For there are only mice now in her coffers. SECOND MERCHANT. Last night, closed in the image of an owl, I hurried to the cliffs of Donegal, And saw, creeping on the uneasy surge, Those ships that bring the woman grain and meal; They are five days from us. FIRST MERCHANT. I hurried East, A gray owl flitting, flitting in the dew, Driven on by goads of iron; they, too, brother, Are full five days from us. SECOND MERCHANT. Five days for traffic. [While they have been speaking the peasants have come in, led by TEIG and SHEMUS, who take their stations, one on each side of the door, and keep them marshalled into rude order and encourage them from time to time with gestures and whispered words. Here throng they; since the drouth they go in throngs, Like autumn leaves blown by the dreary winds. Come, deal—come, deal. FIRST MERCHANT. Who will come deal with us? SHEMUS. They are out of spirit, sir, with lack of food, Save four or five. Here, sir, is one of these; The others will gain courage in good time. A MIDDLE-AGED MAN. I come to deal if you give honest price. FIRST MERCHANT. [Reading in a parchment.] And quiet senses and unventurous heart. The angels think him safe. Two hundred crowns, All for a soul, a little breath of wind. THE MAN. I ask three hundred crowns. You have read there, That no mere lapse of days can make me yours. FIRST MERCHANT. There is something more writ here—often at night He is wakeful from a dread of growing poor. There is this crack in you—two hundred crowns. [THE MAN takes them and goes. SECOND MERCHANT. Come, deal—one would half think you had no souls. If only for the credit of your parishes, Come, deal, deal, deal, or will you always starve? Maire, the wife of Shemus, would not deal, She starved—she lies in there with red wallflowers, And candles stuck in bottles round her bed. A WOMAN. What price, now, will you give for mine? FIRST MERCHANT. Ay, ay, Soft, handsome, and still young—not much, I think. [Reading in the parchment. She has love letters in a little jar On the high shelf between the pepper-pot And wood-cased hour-glass. THE WOMAN. O, the scandalous parchment! FIRST MERCHANT [reading]. She hides them from her husband, who buys horses, And is not much at home. You are almost safe. I give you fifty crowns.[She turns to go. A hundred, then. [She takes them, and goes into the crowd. Come—deal, deal, deal; it is for charity We buy such souls at all; a thousand sins Made them our master’s long before we came. Come, deal—come, deal. You seem resolved to starve Until your bones show through your skin. Come, deal, Or live on nettles, grass, and dandelion. Or do you dream the famine will go by? And my great master’s; it shall no wise cease Until our purpose end: the yellow vapour That brought it bears it over your dried fields And fills with violent phantoms of the lost, And grows more deadly as day copies day. See how it dims the daylight. Is that peace Known to the birds of prey so dread a thing? They, and the souls obedient to our master, And those who live with that great other spirit Have gained an end, a peace, while you but toss And swing upon a moving balance beam. [ALEEL enters; the wires of his harp are broken. ALEEL. Here, take my soul, for I am tired of it; I do not ask a price. FIRST MERCHANT [reading]. A man of songs: Alone in the hushed passion of romance, His mind ran all on sidheoges and on tales Of Fenian labours and the Red Branch kings, And he cared nothing for the life of man: But now all changes. ALEEL. Ay, because her face, The sadness of the world upon her brow: The crying of these strings grew burdensome, Therefore I tore them; see; now take my soul. FIRST MERCHANT. We cannot take your soul, for it is hers. ALEEL. Ah, take it; take it. It nowise can help her, And, therefore, do I tire of it. FIRST MERCHANT. No; no. We may not touch it. ALEEL. Is your power so small, Must I then bear it with me all my days? May scorn close deep about you! FIRST MERCHANT. Lead him hence; He troubles me. [TEIG and SHEMUS lead ALEEL into the crowd. SECOND MERCHANT. His gaze has filled me, brother, With shaking and a dreadful fear. FIRST MERCHANT. Lean forward Were pressed upon it when he sent us hither: You will have peace once more. [The SECOND MERCHANT kisses the gold circlet that is about the head of the FIRST MERCHANT. SHEMUS. He is called Aleel, And has been crazy now these many days; But has no harm in him: his fits soon pass, And one can go and lead him like a child. FIRST MERCHANT. Come, deal, deal, deal, deal, deal; you are all dumb? SHEMUS. They say you beat the woman down too low. FIRST MERCHANT. I offer this great price: a thousand crowns For an old woman who was always ugly. [An old peasant woman comes forward, and he takes up a parchment and reads.] There is but little set down here against her; She stole fowl sometimes when the harvest failed, But always went to chapel twice a week, And paid her dues when prosperous. Take your money. THE OLD PEASANT WOMAN [curtseying]. God bless you, sir. [She screams. O, sir, a pain went through me. FIRST MERCHANT. That name is like a fire to all damned souls. Begone. [She goes.] See how the red gold pieces glitter. Deal: do you fear because an old hag screamed? Are you all cowards? A PEASANT. Nay, I am no coward. I will sell half my soul. FIRST MERCHANT. How half your soul? THE PEASANT. Half my chance of heaven. FIRST MERCHANT. It is writ here This man in all things takes the moderate course, He sits on midmost of the balance beam, And no man has had good of him or evil. Begone, we will not buy you. SECOND MERCHANT. Deal, come, deal. FIRST MERCHANT. What, will you keep us from our ancient home, And from the eternal revelry? Come, deal, And we will hence to our great master again. Come, deal, deal, deal. THE PEASANTS SHOUT. The Countess Cathleen comes! CATHLEEN [entering]. And so you trade once more? FIRST MERCHANT. In spite of you. What brings you here, saint with the sapphire eyes? CATHLEEN. I come to barter a soul for a great price. FIRST MERCHANT. What matter if the soul be worth the price? CATHLEEN. The people starve, therefore the people go Thronging to you. I hear a cry come from them, And it is in my ears by night and day; And I would have five hundred thousand crowns, That I may feed them till the dearth go by; And have the wretched spirits you have bought For your gold crowns released and sent to God. The soul that I would barter is my soul. A PEASANT. Do not, do not; the souls of us poor folk Are not precious to God as your soul is. O! what would heaven do without you, lady? ANOTHER PEASANT. Look how their claws clutch in their leathern gloves. FIRST MERCHANT. Five hundred thousand crowns; we give the price, The gold is here; the spirits, while you speak, Begin to labour upward, for your face Sheds a great light on them and fills their hearts With those unveilings of the fickle light, Whereby our heavy labours have been marred Since first His spirit moved upon the deeps And stole them from us; even before this day The souls were but half ours, for your bright eyes Had pierced them through and robbed them of content. But you must sign, for we omit no form In buying a soul like yours; sign with this quill; It was a feather growing on the cock That crowed when Peter dared deny his Master, And all who use it have great honour in Hell. [CATHLEEN leans forward to sign. ALEEL. [Rushing forward and snatching the parchment from her.] Leave all things to the builder of the heavens. CATHLEEN. I have no thoughts: I hear a cry—a cry. ALEEL. [Casting the parchment on the ground.] I had a vision under a green hedge, A hedge of hips and haws—men yet shall hear The archangels rolling Satan’s empty skull Over the mountain-tops. FIRST MERCHANT. Take him away. [TEIG and SHEMUS drag him roughly away so that he falls upon the floor among the peasants. CATHLEEN picks up the parchment and signs, and then turns towards the peasants. CATHLEEN. Take up the money; and now come with me. When we are far from this polluted place I will give everybody money enough. [She goes out, the peasants crowding round her and kissing her dress. ALEEL and the TWO MERCHANTS are left alone. SECOND MERCHANT. Now are our days of heavy labour done. FIRST MERCHANT. We have a precious jewel for Satan’s crown. SECOND MERCHANT. We must away, and wait until she dies, Sitting above her tower as two gray owls, Watching as many years as may be, guarding Our precious jewel; waiting to seize her soul. FIRST MERCHANT. We need but hover over her head in the air, For she has only minutes: when she came I saw the dimness of the tomb in her, And marked her walking as with leaden shoes And looking on the ground as though the worms Were calling her, and when she wrote her name Her heart began to break. Hush! hush! I hear The brazen door of Hell move on its hinges, And the eternal revelry float hither To hearten us. SECOND MERCHANT. Leap, feathered, on the air And meet them with her soul caught in your claws. [They rush out. ALEEL crawls into the middle of the room. The twilight has fallen and gradually darkens as the scene goes on. There is a distant muttering of thunder and a sound of rising storm. ALEEL. The brazen door stands wide, and Balor comes Borne in his heavy car, and demons have lifted The age-weary eyelids from the eyes that of old Turned gods to stone; Barach the traitor comes; And the lascivious race, Cailitin, That cast a druid weakness and decay Over Sualtam’s and old Dectora’s child; And that great king Hell first took hold upon When he killed Naisi and broke Deirdre’s heart; And all their heads are twisted to one side, For when they lived they warred on beauty and peace With obstinate, crafty, sidelong bitterness. [OONA enters, but remains standing by the door. ALEEL half rises, leaning upon one arm and one knee.] Crouch down, old heron, out of the blind storm. OONA. Where is the Countess Cathleen? All this day She has been pale and weakly: when her hand Touched mine over the spindle her hand trembled, And now I do not know where she has gone. ALEEL. Cathleen has chosen other friends than us, And they are rising through the hollow world. [He points downwards. First, Orchil, her pale beautiful head alive, Her body shadowy as vapour drifting Under the dawn, for she who awoke desire Has but a heart of blood when others die; About her is a vapoury multitude Of women, alluring devils with soft laughter; Behind her a host heat of the blood made sin, But all the little pink-white nails have grown To be great talons. [He seizes OONA and drags her into the middle of the room and points downwards with vehement gestures. The wind roars.] They begin a song And there is still some music on their tongues. OONA. [Casting herself face downwards on the floor.] O maker of all, protect her from the demons, And if a soul must needs be lost, take mine. [ALEEL kneels beside her, but does not seem to hear her words; he is gazing down as if through the earth. The peasants return. They carry the COUNTESS CATHLEEN and lay her upon the ground before OONA and ALEEL. She lies there as if dead.] O that so many pitchers of rough clay Should prosper and the porcelain break in two! [She kisses the hands of the COUNTESS CATHLEEN. A PEASANT. We were under the tree where the path turns When she grew pale as death and fainted away, And while we bore her hither, cloudy gusts Blackened the world and shook us on our feet: Draw the great bolt, for no man has beheld So black, bitter, blinding, and sudden a storm. [One who is near the door draws the bolt. OONA. Hush, hush, she has awakened from her swoon. CATHLEEN. O hold me, and hold me tightly, for the storm Is dragging me away! [OONA takes her in her arms. A woman begins to wail. A PEASANT. Hush. ANOTHER PEASANT. Hush. A PEASANT WOMAN. Hush. ANOTHER PEASANT WOMAN. Hush. CATHLEEN [half rising]. Lay all the bags of money at my feet. [They lay the bags at her feet. And send and bring old Neal when I am dead, And bid him hear each man and judge and give: He doctors you with herbs, and can best say Who has the less and who the greater need. A PEASANT WOMAN. [At the back of the crowd.] And will he give enough out of the bags To keep my children till the dearth go by? ANOTHER PEASANT WOMAN. O Queen of Heaven and all you blessed Saints, Let us and ours be lost, so she be shriven. CATHLEEN. Bend down your faces, Oona and Aleel: I gaze upon them as the swallow gazes Upon the nest under the eave, before He wander the loud waters: do not weep Too great a while, for there is many a candle On the high altar though one fall. Aleel, Who sang about the people of the raths, That know not the hard burden of the world, Having but breath in their kind bodies, farewell! And farewell, Oona, who spun flax with me Soft as their sleep when every dance is done: The storm is in my hair and I must go. [She dies. OONA. Bring me the looking-glass. [A woman brings it to her out of the inner room. OONA holds the glass over the lips of the COUNTESS CATHLEEN. All is silent for a moment; and then she speaks in a half scream.] O, she is dead! A PEASANT WOMAN. She was the great white lily of the world. ANOTHER PEASANT WOMAN. She was more beautiful than the pale stars. AN OLD PEASANT WOMAN. The little plant I loved is broken in two. [ALEEL takes the looking-glass from OONA and flings it upon the floor so that it is broken in many pieces. ALEEL. I shatter you in fragments, for the face That brimmed you up with beauty is no more: And die, dull heart, for she whose mournful words Made you a living spirit has passed away And left you but a ball of passionate dust; And you, proud earth and plumy sea, fade out, But are left lonely amid the clamorous war Of angels upon devils. [He stands up; almost everyone is kneeling, but it has grown so dark that only confused forms can be seen.] And I who weep Call curses on you, Time and Fate and Change, And have no excellent hope but the great hour When you shall plunge headlong through bottomless space. [A flash of lightning followed immediately by thunder. A PEASANT WOMAN. Pull him upon his knees before his curses Have plucked thunder and lightning on our heads. ALEEL. Angels and devils clash in the middle air, And brazen swords clang upon brazen helms: [A flash of lightning followed immediately by thunder.] Yonder a bright spear, cast out of a sling, Has torn through Balor’s eye, and the dark clans Fly screaming as they fled Moytura of old. [Everything is lost in darkness. AN OLD MAN. The Almighty, wrath at our great weakness and sin, Has blotted out the world and we must die. [The darkness is broken by a visionary light. The peasants seem to be kneeling upon the rocky slope of a mountain, and vapour full of storm and ever-changing light is sweeping above them and behind them. Half in the light, half in the shadow, stand armed Angels. Their armour is old and worn, and their drawn swords dim and dinted. They stand as if upon the air in formation of battle and look downward with stern faces. The peasants cast themselves on the ground. ALEEL. Look no more on the half-closed gates of Hell, But speak to me, whose mind is smitten of God, That it may be no more with mortal things; And tell of her who lies here. [He seizes one of the Angels.] Till you speak You shall not drift into eternity. THE ANGEL. The light beats down: the gates of pearl are wide, And she is passing to the floor of peace, And Mary of the seven times wounded heart Has kissed her lips, and the long blessed hair Has fallen on her face; the Light of Lights Looks always on the motive, not the deed, The Shadow of Shadows on the deed alone. [ALEEL releases the Angel and kneels. OONA. Tell them who walk upon the floor of peace That I would die and go to her I love; The years like great black oxen tread the world, And God the herdsman goads them on behind, And I am broken by their passing feet. [A sound of far-off horns seems to come from the heart of the light. The vision melts away, and the forms of the kneeling peasants appear faintly in the darkness.] |
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