Chapter VIII (2)

FIRST MERCHANT. Five hundred thousand crowns; we give the price. The gold is here; the souls even while you speak Have slipped out of our bond, because your face Has shed a light on them and filled their hearts. But you must sign, for we omit no form In buying a soul like yours.

SECOND MERCHANT. 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 pen 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 pen on the ground_]. I have seen 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 parchment and
signs, 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 around her and kissing
her dress_. ALEEL _and the two_ MERCHANTS _are left alone_.

SECOND MERCHANT. We must away and wait until she dies, Sitting above her tower as two grey owls, Waiting 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 signed 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 Sualtem’s and old Dectera’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_.

Crouch down, old heron, out of the blind storm.

OONA. Where is the Countess Cathleen? All this day Her eyes were full of tears, and when for a moment Her hand was laid upon my hand it trembled, And now I do not know where she is gone.

ALEEL. Cathleen has chosen other friends than us, And they are rising through the hollow world. Demons are out, old heron.

OONA. God guard her soul.

ALEEL. She’s bartered it away this very hour,
As though we two were never in the world.

[_He points downward._

First, Orchill, 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 downward with vehement gestures. The wind roars._

They begin a song
And there is still some music on their tongues.

OONA [_casting herself face downward on the floor_]. O, Maker of
all, protect her from the demons,
And if a soul must need be lost, take mine.

[ALEEL _kneels beside her, but does not seem to hear her words.
The_ PEASANTS _return. They carry the_ COUNTESS CATHLEEN _and
lay her upon the ground before_ OONA _and_ ALEEL. _She lies
there as if dead._

OONA. O, that so many pitchers of rough clay
Should prosper and the porcelain break in two!

[_She kisses the hands of_ 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._

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_.

PEASANTS. Hush!

PEASANTS. Hush!

PEASANT WOMEN. Hush!

OTHER PEASANT WOMEN. Hush!

CATHLEEN [_half rising_]. Lay all the bags of money in a heap, And when I am gone, old Oona, share them out To every man and woman: judge, and give According to their needs.

A PEASANT WOMAN. And will she give
Enough to keep my children through the dearth?

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 She 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 dancers of the woods, That know not the hard burden of the world, Having but breath in their kind bodies, farewell! And farewell, Oona, you who played with me, And bore me in your arms about the house When I was but a child and therefore happy, Therefore happy, even like those that dance. 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 it
over the lips of_ CATHLEEN. _All is silent for a moment. And
then she speaks in a half scream_:

O, she is dead!

A PEASANT. She was the great white lily of the world.

A PEASANT. She was more beautiful than the pale stars.

AN OLD PEASANT WOMAN. The little plant I love is broken in two.

[ALEEL _takes 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! For you may hear no more her faltering feet, But are left lonely amid the clamorous war Of angels upon devils.

[_He stands up; almost every one 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 there.

[_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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NOTE

‘THE COUNTESS CATHLEEN’

I found the story of the Countess Cathleen in what professed to be a collection of Irish folk-lore in an Irish newspaper some years ago. I wrote to the compiler, asking about its source, but got no answer, but have since heard that it was translated from _Les Matinées de Timothée Trimm_ a good many years ago, and has been drifting about the Irish press ever since. Léo Lespès gives it as an Irish story, and though the editor of _Folklore_ has kindly advertised for information, the only Christian variant I know of is a Donegal tale, given by Mr. Larminie in his _West Irish Folk Tales and Romances_, of a woman who goes to hell for ten years to save her husband, and stays there another ten, having been granted permission to carry away as many souls as could cling to her skirt. Léo Lespès may have added a few details, but I have no doubt of the essential antiquity of what seems to me the most impressive form of one of the supreme parables of the world. The parable came to the Greeks in the sacrifice of Alcestis, but her sacrifice was less overwhelming, less apparently irremediable. Léo Lespès tells the story as follows:--

Ce que je vais vous dire est un récit du carême irlandais. Le boiteux, l’aveugle, le paralytique des rues de Dublin ou de Limerick, vous le diraient mieux que moi, cher lecteur, si vous alliez le leur demander, un sixpence d’argent à la main.--Il n’est pas une jeune fille catholique à laquelle on ne l’ait appris pendant les jours de préparation à la communion sainte, pas un berger des bords de la Blackwater qui ne le puisse redire à la veillée.

Il y a bien longtemps qu’il apparut tout-à-coup dans la vieille Irlande deux marchands inconnus dont personne n’avait ouï parler, et qui parlaient néanmoins avec la plus grande perfection la langue du pays. Leurs cheveux étaient noirs et ferrés avec de l’or et leurs robes d’une grande magnificence.

Tous deux semblaient avoir le même âge; ils paraissaient être des hommes de cinquante ans, car leur barbe grisonnait un peu.

Or, à cette époque, comme aujourd’hui, l’Irlande était pauvre, car le soleil avait été rare, et des récoltes presque nulles. Les indigents ne savaient à quel saint se vouer, et la misère devenait de plus en plus terrible.

Dans l’hôtellerie où descendirent les marchands fastueux on chercha à pénétrer leurs desseins: mais ce fut en vain, ils demeurèrent silencieux et discrets.

Et pendant qu’ils demeurêrent dans l’hôtellerie, ils ne cessèrent de compter et de recompter des sacs de pièces d’or, dont la vive clarté s’apercevait à travers les vitres du logis.

Gentlemen, leur dit l’hôtesse un jour, d’où vient que vous êtes si opulents, et que, venus pour secourir la misère publique, vous ne fassiez pas de bonnes œuvres?

--Belle hôtesse, répondit l’un d’eux, nous n’avons pas voulu aller au-devant d’infortunes honorables, dans la crainte d’être trompés par des misères fictives: que la douleur frappe à la porte, nous ouvrirons.

Le lendemain, quand on sut qu’il existait deux opulents étrangers prêts à prodiguer l’or, la foule assiégea leur logis; mais les figures des gens qui en sortaient étaient bien diverses. Les uns avaient la fierté dans le regard, les autres portaient la honte au front. Les deux trafiquants achetaient des âmes pour le démon. L’âme d’un vieillard valait vingt pièces d’or, pas un penny de plus; car Satan avait eu le temps d’y former hypothèque. L’âme d’une épouse en valait cinquante quand elle était jolie, ou cent quand elle était laide. L’âme d’une jeune fille se payait des prix fous: les fleurs les plus belles et les plus pures sont les plus chères.

Pendant ce temps, il existait dans la ville un ange de beauté, la comtesse Ketty O’Connor. Elle était l’idole du peuple, et la providence des indigents. Dès qu’elle eut appris que des mécréants profitaient de la misère publique pour dérober des cœurs à Dieu, elle fit appeler son majordome.

--Master Patrick, lui dit-elle, combien ai-je de pièces d’or dans mon coffre?

--Cent mille.

--Combien de bijoux?

--Pour autant d’argent.

--Combien de chateaux, de bois et de terres?

--Pour le double de ces sommes.

--Eh bien! Patrick, vendez tout ce qui n’est pas or et apportez-m’en le montant. Je ne veux garder à moi que ce castel et le champ qui l’entoure.

Deux jours après, les ordres de la pieuse Ketty étaient exécutés et le trésor était distribué aux pauvres au fur et à mesure de leurs besoins.

Ceci ne faisait pas le compte, dit la tradition, des commis-voyageurs du malin esprit, qui ne trouvaient plus d’âmes à acheter.

Aidés par un valet infâme, ils pénétrèrent dans la retraite de la noble dame et lui dérobèrent le reste de son trésor ... en vain lutta-t-elle de toutes ses forces pour sauver le contenu de son coffre, les larrons diaboliques furent les plus forts. Si Ketty avait eu les moyens de faire un signe de croix, ajoute la légende irlandaise, elle les eût mis en fuite, mais ses mains étaient captives--Le larcin fut effectué. Alors les pauvres sollicitèrent en vain près de Ketty dépouillée, elle ne pouvait plus secourir leur misère;--elle les abandonnait à la tentation. Pourtant il n’y avait plus que huit jours à passer pour que les grains et les fourrages arrivassent en abondance des pays d’Orient. Mais, huit jours, c’était un siècle: huit jours nécessitaient une somme immense pour subvenir aux exigences de la disette, et les pauvres allaient ou expirer dans les angoisses de la faim, ou, reniant les saints maximes de l’Evangile, vendre à vil prix leur âme, le plus beau présent de la munificence du Seigneur tout-puissant.

Et Ketty n’avait plus une obole, car elle avait abandonné son château aux malheureux.

Elle passa douze heures dans les larmes et le deuil, arrachant ses cheveux couleur de soleil et meurtrissant son sein couleur du lis: puis elle se leva résolue, animée par un vif sentiment de désespoir.

Elle se rendit chez les marchands d’âmes.

--Que voulez-vous? dirent-ils.

--Vous achetez des âmes?

--Oui, un peu malgré vous, n’est-ce pas, sainte aux yeux de saphir?

--Aujourd’hui je viens vous proposer un marché, reprit-elle.

--Lequel?

--J’ai une âme à vendre; mais elle est chère.

--Qu’importe si elle est précieuse? l’âme, comme le diamant, s’apprécie à sa blancheur.

--C’est la mienne, dit Ketty.

Les deux envoyés de Satan tressaillirent. Leurs griffes s’allongèrent sous leurs gants de cuir; leurs yeux gris étincelèrent:--l’âme, pure, immaculée, virginale de Ketty!... c’était une acquisition inappreciable.

--Gentille dame, combien voulez-vous?

--Cent cinquante mille écus d’or.

--C’est fait, dirent les marchands: et ils tendirent à Ketty un parchemin cacheté de noir, qu’elle signa en frissonnant.

La somme lui fut comptée.

Dès qu’elle fut rentrée, elle dit au majordome:

--Tenez, distribuez ceci. Avec la somme que je vous donne les pauvres attendront la huitaine nécessaire et pas une de leurs âmes ne sera livrée au démon.

Puis elle s’enferma et recommanda qu’on ne vint pas la déranger.

Trois jours se passèrent; elle n’appela pas; elle ne sortit pas.

Quand on ouvrit sa porte, on la trouva raide et froide: elle était morte de douleur.

Mais la vente de cette âme si adorable dans sa charité fut déclarée nulle par le Seigneur: car elle avait sauvé ses concitoyens de la mort éternelle.

Après la huitaine, des vaisseaux nombreux amenèrent à l’Irlande affamée d’immenses provisions de grains.

La famine n’était plus possible. Quant aux marchands, ils disparurent de leur hôtellerie, sans qu’on sût jamais ce qu’ils étaient devenus.

Toutefois, les pêcheurs de la Blackwater prétendent qu’ils sont enchaînés dans une prison souterraine par ordre de Lucifer jusqu’au moment où ils pourront livrer l’âme de Ketty qui leur a échappé. Je vous dis la légende telle que je la sais.

Mais les pauvres l’ont raconté d’âge en âge et les enfants de Cork et de Dublin chantent encore la ballade dont voici les derniers couplets:--

Pour sauver les pauvres qu’elle aime
Ketty donna
Son esprit, sa croyance même:
Satan paya
Cette âme au dévoûment sublime,
En écus d’or,
Disons pour racheter son crime,
_Confiteor_.

Mais l’ange qui se fit coupable
Par charité
Au séjour d’amour ineffable
Est remonté.
Satan vaincu n’eut pas de prise
Sur ce cœur d’or;
Chantons sous la nef de l’église,
_Confiteor_.

N’est-ce pas que ce récit, né de l’imagination des poètes catholiques de la verte Erin, est une véritable récit de carême?

_The Countess Cathleen_ was acted in Dublin in 1899, with Mr. Marcus St. John and Mr. Trevor Lowe as the First and Second Demon, Mr. Valentine Grace as Shemus Rua, Master Charles Sefton as Teig, Madame San Carola as Mary, Miss Florence Farr as Aleel, Miss Anna Mather as Oona, Mr. Charles Holmes as the Herdsman, Mr. Jack Wilcox as the Gardener, Mr. Walford as a Peasant, Miss Dorothy Paget as a Spirit, Miss M. Kelly as a Peasant Woman, Mr. T. E. Wilkinson as a Servant, and Miss May Whitty as the Countess Kathleen. They had to face a very vehement opposition stirred up by a politician and a newspaper, the one accusing me in a pamphlet, the other in long articles day after day, of blasphemy because of the language of the demons or of Shemus Rua, and because I made a woman sell her soul and yet escape damnation, and of a lack of patriotism because I made Irish men and women, who, it seems, never did such a thing, sell theirs. The politician or the newspaper persuaded some forty Catholic students to sign a protest against the play, and a Cardinal, who avowed that he had not read it, to make another, and both politician and newspaper made such obvious appeals to the audience to break the peace, that a score or so of police were sent to the theatre to see that they did not. I had, however, no reason to regret the result, for the stalls, containing almost all that was distinguished in Dublin, and a gallery of artisans alike insisted on the freedom of literature.

After the performance in 1899 I added the love scene between Aleel and the Countess, and in this new form the play was revived in New York by Miss Wycherley as well as being played a good deal in England and America by amateurs. Now at last I have made a complete revision to make it suitable for performance at the Abbey Theatre. The first two scenes are almost wholly new, and throughout the play I have added or left out such passages as a stage experience of some years showed me encumbered the action; the play in its first form having been written before I knew anything of the theatre. I have left the old end, however, in the version printed in the body of this book, because the change for dramatic purposes has been made for no better reason than that audiences--even at the Abbey Theatre--are almost ignorant of Irish mythology--or because a shallow stage made the elaborate vision of armed angels upon a mountain-side impossible. The new end is particularly suited to the Abbey stage, where the stage platform can be brought out in front of the proscenium and have a flight of steps at one side up which the Angel comes, crossing towards the back of the stage at the opposite side. The principal lighting is from two arc lights in the balcony which throw their lights into the faces of the players, making footlights unnecessary. The room at Shemus Rua’s house is suggested by a great grey curtain--a colour which becomes full of rich tints under the stream of light from the arcs. The two or more arches in the third scene permit the use of a gauze. The short front scene before the last is just long enough when played with incidental music to allow the scene set behind it to be changed. The play when played without interval in this way lasts a little over an hour.

The play was performed at the Abbey Theatre for the first time on December 14, 1911, Miss Maire O’Neill taking the part of the Countess, and the last scene from the going out of the Merchants was as follows:--

[MERCHANTS _rush out_. ALEEL _crawls into the middle of the room;
the twilight has fallen and gradually darkens as the scene goes
on_.

ALEEL. They’re rising up--they’re rising through the earth, Fat Asmodel and giddy Belial, And all the fiends. Now they leap in the air. But why does Hell’s gate creak so? Round and round. Hither and hither, to and fro they’re running.

[_He moves about as though the air was full of spirits._ OONA
_enters_.

Crouch down, old heron, out of the blind storm.

OONA. Where is the Countess Cathleen? All this day Her eyes were full of tears, and when for a moment Her hand was laid upon my hand, it trembled. And now I do not know where she is gone.

ALEEL. Cathleen has chosen other friends than us, And they are rising through the hollow world. Demons are out, old heron.

OONA. God guard her soul.

ALEEL. She’s bartered it away this very hour,
As though we two were never in the world.

[_He kneels beside her, but does not seem to hear her words. The_
PEASANTS _return. They carry the_ COUNTESS CATHLEEN _and lay
her upon the ground before_ OONA _and_ ALEEL. _She lies there
as if dead._

OONA. O, that so many pitchers of rough clay
Should prosper and the porcelain break in two!

[_She kisses the hands of_ CATHLEEN.

A PEASANT. We were under the tree where the path turns
When she grew pale as death and fainted away.

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_.

PEASANTS. Hush!

PEASANTS. Hush!

PEASANT WOMEN. Hush!

OTHER PEASANT WOMEN. Hush!

CATHLEEN [_half rising_]. Lay all the bags of money in a heap, And when I am gone, old Oona, share them out To every man and woman: judge, and give According to their needs.

A PEASANT WOMAN. And will she give
Enough to keep my children through the dearth?

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 She 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 dancers of the woods, That know not the hard burden of the world, Having but breath in their kind bodies, farewell! And farewell, Oona, you who played with me And bore me in your arms about the house When I was but a child--and therefore happy, Therefore happy even like those that dance. 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 inner room_. OONA _holds the
glass over the lips of_ CATHLEEN. _All is silent for a moment,
then she speaks in a half-scream._

O, she is dead!

A PEASANT. She was the great white lily of the world.

A PEASANT. She was more beautiful than the pale stars.

AN OLD PEASANT WOMAN. The little plant I loved is broken in two.

[ALEEL _takes looking-glass from_ OONA _and flings it upon 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 you that were a mirror Are but a ball of passionate dust again! And level earth and plumy sea, rise up! And haughty sky, fall down!

A PEASANT WOMAN. Pull him upon his knees,
His curses will pluck lightning on our heads.

ALEEL. Angels and devils clash in the middle air, And brazen swords clang upon brazen helms. Look, look, a spear has gone through Belial’s eye!

[_A winged_ ANGEL, _carrying a torch and a sword, enters from
the_ R. _with eyes fixed upon some distant thing. The_ ANGEL
_is about to pass out to the_ L. _when_ ALEEL _speaks. The_
ANGEL _stops a moment and turns_.

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 there.

[_The_ ANGEL _turns again and is about to go, but is seized by_
ALEEL.

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 to 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.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

THE LAND OF HEART’S DESIRE

------------------------------------------------------------------------

_O Rose, thou art sick._

WILLIAM BLAKE.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

TO

FLORENCE FARR

------------------------------------------------------------------------

_PERSONS OF THE PLAY_

MAURTEEN BRUIN.
BRIDGET BRUIN.
SHAWN BRUIN.
MARY BRUIN.
FATHER HART.
A FAERY CHILD.

_The Scene is laid in the Barony of Kilmacowen, in the County of Sligo,
and at a remote time._

------------------------------------------------------------------------