Chapter I: Appendix: IV (1)

DATES AND PLACES OF THE FIRST PERFORMANCE
OF NEW PLAYS PRODUCED BY THE NATIONAL
THEATRE SOCIETY AND ITS PREDECESSORS 244

THE HOUR-GLASS:

A MORALITY

_PERSONS IN THE PLAY_

A WISE MAN
A FOOL
SOME PUPILS
AN ANGEL
THE WISE MAN’S WIFE AND TWO CHILDREN

THE HOUR-GLASS:

A MORALITY

_A large room with a door at the back and another at
the side, or else a curtained place where persons can
enter by parting the curtains. A desk and a chair at
one side. An hour-glass on a bracket or stand near the
door. A creepy stool near it. Some benches. A WISE MAN
sitting at his desk._

WISE MAN.

[_Turning over the pages of a book._]

WHERE is that passage I am to explain to my pupils to-day? Here it is, and the book says that it was written by a beggar on the walls of Babylon: ‘There are two living countries, the one visible and the one invisible; and when it is winter with us it is summer in that country, and when the November winds are up among us it is lambing-time there.’ I wish that my pupils had asked me to explain any other passage. [_The FOOL comes in and stands at the door holding out his hat. He has a pair of shears in the other hand._] It sounds to me like foolishness; and yet that cannot be, for the writer of this book, where I have found so much knowledge, would not have set it by itself on this page, and surrounded it with so many images and so many deep colours and so much fine gilding, if it had been foolishness.

FOOL.

Give me a penny.

WISE MAN [_turns to another page_].

Here he has written: ‘The learned in old times forgot the visible country.’ That I understand, but I have taught my learners better.

FOOL.

Won’t you give me a penny?

WISE MAN.

What do you want? The words of the wise Saracen will not teach you much.

FOOL.

Such a great wise teacher as you are will not refuse a penny to a fool.

WISE MAN.

What do you know about wisdom?

FOOL.

Oh, I know! I know what I have seen.

WISE MAN.

What is it you have seen?

FOOL.

When I went by Kilcluan where the bells used to be ringing at the break of every day, I could hear nothing but the people snoring in their houses. When I went by Tubbervanach, where the young men used to be climbing the hill to the blessed well, they were sitting at the crossroads playing cards. When I went by Carrigoras, where the friars used to be fasting and serving the poor, I saw them drinking wine and obeying their wives. And when I asked what misfortune had brought all these changes, they said it was no misfortune, but it was the wisdom they had learned from your teaching.

WISE MAN.

Run round to the kitchen, and my wife will give you something to eat.

FOOL.

That is foolish advice for a wise man to give.

WISE MAN.

Why, Fool?

FOOL.

What is eaten is gone. I want pennies for my bag. I must buy bacon in the shops, and nuts in the market, and strong drink for the time when the sun is weak. And I want snares to catch the rabbits and the squirrels and the hares, and a pot to cook them in.

WISE MAN.

Go away. I have other things to think of now than giving you pennies.

FOOL.

Give me a penny and I will bring you luck. Bresal the Fisherman lets me sleep among the nets in his loft in the winter-time because he says I bring him luck; and in the summer-time the wild creatures let me sleep near their nests and their holes. It is lucky even to look at me or to touch me, but it is much more lucky to give me a penny. [_Holds out his hand._] If I wasn’t lucky, I’d starve.

WISE MAN.

What have you got the shears for?

FOOL.

I won’t tell you. If I told you, you would drive them away.

WISE MAN.

Whom would I drive away?

FOOL.

I won’t tell you.

WISE MAN.

Not if I give you a penny?

FOOL.

No.

WISE MAN.

Not if I give you two pennies?

FOOL.

You will be very lucky if you give me two pennies, but I won’t tell you!

WISE MAN.

Three pennies?

FOOL.

Four, and I will tell you!

WISE MAN.

Very well, four. But I will not call you Teig the Fool any longer.

FOOL.

Let me come close to you where nobody will hear me. But first you must promise you will not drive them away. [_WISE MAN nods._] Every day men go out dressed in black and spread great black nets over the hills, great black nets.

WISE MAN.

Why do they do that?

FOOL.

That they may catch the feet of the angels. But every morning, just before the dawn, I go out and cut the nets with my shears, and the angels fly away.

WISE MAN.

Ah, now I know that you are Teig the Fool. You have told me that I am wise, and I have never seen an angel.

FOOL.

I have seen plenty of angels.

WISE MAN.

Do you bring luck to the angels too?

FOOL.

Oh, no, no! No one could do that. But they are always there if one looks about one; they are like the blades of grass.

WISE MAN.

When do you see them?

FOOL.

When one gets quiet, then something wakes up inside one, something happy and quiet like the stars—not like the seven that move, but like the fixed stars. [_He points upward._

WISE MAN.

And what happens then?

FOOL.

Then all in a minute one smells summer flowers, and tall people go by, happy and laughing, and their clothes are the colour of burning sods.

WISE MAN.

Is it long since you have seen them, Teig the Fool?

FOOL.

Not long, glory be to God! I saw one coming behind me just now. It was not laughing, but it had clothes the colour of burning sods, and there was something shining about its head.

WISE MAN.

Well, there are your four pennies. You, a fool, say ‘Glory be to God,’ but before I came the wise men said it.

FOOL.

Four pennies! That means a great deal of luck. Great teacher, I have brought you plenty of luck! [_He goes out shaking the bag._

WISE MAN.

Though they call him Teig the Fool, he is not more foolish than everybody used to be, with their dreams and their preachings and their three worlds; but I have overthrown their three worlds with the seven sciences. With Philosophy that was made from the lonely star, I have taught them to forget Theology; with Architecture, I have hidden the ramparts of their cloudy heaven; with Music, the fierce planets’ daughter whose hair is always on fire, and with Grammar that is the moon’s daughter, I have shut their ears to the imaginary harpings and speech of the angels; and I have made formations of battle with Arithmetic that have put the hosts of heaven to the rout. But, Rhetoric and Dialectic, that have been born out of the light star and out of the amorous star, you have been my spearman and my catapult! Oh! my swift horsemen! Oh! my keen darting arguments, it is because of you that I have overthrown the hosts of foolishness! [_An ANGEL, in a dress the colour of embers, and carrying a blossoming apple-bough in her hand and a gilded halo about her head, stands upon the threshold._] Before I came, men’s minds were stuffed with folly about a heaven where birds sang the hours, and about angels that came and stood upon men’s thresholds. But I have locked the visions into heaven and turned the key upon them. Well, I must consider this passage about the two countries. My mother used to say something of the kind. She would say that when our bodies sleep our souls awake, and that whatever withers here ripens yonder, and that harvests are snatched from us that they may feed invisible people. But the meaning of the book may be different, for only fools and women have thoughts like that; their thoughts were never written upon the walls of Babylon. I must ring the bell for my pupils. [_He sees the ANGEL._] What are you? Who are you? I think I saw some that were like you in my dreams when I was a child—that bright thing, that dress that is the colour of embers! But I have done with dreams, I have done with dreams.

ANGEL.

I am the Angel of the Most High God.

WISE MAN.

Why have you come to me?

ANGEL.

I have brought you a message.

WISE MAN.

What message have you got for me?

ANGEL.

You will die within the hour. You will die when the last grains have fallen in this glass.

[_She turns the hour-glass._

WISE MAN.

My time to die has not come. I have my pupils. I have a young wife and children that I cannot leave. Why must I die?

ANGEL.

You must die because no souls have passed over the threshold of Heaven since you came into this country. The threshold is grassy, and the gates are rusty, and the angels that keep watch there are lonely.

WISE MAN.

Where will death bring me to?

ANGEL.

The doors of Heaven will not open to you, for you have denied the existence of Heaven; and the doors of Purgatory will not open to you, for you have denied the existence of Purgatory.

WISE MAN.

But I have also denied the existence of Hell!

ANGEL.

Hell is the place of those who deny.

WISE MAN [_kneels_].

I have, indeed, denied everything, and have taught others to deny. I have believed in nothing but what my senses told me. But, oh! beautiful Angel, forgive me, forgive me!

ANGEL.

You should have asked forgiveness long ago.

WISE MAN.

Had I seen your face as I see it now, oh! beautiful angel, I would have believed, I would have asked forgiveness. Maybe you do not know how easy it is to doubt. Storm, death, the grass rotting, many sicknesses, those are the messengers that came to me. Oh! why are you silent? You carry the pardon of the Most High; give it to me! I would kiss your hands if I were not afraid—no, no, the hem of your dress!

ANGEL.

You let go undying hands too long ago to take hold of them now.

WISE MAN.

You cannot understand. You live in a country that we can only dream about. Maybe it is as hard for you to understand why we disbelieve as it is for us to believe. Oh! what have I said! You know everything! Give me time to undo what I have done. Give me a year—a month—a day—an hour! Give me to this hour’s end, that I may undo what I have done!

ANGEL.

You cannot undo what you have done. Yet I have this power with my message. If you can find one that believes before the hour’s end, you shall come to Heaven after the years of Purgatory. For, from one fiery seed, watched over by those that sent me, the harvest can come again to heap the golden threshing-floor. But now farewell, for I am weary of the weight of time.

WISE MAN.

Blessed be the Father, blessed be the Son, blessed be the Spirit, blessed be the Messenger They have sent!

ANGEL.

[_At the door and pointing at the hour-glass._]

In a little while the uppermost glass will be empty. [_Goes out._

WISE MAN.

Everything will be well with me. I will call my pupils; they only say they doubt. [_Pulls the bell._] They will be here in a moment. They want to please me; they pretend that they disbelieve. Belief is too old to be overcome all in a minute. Besides, I can prove what I once disproved. [_Another pull at the bell._] They are coming now. I will go to my desk. I will speak quietly, as if nothing had happened.

[_He stands at the desk with a fixed look in his eyes.
The voices of THE PUPILS are heard singing these words_:

I was going the road one day—
O the brown and the yellow beer—
And I met with a man that was no right man:
O my dear, O my dear!

_Enter PUPILS and the FOOL._

FOOL.

Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Who is that pulling at my bag? King’s son, do not pull at my bag.

A YOUNG MAN.

Did your friends the angels give you that bag? Why don’t they fill your bag for you?

FOOL.

Give me pennies! Give me some pennies!

A YOUNG MAN.

What do you want pennies for? that great bag at your waist is heavy.

FOOL.

I want to buy bacon in the shops, and nuts in the market, and strong drink for the time when the sun is weak, and snares to catch rabbits and the squirrels that steal the nuts, and hares, and a great pot to cook them in.

A YOUNG MAN.

Why don’t your friends tell you where buried treasures are? Why don’t they make you dream about treasures? If one dreams three times there is always treasure.

FOOL [_holding out his hat_].

Give me pennies! Give me pennies!

[_They throw pennies into his hat. He is standing close
to the door, that he may hold out his hat to each
newcomer._

A YOUNG MAN.

Master, will you have Teig the Fool for a scholar?

ANOTHER YOUNG MAN.

Teig, will you give us your pennies if we teach you lessons? No, he goes to school for nothing on the mountains. Tell us what you learn on the mountains, Teig?

WISE MAN.

Be silent all! [_He has been standing silent, looking away._] Stand still in your places, for there is something I would have you tell me.

[_A moment’s pause. They all stand round in their
places. TEIG still stands at the door._

WISE MAN.

Is there any one amongst you who believes in God? In Heaven? Or in Purgatory? Or in Hell?

ALL THE YOUNG MEN.

No one, Master! No one!

WISE MAN.

I knew you would all say that; but do not be afraid. I will not be angry. Tell me the truth. Do you not believe?

A YOUNG MAN.

We once did, but you have taught us to know better.

WISE MAN.

Oh! teaching, teaching does not go very deep! The heart remains unchanged under it all. You have the faith that you always had, and you are afraid to tell me.

A YOUNG MAN.

No, no, Master!

WISE MAN.

If you tell me that you have not changed I shall be glad and not angry.

A YOUNG MAN [_to his _Neighbour_].

He wants somebody to dispute with.

HIS NEIGHBOUR.

I knew that from the beginning.

A YOUNG MAN.

That is not the subject for to-day; you were going to talk about the words the beggar wrote upon the walls of Babylon.

WISE MAN.

If there is one amongst you that believes, he will be my best friend. Surely there is one amongst you. [_They are all silent._] Surely what you learned at your mother’s knees has not been so soon forgotten.

A YOUNG MAN.

Master, till you came, no teacher in this land was able to get rid of foolishness and ignorance. But every one has listened to you, every one has learned the truth. You have had your last disputation.

ANOTHER.

What a fool you made of that monk in the market-place! He had not a word to say.

WISE MAN.

[_Comes from his desk and stands among them in the
middle of the room._]

Pupils, dear friends, I have deceived you all this time. It was I myself who was ignorant. There is a God. There is a Heaven. There is fire that passes, and there is fire that lasts for ever.

[_TEIG, through all this, is sitting on a stool by the
door, reckoning on his fingers what he will buy with
his money._

A YOUNG MAN [_to _Another_].

He will not be satisfied till we dispute with him. [_To the WISE MAN._] Prove it, Master. Have you seen them?

WISE MAN [_in a low, solemn voice_].

Just now, before you came in, someone came to the door, and when I looked up I saw an angel standing there.

A YOUNG MAN.

You were in a dream. Anybody can see an angel in his dreams.

WISE MAN.

Oh, my God! It was not a dream! I was awake, waking as I am now. I tell you I was awake as I am now.

A YOUNG MAN.

Some dream when they are awake, but they are the crazy, and who would believe what they say? Forgive me, Master, but that is what you taught me to say. That is what you said to the monk when he spoke of the visions of the saints and the martyrs.

ANOTHER YOUNG MAN.

You see how well we remember your teaching.

WISE MAN.

Out, out from my sight! I want someone with belief. I must find that grain the Angel spoke of before I die. I tell you I must find it, and you answer me with arguments. Out with you, out of my sight!

[_The _Young Men_ laugh._

A YOUNG MAN.

How well he plays at faith! He is like the monk when he had nothing more to say.

WISE MAN.

Out, out! This is no time for laughter! Out with you, though you are a king’s son!

[_They begin to hurry out._

A YOUNG MAN.

Come, come; he wants us to find someone who will dispute with him. [_All go out._

WISE MAN.

[_Alone; he goes to the door at the side._]

I will call my wife. She will believe; women always believe. [_He opens the door and calls._] Bridget! Bridget! [_BRIDGET comes in wearing her apron, her sleeves turned up from her floury arms._] Bridget, tell me the truth; do not say what you think will please me. Do you sometimes say your prayers?

BRIDGET.

Prayers! No, you taught me to leave them off long ago. At first I was sorry, but I am glad now for I am sleepy in the evenings.

WISE MAN.

But do you not believe in God?

BRIDGET.

Oh, a good wife only believes what her husband tells her!

WISE MAN.

But sometimes when you are alone, when I am in the school and the children asleep, do you not think about the saints, about the things you used to believe in? What do you think of when you are alone?

BRIDGET [_considering_].

I think about nothing. Sometimes I wonder if the linen is bleaching white, or I go out to see if the crows are picking up the chickens’ food.

WISE MAN.

Oh, what can I do! Is there nobody who believes he can never die? I must go and find somebody! [_He goes towards the door, but stops with his eyes fixed on the hour-glass._] I cannot go out; I cannot leave that. Go, and call my pupils again. I will make them understand. I will say to them that only amid spiritual terror, or only when all that laid hold on life is shaken can we see truth. There is something in Plato, but—no, do not call them. They would answer as I have bid.

BRIDGET.

You want somebody to get up an argument with.

WISE MAN.

Oh, look out of the door and tell me if there is anybody there in the street. I cannot leave this glass; somebody might shake it! Then the sand would fall more quickly.

BRIDGET.

I don’t understand what you are saying. [_Looks out._] There is a great crowd of people talking to your pupils.

WISE MAN.

Oh, run out, Bridget, and see if they have found somebody that all the time I was teaching understood nothing or did not listen!

BRIDGET.

[_Wiping her arms in her apron and pulling down her
sleeves._]

It’s a hard thing to be married to a man of learning that must be always having arguments. [_Goes out and shouts through the kitchen door._] Don’t be meddling with the bread, children, while I’m out.

WISE MAN [_kneels down_].

‘_Confiteor Deo Omnipotenti beatæ Mariæ ..._’ I have forgotten it all. It is thirty years since I have said a prayer. I must pray in the common tongue, like a clown begging in the market, like Teig the Fool! [_He prays._] Help me, Father, Son, and Spirit!

[_BRIDGET enters, followed by the FOOL, who is holding
out his hat to her._

FOOL.

Give me something; give me a penny to buy bacon in the shops, and nuts in the market, and strong drink for the time when the sun grows weak.

BRIDGET.

I have no pennies. [_To the WISE MAN._] Your pupils cannot find anybody to argue with you. There is nobody in the whole country who has enough belief to fill a pipe with since you put down the monk. Can’t you be quiet now and not always wanting to have arguments? It must be terrible to have a mind like that.

WISE MAN.

I am lost! I am lost!

BRIDGET.

Leave me alone now; I have to make the bread for you and the children.

WISE MAN.

Out of this, woman, out of this, I say! [_BRIDGET goes through the kitchen door._] Will nobody find a way to help me! But she spoke of my children. I had forgotten them. They will believe. It is only those who have reason that doubt; the young are full of faith. Bridget, Bridget, send my children to me.

BRIDGET [_inside_].

Your father wants you; run to him now.

[_The two CHILDREN come in. They stand together a
little way from the threshold of the kitchen door,
looking timidly at their father._

WISE MAN.

Children, what do you believe? Is there a Heaven? Is there a Hell? Is there a Purgatory?

FIRST CHILD.

We haven’t forgotten, father.

THE OTHER CHILD.

O no, father. [_They both speak together as if in school._] There is nothing we cannot see; there is nothing we cannot touch.

FIRST CHILD.

Foolish people used to think that there was, but you are very learned and you have taught us better.

WISE MAN.

You are just as bad as the others, just as bad as the others! Do not run away, come back to me! [_The CHILDREN begin to cry and run away._] Why are you afraid? I will teach you better—no, I will never teach you again. Go to your mother! no, she will not be able to teach them.... Help them, O God!... The grains are going very quickly. There is very little sand in the uppermost glass. Somebody will come for me in a moment; perhaps he is at the door now! All creatures that have reason doubt. O that the grass and the plants could speak! Somebody has said that they would wither if they doubted. O speak to me, O grass blades! O fingers of God’s certainty, speak to me! You are millions and you will not speak. I dare not know the moment the messenger will come for me. I will cover the glass. [_He covers it and brings it to the desk. Sees the FOOL, who is sitting by the door playing with some flowers which he has stuck in his hat. He has begun to blow a dandelion-head._] What are you doing?

FOOL.

Wait a moment. [_He blows._] Four, five, six.

WISE MAN.

What are you doing that for?

FOOL.

I am blowing at the dandelion to find out what time it is.

WISE MAN.

You have heard everything! That is why you want to find out what hour it is! You are waiting to see them coming through the door to carry me away. [_FOOL goes on blowing._] Out through the door with you! I will have no one here when they come. [_He seizes the FOOL by the shoulders, and begins to force him out through the door, then suddenly changes his mind._] No, I have something to ask you. [_He drags him back into the room._] Is there a Heaven? Is there a Hell? Is there a Purgatory?

FOOL.

So you ask me now. When you were asking your pupils, I said to myself, if he would ask Teig the Fool, Teig could tell him all about it, for Teig has learned all about it when he has been cutting the nets.

WISE MAN.

Tell me; tell me!

FOOL.

I said, Teig knows everything. Not even the cats or the hares that milk the cows have Teig’s wisdom. But Teig will not speak; he says nothing.

WISE MAN.

Tell me, tell me! For under the cover the grains are falling, and when they are all fallen I shall die; and my soul will be lost if I have not found somebody that believes! Speak, speak!

FOOL [_looking wise_].

No, no, I won’t tell you what is in my mind, and I won’t tell you what is in my bag. You might steal away my thoughts. I met a bodach on the road yesterday, and he said, ‘Teig, tell me how many pennies are in your bag; I will wager three pennies that there are not twenty pennies in your bag; let me put in my hand and count them.’ But I pulled the strings tighter, like this; and when I go to sleep every night I hide the bag where no one knows.

WISE MAN.

[_Goes towards the hour-glass as if to uncover it._]

No, no, I have not the courage. [_He kneels._] Have pity upon me, Fool, and tell me!

FOOL.

Ah! Now, that is different. I am not afraid of you now. But I must come nearer to you; somebody in there might hear what the Angel said.

WISE MAN.

Oh, what did the Angel tell you?

FOOL.

Once I was alone on the hills, and an angel came by and he said, ‘Teig the Fool, do not forget the Three Fires; the Fire that punishes, the Fire that purifies, and the Fire wherein the soul rejoices for ever!’

WISE MAN.

He believes! I am saved! The sand has run out.... [_FOOL helps him to his chair._] I am going from the country of the seven wandering stars, and I am going to the country of the fixed stars! I understand it all now. One sinks in on God; we do not see the truth; God sees the truth in us. Ring the bell. They are coming. Tell them, Fool, that when the life and the mind are broken the truth comes through them like peas through a broken peascod. Pray, Fool, that they may be given a sign and carry their souls alive out of the dying world. Your prayers are better than mine.

[_FOOL bows his head. WISE MAN’S head sinks on his arm
on the books. PUPILS are heard singing as before, but
now they come right on to the stage before they cease
their song._

A YOUNG MAN.

Look at the Fool turned bell-ringer!

ANOTHER.

What have you called us in for, Teig? What are you going to tell us?

ANOTHER.

No wonder he has had dreams! See, he is fast asleep now. [_Goes over and touches him._] Oh, he is dead!

FOOL.

Do not stir! He asked for a sign that you might be saved. [_All are silent for a moment._] ... Look what has come from his mouth ... a little winged thing ... a little shining thing.... It is gone to the door. [_The ANGEL appears in the doorway, stretches out her hands and closes them again._] The Angel has taken it in her hands.... She will open her hands in the Garden of Paradise. [_They all kneel._

CATHLEEN NI HOULIHAN

_PERSONS IN THE PLAY_

PETER GILLANE
MICHAEL GILLANE, _his Son, going to be married_
PATRICK GILLANE, _a lad of twelve, Michael’s Brother_
BRIDGET GILLANE, _Peter’s Wife_
DELIA CAHEL, _engaged to Michael_
THE POOR OLD WOMAN
Neighbours

CATHLEEN NI HOULIHAN

_Interior of a cottage close to Killala, in 1798.
BRIDGET is standing at a table undoing a parcel. PETER
is sitting at one side of the fire, PATRICK at the
other._

PETER.

What is that sound I hear?

PATRICK.

I don’t hear anything. [_He listens._] I hear it now. It’s like cheering. [_He goes to the window and looks out._] I wonder what they are cheering about. I don’t see anybody.

PETER.

It might be a hurling.

PATRICK.

There’s no hurling to-day. It must be down in the town the cheering is.

BRIDGET.

I suppose the boys must be having some sport of their own. Come over here, Peter, and look at Michael’s wedding-clothes.

PETER [_shifts his chair to table_].

Those are grand clothes, indeed.

BRIDGET.

You hadn’t clothes like that when you married me, and no coat to put on of a Sunday more than any other day.

PETER.

That is true, indeed. We never thought a son of our own would be wearing a suit of that sort for his wedding, or have so good a place to bring a wife to.

PATRICK [_who is still at the window_].

There’s an old woman coming down the road. I don’t know is it here she is coming?

BRIDGET.

It will be a neighbour coming to hear about Michael’s wedding. Can you see who it is?

PATRICK.

I think it is a stranger, but she’s not coming to the house. She’s turned into the gap that goes down where Murteen and his sons are shearing sheep. [_He turns towards BRIDGET._] Do you remember what Winny of the Cross Roads was saying the other night about the strange woman that goes through the country whatever time there’s war or trouble coming?

BRIDGET.

Don’t be bothering us about Winny’s talk, but go and open the door for your brother. I hear him coming up the path.

PETER.

I hope he has brought Delia’s fortune with him safe, for fear her people might go back on the bargain and I after making it. Trouble enough I had making it.

[_PATRICK opens the door and MICHAEL comes in._

BRIDGET.

What kept you, Michael? We were looking out for you this long time.

MICHAEL.

I went round by the priest’s house to bid him be ready to marry us to-morrow.

BRIDGET.

Did he say anything?

MICHAEL.

He said it was a very nice match, and that he was never better pleased to marry any two in his parish than myself and Delia Cahel.

PETER.

Have you got the fortune, Michael?

MICHAEL.

Here it is.

[_MICHAEL puts bag on table and goes over and leans
against chimney-jamb. BRIDGET, who has been all this
time examining the clothes, pulling the seams and
trying the lining of the pockets, etc., puts the
clothes on the dresser._

PETER.

[_Getting up and taking the bag in his hand and turning
out the money._]

Yes, I made the bargain well for you, Michael. Old John Cahel would sooner have kept a share of this a while longer. ‘Let me keep the half of it until the first boy is born,’ says he. ‘You will not,’ says I. ‘Whether there is or is not a boy, the whole hundred pounds must be in Michael’s hands before he brings your daughter to the house.’ The wife spoke to him then, and he gave in at the end.

BRIDGET.

You seem well pleased to be handling the money, Peter.

PETER.

Indeed, I wish I had had the luck to get a hundred pounds, or twenty pounds itself, with the wife I married.

BRIDGET.

Well, if I didn’t bring much I didn’t get much. What had you the day I married you but a flock of hens and you feeding them, and a few lambs and you driving them to the market at Ballina. [_She is vexed and bangs a jug on the dresser._] If I brought no fortune I worked it out in my bones, laying down the baby, Michael that is standing there now, on a stook of straw, while I dug the potatoes, and never asking big dresses or anything but to be working.

PETER.

That is true, indeed. [_He pats her arm._

BRIDGET.

Leave me alone now till I ready the house for the woman that is to come into it.

PETER.

You are the best woman in Ireland, but money is good, too. [_He begins handling the money again and sits down._] I never thought to see so much money within my four walls. We can do great things now we have it. We can take the ten acres of land we have a chance of since Jamsie Dempsey died, and stock it. We will go to the fair of Ballina to buy the stock. Did Delia ask any of the money for her own use, Michael?

MICHAEL.

She did not, indeed. She did not seem to take much notice of it, or to look at it at all.

BRIDGET.

That’s no wonder. Why would she look at it when she had yourself to look at, a fine, strong young man? it is proud she must be to get you; a good steady boy that will make use of the money, and not be running through it or spending it on drink like another.

PETER.

It’s likely Michael himself was not thinking much of the fortune either, but of what sort the girl was to look at.

MICHAEL [_coming over towards the table_].

Well, you would like a nice comely girl to be beside you, and to go walking with you. The fortune only lasts for a while, but the woman will be there always.

PATRICK [_turning round from the window_].

They are cheering again down in the town. Maybe they are landing horses from Enniscrone. They do be cheering when the horses take the water well.

MICHAEL.

There are no horses in it. Where would they be going and no fair at hand? Go down to the town, Patrick, and see what is going on.

PATRICK.

[_Opens the door to go out, but stops for a moment on
the threshold._]

Will Delia remember, do you think, to bring the greyhound pup she promised me when she would be coming to the house?

MICHAEL.

She will surely.

[_PATRICK goes out, leaving the door open._

PETER.

It will be Patrick’s turn next to be looking for a fortune, but he won’t find it so easy to get it and he with no place of his own.

BRIDGET.

I do be thinking sometimes, now things are going so well with us, and the Cahels such a good back to us in the district, and Delia’s own uncle a priest, we might be put in the way of making Patrick a priest some day, and he so good at his books.

PETER.

Time enough, time enough, you have always your head full of plans, Bridget.

BRIDGET.

We will be well able to give him learning, and not to send him tramping the country like a poor scholar that lives on charity.

MICHAEL.

They’re not done cheering yet.

[_He goes over to the door and stands there for a
moment, putting up his hand to shade his eyes._

BRIDGET.

Do you see anything?

MICHAEL.

I see an old woman coming up the path.

BRIDGET.

Who is it, I wonder? It must be the strange woman Patrick saw a while ago.

MICHAEL.

I don’t think it’s one of the neighbours anyway, but she has her cloak over her face.

BRIDGET.

It might be some poor woman heard we were making ready for the wedding and came to look for her share.

PETER.

I may as well put the money out of sight. There is no use leaving it out for every stranger to look at.

[_He goes over to a large box in the corner, opens it
and puts the bag in and fumbles at the lock._

MICHAEL.

There she is, father! [_An _Old Woman_ passes the window slowly, she looks at MICHAEL as she passes._] I’d sooner a stranger not to come to the house the night before my wedding.

BRIDGET.

Open the door, Michael; don’t keep the poor woman waiting.

[_The OLD WOMAN comes in. MICHAEL stands aside to make
way for her._

OLD WOMAN.

God save all here!

PETER.

God save you kindly!

OLD WOMAN.

You have good shelter here.

PETER.

You are welcome to whatever shelter we have.

BRIDGET.

Sit down there by the fire and welcome.

OLD WOMAN [_warming her hands_].

There is a hard wind outside.

[_MICHAEL watches her curiously from the door. PETER
comes over to the table._

PETER.

Have you travelled far to-day?

OLD WOMAN.

I have travelled far, very far; there are few have travelled so far as myself, and there’s many a one that doesn’t make me welcome. There was one that had strong sons I thought were friends of mine, but they were shearing their sheep, and they wouldn’t listen to me.

PETER.

It’s a pity indeed for any person to have no place of their own.

OLD WOMAN.

That’s true for you indeed, and it’s long I’m on the roads since I first went wandering.

BRIDGET.

It is a wonder you are not worn out with so much wandering.

OLD WOMAN.

Sometimes my feet are tired and my hands are quiet, but there is no quiet in my heart. When the people see me quiet, they think old age has come on me and that all the stir has gone out of me. But when the trouble is on me I must be talking to my friends.

BRIDGET.

What was it put you wandering?

OLD WOMAN.

Too many strangers in the house.

BRIDGET.

Indeed you look as if you’d had your share of trouble.

OLD WOMAN.

I have had trouble indeed.

BRIDGET.

What was it put the trouble on you?

OLD WOMAN.

My land that was taken from me.

PETER.

Was it much land they took from you?

OLD WOMAN.

My four beautiful green fields.

PETER [_aside to BRIDGET_].

Do you think could she be the widow Casey that was put out of her holding at Kilglass a while ago?

BRIDGET.

She is not. I saw the widow Casey one time at the market in Ballina, a stout fresh woman.

PETER [_to OLD WOMAN_].

Did you hear a noise of cheering, and you coming up the hill?

OLD WOMAN.

I thought I heard the noise I used to hear when my friends came to visit me.

[_She begins singing half to herself._

I will go cry with the woman,
For yellow-haired Donough is dead,
With a hempen rope for a neckcloth,
And a white cloth on his head,——

MICHAEL [_coming from the door_].

What is that you are singing, ma’am?

OLD WOMAN.

Singing I am about a man I knew one time, yellow-haired Donough that was hanged in Galway. [_She goes on singing, much louder._

I am come to cry with you, woman,
My hair is unwound and unbound;
I remember him ploughing his field,
Turning up the red side of the ground,

And building his barn on the hill
With the good mortared stone;
O! we’d have pulled down the gallows
Had it happened in Enniscrone!

MICHAEL.

What was it brought him to his death?

OLD WOMAN.

He died for love of me: many a man has died for love of me.

PETER [_aside to BRIDGET_].

Her trouble has put her wits astray.

MICHAEL.

Is it long since that song was made? Is it long since he got his death?

OLD WOMAN.

Not long, not long. But there were others that died for love of me a long time ago.

MICHAEL.

Were they neighbours of your own, ma’am?

OLD WOMAN.

Come here beside me and I’ll tell you about them. [_MICHAEL sits down beside her at the hearth._] There was a red man of the O’Donnells from the north, and a man of the O’Sullivans from the south, and there was one Brian that lost his life at Clontarf by the sea, and there were a great many in the west, some that died hundreds of years ago, and there are some that will die to-morrow.

MICHAEL.

Is it in the west that men will die to-morrow?

OLD WOMAN.

Come nearer, nearer to me.

BRIDGET.

Is she right, do you think? Or is she a woman from beyond the world?

PETER.

She doesn’t know well what she’s talking about, with the want and the trouble she has gone through.

BRIDGET.

The poor thing, we should treat her well.

PETER.

Give her a drink of milk and a bit of the oaten cake.

BRIDGET.

Maybe we should give her something along with that, to bring her on her way. A few pence or a shilling itself, and we with so much money in the house.

PETER.

Indeed I’d not begrudge it to her if we had it to spare, but if we go running through what we have, we’ll soon have to break the hundred pounds, and that would be a pity.

BRIDGET.

Shame on you, Peter. Give her the shilling and your blessing with it, or our own luck will go from us.

[_PETER goes to the box and takes out a shilling._

BRIDGET [_to the OLD WOMAN_].

Will you have a drink of milk, ma’am?

OLD WOMAN.

It is not food or drink that I want.

PETER [_offering the shilling_].

Here is something for you.

OLD WOMAN.

This is not what I want. It is not silver I want.

PETER.

What is it you would be asking for?

OLD WOMAN.

If anyone would give me help he must give me himself, he must give me all.

[_PETER goes over to the table staring at the shilling
in his hand in a bewildered way, and stands whispering
to BRIDGET._

MICHAEL.

Have you no one to care you in your age, ma’am?

OLD WOMAN.

I have not. With all the lovers that brought me their love, I never set out the bed for any.

MICHAEL.

Are you lonely going the roads, ma’am?

OLD WOMAN.

I have my thoughts and I have my hopes.

MICHAEL.

What hopes have you to hold to?

OLD WOMAN.

The hope of getting my beautiful fields back again; the hope of putting the strangers out of my house.

MICHAEL.

What way will you do that, ma’am?

OLD WOMAN.

I have good friends that will help me. They are gathering to help me now. I am not afraid. If they are put down to-day they will get the upper hand to-morrow. [_She gets up._] I must be going to meet my friends. They are coming to help me and I must be there to welcome them. I must call the neighbours together to welcome them.

MICHAEL.

I will go with you.

BRIDGET.

It is not her friends you have to go and welcome, Michael; it is the girl coming into the house you have to welcome. You have plenty to do, it is food and drink you have to bring to the house. The woman that is coming home is not coming with empty hands; you would not have an empty house before her. [_To the OLD WOMAN._] Maybe you don’t know, ma’am, that my son is going to be married to-morrow.

OLD WOMAN.

It is not a man going to his marriage that I look to for help.

PETER [_to BRIDGET_].

Who is she, do you think, at all?

BRIDGET.

You did not tell us your name yet, ma’am.

OLD WOMAN.

Some call me the Poor Old Woman, and there are some that call me Cathleen, the daughter of Houlihan.

PETER.

I think I knew someone of that name once. Who was it, I wonder? It must have been someone I knew when I was a boy. No, no; I remember, I heard it in a song.

OLD WOMAN.

[_Who is standing in the doorway._]

They are wondering that there were songs made for me; there have been many songs made for me. I heard one on the wind this morning.

[_Sings._] Do not make a great keening
When the graves have been dug to-morrow.
Do not call the white-scarfed riders
To the burying that shall be to-morrow.
Do not spread food to call strangers
To the wakes that shall be to-morrow;
Do not give money for prayers
For the dead that shall die to-morrow ...

they will have no need of prayers, they will have no need of prayers.

MICHAEL.

I do not know what that song means, but tell me something I can do for you.

PETER.

Come over to me, Michael.

MICHAEL.

Hush, father, listen to her.

OLD WOMAN.

It is a hard service they take that help me. Many that are red-cheeked now will be pale-cheeked; many that have been free to walk the hills and the bogs and the rushes, will be sent to walk hard streets in far countries; many a good plan will be broken; many that have gathered money will not stay to spend it; many a child will be born and there will be no father at its christening to give it a name. They that had red cheeks will have pale cheeks for my sake; and for all that, they will think they are well paid.

[_She goes out; her voice is heard outside singing._

They shall be remembered for ever,
They shall be alive for ever,
They shall be speaking for ever,
The people shall hear them for ever.

BRIDGET [_to PETER_].

Look at him, Peter; he has the look of a man that has got the touch. [_Raising her voice._] Look here, Michael, at the wedding clothes. Such grand clothes as these are! You have a right to fit them on now, it would be a pity to-morrow if they did not fit. The boys would be laughing at you. Take them, Michael, and go into the room and fit them on.

[_She puts them on his arm._

MICHAEL.

What wedding are you talking of? What clothes will I be wearing to-morrow?

BRIDGET.

These are the clothes you are going to wear when you marry Delia Cahel to-morrow.

MICHAEL.

I had forgotten that.

[_He looks at the clothes and turns towards the inner
room, but stops at the sound of cheering outside._

PETER.

There is the shouting come to our own door. What is it has happened?

[Neighbours_ come crowding in, PATRICK and DELIA with
them._

PATRICK.

There are ships in the Bay; the French are landing at Killala!

[_PETER takes his pipe from his mouth and his hat off
and stands up. The clothes slip from MICHAEL’S arm._

DELIA.

Michael! [_He takes no notice._] Michael! [_He turns towards her._] Why do you look at me like a stranger?

[_She drops his arm. BRIDGET goes over towards her._

PATRICK.

The boys are all hurrying down the hill-sides to join the French.

DELIA.

Michael won’t be going to join the French.

BRIDGET [_to PETER_].

Tell him not to go, Peter.

PETER.

It’s no use. He doesn’t hear a word we’re saying.

BRIDGET.

Try and coax him over to the fire.

DELIA.

Michael, Michael! You won’t leave me! You won’t join the French, and we going to be married!

[_She puts her arms about him, he turns towards her as
if about to yield._

OLD WOMAN’S _voice outside_.

They shall be speaking for ever,
The people shall hear them for ever.

[_MICHAEL breaks away from DELIA, stands for a second
at the door, then rushes out, following the OLD WOMAN’S
voice. BRIDGET takes DELIA, who is crying silently,
into her arms._

PETER.

[_To PATRICK, laying a hand on his arm._]

Did you see an old woman going down the path?

PATRICK.

I did not, but I saw a young girl, and she had the walk of a queen.

THE GOLDEN HELMET

_PERSONS IN THE PLAY_

CUCHULAIN
LEAGERIE
CONAL
EMER, _Cuchulain’s wife_
LEAGERIE’S WIFE
CONAL’S WIFE
LAEG, _Cuchulain’s chariot-driver_
RED MAN
HORSEBOYS AND SCULLIONS
THREE BLACK MEN

THE GOLDEN HELMET

_A house made of logs. There are two windows at the
back and a door which cuts off one of the corners of
the room. Through the door one can see rocks, which
make the ground outside the door higher than it is
within, and the sea. Through the windows one can see
nothing but the sea. There are three great chairs at
the opposite side to the door, with a table before
them. There are cups and a flagon of ale on the table._

_At the Abbey Theatre the house is orange red, and the
chairs, tables and flagons black, with a slight purple
tinge which is not clearly distinguishable from the
black. The rocks are black, with a few green touches.
The sea is green and luminous, and all the characters,
except the RED MAN and the _Black Men_ are dressed in
various tints of green, one or two with touches of
purple which looks nearly black. The _Black Men_ are
in dark purple and the RED MAN is altogether dressed
in red. He is very tall and his height is increased by
horns on the Golden Helmet. The Helmet has in reality
more dark green than gold about it. The _Black Men_
have cats’ heads painted on their black cloth caps. The
effect is intentionally violent and startling._

CONAL.

Not a sail, not a wave, and if the sea were not purring a little like a cat, not a sound. There is no danger yet. I can see a long way for the moonlight is on the sea. [_A horn sounds._

LEAGERIE.

Ah, there is something.

CONAL.

It must be from the land, and it is from the sea that danger comes. We need not be afraid of anything that comes from the land. [_Looking out of door._] I cannot see anybody, the rocks and the trees hide a great part of the pathway upon that side.

LEAGERIE [_sitting at table_].

It sounded like Cuchulain’s horn, but that’s not possible.

CONAL.

Yes, that’s impossible. He will never come home from Scotland. He has all he wants there. Luck in all he does. Victory and wealth and happiness flowing in on him, while here at home all goes to rack, and a man’s good name drifts away between night and morning.

LEAGERIE.

I wish he would come home for all that, and put quiet and respect for those that are more than she is into that young wife of his. Only this very night your wife and my wife had to forbid her to go into the dining-hall before them. She is young, and she is Cuchulain’s wife, and so she must spread her tail like a peacock.

CONAL [_at door_].

I can see the horn-blower now, a young man wrapped in a cloak.

LEAGERIE.

Do not let him come in. Tell him to go elsewhere for shelter. This is no place to seek shelter in.

CONAL.

That is right. I will tell him to go away, for nobody must know the disgrace that is to fall upon Ireland this night.

LEAGERIE.

Nobody of living men but us two must ever know that.

CONAL [_outside door_].

Go away, go away!

[_A YOUNG MAN covered by a long cloak is standing upon
the rocks outside door._

YOUNG MAN.

I am a traveller, and I am looking for sleep and food.

CONAL.

A law has been made that nobody is to come into this house to-night.

YOUNG MAN.

Who made that law?

CONAL.

We two made it, and who has so good a right? for we have to guard this house and to keep it from robbery, and from burning and from enchantment.

YOUNG MAN.

Then I will unmake the law. Out of my way!

[_He struggles with CONAL and shoves past into the
house._

CONAL.

I thought no living man but Leagerie could have stood against me; and Leagerie himself could not have shoved past me. What is more, no living man could if I were not taken by surprise. How could I expect to find so great a strength?

LEAGERIE.

Go out of this: there is another house a little further along the shore; our wives are there with their servants, and they will give you food and drink.

YOUNG MAN.

It is in this house I will have food and drink.

LEAGERIE [_drawing his sword_].

Go out of this, or I will make you.

[_The YOUNG MAN seizes LEAGERIE’S arm, and thrusting
it up, passes him, and puts his shield over the chair
where there is an empty place._

YOUNG MAN [_at table_].

It is here I will spend the night, but I won’t tell you why till I have drunk. I am thirsty. What, the flagon full and the cups empty and Leagerie and Conal there! Why, what’s in the wind that Leagerie and Conal cannot drink?

LEAGERIE.

It is Cuchulain.

CONAL.

Better go away to Scotland again, or if you stay here ask no one what has happened or what is going to happen.

CUCHULAIN.

What more is there that can happen so strange as that I should come home after years and that you should bid me begone?

CONAL.

I tell you that this is no fit house to welcome you, for it is a disgraced house.

CUCHULAIN.