The Countess Cathleen Part 12

(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-gla.s.s 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 pa.s.sed away And left you but a ball of pa.s.sionate 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 s.p.a.ce.

(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, haff 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 h.e.l.l, But speak to me, whose mind is smitten of G.o.d, 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 pa.s.sing 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 G.o.d the herdsman goads them on behind, And I am broken by their pa.s.sing 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.)

NOTES

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 Matin'ees de Timoth'e Trimm a good many years ago, and has been drifting about the Irish press ever since. L'eo Lesp'es 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 h.e.l.l 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. L'eo Lesp'es 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. L'eo Lesp'es tells the story as follows:--

Ce que je vais vous dire est un r'ecit du car'eme 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 sixpense d'argent 'a la main.-Il n'est pas une jeune fille catholique 'a laquelle on ne Fait appris pendant les jours de pr'eparation 'a la communion sainte, pas un berger des bords de la Blackwater qui ne le puisse redire 'a la veill'ee.

Il y a bien longtemps qu'il apparut tout-'a-coup dans la vielle Irlande deux marchands inconnus dont personne n'avait oui parler, et qui parlaient n'eanmoins avec la plus grande perfection la langue du pays. Leurs cheveux 'etaient noirs et ferr'es avec de l'or et leurs robes d'une grande magnificence.

Tous deux semblaient avoir le m'eme age; ils paraissaient 'etre des hommes de cinquante ans, car leur barbe grisormait un peu.

Or, 'a cette 'epoque, comme aujourd'hui, l'Irlande 'etait pauvre, car le soleil avait 'et'e rare, et des r'ecoltes presque nulles.

Les indigents ne savaient 'a quel sainte se vouer, et la mis'ere devenai de plus en plus terrible.

Dans l'h'otellerie o'u descendirent les marchands fastueux on chercha 'a p'en'etrer leurs desseins: mais cc fut en vain, ils demeur'erent silencieux et discrets.

Et pendant qu'ils demeur'erent dans l'h'otellerie, ils ne cess'erent de compter et de recompter des sacs de pi'eces d'or, dont la vive clart'e s'apercevait 'a travers les vitres du logis.

Gentlemen, leur dit l'h'otesse un jour, d'o'u vient que vous 'etes si opulents, et que, venus pour secourir la mis'ere publique, vous ne fa.s.siez pas de bonnes oeuvres?

-Belle h'otesse, r'epondit l'un d'eux, nous n'avons pas voulu aller au-devant d'infortunes honorables, dans la crainte d''etre tromp'es par des mis'eres fictives: que la douleur frappe 'a la porte, nous ouvrirons.

Le lendemain, quand on sut qu'il existait deux opulents 'etrangers pr'ets 'a prodiguer l'or, la foule a.s.si'egea leur logis; mais les figures des gens qui en sortaient 'etaient bien diverses. Les uns avaient la fiert'e dans le regard, les autres portaient la honte au front. Les deux trafiquants achetaient des 'ames pour le d'emon. L''ame d'un vieillard valait vingt pi'eces d'or, pas un penny de plus; car Satan avait eu le temps d'y former hypoth'eque. L''ame d'une 'pouse en valait cinquante quand elle 'etait jolie, ou cent quand elle 'etait laide. L''Ame d'une jeune fille se payait des prix fous: les fleurs les plus belles et les plus pures sont les plus ch'eres.

Pendant ce temps, il existait dans la ville un ange de beaut'e, la comtesse Ketty O'Connor. Elle 'etait l'idole du peuple, et la providence des indigents. D'es qu'elle eut appris que des m'ecr'eants profitaient de la mis'ere publique pour d'erober des coeurs 'a Dieu, elle fit appeler son majordome.

--Master Patrick, lui dit elle, combien ai-je de pi'eces d'or dans mon coffre?

--Cent mille.

--Combien de bijoux?

--Pour autant d'argent.

--Combien de ch'ateaux, de bois et de terres?

--Pour le double de ces sommes.

--Eh bien! Patrick, vendez tout cc qui n'est pas or et apportez-m'en le montant. je ne veux garder 'a moi que ce castel et le champs qui l'entoure.

Deux jours apr'es, les ordres de la pieuse Ketty 'etaient ex'ecues et le tr'esor 'etait distribu'e aux pauvres au fur et 'a mesure de leurs besoins.

Ceci ne faisait pas le compte, dit la tradition, des commisvoyageurs du malin esprit, qui ne trouvaient plus d''ames 'a acheter.

Aides par un valet infame, ils p'en'etr'erent dans la retraite de la n.o.ble dame et lui d'erob'erent le reste de son tr'esor... 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 l'egende Irlandaise, elle les eut mis en fuite, mais ses mains 'etaient captives-Le larcin fut effectu'e.