by W. B. Yeats
SECOND PEASANT. And maybe we shall scream so.
THIRD PEASANT. I tell you there is no such place as hell.
FIRST MERCHANT. Can such a trifle turn you from your profit? Come, deal; come, deal.
MIDDLE-AGED MAN. Master, I am afraid.
FIRST MERCHANT. I bought your soul, and there’s no sense in fear Now the soul’s gone.
MIDDLE-AGED MAN. Give me my soul again.
WOMAN (going on her knees and clinging to MERCHANT) And take this money too, and give me mine.
SECOND MERCHANT. Bear bastards, drink or follow some wild fancy; For sighs and cries are the soul’s work, And you have none.
(Throws the woman off.)
PEASANT. Come, let’s away.
ANOTHER PEASANT. Yes, yes.
ANOTHER PEASANT. Come quickly; if that woman had not screamed I would have lost my soul.
ANOTHER PEASANT. Come, come away.
(They turn to door, but are stopped by shouts of “Countess Cathleen! Countess Cathleen!”)
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.
SECOND 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.
FIRST MERCHANT.. It may be the soul’s worth it.
CATHLEEN. There is more: The souls that you have bought must be set free.
FIRST MERCHANT. We know of but one soul that’s worth the price.
CATHLEEN. Being my own it seems a priceless thing.
SECOND MERCHANT. You offer us —
CATHLEEN. I offer my own soul.
A PEASANT. Do not, do not, for souls the like of ours 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 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 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 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 round 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. (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. And they are rising through the hollow 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 downwards 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.)
PEASANT. 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, 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 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.)
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 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. 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 fassiez 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 assi`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 noble 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 diabol
iques 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.
Alors les pauvres sollicit`erent en vain pr`es de Ketty d`epouill`ee, elle ne pouvait plus secourir leur mis`ere;-elle les abandonnait `a la tentation. Pourtant il n’y avait plus que huit jours `a passer pour que les grains et les fourrages arrivassent en abondance des pays d’Orient. Mais, huit jours, c’`etait un si`ecle: huit jours n`ecessitaient 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 saintes maximes de l’Evangile, vendre `a vil prix leur `ame, le plus beau pr`esent de la munificence du Seigneur toutpuissant.
