Play · 1892 · The Countess Cathleen
Scene III
Scene.—Hall in the house of Countess Cathleen. At the Left an oratory with steps leading up to it. At the Right a tapestried wall, more or less repeating the form of the oratory, and a great chair with its back against the wall. In the Centre are two or more arches through which one can see dimly the trees of the garden. Cathleen is kneeling in front of the altar in the oratory; there is a hanging lighted lamp over the altar. Aleel enters.
Aleel
I have come to bid you leave this castle and flyOut of these woods.
Cathleen
What evil is there here?That is not everywhere from this to the sea?
Aleel
They who have sent me walk invisible.
Cathleen
So it is true what I have heard men say,That you have seen and heard what others cannot.
Aleel
I was asleep in my bed, and while I sleptMy dream became a fire; and in the fireOne walked and he had birds about his head.
Cathleen
I have heard that one of the old gods walked so.
Aleel
It may be that he is angelical;And, lady, he bids me call you from these woods.And you must bring but your old foster-mother,And some few serving men, and live in the hills,Among the sounds of music and the lightOf waters, till the evil days are done.For here some terrible death is waiting you,Some unimagined evil, some great darknessThat fable has not dreamt of, nor sun nor moonScattered.
Cathleen
No, not angelical.
Aleel
This houseYou are to leave with some old trusty man,And bid him shelter all that starve or wanderWhile there is food and house room.
Cathleen
He bids me goWhere none of mortal creatures but the swanDabbles, and there ‘you would pluck the harp, when the treesHad made a heavy shadow about our door,And talk among the rustling of the reeds,When night hunted the foolish sun awayWith stillness and pale tapers. No-no-no!I cannot. Although I weep, I do not weepBecause that life would be most happy, and hereI find no way, no end. Nor do I weepBecause I had longed to look upon your face,But that a night of prayer has made me weary.
Aleel
.prostrating himself before her
Let Him that made mankind, the angels and devilsAnd death and plenty, mend what He has made,For when we labour in vain and eye still seesHeart breaks in vain.
Cathleen
How would that quiet end?
Aleel
How but in healing?
Cathleen
You have seen my tearsAnd I can see your hand shake on the floor.
Aleel
faltering I thought but of healing. He was angelical.
Cathleen
turning away from him
No, not angelical, but of the old gods,Who wander about the world to waken the heartThe passionate, proud heart—that all the angels,Leaving nine heavens empty, would rock to sleep.
She goes to chapel door; Aleel holds his clasped hands towards her for a moment hesitating, and then lets them fall beside him.
Cathleen
Do not hold out to me beseeching hands.This heart shall never waken on earth. I have sworn,By her whose heart the seven sorrows have pierced,To pray before this altar until my heartHas grown to Heaven like a tree, and thereRustled its leaves, till Heaven has saved my people.
Aleel
who has risen
When one so great has spoken of love to one’So little as I, though to deny him love,What can he but hold out beseeching hands,Then let them fall beside him, knowing how greatlyThey have overdared?
He goes towards the door of the hall. The Countess Cathleen takes a few steps towards him.
Cathleen
If the old tales are true,Queens have wed shepherds and kings beggar-maids;God’s procreant waters flowing about your mindHave made you more than kings or queens; and not youBut I am the empty pitcher.
Aleel
Being silent,I have said all, yet let me stay beside you.
Cathleen
No, no, not while my heart is shaken. No,But you shall hear wind cry and water cry,And curlews cry, and have the peace I longed for.
Aleel
Give me your hand to kiss.
Cathleen
I kiss your forehead.And yet I send you from me. Do not speak;There have been women that bid men to robCrowns from the Country-under-Wave or applesUpon a dragon-guarded hill, and allThat they might sift men’s hearts and wills,And trembled as they bid it, as I trembleThat lay a hard task on you, that you go,And silently, and do not turn your head;Goodbye; but do not turn your head and look;Above all else, I would not have you look.
Aleel goes.
I never spoke to him of his wounded hand,And now he is gone.
She looks out.
I cannot see him, for all is dark outside.Would my imagination and my heartWere as little shaken as this holy flame!
She goes slowly into the chapel. The two Merchants enter.
First Merchant
Although I bid you rob her treasury,I find you sitting drowsed and motionless,And yet you understand that while it’s fullShe’ll bid against us and so bribe the poorThat our great Master’ll lack his merchandise.You know that she has brought into this houseThe old and ailing that are pinched the mostAt such a time and so should be bought cheap.You’ve seen us sitting in the house in the wood,While the snails crawled about the window-paneAnd the mud floor, and not a soul to buy;Not even the wandering fool’s nor one of thoseThat when the world goes wrong must rave and talk,Until they are as thin as a cat’s ear.But all that’s nothing; you sit drowsing thereWith your back hooked, your chin upon your knees.
Second Merchant
How could I help it? For she prayed so hardI could not cross the threshold till her loverHad turned her thoughts to dream.
FIRST MERCHANT, Well, well, to labour.There is the treasury door and time runs on.
Second Merchant goes Out. First Merchant sits cross-legged against a pillar, yawns and stretches.
First Merchant
And so I must endure the weight of the world,Far from my Master and the revelry,That’s lasted since—shaped as a worm—he boreThe knowledgable pippin in his mouthTo the first woman.
Second Merchant returns with bags.
Where are those dancers gone?They knew they were to carry it on their backs.
Second Merchant
I heard them breathing but a moment since,But now they are gone, being unsteadfast things.
First Merchant
They knew their work. It seems that they imagineWe’d do such wrong to our great Master’s nameAs to bear burdens on our backs as men do.I’ll call them, and who’ll dare to disobey?Come, all you elemental populaceFrom Cruachan and Finbar’s ancient house.Come, break up the long dance under the hill,Or if you lie in the hollows of the sea,Leave lonely the long hoarding surges, leaveThe cymbals of the waves to clash alone,And shaking the sea-tangles from your hairGather about us.
The Spirits gather under the arches.
Second Merchant
They come. Be still a while.
Spirits dance and sing.
First Spirit
singing Our hearts are sore, but we comeBecause we have heard you call.
Second Spirit
Sorrow has made me dumb.
First Spirit
Her shepherds at nightfallLay many a plate and cupDown by the trodden brink,That when the dance break upWe may have meat and drink.Therefore our hearts are sore;And though we have heard and comeOur crying filled the shore.
Second Spirit
Sorrow has made me dumb.
First Merchant
What lies in the waves should be indifferentTo good and evil, and yet it seems that these,Forgetful of their pure, impartial sea,Take sides with her.
Second Merchant
Hush, hush, and still your feet.You are not now upon Maeve’s dancing-floor.
A Spirit
O, look what I have found, a string of pearls!
They begin taking jewels out of bag.
Second Merchant
You must not touch them, put them in the bag,And now take up the bags upon your backsAnd carry them to Shemus Rua’s houseOn the wood’s border.
Spirits
No, no, no, no!
First Spirit
No, no, let us away;From this we shall not comeCry out to’ us who may.
Second Spirit
Sorrow has made me dumb.
They go.
Second Merchant
They’re gone, for little do they care for me,And if I called they would but turn and mock,But you they dare not disobey.
First Merchant
rising These dancersAre always the most troublesome of spirits.
He comes down the stage and stands facing the arches. He makes a gesture of command. The Spirits come back whimpering. They lift the bags and go out. Three speak as they are taking ub the bags.
First Spirit
From this day out we’ll never dance again.
Second Spirit
Never again.
Third Spirit
Sorrow has made me dumb.
Second Merchant
looking into chapel door
She has heard nothing; she has fallen asleep.
Our lord would be well pleased if we could win her.Now that the winds are heavy with our kind,Might we not kill her, and bear off her spiritBefore the mob of angels were astir?
First Merchant
If we would win this turquoise for our lordIt must go dropping down of its free willBut I’ve a plan.
Second Merchant
To take her soul to-night?
First Merchant
Because I am of the ninth and mightiest hellWhere are all kings, I have a plan.
Voices.
Second Merchant
Too late;For somebody is stirring in the house; the noiseThat the sea creatures made as they came hither,Their singing and their endless chattering,Has waked the house. I hear the chairs pushed back,And many shuffling feet. All the old men and womenShe’s gathered in the house are coming hither.
A Voice
within It was here.
Another Voice
No, farther away.
Another Voice
It was in the western tower.
Another Voice
Come quickly, we will search the western tower.
First Merchant
We still have time—they search the distant rooms.
Second Merchant
Brother, I heard a sound in there—a soundThat troubles me.
Going to the door of the oratory and peering through it.
Upon the altar steps The Countess tosses, murmuring in her sleepA broken Paternoster.
First Merchant
Do not fear,For when she has awaked the prayer will cease.
Second Merchant
What, would you wake her?
First Merchant
I will speak with her,And mix with all her thoughts a thought to serve.—Lady, we’ve news that’s crying out for speech.
Cathleen wakes and comes to door of the chapel.
Cathleen. Who calls?
First Merchant
We have brought news.
Cathleen
What are you?
First Merchant
We are merchants, and we know the book of the worldBecause we have walked upon its leaves; and thereHave read of late matters that much concern you;And noticing the castle door stand open,Came in to find an ear.
Cathleen
The door stands open,That no one who is famished or afraid,Despair of help or of a welcome with it.But you have news, you say.
First Merchant
We saw a man,Heavy with sickness in the bog of Allen,Whom you had bid buy cattle. Near Fair HeadWe saw your grain ships lying all becalmedIn the dark night; and not less still than they,Burned all their mirrored lanthorns in the sea.
Cathleen
. My thanks to God, to Mary and the angels,That I have money in my treasury,And can buy grain from those who have stored it upTo prosper on the hunger of the poor.But you’ve been far and know the signs of things,When will this yellow vapour no more hangAnd creep about the fields, and this great heatVanish away, and grass show its green shoots?
First Merchant
There is no sign of change—day copies day,Green things are dead—the cattle too are deadOr dying—and on all the vapour hangs,And fattens with disease and glows with heat.In you is all the hope of all the land.
Cathleen
And heard you of the demons who buy souls?
First Merchant
There are some men who hold they have wolves’ heads,And say their limbs—dried by the infinite flame—Have all the speed of storms; others, again,Say they are gross and little; while a fewWill have it they seem much as mortals are,But tall and brown and travelled—like us—lady,Yet all agree a power is in their looksThat makes men bow, and flings a casting-netAbout their souls, and that all men would goAnd barter those poor vapours, were it notYou bribe them with the safety of your gold.
Cathleen
Praise be to God, to Mary, and the angelsThat I am wealthy! Wherefore do they sell?
First Merchant
As we came in at the great door we sawYour porter sleeping in his niche—a soulToo little to be worth a hundred pence,And yet they buy it for a hundred crowns.But for a soul like yours, I heard them say,They would give five hundred thousand crowns and more.
Cathleen
How can a heap of crowns pay for a soul?Is the green grave so terrible a thing?
First Merchant
Some sell because the money gleams, and someBecause they are in terror of the grave,And some because their neighbours sold before,And some because there is a kind of joyIn casting hope away, in losing joy,In ceasing all resistance, in at lastOpening one’s arms to the eternal flames.
In casting all sails out upon the wind;To this—full of the gaiety of the lost—Would all folk hurry if your gold were gone.
Cathleen
There is something, Merchant, in your voiceThat makes me fear. When you were telling howA man may lose his soul and lose his GodYour eyes were lighted up, and when you toldHow my poor money serves the people, both—Merchants forgive me—seemed to smile.
First Merchant
Man’s sinsMove us to laughter only; we have seenSo many lands and seen so many men.How strange that all these people should be swungAs on a lady’s shoe-string,—under themThe glowing leagues of never-ending flame.
Cathleen
There is a something in you that I fear;A something not of us; but were you not bornIn some most distant corner of the world?
The Second Merchant, who has been listening at the door, comes forward, and as he comes a sound of voices and feet is heard.
Second Merchant
Away now—they are in the passage—hurry,For they will know us, and freeze up our heartsWith Ave Marys, and burn all our skinWith holy water.
First Merchant
Farewell; for we must rideMany a mile before the morning come;Our horses beat the ground impatiently.
They go out. A number of PEASANTs enter by other door.
First Peasant
Forgive us, lady, but we heard a noise.
Second Peasant
We sat by the fireside telling vanities.
First Peasant
We heard a noise, but though we have searched the houseWe have found nobody.
Cathleen
You are too timid.For now you are safe from all the evil times.There is no evil that can find you here.
Oona
entering hurriedly
Ochone! Ochone! The treasure room is broken in,The door stands open, and the gold is gone.
Peasants raise a lamentable cry.
Cathleen
Be silent.
The cry ceases.
Have you seen nobody?
OONA Ochone!That my good mistress should lose all this money.
Cathleen
Let those among you—not too old to ride—Get horses and search all the country round,I’ll give a farm to him who finds the thieves.
A man with keys at his girdle has come in while she speaks. There is a general murmur of The Porter! the porter!”
Porter
Demons were here. I sat beside the doorIn my stone niche, and two owls passed me by,Whispering with human voices.
Old Peasant
God forsakes us.
Cathleen
Old man, old man, He never closed a doorUnless one opened. I am desolate,For a most sad resolve wakes in my heartBut I have still my faith; therefore be silentFor surely He does not forsake the world,But stands before it modelling in the clayAnd moulding there His image. Age by ageThe clay wars with His fingers and pleads hardFor its old, heavy, dull and shapeless ease;But sometimes—though His hand is on it still—It moves awry and demon hordes are born.
Peasants cross themselves.
Yet leave me now, for I am desolate,I hear a whisper from beyond the thunder.
She comes from the oratory door.
Yet stay an instant. When we meet againI may have grown forgetful. Oona, takeThese two—the larder and the dairy keys.
To the Porter.
But take you this. It opens the small roomOf herbs for medicine, of hellebore,Of vervain, monkshood, plantain, and self-heal.The book of cures is on the upper shelf.
Porter
Why do you do this, lady; did you seeYour coffin in a dream?
Cathleen
Ah, no, not that.A sad resolve wakes in me. I have heardA sound of wailing in unnumbered hovels,And I must go down, down—I know not where—Pray for all men and women mad from famine;Pray, you good neighbours.
The Peasants all kneel. Countess Cathleen ascends the steps to the door of the oratory, and turning round stands there motionless for a little, and then cries in a loud voice:
Mary, Queen of angels,And all you clouds on clouds of saints, farewell!
Text: The Countess Cathleen, seventh edition, revised (T. Fisher Unwin, London, 1912). Public domain.