The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Countess Cathleen, by William Butler Yeats This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: The Countess Cathleen Author: William Butler Yeats Release Date: March 26, 2009 [EBook #5167] Language: English Character set encoding: ASCII *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COUNTESS CATHLEEN *** Produced by Marjorie Fulton, and David Widger
First Edition............................ 1892 Second Edition (in "Poems" by W. B. Yeats) 1895 Third Edition ,, ,, 1899 Fourth Edition ,, ,, 1901 Fifth Edition ,, ,, 1904 Sixth Edition ,, ,, 1908 Seventh Edition (revised)................ 1912 (All rights reserved.)
To MAUD GONNE
"The sorrowful are dumb for thee" Lament of Morion Shehone for Miss Mary Bourke
SHEMUS RUA, A Peasant MARY, His Wife TEIG, His Son ALEEL, A Poet THE COUNTESS CATHLEEN OONA, Her Foster Mother Two Demons disguised as Merchants Peasants, Servants, Angelical Beings, Spirits
The Scene is laid in Ireland and in old times.
END OF SCENE 1
CATHLEEN. But there's a world to come.SHEMUS. And if there is, I'd rather trust myself into the hands That can pay money down than to the hands That have but shaken famine from the bag. (He goes Out R.) (lilting) "There's money for a soul, sweet yellow money. There's money for men's souls, good money, money." CATHLEEN. (to ALEEL) Go call them here again, bring them by force, Beseech them, bribe, do anything you like. (ALEEL goes.)
And you too follow, add your prayers to his.(OONA, who has been praying, goes out.) Steward, you know the secrets of my house. How much have I? STEWARD. A hundred kegs of gold. CATHLEEN. How much have I in castles? STEWARD. As much more. CATHLEEN. How much have I in pasture? STEWARD. As much more. CATHLEEN. How much have I in forests? STEWARD. As much more. CATHLEEN. Keeping this house alone, sell all I have, Go barter where you please, but come again With herds of cattle and with ships of meal. STEWARD. God's blessing light upon your ladyship. You will have saved the land. CATHLEEN. Make no delay. (He goes L.) (ALEEL and OONA return) CATHLEEN. They have not come; speak quickly. ALEEL. One drew his knife And said that he would kill the man or woman That stopped his way; and when I would have stopped him He made this stroke at me; but it is nothing. CATHLEEN. You shall be tended. From this day for ever I'll have no joy or sorrow of my own. OONA. Their eyes shone like the eyes of birds of prey. CATHLEEN. Come, follow me, for the earth burns my feet Till I have changed my house to such a refuge That the old and ailing, and all weak of heart, May escape from beak and claw; all, all, shall come Till the walls burst and the roof fall on us. From this day out I have nothing of my own. (She goes.) OONA (taking ALEEL by the arm and as she speaks bandaging his wound) She has found something now to put her hand to, And you and I are of no more account Than flies upon a window-pane in the winter. (They go out.)
END OF SCENE 2.
CATHLEEN. I kiss your forehead. And yet I send you from me. Do not speak; There have been women that bid men to rob Crowns from the Country-under-Wave or apples Upon a dragon-guarded hill, and all That they might sift men's hearts and wills, And trembled as they bid it, as I tremble That 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 heart Were 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 full She'll bid against us and so bribe the poor That our great Master'll lack his merchandise. You know that she has brought into this house The old and ailing that are pinched the most At 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-pane And the mud floor, and not a soul to buy; Not even the wandering fool's nor one of those That 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 there With your back hooked, your chin upon your knees. SECOND MERCHANT. How could I help it? For she prayed so hard I could not cross the threshold till her lover Had 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 bore The knowledgable pippin in his mouth To 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 imagine We'd do such wrong to our great Master's name As to bear burdens on our backs as men do. I'll call them, and who'll dare to disobey? Come, all you elemental populace From 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, leave The cymbals of the waves to clash alone, And shaking the sea-tangles from your hair Gather 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 come Because we have heard you call. SECOND SPIRIT. Sorrow has made me dumb. FIRST SPIRIT. Her shepherds at nightfall Lay many a plate and cup Down by the trodden brink, That when the dance break up We may have meat and drink. Therefore our hearts are sore; And though we have heard and come Our crying filled the shore. SECOND SPIRIT. Sorrow has made me dumb. FIRST MERCHANT. What lies in the waves should be indifferent To 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 backs And carry them to Shemus Rua's house On the wood's border. SPIRITS. No, no, no, no! FIRST SPIRIT. No, no, let us away; From this we shall not come Cry 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 dancers Are 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 spirit Before the mob of angels were astir? FIRST MERCHANT. If we would win this turquoise for our lord It must go dropping down of its free will But I've a plan. SECOND MERCHANT. To take her soul to-night? FIRST MERCHANT. Because I am of the ninth and mightiest hell Where are all kings, I have a plan. (Voices.) SECOND MERCHANT. Too late; For somebody is stirring in the house; the noise That 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 women She'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 sound That troubles me. (Going to the door of the oratory and peering through it.) Upon the altar steps The Countess tosses, murmuring in her sleep A 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 world Because we have walked upon its leaves; and there Have 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 Head We saw your grain ships lying all becalmed In 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 up To 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 hang And creep about the fields, and this great heat Vanish 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 dead Or 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 few Will 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 looks That makes men bow, and flings a casting-net About their souls, and that all men would go And barter those poor vapours, were it not You bribe them with the safety of your gold. CATHLEEN. Praise be to God, to Mary, and the angels That I am wealthy! Wherefore do they sell? FIRST MERCHANT. As we came in at the great door we saw Your porter sleeping in his niche—a soul Too 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 some Because they are in terror of the grave, And some because their neighbours sold before, And some because there is a kind of joy In casting hope away, in losing joy, In ceasing all resistance, in at last Opening 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 voice That makes me fear. When you were telling how A man may lose his soul and lose his God Your eyes were lighted up, and when you told How my poor money serves the people, both— Merchants forgive me—seemed to smile. FIRST MERCHANT. Man's sins Move us to laughter only; we have seen So many lands and seen so many men. How strange that all these people should be swung As on a lady's shoe-string,—under them The 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 born In 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 hearts With Ave Marys, and burn all our skin With holy water. FIRST MERCHANT. Farewell; for we must ride Many 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 house We 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 door In 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 door Unless one opened. I am desolate, For a most sad resolve wakes in my heart But I have still my faith; therefore be silent For surely He does not forsake the world, But stands before it modelling in the clay And moulding there His image. Age by age The clay wars with His fingers and pleads hard For 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 again I may have grown forgetful. Oona, take These two—the larder and the dairy keys. (To the PORTER.) But take you this. It opens the small room Of 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 see Your coffin in a dream? CATHLEEN. Ah, no, not that. A sad resolve wakes in me. I have heard A 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!
END OF SCENE 3.
END OF SCENE 4
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.)
NOTESI 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 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. 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. Et Ketty n'avait plus une obole, car elle avait abandonn`e son ch`ateaux 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 r`esolue, anim`ee par un vif sentiment de d`esespoir. Elle se rendit chez les marchands d'`ames. —Que voulez-vous? dirent ils. —Vous achetez des `ames? —Oui, un peu malgr`e vous, n'est ce pas, sainte aux yeux de sapbir? —Aujourd'hui je viens vous proposer un march`e, reprit elle. —Lequel? —J'ai une `ame `a vendre; mais elle est ch`ere. —Qu'importe si elle est pr`ecieuse? L'`ame, comme le diamant, s'appr`ecie `a sa blancheur. —C'est la mienne, dit Ketty. Les deux envoy`es de Satan tressaillirent, Leurs griffes s'allong`erent sous leurs gants de cuir; leurs yeux gris `etincel`erent:—l'`ame, pure, immacul`ee, virginale de Ketty c'`etait une acquisition inappr`eciable. —Gentille dame, combien voulez-vouz? —Cent cinquante mille `ecus d'or. —C'est fait, dirent les marchands: et ils tendirent `a Ketty un parchemin cachet`e de noir, qu'elle signa en frissonnant. La somme lui fut compt`ee. Des qu'elle fut rentr`ee, elle dit au majordome: —Tenez, distribuez ceci. Avec la somme que je vous donne les pauvres attendront la huitaine n`ecessaire et pas une de leurs `ames ne sera livr`ee au d`emon. Puis elle s'enferma et recommanda qu'on ne vint pas la d`eranger. Trois jours se pass`erent; elle n'appela pas; elle ne sortit pas. Quand on ouvrit sa porte, on la trouva raide et froide: elle `etait morte de douleur. Mais la vente de cette `ame si adorable dans sa charit`e fut d`eclar`ee nulle par le Seigneur: car elle avait sauv`e ses concitoyens de la morte `eternelle. Apr`es la huitaine, des vaisseaux nombreux amen`erent l'Irlande affam`ee d'immenses provisions de grains. La famine n'`etait plus possible. Quant aux marchands, ils disparurent de leur h`otellerie, sans qu'on s`ut jamais ce qu'ils `etaient devenus. Toutefois, les p`echeurs de la Blackwater pr`etendent qu'ils sont enchain`es dans une prison souterraine par ordre de Lucifer jusqu'au moment o`u ils pourront livrer l'`ame de Ketty qui leur a `echapp`e. je vous dis la l`egende telle que je la sais. -Mais les pauvres l'ont racont`e d'`age en `age 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 m`eme Satan paya Cette `ame au d`evoument sublime, En `ecus d'or, Disons pour racheter son crime, Confiteor. Mais l'ange qui se fit coupable Par charit`e Au s`ejour d'amour ineffable Est remont`e. Satan vaincu n'eut pas de prise Sur ce coeur d'or; Chantons sous la nef de l'`eglise, Confiteor. N'est ce pas que ce r`ecit, n`e de l'imagination des po`etes catholiques de la verte Erin, est une V`eritable r`ecit de car`eme? 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 prosceniurn 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 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. 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.
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