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 a 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
I laugh
To think 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; 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,
Because of a strange thought that's 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.
But I have come to a strange thought. 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 III.
SCENE IV
Scene.—A wood near the Castle, as in Scene II. A group of PEASANTS pass.
FIRST PEASANT
I have seen silver and copper, but not gold.
SECOND PEASANT
It's yellow and it shines.
FIRST PEASANT
It's beautiful.
The most beautiful thing under the sun,
That's what I've heard.
THIRD PEASANT
I have seen gold enough.
FOURTH PEASANT
I would not say that it's so beautiful.
FIRST PEASANT
But doesn't a gold piece glitter like the sun?
That's what my father, who'd seen better days,
Told me when I was but a little boy—
So high—so high, it's shining like the sun,
Round and shining, that is what he said.
SECOND PEASANT
There's nothing in the world it cannot buy.
FIRST PEASANT