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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/78495-0.txt b/78495-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5b2f689 --- /dev/null +++ b/78495-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7906 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78495 *** + + + + + COLLECTED WORKS OF + PADRAIC H. PEARSE + + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + Sixth Edition + + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + +[Illustration: Padraic H. Pearse, From a photograph by Lafayette Ltd. +Dublin] + + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + COLLECTED WORKS OF + PADRAIC H. PEARSE + + + _PLAYS_ + _STORIES_ + _POEMS_ + + + THE PHŒNIX PUBLISHING CO., LTD. + DUBLIN CORK BELFAST + 1924 + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + Copyright 1917. Margaret Pearse + + + + + Printed by Maunsel & Roberts Ltd., Dublin + + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + CONTENTS + + + INTRODUCTION ix + + PLAYS + + THE SINGER p. 1 + THE KING 45 + THE MASTER 69 + IOSAGAN 101 + + STORIES + + THE MOTHER 125 + THE DEARG-DAOL 137 + THE ROADS 147 + BRIGID OF THE SONGS 169 + THE THIEF 179 + THE KEENING WOMAN 193 + IOSAGAN 227 + THE PRIEST 245 + BARBARA 259 + EOINEEN OF THE BIRDS 287 + + POEMS + + LULLABY OF A WOMAN OF THE MOUNTAIN 311 + A WOMAN OF THE MOUNTAIN KEENS HER SON 312 + O LITTLE BIRD 314 + WHY DO YE TORTURE ME? 315 + LITTLE LAD OF THE TRICKS 316 + O LOVELY HEAD 318 + LONG TO ME THY COMING 319 + A RANN I MADE 320 + TO A BELOVED CHILD 321 + I HAVE NOT GARNERED GOLD 322 + I AM IRELAND 323 + RENUNCIATION 324 + THE RANN OF THE LITTLE PLAYMATE 326 + A SONG FOR MARY MAGDALENE 327 + CHRIST’S COMING 328 + ON THE STRAND OF HOWTH 329 + THE DORD FEINNE 332 + THE MOTHER 333 + THE FOOL 334 + THE REBEL 337 + CHRISTMAS, 1915 340 + THE WAYFARER 341 + + APPENDIX + + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + PUBLISHER’S NOTE + + +This volume of the Collected Works of Padraic Pearse contains his +English Versions of Plays and Poems, many of which have not been +previously published. The Author’s final copies of the manuscripts of +THE SINGER and THE MASTER were burnt in the Publisher’s office at +Easter, 1916, but, fortunately, other copies of these manuscripts, +apparently containing the Author’s corrections, were forthcoming. On +page 35 of THE SINGER, there was one page of manuscript missing which +evidently contained dialogue covering the exit of MacDara and the +entrance of Diarmaid, and it seemed better to leave a blank here than to +have the missing speeches written by another hand. Towards the end of +this play there were some pages of manuscript giving a slightly +different version, and it was difficult to say whether this version was +an earlier or later one than the manuscript which has been followed. +This fragment has been printed as an Appendix. + +The Translations of the Stories from the Irish were made by Mr. Joseph +Campbell. + +In the Author’s Manuscript, the play THE SINGER was dedicated “To My +Mother.” + +The Publisher wishes to thank _An Clodhanna Teoranta_ for the permission +accorded to Mrs. Pearse to publish translations of _Iosagan_, _An +Sagart_, _Bairbre_, _Eogainin na nEan_. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + INTRODUCTION + + +It must be evident to all who read this collection of plays, stories and +poems in the spirit which their author would have wished for, that it +would be utterly wrong to preface them with remarks applying merely to +their literary qualities. + +For they are something more than literature. On the pages as we read +they seem to grow into flesh and blood and spirit. They are a record of +the emotions of a life which was devoured by one idea, the native beauty +of Ireland, its manners, its speech, its people, its history. And we see +how that idea was coupled in the mind with a poignant sense of the +danger that threatened the vitality of all those things. The writer saw +the thought of the Gall spreading like a destructive growth through the +body of Irish nationality. He felt that an imported politeness mocked at +the Gaelic ways; he knew that the Irish language had been extinguished +in the greater part of Ireland by the sense of shame working on poverty, +and that many of the people of the Irish-speaking fringe were also +growing ashamed of the priceless treasure they possessed; he saw that +the lessons of Irish history, which the leaders of the past had taught +by their labours and often sealed with their blood, were being ignored +in the modern political game. + +Earnestness of purpose had always marked him. He threw his heart and +soul and strength into the Gaelic movement; he learned the language so +thoroughly as to be able to use it with ease as his medium of literary +expression, to recapture the old forms of poetry and story-telling, and +to infuse into them the modernity of his own modes of thought. He fought +the battles of Irish with a vigour that we all remember. He founded a +school--against what difficulties!--where education was Irish, and aimed +at the free development of personality in the Irish way. All that was +hard and earnest work, but its earnestness was nothing to the terrible +seriousness that grew upon him when he came to realize the maladies of +the political movement that was supposed to aim at Irish nationhood. The +Volunteers, at whose foundation he had assisted, were at first +negotiated with and then divided by the constitutional Party; the +original founders, who determined to adhere to their principles, were +left high and dry without any constitutional support. The conviction +gained on him that only blood could vivify what tameness and corruption +had weakened, and that he and his comrades were destined to go down the +same dark road by which so many brave and illustrious Irishmen had gone +before them. + +It is in the light of this progress of thought that we must read his +writings. We find the fresh notes of tenderness and sweetness in the +early stories, IOSAGAN, THE PRIEST, BARBARA, and EOINEEN OF THE BIRDS. +The psychology of children, their sorrows and joys, are the theme. The +older people are merely foils to the children; we learn nothing of their +inner story, except in the case of Old Matthias--and even here we have +merely an account of a return to the innocence of second childhood. +Iosagan coming to play with the little ones on the green, while the old +folks are at Sunday Mass, Paraig wearing a surplice and saying _Dominus +Vobiscum_, and _Orate Fratres_, in anticipation of the priestly office, +Brideen holding converse grave and gay with her doll, Eoineen watching +with joy the return of the swallows in spring, and broken-hearted at +their departure in late autumn, all pass before our eyes as dwellers in +a _Tír-ná-n-óg_ in _Iar-Connacht_, where the waves sing a careless song, +and the sun shines only on innocent faces. But in THE MOTHER and other +stories we are on different ground, and are told of “the heavy and the +weary weight” that lies on the hearts of the Western poor. We see the +tragic pride of Gaelic culture that impels old Brigid of the Songs to +walk across Ireland to sing at the Oireachtas in Dublin, only to die of +hunger and exhaustion at the end, the listless face of the old tramp, +who tells how through the Dearg-Daol he had lost his luck, his farm and +his family, and had become “a walking man, and the roads of Connacht +before him, from that day to this”; and even more significant is the +story of the death in prison of Coilin, with its undercurrent of hatred +for the foreign laws. The manner of narration in these stories is brief +and severe; there is scarcely a phrase too many, and even purists would +be hard set to detect an alien note. The most perfect instance seems to +me to be the story of the DEARG-DAOL. + +Of the little collection of poems, _Suantraighe agus Goltraidhe_ (Songs +of Sleep and Sorrow), Mr. MacDonagh rightly said: “One need not ask if +it be worth while having books of such poetry. The production of this is +already a success for the new literature.” The old forms, with their +full-sounding assonances and alliterations are beautifully wrought, and +the modern thoughts, the latter-day enthusiasms and dejections, when +they come, never strike us as intruders. To illustrate their beauty, +quotation in English would not serve my purpose; I will quote from the +Irish original a single verse from the poem, _A Chinn Aluinn_: + + _A ghlóir ionmhuin dob’íseal aoibhinn, + An fíor gó gcualas trém’ shuanaibh thú? + Nó an fíor an t-eólas atá dom’bheo-ghoin? + Mo bhrón, sa tuamba níl fuaim ná guth!_ + +Quite suddenly, in the second last of the collection, the image of +Ireland stands out, bowed beneath the weight of the ages, the mother of +Cuchulainn the valiant, but also of shameful children who betrayed her, +lonely and imperious. And the last poem is an exquisite farewell to the +beauty that is seen and heard and felt, before gathering the pack and +going the stern way whither the service of Ireland pointed. + +The plays, THE SINGER, THE KING, THE MASTER, and the last poems, THE +REBEL, THE FOOL, THE MOTHER, are those of a man in whom meditation on +coming struggle, agony and death have become one with life and art. They +are weighted with the concept of a nation inheriting an original sin of +slavery, for whose salvation the death of one man is a necessity. “One +man can free a nation as one Man redeemed the world,” says MacDara in +THE SINGER. “I will take no pike, I will go into the battle with bare +hands, I will stand up before the Gall as Christ hung naked before men +on the tree!” And the mother says: “My son, MacDara, is the Singer that +has quickened the dead years and all the quiet dust.” And the sharp +anguish of doubt is there too, the ever-recurring thought of the apathy +of the nation, and the vision of those “that cursed me in their hearts +for having brought death into their houses,” of “the wise, sad faces of +the dead, and the keening of women.” But the doubt comes from outside, +it is not born within the soul, and the stern resolution and _saeva +indignatio_ conquer it and persist. The mother is evoked in whose +calendar of saints the martyrs will be inscribed, who will ponder at +night in her heart in religious quiet on “the little names that were +familiar once round her dead hearth.” And through all, as if nature +would have her revenge for the over-strain, breaks in a flash the love +of the old-sought, fugitive beauty of things, the + + “Little rabbits in a field at evening + Lit by a slanting sun, + Or some green hill where shadows drifted by, + Some quiet hill where mountainy man hath sown + And soon would reap; near to the gate of Heaven; + Or children with bare feet upon the sands + Of some ebbed sea, or playing on the streets + Of little towns in Connacht.” + +Taken in the order I have indicated, the work of Padraic Pearse seems to +me to constitute a mystical book of the love of Ireland. In _Iosagán_ we +have the tender and satisfied love of the fervent novice, delighting in +the old-world, yet ever youthful charm of the Gaelic race, untroubled by +the clouded day of maturity. We find in _An Mátair_, and in some of the +poems and plays the way of purgation by doubt and suffering. In the last +plays and poems we reach unity and illumination, the glow of the soul in +the fire of martyrdom. And all these states of love are interwoven, as +they should be, in the separate stages, though a different one may have +predominance in each. I believe the generations of Irishmen yet to be +born into the national faith will come to the reading of this book as to +a kind of _Itinerarium Mentis ad Deum_, a journey to the realization of +Ireland, past, present and to come, a learning of all the love and +enthusiasm and resolve which that realization implies: + + “Live in these conquering leaves; live all the same; + And walk through all tongues one triumphant flame. + Live here, great heart; and love, and die, and kill; + And bleed and wound; and yield and conquer still.” + +Those who look in these pages for a vision of Pagan Ireland, with its +pre-Christian gods and heroes, will be disappointed. The old divinities +and figures of the sagas are there, and the remnants of the old worship +in the minds of the people are delineated, but everything is +overshadowed by the Christian concept, and the religion that is found +here centres in Christ and Mary. The effect of fifteen centuries of +Christianity is not ignored or despised. The ideas of sacrifice and +atonement, of the blood of martyrs that makes fruitful the seed of the +faith, are to be found all through these writings; nay, they have here +even more than their religious significance, and become vitalizing +factors in the struggle for Irish nationality. The doubts and weaknesses +which are described are not those of people who are inclined to return +to the former beliefs, but of men whose souls are grown faint on account +of the lethargy which they see around them. For years they have preached +and laboured and sung; but the masses remain unmoved. What wonder if +they feel unable to repeat with conviction: “Think you not that I can +ask the Father, and He will give me presently twelve legions of angels?” + +No, the Ireland about which Pearse writes is not the land of the early +heroes, but of people deeply imbued with the Christian idea and will. +And yet we feel that the ancient and mediæval and modern Gaelic currents +meet in him. By his life and death he has become one with Cuchulainn and +Fionn and Oisin, with the early teachers, terrible or gentle, of +Christianity, with Hugh of Dungannon and Owen Roe and all the chieftains +who fought against the growing power of the Sassenach, with Wolfe Tone +and the United Irishmen, with Rossa, O’Leary, and the Fenians. He will +appeal to the imagination of times to come more than any of the rebels +of the last hundred and thirty years, because in him all the tendencies +of Irish thought, culture and nationality were more fully developed. His +name and deeds will be taught by mothers to their children long before +the time when they will be learned in school histories. To older people +he will be a watchword in the national fight, a symbol of the unbroken +continuity and permanence of the Gaelic tradition. And they will think +of him forever in different ways, as a poet who sang the songs of his +country, as a soldier who died for it, as a martyr who bore witness with +his blood to the truth of his faith, as a hero, a second Cuchulainn, who +battled with a divine frenzy to stem the waves of the invading tide. + + P. BROWNE. + +Maynooth, 21st May, 1917. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + THE SINGER + + + + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + CHARACTERS + + + MACDARA, _the Singer_ + COLM, _his Brother_ + MAIRE NI FHIANNACHTA, _Mother of MacDara_ + SIGHLE + MAOILSHEACHLAINN, _a Schoolmaster_ + CUIMIN EANNA + DIARMAID OF THE BRIDGE + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + THE SINGER + + + _The wide, clean kitchen of a country house. To the left a door, which + when open, shows a wild country with a background of lonely hills; to + the right a fireplace, beside which another door leads to a room. A + candle burns on the table._ + + _Maire ni Fhiannachta, a sad, grey-haired woman, is spinning wool near + the fire. Sighle, a young girl, crouches in the ingle nook, carding. + She is bare-footed._ + +MAIRE. Mend the fire, Sighle, jewel. + +SIGHLE. Are you cold? + +MAIRE. The feet of me are cold. + + _Sighle rises and mends the fire, putting on more turf; then she sits + down again and resumes her carding._ + +SIGHLE. You had a right to go to bed. + +MAIRE. I couldn’t have slept, child. I had a feeling that something was +drawing near to us. That something or somebody was coming here. All day +yesterday I heard footsteps abroad on the street. + +SIGHLE. ’Twas the dry leaves. The quicken trees in the gap were losing +their leaves in the high wind. + +MAIRE. Maybe so. Did you think that Colm looked anxious in himself last +night when he was going out? + +SIGHLE. I may as well quench that candle. The dawn has whitened. + + _She rises and quenches the candle; then resumes her place._ + +MAIRE. Did you think, daughter, that Colm looked anxious and sorrowful +in himself when he was going out? + +SIGHLE. I did. + +MAIRE. Was he saying anything to you? + +SIGHLE. He was. (_They work silently for a few minutes; then Sighle +stops and speaks._) Maire ni Fhiannachta, I think I ought to tell you +what your son said to me. I have been going over and over it in my mind +all the long hours of the night. It is not right for the two of us to be +sitting at this fire with a secret like that coming between us. Will I +tell you what Colm said to me? + +MAIRE. You may tell me if you like, Sighle girl. + +SIGHLE. He said to me that he was very fond of me. + +MAIRE (_who has stopped spinning_). Yes, daughter? + +SIGHLE. And ... and he asked me if he came safe out of the trouble, +would I marry him. + +MAIRE. What did you say to him? + +SIGHLE. I told him that I could not give him any answer. + +MAIRE. Did he ask you why you could not give him an answer? + +SIGHLE. He did; and I didn’t know what to tell him. + +MAIRE. Can you tell me? + +SIGHLE. Do you remember the day I first came to your house, Maire? + +MAIRE. I do well. + +SIGHLE. Do you remember how lonely I was? + +MAIRE. I do, you creature. Didn’t I cry myself when the priest brought +you in to me? And you caught hold of my skirt and wouldn’t let it go, +but cried till I thought your heart would break. “They’ve put my mammie +in the ground,” you kept saying. “She was asleep, and they put her in +the ground.” + +SIGHLE. And you went down on your knees beside me and put your two arms +around me, and put your cheek against my cheek and said nothing but “God +comfort you; God comfort you.” And when I stopped crying a little, you +brought me over to the fire. Your two sons were at the fire, Maire. Colm +was in the ingle where I am now; MacDara was sitting where you are. +MacDara stooped down and lifted me on to his knee--I was only a weeshy +child. He stroked my hair. Then he began singing a little song to me, a +little song that had sad words in it, but that had joy in the heart of +it, and in the beat of it; and the words and the music grew very +caressing and soothing like, ... like my mother’s hand when it was on my +cheek, or my mother’s kiss on my mouth when I’d be half asleep-- + +MAIRE. Yes, daughter? + +SIGHLE. And it soothed me, and soothed me; and I began to think that I +was at home again, and I fell asleep in MacDara’s arms--oh, the strong, +strong arms of him, with his soft voice soothing me--when I woke up long +after that I was still in his arms with my head on his shoulder. I +opened my eyes and looked up at him. He smiled at me and said, “That was +a good, long sleep.” I ... put up my face to him to be kissed, and he +bent down his head and kissed me. He was so gentle, so gentle. (_Maire +cries silently._) I had no right to tell you all this. God forgive me +for bringing those tears to you, Maire ni Fhiannachta. + +MAIRE. Whist, girl. You had a right to tell me. Go on, jewel ... my boy, +my poor boy! + +SIGHLE. I was only a weeshy child-- + +MAIRE. Eight years you were, no more, the day the priest brought you +into the house. + +SIGHLE. How old was MacDara? + +MAIRE. He was turned fifteen. Fifteen he was on St. MacDara’s day, the +year your mother died. + +SIGHLE. This house was as dear to me nearly as my mother’s house from +that day. You were good to me, Maire ni Fhiannachta, and your two boys +were good to me, but-- + +MAIRE. Yes, daughter? + +SIGHLE. MacDara was like sun and moon to me, like dew and rain to me, +like strength and sweetness to me. I don’t know did he know I was so +fond of him. I think he did, because-- + +MAIRE. He did know, child. + +SIGHLE. How do you know that he knew? Did he tell you? Did _you_ know? + +MAIRE. I am his mother. Don’t I know every fibre of his body? Don’t I +know every thought of his mind? He never told me; but well I knew. + +SIGHLE. He put me into his songs. That is what made me think he knew. My +name was in many a song that he made. Often when I was at the +_fosaidheacht_ he would come up into the green _mám_ to me, with a +little song that he had made. It was happy for us in the green _mám_ +that time. + +MAIRE. It was happy for us all when MacDara was here. + +SIGHLE. The heart in the breast of me nearly broke when they banished +him from us. + +MAIRE. I knew it well. + +SIGHLE. I used to lie awake in the night with his songs going through my +brain, and the music of his voice. I used to call his name up in the +green _mám_. At Mass his face used to come between me and the white +Host. + +MAIRE. We have both been lonely for him. The house has been lonely for +him. + +SIGHLE. Colm never knew I was so fond of MacDara. When MacDara went away +Colm was kinder to me than ever,--but, indeed, he was always kind. + +MAIRE. Colm is a kind boy. + +SIGHLE. It was not till yesterday he told me he was fond of me; I never +thought it, I liked him well, but I never thought there would be word of +marriage between us. I don’t think he would have spoken if it was not +for the trouble coming. He says it will be soon now. + +MAIRE. It will be very soon. + +SIGHLE. I shiver when I think of them all going out to fight. They will +go out laughing: I see them with their cheeks flushed and their red lips +apart. And then they will lie very still on the hillside,--so still and +white, with no red in their cheeks, but maybe a red wound in their white +breasts, or on their white foreheads. Colm’s hair will be dabbled with +blood. + +MAIRE. Whist, daughter. That is no talk for one that was reared in this +house. I am his mother, and I do not grudge him. + +SIGHLE. Forgive me, you have known more sorrow than I, and I think only +of my own sorrow. (_She rises and kisses Maire._) I am proud other times +to think: of so many young men, young men with straight, strong limbs, +and smooth, white flesh, going out into great peril because a voice has +called to them to right the wrong of the people. Oh, I would like to see +the man that has set their hearts on fire with the breath of his voice! +They say that he is very young. They say that he is one of ourselves,--a +mountainy man that speaks our speech, and has known hunger and sorrow. + +MAIRE. The strength and the sweetness he has come, maybe, out of his +sorrow. + +SIGHLE. I heard Diarmaid of the Bridge say that he was at the fair of +Uachtar Ard yesterday. There were hundreds in the streets striving to +see him. + +MAIRE. I wonder would he be coming here into Cois-Fhairrge, or is it +into the Joyce country he would go? I don’t know but it’s his coming I +felt all day yesterday, and all night. I thought, maybe, it might be-- + +SIGHLE. Who did you think it might be? + +MAIRE. I thought it might be my son was coming to me. + +SIGHLE. Is it MacDara? + +MAIRE. Yes, MacDara. + +SIGHLE. Do you think would he come back to be with the boys in the +trouble? + +MAIRE. He would. + +SIGHLE. Would he be left back now? + +MAIRE. Who would let or stay him and he homing like a homing bird? Death +only; God between us and harm! + +SIGHLE. Amen. + +MAIRE. There is Colm in to us. + +SIGHLE (_looking out of the window_). Aye, he’s on the street. + +MAIRE. Poor Colm! + + _The door opens and Colm comes in. He is a lad of twenty._ + +COLM. Did you not go to bed, mother? + +MAIRE. I did not, Colm. I was too uneasy to sleep. Sighle kept me +company all night. + +COLM. It’s a pity of the two of you to be up like this. + +MAIRE. We would be more lonesome in bed than here chatting. Had you many +boys at the drill to-night? + +COLM. We had, then. There were ten and three score. + +MAIRE. When will the trouble be, Colm? + +COLM. It will be to-morrow, or after to-morrow; or maybe sooner. There’s +a man expected from Galway with the word. + +MAIRE. Is it the mountains you’ll take to, or to march to Uachtar Ard or +to Galway? + +COLM. It’s to march we’ll do, I’m thinking. Diarmaid of the Bridge and +Cuimin Eanna and the master will be into us shortly. We have some plans +to make and the master wants to write some orders. + +MAIRE. Is it you will be their captain? + +COLM. It is, unless a better man comes in my place. + +MAIRE. What better man would come? + +COLM. There is talk of the Singer coming. He was at the fair of Uachtar +Ard yesterday. + +MAIRE. Let you put on the kettle, Sighle, and ready the room. The master +will be asking a cup of tea. Will you lie down for an hour, Colm? + +COLM. I will not. They will be in on us now. + +MAIRE. Let you make haste, Sighle. Ready the room. Here, give me the +kettle. + + _Sighle, who has brought a kettle full of water, gives it to Maire, + who hangs it over the fire; Sighle goes into the room._ + +COLM (_after a pause_). Was Sighle talking to you, mother? + +MAIRE. She was, son. + +COLM. What did she say? + +MAIRE. She told me what you said to her last night. You must be patient, +Colm. Don’t press her to give you an answer too soon. She has strange +thoughts in her heart, and strange memories. + +COLM. What memories has she? + +MAIRE. Many a woman has memories. + +COLM. Sighle has no memories but of this house and of her mother. What +is she but a child? + +MAIRE. And what are you but a child? Can’t you have patience? Children +have memories, but the memories sometimes die. Sighle’s memories have +not died yet. + +COLM. This is queer talk. What does she remember? + +MAIRE. Whist, there’s someone on the street. + +COLM (_looking out of the window_). It’s Cuimin and the master. + +MAIRE. Be patient, son. Don’t vex your head. What are you both but +children yet? + + _The door opens and Cuimin Eanna and Maoilsheachlainn come in. Cuimin + is middle aged; Maoilsheachlainn past middle age, turning grey, and a + little stooped._ + +CUIMIN AND MAOILSHEACHLAINN (_entering_). God save all here. + +MAIRE. God save you men. Will you sit? The kettle is on the boil. Give +the master the big chair, Colm. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN (_sitting down near the fire on the chair which Colm +places for him_). You’re early stirring, Maire. + +MAIRE. I didn’t lie down at all, master. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. Is it to sit up all night you did? + +MAIRE. It is, then. Sighle kept me company. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. ’Tis a pity of the women of the world. Too good they +are for us, and too full of care. I’m afraid that there was many a woman +on this mountain that sat up last night. Aye, and many a woman in +Ireland. ’Tis women that keep all the great vigils. + +MAIRE (_wetting the tea_). Why wouldn’t we sit up to have a cup of tea +ready for you? Won’t you go west into the room? + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. We’d as lief drink it here beside the fire. + +MAIRE. Sighle is readying the room. You’ll want the table to write on, +maybe. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. We’ll go west so. + +MAIRE. Wait till Sighle has the table laid. The tea will be drawn in a +minute. + +COLM (_to Maoilsheachlainn_). Was there any word of the messenger at the +forge, master? + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. There was not. + +CUIMIN. When we were coming up the boreen I saw a man breasting Cnoc an +Teachta that I thought might be him. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. I don’t think it was him. He was walking slowly, and +sure the messenger that brings that great story will come on the wings +of the wind. + +COLM. Perhaps it was one of the boys you saw going home from the drill. + +CUIMIN. No, it was a stranger. He looked like a mountainy man that would +be coming from a distance. He might be someone that was at the fair of +Uachtar Ard yesterday, and that stayed the evening after selling. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. Aye, there did a lot stay, I’m told, talking about the +word that’s expected. + +CUIMIN. The Singer was there, I believe. Diarmaid of the Bridge said +that he spoke to them all at the fair, and that there did a lot stay in +the town after the fair thinking he’d speak to them again. They say he +has the talk of an angel. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. What sort is he to look at? + +CUIMIN. A poor man of the mountains. Young they say he is, and pale like +a man that lived in cities, but with the dress and the speech of a +mountainy man; shy in himself and very silent, till he stands up to talk +to the people. And then he has the voice of a silver trumpet, and words +so beautiful that they make the people cry. And there is terrible anger +in him, for all that he is shrinking and gentle. Diarmaid said that in +the Joyce country they think it is some great hero that has come back +again to lead the people against the Gall, or maybe an angel, or the Son +of Mary Himself that has come down on the earth. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN (_looking towards the door_). There’s a footstep +abroad. + +MAIRE (_who has been sitting very straight in her chair listening +intently_). That is my son’s step. + +COLM. Sure, amn’t I here, mother? + +MAIRE. That is MacDara’s step. + + _All start and look first towards Maire, then towards the door, the + latch of which has been touched._ + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. I wish it was MacDara, Maire. ’Tis maybe Diarmaid or +the mountainy man we saw on the road. + +MAIRE. It is not Diarmaid. It is MacDara. + + _The door opens slowly and MacDara, a young man of perhaps + twenty-five, dressed like a man of the mountains, stands on the + threshold._ + +MACDARA. God save all here. + +ALL. And you, likewise. + +MAIRE (_who has risen and is stretching out her hands_). I felt you +coming to me, little son! + +MACDARA (_springing to her and folding her in his arms_). Little mother! +little mother! + + _While they still embrace Sighle re-enters from the room and stands + still on the threshold looking at MacDara._ + +MAIRE (_raising her head_). Along all the quiet roads and across all the +rough mountains, and through all the crowded towns, I felt you drawing +near to me. + +MACDARA. Oh, the long years, the long years! + +MAIRE. I am crying for pride at the sight of you. Neighbours, +neighbours, this is MacDara, the first child that I bore to my husband. + +MACDARA (_kissing Colm_). My little brother! (_To Cuimin_), Cuimin +Eanna! (_To Maoilsheachlainn_), Master! (_They shake hands._) + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. Welcome home. + +CUIMIN. Welcome home. + +MACDARA (_looking round_). Where is.... (_He sees Sighle in the +doorway._) Sighle! (_He approaches her and takes her hand._) Little, +little Sighle!... I.... Mother, sometimes when I was in the middle of +great crowds, I have seen this fireplace, and you standing with your +hands stretched out to me as you stood a minute ago, and Sighle in the +doorway of the room; and my heart has cried out to you. + +MAIRE. I used to hear the crying of your heart. Often and often here by +the fireside or abroad on the street I would stand and say, “MacDara is +crying out to me now. The heart in him is yearning.” And this while back +I felt you draw near, draw near, step by step. Last night I felt you +very near to me. Do you remember me saying, Sighle, that I felt someone +coming, and that I thought maybe it might be MacDara? + +SIGHLE. You did. + +MAIRE. I knew that something glorious was coming to the mountain with +to-day’s dawn. Red dawns and white dawns I have seen on the hills, but +none like this dawn. Come in, jewel, and sit down awhile in the room. +Sighle has the table laid. The tea is drawn. Bring in the griddle-cakes, +Sighle. Come in, master. Come in, Cuimin. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. No, Maire, we’ll sit here a while. You and the +children will like to be by yourselves. Go in, west, children. Cuimin +and I have plans to make. We’re expecting Diarmaid of the Bridge in. + +MAIRE. We don’t grudge you a share in our joy, master. Nor you, Cuimin. + +CUIMIN. No, go on in, Maire. We’ll go west after you. We want to talk +here. + +MAIRE. Well, come in when you have your talk out. There’s enough tea on +the pot for everybody. In with you, children. + + _MacDara, Colm, Sighle and Maire go into the room, Sighle carrying the + griddle-cakes and Maire the tea._ + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. This is great news, MacDara to be back. + +CUIMIN. Do you think will he be with us? + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. Is it a boy with that gesture of the head, that proud, +laughing gesture, to be a coward or a stag? You don’t know the heart of +this boy, Cuimin; the love that’s in it, and the strength. You don’t +know the mind he has, so gracious, so full of wisdom. I taught him when +he was only a little ladeen. ’Tis a pity that he had ever to go away +from us. And yet, I think, his exile has made him a better man. His soul +must be full of great remembrances. + +CUIMIN. I never knew rightly why he was banished. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. Songs he was making that were setting the people’s +hearts on fire. + +CUIMIN. Aye, I often heard his songs. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. They were full of terrible love for the people and of +great anger against the Gall. Some said there was irreligion in them and +blasphemy against God. But I never saw it, and I don’t believe it. There +are some would have us believe that God is on the side of the Gall. +Well, word came down from Galway or from Dublin that he would be put in +prison, and maybe excommunicated if he did not go away. He was only a +gossoon of eighteen, or maybe twenty. The priest counselled him to go, +and not to bring sorrow on his mother’s house. He went away one evening +without taking farewell or leave of anyone. + +CUIMIN. Where has he been since, I don’t know? + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. In great cities, I’d say, and in lonely places. He has +the face of a scholar, or of a priest, or of a clerk, on him. He must +have read a lot, and thought a lot, and made a lot of songs. + +CUIMIN. I don’t know is he as strong a boy as Colm. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. He’s not as robust in himself as Colm is, but there +was great strength in the grip of his hand. I’d say that he’d wield a +camán or a pike with any boy on the mountain. + +CUIMIN. He’ll be a great backing to us if he is with us. The people love +him on account of the songs he used to make. There’s not a man that +won’t do his bidding. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. That’s so. And his counsel will be useful to us. He’ll +make better plans than you or I, Cuimin. + +CUIMIN. I wonder what’s keeping Diarmaid. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. Some news that was at the forge or at the priest’s +house, maybe. He went east the road to see if there was sign of a word +from Galway. + +CUIMIN. I’ll be uneasy till he comes. (_He gets up and walks to the +window and looks out; Maoilsheachlainn remains deep in thought by the +fire. Cuimin returns from the window and continues._) Is it to march +we’ll do, or to fight here in the hills? + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. Out Maam Gap we’ll go and meet the boys from the Joyce +country. We’ll leave some to guard the Gap and some at Leenane. We’ll +march the road between the lakes, through Maam and Cornamona and Clonbur +to Cong. Then we’ll have friends on our left at Ballinrobe and on our +right at Tuam. What is there to stop us but the few men the Gall have in +Clifden? + +CUIMIN. And if they march against us, we can destroy them from the +mountains. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. We can. It’s into a trap they’ll walk. + + _MacDara appears in the doorway of the room with a cup of tea and some + griddle-cake in his hand._ + +MACDARA. I’ve brought you out a cup of tea, master. I thought it long +you were sitting here. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN (_taking it_). God bless you, MacDara. + +MACDARA. Go west, Cuimin. There’s a place at the table for you now. + +CUIMIN (_rising and going in_). I may as well. Give me a call, boy, when +Diarmaid comes. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. This is a great day, MacDara. + +MACDARA. It is a great day and a glad day, and yet it is a sorrowful +day. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. How can the day of your home-coming be sorrowful? + +MACDARA. Has not every great joy a great sorrow at its core? Does not +the joy of home-coming enclose the pain of departing? I have a strange +feeling, master, I have only finished a long journey, and I feel as if I +were about to take another long journey. I meant this to be a +home-coming, but it seems only like a meeting on the way.... When my +mother stood up to meet me with her arms stretched out to me, I thought +of Mary meeting her Son on the Dolorous Way. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. That was a queer thought. What was it that drew you +home? + +MACDARA. Some secret thing that I have no name for. Some feeling that I +must see my mother, and Colm, and Sighle, again. A feeling that I must +face some great adventure with their kisses on my lips. I seemed to see +myself brought to die before a great crowd that stood cold and silent; +and there were some that cursed me in their hearts for having brought +death into their houses. Sad dead faces seemed to reproach me. Oh, the +wise, sad faces of the dead--and the keening of women rang in my ears. +But I felt that the kisses of those three, warm on my mouth, would be as +wine in my blood, strengthening me to bear what men said, and to die +with only love and pity in my heart, and no bitterness. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. It was strange that you should see yourself like that. + +MACDARA. It was foolish. One has strange, lonesome thoughts when one is +in the middle of crowds. But I am glad of that thought, for it drove me +home. I felt so lonely away from here.... My mother’s hair is greyer +than it was. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. Aye, she has been ageing. She has had great sorrows: +your father dead and you banished. Colm is grown a fine, strapping boy. + +MACDARA. He is. There is some shyness between Colm and me. We have not +spoken yet as we used to. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. When boys are brought up together and then parted for +a long time there is often shyness between them when they meet again.... +Do you find Sighle changed? + +MACDARA. No; and, yet--yes. Master, she is very beautiful. I did not +know a woman could be so beautiful. I thought that all beauty was in the +heart, that beauty was a secret thing that could be seen only with the +eyes of reverie, or in a dream of some unborn splendour. I had schooled +myself to think physical beauty an unholy thing. I tried to keep my +heart virginal; and sometimes in the street of a city when I have +stopped to look at the white limbs of some beautiful child, and have +felt the pain that the sight of great beauty brings, I have wished that +I could blind my eyes so that I might shut out the sight of everything +that tempted me. At times I have rebelled against that, and have cried +aloud that God would not have filled the world with beauty, even to the +making drunk of the sight, if beauty were not of heaven. But, then, +again, I have said, “This is the subtlest form of temptation; this is to +give to one’s own desire the sanction of God’s will.” And I have +hardened my heart and kept myself cold and chaste as the top of a high +mountain. But now I think I was wrong, for beauty like Sighle’s must be +holy. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. Surely a good and comely girl is holy. You question +yourself too much, MacDara. You brood too much. Do you remember when you +were a gossoon, how you cried over the wild duck whose wing you broke by +accident with a stone, and made a song about the crane whose nest you +found ravished, and about the red robin you found perished on the +doorstep? And how the priest laughed because you told him in confession +that you had stolen drowned lilies from the river? + +MACDARA (_laughing_). Aye, it was at a station in Diarmaid of the +Bridge’s, and when the priest laughed my face got red, and everyone +looked at us, and I got up and ran out of the house. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN (_laughing_). I remember it well. We thought it was +what you told him you were in love with his house-keeper. + +MACDARA. It’s little but I was, too. She used to give me apples out of +the priest’s apple-garden. Little brown russet apples, the sweetest I +ever tasted. I used to think that the apples of the Hesperides that the +Children of Tuireann went to quest must have been like them. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. It’s a wonder but you made a poem about them. + +MACDARA. I did. I made a poem in Deibhidhe of twenty quatrains. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. Did you make many songs while you were away? + +MACDARA. When I went away first my heart was as if dead and dumb and I +could not make any songs. After a little while, when I was going through +the sweet, green country, and I used to come to little towns where I’d +see children playing, my heart seemed to open again like hard ground +that would be watered with rain. The first song that I made was about +the children that I saw playing in the street of Kilconnell. The next +song that I made was about an old dark man that I met on the causeway of +Aughrim. I made a glad, proud song when I saw the broad Shannon flow +under the bridge of Athlone. I made many a song after that before I +reached Dublin. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. How did it fare with you in Dublin? + +MACDARA. I went to a bookseller and gave him the book of my songs to +print. He said that he dared not print them; that the Gall would put him +in prison and break up his printing-press. I was hungry and I wandered +through the streets. Then a man who saw me read an Irish poster on the +wall spoke to me and asked me where I came from. I told him my story. In +a few days he came to me and said that he had found work for me to teach +Irish and Latin and Greek in a school. I went to the school and taught +in it for a year. I wrote a few poems and they were printed in a paper. +One day the Brother who was over the school came to me and asked me was +it I that had written those poems. I said it was. He told me then that I +could not teach in the school any longer. So I went away. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. What happened to you after that? + +MACDARA. I wandered in the streets until I saw a notice that a teacher +was wanted to teach a boy. I went to the house and a lady engaged me to +teach her little son for ten shillings a week. Two years I spent at +that. The boy was a winsome child, and he grew into my heart. I thought +it a wonderful thing to have the moulding of a mind, of a life, in my +hands. Do you ever think that, you who are a schoolmaster? + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. It’s not much time I get for thinking. + +MACDARA. I have done nothing all my life but think: think and make +poems. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. If the thoughts and the poems are good, that is a good +life’s work. + +MACDARA. Aye, they say that to be busy with the things of the spirit is +better than to be busy with the things of the body. But I am not sure, +master. Can the Vision Beautiful alone content a man? I think true man +is divine in this, that, like God, he must needs create, he must needs +do. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. Is not a poet a maker? + +MACDARA. No, he is only a voice that cries out, a sigh that trembles +into rest. The true teacher must suffer and do. He must break bread to +the people: he must go into Gethsemane and toil up the steep of +Golgotha.... Sometimes I think that to be a woman and to serve and +suffer as women do is to be the highest thing. Perhaps that is why I +felt it proud and wondrous to be a teacher, for a teacher does that. I +gave to the little lad I taught the very flesh and blood and breath that +were my life. I fed him on the milk of my kindness; I breathed into him +my spirit. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. Did he repay you for that great service? + +MACDARA. Can any child repay its mother? Master, your trade is the most +sorrowful of all trades. You are like a poor mother who spends herself +in nursing children who go away and never come back to her. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. Was your little pupil untrue to you? + +MACDARA. Nay; he was so true to me that his mother grew jealous of me. A +good mother and a good teacher are always jealous of each other. That is +why a teacher’s trade is the most sorrowful of all trades. If he is a +bad teacher his pupil _wanders_ away from him. If he is a good teacher +his pupil’s folk grow jealous of him. My little pupil’s mother bade him +choose between her and me. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. Which did he choose? + +MACDARA. He chose his mother. How could I blame him? + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. What did you do? + +MACDARA. I shouldered my bundle and took to the roads. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. How did it fare with you? + +MACDARA. It fares ill with one who is so poor that he has no longer even +his dreams. I was the poorest _shuiler_ on the roads of Ireland, for I +had no single illusion left to me. I could neither pray when I came to a +holy well nor drink in a public-house when I had got a little money. One +seemed to me as foolish as the other. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. Did you make no songs in those days? + +MACDARA. I made one so bitter that when I recited it at a wake they +thought I was some wandering, wicked spirit, and they put me out of the +house. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. Did you not pray at all? + +MACDARA. Once, as I knelt by the cross of Kilgobbin, it became clear to +me, with an awful clearness, that there was no God. Why pray after that? +I burst into a fit of laughter at the folly of men in thinking that +there is a God. I felt inclined to run through the villages and cry +aloud, “People, it is all a mistake; there is no God.” + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. MacDara, this grieves me. + +MACDARA. Then I said, “why take away their illusion? If they find out +that there is no God, their hearts will be as lonely as mine.” So I +walked the roads with my secret. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. MacDara, I am sorry for this. You must pray, you must +pray. You will find God again. He has only hidden His face from you. + +MACDARA. No, He has revealed His Face to me. His Face is terrible and +sweet, Maoilsheachlainn. I know It well now. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. Then you found Him again? + +MACDARA. His Name is suffering. His Name is loneliness. His Name is +abjection. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. I do not rightly understand you, and yet I think you +are saying something that is true. + +MACDARA. I have lived with the homeless and with the breadless. Oh, +Maoilsheachlainn, the poor, the poor! I have seen such sad childings, +such bare marriage feasts, such candleless wakes! In the pleasant +country places I have seen them, but oftener in the dark, unquiet +streets of the city. My heart has been heavy with the sorrow of mothers, +my eyes have been wet with the tears of children. The people, +Maoilsheachlainn, the dumb, suffering people: reviled and outcast, yet +pure and splendid and faithful. In them I saw, or seemed to see again, +the Face of God. Ah, it is a tear-stained face, blood-stained, defiled +with ordure, but it is the Holy Face! + + * * * * * + + _There is a page of MS. missing here, which evidently covered the exit + to the room of MacDara and the entrance of Diarmaid._ + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. What news have you with you? + +DIARMAID. The Gall have marched from Clifden. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. Is it into the hills? + +DIARMAID. By Letterfrack they have come, and the Pass of Kylemore, and +through Glen Inagh. + +COLM. And no word from Galway yet? + +DIARMAID. No word, nor sign of a word. + +COLM. They told us to wait for the word. We’ve waited too long. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. The messenger may have been caught. Perhaps the Gall +are marching from Galway too. + +COLM. We’d best strike ourselves, so. + +CUIMIN. Is it to strike before the word is given? + +COLM. Is it to die like rats you’d have us because the word is not +given? + +CUIMIN. Our plans are not finished; our orders are not here. + +COLM. Our plans will never be finished. Our orders may never be here. + +CUIMIN. We’ve no one to lead us. + +COLM. Didn’t you elect me your captain? + +CUIMIN. We did: but not to bid us rise out when the whole country is +quiet. We were to get the word from the men that are over the people. +They’ll speak when the time comes. + +COLM. They should have spoken before the Gall marched. + +CUIMIN. What call have you to say what they should or what they should +not have done? Am I speaking lie or truth, men? Are we to rise out +before the word comes? I say we must wait for the word. What do you say, +Diarmaid, you that was our messenger to Galway? + +DIARMAID. I like the way Colm has spoken, and we may live to say that he +spoke wisely as well as bravely; but I’m slow to give my voice to send +out the boys of this mountain--our poor little handful--to stand with +their poor pikes against the big guns of the Gall. If we had news that +they were rising in the other countrysides; but we’ve got no news. + +CUIMIN. What do you say, master? You’re wiser than any of us. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. I say to Colm that a greater one than he or I may give +us the word before the day is old. Let you have patience, Colm-- + +COLM. My mother told me to have patience this morning, when MacDara’s +step was on the street. Patience, and I after waiting seven years before +I spoke, and then to speak too late! + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. What are you saying at all? + +COLM. I am saying this, master, that I’m going out the road to meet the +Gall, if only five men of the mountain follow me. + + _Sighle has appeared in the doorway and stands terror-stricken._ + +CUIMIN. You will not, Colm. + +COLM. I will. + +DIARMAID. This is throwing away men’s lives. + +COLM. Men’s lives get very precious to them when they have bought out +their land. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. Listen to me, Colm-- + + _Colm goes out angrily, and the others follow him, trying to restrain + him. Sighle comes to the fire, where she kneels._ + +SIGHLE (_as in a reverie_). “They will go out laughing,” I said, but +Colm has gone out with anger in his heart. And he was so kind.... Love +is a terrible thing. There is no pain so great as the pain of love.... I +wish MacDara and I were children in the green _mám_ and that we did not +know that we loved each other.... Colm will lie dead on the road to Glen +Inagh, and MacDara will go out to die.... There is nothing in the world +but love and death. _MacDara comes out of the room._ + +MACDARA (_in a low voice_). She has dropped asleep, Sighle. + +SIGHLE. She watched long, MacDara. We all watched long. + +MACDARA. Every long watch ends. Every traveller comes home. + +SIGHLE. Sometimes when people watch it is death that comes. + +MACDARA. Could there be a royaller coming, Sighle?... Once I wanted +life. You and I to be together in one place always: that is what I +wanted. But now I see that we shall be together for a little time only; +that I have to do a hard, sweet thing, and that I must do it alone. And +because I love you I would not have it different.... I wanted to have +your kiss on my lips, Sighle, as well as my mother’s and Colm’s. But I +will deny myself that. (_Sighle is crying._) Don’t cry, child. Stay near +my mother while she lives--it may be for a little while of years. You +poor women suffer so much pain, so much sorrow, and yet you do not die +until long after your strong, young sons and lovers have died. + + _Maire’s voice is heard from the room, crying_: MacDara! + +MACDARA. She is calling me. + + _He goes into the room; Sighle cries on her knees by the fire. After a + little while voices are heard outside, the latch is lifted, and + Maoilsheachlainn comes in._ + +SIGHLE. Is he gone, master? + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. Gone out the road with ten or fifteen of the young +lads. Is MacDara within still? + +SIGHLE. He was here in the kitchen a while. His mother called him and he +went back to her. + + _Maoilsheachlainn goes over and sits down near the fire._ + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. I think, maybe, that Colm did what was right. We are +too old to be at the head of work like this. Was MacDara talking to you +about the trouble? + +SIGHLE. He said that he would have to do a hard, sweet thing, and that +he would have to do it alone. + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. I’m sorry but I called him before Colm went out. + + _A murmur is heard as of a crowd of men talking as they come up the + hill._ + +SIGHLE. What is that noise like voices? + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. It is the boys coming up the hillside. There was a +great crowd gathering below at the cross. + + _The voices swell loud outside the door. Cuimin Eanna, Diarmaid, and + some others come in._ + +DIARMAID. The men say we did wrong to let Colm go out with that little +handful. They say we should all have marched. + +CUIMIN. And I say Colm was wrong to go before he got his orders. Are we +all to go out and get shot down because one man is hotheaded? Where is +the plan that was to come from Galway? + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. Men, I’m blaming myself for not saying the thing I’m +going to say before we let Colm go. We talk about getting word from +Galway. What would you say, neighbours, if the man that will give the +word is under the roof of this house. + +CUIMIN. Who is it you mean? + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN (_going to the door of the room and throwing it open_). +Let you rise out, MacDara, and reveal yourself to the men that are +waiting for your word. + +ONE OF THE NEWCOMERS. Has MacDara come home? + + _MacDara comes out of the room: Maire ni Fhiannachta stands behind him + in the doorway._ + +DIARMAID (_starting up from where he has been sitting_). That is the man +that stood among the people in the fair of Uachtar Ard! (_He goes up to +MacDara and kisses his hand._) I could not get near you yesterday, +MacDara, with the crowds that were round you. What was on me that didn’t +know you? Sure, I had a right to know that sad, proud head. Maire ni +Fhiannachta, men and women yet unborn will bless the pains of your first +childing. + + _Maire ni Fhiannachta comes forward slowly and takes her son’s hand + and kisses it._ + +MAIRE (_in a low voice_). Soft hand that played at my breast, strong +hand that will fall heavy on the Gall, brave hand that will break the +yoke! Men of this mountain, my son MacDara is the Singer that has +quickened the dead years and all the quiet dust! Let the horsemen that +sleep in Aileach rise up and follow him into the war! Weave your +winding-sheets, women, for there will be many a noble corpse to be waked +before the new moon! + + _Each comes forward and kisses his hand._ + +MAOILSHEACHLAINN. Let you speak, MacDara, and tell us is it time. + +MACDARA. Where is Colm? + +DIARMAID. Gone out the road to fight the Gall, himself and fifteen. + +MACDARA. Has not Colm spoken by his deed already? + +CUIMIN. You are our leader. + +MACDARA. Your leader is the man that spoke first. Give me a pike and I +will follow Colm. Why did you let him go out with fifteen men only? You +are fourscore on the mountain. + +DIARMAID. We thought it a foolish thing for fourscore to go into battle +against four thousand, or, maybe, forty thousand. + +MACDARA. And so it is a foolish thing. Do you want us to be wise? + +CUIMIN. This is strange talk. + +MACDARA. I will talk to you more strangely yet. It is for your own +souls’ sakes I would have had the fourscore go, and not for Colm’s sake, +or for the battle’s sake, for the battle is won whether you go or not. + + _A cry is heard outside. One rushes in terror-stricken._ + +THE NEWCOMER. Young Colm has fallen at the Glen foot. + +MACDARA. The fifteen were too many. Old men, you did not do your work +well enough. You should have kept all back but one. One man can free a +people as one Man redeemed the world. I will take no pike, I will go +into the battle with bare hands. I will stand up before the Gall as +Christ hung naked before men on the tree! + + _He moves through them, pulling off his clothes as he goes. As he + reaches the threshold a great shout goes up from the people. He passes + out and the shout dies slowly away. The other men follow him slowly. + Maire ni Fhiannachta sits down at the fire, where Sighle still + crouches._ + + + THE CURTAIN DESCENDS. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + THE KING + + + A MORALITY + + + + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + CHARACTERS + + + GIOLLA NA NAOMH (“_the Servant of the Saints_”), _a Little Boy_ + BOYS + AN ABBOT + MONKS + A KING + HEROES + GILLIES + WOMEN + + +_PLACE_--_An ancient monastery_ + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + THE KING + + + _A green before the monastery. The voices of monks are heard chanting. + Through the chanting breaks the sound of a trumpet. A little boy runs + out from the monastery and stands on the green looking in the + direction whence the trumpet has spoken._ + +THE BOY. Conall, Diarmaid, Giolla na Naomh! + + _The voices of other boys answer him._ + +FIRST BOY. There is a host marching from the North. + +SECOND BOY. Where is it? + +FIRST BOY. See it beneath you in the glen. + +THIRD BOY. It is the King’s host. + +FOURTH BOY. The King is going to battle. + + _The trumpet speaks again, nearer. The boys go upon the rampart of the + monastery. The murmur of a marching host is heard._ + +FIRST BOY. I see the horses and the riders. + +SECOND BOY. I see the swords and the spears. + +FOURTH BOY. I see the standards and the banners. + +THIRD BOY. I see the King’s banner. + +FOURTH BOY. I see the King! + +FIRST BOY. Which of them is the King? + +FOURTH BOY. The tall comely man on the black horse. + +GIOLLA NA NAOMH. Let us salute the King. + +THE BOYS (_with the voice of one_). Take victory in battle and slaying, +O King! + + _The voices of warriors are heard acclaiming the King as the host + marches past with din of weapons and music of trumpet and pipes. + Silence succeeds._ + +FIRST BOY. I would like to be a King. + +GIOLLA NA NAOMH. Why? + +FIRST BOY. The King has gold and silver. + +SECOND BOY. He has noble jewels in his jewel-house. + +THIRD BOY. He has slender steeds and gallant hounds. + +FOURTH BOY. He has a keen-edged, gold-hilted sword and a mighty-shafted, +blue-headed spear and a glorious red-emblazoned shield. I saw him once +in my father’s house. + +FIRST BOY. What was he like? + +FOURTH BOY. He was tall and noble. He was strong and broad-shouldered. +He had long fair hair. He had a comely proud face. He had two piercing +grey eyes. A white vest of satin next his skin. A very beautiful red +tunic, with a white hood, upon his body. A royal mantle of purple about +him. Seven colours upon him, between vest and tunic and hood and mantle. +A silver brooch upon his breast. A kingly diadem upon his head, and the +colour of gold upon it. Two great wings rising above his head, as white +as the two wings of a sea-gull and as broad as the two wings of an +eagle. He was a gallant man. + +SECOND BOY. And what was the look of his face? + +THIRD BOY. Did he look angry, stern? + +FOURTH BOY. He did, at times. + +FIRST BOY. Had he a laughing look? + +FOURTH BOY. He laughed only once. + +SECOND BOY. How did he look mostly? Stern or laughing? + +FOURTH BOY. He looked sorrowful. When he was talking to the kings and +the heroes he had an angry and a laughing look every second while, but +when he was silent he was sorrowful. + +FIRST BOY. What sorrow can he have? + +FOURTH BOY. I do not know. The thousands he has slain, perhaps. + +SECOND BOY. The churches he has plundered. + +THIRD BOY. The battles he has lost. + +GIOLLA NA NAOMH. Alas, the poor King! + +SECOND BOY. You would not like to be a King, Giolla na Naomh? + +GIOLLA NA NAOMH. I would not. I would rather be a monk that I might pray +for the King. + +FOURTH BOY. I may have the kingship of this country when I am a man, for +my father is of the royal blood. + +SECOND BOY. And my father is of the royal blood, too. + +THIRD BOY. Aye, and mine. + +FOURTH BOY. I will not let the kingdom go with either of you. It is +mine! + +SECOND BOY. It is not, but mine. + +THIRD BOY. It matters not whose it is, for _I_ will have it! + +SECOND BOY. No, nor anyone of your house! + +FOURTH BOY (_seizing a switch of sally and brandishing it_). I will ply +the venom of my sword upon you! I will defend my kingdom against my +enemies! Giolla na Naomh, pray for the King! + + _A bell sounds from the monastery._ + +GIOLLA NA NAOMH. The bell is ringing. + + _The people of the monastery come upon the green in ones and twos, the + Abbot last. The boys gather a little apart. Distant sounds of battle + are heard._ + +THE ABBOT. My children, the King is giving battle to his foes. + +FIRST MONK. This King has lost every battle into which he has gone up to +this. + +THE ABBOT. In a vision that I saw last night as I knelt before my God it +was revealed to me that the battle will be broken on the King again. + +SECOND MONK. My grief! + +THIRD MONK. My grief! + +FIRST MONK. Tell us, Father, the cause of these unnumbered defeats. + +THE ABBOT. Do you think that an offering will be accepted from polluted +hands? This King has shed the blood of the innocent. He has made spoils +and forays. He has oppressed the poor. He has forsaken the friendship of +God and made friends with evil-doers. + +FIRST MONK. That is true. Yet it is a good fight that the King fights +now, for he gives battle for his people. + +THE ABBOT. It is an angel that should be sent to pour out the wine and +to break the bread of this sacrifice. Not by an unholy King should the +noble wine that is in the veins of good heroes be spilt; not at the +behest of a guilty king should fair bodies be mangled. I say to you that +the offering will not be accepted. + +FIRST MONK. And are all guilty of the sins of the King? If the King is +defeated it’s grief will be for all. Why must all suffer for the sins of +the King? On the King the eric! + +THE ABBOT. The nation is guilty of the sins of its princes. I say to you +that this nation shall not be freed until it chooses for itself a +righteous King. + +SECOND MONK. Where shall a righteous King be found? + +THE ABBOT. I do not know, unless he be found among these little boys. + + _The boys have drawn near and are gathered about the Abbot._ + +FIRST MONK. And shall the people be in bondage until these little lads +are fit for battle? It is not the King’s case I pity, but the case of +the people. I heard women mourning last night. Shall women be mourning +in this land till doom? + +THIRD MONK. As I went out from the monastery yesterday there was a dead +man on the verge of the wood. Battle is terrible. + +SECOND MONK. No, battle is glorious! While we were singing our None but +now, Father, I heard, through the psalmody of the brethren, the voice of +a trumpet. My heart leaped, and I would fain have risen from the place +where I was and gone after that gallant music. I should not have cared +though it were to my death I went. + +THE ABBOT. That is the voice of a young man. The old wait for death, but +the young go to meet it. If into this quiet place, where monks chant and +children play, there were to come from yonder battlefield a bloodstained +man, calling upon all to follow him into the battle-press, there is none +here that would not rise and follow him, but I myself and the old +brother that rings our bell. There is none of you, young brothers, no, +nor any of these little lads, that would not rise from me and go into +the battle. That music of the fighters makes drunk the hearts of young +men. + +SECOND MONK. It is good for young men to be made drunk. + +FIRST MONK. Brother, you speak wickedness. + +THE ABBOT. There is a heady ale which all young men should drink, for he +who has not been made drunk with it has not lived. It is with that ale +that God makes drunk the hearts of the saints. I would not forbid you +your intoxication, O young men! + +FIRST MONK. This is not plain, Father. + +THE ABBOT. Do you think if that terrible, beautiful voice for which +young men strain their ears were to speak from yon place where the +fighters are, and the horses, and the music, that I would stay you, did +ye rise to obey it? Do you think I would grudge any of you? Do you think +I would grudge the dearest of these little boys, to death calling with +that terrible, beautiful voice? I would let you all go, though I and the +old brother should be very lonely here. + +SECOND BOY. Giolla na Naomh would not go, Father. + +THE ABBOT. Why do you say that? + +SECOND BOY. He said that he would rather be a monk. + +THE ABBOT. Would you not go into the battle, Giolla na Naomh? + +GIOLLA NA NAOMH. I would. I would go as a gilly to the King, that I +might serve him when all would forsake him. + +THE ABBOT. But it is to the saints you are gilly, Giolla na Naomh, and +not to the King. + +GIOLLA NA NAOMH. It were not much for the poor King to have one little +gilly that would not forsake him when the battle would be broken on him +and all forsaking him. + +THE ABBOT. This child is right. While we think of glory he thinks of +service. + + _An outcry as of grief and dismay is heard from the battlefield._ + +FIRST MONK. I fear me that the King is beaten! + +THE ABBOT. Go upon the rampart and tell us what you see. + +FIRST MONK (_having gone upon the rampart_). A man comes towards us in +flight. + +SECOND MONK. What manner of man is he? + +FIRST MONK. A bloodstained man, all spent, his feet staggering and +stumbling under him. + +SECOND MONK. Is he a man of the King’s people? + +FIRST MONK. He is. _A soldier comes upon the green all spent._ + +THE SOLDIER. The King is beaten! + +THE MONKS. My sorrow, my sorrow! + +THE SOLDIER. The King is beaten, I say to you! O ye of the books and the +bells, small was your help to us in the hard battle! The King is beaten! + +THE ABBOT. Where is the King? + +THE SOLDIER. He is flying. + +THE ABBOT. Give us the description of the battle. + +THE SOLDIER. I cannot speak. Let a drink be given to me. + +THE ABBOT. Let a drink be given to this man. + + _The little boy who is called Giolla na Naomh gives him a drink of + water._ + +THE ABBOT. Speak to us now and give us the description of the battle. + +THE SOLDIER. Each man of us was a fighter of ten. The King was a fighter +of a hundred. But what availed us our valour? We were beaten and we +fled. Hundreds lie sole to sole on the lea. + +THE MONKS. My sorrow! My sorrow! _A din grows._ + +SECOND MONK. Who comes? + +FIRST MONK. The King! + + _Riders and gillies come upon the green pell-mell, the King in their + midst. The King goes upon his knees before the Abbot, and throws his + sword upon the ground._ + +THE KING. Give me your curse, O man of God, and let me go to my death! I +am beaten. My people are beaten. Ten battles have I fought against my +foes, and every battle of them has been broken on me. It is I who have +brought God’s wrath upon this land. Ask your God not to wreak his anger +on my people henceforth, but to wreak it on me. Have pity on my people, +O man of God! + +THE ABBOT. God will have pity on them. + +THE KING. God has forsaken me. + +THE ABBOT. You have forsaken God. + +THE KING. God has forsaken my people. + +THE ABBOT. He has not, neither will He. He will save this nation if it +choose a righteous King. + +THE KING. Give it then a righteous King. Give it one of your monks or +one of these little lads to be its King. The battle on your protection, +O man of God! + +THE ABBOT. Not so, but on the protection of the sword of a righteous +King. Speak to me, my children, and tell me who among you is the most +righteous? + +FIRST MONK. I have sinned. + +SECOND MONK. And I. + +THIRD MONK. Father, we have all sinned. + +THE ABBOT. I, too, have sinned. All that are men have sinned. How soon +we exchange the wisdom of children for the folly of men! O wise +children, busy with your toys while we are busy with our sins! I see +clearly now. I shall find a sinless King among these little boys. Speak +to me, boys, and tell me who is most innocent among you? + +THE BOYS (_with one voice_). Giolla na Naomh. + +THE ABBOT. The little lad that waits upon all! Ye are right. The last +shall be first. Giolla na Naomh, will you be King over this nation? + +GIOLLA NA NAOMH. I am too young, Father, I am too weak. + +THE ABBOT. Come hither to me, child. (_The child goes over to him._) O +fosterling that I have nourished, if I ask this thing of you, will you +not do it? + +GIOLLA NA NAOMH. I will be obedient to you, Father. + +THE ABBOT. Will you turn your face into the battle? + +GIOLLA NA NAOMH. I will do the duty of a King. + +THE ABBOT. Little one, it may be that your death will come of it. + +GIOLLA NA NAOMH. Welcome is death if it be appointed to me. + +THE ABBOT. Did I not say that the young seek death? They are spendthrift +of all that we hoard jealously; they pursue all that we shun. The +terrible, beautiful voice has spoken to this child. O herald death, you +shall be answered! I will not grudge you my fosterling. + +THE KING. Abbot, I will fight my own battles: no child shall die for me! + +THE ABBOT. You have given me your sword, and I give it to this child. +God has spoken through the voice of His ancient herald, the terrible, +beautiful voice that comes out of the heart of battles. + +GIOLLA NA NAOMH. Let me do this little thing, King. I will guard your +banner well. I will bring you back your sword after the battle. I am +only your little gilly, who watches while the tired King sleeps. I will +sleep to-night while you shall watch. + +THE KING. My pity, my three pities! + +GIOLLA NA NAOMH. We slept last night while you were marching through the +dark country. Poor King, your marchings have been long. My march will be +very short. + +THE ABBOT. Let this gentle asking prevail with you, King. I say to you +that God has spoken. + +THE KING. I do not understand your God. + +THE ABBOT. Who understands Him? He demands not understanding, but +obedience. This child is obedient, and because he is obedient, God will +do mighty things through him. King, you must yield to this. + +THE KING. I yield, I yield! Woe is me that I did not fall in yonder +onset! + +THE ABBOT. Let this child be stripped that the raiment of a King may be +put about him. (_The child is stripped of his clothing._) Let a royal +vest be put next the skin of the child. (_A royal vest is put upon +him._) Let a royal tunic be put about him. (_A royal tunic is put about +him above the vest, and sandals upon his feet._) Let the royal mantle be +put about him. (_The King takes off the royal mantle and it is put upon +the child._) Let a royal diadem be put upon his head. (_The King takes +off the royal diadem and it is put upon the child’s head._) Let him be +given the shield of the King. (_The shieldbearer holds up the shield._) +A blessing on this shield! May it be firm against foes! + +THE HEROES. A blessing on this shield! + + _The shield is put on the child’s left arm._ + +THE ABBOT. Let him be given the spear of the King. (_The spearbearer +comes forward and holds up the spear._) A blessing on this spear! May it +be sharp against foes! + +THE HEROES. A blessing on this spear! + +THE ABBOT. Let him be given the sword of the King. (_The King lifts his +sword and girds it round the child’s waist. Giolla na Naomh draws the +sword and holds it in his right hand._) A blessing on this sword! May it +be hard to smite foes! + +THE HEROES. A blessing on this sword! + +THE ABBOT. I call this little lad King, and I put the battle under his +protection in the name of God. + +THE KING (_kneeling before the boy_). I do homage to thee, O King, and I +put the battle under thy protection. + +THE HEROES, MONKS, BOYS, etc. (_kneeling_). We do homage to thee, O +King, and we put the battle under thy protection. + +GIOLLA NA NAOMH. I undertake to sustain the battle in the name of God. + +THE ABBOT. Let a steed be brought him. (_A steed is brought._) Let the +banner of the King be unfurled. (_The banner is unfurled._) Turn thy +face to the battle, O King! + +GIOLLA NA NAOMH (_kneeling_). Bless me, Father. + +THE ABBOT. A blessing on thee, little one. + +THE HEROES, etc. (_with one voice_). Take victory in battle and slaying, +O King. + + _The little King mounts, and, with the heroes and soldiers and + gillies, rides to the battle. The Abbot, the King, the Monks, and the + Boys watch them._ + +THE ABBOT. King, I have given you the noblest jewel that was in my +house. I loved yonder child. + +THE KING. Priest, I have never received from my tributary kings a +kinglier gift. + +FIRST MONK. They have reached the place of battle. + +THE ABBOT. O strong God, make strong the hand of this child. Make firm +his foot. Make keen his sword. Let the purity of his heart and the +humbleness of his spirit be unto him a magnifying of courage and an +exaltation of mind. Ye angels that fought the ancient battles, ye +veterans of God, make a battle-pen about him and fight before him with +flaming swords. + +THE MONKS AND BOYS. Amen, Amen. + +THE ABBOT. O God, save this nation by the sword of the sinless boy. + +THE KING. And O Christ, that was crucified on the hill, bring the child +safe from the perilous battle. + +THE ABBOT. King, King, freedom is not purchased but with a great price. +(_A trumpet speaks._) Let the description of the battle be given us. + + _The First Monk and the Second Monk go upon the rampart._ + +FIRST MONK. The two hosts are face to face. _Another trumpet speaks._ + +SECOND MONK. That is sweet! It is the trumpet of the King! _Shouts._ + +FIRST MONK. The King’s host raises shouts. _Other shouts._ + +SECOND MONK. The enemy answers them. + +FIRST MONK. The hosts advance against each other. + +SECOND MONK. They fight. + +FIRST MONK. Our people are yielding. + +THIRD MONK. Say not so. + +SECOND MONK. My grief, they are yielding. _A trumpet speaks._ + +THIRD MONK. Sweet again! It is timely spoken, O trumpet of the King! + +FIRST MONK. The King’s banner is going into the battle! + +SECOND MONK. I see the little King! + +THIRD MONK. Is he going into the battle? + +FIRST MONK. Yes. + +THE MONKS AND BOYS (_with one voice_). Take victory in battle and +slaying, O King! + +SECOND MONK. It is a good fight now. + +FIRST MONK. Two seas have met on the plain. + +SECOND MONK. Two raging seas! + +FIRST MONK. One sea rolls back. + +SECOND MONK. It is the enemy that retreats! + +FIRST MONK. The little King goes through them. + +SECOND MONK. He goes through them like a hawk through small birds. + +FIRST MONK. Yea, like a wolf through a flock of sheep on a plain. + +SECOND MONK. Like a torrent through a mountain gap. + +FIRST MONK. It is a road of rout before him. + +SECOND MONK. There are great uproars in the battle. It is a roaring path +down which the King rides. + +FIRST MONK. O golden head above the slaughter! O shining, terrible sword +of the King! + +SECOND MONK. The enemy flies! + +FIRST MONK. They are beaten! They are beaten! It is a red road of rout! +Raise shouts of exultation! + +SECOND MONK. My grief! + +FIRST MONK. My grief! My grief! + +THE ABBOT. What is that? + +FIRST MONK. The little King is down! + +THE ABBOT. Has he the victory? + +FIRST MONK. Yes, but he himself is down. I do not see his golden head. I +do not see his shining sword. My grief! They raise his body from the +plain. + +THE ABBOT. Is the enemy flying? + +SECOND MONK. Yes, they fly. They are pursued. They are scattered. They +are scattered as a mist would be scattered. They are no longer seen on +the plain. + +THE ABBOT. It’s thanks to God! (_Keening is heard._) Thou hast been +answered, O terrible voice! Old herald, my foster child has answered! + +THIRD MONK. They bear hither a dead child. + +THE KING. He said that he would sleep to-night and that I should watch. + + _Heroes come upon the green bearing the body of Giolla na Naomh on a + bier; there are women keening it. The bier is laid in the centre of + the green._ + +THE KING. He has brought me back my sword. He has guarded my banner +well. + +THE ABBOT (_lifting the sword from the bier_). Take the sword. + +THE KING. No, I will let him keep it. A King should sleep with a sword. +This was a very valiant King. (_He takes the sword from the Abbot and +lays it again upon the bier. He kneels._) I do homage to thee, O dead +King, O victorious child! I kiss thee, O white body, since it is thy +purity that hath redeemed my people. (_He kisses the forehead of Giolla +na Naomh. They commence to keen again._) + +THE ABBOT. Do not keen this child, for he hath purchased freedom for his +people. Let shouts of exultation be raised and let a canticle be sung in +praise of God. + + _The body is borne into the monastery with a Te Deum._ + + + THE SCENE CLOSES. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + THE MASTER + + + + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + CHARACTERS + + + CIARAN, _the Master_ + PUPILS: + IOLLANN BEAG + ART + BREASAL + MAINE + RONAN + CEALLACH + DAIRE, _the King_ + MESSENGER + THE ARCHANGEL MICHAEL + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + THE MASTER + + + _A little cloister in a woodland. The subdued sunlight of a forest + place comes through the arches. On the left, one arch gives a longer + vista where the forest opens and the sun shines upon a far hill. In + the centre of the cloister two or three steps lead to an inner place, + as it were a little chapel or cell._ + + _Art, Breasal, and Maine are busy with a game of jackstones about the + steps. They play silently._ + + _Ronan enters from the left._ + +RONAN. Where is the Master? + +ART. He has not left his cell yet. + +RONAN. He is late. Who is with him, Art? + +ART. I was with him till a while ago. When he had finished his +thanksgiving he told me he had one other little prayer to say which he +could not leave over. He said it was for a soul that was in danger. I +left him on his knees and came out into the sunshine. + +MAINE. Aye, you knew that Breasal and I were here with the jackstones. + +BREASAL. I served his Mass yesterday, and he stayed praying so long +after it that I fell asleep. I did not stir till he laid his hand upon +my shoulder. Then I started up and said I, “Is that you, little mother?” +He laughed and said he, “No, Breasal, it’s no one so good as your +mother.” + +RONAN. He is merry and gentle this while back, although he prays and +fasts longer than he used to. Little Iollann says he tells him the +merriest stories. + +BREASAL. He is fond of little Iollann. + +MAINE. Aye; when Iollann is late, or when he is inattentive, the Master +pretends not to notice it. + +BREASAL. Well, Iollann is only a little lad. + +MAINE. He is more like a little maid, with his fair cheek that reddens +when the Master speaks to him. + +ART. Faith, you wouldn’t call him a little maid when you’d see him strip +to swim a river. + +RONAN. Or when you’d see him spring up to meet the ball in a hurley +match. + +MAINE. He has, certainly, many accomplishments. + +BREASAL. He has a high, manly heart. + +MAINE. He has a beautiful white body, and, therefore, you all love him; +aye, the Master and all. We have no woman here and so we make love to +our little Iollann. + +RONAN (_laughing_). Why, I thrashed him ere-yesterday for putting +magories down my neck! + +MAINE. Men sometimes thrash their women, Ronan. It is one of the ways of +loving. + +ART. Maine, you have been listening to some satirist making satires. +There was once a Maine that was called Maine Honey-mouth. You will be +called Maine Bitter-Tongue. + +MAINE. Well, I’ve won this game of jackstones. Will you play another? + +CEALLACH (_enters hastily_). Lads, do you know what I have seen? + +ART. What is it, Ceallach? + +CEALLACH. A host of horsemen riding through the dark of the wood. A grim +host, with spears. + +MAINE. The King goes hunting. + +CEALLACH. My grief for the noble deer that the King hunts! + +BREASAL. What deer is that? + +CEALLACH. Our Master, Ciaran. + +RONAN. I heard one of the captains say that the cell was to be +surrounded. + +ART. But why does the King come against Ciaran? + +CEALLACH. It is the Druids that have incited him. They say that Ciaran +is overturning the ancient law of the people. + +MAINE. The King has ordered him to leave the country. + +BREASAL. Aye, there was a King’s Messenger here the other day who spoke +long to the Master. + +ART. It is since then that the Master has been praying so long every +day. + +RONAN. Is he afraid that the King will kill him? + +ART. No, it is for a soul that is in danger that he prays. Is it the +King’s soul that is in danger? + +MAINE. Hush, the Master is coming. + +CIARAN (_comes out from the inner place; the pupils rise_). Are all +here? + +BREASAL. Iollann Beag has not come yet. + +CIARAN. Not yet? + +CEALLACH. Master, the King’s horsemen are in the wood. + +CIARAN. I hope no evil has chanced to little Iollann. + +MAINE. What evil could chance to him? + +CEALLACH. Master, the King is seeking you in the wood. + +CIARAN. Does he not know where my cell is? + +BREASAL. The King has been stirred up against you, Master, rise and fly +before the horsemen surround the cell. + +CIARAN. No, if the King seeks me he will find me here.... I wish little +Iollann were come. (_The voice of Iollann Beag is heard singing. All +listen._) That is his voice. + +ART. He always comes singing. + +MAINE. Aye, he sings profane songs in the very church porch. + +RONAN. Which is as bad as if one were to play with jackstones on the +church steps. + +CIARAN. I am glad little Iollann has come safe. + + _Iollann Beag comes into the cloister singing._ + +IOLLANN BEAG (_sings_). + + We watch the wee lady-bird fly far away, + With an óró and an iero and an úmbó éró. + +ART. Hush, Iollann. You are in God’s place. + +IOLLANN BEAG. Does God not like music? Why then did he make the finches +and the chafers? + +MAINE. Your song is profane. + +IOLLANN BEAG. I didn’t know. + +CIARAN. Nay, Maine, no song is profane unless there be profanity in the +heart. But why do you come so late, Iollann Beag? + +IOLLANN BEAG. There was a high oak tree that I had never climbed. I went +up to its top, and swung myself to the top of the next tree. I saw the +tops of all the trees like the green waves of the sea. + +CIARAN. Little truant! + +IOLLANN BEAG. I am sorry, Master. + +CIARAN. Nay, I am not vext with you. But you must not climb tall trees +again at lesson time. We have been waiting for you. Let us begin our +lesson, lads. _He sits down._ + +CEALLACH. Dear Master, I ask you to fly from this place ere the King’s +horsemen close you in. + +CIARAN. My boy, you must not tempt me. He is a sorry champion who +forsakes his place of battle. This is my place of battle. You would not +have me do a coward thing? + +ART. But the King has many horsemen. It is not cowardly for one to fly +before a host. + +CIARAN. Has not the high God captains and legions? What are the King’s +horsemen to the heavenly riders? + +CEALLACH. O my dear Master!-- + +RONAN. Let be, Ceallach. You cannot move him. + +CIARAN. Of what were we to speak to-day? + + _They have sat down around him._ + +ART. You said you would speak of the friends of Our Lord. + +CIARAN. Aye, I would speak of friendship and kindly fellowship. Is it +not a sad thing that every good fellowship is broken up? No league that +is made among men has more than its while, its little, little while. +Even that little league of twelve in Galilee was broken full soon. The +shepherd was struck and the sheep of the flock scattered. The hardest +thing Our dear Lord had to bear was the scattering of His friends. + +IOLLANN BEAG. Were none faithful to Him? + +CIARAN. One man only and a few women. + +IOLLANN BEAG. Who was the man? + +CEALLACH. I know! It was John, the disciple that He loved. + +CIARAN. Aye, John of the Bosom they call him, for he was Iosa’s bosom +friend. Can you tell me the names of any others of His friends? + +ART. There was James, his brother. + +RONAN. There was Lazarus, for whom He wept. + +BREASAL. There was Mary, the poor woman that loved Him. + +MAINE. There was her sister Martha, who busied herself to make Him +comfortable; and the other Mary. + +CEALLACH. Mary and Martha; but that other Mary is only a name. + +CIARAN. Nay, she was the mother of the sons of Zebedee. She stands for +all lowly, hidden women, all the nameless women of the world who are +just the mothers of their children. And so we name her one of the three +great Marys, with poor Mary that sinned, and with Mary of the Sorrows, +the greatest of the Marys. What other friends can you tell me of? + +IOLLANN BEAG. There was John the Baptist, His little playmate. + +CIARAN. That is well said. Those two Johns were good comrades to Iosa. + +RONAN. There was Thomas. + +CIARAN. Poor, doubting Thomas. I am glad you did not leave him out. + +MAINE. There was Judas who betrayed Him. + +ART. There was Peter who-- + +IOLLANN BEAG. Aye, good Peter of the Sword! + +CIARAN. Nay, Iollann, it is Paul that carries a sword. + +IOLLANN BEAG. Peter should have a sword, too. I will not have him +cheated of his sword! It was a good blow he struck! + +BREASAL. Yet the Lord rebuked him for it. + +IOLLANN BEAG. The Lord did wrong to rebuke him. He was always down on +Peter. + +CIARAN. Peter was fiery, and the Lord was very gentle. + +IOLLANN BEAG. But when He wanted a rock to build His church on He had to +go to Peter. No John of the Bosom then, but the old swordsman. Paul must +yield his sword to Peter. I do not like that Paul. + +CIARAN. Paul said many hard things and many dark things. When you +understand him, Iollann, you will like him. + +MAINE. Let him not arrogate a sword merely because his head was cut off, +and Iollann will tolerate him. + +CIARAN. Who has brought me a poem to-day? You were to bring me poems of +Christ’s friends. + +BREASAL. I have made a Song for Mary Magdalene. Shall I say it to you? + +CIARAN. Do, Breasal. + +BREASAL (_chants_). + + O woman of the gleaming hair + (Wild hair that won men’s gaze to thee), + Weary thou turnest from the common stare, + For the _shuiler_ Christ is calling thee. + + O woman, of the snowy side, + Many a lover hath lain with thee, + Yet left thee sad at the morning tide; + But thy lover Christ shall comfort thee. + + O woman with the wild thing’s heart, + Old sin hath set a snare for thee; + In the forest ways forspent thou art, + But the hunter Christ shall pity thee. + + O woman spendthrift of thyself, + Spendthrift of all the love in thee, + Sold unto sin for little pelf, + The captain Christ shall ransom thee. + + O woman that no lover’s kiss + (Tho’ many a kiss was given thee) + Could slake thy love, is it not for this + The hero Christ shall die for thee? + +CIARAN. That is a good song, Breasal. What you have said is true, that +love is a very great thing. I do not think faith will be denied to him +that loves.... Iollann was to make me a song to-day, too. + +IOLLANN BEAG. I have made only a little rann. I couldn’t think of rhymes +for a big song. + +CIARAN. What do you call your rann? + +IOLLANN BEAG. It is the Rann of the Little Playmate. It is a rann that +John the Baptist made when he was on the way to Iosa’s house one day. + +CIARAN. Sing it to us, Iollann. + +IOLLANN (_sings_): + + Young Iosa plays with me every day + (_With an óró and an iero_) + Tig and Pookeen and Hide-in-the-Hay + (_With an óró and an iero._) + + We race in the river with otters gray, + We climb the tall trees where red squirrels play, + We watch the wee lady-bird fly far away, + (_With an óró and an iero and an imbó éro_). + + _A knocking is heard._ + +CIARAN. Run and open the postern, Iollann. + +CEALLACH. Master, this may be the King’s people. + +CIARAN. If it be, Iollann will let them in. + + _Iollann Beag goes to the door._ + +CEALLACH. Why have good men such pride? + + _A King’s Messenger appears upon the threshold. Iollann Beag holds the + curtain of the door while the Messenger speaks._ + +THE MESSENGER. Who in this house is Ciaran? + +CIARAN. I am Ciaran. + +THE MESSENGER. I bring you greeting from the King. + +CIARAN. Take back to him my greeting. + +THE MESSENGER. The King has come to make the hunting of this wood. + +CIARAN. It is the King’s privilege to hunt the woods of the cantred. + +THE MESSENGER. Not far from here is a green glade of the forest in which +the King with his nobles and good men, his gillies and his runners, has +sat down to meat. + +CIARAN. May it be a merry sitting for them. + +THE MESSENGER. It has seemed to the King an unroyal thing to taste of +the cheer of this greenwood while he is at enmity with you; for he has +remembered the old saying that friendship is more welcome at meat than +ale or music. Therefore, he has sent me to say to you that he has put +all enmity out of his heart, and that in token thereof he invites you to +share his forest feast, such as it is, you and your pupils. + +CIARAN. The King is kind. I would like well to come to him, but my rule +forbids me to leave this house. + +THE MESSENGER. The King will take badly any refusal. It is not usual to +refuse a King’s invitation. + +CIARAN. When I came to this place, after journeying many long roads of +land and sea, I said to myself: “I will abide here henceforth, this +shall be the sod of my death.” And I made a vow to live in this little +cloister alone, or with a few pupils, I who had been restless and a +wanderer, and a seeker after difficult things; the King will not grudge +me the loneliness of my cloister. + +THE MESSENGER. I will say all this to the King. These lads will come +with me? + +CIARAN. Will ye go to the King’s feast, lads? + +BREASAL. May we go, Master. + +CIARAN. I will not gainsay you. + +MAINE. It will be a great thing to sit at the King’s table. + +CEALLACH. Master, it may turn aside the King’s displeasure for your not +going if we go in your name. We may, perchance, bring the King here, and +peace will be bound between you. + +CIARAN. May God be near you in the places to which you go. + +CEALLACH. I am loath to leave you alone, Master. + +CIARAN. Little Iollann will stay with me. Will you not, little Iollann. + + _Iollann Beag looks yearningly towards the Messenger and the others as + if he would fain go; then he turns to Ciaran._ + +IOLLANN BEAG. I will. + +CIARAN (_caressing him_). That is my good little lad. + +ART. We will bring you back some of the King’s mead, Iollann. + +IOLLANN BEAG. Bring me some of his apples and his hazel-nuts. + +RONAN. We will, and, maybe, a roast capon, or a piece of venison. + + _They all go out laughing. Ceallach turns back in the door._ + +CEALLACH. Good-bye, Master. + +CIARAN. May you go safe, lad. (_To Iollann_). You are my whole school +now, Iollann. + +IOLLANN (_sitting down at his knee_). Do you think the King will come +here? + +CIARAN. Yes, I think he will come. + +IOLLANN. I would like to see him. Is he a great, tall man? + +CIARAN. I have not seen him for a long time; not since he and I were +lads. + +IOLLANN. Were you friends? + +CIARAN. We were fostered together. + +IOLLANN. Is he a wicked King? + +CIARAN. No; he has ruled this country well. His people love him. They +have gone into many perilous places with him, and he has never failed +them. + +IOLLANN. Why then does he hate you? Why do Ceallach and the others fear +that he may do you harm? + +CIARAN. For twenty years Daire and I have stood over against each other. +When we were at school we were rivals for the first place. I was first +in all manly games; Daire was first in learning. Everyone said “Ciaran +will be a great warrior and Daire will be a great poet or a great +teacher.” And yet it has not been so. I was nearly as good as he in +learning, and he was nearly as good as I in manly feats. I said that I +would be his master in all things, and he said that he would be my +master. And we strove one against the other. + +IOLLANN BEAG. Why did you want to be his master? + +CIARAN. I do not know. I thought that I should be happy if I were first +and Daire only second. But Daire was always first. I sought out +difficult things to do that I might become a better man than he: I went +into far countries and won renown among strange peoples, but very little +wealth and no happiness; I sailed into seas that no man before me had +sailed into, and saw islands that only God and the angels had seen +before me; I learned outland tongues and read the books of many peoples +and their old lore; and when I came back to my own country I found that +Daire was its king, and that all men loved him. Me they had forgotten. + +IOLLANN BEAG. Were you sad when you came home and found that you were +forgotten? + +CIARAN. No, I was glad. I said, “This is a hard thing that I have found +to do, to live lonely and unbeloved among my own kin. Daire has not done +anything as hard as this.” In one of the cities that I had sailed to I +had heard of the true, illustrious God, and of men who had gone out from +warm and pleasant houses, and from the kindly faces of neighbours to +live in desert places, where God walked alone and terrible; and I said +that I would do that hard thing, though I would fain have stayed in my +father’s house. And so I came into this wilderness, where I have lived +for seven years. For a few years I was alone; then pupils began to come +to me. By-and-bye the druids gave out word that I was teaching new +things and breaking established custom; and the King has forbade my +teaching, and I have not desisted, and so he and I stand opposed as of +old. + +IOLLANN BEAG. You will win this time, little Master. + +CIARAN. I think so; I hope so, dear. (_Aside._) I would I could say “I +know so.” This seems to me the hardest thing I have tried to do. Can a +soldier fight for a cause of which he is not sure? Can a teacher die for +a thing he does not believe?... Forgive me, Lord! It is my weakness that +cries out. I believe, I believe; help my unbelief. (_To Iollann Beag._) +Why do you think I shall win this time, Iollann,--I who have always +lost? + +IOLLANN BEAG. Because God’s great angels will fight for you. Will they +not? + +CIARAN. Yes, I think they will. All that old chivalry stands harnessed +in Heaven. + +IOLLANN BEAG. Will they not come if you call them? + +CIARAN. Yes, they will come. (_Aside._) Is it a true thing I tell this +child or do I lie to him? Will they come at my call? Will they come at +my call? My spirit reaches out and finds Heaven empty. The great halls +stand horseless and riderless. I have called to you, O riders, and I +have not heard the thunder of your coming. The multitudinous, +many-voiced sea and the green, quiet earth have each its children, but +where are the sons of Heaven? Where in all this temple of the world, +this dim and wondrous temple, does its God lurk? + +IOLLANN BEAG. And would they come if I were to call them--old Peter, and +the Baptist John, and Michael and his riders? + +CIARAN. We are taught that if one calls them with faith they will come. + +IOLLANN BEAG. Could I see them and speak to them? + +CIARAN. If it were necessary for any dear purpose of God’s, as to save a +soul that were in peril, we are taught that they would come in bodily +presence, and that one could see them and speak to them. + +IOLLANN BEAG. If the soul of any dear friend of mine be ever in peril I +will call upon them. I will say, “Baptist John, Baptist John, attend +him. Good Peter of the Sword, strike valiantly. Young Michael, stand +near with all the heroes of Heaven!” + +CIARAN (_aside_). If the soul of any dear friend of his were in peril! +The peril is near! The peril is near! + + _A knock at the postern; Iollann Beag looks towards Ciaran._ + +CIARAN. Run, Iollann, and see who knocks. (_Iollann Beag goes out._) I +have looked back over the journey of my life as a man at evening might +look back from a hill on the roads he had travelled since morning. I +have seen with a great clearness as if I had left this green, dim wood +and climbed to the top of that far hill I have seen from me for seven +years now, yet never climbed. And I see that all my wayfaring has been +in vain. A man may not escape from that which is in himself. A man shall +not find his quest unless he kill the dearest thing he has. I thought +that I was sacrificing everything, but I have not sacrificed the old +pride of my heart. I chose self-abnegation, not out of humility, but out +of pride: and God, that terrible hidden God, has punished me by +withholding from me His most precious gift of faith. Faith comes to the +humble only.... Nay, Lord, I believe: this is but a temptation. Thou, +too, wast tempted. Thou, too, wast forsaken. O valiant Christ, give me +Thy strength! My need is great. _Iollann Beag returns._ + +IOLLANN BEAG. There is a warrior at the door, Master, that asks a +shelter. He says he has lost his way in the wood. + +CIARAN. Bid him to come in, Iollann. (_Iollann Beag goes to the door +again._) I, too, have lost my way. I am like one that has trodden +intricate forest paths that have crossed and recrossed and never led him +to any homestead; or like a mariner that has voyaged on a shoreless sea +yearning for a glimpse of green earth, yet never descrying it. If I +could find some little place to rest, if I could but lie still at last +after so much wayfaring, after such clamour of loud-voiced winds, +methinks that would be to find God; for is not God quiet, is not God +peace? But always I go on with a cry as of baying winds or of vociferous +hounds about me.... They say the King hunts me to-day: but the King is +not so terrible a hunter as the desires and the doubts of a man’s heart. +The King I can meet unafraid, but who is not afraid of himself? (_Daire +enters, wrapped in a long mantle, and stands a little within the +threshold: Iollann Beag behind him. Ciaran looks fixedly at him; then +speaks._) You have hunted well to-day, O Daire! + +DAIRE. I am famed as a hunter. + +CIARAN. When I was a young man I said, “I will strive with the great +untamed elements, with the ancient, illimitable sea and the anarchic +winds;” you, in the manner of Kings, have warred with timid, furtive +creatures, and it has taught you only cruelty and craft. + +DAIRE. What has your warfare taught you? I do not find you changed, +Ciaran. Your old pride but speaks a new language.... I am, as you remind +me, only a King; but I have been a good King. Have you been a good +teacher? + +CIARAN. My pupils must answer. + +DAIRE. Where are your pupils? + +CIARAN. True; they are not here. + +DAIRE. They are at an ale-feast in my tent.... (_Coming nearer to +Ciaran._) I have not come to taunt you, Ciaran. Nor should you taunt me. +You seem to me to have spent your life pursuing shadows that fled before +you; yea, pursuing ghosts over wide spaces and through the devious +places of the world: and I pity you for the noble manhood you have +wasted. I seem to you to have spent my life busy with the little, vulgar +tasks and the little, vulgar pleasures of a King: and you pity me +because I have not adventured, because I have not been tried, because I +have not suffered as you have. It should be sufficient triumph for each +of us that each pities the other. + +CIARAN. You speak gently, Daire; and you speak wisely. You were always +wise. And yet, methinks, you are wrong. There is a deeper antagonism +between you and me than you are aware of. It is not merely that the +little things about you, the little, foolish, mean, discordant things of +a man’s life, have satisfied you, and that I have been discontent, +seeking things remote and holy and perilous-- + +DAIRE. Ghosts, ghosts! + +CIARAN. Nay, they alone are real; or, rather, it alone is real. For +though its names be many, its substance is one. One man will call it +happiness, another will call it beauty, a third will call it holiness, a +fourth will call it rest. I have sought it under all its names. + +DAIRE. What is it that you have sought? + +CIARAN. I have sought truth. + +DAIRE. And have you found truth? (_Ciaran bows his head in dejection._) +Ciaran, was it worth your while to give up all goodly life to follow +that mocking phantom? I do not say that a man should not renounce ease. +I have not loved ease. But I have loved power, and victory, and life, +and men, and women, and the gracious sun. He who renounces these things +to follow a phantom across a world has given his all for nothing. + +CIARAN. Is not the mere quest often worth while, even if the thing +quested be never found? + +DAIRE. And so you have not found your quest? + +CIARAN. You lay subtle traps for me in your speeches, Daire. It was your +way at school when we disputed. + +DAIRE. Kings must be subtle. It is by craft we rule.... Ciaran, for the +shadow you have pursued I offer you a substance; in place of vain +journeying I invite you to rest.... If you make your peace with me you +shall be the second man in my kingdom. + +CIARAN (_in scorn and wrath_). The second man! + +DAIRE. There speaks your old self, Ciaran. I did not mean to wound you. +I am the King, chosen by the people to rule and lead. I could not, even +if I would, place you above me; but I will place you at my right hand. + +CIARAN. You would bribe me with this petty honour? + +DAIRE. No. I would gain you for the service of your people. What other +service should a man take upon him? + +CIARAN. I told you that you did not understand the difference between +you and me. May one not serve the people by bearing testimony in their +midst to a true thing even as by feeding them with bread? + +DAIRE. Again you prate of truth. Are you fond enough to think that what +has not imposed even upon your pupils will impose upon me? + +CIARAN. My pupils believe. You must not wrong them, Daire. + +DAIRE. Are you sure of them? + +CIARAN. Yes, I am sure. (_Aside._) Yet sometimes I thought that that +gibing Maine did not believe. It may be-- + +DAIRE. Where are your pupils? Why are they not here to stand by you in +your bitter need? + +CIARAN. You enticed them from me by guile. + +DAIRE. I invited them; they came. You could not keep them, Ciaran. Think +you my young men would have left me, in similar case? Their bodies would +have been my bulwark against a host. + +CIARAN. You hint unspeakable things. + +DAIRE. I do but remind you that you have to-day no disciples; +(_smiling_) except, perhaps, this little lad. Come, I will win him from +you with an apple. + +CIARAN. You shall not tempt him! + +DAIRE (_laughing_). Ciaran, you stand confessed: you have no faith in +your disciples; methinks you have no faith in your religion. + +CIARAN. You are cruel, Daire. You were not so cruel when we were lads. + +DAIRE. You have come into my country preaching to my people new things, +incredible things, things you dare not believe yourself. I will not have +this lie preached to men. If your religion be true, you must give me a +sign of its truth. + +CIARAN. It is true, it is true! + +DAIRE. Give me a sign. Nay, show me that you yourself believe. Call upon +your God to reveal Himself. I do not trust these skulking gods. + +CIARAN. Who am I to ask that great Mystery to unveil Its face? Who are +you that a miracle should be wrought for you? + +DAIRE. This is not an answer. So priests ever defend their mysteries. I +will not be put off as one would put off a child that asks questions. +Lo, here I bare my sword against God; lo, here I lift up my shield. Let +one of his great captains come down to answer the challenge! + +CIARAN. This the bragging of a fool. + +DAIRE. Nor does that answer me. Ciaran, you are in my power. My young +men surround this house. Yours are at an ale-feast. + +CIARAN. O wise and far-seeing King! You have planned all well. + +DAIRE. There is a watcher at every door of your house. There a tracker +on every path of the forest. The wild boar crouches in his lair for fear +of the men that fill this wood. Three rings of champions ring round the +tent in which your pupils feast. Your God had need to show Himself a +God! + +CIARAN. Nay, slay me, Daire. I will bear testimony with my life. + +DAIRE. What will that prove? Men die for false things, for ridiculous +things, for evil things. What vile cause has not its heroes? Though you +were to die here with joy and laughter you would not prove your cause a +true one. Ciaran, let God send down an angel to stand between you and +me. + +CIARAN. Do you think that to save my poor life Omnipotence will display +Itself? + +DAIRE. Who talks of your life? It is your soul that is at stake, and +mine, and this little boy’s, and the souls of all this nation, born and +unborn. + +CIARAN (_aside_). He speaks true. + +DAIRE. Nay, I will put you to the proof. (_To Iollann._) Come hither, +child. (_Iollann Beag approaches._) He is daintily fashioned, Ciaran, +this last little pupil of yours. I swear to you that he shall die unless +your God sends down an angel to rescue him. Kneel boy. (_Iollann Beag +kneels._) Speak now, if God has ears to hear. _He raises his sword._ + +CIARAN (_aside_). I dare not speak. My God, my God, why hast Thou +forsaken me? + +IOLLANN BEAG. Fear not, little Master, I remember the word you taught +me.... Young Michael, stand near me! + + _The figure of a mighty Warrior, winged, and clothed in light, seems + to stand beside the boy. Ciaran bends on one knee._ + +DAIRE. Who art thou, O Soldier? + +MICHAEL. I am he that waiteth at the portal. I am he that hasteneth. I +am he that rideth before the squadron. I am he that holdeth a shield +over the retreat of man’s host when Satan cometh in war. I am he that +turneth and smiteth. I am he that is Captain of the Host of God. + + _Daire bends slowly on one knee._ + +CIARAN. The Seraphim and the Cherubim stand horsed. I hear the thunder +of their coming.... O Splendour! _He falls forward, dead._ + + + CURTAIN + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + IOSAGAN + + + + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + CHARACTERS + + + IOSAGAN + OLD MATTHIAS + THE PRIEST + + +BOYS:--DARAGH, PADRAIC, COILIN, CUIMIN, FEICHIN, EOGHAN + + +_Daragh and Padraic are a little older than the other boys_ + + +_PLACE--A sea-strand beside a village in Iar-Connacht_ + + +_TIME--The present_ + + + IOSAGAN, loving diminutive of Íosa; “Jesukin” (“Ísuccán”) is the name + of the Child Jesus in the exquisite hymn attributed to St. Ita, b. + 470, d. 580, A.D.--_Author’s Note._ + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + IOSAGAN + + + SCENE I + + _A sea-strand beside a village in Iar-Connacht. A house on the + right-hand side. The sound of a bell comes east, very clearly. The + door of the house is opened. An aged man, old Matthias, comes out on + the door-flag and stands for a spell looking down the road. He sits + then on a chair that is outside the door, his two hands gripping a + stick, his head bent, and he listening attentively to the sound of the + bell. The bell stops ringing. Daragh, Padraic and Coilin come up from + the sea and they putting on their share of clothes after bathing._ + +DARAGH (_stretching his finger towards the sea_). The flowers are white +in the fisherman’s garden. + +PADRAIC. They are, _muise_. + +COILIN. Where are they? + +DARAGH. See them out on the sea. + +COILIN. Those are not white flowers. Those are white horses. + +DARAGH. They’re like white flowers. + +COILIN. No; Old Matthias says those are the white horses that go +galloping across the sea from the Other Country. + +PADRAIC. I heard Iosagan saying they were flowers. + +COILIN. What way would flowers grow on the sea? + +PADRAIC. And what way would horses travel on the sea? + +COILIN. Easy, if they were fairy horses would be in them. + +PADRAIC. And wouldn’t flowers grow on the sea as easy, if they were +fairy flowers would be in them? Isn’t it often you saw the water-lilies +on Loch Ellery? And couldn’t they grow on the sea as well as on the +lake? + +COILIN. I don’t know if they could. + +PADRAIC. They could, _muise_. + +DARAGH. The sea was fine to-day, lad. + +COILIN. It was, but it was devilish cold. + +PADRAIC. Why wouldn’t you be cold when you’d only go into your knees? + +COILIN. By my word, I was afraid the waves would knock me down if I’d go +in any further. They were terrible big. + +DARAGH. That’s what I like, lad. Do you mind yon terrible big one that +came over our heads? + +PADRAIC. Aye, and Coilin screaming out he was drowned. + +COILIN. It went down my throat; it did that, and it nearly smothered me. + +PADRAIC. Sure, you had your mouth open, and you shouting. It would be a +queer story if it didn’t go down your throat. + +COILIN. Yon one gave me enough. I kept out of their way after that. + +DARAGH. Have the other lads on them yet? + +PADRAIC. Aye. Here they are. + +COILIN. Look at Feichin’s hair! + + _Feichin, Eoghan and Cuimin come up from the sea and they drying their + hair._ + +CUIMIN. What’ll we play to-day? + +COILIN. “Blind Man’s Buff!” + +PADRAIC. Ara, shut up, yourself and your “Blind Man’s Buff.” + +COILIN. “High Gates,” then! + +PADRAIC. No. We’re tired of those “High Gates.” + +DARAGH. “Hide and Seek!” + +FEICHIN. Away! + +EOGHAN. “Fox and Chickens!” + +COILIN. No. We’ll play “_Lúrabóg Lárabóg_.” + +PADRAIC. I’ll make a _lúrabóg_ of you! + +COILIN. You do be always at me, Padraic. (_Padraic catches hold of +him._) Listen to me, will you? + +CUIMIN. Ara, listen to him, Padraic. + +DARAGH. Listen to him. _Padraic lets him go._ + +COILIN. Speak yourself, Padraic, if you won’t give leave to anyone else. + +PADRAIC. Let’s jump! + +EOGHAN. Let’s jump! Let’s jump! + +DARAGH. I’ll bet I’ll beat you, Padraic. + +PADRAIC. At jumping, is it? + +DARAGH. Aye. + +PADRAIC. Didn’t I beat you the day before yesterday at the School Rock? + +DARAGH. I’ll bet you won’t beat me to-day. Will you try? + +PADRAIC. I won’t. My feet are sore. (_The other boys begin laughing; +Padraic speaks with a shamed face._) I’d rather play ball. + +EOGHAN. Ball! Ball! + +DARAGH. Has anybody a ball? + +CUIMIN. And if they had, itself, where would we play? + +PADRAIC. Against Old Matthias’s gable-end. There’s no nicer place to be +found. + +COILIN. Who has the ball? + +CUIMIN. My soul, I haven’t it. + +DARAGH. No, nor I. + +PADRAIC. You yourself, Coilin, had it on Friday. + +COILIN. By my word, didn’t the master grab it where I was hopping it in +the school at Catechism? + +FEICHIN. True for you, lad. + +CUIMIN. My soul, but I thought he’d give you the rod that time. + +COILIN. He would, too, only he was expecting the priest to come in. + +DARAGH. It’s the ball he wanted. He’ll have a game with the peelers +to-day after Mass. + +PADRAIC. My soul, but he will, and it’s he can beat the peelers, too. + +DARAGH. He can’t beat the sergeant. The sergeant’s the best man of them +all. He beat Hoskins and the red man together last Sunday. + +FEICHIN. Ara, stop! Did he beat them? + +DARAGH. He did, _muise_. The red man was raging, and the master and the +peelers all laughing at him. + +PADRAIC. I bet the master will beat the sergeant. + +DARAGH. I’ll bet he won’t. + +PADRAIC. Do ye hear him? + +DARAGH. I’ll bet the sergeant can beat any man in this country. + +PADRAIC. Ara, how do you know whether he can or not? + +DARAGH. I know well he can. Don’t I be always watching them? + +PADRAIC. You don’t know! + +DARAGH. I do know! It’s I that know it! + + _They threaten each other. A quarrel arises among the boys, a share of + them saying, _“The sergeant’s the best!”_ and others, _“The master’s + best!”_ Old Matthias gets up to listen to them. He comes forward, + twisted and bent in his body, and barely able to drag his feet along. + He speaks to them quietly, laying his hand on Daragh’s head._ + +MATTHIAS. O! O! O! My shame ye are! + +PADRAIC. This fellow says the master can’t beat the sergeant playing +ball. + +DARAGH. By my word, wouldn’t the sergeant beat anybody at all in this +country, Matthias? + +MATTHIAS. Never mind the sergeant. Look at that lonesome wild goose +that’s making on us over Loch Ellery! Look! _All the boys look up._ + +PADRAIC. I see it, by my soul! + +DARAGH. Where’s she coming from, Matthias? + +MATTHIAS. From the Eastern World. I would say she has travelled a +thousand miles since she left her nest in the lands to the north. + +COILIN. The poor thing. And where will she drop? + +MATTHIAS. To Aran she’ll go, it’s a chance. See her now out over the +sea. My love you are, lonesome wild goose! + +COILIN. Tell us a story, Matthias. + + _He sits on a stone by the strand-edge, and the boys gather round + him._ + +MATTHIAS. What story shall I tell? + +FEICHIN. “The Adventures of the Grey Horse!” + +CUIMIN. “The Hen-Harrier and the Wren!” + +PADRAIC. “The Two-Headed Giant!” + +COILIN. “The Adventures of the Piper in the Snail’s Castle!” + +EOGHAN. Aye, by my soul, “The Adventures of the Piper in the Snail’s +Castle!” + +THE BOYS (_with one voice_). “The Adventures of the Piper in the Snail’s +Castle!” + +MATTHIAS. I’ll do that. “There was a Snail in it long ago, and it’s long +since it was. If we’d been there that time, we wouldn’t be here now; and +if we were, itself, we’d have a new story or an old story, and that’s +better than to be without e’er a story at all. The Castle this Snail +lived in was the finest that man’s eye ever saw. It was greater +entirely, and it was a thousand times richer than Meave’s Castle in Rath +Cruachan, or than the Castle of the High-King of Ireland itself in Tara +of the Kings. This Snail made love to a Spider--” + +COILIN. No, Matthias, wasn’t it to a Granny’s Needle he made love? + +MATTHIAS. My soul, but you’re right. What’s coming on me? + +PADRAIC. Go on, Matthias. + +MATTHIAS. “This Nettle-Worm was very comely entirely--” + +FEICHIN. What’s the Nettle-Worm, Matthias? + +MATTHIAS. Why, the Nettle-Worm he made love to. + +CUIMIN. But I thought it was to a Granny’s Needle he made love. + +MATTHIAS. Was it? The story’s going from me. “This Piper was in love +with the daughter of the King of Connacht--” + +EOGHAN. But you didn’t mention the Piper yet, Matthias! + +MATTHIAS. Didn’t I! “The Piper...” yes, by my soul, the Piper--I’m +losing my memory. Look here, neighbours, we won’t meddle with the story +to-day. Let’s have a song. + +COILIN. “Hi diddle dum!” + +MATTHIAS. Are ye satisfied? + +THE BOYS. We are. + +MATTHIAS. I’ll do that. (_He sings the following rhyme_): + + “Hi diddle dum, the cat and his mother, + That went to Galway riding a drake.” + + THE BOYS. And hi diddle dum! + + MATTHIAS. + “Hi diddle dum, the rain came pelting, + And drenched to the skin the cat and his mother.” + + THE BOYS. And hi diddle dum! + + MATTHIAS. + “Hi diddle dum, ’twas like in the deluge + The cat and his mother would both be drownded.” + + THE BOYS. And hi diddle dum! + + MATTHIAS. + “Hi diddle dum, my jewel the drake was, + That carried his burden--” + + COILIN. Swimming-- + + MATTHIAS. Good man, Coilin. + “That carried his burden swimming to Galway.” + + THE BOYS. And hi diddle dum! + + _Old Matthias shakes his head wearily; he speaks in a sad voice._ + +MATTHIAS. My songs are going from me, neighbours. I’m like an old fiddle +that’s lost all its strings. + +CUIMIN. Haven’t you the “_Báidín_” always, Matthias? + +MATTHIAS. I have, my soul; I have it as long as I’m living. I won’t lose +the “_Báidín_” till I’m stretched in the clay. Shall we have it? + +THE BOYS. Aye. + +MATTHIAS. Are ye ready to go rowing? + +THE BOYS. We are! + + _They order themselves as they would be rowing. Old Matthias sings + these verses._ + + MATTHIAS. + “I will hang a sail, and I will go west.” + + THE BOYS. _Oró, mo churaichín, O!_ + + MATTHIAS. + “And till St. John’s Day I will not rest.” + + THE BOYS. _Oró, mo churaichín, O!_ + _Oró, mo churaichín, O!_ + _’S óró, mo bháidín!_ + + MATTHIAS. + “Isn’t it fine, my little boat, sailing on the bay.” + + THE BOYS. _Oró, mo churaichín, O!_ + + MATTHIAS. “The oars pulling--” + + _He stops suddenly, and puts his hand to his head._ + +PADRAIC. What’s on you, Matthias? + +EOGHAN. Are you sick, Matthias? + +MATTHIAS. Something that came on my head. It’s nothing. What’s this I +was saying? + +COILIN. You were saying the “_Báidín_,” Matthias, but don’t mind if you +don’t feel well. Are you sick? + +MATTHIAS. Sick? By my word, I’m not sick. What would make me sick? We’ll +start again: + + “Isn’t it fine, my little boat, sailing on the bay.” + + THE BOYS. _Oró, mo churaichín, O!_ + + MATTHIAS. “The oars pulling strongly--” (_He stops again._) +Neighbours, the “_Báidín_” itself is gone from me. (_They remain silent +for a spell, the old man sitting and his head bent on his breast, and +the boys looking on him sorrowfully. The old man speaks with a start._) +Are those the people coming home from Mass? + +CUIMIN. No. They won’t be free for a half hour yet. + +COILIN. Why don’t you go to Mass, Matthias? + + _The old man rises up and puts his hand to his head again. He speaks + angrily at first, and after that softly._ + +MATTHIAS. Why don’t I go?... I’m not good enough. By my word, God +wouldn’t hear me.... What’s this I’m saying?... (_He laughs._) And I +have lost the “_Báidín_,” do ye say? Amn’t I the pitiful object without +my “_Báidín_!” + + _He hobbles slowly across the road. Coilin rises and puts his shoulder + under the old man’s hand to support him. The boys begin playing + “jackstones” quietly. Old Matthias sits on the chair again, and Coilin + returns. Daragh speaks in a low voice._ + +DARAGH. There’s something on Old Matthias to-day. He never forgot the +“_Báidín_” before. + +CUIMIN. I heard my father saying to my mother, the other night, that +it’s not long he has to live. + +COILIN. Do you think is he very old? + +PADRAIC. Why did you put that question on him about the Mass? Don’t you +know he hasn’t been seen at Mass in the memory of the people? + +DARAGH. I heard Old Cuimin Enda saying to my father that he himself saw +Old Matthias at Mass when he was a youth. + +COILIN. Do you know why he doesn’t go to Mass now? + +PADRAIC (_in a whisper_). It’s said he doesn’t believe there’s a God. + +CUIMIN. I heard Father Sean Eamonn saying it’s the way he did some +terrible sin at the start of his life, and when the priest wouldn’t give +him absolution in confession there came a raging anger on him, and he +swore an oath he wouldn’t touch priest or chapel for ever again. + +DARAGH. That’s not how I heard it. One night when I was in bed the old +people were talking and whispering by the fireside, and I heard Maire of +the Bridge saying to the other old women that it’s the way Matthias sold +his soul to some Great Man he met once on the top of Cnoc-a’-Daimh, and +that this Man wouldn’t allow him to go to Mass. + +PADRAIC. Do you think was it the devil he saw? + +DARAGH. I don’t know. A “Great Man,” said Maire of the Bridge. + +CUIMIN. I wouldn’t believe a word of it. Sure, if Matthias sold his soul +to the devil it must be he’s a wicked person. + +PADRAIC. He’s not a wicked person, _muise_. Don’t you mind the day +Iosagan said that his father told him Matthias would be among the saints +on the Day of the Mountain? + +CUIMIN. I mind it well. + +COILIN. Where’s Iosagan from us to-day? + +DARAGH. He never comes when there does be a grown person watching us. + +CUIMIN. Wasn’t he here a week ago to-day when old Matthias was watching +us? + +DARAGH. Was he? + +CUIMIN. He was. + +PADRAIC. Aye, and a fortnight to-day, as well. + +DARAGH. There’s a chance he’ll come to-day, then. + + _Cuimin rises and looks east._ + +CUIMIN. O, see, he’s coming. + + _Iosagan enters--a little, brown-haired boy, a white coat on him, and + he without shoes or cap like the other boys. The boys welcome him._ + +THE BOYS. God save you, Iosagan! + +IOSAGAN. God and Mary save you! + + _He sits among them, a hand of his about Daragh’s neck; the boys begin + playing again, gently, without noise or quarrelling. Iosagan joins in + the game. Matthias rises with a start on the coming of Iosagan, and + stands gazing at him. After they have played for a spell he comes + towards them, and then stands again and calls over to Coilin._ + +MATTHIAS. Coilin! + +COILIN. What do you want? + +MATTHIAS. Come here to me. (_Coilin rises and goes to him._) Who is that +boy I see among you this fortnight back--he, yonder, with the brown head +on him--but take care it’s not red he is; I don’t know is it black or is +it fair he is, the way the sun is burning on him? Do you see him--him +that has his arm about Daragh’s neck? + +COILIN. That’s Iosagan. + +MATTHIAS. Iosagan? + +COILIN. That’s the name he gives himself. + +MATTHIAS. Who are his people? + +COILIN. I don’t know, but he says his father’s a king. + +MATTHIAS. Where does he live? + +COILIN. He never told us that, but he says his house isn’t far away. + +MATTHIAS. Does he be among you often? + +COILIN. He does, when we do be amusing ourselves like this. But he goes +from us when grown people come near. He will go from us now as soon as +the people begin coming from Mass. + + _The boys rise and go, in ones and twos, when they have finished the + game._ + +COILIN. O! They are going jumping. + + _He runs out after the others. Iosagan and Daragh rise and go. + Matthias comes forward and calls Iosagan._ + +MATTHIAS. Iosagan! (_The Child turns back and comes towards him at a +run._) Come here and sit on my knee for a little while, Iosagan. (_The +Child links his hand in the old man’s hand, and they cross the road +together. Matthias sits on his chair and draws Iosagan to him._) Where +do you live, Iosagan? + +IOSAGAN. Not far from this my house is. Why don’t you come to see me? + +MATTHIAS. I would be afraid in a royal house. They tell me that your +father’s a king. + +IOSAGAN. He is High-King of the World. But there’s no call for you to be +afraid of Him. He’s full of pity and love. + +MATTHIAS. I fear I didn’t keep His law. + +IOSAGAN. Ask forgiveness of Him. I and my Mother will make intercession +for you. + +MATTHIAS. It’s a pity I didn’t see You before this, Iosagan. Where were +You from me? + +IOSAGAN. I was here always. I do be travelling the roads and walking the +hills and ploughing the waves. I do be among the people when they gather +into My house. I do be among the children they do leave behind them +playing on the street. + +MATTHIAS. I was too shy, or too proud, to go into Your house, Iosagan: +among the children, it was, I found You. + +IOSAGAN. There isn’t any place or time the children do be making fun to +themselves that I’m not with them. Times they see Me; other times they +don’t see Me. + +MATTHIAS. I never saw You till lately. + +IOSAGAN. All the grown people do be blind. + +MATTHIAS. And it has been granted me to see You, Iosagan. + +IOSAGAN. My Father gave Me leave to show Myself to you because you loved +His little children. (_The voices are heard of the people returning from +Mass._) I must go now from you. + +MATTHIAS. Let me kiss the hem of Your coat. + +IOSAGAN. Kiss it. _He kisses the hem of His coat._ + +MATTHIAS. Shall I see You again, Iosagan? + +IOSAGAN. You will. + +MATTHIAS. When? + +IOSAGAN. To-night. + + _Iosagan goes. The old man stands on the door-flag looking after Him._ + +MATTHIAS. I will see Him to-night. + + _The people pass along the road, returning from Mass._ + + + CURTAIN + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + SCENE II + + _Old Matthias’s room. It is very dark. The old man lying on his bed. + Some one knocks outside the door. Matthias speaks in a weak voice._ + +MATTHIAS. Come in. (_The Priest enters. He sits down beside the bed and +hears the old man’s confession. When they have finished, Matthias +speaks._) Who told you I was wanting you, Father? I was praying God that +you’d come, but I hadn’t a messenger to send for you. + +PRIEST. But, sure, you did send a messenger for me? + +MATTHIAS. No. + +PRIEST. You didn’t? But a little boy came and knocked at my door, and he +said you were wanting my help. + + _The old man straightens himself back in the bed, and his eyes flash._ + +MATTHIAS. What sort of a little boy was he, Father? + +PRIEST. A mannerly little boy, with a white coat on him. + +MATTHIAS. Did you take notice if there was a shadow of light about his +head? + +PRIEST. I did, and it put great wonder on me. + + _The door opens. Iosagan stands on the threshold, and He with His two + arms stretched out towards Matthias; a miraculous light about His face + and head._ + +MATTHIAS. Iosagan! You’re good, Iosagan. You didn’t fail me, love. I was +too proud to go into Your house, but at the last it was granted me to +see You. “I was here always,” says He. “I do be travelling the roads and +walking the hills and ploughing the waves. I do be among the people when +they gather into My house. I do be among the children they do leave +behind playing on the street.” Among the children, it was, I found You, +Iosagan. “Shall I see You again?” “You will,” says He. “You’ll see Me +to-night.” _Sé do bheatha, a Iosagáin!_ + + _He falls back on the bed, and he dead. The Priest goes softly to him + and closes his eves._ + + + CURTAIN + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + THE MOTHER + + + + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + THE MOTHER + + +There was a company of women sitting up one night in the house of +Barbara of the Bridge, spinning frieze. It would be music to you to be +listening to them, and their voices making harmony with the drone of the +wheels, like the sound of the wind with the shaking of the bushes. + +They heard a cry. The child, it was, talking in its sleep. + +“Some evil thing that crossed the door,” says Barbara. “Rise, Maire, and +stir the cradle.” + +The woman spoken-to got up. She was sitting on the floor till that, +carding. She went over to the cradle. The child was wide awake before +her, and he crying pitifully. Maire knelt down beside the cradle. As +soon as the child saw her face he ceased from crying. A long, beautiful +face she had; a brow, broad and smooth, black hair and it twisted in +clusters about her head, and two grey eyes that would look on you slow, +serious, and troubled-like. It was a gift Maire had, the way she would +quieten a cross child or put a sick child to sleep, looking on that +smooth, pleasant face and those grey, loving eyes of hers. + +Maire began singing the “_Crónán na Banaltra_” (The Nurse’s Lullaby) in +a low voice. The other women ceased from their talk to listen to her. It +wasn’t long till the child was in a dead sleep. Maire rose and went back +to where she was sitting before. She fell to her carding again. + +“May you have good, Maire,” says Barbara. “There’s no wonder in life but +the way you’re able to put children asleep. Though that’s my own heir, I +would be hours of the clock with him before he would go off on me.” + +“Maire has magic,” says another woman. + +“She’s like the harpers of Meave that would put a host of men asleep +when they would play their sleep-tunes,” says old Una ní Greelis. + +“Isn’t it fine she can sing the _Crónán na Banaltra_?” says the second +woman. + +“My soul, you would think it was the Virgin herself that would be saying +it,” says old Una. + +“Do you think is it true, Una, that it was the Blessed Virgin (praise to +her for ever) that made that tune?” says Barbara. + +“I know it’s true. Isn’t it with that tune she used put the Son of God +(a thousand glories to His name) asleep when He was a child?” + +“And how is it, then, the people do have it now?” says Barbara. + +“Coming down from generation to generation, I suppose, like the Fenian +tales,” says one of the women. + +“No, my soul,” says old Una. “The people it was heard the tune from the +Virgin’s mouth itself, here in this countryside, not so long ago.” + +“And how would they hear it?” + +“Doesn’t the world know that the glorious Virgin goes round the +townlands every Christmas Eve, herself and her child?” + +“I heard the people saying she does.” + +“And don’t you know if the door is left ajar and a candle lighting in +the window, that the Virgin and her Child will come into the house, and +that they will sit down to rest themselves?” + +“My soul, but I heard that, too.” + +“A woman of the Joyce country, it was, waiting up on Christmas Eve to +see the Virgin, that heard the tune from her for the first time and +taught it to the country. It’s often I heard discourse about her, and I +a growing girl. ‘Maire of the Virgin’ was the name they gave her. It’s +said that it’s often she saw the glorious Virgin. She died in the +poor-house in Uachtar Ard a couple of years before I was married. The +blessing of God be with the souls of the dead.” + +“Amen, O Lord,” say the other women. + +But Maire did not speak. She and her two big grey eyes were going, as +you would say, through old Una’s forehead, and she telling the story. +She spoke after a spell. + +“Are you sure, Una, that the Virgin and her Child come into the houses +on Christmas Eve?” says she. + +“As sure as I’m living.” + +“Did you ever see her?” + +“I did not, then. But the Christmas Eve after I was married I waited up +to see her, if it would be granted me. A cloud of sleep fell on me. Some +noise woke me, and when I opened my eyes I thought I saw, as it would +be, a young woman and a child in her arms going out the door.” + +No one spoke for a long time. Nothing was heard in the house but the +drone of the spinning-wheels and the crackling of the fire, and the +chirping of the crickets. Maire got up. + +“I’ll be shortening the road,” says she. “May God give you good night, +women.” + +“God speed you, Maire,” they answered together. + +She drew-to the door on herself. + +There was, as it would be, a blaze of fire in that woman’s heart, and +she going the road home in the blackness of night. The great longing of +her soul was plundering and desolating her--the longing for children. +She had been married four years, and hadn’t clann. It’s often she would +spend the hours on her knees, praying God to send her a child. It’s +often she would rise from the bed in the night-time, and go on her two +naked knees on the cold, hard stone making the same petition. It’s many +a penance she used put on herself in hopes that the torture of her body +would soften God’s heart. It’s often when her man would be from home, +that she would go to sleep without dinner and without supper. Once or +twice, when her man was asleep, she left the bed and went out and stood +a long while under the dew of the night sending her prayer to the dark, +lonesome skies. Once she drew blood from her shoulder-blades with blows +she gave herself with a switch. Another time she stuck thorns into her +flesh in memory of the crown of thorns that went on the brow of the +Saviour. The penances and the heart-scald were preying on her health. +Nobody guessed what was wrong with her. Her own husband--a decent, +kindly man--didn’t understand the story right, though it’s often he +would hear her in the night talking to herself as a mother would be +talking to a child, when she would feel its hand or its mouth at her +breast. Ah! it’s many a woman hugs her heart and whispers in the dead +time of night to the child that isn’t born, and will not be. + +Maire thought long until Christmas Eve came. But as there’s a wearing on +everything, so there was a wearing on the delay of that time. The day of +Christmas Eve was tedious to her until evening came. She swept the floor +of the house, and she cleaned the chairs, and she made up a good fire +before going to sleep. She left the door on the latch, and she put a +tall, white candle in the window. When she stretched herself beside her +man it wasn’t to sleep it was, but to watch. She thought her man would +never sleep. She felt at last by the quiet breath he was drawing that he +was gone off. Then she got up. She put on her dress, and she stole out +to the kitchen. No one was there. Not even a mouse was stirring. The +crickets themselves were asleep. The fire was in red ashes. The candle +was shining brightly. She bent on her knees in the room door. It’s sweet +the calm of the house was to her in the middle of the night, though, I +tell you, it was terrible. There came a heightening of mind on her as it +used to come betimes in the chapel, and she going to receive communion +from the priest’s hands. She felt, somehow, that the Presence wasn’t far +from her, and that it wouldn’t be long until she would hear a footstep. +She listened patiently. The house itself, she thought, and what was in +it both living and dead, was listening as well. The hills were +listening, and the stones of the earth, and the starry stars of the sky. + +She heard a sound. A footstep on the door-flag. She saw a young woman +coming in and a child in her arms. The young woman drew up to the fire. +She sat down on a chair. She began crooning, very low, to the child. +Maire recognised the music. The tune that was on it was the “_Crónán na +Banaltra_.” + +A while to them like that. The woman hugging the child to her breast, +and crooning, very sweetly, very softly. Maire on her two knees, under +the shadow of the door. It wasn’t in her to speak nor to move. She was +barely able to draw her breath. + +At last the woman rose. It’s then Maire rose. She went hither to the +woman. + +“_A Mhuire_,” says she, whispering-like. + +The woman turned her countenance towards her. A lovely, noble +countenance it was. + +“_A Mhuire_,” says Maire again. “I have a request of you.” + +“Say it,” says the other woman. + +“A child drinking the milk of my breast,” says Maire. “Don’t deny me, _a +Mhuire_.” + +“Come closer to me,” says the other woman. + +Maire came closer to her. The other woman raised her child. The child +stretched out its two little hands, and it laid a hand softly on each +cheek of Maire’s two cheeks. + +“That blessing will make you fruitful,” says the Mother. + +“Its a good woman you are, _a Mhuire_,” says Maire. “It’s good your Son +is.” + +“I leave a blessing in this house,” says the other woman. + +She squeezed her child to her breast again and went out the door. Maire +fell on her knees. + + * * * * * + +It’s a year since that Christmas Eve. The last time I passed Maire’s +house there was a child in her breast. There was that look on her that +doesn’t be on living soul but a mother when she feels the mouth of her +firstborn at her nipple. + +“God loves the women better than the men,” said I to myself. “It’s to +them He sends the greatest sorrows, and it’s on them He bestows the +greatest joy.” + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + THE DEARG-DAOL + + + + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + THE DEARG-DAOL + + +A walking-man, it was, come into my father’s house out of the Joyce +Country, that told us this story by the fireside one wild winter’s +night. The wind was wailing round the house, like women keening the +dead, while he spoke, and he would make his voice rise or fall according +as the wind’s voice would rise or fall. A tall man he was, with wild +eyes, and his share of clothes almost in tatters. There was a sort of +fear on me of him when he came in, and his story didn’t lessen my fear. + +The three most blessed beasts in the world, says the walking-man, are +the haddock, the robin redbreast, and God’s cow. And the three most +cursed beasts in the world are the viper, the wren, and the _dearg-daol_ +(“black chafer”). And it’s the _dearg-daol_ is the most cursed of them. +’Tis I that know that. Woman of the house, if a man would murder his +son, don’t call him the _dearg-daol_. If a woman would come between +yourself and the husband of your bed, don’t put her in comparison with +the _dearg-daol_. + +“God save us,” says my mother. + +“Amen, Lord,” says the walking-man. + +He didn’t speak again for a spell. We all listened, for we knew he was +going to tell a story. It wasn’t long before he began. + +When I was a lad, says the walking-man, there was a woman of our people +that everybody was afraid of. In a little, lonely cabin in a gap of a +mountain, it was, she lived. No one would go near her house. She, +herself, wouldn’t come next or near any other body’s house. Nobody would +speak to her when they met her on the road. She wouldn’t put word nor +wisdom on anybody at all. You’d think a pity to see the creature and she +going the road alone. + +“Who is she,” I would say to my mother, “or why wouldn’t they speak to +her?” + +“Whisht, boy,” my mother would say to me. “That’s the _Dearg-Daol_. ’Tis +a cursed woman she is.” + +“What did she do, or who put the curse on her?” I would say. + +“A priest of God that put the curse on her,” my mother would say. “No +one in life knew what she did.” + +And that’s all the knowledge I got of her until I was a grown chap. And +indeed to you, neighbours, I never heard anything about her but that she +committed some dreadful sin at the start of her life, and that the +priest put his curse on her before the people on account of that sin. +One Sunday, when the people were gathered at Mass, the priest turned +round on them, and says he:-- + +“There is a woman here,” says he, “that will merit eternal damnation for +herself and for every person that makes familiar with her. And I say to +that woman,” says he, “that she is a cursed woman, and I say to you, let +you not have intercourse or neighbourliness with that woman but as much +as you’d have with a _dearg-daol_. Rise up now, _Dearg-Daol_,” says he, +“and avoid the company of decent people henceforth.” + +The poor woman got up, and went out the chapel door. There was no name +on her from that out but the _Dearg-Daol_. Her own name and surname were +put out of mind. ’Twas said that she had the evil eye. If she’d look on +a calf or a sheep that wasn’t her own, the animal would die. The women +were afraid to let their children out on the street if the _Dearg-Daol_ +was going the road. + +I married a comely girl when I was of the age of one-and-twenty. We had +a little slip of a girl, and we had hopes of another child. One day when +I was cutting turf in the bog, my wife was feeding the fowl on the +street, when she saw--God between us and harm--the _Dearg-Daol_ making +on her up the bohereen, and she with the little, soft _pataire_ of a +child in her arms. An arm of the child was about the woman’s neck, and +her shawl covering her. Speech left my wife. + +The _Dearg-Daol_ laid the little girl in her mother’s breast. My woman +took notice that her clothes were wet. + +“What happened the child?” says she. + +“Falling into Lochán na Luachra (the Pool of the Rushes), she did it,” +says the _Dearg-Daol_. “Looking for water-lilies she was. I was crossing +the road, and I heard her scream. In over the dyke with me. It was only +by dint of trouble I caught her.” + +“May God reward you,” says my wife. The other woman went off before she +had time to say more. My wife fetched the little wee thing inside, she +dried her, and put her to sleep. When I came in from the bog she told me +the story. The two of us prayed our blessing on the _Dearg-Daol_ that +night. + +The day after, the little girl began prattling about the woman that +saved her. “The water was in my mouth, and in my eyes, and in my ears,” +says she. “I saw shining sparks, and I heard a great noise; I was +slipping and slipping,” says she; “and then,” says she, “I felt a hand +about me, and she lifted me up and she kissed me. I thought it was at +home, I was, when I was in her arms and her shawl about me,” says she. + +A couple of days after that my wife noticed the little thing away from +her. We sought her for the length of two hours. When she came home she +told us that she was after paying a visit to the woman that saved her. +“She made a cake for me,” says she. “She has ne’er a one in the house at +all but herself, and she said to me I should go visiting her every +evening.” + +Neither I nor my wife was able to say a word against her. The +_Dearg-Daol_ was after saving our girl’s life, and it wouldn’t be +natural to hinder the child going into her house. From that day out the +little girl would go up the hill to her every day. + +The neighbours said to us that it wasn’t right. There was a sort of +suspicion on ourselves that it wasn’t right, but how could we help it? + +Would you believe me, people? From the day the _Dearg-Daol_ laid eyes on +the little girl, she began dwindling and dwindling, like a fire that +wouldn’t be mended. She lost her appetite and her activity. After a +quarter she was only a shadow. After another month she was in the +churchyard. + +The _Dearg-Daol_ came down the mountain the day she was buried. She +wouldn’t be let into the graveyard. She went her road up the mountain +again alone. My heart bled for the creature, for I knew that our trouble +was no heavier than her trouble. I myself went up the hill the morning +of the next day. I meant to say to her that neither my wife nor myself +had any upbraiding for her. I knocked at the door. I didn’t get any +answer. I went into the house. The ashes were red on the hearth. There +was no one at all to be seen. I noticed a bed in the corner. I went over +to the bed. The _Dearg-Daol_ was lying there, and she cold dead. + +There wasn’t any luck on me or on my household from that day out. My +wife died a month after that, and she in childbirth. The child didn’t +live. There fell a murrain on my cattle the winter following. The +landlord put me out of my holding. I am a walking man, and the roads of +Connacht before me, from that day to this. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + THE ROADS + + + + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + THE ROADS + + +Rossnageeragh will mind till death the night the Dublin Man gave us the +feast in the schoolhouse of Turlagh Beg. We had no name or surname for +that same man ever but the “Dublin Man.” Peatin Pharaig would say to us +that he was a man who wrote for the newspapers. Peatin would read the +Gaelic paper the mistress got every week, and it’s a small thing he +hadn’t knowledge of, for there was discourse in that paper on the doings +of the Western World and on the goings-on of the Eastern World, and +there would be no bounds to the information Peatin would have to give us +every Sunday at the chapel gate. He would say to us that the Dublin Man +had a stack of money, for two hundred pounds in the year were coming to +him out of the heart of that paper he wrote for every week. + +The Dublin Man would pay a fortnight’s or a month’s visit to Turlagh +every year. This very year he sent out word calling poor and naked to a +feast he was gathering for us in the schoolhouse. He announced that +there would be music and dancing and Gaelic speeches in it; that there +would be a piper there from Carrowroe; that Brigid ni Mhainin would be +there to give _Conntae Mhuigheó_; that Martin the Fisherman would tell a +Fenian story; that old Una ni Greelis would recite a poem if the +creature wouldn’t have the asthma; and that Marcuseen Mhichil Ruaidh +would do a bout of dancing unless the rheumatic pains would be too bad +on him. Nobody ever knew Marcuseen to have the rheumatics but when he’d +be asked to dance. “Bedam, but I’m dead with the pains for a week,” he’d +always say when a dance would be hinted. But no sooner would the piper +start on “Tatter Jack Walsh,” than Marcuseen would throw his old hat in +the air, “hup!” he’d say, and take the floor. + +The family of Col Labhras were drinking tea the evening of the feast. + +“Will we go to the schoolhouse to-night, daddy?” says Cuimin Col to his +father. + +“We will. Father Ronan said he’d like all the people to go.” + +“Won’t we have the spree!” says Cuimin. + +“You’ll stay at home, Nora,” says the mother, “to mind the child.” + +Nora put a lip on herself, but she didn’t speak. + +After tea Col and his wife went into the room to ready themselves for +the road. + +“My sorrow that it’s not a boy God made me,” says Nora to her brother. + +“_Muise_, why?” says Cuimin. + +“For one reason better than another,” says Nora. With that she gave a +little slap to the child that was half-asleep and half-awake in the +cradle. The child let a howl out of him. + +“_Ara_, listen to the child,” says Cuimin. “If my mother hears him +crying, she’ll take the ear off you.” + +“I don’t care if she takes the two ears off me,” says Nora. + +“What’s up with you?” Cuimin was washing himself, and he stopped to look +over his shoulder at his sister, and the water streaming from his face. + +“Tired of being made a little ass of by my mother and by everybody, I +am,” says Nora. “I working from morning till night, and ye at your ease. +Ye going to the spree to-night, and I sitting here nursing this child. +‘You’ll stay at home, Nora, to mind the child,’ says my mother. That’s +always the way. It’s a pity it’s not a boy God made me.” + +Cuimin was drying his face meanwhile, and “s-s-s-s-s” coming out of him +like a person would be grooming a horse. + +“It’s a pity, right enough,” says he, when he was able to speak. + +He threw the towel from him, he put his head to one side, and looked +complacently at himself in the glass was hanging on the wall. + +“A parting in my hair now,” says he, “and I’ll be first-class.” + +“Are you ready, Cuimin?” says his father, coming out of the room. + +“I am.” + +“We’ll be stirring on then.” + +The mother came out. + +“If he there is crying, Nora,” says she, “give him a drink of milk out +of the bottle.” + +Nora didn’t say a word. She remained sitting on the stool beside the +cradle, and her chin laid in her two hands and her two elbows stuck on +her knees. She heard her father and her mother and Cuimin going out the +door and across the street; she knew by their voices that they were +going down the bohereen. The voices died away, and she understood that +they were after taking the road. + +Nora began making fancy pictures in her mind. She saw, she thought, the +fine, level road and it white under the moonlight. The people were in +groups making for the schoolhouse. The Rossnageeragh folk were coming +out the road, and the Garumna folk journeying round by the mistress’s +house, and the Kilbrickan folk crowding down the hill, and the Turlagh +Beg’s crowding likewise; there was a band from Turlagh, and an odd +sprinkling from Glencaha, and one or two out of Inver coming in the +road. She imagined her own people were at the school gate by now. They +were going up the path. They were entering in the door. The schoolhouse +was well-nigh full, and still no end to the coming of the people. There +were lamps hung on the walls, and the house as bright as it would be in +the middle of day. Father Ronan was there, and he going from person to +person and bidding welcome to everybody. The Dublin Man was there, and +he as nice and friendly-like as ever. The mistress was there, and the +master and mistress from Gortmore, and the lace-instructress. The +schoolgirls sitting together on the front benches. Weren’t they to sing +a song? She saw, she thought, Maire Sean Mor, and Maire Pheatin Johnny, +and Babeen Col Marcus, and the Boatman’s Brigid, and her red head on +her, and Brigid Caitin ni Fhiannachta, with her mouth open as usual. The +girls were looking round and nudging one another, and asking one another +where was Nora Col Labhras. The schoolhouse was packed to the door now. +Father Ronan was striking his two hands together. They were stopping +from talk and from whispering. Father Ronan was speaking to them. He was +speaking comically. Everybody was laughing. He was calling on the +schoolgirls to give their song. They were getting up and going to the +head of the room and bowing to the people. + +“My sorrow, that I’m not there,” says poor Nora to herself, and she laid +her face in her palms and began crying. + +She stopped crying, suddenly. She hung her head, and rubbed a palm to +her eyes. + +It wasn’t right, says she in her own mind. It wasn’t right, just, or +decent. Why should she be kept at home? Why should they always keep her +at home? If she was a boy she’d be let out. Since she was only a girl +they would keep her at home. She was, as she had said to Cuimin that +evening, only a little ass of a girl. She wouldn’t put up with it any +longer. She would have her own way. She would be as free as any boy that +came or went. It’s often before that she set her mind to the deed. She +would do the deed that night. + +It’s often Nora thought that it would be a fine life to be going like a +flying hawk, independent of everybody. The roads of Ireland before her, +and her face on them; the back of her head to home and hardship and the +vexation of her people. She going from village to village, and from glen +to glen. The fine, level road before her, fields on both sides of her, +little, well-sheltered houses on the slopes of the hills. If she’d get +tired she could stretch back by the side of a ditch, or she could go +into some house and ask the good woman for a drink of milk and a seat by +the fire. To make the night’s sleep in some wood under the shadow of +trees, and to rise early in the morning and stretch out again under the +lovely fresh air. If she wanted food (and it’s likely she would want +it), she would do a day’s work here and a day’s work there, and she +would be full-satisfied if she got a cup of tea and a crumb of bread in +payment for it. Wouldn’t it be a fine life that, besides being a little +ass of a girl at home, feeding the hens and minding the child! + +It’s not as a girl she’d go, but as a boy. No one in life would know +that it’s not a boy was in it. When she’d cut her hair and put on +herself a suit of Cuimin’s bawneens, who would know that it’s a girl she +was? + +It’s often Nora took that counsel to herself, but the fear would never +let her put it in practice. She never had right leave for it. Her mother +would always be in the house, and no sooner would she be gone than she’d +feel wanted. But she had leave now. None of them would be back in the +house for another hour of the clock, at the least. She’d have a power of +time to change her clothes, and to go off unbeknown to the world. She +would meet nobody on the road, for all the people were gathered in the +schoolhouse. She would have time to go as far as Ellery to-night and to +sleep in the wood. She would rise early on the morrow morning, and she +would take the road before anybody would be astir. + +She jumped from the stool. There were scissors in the drawer of the +dresser. It wasn’t long till she had a hold of them, and snip! snap! She +cut off her back hair, and the fringe that was on her brow, and each +ringleted tress that was on her, in one attack. She looked at herself in +the glass. _A inghean O!_ isn’t it bald and bare she looked. She +gathered the curls of hair from the floor, and she hid them in an old +box. Over with her then to the place where a clean suit of bawneens +belonging to Cuimin was hanging on a nail. Down with her on her knees +searching for a shirt of Cuimin’s that was in a lower drawer of the +dresser. She threw the clothes on the floor beside the fire. + +Here she is now taking off her own share of clothes in a hurry. She +threw her dress and her little blouse and her shift into a chest that +was under the table. She put Cuimin’s shirt on herself. She stuck her +legs into the breeches, and she pulled them up on herself. She minded +then that she had neither belt nor gallowses. She’d have to make a belt +out of an old piece of cord. She put the jacket on herself. She looked +in the glass, and she started. It’s how she thought Cuimin was before +her! She looked over her shoulder, but she didn’t see anybody. It’s then +she minded that it’s her own self was looking at her, and she laughed. +But if she did itself, she was a little scared. If she’d a cap now she’d +be ready for the road. Yes, she knew where there was an old cap of +Cuimin’s. She got it, and put it on her head. Farewell for ever now to +the old life, and a hundred welcomes to the new! + +When she was at the door she turned back and she crept over to the +cradle. The child was sound asleep. She bent down and she gave a kiss to +the baby, a little, little, light kiss in on his forehead. She stole on +the tips of her toes to the door, opened it gently, went out on the +street, and shut the door quietly after her. Across the street with her, +and down the bohereen. It was short till she took the road to herself. +She pressed on then towards Turlagh Beg. + +It was short till she saw the schoolhouse by the side of the road. There +was a fine light burning through the windows. She heard a noise, as if +they’d be laughing and clapping hands within. Over across the fence with +her, and up the school path. She went round to the back of the house. +The windows were high enough, but she raised herself up till she’d a +view of what was going on inside. Father Ronan was speaking. He stopped, +and O, Lord!--the people began getting up. It was plain that the fun was +over, and that they were about to separate to go home. What would she +do, if she’d be seen? + +She threw a leap from the window. Her foot slipped from her, coming down +on the ground, and she got a drop. She very nearly screamed out, but she +minded herself in time. Her knee was a little hurt, she thought. The +people were out on the school yard by that. She must stay in hiding till +they were all gone. She moved into the wall as close as she could. She +heard the people talking and laughing, and she knew that they were +scattering after one another. + +What was that? The voices of people coming towards her; the sound of a +footstep on the path beside her! It’s then she minded that there was a +short-cut across the back of the house, and that there might be some +people going the short-cut. Likely, her own people would be going that +way, for it was a little shorter than round by the high road. A little +knot came towards her; she recognized by their voices that they were +Peatin Johnny’s people. They passed. Another little knot; the Boatman’s +family. They drew that close to her that Eamonn trod on her poor, bare, +little foot. She almost let a cry out of her the second time, but she +didn’t--she only squeezed herself tighter to the wall. Another crowd was +coming: O, Great God, her own people! Cuimin was saying, “Wasn’t it +wonderful, Marcuseen’s dancing!” Her mother’s dress brushed Nora’s cheek +going by: she didn’t draw her breath all that time. A company or two +more went past. She listened for a spell. Nobody else was coming. It’s +how they were all gone, said she to herself. Out with her from her +hiding-place, and she tore across the path. Plimp! She ran against +somebody. Two big hands were about her. She heard a man’s voice. She +recognized the voice. The priest that was in it. + +“Who have I?” says Father Ronan. + +She told a lie. What else had she to say? + +“Cuimin Col Labhras, Father,” says she. + +He laid a hand on each shoulder of her, and looked down on her. She had +her head bent. + +“I thought you went home with your father and mother,” says he. + +“I did, Father, but I lost my cap and I came back looking for it.” + +“Isn’t your cap on your head?” + +“I found it on the path.” + +“Aren’t your father and mother gone the short-cut?” + +“They are, Father, but I am going the road so that I’ll be with the +other boys.” + +“Off with you, then, or the ghosts’ll catch you!” With that Father Ronan +let her go from him. + +“May God give you good-night, Father,” says she. She didn’t mind to take +off her cap, but it’s how she curtseyed to the priest after the manner +of girls! If the priest took notice of that much he hadn’t time to say a +word, for she was gone in the turning of your hand. + +Her two cheeks were red-hot with shame, and she giving face on the road. +She was after telling four big lies to the priest! She was afraid that +those lies were a terrible sin on her soul. She was afraid going that +lonesome road in the darkness of the night, and that burthen on her +heart. The night was very black. There was a little brightening on her +right hand. The lake of Turlagh Beg that was in it. There rose some +bird, a curlew or a snipe, from the brink of the lake, letting mournful +cries out of it. Nora started when she heard the bird’s voice, that +suddenly, and the drumming of its wings. She hurried on, and her heart +beating against her breast. She left Turlagh Beg behind her, and faced +the long, straight road that leads to the Crosses of Kilbrickan. It’s +with trouble she recognized the shape of the houses on the hill when she +reached the Crosses. There was a light in the house of Peadar O +Neachtain, and she heard voices from the side of Snamh-Bo. She followed +on, drawing on Turlagh. When she reached the Bog Hill the moon came out, +and she saw from her the scar of the hills. There came a great cloud +across the face of the moon, and it seemed to her that it’s double dark +the night was then. Terror seized her, for she minded that +Cnoc-a’-Leachta (the Hill of the Grave) wasn’t far off, and that the +graveyard would be on her right hand then. It’s often she heard that was +an evil place in the middle of the night. She sharpened her pace; she +began running. She thought that she was being followed; that there was a +bare-footed woman treading almost on her heels; that there was a thin, +black man travelling alongside her; that there was a child, and a white +shirt on him, going the road before her. She opened her mouth to let a +screech out of her, but there didn’t come a sound from her. She was in a +cold sweat. Her legs were bending under her. She nearly fell in a heap +on the road. She was at Cnoc-a’-Leachta about that time. It seemed to +her that Cill Eoin was full of ghosts. She minded the word the priest +said “Have a care, or the ghosts’ll catch you.” They were on her! She +heard, she thought, the “plub-plab” of naked feet on the road. She +turned to her left hand and she gave a leap over the ditch. She went +near to being drowned in a deal-hole that was between her and the wood, +unbeknown to her. She twisted her foot trying to save herself, and she +felt pain. On with her, reeling. She was in the fields of Ellery then. +She saw the lamp of the lake through the branches. A tree-root took a +stumble out of her, and she fell. She lost her senses. + + * * * * * + +After a very long time she imagined that the place was filled with a +sort of half-light, a light that was between the light of the sun and +the light of the moon. She saw, very clearly, the feet of the trees, and +them dark against a yellowish-green sky. She never saw a sky of that +colour before, and it was beautiful to her. She heard a footstep, and +she understood that there was someone coming towards her up from the +lake. She knew in some manner that a prodigious miracle was about to be +shown her, and that someone was to suffer there some awful passion. She +hadn’t long to wait till she saw a young man struggling wearily through +the tangle of the wood. He had his head bent, and the appearance of +great sorrow on him. Nora recognised him. The Son of Mary that was in +it, and she knew that He was journeying all alone to His death. + +The Man threw himself on His knees, and He began praying. Nora didn’t +hear one word from Him, but she understood in her heart what He was +saying. He was asking His Eternal Father to send someone to Him who +would side with Him against His enemies, and who would bear half of His +burthen. Nora wished to rise and to go to Him, but she couldn’t stir out +of the place she was in. + +She heard a noise, and the place was filled with armed men. She saw +dark, devilish faces and grey swords and edged weapons. The gentle Man +was seized outrageously, and His share of clothes torn from Him, and He +was scourged with scourges there till His body was in a bloody mass and +in an everlasting wound from His head to the soles of His feet. A thorny +crown was put then on His gentle head, and a cross was laid on His +shoulders, and He went before Him, heavy-footed, pitifully, the +sorrowful way of His journey to Calvary. The chain that was tying Nora’s +tongue and limbs till that broke, and she cried aloud: + +“Let me go with You, Jesus, and carry Your cross for You!” + + * * * * * + +She felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up. She saw her father’s +face. + +“What’s on my little girl, or why did she go from us?” says her father’s +voice. + +He lifted her in his arms and he brought her home. She lay on her bed +till the end of a month after that. She was out of her mind for half of +that time, and she thought at times that she was going the road, like a +lone, wild-goose, and asking knowledge of the way of people; and she +thought at other times that she was lying in under a tree in Ellery, and +that she was watching again the passion of that gentle Man, and she +trying to help Him, but without power to help him. That wandering went +out of her mind at long last, and she understood she was at home again. +And when she recognised her mother’s face her heart was filled with +consolation, and she asked her to put the child into the bed with her, +and when he was put into the bed she kissed him lovingly. + +“Oh, mameen,” says she, “I thought I wouldn’t see you or my father or +Cuimin or the child ever again. Were ye here all that time?” + +“We were, white lamb,” says her mother. + +“I’ll stay in the place where ye are,” says she. “Oh, mameen, heart, the +roads were very dark.... And I’ll never strike the child again,”--and +she gave him another little kiss. + +The child put his arm about her neck, and he curled himself up in the +bed at his full ease. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + BRIGID OF THE SONGS + + + + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + BRIGID OF THE SONGS + + +Brigid of the Songs was the most famous singer in Rossnageeragh, not +only in my time but in my father’s time. It’s said that she could wile +the song-thrush from the branch with the sweetness of the music that God +gave her; and I would believe it, for it’s often she wiled me and other +lads besides from our dinner or our supper. I’d be a rich man to-day if +I had a shilling for every time I stopped outside her door, on my way +home from school, listening to her share of songs; and my father told me +that it’s often and often he did the same thing when he was a lad going +to school. It was a tradition among the people that it was from Raftery +himself that Brigid learned “_Conntae Mhuigheó_” (The County of Mayo), +and isn’t it with the “_Conntae Mhuigheó_” that she drew the big tears +out of the eyes of John MacHale one time he was on a visit here, along +with our own Bishop, a year exactly before I was born? + +A thing that’s no wonder, when we heard that there was to be a Feis in +Moykeeran, we all settled in our minds that it’s Brigid would have the +prize for the singing, if she’d enter for it. There was no other person, +neither men-singers nor women-singers, half as good as she was in the +seven parishes. She couldn’t be beaten, if right was to be done. She +would put wonderment on the people of Moykeeran and on the grand folk +would be in it out of Galway and out of Tuam. She would earn name and +fame for Rossnageeragh. She would win the prize easy, and she would be +sent to Dublin to sing a song at the Oireachtas. There was a sort of +hesitation on Brigid at first. She was too old, she said. Her voice +wasn’t as good as it used be. She hadn’t her wind. A share of her songs +were going out of her memory. She didn’t want a prize. Didn’t the men of +Ireland know that she was the best singer in Iar-Connacht? Didn’t +Raftery praise her, didn’t Colm Wallace make a song in her honour, +didn’t she draw tears out of the eyes of John MacHale? Brigid said that +much and seven times more; but it was plain, at the same time, that +there was a wish on her to go to the Feis, and we all knew that she +would go. To make a short story of it, we were at her until we took a +promise out of her that she would go. + +She went. It’s well I remember the day of the Feis. The world of Ireland +was there, you’d think. The house was overflowing with poor people and +with rich people, with noble folk and with lowly folk, with strong, +active youths, and with withered, done old people. There were priests +and friars there from every art. There were doctors and lawyers there +from Tuam and from Galway and from Uachtar Ard. There were newspaper +people there from Dublin. There was a lord’s son there from England. The +full of people went up, singing songs. Brigid went up. We were at the +back of the house, listening to her. She began. There was a little +bashfulness on her at the start, and her voice was too low. But she came +to herself in time, according as she was stirring out into the song, and +she took tears out of the eyes of the gathering with the last verse. +There was great cheering when she had finished, and she coming down. +_We_ put a shout out of us you’d think would crack the roof of the +house. A young girl went up. Her voice was a long way better than +Brigid’s, but, we thought, there was not the same sadness nor sweetness +in the song as there was in Brigid’s. She came down. The people cheered +again, but I didn’t notice that anybody was crying. One of the judges +got up. He praised Brigid greatly. He praised the young girl greatly, +too. He was very tedious. + +“Who won the prize?” says one of us at last, when our share of patience +was exhausted. + +“Oh, the prize!” says he. “Well, in regard to the prize, we are giving +it to Nora Cassidy (the young girl), but we are considering the award of +a special prize to Brígid ní Mhainín (our Brigid). Nora Cassidy will be +sent to Dublin to sing a song at the Oireachtas.” + +The Moykeeran people applauded, for it was out of Moykeeran that Nora +Cassidy was. We didn’t say anything. We looked over at Brigid. Her face +was grey-white, and she trembling in every limb. + +“What did you say, sir, please?” says she in a strange voice. “Is it I +that have the prize?” + +“We are considering the award of a special prize to you, my good woman, +as you shaped so excellently--you did that,--but it’s to Nora Cassidy +that the Feis prize is given.” + +Brigid didn’t speak a word; but it’s how she rose up, and without +looking either to the right hand or to the left, she went out the door. +She took the road to Rossnageeragh, and she was before us when we +reached the village late in the night. + + * * * * * + +The Oireachtas was to be in Dublin the week after. We were a sad crowd, +remembering that Brigid of the Songs wouldn’t be there. We were full +sure that fair play wasn’t done her in Moykeeran, and we thought that if +she’d go to Dublin she’d get satisfaction. But alas! we had no money to +send her there, and if we had itself we knew that she wouldn’t take it +from us. We were arguing the question one evening at the gable of the +Boatman’s house, when who should come up but little Martin Connolly, at +a full run, and he said to us that Brigid of the Songs was gone, the +lock on the door, and no tale or tidings to be got of her. + +We didn’t know what happened her until a fortnight’s time after that. +Here’s how it fell out. When she heard that the Oireachtas was to be in +Dublin on such a day, she said to herself that she would be there if she +lived. She didn’t let on to anyone, but went off with herself in the +night-time, walking. She had only a florin piece in her pocket. She +didn’t know where Dublin was, nor how far it was away. She followed her +nose, it’s like, asking the road of the people she met, tramping always, +until she’d left behind her Cashlagh, and Spiddal, and Galway, and +Oranmore, and Athenry, and Kilconnell, and Ballinasloe, and Athlone, and +Mullingar, and Maynooth, until at last she saw from her the houses of +Dublin. It’s like that her share of money was spent long before that, +and nobody will ever know how the creature lived on that long, lonesome +journey. But one evening when the Oireachtas was in full swing in the +big hall in Dublin, a countrywoman was seen coming in the door, her feet +cut and bleeding with the hard stones of the road, her share of clothes +speckled with dust and dirt, and she weary, worn-out and exhausted. + +She sat down. People were singing in the old style. Brígid ní Mhainín +from Rossnageeragh was called on (for we had entered her name in hopes +that we’d be able to send her). The old woman rose, went up, and started +“_Conntae Mhuigheó_.” + +When she finished the house was in one ree-raw with shouts, it was that +fine. She was told to sing another song. She began on the “_Sail Og +Ruadh_” (The Red Willow). She had only the first line of the second +verse said when there came some wandering in her head. She stopped and +she began again. The wandering came on her a second time, then a +trembling, and she fell in a faint on the stage. She was carried out of +the hall. A doctor came to examine her. + +“She is dying from the hunger and the hardship,” says he. + +While that was going on, great shouts were heard inside the hall. One of +the judges came out in a hurry. + +“You have won the first prize!” says he. “You did”--. He stopped +suddenly. + +A priest was on his knees bending over Brigid. He raised his hand and he +gave the absolution. + +“She has won a greater reward than the first prize,” says he. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + THE THIEF + + + + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + THE THIEF + + +One day when the boys of Gortmore were let out from school, after the +Glencaha boys and the Derrybanniv boys had gone east, the Turlagh boys +and the Inver boys stayed to have a while’s chat before separating at +the Rossnageeragh road. The master’s house is exactly at the head of the +road, its back to the hill and its face to Loch Ellery. + +“I heard that the master’s bees were swarming,” says Michileen Bartly +Enda. + +“In with you into the garden till we look at them,” says Daragh Barbara +of the Bridge. + +“I’m afraid,” says Michileen. + +“What are you afraid of?” says Daragh. + +“By my word, the master and the mistress will be out presently.” + +“Who’ll stay to give us word when the master will be coming?” says +Daragh. + +“I will,” says little Anthony Manning. + +“That’ll do,” says Daragh. “Let a whistle when you see him leaving the +school.” + +In over the fence with him. In over the fence with the other boys after +him. + +“Have a care that none of you will get a sting,” says Anthony. + +“Little fear,” says Daragh. And off forever with them. + +Anthony sat on the fence, and his back to the road. He could see the +master over his right shoulder if he’d leave the schoolhouse. What a +nice garden the master had, thought Anthony. He had rose-trees and +gooseberry-trees and apple-trees. He had little white stones round the +path. He had big white stones in a pretty rockery, and moss and +maiden-hair fern and common fern growing between them. He had.... + +Anthony saw a wonder greater than any wonder the master had in the +garden. He saw a little, beautiful wee house under the shade of one of +the rose-trees; it made of wood; two storys in it; white colour on the +lower story and red colour on the upper story; a little green door on +it; three windows of glass on it, one downstairs and two upstairs; house +furniture in it, between tables and chairs and beds and delf, and the +rest; and, says Anthony to himself, look at the lady of the house +sitting in the door! + +Anthony never saw a doll’s house before, and it was a wonder to him, its +neatness and order, for a toy. He knew that it belonged to the master’s +little girl, little Nance. A pity that his own little sister hadn’t one +like it--Eibhlin, the creature, that was stretched on her bed for a long +three months, and she weak and sick! A pity she hadn’t the doll itself! +Anthony put the covetousness of his heart in that doll for Eibhlin. He +looked over his right shoulder--neither master nor mistress was to be +seen. He looked over his left shoulder--the other boys were out of +sight. He didn’t think the second thought. He gave his best leap from +the fence; he seized the doll; he stuck it under his jacket; he +clambered out over the ditch again, and away with him home. + +“I have a present for you,” says he to Eibhlin, when he reached the +house. “Look!” and with that he showed her the doll. + +There came a blush on the wasted cheeks of the little sick girl, and a +light into her eyes. + +“_Ora_, Anthony, love, where did you get it?” says she. + +“The master’s little Nance, that sent it to you for a present,” says +Anthony. + +Their mother came in. + +“Oh, mameen, treasure,” says Eibhlin, “look at the present that the +master’s little Nance sent me!” + +“In earnest?” says the mother. + +“Surely,” says Eibhlin. “Anthony, it was, that brought it in to me now.” + +Anthony looked down at his feet, and began counting the toes that were +on them. + +“My own pet,” says the mother, “isn’t it she that was good to you! +_Muise_, Nance! I’ll go bail that that present will put great +improvement on my little girl.” + +And there came tears in the mother’s eyes out of gratitude to little +Nance because she remembered the sick child. Though he wasn’t able to +look his mother between the eyes, or at Eibhlin, with the dint of fear, +Anthony was glad that he committed the theft. + +He was afraid to say his prayers that night, and he lay down on his bed +without as much as an “Our Father.” He couldn’t say the Act of +Contrition, for it wasn’t truthfully he’d be able to say to God that he +was sorry for that sin. It’s often he started in the night, imagining +that little Nance was coming seeking the doll from Eibhlin, that the +master was taxing him with the robbery before the school, that there was +a miraculous swarm of bees rising against him, and Daragh Barbara of the +Bridge and the other boys exciting them with shouts and with the music +of drums. But the next morning he said to himself: “I don’t care. The +doll will make Eibhlin better.” + +When he went to school the boys asked him why he went off unawares the +evening before that, and he after promising them he’d keep watch. + +“My mother sent for me,” says Anthony. “She’d a task for me.” + +When little Nance came into the school, Anthony looked at her under his +brows. He fancied that she was after being crying; he thought that he +saw the track of the tears on her cheeks. The first time the master +called him by his name he jumped, because he thought that he was going +to tax him with the fault or to cross-question him about the doll. He +never put in as miserable a day as that day at school. But when he went +home and saw the great improvement on Eibhlin, and she sitting up in the +bed for the first time for a month, and the doll clasped in her arms, +says he to himself: “I don’t care. The doll is making Eibhlin better.” + +In his bed in the night-time he had bad dreams again. He thought that +the master was after telling the police that he stole the doll, and that +they were on his track; he imagined one time that there was a policeman +hiding under the bed and that there was another hunkering behind the +window-curtain. He screamed out in his sleep. + +“What’s on you?” says his father to him. + +“The peeler that’s going to take me,” says Anthony. + +“You’re only rambling, boy,” says his father to him. “There’s no peeler +in it. Go to sleep.” + +There was the misery of the world on the poor fellow from that out. He +used think they would be pointing fingers at him, and he going the road. +He used think they would be shaking their heads and saying to each +other, “There’s a thief,” or, “Did you hear what Anthony Pharaig Manning +did? Her doll he stole from the master’s little Nance. Now what do you +say?” But he didn’t suffer rightly till he went to Mass on Sunday and +till Father Ronan started preaching a sermon on the Seventh Commandment: +“Thou shalt not steal; and if you commit a theft it will not be forgiven +you until you make restitution.” Anthony was full sure that it was a +mortal sin. He knew that he ought to go to confession and tell the sin +to the priest. But he couldn’t go to confession, for he knew that the +priest would say to him that he must give the doll back. And he wouldn’t +give the doll back. He hardened his heart and he said that he’d never +give the doll back, for that the doll was making Eibhlin better every +day. + +One evening he was sitting by the bed-foot in serious talk with Eibhlin +when his mother ran in in a hurry, and says she-- + +“Here’s the mistress and little Nance coming up the bohereen!” + +Anthony wished the earth would open and swallow him. His face was red up +to his two ears. He was in a sweat. He wasn’t able to say a word or to +think a thought. But these words were running through his head: “They’ll +take the doll from Eibhlin.” It was all the same to him what they’d say +or what they’d do to himself. The only answer he’d have would be, “The +doll’s making Eibhlin better.” + +The mistress and little Nance came into the room. Anthony got up. He +couldn’t look them in the face. He began at his old clatter, counting +the toes of his feet. Five on each foot; four toes and a big toe; or +three toes, a big toe, and a little toe; that’s five; twice five are +ten; ten in all. He couldn’t add to their number or take from them. His +mother was talking, the mistress was talking, but Anthony paid no heed +to them. He was waiting till something would be said about the doll. +There was nothing for him to do till that but count his toes. One, two, +three.... + +What was that? Eibhlin was referring to the doll. Anthony listened now. + +“Wasn’t it good of you to send me the doll?” she was saying to Nance. +“From the day Anthony brought it in to me a change began coming on me.” + +“It did that,” says her mother. “We’ll be forever grateful to you for +that same doll you sent to her. May God increase your store, and may He +requite you for it a thousand times.” + +Neither Nance nor the mistress spoke. Anthony looked at Nance shyly. His +two eyes were stuck in the doll, for the doll was lying cosy in the bed +beside Eibhlin. It had its mouth half open, and the wonder of the world +on it at the sayings of Eibhlin and her mother. + +“It’s with trouble I believed Anthony when he brought it into me,” says +Eibhlin, “and when he told me you sent it to me as a present.” + +Nance looked over at Anthony. Anthony lifted his head slowly, and their +eyes met. It will never be known what Nance read in Anthony’s eyes. What +Anthony read in Nance’s eyes was mercy, love and sweetness. Nance spoke +to Eibhlin. + +“Do you like it?” says she. + +“Over anything,” says Eibhlin. “I’d rather it than anything I have in +the world.” + +“I have the little house it lives in,” says. Nance. “I must send it to +you. Anthony will bring it to you to-morrow.” + +“_Ora!_” says Eibhlin, and she clapping her two little thin palms +together. + +“You’ll miss it, love,” says Eibhlin’s mother to Nance. + +“No,” said Nance. “It will put more improvement on Eibhlin. I have lots +of things.” + +“Let her do it, Cait,” said the mistress to the mother. + +“Ye are too good,” says the poor woman. + +Anthony thought that it’s dreaming he was. Or he thought that it’s not a +person of this world little Nance was at all, but an angel come down out +of heaven. He wanted to go on his knees to her. + +When the mistress and little Nance went off, Anthony ran out the back +door and tore across the garden, so that he’d be before them at the +bohereen-foot, and they going out on the road. + +“Nance,” says he, “I s-stole it,--the d-doll.” + +“Never mind, Anthony,” says Nance, “you did good to Eibhlin.” + +Anthony stood like a stake in the road, and he couldn’t speak another +word. + +Isn’t it he was proud bringing the doll’s house home to Eibhlin after +school the next day! And isn’t it they had the fun that evening settling +the house and polishing the furniture and putting the doll to sleep on +its little bed! + +The Saturday following Anthony went to confession, and told his sin to +the priest. The penance the priest put on him was to clean the doll’s +house once in the week for Eibhlin, till she would be strong enough to +clean it herself. Eibhlin was strong enough for it by the end of a +month. By the end of another month she was at school again. + +There wasn’t a Saturday evening from that out that they wouldn’t hear a +little, light tapping at the master’s door. On the mistress going out +Anthony would be standing at the door. + +“Here’s a little present for Nance,” he’d say, stretching towards her +half-a-dozen duck’s eggs, or a bunch of heather, or, at the least, the +full of his fist of _duileasg_, and then he’d brush off with him without +giving the mistress time to say “thank you.” + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + THE KEENING WOMAN + + + + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + THE KEENING WOMAN + + + I + +“Coilin,” says my father to me one morning after the breakfast, and I +putting my books together to be stirring to school--“Coilin,” says he, +“I have a task for you to-day. Sean will tell the master it was myself +kept you at home to-day, or it’s the way he’ll be thinking you’re +miching, like you were last week. Let you not forget now, Sean.” + +“I will not, father,” says Sean, and a lip on him. He wasn’t too +thankful it to be said that it’s not for him my father had the task. +This son was well satisfied, for my lessons were always a trouble to me, +and the master promised me a beating the day before unless I’d have them +at the tip of my mouth the next day. + +“What you’ll do, Coilin,” says my father when Sean was gone off, “is to +bring the ass and the little car with you to Screeb, and draw home a +load of sedge. Michileen Maire is cutting it for me. We’ll be starting, +with God’s help, to put the new roof on the house after to-morrow, if +the weather stands.” + +“Michileen took the ass and car with him this morning,” says I. + +“You’ll have to leg it, then, _a mhic O_,” says my father. “As soon as +Michileen has an ass-load cut, fetch it home with you on the car, and +let Michileen tear till he’s black. We might draw the other share +to-morrow.” + +It wasn’t long till I was knocking steps out of the road. I gave my back +to Kilbrickan and my face to Turlagh. I left Turlagh behind me, and I +made for Gortmore. I stood a spell looking at an oared boat that was on +Loch Ellery, and another spell playing with some Inver boys that were +late going to Gortmore school. I left them at the school gate, and I +reached Glencaha. I stood, for the third time, watching a big eagle that +was sunning himself on Carrigacapple. East with me, then, till I was in +Derrybanniv, and the hour and a half wasn’t spent when I cleared +Glashaduff bridge. + +There was a house that time a couple of hundred yards east from the +bridge, near the road, on your right-hand side and you drawing towards +Screeb. It was often before that that I saw an old woman standing in the +door of that house, but I had no acquaintance on her, nor did she ever +put talk or topic on me. A tall, thin woman she was, her head as white +as the snow, and two dark eyes, as they would be two burning sods, +flaming in her head. She was a woman that would scare me if I met her in +a lonely place in the night. Times she would be knitting or carding, and +she crooning low to herself; but the thing she would be mostly doing +when I travelled, would be standing in the door, and looking from her up +and down the road, exactly as she’d be waiting for someone that would be +away from her, and she expecting him home. + +She was standing there that morning as usual, her hand to her eyes, and +she staring up the road. When she saw me going past, she nodded her head +to me. I went over to her. + +“Do you see a person at all coming up the road?” says she. + +“I don’t,” says I. + +“I thought I saw someone. It can’t be that I’m astray. See, isn’t that a +young man making up on us?” says she. + +“Devil a one do I see,” says I. “There’s not a person at all between the +spot we’re on and the turning of the road.” + +“I was astray, then,” says she. “My sight isn’t as good as it was. I +thought I saw him coming. I don’t know what’s keeping him.” + +“Who’s away from you?” says myself. + +“My son that’s away from me,” says she. + +“Is he long away?” + +“This morning he went to Uachtar Ard.” + +“But, sure, he couldn’t be here for a while,” says I. “You’d think he’d +barely be in Uachtar Ard by now, and he doing his best, unless it was by +the morning train he went from the Burnt House.” + +“What’s this I’m saying?” says she. “It’s not to-day he went, but +yesterday,--or the day ere yesterday, maybe.... I’m losing my wits.” + +“If it’s on the train he’s coming,” says I, “he’ll not be here for a +couple of hours yet.” + +“On the train?” says she. “What train?” + +“The train that does be at the Burnt House at noon.” + +“He didn’t say a word about a train,” says she. “There was no train +coming as far as the Burnt House yesterday.” + +“Isn’t there a train coming to the Burnt House these years?” says I, +wondering greatly. She didn’t give me any answer, however. She was +staring up the road again. There came a sort of dread on me of her, and +I was about gathering off. + +“If you see him on the road,” says she, “tell him to make hurry.” + +“I’ve no acquaintance on him,” says I. + +“You’d know him easy. He’s the play-boy of the people. A young, active +lad, and he well set-up. He has a white head on him, like is on +yourself, and grey eyes ... like his father had. Bawneens he’s wearing.” + +“If I see him,” says I, “I’ll tell him you’re waiting for him.” + +“Do, son,” says she. + +With that I stirred on with me east, and left her standing in the door. + + * * * * * + +She was there still, and I coming home a couple of hours after that, and +the load of sedge on the car. + +“He didn’t come yet?” says I to her. + +“No, _a mhuirnín_. You didn’t see him?” + +“No.” + +“No? What can have happened him?” + +There were signs of rain on the day. + +“Come in till the shower’s over,” says she. “It’s seldom I do have +company.” + +I left the ass and the little car on the road, and I went into the +house. + +“Sit and drink a cup of milk,” says she. + +I sat on the bench in the corner, and she gave me a drink of milk and a +morsel of bread. I was looking all round the house, and I eating and +drinking. There was a chair beside the fire, and a white shirt and a +suit of clothes laid on it. + +“I have these ready against he will come,” says she. “I washed the +bawneens yesterday after his departing,--no, the day ere yesterday--I +don’t know right which day I washed them; but, anyhow, they’ll be clean +and dry before him when he does come.... What’s your own name?” says +she, suddenly, after a spell of silence. + +I told her. + +“_Muise_, my love you are!” says she. “The very name that was--that +is--on my own son. Whose are you?” + +I told her. + +“And do you say you’re a son of Sean Feichin’s?” says she. “Your father +was in the public-house in Uachtar Ard that night....” She stopped +suddenly with that, and there came some change on her. She put her hand +to her head. You’d think that it’s madness was struck on her. She sat +before the fire then, and she stayed for a while dreaming into the heart +of the fire. It was short till she began moving herself to and fro over +the fire, and crooning or keening in a low voice. I didn’t understand +the words right, or it would be better for me to say that it’s not on +the words I was thinking but on the music. It seemed to me that there +was the loneliness of the hills in the dead time of night, or the +loneliness of the grave when nothing stirs in it but worms, in that +music. Here are the words as I heard them from my father after that:-- + + Sorrow on death, it is it that blackened my heart, + That carried off my love and that left me ruined, + Without friend, without companion under the roof of my house + But this sorrow in my middle, and I lamenting. + + Going the mountain one evening, + The birds spoke to me sorrowfully, + The melodious snipe and the voiceful curlew, + Telling me that my treasure was dead. + + I called on you, and your voice I did not hear, + I called again, and an answer I did not get. + I kissed your mouth, and O God, wasn’t it cold! + Och, it’s cold your bed is in the lonely graveyard. + + And O sod-green grave, where my child is, + O narrow, little grave, since you are his bed, + My blessing on you, and the thousand blessings + On the green sods that are over my pet. + + Sorrow on death, its blessing is not possible-- + It lays fresh and withered together; + And, O pleasant little son, it is it is my affliction, + Your sweet body to be making clay! + +When she had that finished, she kept on moving herself to and fro, and +lamenting in a low voice. It was a lonesome place to be, in that +backward house, and you to have no company but yon solitary old woman, +mourning to herself by the fireside. There came a dread and a creeping +on me, and I rose to my feet. + +“It’s time for me to be going home,” says I. “The evening’s clearing.” + +“Come here,” says she to me. + +I went hither to her. She laid her two hands softly on my head, and she +kissed my forehead. + +“The protection of God to you, little son,” says she. “May He let the +harm of the year over you, and may He increase the good fortune and +happiness of the year to you and to your family.” + +With that she freed me from her. I left the house, and pushed on home +with me. + + * * * * * + +“Where were you, Coilin, when the shower caught you?” says my mother to +me that night. “It didn’t do you any hurt.” + +“I waited in the house of yon old woman on the east side of Glashaduff +bridge,” says I. “She was talking to me about her son. He’s in Uachtar +Ard these two days, and she doesn’t know why he hasn’t come home ere +this.” + +My father looked over at my mother. + +“The Keening Woman,” says he. + +“Who is she?” says I. + +“The Keening Woman,” says my father. “Muirne of the Keens.” + +“Why was that name given to her?” says I. + +“For the keens she does be making,” answered my father. “She’s the most +famous keening-woman in Connemara or in the Joyce Country. She’s always +sent for when anyone dies. She keened my father, and there’s a chance +but she’ll keen myself. But, may God comfort her, it’s her own dead she +does be keening always, it’s all the same what corpse is in the house.” + +“And what’s her son doing in Uachtar Ard?” says I. + +“Her son died twenty years since, Coilin,” says my mother. + +“He didn’t die at all,” says my father, and a very black look on him. +“_He was murdered._” + +“Who murdered him?” + +It’s seldom I saw my father angry, but it’s awful his anger was when it +would rise up in him. He took a start out of me when he spoke again, he +was that angry. + +“Who murdered your own grandfather? Who drew the red blood out of my +grandmother’s shoulders with a lash? Who would do it but the English? My +curse on--” + +My mother rose, and she put her hand on his mouth. + +“Don’t give your curse to anyone, Sean,” says she. My mother was that +kind-hearted, she wouldn’t like to throw the bad word at the devil +himself. I believe she’d have pity in her heart for Cain and for Judas, +and for Diarmaid of the Galls. “It’s time for us to be saying the +Rosary,” says she. “Your father will tell you about Coilin Muirne some +other night.” + +“Father,” says I, and we going on our knees, “we should say a prayer for +Coilin’s soul this night.” + +“We’ll do that, son,” says my father kindly. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + II + +Sitting up one night, in the winter that was on us, my father told us +the story of Muirne from start to finish. It’s well I mind him in the +firelight, a broad-shouldered man, a little stooped, his share of hair +going grey, lines in his forehead, a sad look in his eyes. He was +mending an old sail that night, and I was on my knees beside him in the +name of helping him. My mother and my sisters were spinning frieze. +Seaneen was stretched on his face on the floor, and he in grips of a +book. ’Twas small the heed he gave to the same book, for it’s the +pastime he had, to be tickling the soles of my feet and taking an odd +pinch out of my calves; but as my father stirred out in the story Sean +gave over his trickery, and it is short till he was listening as +interested as anyone. It would be hard not to listen to my father when +he’d tell a story like that by the hearthside. He was a sweet +storyteller. It’s often I’d think there was music in his voice; a low, +deep music like that in the bass of the organ in Tuam Cathedral. + +Twenty years are gone, Coilin (says my father), since the night myself +and Coilin Muirne (may God give him grace) and three or four others of +the neighbours were in Neachtan’s public-house in Uachtar Ard. There was +a fair in the town the same day, and we were drinking a glass before +taking the road home on ourselves. There were four or five men in it +from Carrowroe and from the Joyce Country, and six or seven of the +people of the town. There came a stranger in, a thin, black man that +nobody knew. He called for a glass. + +“Did ye hear, people,” says he to us, and he drinking with us, “that the +lord is to come home to-night?” + +“What business has the devil here?” says someone. + +“Bad work he’s up to, as usual,” says the black man. “He has settled to +put seven families out of their holdings.” + +“Who’s to be put out?” says one of us. + +“Old Thomas O’Drinan from the Glen,--I’m told the poor fellow’s dying, +but it’s on the roadside he’ll die, if God hasn’t him already; a man of +the O’Conaire’s that lives in a cabin on this side of Loch Shindilla; +Manning from Snamh Bo; two in Annaghmaan; a woman at the head of the +Island; and Anthony O’Greelis from Lower Camus.” + +“Anthony’s wife is heavy in child,” says Cuimin O’Niadh. + +“That won’t save her, the creature,” says the black man. “She’s not the +first woman out of this country that bore her child in a ditch-side of +the road.” + +There wasn’t a word out of anyone of us. + +“What sort of men are ye?” says the black man,--“ye are not men, at all. +I was born and raised in a countryside, and, my word to you, the men of +that place wouldn’t let the whole English army together throw out seven +families on the road without them knowing the reason why. Are ye afraid +of the man that’s coming here to-night?” + +“It’s easy to talk,” said Cuimin, “but what way can we stop the bodach?” + +“Murder him this night,” says a voice behind me. Everybody started. I +myself turned round. It was Coilin Muirne that spoke. His two eyes were +blazing in his head, a flame in his cheeks, and his head thrown high. + +“A man that spoke that, whatever his name and surname,” says the +stranger. He went hither and gripped Coilin’s hand. “Drink a glass with +me,” says he. + +Coilin drank the glass. The others wouldn’t speak. + +“It’s time for us to be shortening the road,” says Cuimin, after a +little spell. + +We got a move on us. We took the road home. The night was dark. There +was no wish for talk on any of us, at all. When we came to the head of +the street Cuimin stood in the middle of the road. + +“Where’s Coilin Muirne?” says he. + +We didn’t feel him from us till Cuimin spoke. He wasn’t in the company. + +Myself went back to the public-house. Coilin wasn’t in it. I questioned +the pot-boy. He said that Coilin and the black man left the shop +together five minutes after our going. I searched the town. There wasn’t +tale or tidings of Coilin anywhere. I left the town and I followed the +other men. I hoped it might be that he’d be to find before me. He +wasn’t, nor the track of him. + +It was very far in the night when we reached Glashaduff bridge. There +was a light in Muirne’s house. Muirne herself was standing in the door. + +“God save you, men,” says she, coming over to us. “Is Coilin with you?” + +“He isn’t, _muise_,” says I. “He stayed behind us in Uachtar Ard.” + +“Did he sell?” says she. + +“He did, and well,” says I. “There’s every chance that he’ll stay in the +town till morning. The night’s black and cold in itself. Wouldn’t it be +as well for you to go in and lie down?” + +“It’s not worth my while,” says she. “I’ll wait up till he comes. May +God hasten you.” + +We departed. There was, as it would be, a load on my heart. I was afraid +that there was something after happening to Coilin. I had ill notions of +that black man.... I lay down on my bed after coming home, but I didn’t +sleep. + +The next morning myself and your mother were eating breakfast, when the +latch was lifted from the door, and in comes Cuimin O’Niadh. He could +hardly draw his breath. + +“What’s the news with you, man?” says I. + +“Bad news,” says he. “The lord was murdered last night. He was got on +the road a mile to the east of Uachtar Ard, and a bullet through his +heart. The soldiers were in Muirne’s house this morning on the track of +Coilin, but he wasn’t there. He hasn’t come home yet. It’s said it was +he murdered the lord. You mind the words he said last night?” + +I leaped up, and out the door with me. Down the road, and east to +Muirne’s house. There was no one before me but herself. The furniture of +the house was this way and that way, where the soldiers were searching. +Muirne got up when she saw me in the door. + +“Sean O’Conaire,” says she, “for God’s pitiful sake, tell me where’s my +son? You were along with him. Why isn’t he coming home to me?” + +“Let you have patience, Muirne,” says I. “I’m going to Uachtar Ard after +him.” + +I struck the road. Going in the street of Uachtar Ard, I saw a great +ruck of people. The bridge and the street before the chapel were black +with people. People were making on the spot from every art. But, a thing +that put terror on my heart, there wasn’t a sound out of that terrible +gathering,--only the eyes of every man stuck in a little knot that was +in the right-middle of the crowd. Soldiers that were in that little +knot, black coats and red coats on them, and guns and swords in their +hands; and among the black coats and red coats I saw a country boy, and +bawneens on him. Coilin Muirne that was in it, and he in holds of the +soldiers. The poor boy’s face was as white as my shirt, but he had the +beautiful head of him lifted proudly, and it wasn’t the head of a +coward, that head. + +He was brought to the barracks, and that crowd following him. He was +taken to Galway that night. He was put on his trial the next month. It +was sworn that he was in the public-house that night. It was sworn that +the black man was discoursing on the landlords. It was sworn that he +said the lord would be coming that night to throw the people out of +their holdings the next day. It was sworn that Coilin Muirne was +listening attentively to him. It was sworn that Coilin said those words, +“Murder him this night,” when Cuimin O’Niadh said, “What way can we stop +the bodach?” It was sworn that the black man praised him for saying +those words, that he shook hands with him, that they drank a glass +together. It was sworn that Coilin remained in the shop after the going +of the Rossnageeragh people, and that himself and the black man left the +shop together five minutes after that. There came a peeler then, and he +swore he saw Coilin and the black man leaving the town, and that it +wasn’t the Rossnageeragh road they took on themselves, but the Galway +road. At eight o’clock they left the town. At half after eight a shot +was fired at the lord on the Galway road. Another peeler swore he heard +the report of the shot. He swore he ran to the place, and, closing up to +the place, he saw two men running away. A thin man one of them was, and +he dressed like a gentleman would be. A country boy the other man was. + +“What kind of clothes was the country boy wearing?” says the lawyer. + +“A suit of bawneens,” says the peeler. + +“Is that the man you saw?” says the lawyer, stretching his finger +towards Coilin. + +“I would say it was.” + +“Do you swear it?” + +The peeler didn’t speak for a spell. + +“Do you swear it?” says the lawyer again. + +“I do,” says the peeler. The peeler’s face at that moment was whiter +than the face of Coilin himself. + +A share of us swore then that Coilin never fired a shot out of a gun; +that he was a decent, kindly boy that wouldn’t hurt a fly, if he had the +power for it. The parish priest swore that he knew Coilin from the day +he baptized him; that it was his opinion that he never committed a sin, +and that he wouldn’t believe from anyone at all that he would slay a +man. It was no use for us. What good was our testimony against the +testimony of the police? Judgment of death was given on Coilin. + +His mother was present all that time. She didn’t speak a word from start +to finish, but her two eyes stuck in the two eyes of her son, and her +two hands knitted under her shawl. + +“He won’t be hanged,” says Muirne that night. “God promised me that he +won’t be hanged.” + +A couple of days after that we heard that Coilin wouldn’t be hanged, +that it’s how his soul would be spared him on account of him being so +young as he was, but that he’d be kept in gaol for the term of his life. + +“He won’t be kept,” says Muirne. “O Jesus,” she would say, “don’t let +them keep my son from me.” + +It’s marvellous the patience that woman had, and the trust she had in +the Son of God. It’s marvellous the faith and the hope and the patience +of women. + +She went to the parish priest. She said to him that if he’d write to the +people of Dublin, asking them to let Coilin out to her, it’s certain he +would be let out. + +“They won’t refuse you, Father,” says she. + +The priest said that there would be no use at all in writing, that no +heed would be paid to his letter, but that he himself would go to Dublin +and that he would speak with the great people, and that, maybe, some +good might come out of it. He went. Muirne was full-sure her son would +be home to her by the end of a week or two. She readied the house before +him. She put lime on it herself, inside and outside. She set two +neighbours to put a new thatch on it. She spun the makings of a new suit +of clothes for him; she dyed the wool with her own hands; she brought it +to the weaver, and she made the suit when the frieze came home. + +We thought it long while the priest was away. He wrote a couple of times +to the master, but there was nothing new in the letters. He was doing +his best, he said, but he wasn’t succeeding too well. He was going from +person to person, but it’s not much satisfaction anybody was giving him. +It was plain from the priest’s letters that he hadn’t much hope he’d be +able to do anything. None of us had much hope, either. But Muirne didn’t +lose the wonderful trust she had in God. + +“The priest will bring my son home with him,” she used say. + +There was nothing making her anxious but fear that she wouldn’t have the +new suit ready before Coilin’s coming. But it was finished at last; she +had everything ready, repair on the house, the new suit laid on a chair +before the fire,--and still no word of the priest. + +“Isn’t it Coilin will be glad when he sees the comfort I have in the +house,” she would say. “Isn’t it he will look spruce going the road to +Mass of a Sunday, and that suit on him!” + +It’s well I mind the evening the priest came home. Muirne was waiting +for him since morning, the house cleaned up, and the table laid. + +“Welcome home,” she said, when the priest came in. She was watching the +door, as she would be expecting someone else to come in. But the priest +closed the door after him. + +“I thought that it’s with yourself he’d come, Father,” says Muirne. +“But, sure, it’s the way he wouldn’t like to come on the priest’s car. +He was shy like that always, the creature.” + +“Oh, poor Muirne,” says the priest, holding her by the two hands, “I +can’t conceal the truth from you. He’s not coming, at all. I didn’t +succeed in doing anything. They wouldn’t listen to me.” + +Muirne didn’t say a word. She went over and she sat down before the +fire. The priest followed her and laid his hand on her shoulder. + +“Muirne,” says he, like that. + +“Let me be, Father, for a little while,” says she. “May God and His +Mother reward you for what you’ve done for me. But leave me to myself +for a while. I thought you’d bring him home to me, and it’s a great blow +on me that he hasn’t come.” + +The priest left her to herself. He thought he’d be no help to her till +the pain of that blow would be blunted. + +The next day Muirne wasn’t to be found. Tale or tidings no one had of +her. Word nor wisdom we never heard of her till the end of a quarter. A +share of us thought that it’s maybe out of her mind the creature went, +and a lonely death to come on her in the hollow of some mountain, or +drowning in a boghole. The neighbours searched the hills round about, +but her track wasn’t to be seen. + +One evening myself was digging potatoes in the garden, when I saw a +solitary woman making on me up the road. A tall, thin woman. Her head +well-set. A great walk under her. “If Muirne ni Fhiannachta is living,” +says I to myself, “it’s she that’s in it.” ’Twas she, and none else. +Down with me to the road. + +“Welcome home, Muirne,” says I to her. “Have you any news?” + +“I have, then,” says she, “and good news. I went to Galway. I saw the +Governor of the gaol. He said to me that he wouldn’t be able to do a +taste, that it’s the Dublin people would be able to let him out of gaol, +if his letting-out was to be got. I went off to Dublin. O, Lord, isn’t +it many a hard, stony road I walked, isn’t it many a fine town I saw +before I came to Dublin? ‘Isn’t it a great country, Ireland is?’ I used +say to myself every evening when I’d be told I’d have so many miles to +walk before I’d see Dublin. But, great thanks to God and to the Glorious +Virgin, I walked in on the street of Dublin at last, one cold, wet +evening. I found a lodging. The morning of the next day I enquired for +the Castle. I was put on the way. I went there. They wouldn’t let me in +at first, but I was at them till I got leave of talk with some man. He +put me on to another man, a man that was higher than himself. He sent me +to another man. I said to them all I wanted was to see the Lord +Lieutenant of the Queen. I saw him at last. I told him my story. He said +to me that he couldn’t do anything. I gave my curse to the Castle of +Dublin, and out the door with me. I had a pound in my pocket. I went +aboard a ship, and the morning after I was in Liverpool of the English. +I walked the long roads of England from Liverpool to London. When I came +to London I asked knowledge of the Queen’s Castle. I was told. I went +there. They wouldn’t let me in. I went there every day, hoping that I’d +see the Queen coming out. After a week I saw her coming out. There were +soldiers and great people about her. I went over to the Queen before she +went in to her coach. There was a paper, a man in Dublin wrote for me, +in my hand. An officer seized me. The Queen spoke to him, and he freed +me from him. I spoke to the Queen. She didn’t understand me. I stretched +the paper to her. She gave the paper to the officer, and he read it. He +wrote certain words on the paper, and he gave it back to me. The Queen +spoke to another woman that was along with her. The woman drew out a +crown piece and gave it to me. I gave her back the crown piece, and I +said that it’s not silver I wanted, but my son. They laughed. It’s my +opinion they didn’t understand me. I showed them the paper again. The +officer laid his finger on the words he was after writing. I curtseyed +to the Queen and went off with me. A man read for me the words the +officer wrote. It’s what was in it, that they would write to me about +Coilin without delay. I struck the road home then, hoping that, maybe, +there would be a letter before me. Do you think, Sean,” says Muirne, +finishing her story, “has the priest any letter? There wasn’t a letter +at all in the house before me coming out the road; but I’m thinking it’s +to the priest they’d send the letter, for it’s a chance the great people +might know him.” + +“I don’t know did any letter come,” says I. “I would say there didn’t, +for if there did the priest would be telling us.” + +“It will be here some day yet,” says Muirne. “I’ll go in to the priest, +anyhow, and I’ll tell him my story.” + +In the road with her, and up the hill to the priest’s house. I saw her +going home again that night, and the darkness falling. It’s wonderful +how she was giving it to her footsoles, considering what she suffered of +distress and hardship for a quarter. + +A week went by. There didn’t come any letter. Another week passed. No +letter came. The third week, and still no letter. It would take tears +out of the grey stones to be looking at Muirne, and the anxiety that was +on her. It would break your heart to see her going in the road to the +priest every morning. We were afraid to speak to her about Coilin. We +had evil notions. The priest had evil notions. He said to us one day +that he heard from another priest in Galway that it’s not more than well +Coilin was, that it’s greatly the prison was preying on his health, that +he was going back daily. That story wasn’t told to Muirne. + +One day myself had business with the priest, and I went in to him. We +were conversing in the parlour when we heard a person’s footstep on the +street outside. Never a knock on the house-door, or on the parlour-door, +but in into the room with Muirne ni Fhiannachta, and a letter in her +hand. It’s with trouble she could talk. + +“A letter from the Queen, a letter from the Queen!” says she. + +The priest took the letter. He opened it. I noticed that his hand was +shaking, and he opening it. There came the colour of death in his face +after reading it. Muirne was standing out opposite him, her two eyes +blazing in her head, her mouth half open. + +“What does she say, Father?” says she. “Is she sending him home to me?” + +“It’s not from the Queen this letter came, Muirne,” says the priest, +speaking slowly, like as there would be some impediment on him, “but +from the Governor of the gaol in Dublin.” + +“And what does he say? Is he sending him home to me?” + +The priest didn’t speak for a minute. It seemed to me that he was trying +to mind certain words, and the words, as you would say, going from him. + +“Muirne,” says he at last, “he says that poor Coilin died yesterday.” + +At the hearing of those words, Muirne burst a-laughing. The like of such +laughter I never heard. That laughter was ringing in my ears for a month +after that. She made a couple of terrible screeches of laughter, and +then she fell in a faint on the floor. + +She was fetched home, and she was on her bed for a half year. She was +out of her mind all that time. She came to herself at long last, and no +person at all would think there was a thing the matter with her,--only +the delusion that her son isn’t returned home yet from the fair of +Uachtar Ard. She does be expecting him always, standing or sitting in +the door half the day, and everything ready for his home-coming. She +doesn’t understand that there’s any change on the world since that +night. “That’s the reason, Coilin,” says my father to me, “that she +didn’t know the railway was coming as far as Burnt House. Times she +remembers herself, and she starts keening like you saw her. ’Twas +herself that made yon keen you heard from her. May God comfort her,” +says my father, putting an end to his story. + +“And daddy,” says I, “did any letter come from the Queen after that?” + +“There didn’t, nor the colour of one.” + +“Do you think, daddy, was it Coilin that killed the lord?” + +“I know it wasn’t,” says my father. “If it was he’d acknowledge it. I’m +as certain as I’m living this night that it’s the black man killed the +lord. I don’t say that poor Coilin wasn’t present.” + +“Was the black man ever caught?” says my sister. + +“He wasn’t, _muise_,” says my father. “Little danger on him.” + +“Where did he belong, the black man, do you think, daddy?” says I. + +“I believe, before God,” says my father, “that it’s a peeler from Dublin +Castle was in it. Cuimin O’Niadh saw a man very like him giving evidence +against another boy in Tuam a year after that.” + +“Daddy,” says Seaneen suddenly, “when I’m a man I’ll kill that black +man.” + +“God save us,” says my mother. + +My father laid his hand on Seaneen’s head. + +“Maybe, little son,” says he, “we’ll all be taking tally-ho out of the +black soldiers before the clay will come on us.” + +“It’s time for the Rosary,” says my mother. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + IOSAGAN + + + + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + IOSAGAN + + +Old Matthias was sitting beside his door. Anyone going the road would +think that it was an image of stone or of marble was in it--that, or a +dead person--for he couldn’t believe that a living man could stay so +calm, so quiet as that. He had his head high and an ear on him +listening. It’s many a musical sound there was to listen to, for the +person who’d have heed on them. Old Matthias heard the roar of the waves +on the rocks, and the murmur of the stream flowing down and over the +stones. He heard the screech of the heron-crane from the high, rocky +shore, and the lowing of the cows from the pasture, and the bright +laughter of the children from the green. But it wasn’t to any of these +he was listening that attentively--though all of them were sweet to +him--but to the clear sound of the bell for Mass that was coming to him +on the wind in the morning stillness. + +All the people were gathered into Mass. Old Matthias saw them going +past, in ones and twos, or in little groups. The boys were running and +leaping. The girls were chattering merrily. The women were conversing in +low tones. The men were silent. Like this, they’d travel the road every +Sunday. Like this, Old Matthias would sit on his chair watching them +till they’d go out of sight. They went past him this morning as usual. +The old man remained looking at them till there was an end to the noise +and the commotion, till the last group cleared the top of the church +hill, till there was nothing to be seen but a long, straight road +stretching out, and it white, till there were none to be found in the +village but an odd old person in his bed, or children tricking on the +green, and himself sitting beside his door. + +Old Matthias would not go to the chapel. He hadn’t heard “the sweet +Mass” for over three score years. He was a strong, active youth the last +time he blessed himself before the people, and now he was a withered, +done old man, his share of hair grey-white, furrows in his brow, his +shoulders bent. He hadn’t bent his knee before God for the length of +those three score years; he hadn’t put a prayer to his Creator; he +hadn’t given thanks to his Saviour. A man apart, Old Matthias was. + +Nobody knew why he wouldn’t go to Mass. People said that he didn’t +believe there was a God in it. Other people said that he committed some +terrible sin at the start of his life, and when the priest wouldn’t give +him absolution in confession, that a rage of anger came on him, and he +swore an oath that he wouldn’t touch priest or chapel while he was +living again. Other people said--but this was said only in a whisper by +the fireside when the old people would be yarning by themselves after +the children had gone asleep--these said that he sold his soul to a +certain Great Man that he met once on the top of Cnoc-a’-daimh, and that +this person wouldn’t allow him to frequent the Mass. I don’t know is it +true or lying these stories are, but I do know that old Matthias wasn’t +seen at God’s Mass in the memory of the oldest person in the village. +Cuimin O’Niadh--an old man that got death a couple of years before this +in his ninetieth year--said that he himself saw him there when he was a +lump of a lad. + +It wasn’t thought that Old Matthias was a bad character. He was a man as +honest, as simple, as natural as you would meet in a day’s walking. +There wasn’t ever heard out of his mouth but the good word. He had no +delight in drink or in company, no wish for gold or for property. He was +poor, but it’s often he shared with people that were poorer than he. He +had pity for the infirm. He had mercy for the wretched. Other men had +honour and esteem for him. The women, the children, and the animals +loved him; and he had love for them and for everything that was generous +and of clean heart. + +Old Matthias liked women’s talk better than men’s talk. But he liked the +talk of boys and girls still better than the talk of men or women. He +used say that the women were more discerning than the men, and that the +children were more discerning than either of them. It’s along with the +young folk he would spend the best part of his idle time. He would sit +with them in a corner of the house, telling them stories, or getting +stories out of them. They were wonderful, his share of stories. He had +the “Adventures of the Grey Horse” in grandest way in the world. He was +the one old body in the village who had the story of the “Hen-Harrier +and the Wren,” properly. Isn’t it he would put fright on the children, +and he reciting “_Fú Fá Féasóg_” (The Two-Headed Giant), and isn’t it he +would take the laughs out of them discoursing on the doings of the piper +in the Snail’s Castle! And the songs he had! He could coax an ailing +child asleep with his: + + “Shoheen, sho, and sleep, my pet; + The fairies are out walking the glen!” + +or he could put the full of a house of children in fits of laughter with +his: + + “Hi diddle dum, the cat and his mother, + That went to Galway riding a drake!” + +And isn’t it he had the funny old ranns; and the hard, difficult +questions; and the fine riddles! As for games, where was the person, +man, woman, or child could keep “_Lúrabóg, Lárabóg_,” or “_An Bhuidhean +Bhalbh_” (The Dumb Band) going with him! + +In the fine time it’s on the side of the hill, or walking the bog, you’d +see Old Matthias and his little playmates, he explaining to them the way +of life of the ants and of the woodlice, or inventing stories about the +hedgehog and the red squirrel. Another time to them boating, the old man +with an oar, some little wee boy with another one, and maybe a young +girl steering. It’s often the people who’d be working near the strand +would hear the shouts of joy of the children coming to them from the +harbour-mouth, or, it might be, Old Matthias’s voice, and he saying: + + “Oró! my curragheen O! + And óró! my little boat!” + +or something like it. + +There used come fear on a share of the mothers at times, and they’d say +to each other that they oughtn’t let their children spend that much time +with Old Matthias,--“a man that frequents neither clergy nor Mass.” Once +a woman of them laid bare these thoughts to Father Sean. It’s what the +priest said: + +“Don’t meddle with the poor children,” says he. “They couldn’t be in +better company.” + +“But they tell me he doesn’t believe in God, Father.” + +“There’s many a saint in heaven to-day that didn’t believe in God some +time of his life. And, whisper here. If Old Matthias hasn’t love for +God--a thing that neither you nor I know--it’s wonderful the love he has +for the cleanest and most beautiful thing that God created,--the shining +soul of the child. Our Saviour Himself and the most glorious saints in +heaven had the same love for them. How do we know that it isn’t the +children that will draw Old Matthias to the knee of our Saviour yet?” + +And the story was left like that. + +On this Sunday morning the old man remained listening till the bell for +Mass stopped ringing. When there was an end to it he gave a sigh, as the +person would that would be weary and sorrowful, and he turned to the +group of boys that were sporting themselves on the plot of grass--the +“green” Old Matthias would call it--at the cross-roads. Old Matthias +knew every curly-headed, bare-footed child of them. He liked no pastime +at all better than to be sitting there watching them and listening to +them. He was counting them, seeing which of his friends were in it and +which of them were gone to Mass with the grown people, when he noticed +among them a child he never saw before. A little, brown boy, with a +white coat on him, like was on every other boy, and he without shoes or +cap, as is the custom with the children of the West. The face of this +boy was as bright as the sun, and it seemed to Old Matthias that there +were, as it would be, rays of light coming from his head. The sun +shining on his share of hair, maybe. + +There was wonder on the old man at seeing this child, for he hadn’t +heard that there were any strangers after coming to the village. He was +on the point of going over and questioning one of the little lads about +him, when he heard the stir and chatter of the people coming home from +Mass. He didn’t feel the time slipping by him while his mind was on the +tricks of the boys. Some of the people saluted him going past, and he +saluted them. When he gave an eye on the group of boys again, the +strange boy wasn’t among them. + +The Sunday after that, Old Matthias was sitting beside his door, as +usual. The people were gathered west to Mass. The young folk were +running and throwing jumps on the green. Running and throwing jumps +along with them was the strange child. Matthias looked at him for a long +time, for he gave the love of his heart to him on account of the beauty +of his person and the brightness of his countenance. At last he called +over one of the little boys: + +“Who’s yon boy I see among you for a fortnight back, Coilin?” says +he--“he there with the brown head on him,--but have a care that it’s not +reddish-fair he is: I don’t know is it dark or fair he is, and the way +the sun is burning on him. Do you see him now--that one that’s running +towards us?” + +“That’s Iosagan,” says the little lad. + +“Iosagan?” + +“That’s the name he gives himself.” + +“Who are his people?” + +“I don’t know, but he says his father’s a king.” + +“Where does he live?” + +“He never told us that, but he says that it’s not far from us his house +is.” + +“Does he be along with you often?” + +“Aye, when we do be spending time to ourselves like this. But he goes +from us when a grown person is present. Look! he’s gone already!” + +The old man looked, and there was no one in it but the boys he knew. The +child, the little boy called Iosagan, was missing. The same moment, the +noise and bustle of the people were heard returning from Mass. + +The next Sunday everything fell out exactly as it fell on the two +Sundays before that. The people gathered west as usual, and the old man +and the children were left by themselves in the village. The heart of +Old Matthias gave a leap in his middle when he saw the Holy Child among +them again. + +He rose. He went over and he stood near Him. After a time, standing +without a move, he stretched his two hands towards Him, and he spoke in +a low voice: + +“Iosagan!” + +The Child heard him, and He came towards him, running. + +“Come here and sit on my knee for a little while, Iosagan.” + +The Child put His hand in the thin, knuckly hand of the old man, and +they travelled side by side across the road. Old Matthias sat on his +chair, and drew Iosagan to his breast. + +“Where do You live, Iosagan?” says he, speaking low always. + +“Not far from this My House is. Why don’t you come on a visit to Me?” + +“I’d be afraid in a royal house. It’s told me that Your Father’s a +King.” + +“He is High-King of the World. But there is no need for you to be afraid +of Him. He is full of mercy and love.” + +“I fear I haven’t kept His law.” + +“Ask forgiveness of Him. I and My Mother will make intercession for +you.” + +“It’s a pity I didn’t see You before this, Iosagan. Where were You from +me?” + +“I was here always. I do be travelling the roads, and walking the hills, +and ploughing the waves. I do be among the people when they gather into +My House. I do be among the children they do leave behind them playing +on the street.” + +“I was too timid--or too proud--to go into Your House, Iosagan; but I +found You among the children.” + +“There isn’t any time or place that children do be amusing themselves +that I am not along with them. Times they see Me; other times they do +not see Me.” + +“I never saw You till lately.” + +“The grown people do be blind.” + +“And it has been granted me to see You, Iosagan?” + +“My Father gave Me leave to show Myself to you, because you loved His +little children.” + +The voices were heard of the people returning from Mass. + +“I must go now from you.” + +“Let me kiss the border of Your coat, Iosagan.” + +“Kiss it.” + +“Shall I see You again?” + +“You will.” + +“When?” + +“This night.” + +With that word He was gone. + +“I will see Him this night!” says Old Matthias, and he going into the +house. + + * * * * * + +The night came wet and stormy. The great waves were heard breaking with +a booming roar against the strand. The trees round the chapel were +swaying and bending with the strength of the wind. (The chapel is on a +little hill that falls down with a slope to the sea.) Father Sean was on +the point of closing his book and saying his Rosary when he heard a +noise, as it would be somebody knocking at the door. He listened for a +spell. He heard the noise again. He rose from the fire, went to the +door, and opened it. A little boy was standing on the door-flag--a boy +the priest didn’t mind ever to have seen before. He had a white coat on +him, and he without shoes or cap. The priest thought that there were +rays of light shining from his countenance, and about his head. The moon +that was shining on his brown, comely head, it’s like. + +“Who have I here?” says Father Sean. + +“Put on you as quickly as you’re able, Father, and strike east to the +house of Old Matthias. He is in the mouths of death.” + +The priest didn’t want the second word. + +“Sit here till I’m ready,” says he. But when he came back, the little +messenger was gone. + +Father Sean struck the road, and he didn’t take long to finish the +journey, though the wind was against him, and it raining heavily. There +was a light in Old Matthias’s house before him. He took the latch from +the door, and went in. + +“Who is this coming to me?” says a voice from the old man’s bed. + +“The priest.” + +“I’d like to speak to you, Father. Sit here beside me.” The voice was +feeble, and the words came slowly from him. + +The priest sat down, and heard Old Matthias’s story from beginning to +end. Whatever secret was in the old body’s heart it was laid bare to the +servant of God there in the middle of the night. When the confession was +over, Old Matthias received communion, and he was anointed. + +“Who told you that I was wanting you, Father?” says he in a weak, low +voice, when everything was done. “I was praying God that you’d come, but +I hadn’t any messenger to send for you.” + +“But, sure, you did send a messenger to me?” says the priest, and great +wonder on him. + +“I didn’t.” + +“You didn’t? But a little boy came, and he knocked at my door, and he +said to me that you were wanting my help!” + +The old man sat up straight in the bed. There was a flashing in his +eyes. + +“What sort was the little boy was in it, Father?” + +“A gentle little boy, with a white coat on him.” + +“Did you take notice was there a haze of light about his head?” + +“I did, and it put great wonder on me.” + +Old Matthias looked up, there came a smile on his mouth, and he +stretched out his two arms: + +“Iosagan!” says he. + +With that word, he fell back on the bed. The priest went hither to him +softly, and closed his eyes. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + THE PRIEST + + + + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + THE PRIEST + + +It’s in yon little house you see in the glen below you, and you going +down the road from Gortmore to Inver, that my Priest lives. Himself and +his mother, and his little sister, and his little, small, wee +brother,--those are the family in it. The father died before Taimeen, +the youngest child of them, was born. There’s no time I do be in +Rossnageeragh but I spend an evening or two along with them, for the +Priest and Maireen (the little sister) and Taimeen are the dearest +friends I have. A soft, youngish-looking woman the Priest’s mother is; +she’s a bit headstrong, maybe, but if she is itself she’s as +kind-hearted a woman as is living, after that. ’Twas she told me this +story one evening that I was on a visit to her. She was washing the +Priest, meanwhile, before the fire: a big tub of water laid on the floor +beside her, the Priest and his share of clothes stripped from him, and +she rubbing and scrubbing every inch of his body. I have my doubts that +this work agreed too well with the Priest, for now and again he’d let a +screech out of him. With every screech his mother would give him a +little slap, and after that she’d kiss him. It’s hard for a mother to +keep her hand off a child when she has him bare; and ’twould be harder +than that for a mother, as loving as this mother, to keep her mouth from +a wee, red moutheen as sweet as Paraig’s (Paraig’s my Priest’s name, you +know). I ought to say that the Priest was only eight years old yet. He +was a lovely picture, standing there, and the firelight shining on his +well-knit body and on his curly head, and dancing in his grey, laughing +eyes. When I think on Paraig, it’s that way I see him before me, +standing on the floor in the brightening of the fire. + +But in regard to the story. About a year before this it is it fell out. +Nora (the mother) was working about the house. Maireen and Taimeen were +amusing themselves on the floor. “_Fromsó Framsó_” they had going on. +Maireen was trying to teach the words to Taimeen, a thing that was +failing on her, for Taimeen hadn’t any talk yet. You know the words, I +suppose?--they’re worth learning, for there’s true poetry in them: + + “_Fromsó Framsó_,-- + A woman dancing, + That would make sport, + That would drink ale, + That would be in time + Here in the morning!” + +Nora wanted a can of water to make tea. It was supper-time. + +“Where’s Paraig, Maireen?” says she. “He’s lost this half-hour.” + +“He went into the room, mameen.” + +“Paraig!” says the mother, calling loudly. + +Not a word from within. + +“Do you hear, Paraig?” + +Never a word. + +“What’s wrong with the boy? Paraig, I say!” says she, as loud as it was +in her head. + +“I’ll be out presently, mama,” says a voice from the room. + +“Hurry with you, son. It’s tea-time, and devil a tear of water have I in +the house.” + +Paraig came out of the room. + +“You’re found at last. Push on down with you,--but what’s this? Where +did you get that shirt, or why is it on you? What were you doing?” + +Paraig was standing in the door, like a stake. A shirt was fastened on +him over his little coat. He looked down on himself. His face was +red-burning to the ears. + +“I forgot to take it off me, mama,” says he. + +“Why is it on you at all?” + +“Sport I was having.” + +“Take it off you this minute! The rod you want, yourself and your +sport!” + +Paraig took off the shirt without a word and left it back in the room. + +“Brush down to the well now and get a can of water for me, like a pet.” +Nora already regretted that she spoke as harshly as that. It’s a woman’s +anger that isn’t lasting. + +Paraig took the can and whipped off with it. Michileen Enda, a +neighbour’s boy, came in while he was out. + +“It beats me, Michileen,” says Nora, after a spell, “to make out what +Paraig does be doing in that room the length of the evening. No sooner +has he his dinner eaten every day than he clears off in there, and he’s +lost till supper-time.” + +“Some sport he does have on foot,” says Michileen. + +“That’s what he says himself. But it’s not in the house a lad like him +ought to be stuck on a fine evening, but outside in the air, tearing +away.” + +“‘A body’s will is his delight,’” says Michileen, reddening his pipe. + +“One apart is Paraig, anyhow,” says Nora. “He’s the most contrary son +you ever saw. Times, three people wouldn’t watch him, and other times +you wouldn’t feel him in the house.” + +Paraig came in at this, and no more was said on the question. He didn’t +steal away this time, but instead of that he sat down on the floor, +playing “_Fromsó Framsó_” with Maireen and Taimeen. + + * * * * * + +The dinner was on the table when Paraig came home from school the next +evening. He ate his share of stirabout and he drank his noggin of milk, +thankfully and with blessing. As soon as he had eaten and drunk, he took +his satchel of books and west with him into the room, as was his habit. + +The mother didn’t let on that she was giving any heed to him. But, after +a couple of minutes, she opened the door of the room quietly, and stuck +the tip of her nose inside. Paraig didn’t notice her, but she had a view +of everything that was going on in the room. + +It was a queer sight. Paraig was standing beside the table and he +dressed in the shirt again. Outside of this, and back over his +shoulders, he was fixing a red bodice of his mother’s, that she had +hanging on the wall. When he had this arranged properly, he took out the +biggest book he had in his satchel--the “Second Book” it was, I +believe--he opened it, and laid it before him on the table, propped +against the looking-glass. + +It’s then began the antics in earnest. Paraig stood out opposite the +table, bent his knee, blessed himself, and began praying loudly. It’s +not well Nora was able to understand him, but, as she thought, he had +Latin and Gaelic mixed through other, and an odd word that wasn’t like +Latin or Gaelic. Once, it seemed to her, she heard the words “_Fromsó +Framsó_,” but she wasn’t sure. Whatever wonder was on Nora at this, it +was seven times greater the wonder was on her when she saw Paraig +genuflecting, beating his breast, kissing the table, letting on he was +reading Latin prayers out of the “Second Book,” and playing one trick +odder than another. She didn’t know rightly what he was up to, till he +turned round and said: + +“_Dominus vobiscum!_” + +“God save us!” says she to herself when she saw this. “He’s pretending +that he’s a priest and he reading Mass! That’s the Mass vestment he’s +wearing, and the little Gaelic book is the book of the Mass!” + +It’s no exaggeration to say that Nora was scared. She came back to the +kitchen and sat before the fire. She didn’t know what she ought to do. +She was between two advices, which of them would be seemliest for +her--to put Paraig across her knee and give him a good whipping, or to +go on her two knees before him and beg his blessing! + +“How do I know,” says she to herself, “that it’s not a terrible sin for +me to let him make a mimic of the priest like that? But how do I know, +after that, that it’s not a saint out of heaven I have in the house? +And, sure, it would be a dreadful sin to lay hand on a saint! May God +forgive it to me, it’s often I laid the track of my fingers on him +already! I don’t know either way. I’m in a strait, surely!” Nora didn’t +sleep a wink that night with putting this question through other. + +The next morning, as soon as Paraig was cleared off to school, Nora put +the lock on the door, left the two young children under the care of +Michileen’s mother, and struck the road to Rossnageeragh. She didn’t +stop till she came to the parish priest’s house and told her story to +Father Ronan from start to finish. The priest only smiled, but Nora was +with him till she drew a promise from him that he’d take the road out to +her that evening. She whipped home then, satisfied. + +The priest didn’t fail her. He struck in to her in the evening. Timely +enough, Paraig was in the room “reading Mass.” + +“On your life, don’t speak, Father!” says Nora. “He’s within.” + +The two stole over on their tiptoes to the room door. They looked +inside. Paraig was dressed in the shirt and bodice, exactly as he was +the day before that, and he praying piously. The priest stood a spell +looking at him. + +At last my lad turned round, and setting his face towards the people, as +it would be: + +“_Orate, fratres_,” says he, out loud. + +While this was saying, he saw his mother and the priest in the door. He +reddened, and stood without a stir. + +“Come here to me,” says Father Ronan. + +Paraig came over timidly. + +“What’s this you have going on?” says the priest. + +“I was reading Mass, Father,” says Paraig. He said this much shyly, but +it was plain he didn’t think that he had done anything out of the +way--and, sure, it’s not much he had. But poor Nora was on a tremble +with fear. + +“Don’t be too hard on him, Father,” says she. “He’s only young.” + +The priest laid his hand lightly on the white head of the little lad, +and he spoke gently and kindly to him. + +“You’re too young yet, Paraigeen,” says he, “to be a priest, and it’s +not granted to anyone but to God’s priest to say the Mass. But whisper +here to me. Would you like to be serving Mass on Sunday?” + +Paraig’s eyes lit up and his cheek reddened again, not with shyness this +time but with sheer delight. + +“_Ora_, I would, Father,” says he; “I’d like nothing at all better.” + +“That will do,” says the priest. “I see you have some of the prayers +already.” + +“But, Father, _a mhuirnín_”--says Nora, and stopped like that, suddenly. + +“What’s on you now?” says the priest. + +“Breeches nor brogues he hasn’t worn yet!” says she. “I think it early +to put breeches on him till--” + +The priest burst out laughing. + +“I never heard,” says he, “that there was call for breeches. We’ll put a +little cassock out over his coat, and I warrant it’ll fit him nicely. As +for shoes, we’ve a pair that Martin the Fisherman left behind him when +he went to Clifden. We’ll dress you right, Paraig, no fear,” says he. +And like that it was settled. + + * * * * * + +When the priest was gone, the mother stooped down and kissed her little +son. + +“My love you are!” says she. + +Going to sleep that night, the last words she said to herself were: “My +little son will be a priest! And how do I know,” says she, closing her +eyes, “how do I know that it’s not a bishop he might be by-and-by?” + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + BARBARA + + + + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + BARBARA + + +Barbara wasn’t too well-favoured, the best day she was. Anybody would +admit that much. The first cause of it,--she was purblind. You’d say, to +look at her, she was one-eyed. Brideen never gave in that she was, +however. Once when another little girl said, out of sheer spite on them +both, that Barbara had only “one blind little eye, like the tailor’s +cat,” Brideen said angrily that Barbara had her two eyes as good as +anybody, but it’s how she’d have one eye shut, for the one was enough +for her (let it be blind), to do her share of work. However it was, it +couldn’t be hidden that she was bald; and I declare a bald head isn’t a +nice thing in a young woman. Another thing, she was a dummy; or it would +be more correct for me to say, that she didn’t ever speak with anybody, +but with Brideen only. If Brideen told truth, she had a tasty tongue of +Irish, and her share of thoughts were the loveliest in the world. It’s +not well she could walk, for she was one-legged, and that one leg itself +broken. She had two legs on a time, but the dog ate one of them, and the +other was broken where she fell from the top of the dresser. + +But who’s Barbara, say you, or who’s Brideen? Brideen is the little +girl, or, as she’d say herself, the little slip of a woman, that lives +in the house next the master’s,--on the left-hand side, I think, going +up the road. It’s likely you know her now? If you don’t, I can’t help +you. I never heard who her people were, and she herself said to me that +her father has ne’er a name but “Daddy.” As for Barbara,--well, it’s as +good for me to tell you her adventures and travels from start to finish. + + + THE ADVENTURES OF BARBARA HERE. + +One day when Brideen’s mother got up, she gave their breakfasts to +Brideen and to her father, to the dog, to the little cat, to the calves, +to the hens, to the geese, to the ducks, and to the little robin +redbreast that would come to the door at breakfast-time every morning. +When she had that much done, she ate her own breakfast. Then she began +readying herself for the road. + +Brideen was sitting on her own little stool without a word out of her, +but she putting the eyes through her mother. At long last she spoke: + +“Is mama going from Brideen?” + +“She’s not, _a stóir_. Mama will come again in the evening. She’s going +to Galway.” + +“Is Brideen going there, too?” + +“She’s not, _a chuid_. The road’s too long, and my little girl would be +tired. She’ll stay at home making sport for herself, like a good little +girl would. Won’t she stay?” + +“She will.” + +“She won’t run out on the street?” + +“She won’t.” + +“Daddy’ll come in at dinner-time, and ye’ll have a meal together. Give +mama a kiss, now.” + +The kiss was given, and the mother was going. Brideen started up. + +“Mama!” + +“What is it _a rúin_?” + +“Won’t you bring home a fairing to Brideen?” + +“I will, _a chuid_. A pretty fairing.” + +The mother went off, and Brideen remained contented at home. She sat +down on her little stool. The dog was curled before the fire, and he +snoring. Brideen woke him up, and put a whisper in his ear: + +“Mama will bring home a fairing to Brideen!” + +“Wuff!” says the dog, and went asleep to himself again. Brideen knew +that “Wuff!” was the same as “Good news!” + +The little cat was sitting on the hearth. Brideen lifted it in her two +arms, rubbed its face to her cheeks, and put a whisper in its ear: + +“Mama will bring home a fairing to Brideen!” + +“Mee-ow!” says the little cat. Brideen knew that “Mee-ow!” was the same +as “Good news!” + +She laid the little cat from her, and went about the house singing to +herself. She made a little song as follows: + + “O little dog, and O little dog! + Sleep a while till my mama comes! + O little cat, and O little cat! + Be purring till she comes home! + O little dog, and O little cat! + At the fair O! my mama is, + But she’ll come again in the little evening O! + And she’ll bring home a fairing with her!” + +She tried to teach this song to the dog, but it’s greater the wish the +dog had for sleep than for music. She tried to teach it to the little +cat, but the little cat thought its own purring sweeter. When her father +came in at midday, nothing would do her but to say this song to him, and +make him to learn it by heart. + +The mother returned home before evening. The first word Brideen said +was: + +“Did you bring the fairing with you, mama?” + +“I did, _a chuisle_.” + +“What did you bring with you?” + +“Guess!” The mother was standing in the middle of the floor. She had her +bag laid on the floor, and her hands behind her. + +“Sweets?” + +“No!” + +“A sugar cake?” + +“No, _muise_! I have a sugar cake in my bag, but that’s not the +fairing.” + +“A pair of stockings?” Brideen never wore shoes or stockings, and she +had been long coveting them. + +“No, indeed! You’re too young for stockings a little while yet.” + +“A prayer book?” There’s no need for me to say that Brideen wasn’t able +to read (for she hadn’t put in a day at school in her life), but she +thought she was. “A prayer book?” says she. + +“Not at all!” + +“What is it, then?” + +“Look!” + +The mother spread out her two hands, and what did she lay bare but a +little doll! A little wooden doll that was bald, and it purblind; but +its two cheeks were as red as a berry, and there was a smile on its +mouth. Anybody who’d have an affection for dolls, he would give +affection and love to it. Brideen’s eyes lit up with joy. + +“_Ora_, isn’t it pretty! _Ara_, mama, heart, where did you get it? _Ora +ó_! I’ll have a child of my very own now,--a child of my very owneen +own! Brideen will have a child!” + +She snatched the little doll, and she squeezed it to her heart. She +kissed its little bald head, and its two red cheeks. She kissed its +little mouth, and its little snub nose. Then she remembered herself, +raised her head, and says she to her mother: + +“Kith!” (like that Brideen would say “Kiss.”) + +The mother stooped down till the little girl kissed her. Then she must +kiss the little doll. The father came in at that moment, and he was made +do the same. + +There wasn’t a thing making Brideen anxious that evening but what name +she’d christen the doll. Her mother praised “Molly” for it, and her +father thought the name “Peggy” would be apt. But none of these were +grand enough, it seemed to Brideen. + +“Why was I called Brideen, daddy?” says she after supper. + +“The old women said that you were like your uncle Padraic, and since we +couldn’t christen you ‘Padraic,’ you were christened ‘Brigid,’ as that, +we thought, was the thing nearest it.” + +“Do you think is she here” (the doll), “like my uncle Padraic, daddy?” + +“O, not like a bit. Your uncle Padraic is fair-haired,--and, I believe, +he has a beard on him now.” + +“Who’s she like, then?” + +“_Muise_, ’twould be hard to say, girl!--’twould be hard, that.” + +Brideen meditated for a while. Her father was stripping her clothes from +her in front of the fire during this time, for it was time for her to be +going to sleep. When she was stripped, she went on her knees, put her +two little hands together, and she began like this: + +“O Jesus Christ, bless us and save us! O Jesus Christ, bless daddy and +mama and Brideen, and keep us safe and well from accident, and from the +harm of the year, if it is the will of my Saviour. O God, bless my uncle +Padraic that’s now in America, and my Aunt Barbara--.” She stopped, +suddenly, and put a shout of joy out of her. + +“I have it! I have it, daddy!” says she. + +“What have you, love? Wait till you finish your share of prayers.” + +“My Aunt Barbara! She’s like my Aunt Barbara!” + +“Who’s like your Aunt Barbara?” + +“The little doll! That’s the name I’ll give her! Barbara!” + +The father let a great shout of laughter before he remembered that the +prayers weren’t finished. Brideen didn’t laugh, at all, but followed on +like this: + +“O God, bless my Uncle Padaric that’s now in America, and my Aunt +Barbara, and (this is an addition she put to it herself), and bless my +own little Barbara, and keep her from mortal sin! Amen, O Lord!” + +The father burst laughing again. Brideen looked at him, and wonder on +her. + +“Brush off, now, and in into your bed with you!” says he, as soon as he +could speak for the laughing. “And don’t forget Barbara!” says he. + +“Little fear!” West with her into the room, and into the bed with her +with a leap. Be sure she didn’t forget Barbara. + +From that night out Brideen wouldn’t go to sleep, for gold nor for +silver, without Barbara being in the bed with her. She wouldn’t sit to +take food without Barbara sitting beside her. She wouldn’t go out making +fun to herself without Barbara being along with her. One Sunday that her +mother brought her with her to Mass, Brideen wasn’t satisfied till +Barbara was brought, too. A neighbour woman wouldn’t come in visiting, +but Barbara would be introduced to her. One day that the priest struck +in to them, Brideen asked him to give Barbara his blessing. He gave his +blessing to Brideen herself. She thought it was to the doll he gave it, +and she was full-satisfied. + +Brideen settled a nice little parlour for Barbara on top of the dresser. +She heard that her Aunt Barbara had a parlour (in Uachtar Ard she was +living), and she thought that it wasn’t too much for Barbara to have a +parlour as good as anybody. My poor Barbara fell from the top of the +dresser one day, as I have told already, and one of her legs was broken. +It’s many a disaster over that happened her. Another day the dog grabbed +her, and was tearing her joint from joint till Brideen’s mother came to +help her. The one leg remained safe with the dog. She fell into the +river another time, and she had like to be drowned. It’s Brideen’s +father that came to her help this journey. Brideen herself was almost +drowned, and she trying to save her from the riverbank. + +If Barbara wasn’t too well-favoured the first day she came, it stands to +nature it’s not better the appearance was on her after putting a year by +her. But ’twas all the same to Brideen whether she was well-favoured or +ill-favoured. She gave the love of her heart to her from the first +minute she laid an eye on her, and it’s increasing that love was from +day to day. Isn’t it the two of them used to have the fun when the +mother would leave the house to their care, times she’d be visiting in a +neighbour’s house! They would have the floor swept and the plates washed +before her, when she’d return. And isn’t it on the mother would be the +wonder, _mor ’eadh_! + +“Is it Brideen cleaned the floor for her mama?” she’d say. + +“Brideen and Barbara,” the little girl would say. + +“_Muise_, I don’t know what I’d do, if it weren’t for the pair of you!” +the mother would say. And isn’t it on Brideen would be the delight and +the pride! + +And the long days of summer they would put from them on the hillside, +among the fern and flowers!--Brideen gathering daisies and +fairy-thimbles and buttercups, and Barbara reckoning them for her (so +she’d say); Brideen forever talking and telling tales that a human being +(not to say a little doll) never heard the likes of before or since, and +Barbara listening to her; it must be she’d be listening attentively, for +there wouldn’t come a word out of her mouth. + +It’s my opinion that there wasn’t a little girl in Connacht, or if I +might say it, in the Continent of Europe, that was more contented and +happy-like, than Brideen was those days; and, I declare, there wasn’t a +little doll under the hollow of the sun that was more contented and +happy-like than Barbara. + +That’s how it stood till Niamh Goldy-Head came. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + II + +Niamh Goldy-Head was a native of Dublin. A lady that came to Gortmore +learning Irish promised before leaving that she’d send some valuable to +Brideen. And, sure, she did. One day, about a week after her departure, +Bartly the Postman walked in into the middle of the kitchen and laid a +big box on the floor. + +“For you, young woman,” says he to Brideen. + +“_Ara_, what’s in it, Bartly?” + +“How do I know? A fairy, maybe.” + +“_O bhó!_ Where did you get it?” + +“From a little green maneen, with a long blue beard on him, a red cap on +his nob, and he riding a hare.” + +“_Ora_, daddy! And what did he say to you, Bartly?” + +“Devil a thing did he say only, ‘Give this to Brideen, and my blessing,’ +and off with him while you’d be winking.” + +I am doubtful if this story of Bartly’s was all true, but Brideen +believed every word of it. She called to her mother, where she was +inside in the room tidying the place after the breakfast. + +“Mama, mama, a big box for Brideen! A little green maneen, with a long +blue beard on him, that gave it to Bartly the Postman!” + +The mother came out and Bartly gathered off. + +“Mameen, mameen, open the box quick! Bartly thinks it’s maybe a fairy is +in it! Hurry, mameen, or how do we know he won’t be smothered inside in +the box?” + +The mother cut the string. She tore the paper from the box. She lifted +the lid. What should be in it, lying nice and comfortably in the box, +like a child would be in a cradle, but the grandest and the +beautifullest doll that eye ever saw! There was yellow-golden hair on +it, and it falling in ringleted tresses over its breast and over its +shoulders. There was the blush of the rose on its cheek. It’s the +likeness I’d compare its little mouth to--two rowanberries; and ’twas +like pearls its teeth were. Its eyes were closed. There was a bright +suit of silk covering its body, and a red mantle of satin over that +outside. There was a glittering necklace of noble stones about its +throat, and, as a top on all the wonders, there was a royal crown on its +head. + +“A Queen!” says Brideen in a whisper, for there was a kind of dread on +her before this glorious fairy. “A Queen from Tir-na-nOg! Look, mama, +she’s asleep. Do you think will she waken?” + +“Take her in your hand,” says the mother. + +The little girl stretched out her two hands timidly, laid them +reverently on the wonderful doll, and at last lifted it out of the box. +No sooner did she take it than the doll opened its eyes, and said in a +sweet, weeny voice: + +“Mam--a!” + +“God bless us!” says the mother, making the sign of the cross on +herself, “she can talk!” + +There was a queer edge in Brideen’s eyes, and there was a queer light in +her features. But I don’t think she was half as scared as the mother +was. Children do be expecting wonders always, and when a wonderful thing +happens it doesn’t put as much astonishment on them as it does on grown +people. + +“Why wouldn’t she talk?” says Brideen. “Can’t Barbara talk? But it’s +sweeter entirely this voice than Barbara’s voice.” + +My grief, you are, Barbara! Where were you all this time? Lying on the +floor where you fell from Brideen’s hand when Bartly came in. I don’t +know did you hear these words from your friend’s mouth. If you did, it’s +surely they’d go like a stitch through your heart. + +Brideen continued speaking. She spoke quickly, her two eyes dancing in +her head: + +“A Queen this is,” says she. “A fairy Queen! Look at the fine suit she’s +wearing! Look at the mantle of satin is on her! Look at the beautiful +crown she has! She’s like yon Queen that Stephen of the Stories was +discoursing about the other night,--the Queen that came over sea from +Tir-na-nOg riding on the white steed. What’s the name that was on that +Queen, mama?” + +“Niamh of the Golden Head.” + +“This is Niamh Goldy-Head!” says the little girl. “I’ll show her to +Stephen the first other time he comes! Isn’t it he will be glad to see +her, mama? He was angry the other night when my daddy said there are no +fairies at all in it. I knew my daddy was only joking.” + +I wouldn’t like to say that Niamh Goldy-Head was a fairy, as Brideen +thought, but I’m sure there was some magic to do with her; and I’m +full-sure that Brideen herself was under a spell from the moment she +came into the house. If she weren’t, she wouldn’t leave Barbara lying by +herself on the floor through the evening, without saying a word to her, +or even remembering her, till sleep-time; nor would she go to sleep +without bringing Barbara into the bed with her, as was her habit. It’s +with trouble you’d believe it, but it’s the young Queen that slept along +with Brideen that night, instead of the faithful little companion that +used sleep with her every night for a year. + +Barbara remained lying on the floor, till Brideen’s mother found her, +and lifted and put her on top of the dresser where her own little +parlour was. Barbara spent that night on the top of the dresser. I +didn’t hear that Brideen or her mother or her father noticed any +lamenting from the kitchen in the middle of the night, and, to say +truth, I don’t think that Barbara shed a tear. But it’s certain she was +sad enough, lying up yonder by herself, without her friend’s arm about +her, without the heat of her friend’s body warming her, without man or +mortal near her, without hearing a sound but the faint, truly-lonesome +sounds that do be heard in a house in the dead time of the night. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + III + +It’s sitting or lying on the top of the dresser that Barbara spent the +greater part of the next quarter. ’Twas seldom Brideen used speak to +her; and when she would speak, she’d only say, “Be a good girl, Barbara. +You see I’m busy. I must give attention to Niamh Goldy-Head. She’s a +Queen, you know, and she must be attended well.” Brideen was getting +older now (I believe she was five years past, or, maybe, five and +a-half), and she was rising out of a share of the habits she learned at +the start of her babyhood. It’s not “Brideen” she’d call herself now, +for she knew the meaning that was in the little word “I,” and in those +little tails “am” and “am not” when they’re put after “I.” She knew, +too, that it’s great the respect and the honour due to a Queen, over +what is due to a poor, little creatureen like Barbara. + +I’m afraid Barbara didn’t understand this story at all. She was only a +little wooden doll, and, sure, ’twould be hard for its likes to +understand the heart of a girl. It was plain to her that she was cast to +one side. It’s Niamh Goldy-Head would sleep along with Brideen now; it’s +Niamh Goldy-Head would sit beside her at meal-time; it’s Niamh +Goldy-Head would go out on the hill, foot to foot with her, that would +lie with her among the fern, and would go with her gathering daisies and +fairy-thimbles. It’s Niamh Goldy-Head she’d press to her breast. It’s +Niamh Goldy-Head she’d kiss. Some other body to be in the place you’d +be, some other body to be walking with the person you’d walk with, some +other body to be kissing the mouth you’d long to kiss,--that’s the +greatest pain is to be suffered in this world; and that’s the pain was +in Barbara’s heart now, torturing her from morning till night, and +tormenting her from night till morning. + +I suppose it’ll be said to me that it’s not possible for these thoughts, +or any other thoughts, to be in Barbara’s heart, for wasn’t she only a +wooden toy, without feeling, without mind, without understanding, +without strength? My answer to anybody who’d speak like this to me would +be:--_How do we know?_ How do you or I know that dolls, and wooden toys, +and the tree, and the hill, and the river, and the waterfall, and the +little blossoms of the field, and the little stones of the strand +haven’t their own feeling, and mind, and understanding, and +guidance?--aye, and the hundred other things we see about us? I don’t +say they have; but ’twould be daring for me or for anybody else to say +that they haven’t. The children think they have; and it’s my opinion +that the children are more discerning in things of this sort than you or +I. + +One day that Barbara was sitting up lonesomely by herself in her +parlour, Brideen and Niamh Goldy-Head were in earnest conversation by +the fireside; or, I ought to say, Brideen was in earnest conversation +with herself, and Niamh listening to her; for nobody ever heard a word +out of the Queen’s mouth but only “Mam-a.” Brideen’s mother was outside +the door washing. The father was setting potatoes in the garden. There +only remained in the house Brideen and the two dolls. + +It’s like the little girl was tired, for she’d spent the morning washing +(she’d wash the Queen’s sheet and blanket every week). It was short till +sleep came on her. It was short, after that, till she dropped her head +on her breast and she was in deep slumber. I don’t rightly understand +what happened after that, but, by all accounts, Brideen was falling down +and down, till she was stretched on the hearth-flag within the nearness +of an inch to the fire. She didn’t waken, for she was sound asleep. It’s +like that Niamh Goldy-Head was asleep, too, but, however, or whatever, +the story is, she didn’t stir. There wasn’t a soul in the house to +protect the darling little child from the death that was faring on her. +Nobody knew her to be in peril, but only God and--Barbara. + +The mother was working without, and she not thinking that death was that +near the child of her heart. She was turning a tune to herself, and +lifting it finely, when she heard a “plop”--a sound as if something was +falling on the floor. + +“What’s that, now?” says she to herself. “Something that fell from the +wall, it’s a chance. It can’t be that Brideen meddled with it?” + +In with her in a hurry. It’s barely the life didn’t drop out of her, +with the dint of fright. And what wonder? Her darling child was +stretched on the hearth, and her little coateen blazing in the fire! + +The mother rushed to her across the kitchen, lifted her in her arms, and +pulled the coat from her. She only just saved her. If she’d waited +another little half-moment, she was too late. + +Brideen was awake now, and her two arms about the neck of her mother. +She was trembling with the dint of fear, and, sure enough, crying, +though it isn’t too well she understood the story yet. Her mother was +“smothering her with kisses and drowning her with tears.” + +“What happened me, mama? I was dreaming. I felt hot, and I thought I was +going up, up in the sky, and that the sun was burning me? What happened +me?” + +“It’s the will of God that my _stóirín_ wasn’t burnt,--not with the sun, +but with the fire. O, Brideen, your mother’s little pet, what would I do +if they’d kill you on me? What would your father do? ’Twas God spoke to +me coming in that minute!--I don’t know what sort of noise I heard? If +it weren’t for that, I mightn’t have come in at all.” + +She looked round her. Everything was in its own place on the table, and +on the walls, and on the dresser,--but stay! In front of the dresser she +took notice of a thing on the floor. What was it? A little body without +a head--a doll’s body. + +“Barbara fallen from the dresser again,” says the mother. “My +conscience, it’s she saved your life to you, Brideen.” + +“Not falling she did it at all!” says the little girl, “but it’s how she +saw I was in danger, and she threw a leap from the top of the dresser to +save me. O, poor Barbara, you gave your life for my sake!” + +She went on her knees, lifted the little corpse of the doll, and kissed +it softly and fondly. + +“Mama,” says she, sadly, “since Niamh Goldy-Head came, I’m afraid I +forgot poor Barbara, and it’s greater the liking I put in Niamh +Goldy-Head than in her; and see, it’s she was most true to me in the +end. And she’s dead now on me, and I won’t be able to speak with her +ever again, nor to say to her that I’d rather her a thousand +times,--aye, a hundred thousand times--than Niamh.” + +“It’s not dead she is at all,” says the mother, “but hurted. Your father +will put the head on her again when he comes in.” + +“If I’d fall from the top of the dresser, mama, and lose my head, would +he be able to put it on me again?” + +“He wouldn’t. But you’re not the same as Barbara.” + +“I am the same. She’s dead. Don’t you see she’s not moving or speaking?” + +The mother had to admit this much. + +Nothing would convince Brideen that Barbara wasn’t killed, and that it +wasn’t to save her she gave her life. I myself wouldn’t say she was +right, but I wouldn’t say she wasn’t. I can only say what I said before: +How do I know? How do you know? + +Barbara was buried that evening on the side of the hill in the place +where she and Brideen spent those long days of summer among the fern and +the flowers. There are fairy-thimbles growing at the head of the grave, +and daisies and buttercups plentifully about it. + +Before going to sleep that night, Brideen called over to her mother. + +“Do you think, mama,” says she, “will I see Barbara in heaven?” + +“Maybe, by the King of Glory, you might,” says the mother. + +“Do you think will I, daddy?” says she to her father. + +“I know well you will,” says the father. + + * * * * * + +Those were the Adventures and Tragic Fate of Barbara up to that time. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + EOINEEN OF THE BIRDS + + + + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + EOINEEN OF THE BIRDS + + +A conversation that took place between Eoineen of the Birds and his +mother, one evening of spring, before the going under of the sun. The +song-thrush and the yellow-bunting that heard it, and (as I think) told +it to my friends the swallows. The swallows that told the story to me. + +“Come on in, pet. It’s rising cold.” + +“I can’t stir a while yet, little mother. I’m waiting for the swallows.” + +“For what, little son?” + +“The swallows. I’m thinking they’ll be here this night.” + +Eoineen was high on the big rock that was close to the gable of the +house, he settled nicely on top of it, and the white back of his head +against the foot of the ash-tree that was sheltering him. He had his +head raised, and he looking from him southward. His mother looked up at +him. It seemed to her that his share of hair was yellow gold where the +sun was burning on his head. + +“And where are they coming from, child?” + +“From the Southern World--the place it does be summer always. I’m +expecting them for a week.” + +“And how do you know that it’s this night they’ll come?” + +“I don’t know, only thinking it. ’Twould be time for them to be here +some day now. I mind that it was this day surely they came last year. I +was coming up from the well when I heard their twittering--a sweet, +joyful twittering as they’d be saying: ‘We’ve come to you again, +Eoineen! News to you from the Southern World!’--and then one of them +flew past me, rubbing his wing to my cheek.” + +There’s no need to say that this talk put great wonder on the mother. +Eoineen never spoke to her like that before. She knew that he put a +great wish in the birds, and that it’s many an hour he used spend in the +wood or by the strand-side, “talking to them,” as he’d say. But she +didn’t understand why there should be that great a wish on him to see +the swallows coming again. She knew by his face, as well as by the words +of his mouth, that he was forever thinking on some thing that was making +him anxious. And there came unrest on the woman over it, a thing that’s +no wonder. “Sure, it’s queer talk from a child,” says she in her own +mind. She didn’t speak a breath aloud, however, but she listening to +each word that came out of his mouth. + +“I’m very lonely since they left me in the harvest,” says the little boy +again, like one that would be talking to himself. “They had that much to +say to me. They’re not the same as the song-thrush or the yellow-bunting +that do spend the best part of their lives by the ditch-side in the +garden. They do have wonderful stories to tell about the lands where it +does be summer always, and about the wild seas where the ships are +drowned, and about the lime-bright cities where the kings do be always +living. It’s long, long the road from the Southern World to this +country. They see everything coming over, and they don’t forget +anything. I think long, wanting them.” + +“Come in, white love, and go to sleep. You’ll be perished with the cold +if you stay out any longer.” + +“I’ll go in presently, little mother. I wouldn’t like them to come, and +I not to be here to give them welcome. They would be wondering.” + +The mother saw that it was no good to be at him. She went in, troubled. +She cleaned the table and the chairs. She washed the vessels and the +dishes. She took the brush, and she brushed the floor. She scoured the +kettle and the big pot. She trimmed the lamp, and hung it on the wall. +She put more turf on the fire. She did a hundred other things that she +needn’t have done. Then she sat before the fire, thinking to herself. + +The “piper of the ashes” (the cricket) came out, and started on his +heartsome tune. The mother stayed by the hearthside, pondering. The +little boy stayed on his airy seat, watching. The cows came home from +the pasture. The hen called to her her chickens. The blackbird and the +wren, and the other little people of the wood went to sleep. The buzzing +of the flies was stopped, and the bleating of the lambs. The sun sank +slowly till it was close to the bottom of the sky, till it was exactly +on the bottom of the sky, till it was under the bottom of the sky. A +cold wind blew from the east. The darkness spread on the earth. At last +Eoineen came in. + +“I fear they won’t come this night,” says he. “Maybe, with God’s help, +they might come to-morrow.” + + * * * * * + +The morning of the next day came. Eoineen was up early, and he watching +out from the top of the rock. The middle of day came. The end of day +came. The night came. But, my grief! the swallows did not come. + +“Maybe we might see them here to-morrow,” says Eoineen, and he coming in +sadly that night. + +But they didn’t see them. Nor did they see them the day after that, nor +the day after that again. And it’s what Eoineen would say every night +and he coming in: + +“Maybe they might be with us to-morrow.” + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + II + +There came a delightful evening in the end of April. The air was clear +and cool after a shower of rain. There was a wonderful light in the +western heavens. The birds sang a strain of music in the wood. The waves +were chanting a poem on the strand. But loneliness was on the heart of +the boy and he waiting for the swallows. + +There was heard, suddenly, a sound that hadn’t been heard in that place +for more than a half-year. A little, tiny sound. A faint, +truly-melodious sound. A pert, joyous twittering, and it unlike any +other twittering that comes from the mouth of a bird. With fiery +swiftness a small black body drove from the south. It flying high in the +air. Two broad, strong wings on it. The shaping of a fork on its tail. +It cutting the way before it, like an arrow shot from a bow. It swooped +suddenly, it turned, rose again, swooped and turned again. Then it made +straight for Eoineen, it speaking at the top of its voice, till it lay +and nestled in the breast of the little boy after its long journey from +the Southern World. + +“O, my love, my love you are!” says Eoineen, taking it in his two hands +and kissing it on the little black head. “Welcome to me from the strange +countries! Are you tired after your lonely journey over lands and over +seas? _Ora_, my thousand, thousand loves you are, beautiful little +messenger from the country where it does be summer always! Where are +your companions from you? Or what happened you on the road, or why +didn’t ye come before this?” + +While he was speaking like this with the swallow, kissing it again and +yet again, and rubbing his hand lovingly over its blue-black wings, its +little red throat and its bright, feathered breast, another little bird +sailed from the south and alighted beside them. The two birds rose in +the air then, and it is the first other place they lay, in their own +little nest that was hidden in the ivy that was growing thickly on the +walls of the house. + +“They are found at last, little mother!” says Eoineen, and he running in +joyfully. “The swallows are found at last! A pair came this night--the +pair who have their nest over my window. The others will be with us +to-morrow.” + +The mother stooped and drew him to her. Then she put a prayer to God in +a whisper, giving thanks to Him for sending the swallows to them. The +flame that was in the eyes of the boy, it would put delight on the heart +of any mother at all. + +It was sound the sleep of Eoineen that night. + + * * * * * + +The swallows came one after another now--singly at first, in pairs then, +and at last in little flocks. Isn’t it they were glad when they saw the +old place again! The little wood and the brook running through it; the +white, sandy beach; the ash-trees that were close to the house; the +house itself and the old nests exactly as they left them half a year +before that. There was no change on anything but only on the little boy. +He was quieter and gentler than he used to be. He was oftener sitting +than running with himself about the fields, as was his habit before +that. He wasn’t heard laughing or singing as often as he used be heard. +If the swallows took notice of this much--and I wouldn’t say they +didn’t--it’s certain that they were sorry for him. + +The summer went by. It was seldom Eoineen would stir out on the street, +but he sitting contentedly on the top of the rock, looking at the +swallows and listening to their twittering. He’d spend the hours like +this. ’Twas often he was there from early morning till there came +“_tráthnóna gréine buidhe_,”--the evening of the yellow sun; and going +within every night he’d have a great lot of stories, beautiful, +wonderful stories, to tell to his mother. When she’d question him about +these stories, he’d always say to her that it’s from the swallows he’d +get them. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + III. + +The priest came in the evening. + +“How is Eoineen of the Birds this weather, Eibhlin?” says he. (The other +boys had nicknamed him “Eoineen of the Birds” on account of the love he +had for the birds.) + +“_Muise_, Father, he wasn’t as well for many a long day as he is since +the summer came. There’s a blush in his cheek I never saw in it before.” + +The priest looked sharply at her. He had noticed that blush for a time, +and if he did, it didn’t deceive him. Other people had noticed it, too, +and if they did, it didn’t deceive them. But it was plain it deceived +the mother. There were tears in the priest’s eyes, but Eibhlin was +blowing the fire, and she didn’t see them. There was a stoppage in his +voice when he spoke again, but the mother didn’t notice it. + +“Where’s Eoineen now, Eibhlin?” + +“He’s sitting on the rock outside, ‘talking to the swallows,’ as himself +says. It’s wonderful the affection he has for those little birds. Do you +know, Father, what he said to me the other day?” + +“I don’t know, Eibhlin.” + +“He was saying that it’s short now till the swallows would be departing +from us again, and says he to me, suddenly, ‘What would you do, little +mother,’ says he, ‘if I’d steal away from you with the swallows?’” + +“And what did you say, Eibhlin?” + +“I said to him to brush out with him, and not be bothering me. But I’m +thinking ever since on the thing he said, and it’s troubling me. Wasn’t +it a queer thought for him, Father,--he going with the swallows?” + +“It’s many a queer thought comes into the heart of a child,” says the +priest. And he went out the door, without saying another word. + + * * * * * + +“Dreaming, as usual, Eoineen?” + +“No, Father. I’m talking to the swallows.” + +“Talking to them?” + +“Aye, Father. We do be talking together always.” + +“And whisper. What do ye be saying to one another?” + +“We do be talking about the countries far away, where it does be summer +always, and about the wild seas where the ships do be drowned, and about +the lime-bright cities where the kings do be always living.” + +The wonder of his heart came on the priest, as it came on the mother +before that. + +“It’s you do be discoursing on these things, and they listening to you, +it’s like?” + +“No, Father. They, mostly, that do be talking, and I listening to them.” + +“And do you understand their share of talk, Eoineen?” + +“Aye, Father. Don’t you understand it?” + +“Not too well I understand it. Make room for me on the rock there, and +I’ll sit a while till you explain to me what they do be saying.” + +Up with the priest on the rock, and he sat beside the little boy. He put +an arm about his neck, and began taking talk out of him. + +“Tell me what the swallows do be saying to you, Eoineen.” + +“It’s many a thing they do be saying to me. It’s many a fine story they +do tell to me. Did you see that little bird that went past just now, +Father?” + +“I did.” + +“That’s the cleverest storyteller of them all. That one’s nest is under +the ivy that’s growing over the window of my room. And she has another +nest in the Southern World--herself and her mate.” + +“Has she, Eoineen?” + +“Aye--another beautiful little nest thousands and thousands of miles +from this. Isn’t it a queer story, Father?--to say that the little +swallow has two houses, and we having one only?” + +“It’s queer, indeed. And what sort is the country she has this other +house in?” + +“When I shut my eyes I see a lonely, awful country. I see it now, +Father! A lonely, terrible country. There’s neither mountain, nor hill, +nor valley in it, but it a great, level, sandy plain. There’s neither +wood, nor grass, nor growth in it, but the earth as bare as the heart of +your palm. Sand entirely. Sand under your feet. Sand on every side of +you. The sun scorching over your head. Without a cloud at all to be seen +in the sky. It very hot. Here and there there’s a little grassy spot, as +it would be a little island in the middle of the sea. A couple of high +trees growing on each spot of them. They sheltered from wind and sun. I +see on one of these islands a high cliff. A terrible big cliff. There’s +a cleft in the cliff, and in the cleft there’s a little swallow’s nest. +That’s the nest of my little swallow.” + +“Who told you this, Eoineen?” + +“The swallow. She spends half of her life in that country, herself and +her mate. Isn’t it the grand life they have on that lonely little island +in the middle of the desert! There does be neither cold nor wet in it, +frost nor snow, but it summer always.... And after that, Father, they +don’t forget their other little nest here in Ireland, nor the wood, nor +the brook, nor the ash-trees, nor me, nor my mother. Every year in the +spring they hear, as it would be, a whispering in their ears telling +them that the woods are in leaf in Ireland, and that the sun is shining +on the bawn-fields, and that the lambs are bleating, and I waiting for +them. And they bid farewell to their dwelling in the strange country, +and they go before them, and they make neither stop nor stay till they +see the tops of the ash-trees from them, and till they hear the voice of +the river and the bleating of the lambs.” + +The priest was listening attentively. + +“O!--and isn’t it wonderful the journey they do have from the Southern +World! They leave the big sandy plain behind them, and the high, bald +mountains that are on its border, and they go before them till they come +to the great sea. Out with them over the sea, flying always, always, +without weariness, without growing weak. They see below them the +mighty-swelling waves, and the ships ploughing the ocean, and the white +sails, and seagulls, and the ‘black hags of the sea’ (cormorants), and +other wonders that I couldn’t remember. And times, there rise wind and +storm, and they see the ships drowning and the waves rising on top of +each other; and themselves, the creatures, do be beaten with the wind, +and blinded with the rain and with the salt water, till they make out +the land at last. A while to them then going before them, and they +looking on grassy parks, and on green-topped woods, and on high-headed +reeks, and on broad lakes, and on beautiful rivers, and on fine cities, +as they were wonderful pictures, and they looking on them down from +them. They see people at work. They hear cattle lowing, and children +laughing, and bells ringing. But they don’t stop, but forever going till +they come to the brink of the sea again, and no rest to them then till +they strike the country of Ireland.” + +Eoineen continued speaking like this for a long time, the priest +listening to every word he said. They were chatting till the darkness +fell, and till the mother called Eoineen in. The priest went home +pondering to himself. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + IV + +August and September went. October was half out. As the days were +getting shorter, Eoineen was rising sadder. ’Twas seldom he’d speak to +his mother now, but every night before going to sleep he’d kiss her +fondly and tenderly, and he’d say: + +“Call me early in the morning, little mother. It’s little time I have +now. They’ll be departing without much delay.” + +A beautiful day brightened in the middle of the month. Early in the +morning, Eoineen took notice that the swallows were crowding together on +the top of the house. He didn’t stir from his seat the length of that +day. Coming in in the evening, says he to his mother: + +“They’ll be departing to-morrow.” + +“How do you know, white love?” + +“They told me to-day.... Little mother,” says he again, after a spell of +silence. + +“What is it, little child?” + +“I can’t stay here when they’re gone. I must go along with them ... to +the country where it does be summer always. You wouldn’t be lonely if +I’d go?” + +“O! treasure, my thousand treasures, don’t speak to me like that!” says +the mother, taking him and squeezing him to her heart. “You’re not to be +stolen from me! Sure, you wouldn’t leave your little mother, and go +after the swallows?” + +Eoineen didn’t say a word, but to kiss her again and again. + + * * * * * + +Another day brightened. The little, wee boy was up early. From the start +of day hundreds of swallows were gathered together on the ridge of the +house. From time to time one or two of them would go off and they’d +return again, as if they’d be considering the weather. At last a pair +went off and they didn’t return. Another pair went off. The third pair +went. They were going one after another then, till there didn’t remain +but one little flock only on the horn of the house. The pair that came +first on yon evening of spring six months before that were in this +little flock. It’s like they were loath to leave the place. + +Eoineen was watching them from the rock. His mother was standing beside +him. + +The little flock of birds rose in the air, and they faced the Southern +World. Going over the top of the wood a pair turned back,--the pair +whose nest was over the window. Down with them from the sky, making on +Eoineen. Over with them then, they flying close to the ground. Their +wings rubbed a cheek of the little boy, and they sweeping past him. Up +with them in the air again, they speaking sorrowfully, and off for ever +with them after the other crowd. + +“Mother,” says Eoineen, “they’re calling me. ‘Come to the country where +the sun does be shining always,--come, Eoineen, over the wild seas to +the Country of Light,--come, Eoineen of the Birds!’ I can’t deny them. A +blessing with you, little mother,--my thousand, thousand blessings to +you, little mother of my heart. I’m going from you ... over the wild +seas ... to the country where it does be summer always.” + +He let his head back on his mother’s shoulder and he put a sigh out of +him. There was heard the crying of a woman in that lonely place--the +crying of a mother keening her child. Eoineen was departed along with +the swallows. + + * * * * * + +Autumn and winter went by and the spring was at hand again. The woods +were in leaf, and the lambs bleating, and the sun shining on the +bawn-fields. One glorious evening in April the swallows came. There was +a wonderful light at the bottom of the sky in the west, as it was a year +from that time. The birds sang a strain of music in the wood. The waves +chanted a poem on the strand. But there was no little white-haired boy, +sitting on the top of the rock under the shadow of the ash-trees. Inside +in the house there was a solitary woman, weeping by the fire. + +“... And, darling little son,” says she, “I see the swallows here again, +but I’ll never, never see you here.” + +The swallows heard her, and they going past the door. I don’t know did +Eoineen hear her, as he was thousands of miles away ... in the country +where it does be summer always. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + POEMS + + + + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + LULLABY OF A WOMAN OF THE MOUNTAIN + + + Little gold head, my house’s candle, + You will guide all wayfarers that walk this mountain. + + Little soft mouth that my breast has known, + Mary will kiss you as she passes. + + Little round cheek, O smoother than satin, + Jesus will lay His hand on you. + + Mary’s kiss on my baby’s mouth, + Christ’s little hand on my darling’s cheek! + + House, be still, and ye little grey mice, + Lie close to-night in your hidden lairs. + + Moths on the window, fold your wings, + Little black chafers, silence your humming. + + Plover and curlew, fly not over my house, + Do not speak, wild barnacle, passing over this mountain. + + Things of the mountain that wake in the night-time, + Do not stir to-night till the daylight whitens! + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + A WOMAN OF THE MOUNTAIN KEENS HER SON + + + Grief on the death, it has blackened my heart: + It has snatched my love and left me desolate, + Without friend or companion under the roof of my house + But this sorrow in the midst of me, and I keening. + + As I walked the mountain in the evening + The birds spoke to me sorrowfully, + The sweet snipe spoke and the voiceful curlew + Relating to me that my darling was dead. + + I called to you and your voice I heard not, + I called again and I got no answer, + I kissed your mouth, and O God how cold it was! + Ah, cold is your bed in the lonely churchyard. + + O green-sodded grave in which my child is, + Little narrow grave, since you are his bed, + My blessing on you, and thousands of blessings + On the green sods that are over my treasure. + + Grief on the death, it cannot be denied, + It lays low, green and withered together,-- + And O gentle little son, what tortures me is + That your fair body should be making clay! + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + O LITTLE BIRD + + + (A sparrow which I found dead on my doorstep on a day of winter.) + + + O little bird! + Cold to me thy lying on the flag: + Bird, that never had an evil thought, + Pitiful the coming of death to thee! + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + WHY DO YE TORTURE ME? + + + Why are ye torturing me, O desires of my heart? + Torturing me and paining me by day and by night? + Hunting me as a poor deer would be hunted on a hill, + A poor long-wearied deer with the hound-pack after him? + + There’s no ease to my paining in the loneliness of the hills, + But the cry of the hunters terrifically to be heard, + The cry of my desires haunting me without respite,-- + O ravening hounds, long is your run! + + No satisfying can come to my desires while I live, + For the satisfaction I desired yesterday is no satisfaction, + And the hound-pack is the greedier of the satisfaction it has got,-- + And forever I shall not sleep till I sleep in the grave. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + LITTLE LAD OF THE TRICKS + + + Little lad of the tricks + Full well I know + That you have been in mischief: + Confess your fault truly. + + I forgive you, child + Of the soft red mouth: + I will not condemn anyone + For a sin not understood. + + Raise your comely head + Till I kiss your mouth: + If either of us is the better of that + I am the better of it. + + There is a fragrance in your kiss + That I have not found yet + In the kisses of women + Or in the honey of their bodies. + + Lad of the grey eyes, + That flush in thy cheek + Would be white with dread of me + Could you read my secrets. + + He who has my secrets + Is not fit to touch you: + Is not that a pitiful thing, + Little lad of the tricks? + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + O LOVELY HEAD + + + O lovely head of the woman that I loved, + In the middle of the night I remember thee: + But reality returns with the sun’s whitening, + Alas, that the slender worm gnaws thee to-night. + + Beloved voice, that wast low and beautiful, + Is it true that I heard thee in my slumbers! + Or is the knowledge true that tortures me? + My grief, the tomb hath no sound or voice? + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + LONG TO ME THY COMING + + + Long to me thy coming, + Old henchman of God, + O friend of all friends, + To free me from my pain. + + O syllable on the wind, + O footfall not heavy, + O hand in the dark, + Your coming is long to me. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + A RANN I MADE + + + A rann I made within my heart + To the rider, to the high king, + A rann I made to my love, + To the king of kings, ancient death. + + Brighter to me than light of day + The dark of thy house, tho’ black clay; + Sweeter to me than the music of trumpets + The quiet of thy house and its eternal silence. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + TO A BELOVED CHILD + + + Laughing mouth, what tortures me is + That thou shalt be weeping; + Lovely face, it is my pity + That thy brightness shall grow grey. + + Noble head, thou art proud, + But thou shalt bow with sorrow; + And it is a pitiful thing I forbode for thee + Whenever I kiss thee. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + I HAVE NOT GARNERED GOLD + + + I have not garnered gold; + The fame I found hath perished; + In love I got but grief + That withered my life. + + Of riches or of store + I shall not leave behind me + (Yet I deem it, O God, sufficient) + But my name in the heart of a child. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + I AM IRELAND + + + I am Ireland: + I am older than the Old Woman of Beare. + + Great my glory: + I that bore Cuchulainn the valiant. + + Great my shame: + My own children that sold their mother. + + I am Ireland: + I am lonelier than the Old Woman of Beare. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + RENUNCIATION + + + Naked I saw thee, + O beauty of beauty, + And I blinded my eyes + For fear I should fail. + + I heard thy music, + O melody of melody, + And I closed my ears + For fear I should falter. + + I tasted thy mouth, + O sweetness of sweetness, + And I hardened my heart + For fear of my slaying. + + I blinded my eyes, + And I closed my ears, + I hardened my heart + And I smothered my desire. + + I turned my back + On the vision I had shaped, + And to this road before me + I turned my face. + + I have turned my face + To this road before me, + To the deed that I see + And the death I shall die. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + THE RANN OF THE LITTLE PLAYMATE + + + Young Iosa plays with me every day, + _(With an óró and an iaró)_ + Tig and Pookeen and Hide-in-the-Hay, + _(With an óró and an iaró)_ + We race in the rivers with otters grey, + We climb the tall trees where red squirrels play, + We watch the wee lady-bird fly far away. + _(With an óró and an iaró and an úmbó éró!)_ + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + A SONG FOR MARY MAGDALENE + + + O woman of the gleaming hair, + (Wild hair that won men’s gaze to thee) + Weary thou turnest from the common stare, + For the _shuiler_ Christ is calling thee. + + O woman of the snowy side, + Many a lover hath lain with thee, + Yet left thee sad at the morning tide, + But thy lover Christ shall comfort thee. + + O woman with the wild thing’s heart, + Old sin hath set a snare for thee: + In the forest ways forspent thou art + But the hunter Christ shall pity thee. + + O woman spendthrift of thyself, + Spendthrift of all the love in thee, + Sold unto sin for little pelf, + The captain Christ shall ransom thee. + + O woman that no lover’s kiss + (Tho’ many a kiss was given thee) + Could slake thy love, is it not for this + The hero Christ shall die for thee? + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + CHRIST’S COMING + + + I have made my heart clean to-night + As a woman might clean her house + Ere her lover come to visit her: + O Lover, pass not by! + + I have opened the door of my heart + Like a man that would make a feast + For his son’s coming home from afar: + Lovely Thy coming, O Son! + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + ON THE STRAND OF HOWTH + + + On the strand of Howth + Breaks a sounding wave; + A lone sea-gull screams + Above the bay. + + In the middle of the meadow + Beside Glasnevin + The corncrake speaks + All night long. + + There is minstrelsy of birds + In Glenasmole, + The blackbird and thrush + Chanting music. + + There is shining of sun + On the side of Slieverua, + And the wind blowing + Down over its brow. + + On the harbour of Dunleary + Are boat and ship + With sails set + Ploughing the waves. + + Here in Ireland, + Am I, my brother, + And you far from me + In gallant Paris, + + I beholding + Hill and harbour, + The strand of Howth + And Slieverua’s side, + + And you victorious + In mighty Paris + Of the limewhite palaces + And the surging hosts; + + And what I ask + Of you, beloved, + Far away + Is to think at times + + Of the corncrake’s tune + Beside Glasnevin + In the middle of the meadow, + Speaking in the night; + + Of the voice of the birds + In Glenasmole + Happily, with melody, + Chanting music; + + Of the strand of Howth + Where a wave breaks, + And the harbour of Dunleary, + Where a ship rocks; + + On the sun that shines + On the side of Slieverua, + And the wind that blows + Down over its brow. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + THE DORD FEINNE + + + _’Se do bheatha_, O woman that wast sorrowful, + What grieved us was thy being in chains, + Thy beautiful country in the possession of rogues, + And thou sold to the Galls, + _Oró, ’se do bheatha a bhaile_, + _Oró, ’se do bheatha a bhaile_, + _Oró, ’se do bheatha a bhaile_, + Now at summer’s coming! + + Thanks to the God of miracles that we see, + Altho’ we live not a week thereafter, + Gráinne Mhaol and a thousand heroes + Proclaiming the scattering of the Galls! + _Oró, ’se do bheatha a bhaile_, + _Oró, ’se do bheatha a bhaile_, + _Oró, ’se do bheatha a bhaile_, + Now at summer’s coming! + + Gráinne Mhaol is coming from over the sea, + The Fenians of Fál as a guard about her, + Gaels they, and neither French nor Spaniard, + And a rout upon the Galls! + _Oró, ’se do bheatha a bhaile_, + _Oró, ’se do bheatha a bhaile_, + _Oró, ’se do bheatha a bhaile_, + Now at summer’s coming! + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + THE MOTHER + + + I do not grudge them: Lord, I do not grudge + My two strong sons that I have seen go out + To break their strength and die, they and a few, + In bloody protest for a glorious thing, + They shall be spoken of among their people, + The generations shall remember them, + And call them blessed; + But I will speak their names to my own heart + In the long nights; + The little names that were familiar once + Round my dead hearth. + Lord, thou art hard on mothers: + We suffer in their coming and their going; + And tho’ I grudge them not, I weary, weary + Of the long sorrow--And yet I have my joy: + My sons were faithful, and they fought. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + THE FOOL + + + Since the wise men have not spoken, I speak that am only a fool; + A fool that hath loved his folly, + Yea, more than the wise men their books or their counting houses, or + their quiet homes, + Or their fame in men’s mouths; + A fool that in all his days hath done never a prudent thing, + Never hath counted the cost, nor recked if another reaped + The fruit of his mighty sowing, content to scatter the seed; + A fool that is unrepentant, and that soon at the end of all + Shall laugh in his lonely heart as the ripe ears fall to the + reaping-hooks + And the poor are filled that were empty, + Tho’ he go hungry. + + I have squandered the splendid years that the Lord God gave to my + youth + In attempting impossible things, deeming them alone worth the toil. + Was it folly or grace? Not men shall judge me, but God. + + I have squandered the splendid years: + Lord, if I had the years I would squander them over again, + Aye, fling them from me! + For this I have heard in my heart, that a man shall scatter, not + hoard, + Shall do the deed of to-day, nor take thought of to-morrow’s teen, + Shall not bargain or huxter with God; or was it a jest of Christ’s + And is this my sin before men, to have taken Him at His word? + + The lawyers have sat in council, the men with the keen, long faces, + And said, “This man is a fool,” and others have said, “He + blasphemeth;” + And the wise have pitied the fool that hath striven to give a life + In the world of time and space among the bulks of actual things, + To a dream that was dreamed in the heart, and that only the heart + could hold. + + O wise men, riddle me this: what if the dream come true? + What if the dream come true? and if millions unborn shall dwell + In the house that I shaped in my heart, the noble house of my thought? + Lord, I have staked my soul, I have staked the lives of my kin + On the truth of Thy dreadful word. Do not remember my failures, + But remember this my faith. + + And so I speak. + Yea, ere my hot youth pass, I speak to my people and say: + Ye shall be foolish as I; ye shall scatter, not save; + Ye shall venture your all, lest ye lose what is more than all; + Ye shall call for a miracle, taking Christ at His word. + And for this I will answer, O people, answer here and hereafter, + O people that I have loved shall we not answer together? + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + THE REBEL + + + I am come of the seed of the people, the people that sorrow, + That have no treasure but hope, + No riches laid up but a memory + Of an Ancient glory. + My mother bore me in bondage, in bondage my mother was born, + I am of the blood of serfs; + The children with whom I have played, the men and women with whom I + have eaten, + Have had masters over them, have been under the lash of masters, + And, though gentle, have served churls; + The hands that have touched mine, the dear hands whose touch is + familiar to me, + Have worn shameful manacles, have been bitten at the wrist by + manacles, + Have grown hard with the manacles and the task-work of strangers, + I am flesh of the flesh of these lowly, I am bone of their bone, + I that have never submitted; + I that have a soul greater than the souls of my people’s masters, + I that have vision and prophecy and the gift of fiery speech, + I that have spoken with God on the top of His holy hill. + + And because I am of the people, I understand the people, + I am sorrowful with their sorrow, I am hungry with their desire: + My heart has been heavy with the grief of mothers, + My eyes have been wet with the tears of children, + I have yearned with old wistful men, + And laughed or cursed with young men; + Their shame is my shame, and I have reddened for it, + Reddened for that they have served, they who should be free, + Reddened for that they have gone in want, while others have been full, + Reddened for that they have walked in fear of lawyers and of their + jailors + With their writs of summons and their handcuffs, + Men mean and cruel! + I could have borne stripes on my body rather than this shame of my + people. + + And now I speak, being full of vision; + I speak to my people, and I speak in my people’s name to the masters + of my people. + I say to my people that they are holy, that they are august, despite + their chains, + That they are greater than those that hold them, and stronger and + purer, + That they have but need of courage, and to call on the name of their + God, + God the unforgetting, the dear God that loves the peoples + For whom He died naked, suffering shame. + And I say to my people’s masters: Beware, + Beware of the thing that is coming, beware of the risen people, + Who shall take what ye would not give. Did ye think to conquer the + people, + Or that Law is stronger than life and than men’s desire to be free? + We will try it out with you, ye that have harried and held, + Ye that have bullied and bribed, tyrants, hypocrites, liars! + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + CHRISTMAS + + + 1915 + + + O King that was born + To set bondsmen free, + In the coming battle, + Help the Gael! + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + THE WAYFARER + + + The beauty of the world hath made me sad, + This beauty that will pass; + Sometimes my heart hath shaken with great joy + To see a leaping squirrel in a tree, + Or a red lady-bird upon a stalk, + Or little rabbits in a field at evening, + Lit by a slanting sun, + Or some green hill where shadows drifted by + Some quiet hill where mountainy man hath sown + And soon would reap; near to the gate of Heaven; + Or children with bare feet upon the sands + Of some ebbed sea, or playing on the streets + Of little towns in Connacht, + Things young and happy. + And then my heart hath told me: + These will pass, + Will pass and change, will die and be no more, + Things bright and green, things young and happy; + And I have gone upon my way + Sorrowful. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + APPENDIX + + + + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + APPENDIX + + + THE SINGER + +The following is the version of a passage in this play, which was with +the Author’s manuscript: + + + COLM. Is it to die like rats you’d have us because the word is not + given? + + CUIMIN. Our plans are not finished. Our orders are not here. + + COLM. Our plans will never be finished. Our orders may never be here. + + CUIMIN. We’ve no one to lead us. + + COLM. Didn’t you elect me your captain? + + CUIMIN. We did, but not to bid us rise out when the whole country is + quiet. We were to get the word from the men that are over the people. + They’ll speak when the time comes. (_The door opens again and Feichin + comes in with two or three others._) Am I speaking lie or truth, men? + Colm here wants us to rise out before the word comes. I say we must + wait for the word. What do you say, Feichin, you that’s got a wiser + head than these young fellows? + + FEICHIN. God forgive me if I’m wrong, but I say we should wait for our + orders. + + CUIMIN. What do you say, Diarmaid? + + DIARMAID. I like you, Colm, for the way you spoke so well and bravely; + but I’m slow to give my voice to send out the boys of this + mountain--our poor little handful--to stand with their poor little + pikes against the big guns of the Gall. If we had news that they were + rising in the other countrysides; but we’ve got no news. + + COLM. Master, you haven’t spoken yet. I’m afraid to ask you to speak. + + MAOILSHEACHLAINN. Cuimin is right when he says that we must not rise + out until we get the word; but what do you say, neighbours, if the man + that’ll give the word is under the roof of this house? + + DIARMAID. What do you mean? + + MAOILSHEACHLAINN (_going to the door of the room and throwing it + open_). Let you rise out, MacDara, and reveal yourself to the men that + are waiting your word! + + FEICHIN. Has MacDara come home? + + _MacDara comes out of the room, Maire ni Fhiannachta and Sighle + stand behind him in the doorway._ + + DIARMAID (_starting up_). That is the man that stood among the people + in the fair of Uachtar Ard! (_He goes up to MacDara and kisses his + hand._) I could not get near you yesterday, MacDara, the crowds were + so great. What was on me that I didn’t know you? Sure I ought to have + known that sad, proud head. Maire, men and women yet unborn will bless + the pains of your first childing. + + MAIRE (_comes forward and takes her son’s hand and kisses it_). Soft + hand that played at my breast, strong hand that will fall heavy on the + Gall, brave hand that will break the yoke! Men of the mountain, my + son, MacDara, is the Singer that has quickened the dead years and the + young blood. Let the horsemen that sleep in Aileach rise up to-day and + follow him into the war! + + _They come forward, one by one, and kiss his hand, Colm and Sighle + last._ + + COLM. The Gall have marched from Clifden, MacDara. I wanted to rise + out to-day, but these old men think it is not yet time. + + CUIMIN. We were waiting for the word. + + MACDARA. And must I speak the word? Old men, you have left me no + choice. I had hoped that more would not be asked of me than to sow the + secret word of hope, and that the toil of the reaping would be for + others. But I see that one does not serve + + + IOSAGAN + +Author’s Foreword to _Iosagán agus Sgealta eile_, which is here +translated by Mr. Joseph Campbell: + + + Putting these stories in order, it is no wonder that my thoughts are + on the friends that told them to me, and on the lonely place on the + edge of Ireland where they live. I see before my eyes a countryside, + hilly, crossed with glens, full of rivers, brimming with lakes; great + horns threatening their tops on the verge of the sky in the + north-west; a narrow, moaning bay stretching in from the sea on each + side of a “ross;” the “ross” rising up from the round of the bay, but + with no height compared with the nigh-hand hills or the horns far off; + a little cluster of houses in each little glen and mountain gap, and a + solitary cabin here and there on the shoulder of the hills. I think I + hear the ground-bass of the waterfalls and rivers, the sweet cry of + the golden plover and curlew, and the low voice of the people in talk + by the fireside.... My blessing with you little book, to Rossnageeragh + and to them in it, my friends! + + It is from the “_patairidhe beaga_,” the “little soft young things” + that Old Matthias used see making sport to themselves on the green + that I heard the greater part of the first story. They do be there + always, every sunny evening and every fine Sunday morning, running and + throwing leaps exactly as they would be when Old Matthias would sit + looking on them. I never saw Iosagan among them, but it’s like He does + be there, for all that. Isn’t His wish to be rejoicing on the earth, + and isn’t His delight to be along with His Father’s children?... I + have told in the story itself the place and the time I heard THE + PRIEST. It’s well I remember Nora’s little house, and the kindly + little woman herself, and the three children. Paraig is serving Mass + now, and I hear Taimeen has “_Fromsó Framsó_,” by heart.... It was + from Brideen herself that I heard the adventures of Barbara. One + evening that we went in on Oilean ni Raithnighe (the Ferny Island), I + and she, it was she told it to me, and we sitting on the brink of the + lake looking over on the Big Rock. She showed me Barbara’s grave the + same evening after our coming home, and she took a promise from me + that I’d say a prayer for her friend’s soul every night of my life. + Brideen will be going to school next year, and she will be able to + read the story of Barbara out of this, I hope she will like it.... As + for EOINEEN OF THE BIRDS, I don’t know who it was I heard it from, + unless it was from the swallows themselves. Yes, I think it was they + told it to me one evening that I was stretched in the heather looking + at them flying here and there over Loch Eireamhlach. From what mouth + the swallows heard the start of the story, I don’t know. From the + song-thrush and from that yellow-bunting that have their nests in a + ditch of the garden, it’s like. + + To you, sweet friends, people of the telling of my stories, both + little and big, I give and dedicate this little book. + + + CHRONOLOGICAL NOTE + +THE SINGER was written in the late Autumn of 1915. Joseph Plunkett was +profoundly impressed when he read it. “If Pearse were dead,” he said, +“this would cause a sensation.” Mr. Pearse rather deprecated his view +that the play was entirely a personal revelation. No Irish MS. is +extant. The two poems THE REBEL and THE FOOL also belong to the same +period, and are in no sense translations. The same may be said of ON THE +STRAND OF HOWTH and THE MOTHER. With the exceptions of SONG FOR MARY +MAGDALENE, RANN OF THE LITTLE PLAYMATE (both taken from THE MASTER), +CHRIST’S COMING, CHRISTMAS 1915, DORD FEINNE, and the WAYFARER (written +in Kilmainham Jail, May, 1916), the remaining Poems are translations of +_Suantraide agus Goltraide_ (1914). These twelve poems, DORD FEINNE, and +CHRIST’S COMING, are the only poems in this volume originally written in +Irish. + +THE KING was first produced as an open air play upon the banks of the +river which runs through the Hermitage, Rathfarnham, by the students of +St. Enda’s College. In reference to its subsequent production at the +Abbey Theatre, Dublin, 17th May, 1913, Mr. Pearse wrote in _An Macaomh_, +Vol. II, No. 2, 1913: “The play we decided to produce along with THE +POST OFFICE, was my morality _An Rí_. We had enacted it during the +previous summer with much pageantry of horses and marchings, at a place +in our grounds where an old castellated bridge, not unlike an entrance +to a monastery, is thrown across a stream. Since that performance I had +added some speeches with the object of slightly deepening the +characterization.” William Pearse played the Abbot’s part. + +THE MASTER was produced Whitsuntide, 1915, at the Irish Theatre, +Hardwicke Street, Dublin, with William Pearse as Ciaran. No Irish MS. is +extant. _Iosagán_, the dramatization of the author’s story of the same +name, was first acted in Cullenswood House, Rathmines, Dublin, in +February, 1910, by St. Enda students. Mr. Pearse writes in _An Macaomh_, +Vol. I., No. 2, 1909: “In _Iosagán_ I have religiously followed the +phraseology of the children and old men in _Iar-Connacht_ from whom I +have learned the Irish I speak. I have put no word, no speech into the +mouths of my little boys which the real little boys of the parish I have +in mind--boys whom I know as well as I know my pupils in _Sgoil +Eanna_--would not use in the same circumstances. I have given their +daily conversation, anglicism, vulgarisms and all; if I gave anything +else my picture would be a false one. _Iosagán_ is not a play for +ordinary theatres or for ordinary players. It requires a certain +atmosphere and a certain attitude of mind on the part of the actors. It +has in fact been written for performance in a particular place and by +particular players. I know that in that place and by those players it +will be treated with the reverence due to a prayer.” + +The first six stories here given are translations of _An Mátair_ (1916). +The last four stories are translations of _Iosagán agus Sgéalta eile_, +some of which were published in _An Claideam Soluis_ in 1905-6, +re-published a few years later in book-form. + + D. R. + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + Transcriber’s Notes + + +This file uses _underscores_ to indicate italic text. + +In some cases, Irish words appear to be printed with grave accents +rather than the acute síneadh fada. In this edition all Irish words use +only the modern standard fada. + +The page images used to create this ebook are inconsistent as to whether +there is a fada over the “a” in “Pádraic”, and it is not always clear +whether the fadas that do appear were printed with the volume or added +in afterwards. As there is no fada the majority of the time, the fadas +appearing in the front matter of the volumes have been omitted. + +On page 102, the words “Íosa” and “Ísuccán” were printed in cló Gaelach, +Irish script. They are presented here in Roman script. + +The end of the Appendix section on _The Singer_, on page v, ends with no +punctuation; this has been left as is. + +New original cover art included with this ebook is granted to the public +domain. + +The following changes and corrections have been made: + + • Table of Contents: Added question mark after title “WHY DO YE TORTURE + ME?” to match title above poem. + • p. xii: Replaced “Paraic” with “Paraig” in phrase “Paraig wearing a + surplice.” + • p. 24: Replaced period with comma in phrase “I meant this to be a + home-coming, but it seems....” + • p. 51: Added period after phrase “It is not, but mine.” + • p. 72: Removed second period before phrase “He is fond of little + Iollann.” + • p. 76: Replaced “ladybird” with “lady-bird” before phrase “We watch + the wee lady-bird fly far away.” + • p. 81: Replaced “Ciarnn” with “Ciaran” before phrase “What do you + call your rann?” + • p. 91: Added comma in phrase “Bid him to come in, Iollann.” + • p. 105: Replaced comma with period before phrase “Yon one gave me + enough.” + • p. 106: Added period before phrase “I’ll make a _lúrabóg_ of you!” + • p. 189: Added opening double quotation mark before phrase “I’d rather + it than anything I have in the world.” + • p. 221: Removed opening quotation mark before phrase “Do you think, + Sean.” + • p. 225: Added opening double quotation mark before phrase “that she + didn’t know the railway.” + • p. 225: Moved closing double quotation mark from after to before + phrase “says my father.” + • p. 266: Changed comma to period after phrase “but that’s not the + fairing.” + • p. 269: Replaced “Padaric” with “Padraic” in phrase “bless my Uncle + Padaric that’s now in America” + • p. 276: Changed single to double closing quotation mark after phrase + “Niamh of the Golden Head.” + • p. 280: Changed “its” to “it’s” and “head” to “Head” in phrase “it’s + Niamh Goldy-Head would go out on the hill.” + • Appendix p. iii: Changed “the the” to “the” in phrase “because the + word is not given.” + • Appendix p. iii: Changed “do do” to “do” in phrase “What do you say, + Feichin.” + • Appendix p. vii: Removed closing double quotation mark after phrase + “my morality _An Rí_.” + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78495 *** diff --git a/78495-h/78495-h.htm b/78495-h/78495-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7df2609 --- /dev/null +++ b/78495-h/78495-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11638 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> + <head> + <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title>Collected Works of Pádraic Pearse: Plays, Stories, Poems | Project Gutenberg</title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + body { margin-left: 8%; 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} + .clear {clear:both; } + .hidden {visibility:hidden; } + @media screen and (max-width:25em) {.hidden {display:none;} } + .transcribers-notes { width: 80%; margin: auto; padding: 0 1em; + color:black; background-color: #E3E4FA; border: 1px solid silver; + page-break-before:always;margin-top:4em; } + </style> + </head> + + <body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78495 ***</div> + + +<div class='nf-center-c1'> +<div class='nf-center c000'> + <div>COLLECTED WORKS OF</div> + <div>PADRAIC H. PEARSE</div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c001'> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c1'> +<div class='nf-center c000'> + <div><span class='xsmall'><i>Sixth Edition</i></span></div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c001'> +</div> + +<div class='c001 figcenter id001'> +<img src='images/frontispiece.jpg' alt='Padraic H. Pearse, From a photograph by Lafayette Ltd. Dublin' class='ig001'> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c001'> +</div> + +<div> + <h1 class='c002' title='COLLECTED WORKS OF PADRAIC H. PEARSE: PLAYS, STORIES, POEMS'>COLLECTED WORKS OF<br>PADRAIC H. PEARSE</h1> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c1'> +<div class='nf-center c001'> + <div><i>PLAYS</i></div> + <div><i>STORIES</i></div> + <div><i>POEMS</i></div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='c001 figcenter id002'> +<img src='images/publisher-logo.jpg' alt='' class='ig001'> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c1'> +<div class='nf-center c001'> + <div>THE PHŒNIX PUBLISHING CO., LTD.</div> + <div><span class='small'>DUBLIN CORK BELFAST</span></div> + <div><span class='xsmall'>1924</span></div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c1'> +<div class='nf-center c000'> + <div><span class='xsmall'>Copyright 1917. Margaret Pearse</span></div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c1'> +<div class='nf-center c000'> + <div><span class='xsmall'>Printed by Maunsel & Roberts Ltd., Dublin</span></div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c001'> +</div> + +<div> + <span class='pageno' id='Page_v'>v</span> + <h2 class='c004'>CONTENTS</h2> +</div> + +<table class='table0'> +<colgroup> +<col class='colwidth92'> +<col class='colwidth8'> +</colgroup> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><a href='#link-introduction'>INTRODUCTION</a></td> + <td class='c006'>ix</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'> </td> + <td class='c006'> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c007' colspan='2'><span class='large'>PLAYS</span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'> </td> + <td class='c006'> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><a href='#link-singer'>THE SINGER</a></td> + <td class='c006'><i>p.</i> 1</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><a href='#link-king'>THE KING</a></td> + <td class='c006'>45</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><a href='#link-master'>THE MASTER</a></td> + <td class='c006'>69</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><a href='#link-iosagan-1'>IOSAGAN</a></td> + <td class='c006'>101</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'> </td> + <td class='c006'> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c007' colspan='2'><span class='large'>STORIES</span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'> </td> + <td class='c006'> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><a href='#link-mother'>THE MOTHER</a></td> + <td class='c006'>125</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><a href='#link-dearg-daol'>THE DEARG-DAOL</a></td> + <td class='c006'>137</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><a href='#link-roads'>THE ROADS</a></td> + <td class='c006'>147</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><a href='#link-brigid'>BRIGID OF THE SONGS</a></td> + <td class='c006'>169</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><a href='#link-thief'>THE THIEF</a></td> + <td class='c006'>179</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><a href='#link-keening'>THE KEENING WOMAN</a></td> + <td class='c006'>193</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><a href='#link-iosagan-2'>IOSAGAN</a></td> + <td class='c006'>227</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><a href='#link-priest'>THE PRIEST</a></td> + <td class='c006'>245</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><a href='#link-barbara'>BARBARA</a></td> + <td class='c006'>259</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><a href='#link-eoineen'>EOINEEN OF THE BIRDS</a></td> + <td class='c006'>287</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'> </td> + <td class='c006'> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c007' colspan='2'><a href='#link-poems'><span class='large'>POEMS</span></a></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'> </td> + <td class='c006'> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><a href='#poem-1'>LULLABY OF A WOMAN OF THE MOUNTAIN</a></td> + <td class='c006'>311</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><span class='pageno' id='Page_vi'>vi</span><a href='#poem-2'>A WOMAN OF THE MOUNTAIN KEENS HER SON</a></td> + <td class='c006'>312</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><a href='#poem-3'>O LITTLE BIRD</a></td> + <td class='c006'>314</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><a id='tn-torture'></a><a href='#poem-4'>WHY DO YE TORTURE ME?</a></td> + <td class='c006'>315</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><a href='#poem-5'>LITTLE LAD OF THE TRICKS</a></td> + <td class='c006'>316</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><a href='#poem-6'>O LOVELY HEAD</a></td> + <td class='c006'>318</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><a href='#poem-7'>LONG TO ME THY COMING</a></td> + <td class='c006'>319</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><a href='#poem-8'>A RANN I MADE</a></td> + <td class='c006'>320</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><a href='#poem-9'>TO A BELOVED CHILD</a></td> + <td class='c006'>321</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><a href='#poem-10'>I HAVE NOT GARNERED GOLD</a></td> + <td class='c006'>322</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><a href='#poem-11'>I AM IRELAND</a></td> + <td class='c006'>323</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><a href='#poem-12'>RENUNCIATION</a></td> + <td class='c006'>324</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><a href='#poem-13'>THE RANN OF THE LITTLE PLAYMATE</a></td> + <td class='c006'>326</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><a href='#poem-14'>A SONG FOR MARY MAGDALENE</a></td> + <td class='c006'>327</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><a href='#poem-15'>CHRIST’S COMING</a></td> + <td class='c006'>328</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><a href='#poem-16'>ON THE STRAND OF HOWTH</a></td> + <td class='c006'>329</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><a href='#poem-17'>THE DORD FEINNE</a></td> + <td class='c006'>332</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><a href='#poem-18'>THE MOTHER</a></td> + <td class='c006'>333</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><a href='#poem-19'>THE FOOL</a></td> + <td class='c006'>334</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><a href='#poem-20'>THE REBEL</a></td> + <td class='c006'>337</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><a href='#poem-21'>CHRISTMAS, 1915</a></td> + <td class='c006'>340</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'><a href='#poem-22'>THE WAYFARER</a></td> + <td class='c006'>341</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c005'> </td> + <td class='c006'> </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class='c007' colspan='2'><span class='large'><a href='#link-appendix'>APPENDIX</a></span></td> + </tr> +</table> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<div> + <span class='pageno' id='Page_vii'>vii</span> + <h2 class='c004'>PUBLISHER’S NOTE</h2> +</div> + +<p class='c008'>This volume of the Collected Works of Padraic +Pearse contains his English Versions of Plays and +Poems, many of which have not been previously +published. The Author’s final copies of the +manuscripts of <span class='sc'>The Singer</span> and <span class='sc'>The Master</span> +were burnt in the Publisher’s office at Easter, +1916, but, fortunately, other copies of these +manuscripts, apparently containing the Author’s +corrections, were forthcoming. On page 35 of <span class='sc'>The +Singer</span>, there was one page of manuscript missing +which evidently contained dialogue covering the +exit of MacDara and the entrance of Diarmaid, +and it seemed better to leave a blank here than +to have the missing speeches written by another +hand. Towards the end of this play there were +some pages of manuscript giving a slightly +different version, and it was difficult to say +whether this version was an earlier or later one +than the manuscript which has been followed. +This fragment has been printed as an Appendix.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The Translations of the Stories from the Irish +were made by Mr. Joseph Campbell.</p> + +<p class='c009'>In the Author’s Manuscript, the play <span class='sc'>The +Singer</span> was dedicated “To My Mother.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The Publisher wishes to thank <span lang="ga"><cite>An Clodhanna +Teoranta</cite></span> for the permission accorded to Mrs. +Pearse to publish translations of <span lang="ga"><cite>Iosagan</cite></span>, <span lang="ga"><cite>An +Sagart</cite></span>, <span lang="ga"><cite>Bairbre</cite></span>, <span lang="ga"><cite>Eogainin na nEan</cite></span>.</p> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_ix'>ix</span></div> +<div class='chapter' id='link-introduction'> + +<div> + <h2 class='c004'>INTRODUCTION</h2> +</div> + +<p class='c008'>It must be evident to all who read this +collection of plays, stories and poems in the +spirit which their author would have wished +for, that it would be utterly wrong to preface +them with remarks applying merely to their +literary qualities.</p> + +<p class='c009'>For they are something more than literature. +On the pages as we read they seem +to grow into flesh and blood and spirit. +They are a record of the emotions of a life +which was devoured by one idea, the native +beauty of Ireland, its manners, its speech, +its people, its history. And we see how +that idea was coupled in the mind with a +poignant sense of the danger that threatened +the vitality of all those things. The writer +saw the thought of the Gall spreading like +a destructive growth through the body of +Irish nationality. He felt that an imported +politeness mocked at the Gaelic ways; he +knew that the Irish language had been extinguished +in the greater part of Ireland by +the sense of shame working on poverty, +<span class='pageno' id='Page_x'>x</span>and that many of the people of the Irish-speaking +fringe were also growing ashamed +of the priceless treasure they possessed; he +saw that the lessons of Irish history, which +the leaders of the past had taught by their +labours and often sealed with their blood, +were being ignored in the modern political +game.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Earnestness of purpose had always marked +him. He threw his heart and soul and +strength into the Gaelic movement; he +learned the language so thoroughly as to +be able to use it with ease as his medium +of literary expression, to recapture the old +forms of poetry and story-telling, and to +infuse into them the modernity of his own +modes of thought. He fought the battles +of Irish with a vigour that we all remember. +He founded a school—against what difficulties!—where +education was Irish, and +aimed at the free development of personality +in the Irish way. All that was hard and +earnest work, but its earnestness was nothing +to the terrible seriousness that grew upon +him when he came to realize the maladies +of the political movement that was supposed +to aim at Irish nationhood. The Volunteers, +<span class='pageno' id='Page_xi'>xi</span>at whose foundation he had assisted, were at +first negotiated with and then divided by the +constitutional Party; the original founders, +who determined to adhere to their principles, +were left high and dry without any constitutional +support. The conviction gained on +him that only blood could vivify what tameness +and corruption had weakened, and that +he and his comrades were destined to go +down the same dark road by which so many +brave and illustrious Irishmen had gone +before them.</p> + +<p class='c009'>It is in the light of this progress of +thought that we must read his writings. +We find the fresh notes of tenderness and +sweetness in the early stories, <span class='sc'>Iosagan</span>, <span class='sc'>The +Priest</span>, <span class='sc'>Barbara</span>, and <span class='sc'>Eoineen of the Birds</span>. +The psychology of children, their sorrows +and joys, are the theme. The older people +are merely foils to the children; we learn +nothing of their inner story, except in the +case of Old Matthias—and even here we +have merely an account of a return to the +innocence of second childhood. Iosagan +coming to play with the little ones on the +green, while the old folks are at Sunday +Mass, <a id='tn-paraig'></a>Paraig wearing a surplice and saying +<span class='pageno' id='Page_xii'>xii</span><span lang="la"><i>Dominus Vobiscum</i></span>, and <span lang="la"><i>Orate Fratres</i></span>, in +anticipation of the priestly office, Brideen +holding converse grave and gay with her +doll, Eoineen watching with joy the return +of the swallows in spring, and broken-hearted +at their departure in late autumn, all +pass before our eyes as dwellers in a <span lang="ga"><i>Tír-ná-n-óg</i></span> +in <span lang="ga"><i>Iar-Connacht</i></span>, where the waves sing +a careless song, and the sun shines only on +innocent faces. But in <span class='sc'>The Mother</span> and +other stories we are on different ground, +and are told of “the heavy and the weary +weight” that lies on the hearts of the +Western poor. We see the tragic pride of +Gaelic culture that impels old Brigid of the +Songs to walk across Ireland to sing at the +Oireachtas in Dublin, only to die of hunger +and exhaustion at the end, the listless face +of the old tramp, who tells how through +the Dearg-Daol he had lost his luck, his +farm and his family, and had become “a +walking man, and the roads of Connacht +before him, from that day to this”; and +even more significant is the story of the +death in prison of Coilin, with its undercurrent +of hatred for the foreign laws. The +manner of narration in these stories is brief +<span class='pageno' id='Page_xiii'>xiii</span>and severe; there is scarcely a phrase too +many, and even purists would be hard set +to detect an alien note. The most perfect +instance seems to me to be the story of the +<span class='sc'>Dearg-Daol</span>.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Of the little collection of poems, <span lang="ga"><cite>Suantraighe +agus Goltraidhe</cite></span> (Songs of Sleep and +Sorrow), Mr. MacDonagh rightly said: +“One need not ask if it be worth while +having books of such poetry. The production +of this is already a success for the +new literature.” The old forms, with their +full-sounding assonances and alliterations +are beautifully wrought, and the modern +thoughts, the latter-day enthusiasms and +dejections, when they come, never strike us +as intruders. To illustrate their beauty, +quotation in English would not serve my +purpose; I will quote from the Irish +original a single verse from the poem, +<span lang="ga"><cite>A Chinn Aluinn</cite></span>:</p> + +<div class='lg-container-l c010'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><span lang="ga"><i>A ghlóir ionmhuin dob’íseal aoibhinn,</i></span></div> + <div class='line'><span lang="ga"><i>An fíor gó gcualas trém’ shuanaibh thú?</i></span></div> + <div class='line'><span lang="ga"><i>Nó an fíor an t-eólas atá dom’bheo-ghoin?</i></span></div> + <div class='line'><span lang="ga"><i>Mo bhrón, sa tuamba níl fuaim ná guth!</i></span></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>Quite suddenly, in the second last of the +<span class='pageno' id='Page_xiv'>xiv</span>collection, the image of Ireland stands out, +bowed beneath the weight of the ages, the +mother of Cuchulainn the valiant, but also +of shameful children who betrayed her, +lonely and imperious. And the last poem +is an exquisite farewell to the beauty that +is seen and heard and felt, before gathering +the pack and going the stern way whither +the service of Ireland pointed.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The plays, <span class='sc'>The Singer</span>, <span class='sc'>The King</span>, +<span class='sc'>The Master</span>, and the last poems, <span class='sc'>The +Rebel</span>, <span class='sc'>The Fool</span>, <span class='sc'>The Mother</span>, are +those of a man in whom meditation on +coming struggle, agony and death have +become one with life and art. They are +weighted with the concept of a nation +inheriting an original sin of slavery, for +whose salvation the death of one man is a +necessity. “One man can free a nation +as one Man redeemed the world,” says +MacDara in <span class='sc'>The Singer</span>. “I will take +no pike, I will go into the battle with bare +hands, I will stand up before the Gall as +Christ hung naked before men on the tree!” +And the mother says: “My son, MacDara, +is the Singer that has quickened the dead +years and all the quiet dust.” And the +<span class='pageno' id='Page_xv'>xv</span>sharp anguish of doubt is there too, the +ever-recurring thought of the apathy of the +nation, and the vision of those “that cursed +me in their hearts for having brought death +into their houses,” of “the wise, sad faces of +the dead, and the keening of women.” But +the doubt comes from outside, it is not born +within the soul, and the stern resolution and +<span lang="la"><i>saeva indignatio</i></span> conquer it and persist. The +mother is evoked in whose calendar of saints +the martyrs will be inscribed, who will +ponder at night in her heart in religious +quiet on “the little names that were familiar +once round her dead hearth.” And through +all, as if nature would have her revenge +for the over-strain, breaks in a flash the +love of the old-sought, fugitive beauty of +things, the</p> + +<div class='lg-container-l c010'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>“Little rabbits in a field at evening</div> + <div class='line'> Lit by a slanting sun,</div> + <div class='line'> Or some green hill where shadows drifted by,</div> + <div class='line'> Some quiet hill where mountainy man hath sown</div> + <div class='line'> And soon would reap; near to the gate of Heaven;</div> + <div class='line'> Or children with bare feet upon the sands</div> + <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_xvi'>xvi</span> Of some ebbed sea, or playing on the streets</div> + <div class='line'> Of little towns in Connacht.”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>Taken in the order I have indicated, the +work of Padraic Pearse seems to me to +constitute a mystical book of the love of +Ireland. In <span lang="ga"><cite>Iosagán</cite></span> we have the tender +and satisfied love of the fervent novice, +delighting in the old-world, yet ever youthful +charm of the Gaelic race, untroubled by +the clouded day of maturity. We find in +<span lang="ga"><cite>An Mátair</cite></span>, and in some of the poems +and plays the way of purgation by doubt +and suffering. In the last plays and poems +we reach unity and illumination, the glow +of the soul in the fire of martyrdom. And +all these states of love are interwoven, as +they should be, in the separate stages, though +a different one may have predominance in +each. I believe the generations of Irishmen +yet to be born into the national faith will +come to the reading of this book as to a kind +of <span lang="la"><i>Itinerarium Mentis ad Deum</i></span>, a journey to +the realization of Ireland, past, present and +to come, a learning of all the love and +enthusiasm and resolve which that realization +implies:</p> + +<div class='lg-container-l c010'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_xvii'>xvii</span>“Live in these conquering leaves; live all the same;</div> + <div class='line'> And walk through all tongues one triumphant flame.</div> + <div class='line'> Live here, great heart; and love, and die, and kill;</div> + <div class='line'> And bleed and wound; and yield and conquer still.”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>Those who look in these pages for a +vision of Pagan Ireland, with its pre-Christian +gods and heroes, will be disappointed. +The old divinities and figures +of the sagas are there, and the remnants of +the old worship in the minds of the people +are delineated, but everything is overshadowed +by the Christian concept, and +the religion that is found here centres in +Christ and Mary. The effect of fifteen +centuries of Christianity is not ignored or +despised. The ideas of sacrifice and atonement, +of the blood of martyrs that makes +fruitful the seed of the faith, are to be found +all through these writings; nay, they have +here even more than their religious significance, +and become vitalizing factors in the +struggle for Irish nationality. The doubts +<span class='pageno' id='Page_xviii'>xviii</span>and weaknesses which are described are not +those of people who are inclined to return +to the former beliefs, but of men whose +souls are grown faint on account of the +lethargy which they see around them. For +years they have preached and laboured and +sung; but the masses remain unmoved. +What wonder if they feel unable to repeat +with conviction: “Think you not that I +can ask the Father, and He will give me +presently twelve legions of angels?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>No, the Ireland about which Pearse writes +is not the land of the early heroes, but of +people deeply imbued with the Christian +idea and will. And yet we feel that the +ancient and mediæval and modern Gaelic +currents meet in him. By his life and death +he has become one with Cuchulainn and +Fionn and Oisin, with the early teachers, +terrible or gentle, of Christianity, with +Hugh of Dungannon and Owen Roe and +all the chieftains who fought against the +growing power of the Sassenach, with +Wolfe Tone and the United Irishmen, with +Rossa, O’Leary, and the Fenians. He will +appeal to the imagination of times to come +more than any of the rebels of the last +<span class='pageno' id='Page_xix'>xix</span>hundred and thirty years, because in him all +the tendencies of Irish thought, culture and +nationality were more fully developed. His +name and deeds will be taught by mothers +to their children long before the time when +they will be learned in school histories. To +older people he will be a watchword in the +national fight, a symbol of the unbroken +continuity and permanence of the Gaelic +tradition. And they will think of him forever +in different ways, as a poet who sang +the songs of his country, as a soldier who +died for it, as a martyr who bore witness +with his blood to the truth of his faith, as +a hero, a second Cuchulainn, who battled +with a divine frenzy to stem the waves of +the invading tide.</p> + +<div class='c011'>P. BROWNE.</div> + +<p class='c009'><i>Maynooth, 21st May, 1917.</i></p> + +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_1'>1</span></div> +<div class='chapter' id='link-singer'> + +<div> + <h2 class='c004'>THE SINGER</h2> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c000'> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c000'> + <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_2'>2</span><i>CHARACTERS</i></div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='dramatis'> + +<div class='lg-container-l c012'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><span class='sc'>MacDara</span>, <i>the Singer</i></div> + <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Colm</span>, <i>his Brother</i></div> + <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Maire ni Fhiannachta</span>, <i>Mother of MacDara</i></div> + <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Sighle</span></div> + <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn</span>, <i>a Schoolmaster</i></div> + <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Cuimin Eanna</span></div> + <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Diarmaid of the Bridge</span></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c000'> + <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_3'>3</span><span class='large'>THE SINGER</span></div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c013'><i>The wide, clean kitchen of a country house. +To the left a door, which when open, shows a +wild country with a background of lonely +hills; to the right a fireplace, beside which +another door leads to a room. A candle +burns on the table.</i></p> + +<p class='c014'><i>Maire ni Fhiannachta, a sad, grey-haired +woman, is spinning wool near the fire. Sighle, +a young girl, crouches in the ingle nook, +carding. She is bare-footed.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> Mend the fire, Sighle, jewel.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Sighle.</span> Are you cold?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> The feet of me are cold.</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>Sighle rises and mends the fire, putting on +more turf; then she sits down again and +resumes her carding.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Sighle.</span> You had a right to go to bed.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> I couldn’t have slept, child. I +had a feeling that something was drawing +near to us. That something or somebody +was coming here. All day yesterday I +heard footsteps abroad on the street.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_4'>4</span><span class='sc'>Sighle.</span> ’Twas the dry leaves. The +quicken trees in the gap were losing their +leaves in the high wind.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> Maybe so. Did you think that +Colm looked anxious in himself last night +when he was going out?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Sighle.</span> I may as well quench that candle. +The dawn has whitened.</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>She rises and quenches the candle; then +resumes her place.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> Did you think, daughter, that +Colm looked anxious and sorrowful in himself +when he was going out?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Sighle.</span> I did.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> Was he saying anything to you?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Sighle.</span> He was. (<i>They work silently +for a few minutes; then Sighle stops and +speaks.</i>) Maire ni Fhiannachta, I think +I ought to tell you what your son said to +me. I have been going over and over it +in my mind all the long hours of the night. +It is not right for the two of us to be +sitting at this fire with a secret like that +coming between us. Will I tell you what +Colm said to me?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> You may tell me if you like, +Sighle girl.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_5'>5</span><span class='sc'>Sighle.</span> He said to me that he was very +fond of me.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire</span> (<i>who has stopped spinning</i>). Yes, +daughter?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Sighle.</span> And … and he asked me if +he came safe out of the trouble, would I +marry him.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> What did you say to him?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Sighle.</span> I told him that I could not give +him any answer.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> Did he ask you why you could +not give him an answer?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Sighle.</span> He did; and I didn’t know what +to tell him.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> Can you tell me?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Sighle.</span> Do you remember the day I first +came to your house, Maire?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> I do well.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Sighle.</span> Do you remember how lonely I was?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> I do, you creature. Didn’t I +cry myself when the priest brought you in +to me? And you caught hold of my skirt +and wouldn’t let it go, but cried till I +thought your heart would break. “They’ve +put my mammie in the ground,” you kept +saying. “She was asleep, and they put +her in the ground.”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_6'>6</span><span class='sc'>Sighle.</span> And you went down on your +knees beside me and put your two arms +around me, and put your cheek against my +cheek and said nothing but “God comfort +you; God comfort you.” And when I +stopped crying a little, you brought me over +to the fire. Your two sons were at the fire, +Maire. Colm was in the ingle where I am +now; MacDara was sitting where you are. +MacDara stooped down and lifted me on +to his knee—I was only a weeshy child. +He stroked my hair. Then he began +singing a little song to me, a little song +that had sad words in it, but that had joy +in the heart of it, and in the beat of it; +and the words and the music grew very +caressing and soothing like, … like +my mother’s hand when it was on my +cheek, or my mother’s kiss on my mouth +when I’d be half asleep—</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> Yes, daughter?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Sighle.</span> And it soothed me, and soothed +me; and I began to think that I was at home +again, and I fell asleep in MacDara’s arms—oh, +the strong, strong arms of him, with +his soft voice soothing me—when I woke +up long after that I was still in his arms +<span class='pageno' id='Page_7'>7</span>with my head on his shoulder. I opened +my eyes and looked up at him. He smiled +at me and said, “That was a good, long +sleep.” I … put up my face to him +to be kissed, and he bent down his head +and kissed me. He was so gentle, so +gentle. (<i>Maire cries silently.</i>) I had no right +to tell you all this. God forgive me for +bringing those tears to you, Maire ni +Fhiannachta.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> Whist, girl. You had a right +to tell me. Go on, jewel … my +boy, my poor boy!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Sighle.</span> I was only a weeshy child—</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> Eight years you were, no more, +the day the priest brought you into the house.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Sighle.</span> How old was MacDara?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> He was turned fifteen. Fifteen +he was on St. MacDara’s day, the year +your mother died.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Sighle.</span> This house was as dear to me +nearly as my mother’s house from that day. +You were good to me, Maire ni Fhiannachta, +and your two boys were good to me, but—</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> Yes, daughter?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Sighle.</span> MacDara was like sun and moon +to me, like dew and rain to me, like strength +<span class='pageno' id='Page_8'>8</span>and sweetness to me. I don’t know did +he know I was so fond of him. I think +he did, because—</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> He did know, child.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Sighle.</span> How do you know that he knew? +Did he tell you? Did <em>you</em> know?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> I am his mother. Don’t I know +every fibre of his body? Don’t I know +every thought of his mind? He never told +me; but well I knew.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Sighle.</span> He put me into his songs. That +is what made me think he knew. My +name was in many a song that he made. +Often when I was at the <span lang="ga"><i>fosaidheacht</i></span> he +would come up into the green <span lang="ga"><i>mám</i></span> to me, +with a little song that he had made. It was +happy for us in the green <span lang="ga"><i>mám</i></span> that time.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> It was happy for us all when +MacDara was here.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Sighle.</span> The heart in the breast of me +nearly broke when they banished him +from us.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> I knew it well.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Sighle.</span> I used to lie awake in the night +with his songs going through my brain, and +the music of his voice. I used to call his +name up in the green <span lang="ga"><i>mám</i></span>. At Mass his +<span class='pageno' id='Page_9'>9</span>face used to come between me and the +white Host.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> We have both been lonely for +him. The house has been lonely for him.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Sighle.</span> Colm never knew I was so fond +of MacDara. When MacDara went away +Colm was kinder to me than ever,—but, +indeed, he was always kind.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> Colm is a kind boy.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Sighle.</span> It was not till yesterday he +told me he was fond of me; I never +thought it, I liked him well, but I never +thought there would be word of marriage +between us. I don’t think he would have +spoken if it was not for the trouble coming. +He says it will be soon now.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> It will be very soon.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Sighle.</span> I shiver when I think of them +all going out to fight. They will go out +laughing: I see them with their cheeks +flushed and their red lips apart. And then +they will lie very still on the hillside,—so +still and white, with no red in their cheeks, +but maybe a red wound in their white +breasts, or on their white foreheads. Colm’s +hair will be dabbled with blood.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> Whist, daughter. That is no +<span class='pageno' id='Page_10'>10</span>talk for one that was reared in this house. +I am his mother, and I do not grudge +him.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Sighle.</span> Forgive me, you have known +more sorrow than I, and I think only of my +own sorrow. (<i>She rises and kisses Maire.</i>) I +am proud other times to think: of so many +young men, young men with straight, strong +limbs, and smooth, white flesh, going out +into great peril because a voice has called +to them to right the wrong of the people. +Oh, I would like to see the man that has +set their hearts on fire with the breath of +his voice! They say that he is very +young. They say that he is one of ourselves,—a +mountainy man that speaks our +speech, and has known hunger and sorrow.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> The strength and the sweetness +he has come, maybe, out of his sorrow.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Sighle.</span> I heard Diarmaid of the Bridge +say that he was at the fair of Uachtar Ard +yesterday. There were hundreds in the +streets striving to see him.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> I wonder would he be coming +here into Cois-Fhairrge, or is it into the +Joyce country he would go? I don’t know +but it’s his coming I felt all day yesterday, +<span class='pageno' id='Page_11'>11</span>and all night. I thought, maybe, it might +be—</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Sighle.</span> Who did you think it might be?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> I thought it might be my son +was coming to me.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Sighle.</span> Is it MacDara?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> Yes, MacDara.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Sighle.</span> Do you think would he come +back to be with the boys in the trouble?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> He would.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Sighle.</span> Would he be left back now?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> Who would let or stay him and +he homing like a homing bird? Death +only; God between us and harm!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Sighle.</span> Amen.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> There is Colm in to us.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Sighle</span> (<i>looking out of the window</i>). Aye, +he’s on the street.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> Poor Colm!</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>The door opens and Colm comes in. He +is a lad of twenty.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Colm.</span> Did you not go to bed, mother?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> I did not, Colm. I was too +uneasy to sleep. Sighle kept me company +all night.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Colm.</span> It’s a pity of the two of you to be +up like this.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_12'>12</span><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> We would be more lonesome in +bed than here chatting. Had you many +boys at the drill to-night?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Colm.</span> We had, then. There were ten +and three score.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> When will the trouble be, Colm?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Colm.</span> It will be to-morrow, or after to-morrow; +or maybe sooner. There’s a man +expected from Galway with the word.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> Is it the mountains you’ll take +to, or to march to Uachtar Ard or to +Galway?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Colm.</span> It’s to march we’ll do, I’m thinking. +Diarmaid of the Bridge and Cuimin +Eanna and the master will be into us shortly. +We have some plans to make and the master +wants to write some orders.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> Is it you will be their captain?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Colm.</span> It is, unless a better man comes in +my place.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> What better man would come?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Colm.</span> There is talk of the Singer coming. +He was at the fair of Uachtar Ard yesterday.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> Let you put on the kettle, Sighle, +and ready the room. The master will be +asking a cup of tea. Will you lie down for +an hour, Colm?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_13'>13</span><span class='sc'>Colm.</span> I will not. They will be in on +us now.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> Let you make haste, Sighle. +Ready the room. Here, give me the +kettle.</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>Sighle, who has brought a kettle full of +water, gives it to Maire, who hangs it over +the fire; Sighle goes into the room.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Colm</span> (<i>after a pause</i>). Was Sighle talking +to you, mother?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> She was, son.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Colm.</span> What did she say?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> She told me what you said to +her last night. You must be patient, Colm. +Don’t press her to give you an answer too +soon. She has strange thoughts in her +heart, and strange memories.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Colm.</span> What memories has she?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> Many a woman has memories.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Colm.</span> Sighle has no memories but of this +house and of her mother. What is she but +a child?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> And what are you but a child? +Can’t you have patience? Children have +memories, but the memories sometimes die. +Sighle’s memories have not died yet.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_14'>14</span><span class='sc'>Colm.</span> This is queer talk. What does +she remember?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> Whist, there’s someone on the +street.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Colm</span> (<i>looking out of the window</i>). It’s +Cuimin and the master.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> Be patient, son. Don’t vex your +head. What are you both but children +yet?</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>The door opens and Cuimin Eanna and +Maoilsheachlainn come in. Cuimin is middle +aged; Maoilsheachlainn past middle age, +turning grey, and a little stooped.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin and Maoilsheachlainn</span> (<i>entering</i>). +God save all here.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> God save you men. Will you +sit? The kettle is on the boil. Give the +master the big chair, Colm.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn</span> (<i>sitting down near the +fire on the chair which Colm places for him</i>). +You’re early stirring, Maire.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> I didn’t lie down at all, master.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> Is it to sit up all +night you did?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> It is, then. Sighle kept me +company.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_15'>15</span><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> ’Tis a pity of the +women of the world. Too good they are +for us, and too full of care. I’m afraid that +there was many a woman on this mountain +that sat up last night. Aye, and many a +woman in Ireland. ’Tis women that keep +all the great vigils.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire</span> (<i>wetting the tea</i>). Why wouldn’t +we sit up to have a cup of tea ready for +you? Won’t you go west into the room?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> We’d as lief drink +it here beside the fire.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> Sighle is readying the room. +You’ll want the table to write on, maybe.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> We’ll go west so.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> Wait till Sighle has the table +laid. The tea will be drawn in a minute.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Colm</span> (<i>to Maoilsheachlainn</i>). Was there any +word of the messenger at the forge, master?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> There was not.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> When we were coming up the +boreen I saw a man breasting Cnoc an +Teachta that I thought might be him.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> I don’t think it was +him. He was walking slowly, and sure the +messenger that brings that great story will +come on the wings of the wind.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_16'>16</span><span class='sc'>Colm.</span> Perhaps it was one of the boys +you saw going home from the drill.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> No, it was a stranger. He +looked like a mountainy man that would +be coming from a distance. He might be +someone that was at the fair of Uachtar +Ard yesterday, and that stayed the evening +after selling.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> Aye, there did a lot +stay, I’m told, talking about the word that’s +expected.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> The Singer was there, I believe. +Diarmaid of the Bridge said that he spoke +to them all at the fair, and that there did a +lot stay in the town after the fair thinking +he’d speak to them again. They say he +has the talk of an angel.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> What sort is he to +look at?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> A poor man of the mountains. +Young they say he is, and pale like a man +that lived in cities, but with the dress +and the speech of a mountainy man; shy +in himself and very silent, till he stands up +to talk to the people. And then he has +the voice of a silver trumpet, and words so +beautiful that they make the people cry. +<span class='pageno' id='Page_17'>17</span>And there is terrible anger in him, for all +that he is shrinking and gentle. Diarmaid +said that in the Joyce country they think it +is some great hero that has come back +again to lead the people against the Gall, +or maybe an angel, or the Son of Mary +Himself that has come down on the earth.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn</span> (<i>looking towards the +door</i>). There’s a footstep abroad.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire</span> (<i>who has been sitting very straight +in her chair listening intently</i>). That is my +son’s step.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Colm.</span> Sure, amn’t I here, mother?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> That is MacDara’s step.</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>All start and look first towards Maire, +then towards the door, the latch of which +has been touched.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> I wish it was MacDara, +Maire. ’Tis maybe Diarmaid or the +mountainy man we saw on the road.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> It is not Diarmaid. It is MacDara.</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>The door opens slowly and MacDara, a +young man of perhaps twenty-five, dressed +like a man of the mountains, stands on the +threshold.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_18'>18</span><span class='sc'>MacDara.</span> God save all here.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>All.</span> And you, likewise.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire</span> (<i>who has risen and is stretching out +her hands</i>). I felt you coming to me, little +son!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>MacDara</span> (<i>springing to her and folding +her in his arms</i>). Little mother! little mother!</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>While they still embrace Sighle re-enters +from the room and stands still on the threshold +looking at MacDara.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire</span> (<i>raising her head</i>). Along all the +quiet roads and across all the rough mountains, +and through all the crowded towns, I +felt you drawing near to me.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>MacDara.</span> Oh, the long years, the long +years!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> I am crying for pride at the sight +of you. Neighbours, neighbours, this is +MacDara, the first child that I bore to my +husband.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>MacDara</span> (<i>kissing Colm</i>). My little +brother! (<i>To Cuimin</i>), Cuimin Eanna! +(<i>To Maoilsheachlainn</i>), Master! (<i>They shake +hands.</i>)</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> Welcome home.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> Welcome home.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_19'>19</span><span class='sc'>MacDara</span> (<i>looking round</i>). Where is…. +(<i>He sees Sighle in the doorway.</i>) Sighle! +(<i>He approaches her and takes her hand.</i>) +Little, little Sighle!… I…. +Mother, sometimes when I was in the +middle of great crowds, I have seen this +fireplace, and you standing with your +hands stretched out to me as you stood a +minute ago, and Sighle in the doorway of +the room; and my heart has cried out to +you.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> I used to hear the crying of your +heart. Often and often here by the fireside +or abroad on the street I would stand and +say, “MacDara is crying out to me now. +The heart in him is yearning.” And this +while back I felt you draw near, draw near, +step by step. Last night I felt you very +near to me. Do you remember me saying, +Sighle, that I felt someone coming, and that +I thought maybe it might be MacDara?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Sighle.</span> You did.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> I knew that something glorious +was coming to the mountain with to-day’s +dawn. Red dawns and white dawns I have +seen on the hills, but none like this dawn. +Come in, jewel, and sit down awhile in the +<span class='pageno' id='Page_20'>20</span>room. Sighle has the table laid. The tea +is drawn. Bring in the griddle-cakes, +Sighle. Come in, master. Come in, +Cuimin.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> No, Maire, we’ll +sit here a while. You and the children +will like to be by yourselves. Go in, west, +children. Cuimin and I have plans to +make. We’re expecting Diarmaid of the +Bridge in.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> We don’t grudge you a share in +our joy, master. Nor you, Cuimin.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> No, go on in, Maire. We’ll +go west after you. We want to talk here.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire.</span> Well, come in when you have +your talk out. There’s enough tea on the +pot for everybody. In with you, children.</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>MacDara, Colm, Sighle and Maire go +into the room, Sighle carrying the griddle-cakes +and Maire the tea.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> This is great news, +MacDara to be back.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> Do you think will he be with +us?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> Is it a boy with that +gesture of the head, that proud, laughing +<span class='pageno' id='Page_21'>21</span>gesture, to be a coward or a stag? You +don’t know the heart of this boy, Cuimin; +the love that’s in it, and the strength. You +don’t know the mind he has, so gracious, so +full of wisdom. I taught him when he was +only a little ladeen. ’Tis a pity that he had +ever to go away from us. And yet, I think, +his exile has made him a better man. His +soul must be full of great remembrances.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> I never knew rightly why he +was banished.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> Songs he was making +that were setting the people’s hearts +on fire.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> Aye, I often heard his songs.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> They were full of +terrible love for the people and of great +anger against the Gall. Some said there was +irreligion in them and blasphemy against +God. But I never saw it, and I don’t +believe it. There are some would have us +believe that God is on the side of the Gall. +Well, word came down from Galway or +from Dublin that he would be put in +prison, and maybe excommunicated if he +did not go away. He was only a gossoon +of eighteen, or maybe twenty. The priest +<span class='pageno' id='Page_22'>22</span>counselled him to go, and not to bring +sorrow on his mother’s house. He went +away one evening without taking farewell +or leave of anyone.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> Where has he been since, I +don’t know?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> In great cities, I’d +say, and in lonely places. He has the face +of a scholar, or of a priest, or of a clerk, on +him. He must have read a lot, and thought +a lot, and made a lot of songs.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> I don’t know is he as strong a +boy as Colm.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> He’s not as robust +in himself as Colm is, but there was great +strength in the grip of his hand. I’d say +that he’d wield a camán or a pike with any +boy on the mountain.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> He’ll be a great backing to us +if he is with us. The people love him on +account of the songs he used to make. +There’s not a man that won’t do his bidding.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> That’s so. And his +counsel will be useful to us. He’ll make +better plans than you or I, Cuimin.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> I wonder what’s keeping Diarmaid.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_23'>23</span><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> Some news that was +at the forge or at the priest’s house, maybe. +He went east the road to see if there was +sign of a word from Galway.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> I’ll be uneasy till he comes. +(<i>He gets up and walks to the window and looks +out; Maoilsheachlainn remains deep in thought +by the fire. Cuimin returns from the window +and continues.</i>) Is it to march we’ll do, or +to fight here in the hills?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> Out Maam Gap +we’ll go and meet the boys from the Joyce +country. We’ll leave some to guard the Gap +and some at Leenane. We’ll march the +road between the lakes, through Maam and +Cornamona and Clonbur to Cong. Then +we’ll have friends on our left at Ballinrobe +and on our right at Tuam. What is there +to stop us but the few men the Gall have +in Clifden?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> And if they march against us, +we can destroy them from the mountains.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> We can. It’s into +a trap they’ll walk.</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>MacDara appears in the doorway of the +room with a cup of tea and some griddle-cake +in his hand.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_24'>24</span><span class='sc'>MacDara.</span> I’ve brought you out a cup +of tea, master. I thought it long you were +sitting here.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn</span> (<i>taking it</i>). God bless +you, MacDara.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>MacDara.</span> Go west, Cuimin. There’s +a place at the table for you now.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin</span> (<i>rising and going in</i>). I may as well. +Give me a call, boy, when Diarmaid comes.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> This is a great day, +MacDara.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>MacDara.</span> It is a great day and a glad +day, and yet it is a sorrowful day.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> How can the day of +your home-coming be sorrowful?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>MacDara.</span> Has not every great joy a +great sorrow at its core? Does not the +joy of home-coming enclose the pain of +departing? I have a strange feeling, master, +I have only finished a long journey, and I +feel as if I were about to take another long +journey. I meant this to be a <a id='tn-homecoming'></a>home-coming, +but it seems only like a meeting on the +way…. When my mother stood up +to meet me with her arms stretched out to +me, I thought of Mary meeting her Son +on the Dolorous Way.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_25'>25</span><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> That was a queer +thought. What was it that drew you home?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>MacDara.</span> Some secret thing that I have +no name for. Some feeling that I must see +my mother, and Colm, and Sighle, again. +A feeling that I must face some great +adventure with their kisses on my lips. I +seemed to see myself brought to die before +a great crowd that stood cold and silent; +and there were some that cursed me in their +hearts for having brought death into their +houses. Sad dead faces seemed to reproach +me. Oh, the wise, sad faces of the dead—and +the keening of women rang in my ears. +But I felt that the kisses of those three, warm +on my mouth, would be as wine in my blood, +strengthening me to bear what men said, +and to die with only love and pity in my +heart, and no bitterness.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> It was strange that +you should see yourself like that.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>MacDara.</span> It was foolish. One has +strange, lonesome thoughts when one is in +the middle of crowds. But I am glad of +that thought, for it drove me home. I felt +so lonely away from here…. My +mother’s hair is greyer than it was.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_26'>26</span><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> Aye, she has been +ageing. She has had great sorrows: your +father dead and you banished. Colm is +grown a fine, strapping boy.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>MacDara.</span> He is. There is some shyness +between Colm and me. We have not +spoken yet as we used to.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> When boys are +brought up together and then parted for a +long time there is often shyness between +them when they meet again…. Do +you find Sighle changed?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>MacDara.</span> No; and, yet—yes. Master, +she is very beautiful. I did not know a +woman could be so beautiful. I thought +that all beauty was in the heart, that beauty +was a secret thing that could be seen only +with the eyes of reverie, or in a dream of +some unborn splendour. I had schooled +myself to think physical beauty an unholy +thing. I tried to keep my heart virginal; +and sometimes in the street of a city when +I have stopped to look at the white limbs of +some beautiful child, and have felt the pain +that the sight of great beauty brings, I have +wished that I could blind my eyes so that I +might shut out the sight of everything that +<span class='pageno' id='Page_27'>27</span>tempted me. At times I have rebelled +against that, and have cried aloud that God +would not have filled the world with beauty, +even to the making drunk of the sight, if +beauty were not of heaven. But, then, +again, I have said, “This is the subtlest +form of temptation; this is to give to one’s +own desire the sanction of God’s will.” And +I have hardened my heart and kept myself +cold and chaste as the top of a high mountain. +But now I think I was wrong, for +beauty like Sighle’s must be holy.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> Surely a good and +comely girl is holy. You question yourself +too much, MacDara. You brood too +much. Do you remember when you were +a gossoon, how you cried over the wild duck +whose wing you broke by accident with a +stone, and made a song about the crane +whose nest you found ravished, and about +the red robin you found perished on the +doorstep? And how the priest laughed +because you told him in confession that you +had stolen drowned lilies from the river?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>MacDara</span> (<i>laughing</i>). Aye, it was at a +station in Diarmaid of the Bridge’s, and +when the priest laughed my face got red, +<span class='pageno' id='Page_28'>28</span>and everyone looked at us, and I got up and +ran out of the house.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn</span> (<i>laughing</i>). I remember +it well. We thought it was what you +told him you were in love with his house-keeper.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>MacDara.</span> It’s little but I was, too. +She used to give me apples out of the priest’s +apple-garden. Little brown russet apples, +the sweetest I ever tasted. I used to think +that the apples of the Hesperides that the +Children of Tuireann went to quest must +have been like them.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> It’s a wonder but +you made a poem about them.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>MacDara.</span> I did. I made a poem in +Deibhidhe of twenty quatrains.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> Did you make many +songs while you were away?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>MacDara.</span> When I went away first my +heart was as if dead and dumb and I could +not make any songs. After a little while, +when I was going through the sweet, green +country, and I used to come to little towns +where I’d see children playing, my heart +seemed to open again like hard ground that +would be watered with rain. The first song +<span class='pageno' id='Page_29'>29</span>that I made was about the children that I +saw playing in the street of Kilconnell. +The next song that I made was about an +old dark man that I met on the causeway +of Aughrim. I made a glad, proud song +when I saw the broad Shannon flow under +the bridge of Athlone. I made many a +song after that before I reached Dublin.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> How did it fare +with you in Dublin?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>MacDara.</span> I went to a bookseller and +gave him the book of my songs to print. +He said that he dared not print them; that +the Gall would put him in prison and break +up his printing-press. I was hungry and I +wandered through the streets. Then a man +who saw me read an Irish poster on the +wall spoke to me and asked me where I +came from. I told him my story. In a +few days he came to me and said that he +had found work for me to teach Irish and +Latin and Greek in a school. I went to +the school and taught in it for a year. I +wrote a few poems and they were printed in +a paper. One day the Brother who was +over the school came to me and asked me +was it I that had written those poems. I +<span class='pageno' id='Page_30'>30</span>said it was. He told me then that I could +not teach in the school any longer. So I +went away.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> What happened to +you after that?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>MacDara.</span> I wandered in the streets +until I saw a notice that a teacher was +wanted to teach a boy. I went to the +house and a lady engaged me to teach her +little son for ten shillings a week. Two +years I spent at that. The boy was a winsome +child, and he grew into my heart. I +thought it a wonderful thing to have the +moulding of a mind, of a life, in my hands. +Do you ever think that, you who are a +schoolmaster?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> It’s not much time +I get for thinking.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>MacDara.</span> I have done nothing all my +life but think: think and make poems.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> If the thoughts and +the poems are good, that is a good life’s +work.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>MacDara.</span> Aye, they say that to be busy +with the things of the spirit is better than +to be busy with the things of the body. +But I am not sure, master. Can the Vision +<span class='pageno' id='Page_31'>31</span>Beautiful alone content a man? I think +true man is divine in this, that, like God, +he must needs create, he must needs do.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> Is not a poet a +maker?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>MacDara.</span> No, he is only a voice that +cries out, a sigh that trembles into rest. +The true teacher must suffer and do. He +must break bread to the people: he must +go into Gethsemane and toil up the steep of +Golgotha…. Sometimes I think that +to be a woman and to serve and suffer as +women do is to be the highest thing. +Perhaps that is why I felt it proud and +wondrous to be a teacher, for a teacher does +that. I gave to the little lad I taught the +very flesh and blood and breath that were +my life. I fed him on the milk of my +kindness; I breathed into him my spirit.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> Did he repay you +for that great service?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>MacDara.</span> Can any child repay its +mother? Master, your trade is the most +sorrowful of all trades. You are like a poor +mother who spends herself in nursing children +who go away and never come back to +her.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_32'>32</span><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> Was your little pupil +untrue to you?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>MacDara.</span> Nay; he was so true to me +that his mother grew jealous of me. A good +mother and a good teacher are always jealous +of each other. That is why a teacher’s +trade is the most sorrowful of all trades. If +he is a bad teacher his pupil <i>wanders</i> away +from him. If he is a good teacher his +pupil’s folk grow jealous of him. My little +pupil’s mother bade him choose between +her and me.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> Which did he +choose?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>MacDara.</span> He chose his mother. How +could I blame him?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> What did you do?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>MacDara.</span> I shouldered my bundle and +took to the roads.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> How did it fare with +you?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>MacDara.</span> It fares ill with one who is +so poor that he has no longer even his +dreams. I was the poorest <i>shuiler</i> on the +roads of Ireland, for I had no single illusion +left to me. I could neither pray when I +came to a holy well nor drink in a public-house +<span class='pageno' id='Page_33'>33</span>when I had got a little money. One +seemed to me as foolish as the other.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> Did you make no +songs in those days?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>MacDara.</span> I made one so bitter that +when I recited it at a wake they thought I +was some wandering, wicked spirit, and +they put me out of the house.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> Did you not pray at +all?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>MacDara.</span> Once, as I knelt by the cross +of Kilgobbin, it became clear to me, with +an awful clearness, that there was no God. +Why pray after that? I burst into a fit of +laughter at the folly of men in thinking that +there is a God. I felt inclined to run through +the villages and cry aloud, “People, it is all +a mistake; there is no God.”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> MacDara, this grieves +me.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>MacDara.</span> Then I said, “why take +away their illusion? If they find out that +there is no God, their hearts will be as +lonely as mine.” So I walked the roads +with my secret.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> MacDara, I am sorry +for this. You must pray, you must pray. +<span class='pageno' id='Page_34'>34</span>You will find God again. He has only +hidden His face from you.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>MacDara.</span> No, He has revealed His +Face to me. His Face is terrible and sweet, +Maoilsheachlainn. I know It well now.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> Then you found +Him again?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>MacDara.</span> His Name is suffering. His +Name is loneliness. His Name is abjection.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> I do not rightly +understand you, and yet I think you are +saying something that is true.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>MacDara.</span> I have lived with the homeless +and with the breadless. Oh, Maoilsheachlainn, +the poor, the poor! I have seen such +sad childings, such bare marriage feasts, such +candleless wakes! In the pleasant country +places I have seen them, but oftener in the +dark, unquiet streets of the city. My heart +has been heavy with the sorrow of mothers, +my eyes have been wet with the tears of +children. The people, Maoilsheachlainn, +the dumb, suffering people: reviled and +outcast, yet pure and splendid and faithful. +In them I saw, or seemed to see again, the +Face of God. Ah, it is a tear-stained face, +<span class='pageno' id='Page_35'>35</span>blood-stained, defiled with ordure, but it is +the Holy Face!</p> + +<hr class='c015'> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>There is a page of MS. missing here, +which evidently covered the exit to the room +of MacDara and the entrance of Diarmaid.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> What news have you +with you?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Diarmaid.</span> The Gall have marched from +Clifden.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> Is it into the hills?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Diarmaid.</span> By Letterfrack they have +come, and the Pass of Kylemore, and +through Glen Inagh.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Colm.</span> And no word from Galway yet?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Diarmaid.</span> No word, nor sign of a word.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Colm.</span> They told us to wait for the word. +We’ve waited too long.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> The messenger may +have been caught. Perhaps the Gall are +marching from Galway too.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Colm.</span> We’d best strike ourselves, so.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> Is it to strike before the word is +given?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_36'>36</span><span class='sc'>Colm.</span> Is it to die like rats you’d have us +because the word is not given?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> Our plans are not finished; our +orders are not here.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Colm.</span> Our plans will never be finished. +Our orders may never be here.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> We’ve no one to lead us.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Colm.</span> Didn’t you elect me your captain?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> We did: but not to bid us rise +out when the whole country is quiet. We +were to get the word from the men that are +over the people. They’ll speak when the +time comes.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Colm.</span> They should have spoken before +the Gall marched.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> What call have you to say what +they should or what they should not have +done? Am I speaking lie or truth, men? +Are we to rise out before the word comes? +I say we must wait for the word. What do +you say, Diarmaid, you that was our messenger +to Galway?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Diarmaid.</span> I like the way Colm has +spoken, and we may live to say that he +spoke wisely as well as bravely; but I’m +slow to give my voice to send out the boys +of this mountain—our poor little handful—to +<span class='pageno' id='Page_37'>37</span>stand with their poor pikes against the +big guns of the Gall. If we had news that +they were rising in the other countrysides; +but we’ve got no news.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> What do you say, master? +You’re wiser than any of us.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> I say to Colm that +a greater one than he or I may give us the +word before the day is old. Let you have +patience, Colm—</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Colm.</span> My mother told me to have +patience this morning, when MacDara’s +step was on the street. Patience, and I +after waiting seven years before I spoke, and +then to speak too late!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> What are you saying +at all?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Colm.</span> I am saying this, master, that I’m +going out the road to meet the Gall, if only +five men of the mountain follow me.</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>Sighle has appeared in the doorway and +stands terror-stricken.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> You will not, Colm.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Colm.</span> I will.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Diarmaid.</span> This is throwing away men’s +lives.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Colm.</span> Men’s lives get very precious to +<span class='pageno' id='Page_38'>38</span>them when they have bought out their land.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> Listen to me, Colm—</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>Colm goes out angrily, and the others follow +him, trying to restrain him. Sighle comes to +the fire, where she kneels.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Sighle</span> (<i>as in a reverie</i>). “They will go +out laughing,” I said, but Colm has gone +out with anger in his heart. And he was +so kind…. Love is a terrible thing. +There is no pain so great as the pain of +love…. I wish MacDara and I were +children in the green <span lang="ga"><i>mám</i></span> and that we did +not know that we loved each other…. +Colm will lie dead on the road to Glen +Inagh, and MacDara will go out to die…. +There is nothing in the world but +love and death. +<span class="sdr"> +<i>MacDara comes out of the room.</i> +</span></p> +<div class="clear"></div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>MacDara</span> (<i>in a low voice</i>). She has +dropped asleep, Sighle.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Sighle.</span> She watched long, MacDara. +We all watched long.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>MacDara.</span> Every long watch ends. +Every traveller comes home.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Sighle.</span> Sometimes when people watch it +is death that comes.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_39'>39</span><span class='sc'>MacDara.</span> Could there be a royaller +coming, Sighle?… Once I wanted +life. You and I to be together in one place +always: that is what I wanted. But now I +see that we shall be together for a little time +only; that I have to do a hard, sweet thing, +and that I must do it alone. And because +I love you I would not have it different…. +I wanted to have your kiss on my +lips, Sighle, as well as my mother’s and +Colm’s. But I will deny myself that. +(<i>Sighle is crying.</i>) Don’t cry, child. Stay +near my mother while she lives—it may be +for a little while of years. You poor women +suffer so much pain, so much sorrow, and +yet you do not die until long after your +strong, young sons and lovers have died.</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>Maire’s voice is heard from the room, +crying</i>: MacDara!</p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>MacDara.</span> She is calling me.</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>He goes into the room; Sighle cries on her +knees by the fire. After a little while voices +are heard outside, the latch is lifted, and +Maoilsheachlainn comes in.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Sighle.</span> Is he gone, master?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> Gone out the road +<span class='pageno' id='Page_40'>40</span>with ten or fifteen of the young lads. Is +MacDara within still?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Sighle.</span> He was here in the kitchen +a while. His mother called him and he +went back to her.</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>Maoilsheachlainn goes over and sits down +near the fire.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> I think, maybe, that +Colm did what was right. We are too old +to be at the head of work like this. Was +MacDara talking to you about the trouble?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Sighle.</span> He said that he would have to do +a hard, sweet thing, and that he would have +to do it alone.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> I’m sorry but I +called him before Colm went out.</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>A murmur is heard as of a crowd of men +talking as they come up the hill.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Sighle.</span> What is that noise like voices?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> It is the boys coming +up the hillside. There was a great crowd +gathering below at the cross.</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>The voices swell loud outside the door. Cuimin +Eanna, Diarmaid, and some others come in.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Diarmaid.</span> The men say we did wrong +to let Colm go out with that little handful. +They say we should all have marched.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_41'>41</span><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> And I say Colm was wrong to +go before he got his orders. Are we all to +go out and get shot down because one man +is hotheaded? Where is the plan that was +to come from Galway?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> Men, I’m blaming +myself for not saying the thing I’m going +to say before we let Colm go. We talk +about getting word from Galway. What +would you say, neighbours, if the man that +will give the word is under the roof of this +house.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> Who is it you mean?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn</span> (<i>going to the door of +the room and throwing it open</i>). Let you rise +out, MacDara, and reveal yourself to the +men that are waiting for your word.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>One of the Newcomers.</span> Has MacDara +come home?</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>MacDara comes out of the room: Maire +ni Fhiannachta stands behind him in the +doorway.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Diarmaid</span> (<i>starting up from where he has +been sitting</i>). That is the man that stood +among the people in the fair of Uachtar Ard! +(<i>He goes up to MacDara and kisses his hand.</i>) +<span class='pageno' id='Page_42'>42</span>I could not get near you yesterday, MacDara, +with the crowds that were round you. +What was on me that didn’t know you? +Sure, I had a right to know that sad, proud +head. Maire ni Fhiannachta, men and +women yet unborn will bless the pains of +your first childing.</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>Maire ni Fhiannachta comes forward +slowly and takes her son’s hand and kisses it.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maire</span> (<i>in a low voice</i>). Soft hand that +played at my breast, strong hand that +will fall heavy on the Gall, brave hand +that will break the yoke! Men of +this mountain, my son MacDara is the +Singer that has quickened the dead years +and all the quiet dust! Let the horsemen +that sleep in Aileach rise up and follow him +into the war! Weave your winding-sheets, +women, for there will be many a noble +corpse to be waked before the new moon!</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>Each comes forward and kisses +his hand.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> Let you speak, +MacDara, and tell us is it time.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>MacDara.</span> Where is Colm?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Diarmaid.</span> Gone out the road to fight the +Gall, himself and fifteen.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_43'>43</span><span class='sc'>MacDara.</span> Has not Colm spoken by his +deed already?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> You are our leader.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>MacDara.</span> Your leader is the man that +spoke first. Give me a pike and I will +follow Colm. Why did you let him go out +with fifteen men only? You are fourscore +on the mountain.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Diarmaid.</span> We thought it a foolish thing +for fourscore to go into battle against four +thousand, or, maybe, forty thousand.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>MacDara.</span> And so it is a foolish thing. +Do you want us to be wise?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> This is strange talk.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>MacDara.</span> I will talk to you more +strangely yet. It is for your own souls’ +sakes I would have had the fourscore go, +and not for Colm’s sake, or for the battle’s +sake, for the battle is won whether you go +or not.</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>A cry is heard outside. One rushes in +terror-stricken.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Newcomer.</span> Young Colm has fallen +at the Glen foot.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>MacDara.</span> The fifteen were too many. +Old men, you did not do your work well +enough. You should have kept all back but +<span class='pageno' id='Page_44'>44</span>one. One man can free a people as one +Man redeemed the world. I will take no +pike, I will go into the battle with bare +hands. I will stand up before the Gall as +Christ hung naked before men on the tree!</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>He moves through them, pulling off his +clothes as he goes. As he reaches the threshold +a great shout goes up from the people. He +passes out and the shout dies slowly away. +The other men follow him slowly. Maire +ni Fhiannachta sits down at the fire, where +Sighle still crouches.</i></p> + +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c001'> + <div><span class='small'>THE CURTAIN DESCENDS.</span></div> + </div> +</div> + +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_45'>45</span></div> +<div class='chapter' id='link-king'> + +<div> + <h2 class='c004'>THE KING</h2> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c001'> + <div><span class='large'>A MORALITY</span></div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c000'> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c000'> + <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_46'>46</span><i>CHARACTERS</i></div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='dramatis'> + +<div class='lg-container-l c012'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><span class='sc'><span lang="ga">Giolla na Naomh</span></span> (“<i>the Servant of the Saints</i>”), <i>a Little Boy</i></div> + <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Boys</span></div> + <div class='line'><span class='sc'>An Abbot</span></div> + <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Monks</span></div> + <div class='line'><span class='sc'>A King</span></div> + <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Heroes</span></div> + <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Gillies</span></div> + <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Women</span></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +</div> + +<p class='c008'><i>PLACE</i>—<i>An ancient monastery</i></p> +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c000'> + <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_47'>47</span><span class='large'>THE KING</span></div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c013'><i>A green before the monastery. The voices +of monks are heard chanting. Through the +chanting breaks the sound of a trumpet. A +little boy runs out from the monastery and +stands on the green looking in the direction +whence the trumpet has spoken.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Boy.</span> Conall, Diarmaid, Giolla na +Naomh! +<span class="sdr"> +<i>The voices of other boys answer him.</i> +</span></p> +<div class="clear"></div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>First Boy.</span> There is a host marching +from the North.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Second Boy.</span> Where is it?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>First Boy.</span> See it beneath you in the +glen.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Third Boy.</span> It is the King’s host.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Fourth Boy.</span> The King is going to +battle.</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>The trumpet speaks again, nearer. The +boys go upon the rampart of the monastery. +The murmur of a marching host is heard.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>First Boy.</span> I see the horses and the +riders.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_48'>48</span><span class='sc'>Second Boy.</span> I see the swords and the +spears.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Fourth Boy.</span> I see the standards and +the banners.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Third Boy.</span> I see the King’s banner.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Fourth Boy.</span> I see the King!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>First Boy.</span> Which of them is the +King?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Fourth Boy.</span> The tall comely man on +the black horse.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Giolla na Naomh.</span> Let us salute the +King.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Boys</span> (<i>with the voice of one</i>). Take +victory in battle and slaying, O King!</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>The voices of warriors are heard acclaiming +the King as the host marches past +with din of weapons and music of trumpet +and pipes. Silence succeeds.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>First Boy.</span> I would like to be a King.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Giolla na Naomh.</span> Why?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>First Boy.</span> The King has gold and +silver.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Second Boy.</span> He has noble jewels in his +jewel-house.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Third Boy.</span> He has slender steeds and +gallant hounds.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_49'>49</span><span class='sc'>Fourth Boy.</span> He has a keen-edged, gold-hilted +sword and a mighty-shafted, blue-headed +spear and a glorious red-emblazoned +shield. I saw him once in my father’s +house.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>First Boy.</span> What was he like?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Fourth Boy.</span> He was tall and noble. +He was strong and broad-shouldered. He +had long fair hair. He had a comely +proud face. He had two piercing grey +eyes. A white vest of satin next his skin. +A very beautiful red tunic, with a white +hood, upon his body. A royal mantle of +purple about him. Seven colours upon him, +between vest and tunic and hood and mantle. +A silver brooch upon his breast. A kingly +diadem upon his head, and the colour of +gold upon it. Two great wings rising +above his head, as white as the two wings of +a sea-gull and as broad as the two wings of an +eagle. He was a gallant man.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Second Boy.</span> And what was the look of +his face?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Third Boy.</span> Did he look angry, stern?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Fourth Boy.</span> He did, at times.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>First Boy.</span> Had he a laughing look?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Fourth Boy.</span> He laughed only once.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_50'>50</span><span class='sc'>Second Boy.</span> How did he look mostly? +Stern or laughing?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Fourth Boy.</span> He looked sorrowful. When +he was talking to the kings and the heroes +he had an angry and a laughing look every +second while, but when he was silent he +was sorrowful.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>First Boy.</span> What sorrow can he have?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Fourth Boy.</span> I do not know. The +thousands he has slain, perhaps.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Second Boy.</span> The churches he has +plundered.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Third Boy.</span> The battles he has lost.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Giolla na Naomh.</span> Alas, the poor King!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Second Boy.</span> You would not like to be +a King, Giolla na Naomh?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Giolla na Naomh.</span> I would not. I would +rather be a monk that I might pray for the +King.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Fourth Boy.</span> I may have the kingship +of this country when I am a man, for my +father is of the royal blood.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Second Boy.</span> And my father is of the +royal blood, too.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Third Boy.</span> Aye, and mine.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Fourth Boy.</span> I will not let the kingdom +go with either of you. It is mine!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_51'>51</span><a id='tn-butmine'></a><span class='sc'>Second Boy.</span> It is not, but mine.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Third Boy.</span> It matters not whose it is, +for <em>I</em> will have it!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Second Boy.</span> No, nor anyone of your +house!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Fourth Boy</span> (<i>seizing a switch of sally and +brandishing it</i>). I will ply the venom of my +sword upon you! I will defend my kingdom +against my enemies! Giolla na +Naomh, pray for the King! +<span class="sdr"> +<i>A bell sounds from the monastery.</i> +</span></p> +<div class="clear"></div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Giolla na Naomh.</span> The bell is ringing.</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>The people of the monastery come upon +the green in ones and twos, the Abbot last. +The boys gather a little apart. Distant +sounds of battle are heard.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> My children, the King is +giving battle to his foes.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>First Monk.</span> This King has lost every +battle into which he has gone up to this.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> In a vision that I saw last +night as I knelt before my God it was revealed +to me that the battle will be broken +on the King again.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Second Monk.</span> My grief!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Third Monk.</span> My grief!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_52'>52</span><span class='sc'>First Monk.</span> Tell us, Father, the cause +of these unnumbered defeats.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> Do you think that an offering +will be accepted from polluted hands? +This King has shed the blood of the +innocent. He has made spoils and forays. +He has oppressed the poor. He has forsaken +the friendship of God and made +friends with evil-doers.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>First Monk.</span> That is true. Yet it is a +good fight that the King fights now, for he +gives battle for his people.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> It is an angel that should +be sent to pour out the wine and to break +the bread of this sacrifice. Not by an +unholy King should the noble wine that +is in the veins of good heroes be spilt; +not at the behest of a guilty king should +fair bodies be mangled. I say to you that +the offering will not be accepted.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>First Monk.</span> And are all guilty of the +sins of the King? If the King is defeated +it’s grief will be for all. Why must all +suffer for the sins of the King? On the +King the eric!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> The nation is guilty of the +sins of its princes. I say to you that this +<span class='pageno' id='Page_53'>53</span>nation shall not be freed until it chooses for +itself a righteous King.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Second Monk.</span> Where shall a righteous +King be found?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> I do not know, unless he +be found among these little boys.</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>The boys have drawn near and are +gathered about the Abbot.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>First Monk.</span> And shall the people be in +bondage until these little lads are fit for +battle? It is not the King’s case I pity, +but the case of the people. I heard women +mourning last night. Shall women be +mourning in this land till doom?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Third Monk.</span> As I went out from the +monastery yesterday there was a dead man +on the verge of the wood. Battle is terrible.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Second Monk.</span> No, battle is glorious! +While we were singing our None but +now, Father, I heard, through the psalmody +of the brethren, the voice of a trumpet. +My heart leaped, and I would fain have +risen from the place where I was and gone +after that gallant music. I should not have +cared though it were to my death I went.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> That is the voice of a young +man. The old wait for death, but the +<span class='pageno' id='Page_54'>54</span>young go to meet it. If into this quiet +place, where monks chant and children play, +there were to come from yonder battlefield +a bloodstained man, calling upon all +to follow him into the battle-press, there is +none here that would not rise and follow +him, but I myself and the old brother that +rings our bell. There is none of you, +young brothers, no, nor any of these little +lads, that would not rise from me and go +into the battle. That music of the fighters +makes drunk the hearts of young men.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Second Monk.</span> It is good for young men +to be made drunk.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>First Monk.</span> Brother, you speak wickedness.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> There is a heady ale which +all young men should drink, for he who +has not been made drunk with it has not +lived. It is with that ale that God makes +drunk the hearts of the saints. I would not +forbid you your intoxication, O young men!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>First Monk.</span> This is not plain, Father.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> Do you think if that terrible, +beautiful voice for which young men strain +their ears were to speak from yon place +where the fighters are, and the horses, and +<span class='pageno' id='Page_55'>55</span>the music, that I would stay you, did ye +rise to obey it? Do you think I would +grudge any of you? Do you think I would +grudge the dearest of these little boys, to +death calling with that terrible, beautiful +voice? I would let you all go, though I and +the old brother should be very lonely here.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Second Boy.</span> Giolla na Naomh would +not go, Father.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> Why do you say that?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Second Boy.</span> He said that he would +rather be a monk.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> Would you not go into +the battle, Giolla na Naomh?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Giolla na Naomh.</span> I would. I would +go as a gilly to the King, that I might serve +him when all would forsake him.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> But it is to the saints you are +gilly, Giolla na Naomh, and not to the King.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Giolla na Naomh.</span> It were not much for +the poor King to have one little gilly that +would not forsake him when the battle would +be broken on him and all forsaking him.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> This child is right. While +we think of glory he thinks of service.</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>An outcry as of grief and dismay is heard +from the battlefield.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_56'>56</span><span class='sc'>First Monk.</span> I fear me that the King is +beaten!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> Go upon the rampart and +tell us what you see.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>First Monk</span> (<i>having gone upon the rampart</i>). +A man comes towards us in flight.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Second Monk.</span> What manner of man is +he?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>First Monk.</span> A bloodstained man, all +spent, his feet staggering and stumbling +under him.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Second Monk.</span> Is he a man of the King’s +people?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>First Monk.</span> He is. +<span class="sdr"> +<i>A soldier comes upon the green all spent.</i> +</span></p> +<div class="clear"></div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Soldier.</span> The King is beaten!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Monks.</span> My sorrow, my sorrow!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Soldier.</span> The King is beaten, I say +to you! O ye of the books and the bells, +small was your help to us in the hard battle! +The King is beaten!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> Where is the King?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Soldier.</span> He is flying.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> Give us the description of +the battle.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Soldier.</span> I cannot speak. Let a +drink be given to me.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_57'>57</span><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> Let a drink be given to this +man.</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>The little boy who is called Giolla na +Naomh gives him a drink of water.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> Speak to us now and give +us the description of the battle.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Soldier.</span> Each man of us was a +fighter of ten. The King was a fighter of +a hundred. But what availed us our valour? +We were beaten and we fled. Hundreds +lie sole to sole on the lea.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Monks.</span> My sorrow! My sorrow! +<span class="sdr"> +<i>A din grows.</i> +</span></p> +<div class="clear"></div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Second Monk.</span> Who comes?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>First Monk.</span> The King!</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>Riders and gillies come upon the green pell-mell, +the King in their midst. The King +goes upon his knees before the Abbot, and +throws his sword upon the ground.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The King.</span> Give me your curse, O man +of God, and let me go to my death! I am +beaten. My people are beaten. Ten battles +have I fought against my foes, and every +battle of them has been broken on me. It +is I who have brought God’s wrath upon +this land. Ask your God not to wreak his +<span class='pageno' id='Page_58'>58</span>anger on my people henceforth, but to +wreak it on me. Have pity on my people, +O man of God!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> God will have pity on them.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The King.</span> God has forsaken me.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> You have forsaken God.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The King.</span> God has forsaken my people.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> He has not, neither will He. +He will save this nation if it choose a +righteous King.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The King.</span> Give it then a righteous +King. Give it one of your monks or one +of these little lads to be its King. The +battle on your protection, O man of God!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> Not so, but on the protection +of the sword of a righteous King. +Speak to me, my children, and tell me who +among you is the most righteous?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>First Monk.</span> I have sinned.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Second Monk.</span> And I.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Third Monk.</span> Father, we have all sinned.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> I, too, have sinned. All +that are men have sinned. How soon we +exchange the wisdom of children for the +folly of men! O wise children, busy with +your toys while we are busy with our sins! +I see clearly now. I shall find a sinless +<span class='pageno' id='Page_59'>59</span>King among these little boys. Speak to +me, boys, and tell me who is most innocent +among you?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Boys</span> (<i>with one voice</i>). Giolla na +Naomh.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> The little lad that waits +upon all! Ye are right. The last shall be +first. Giolla na Naomh, will you be King +over this nation?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Giolla na Naomh.</span> I am too young, +Father, I am too weak.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> Come hither to me, child. +(<i>The child goes over to him.</i>) O fosterling that +I have nourished, if I ask this thing of you, +will you not do it?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Giolla na Naomh.</span> I will be obedient +to you, Father.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> Will you turn your face +into the battle?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Giolla na Naomh.</span> I will do the duty +of a King.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> Little one, it may be that +your death will come of it.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Giolla na Naomh.</span> Welcome is death +if it be appointed to me.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> Did I not say that the +young seek death? They are spendthrift +<span class='pageno' id='Page_60'>60</span>of all that we hoard jealously; they pursue +all that we shun. The terrible, beautiful +voice has spoken to this child. O herald +death, you shall be answered! I will not +grudge you my fosterling.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The King.</span> Abbot, I will fight my own +battles: no child shall die for me!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> You have given me your +sword, and I give it to this child. God +has spoken through the voice of His ancient +herald, the terrible, beautiful voice that +comes out of the heart of battles.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Giolla na Naomh.</span> Let me do this +little thing, King. I will guard your banner +well. I will bring you back your sword +after the battle. I am only your little gilly, +who watches while the tired King sleeps. +I will sleep to-night while you shall watch.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The King.</span> My pity, my three pities!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Giolla na Naomh.</span> We slept last night +while you were marching through the dark +country. Poor King, your marchings have +been long. My march will be very short.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> Let this gentle asking prevail +with you, King. I say to you that +God has spoken.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The King.</span> I do not understand your God.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_61'>61</span><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> Who understands Him? He +demands not understanding, but obedience. +This child is obedient, and because he is +obedient, God will do mighty things through +him. King, you must yield to this.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The King.</span> I yield, I yield! Woe is +me that I did not fall in yonder onset!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> Let this child be stripped +that the raiment of a King may be put +about him. (<i>The child is stripped of his +clothing.</i>) Let a royal vest be put next the +skin of the child. (<i>A royal vest is put upon +him.</i>) Let a royal tunic be put about him. +(<i>A royal tunic is put about him above the vest, +and sandals upon his feet.</i>) Let the royal +mantle be put about him. (<i>The King takes +off the royal mantle and it is put upon the child.</i>) +Let a royal diadem be put upon his head. +(<i>The King takes off the royal diadem and it is +put upon the child’s head.</i>) Let him be given +the shield of the King. (<i>The shieldbearer +holds up the shield.</i>) A blessing on this +shield! May it be firm against foes!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Heroes.</span> A blessing on this shield! +<span class="sdr"> +<i>The shield is put on the child’s left arm.</i> +</span></p> +<div class="clear"></div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> Let him be given the spear +of the King. (<i>The spearbearer comes forward +<span class='pageno' id='Page_62'>62</span>and holds up the spear.</i>) A blessing on this +spear! May it be sharp against foes!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Heroes.</span> A blessing on this spear!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> Let him be given the sword +of the King. (<i>The King lifts his sword and +girds it round the child’s waist. Giolla na +Naomh draws the sword and holds it in his right +hand.</i>) A blessing on this sword! May it +be hard to smite foes!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Heroes.</span> A blessing on this sword!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> I call this little lad King, +and I put the battle under his protection in +the name of God.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The King</span> (<i>kneeling before the boy</i>). I do +homage to thee, O King, and I put the +battle under thy protection.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Heroes</span>, <span class='sc'>Monks</span>, <span class='sc'>Boys</span>, etc. (<i>kneeling</i>). +We do homage to thee, O King, and we +put the battle under thy protection.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Giolla na Naomh.</span> I undertake to +sustain the battle in the name of God.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> Let a steed be brought him. +(<i>A steed is brought.</i>) Let the banner of the +King be unfurled. (<i>The banner is unfurled.</i>) +Turn thy face to the battle, O King!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Giolla na Naomh</span> (<i>kneeling</i>). Bless me, +Father.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_63'>63</span><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> A blessing on thee, little one.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Heroes</span>, etc. (<i>with one voice</i>). Take +victory in battle and slaying, O King.</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>The little King mounts, and, with the +heroes and soldiers and gillies, rides to the +battle. The Abbot, the King, the Monks, +and the Boys watch them.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> King, I have given you the +noblest jewel that was in my house. I +loved yonder child.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The King.</span> Priest, I have never received +from my tributary kings a kinglier gift.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>First Monk.</span> They have reached the +place of battle.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> O strong God, make strong +the hand of this child. Make firm his foot. +Make keen his sword. Let the purity of +his heart and the humbleness of his spirit be +unto him a magnifying of courage and an +exaltation of mind. Ye angels that fought +the ancient battles, ye veterans of God, +make a battle-pen about him and fight before +him with flaming swords.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Monks and Boys.</span> Amen, Amen.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> O God, save this nation by +the sword of the sinless boy.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The King.</span> And O Christ, that was +<span class='pageno' id='Page_64'>64</span>crucified on the hill, bring the child safe +from the perilous battle.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> King, King, freedom is not +purchased but with a great price. (<i>A +trumpet speaks.</i>) Let the description of the +battle be given us.</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>The First Monk and the Second Monk go +upon the rampart.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>First Monk.</span> The two hosts are face to +face. +<span class="sdr"> +<i>Another trumpet speaks.</i> +</span></p> +<div class="clear"></div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Second Monk.</span> That is sweet! It is the +trumpet of the King! +<span class="sdr"> +<i>Shouts.</i> +</span></p> +<div class="clear"></div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>First Monk.</span> The King’s host raises +shouts. +<span class="sdr"> +<i>Other shouts.</i> +</span></p> +<div class="clear"></div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Second Monk.</span> The enemy answers them.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>First Monk.</span> The hosts advance against +each other.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Second Monk.</span> They fight.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>First Monk.</span> Our people are yielding.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Third Monk.</span> Say not so.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Second Monk.</span> My grief, they are +yielding. +<span class="sdr"> +<i>A trumpet speaks.</i> +</span></p> +<div class="clear"></div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Third Monk.</span> Sweet again! It is timely +spoken, O trumpet of the King!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>First Monk.</span> The King’s banner is going +into the battle!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Second Monk.</span> I see the little King!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_65'>65</span><span class='sc'>Third Monk.</span> Is he going into the battle?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>First Monk.</span> Yes.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Monks and Boys</span> (<i>with one voice</i>). +Take victory in battle and slaying, O King!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Second Monk.</span> It is a good fight now.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>First Monk.</span> Two seas have met on the +plain.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Second Monk.</span> Two raging seas!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>First Monk.</span> One sea rolls back.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Second Monk.</span> It is the enemy that +retreats!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>First Monk.</span> The little King goes +through them.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Second Monk.</span> He goes through them +like a hawk through small birds.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>First Monk.</span> Yea, like a wolf through a +flock of sheep on a plain.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Second Monk.</span> Like a torrent through a +mountain gap.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>First Monk.</span> It is a road of rout before +him.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Second Monk.</span> There are great uproars +in the battle. It is a roaring path down +which the King rides.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>First Monk.</span> O golden head above the +slaughter! O shining, terrible sword of the +King!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_66'>66</span><span class='sc'>Second Monk.</span> The enemy flies!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>First Monk.</span> They are beaten! They +are beaten! It is a red road of rout! Raise +shouts of exultation!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Second Monk.</span> My grief!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>First Monk.</span> My grief! My grief!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> What is that?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>First Monk.</span> The little King is down!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> Has he the victory?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>First Monk.</span> Yes, but he himself is +down. I do not see his golden head. I +do not see his shining sword. My grief! +They raise his body from the plain.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> Is the enemy flying?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Second Monk.</span> Yes, they fly. They +are pursued. They are scattered. They +are scattered as a mist would be scattered. +They are no longer seen on the plain.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> It’s thanks to God! (<i>Keening +is heard.</i>) Thou hast been answered, O +terrible voice! Old herald, my foster child +has answered!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Third Monk.</span> They bear hither a dead child.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The King.</span> He said that he would sleep +to-night and that I should watch.</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>Heroes come upon the green bearing the +body of Giolla na Naomh on a bier; there +<span class='pageno' id='Page_67'>67</span>are women keening it. The bier is laid in +the centre of the green.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The King.</span> He has brought me back my +sword. He has guarded my banner well.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot</span> (<i>lifting the sword from the +bier</i>). Take the sword.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The King.</span> No, I will let him keep it. +A King should sleep with a sword. This +was a very valiant King. (<i>He takes the +sword from the Abbot and lays it again upon +the bier. He kneels.</i>) I do homage to thee, +O dead King, O victorious child! I kiss +thee, O white body, since it is thy purity +that hath redeemed my people. (<i>He kisses +the forehead of Giolla na Naomh. They +commence to keen again.</i>)</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Abbot.</span> Do not keen this child, for +he hath purchased freedom for his people. +Let shouts of exultation be raised and let a +canticle be sung in praise of God.</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>The body is borne into the monastery with +a Te Deum.</i></p> + +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c001'> + <div><span class='small'>THE SCENE CLOSES.</span></div> + </div> +</div> + +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_69'>69</span></div> +<div class='chapter' id='link-master'> + +<div> + <h2 class='c004'>THE MASTER</h2> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c000'> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c000'> + <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_70'>70</span><i>CHARACTERS</i></div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='dramatis'> + +<div class='lg-container-l c012'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Ciaran</span>, <i>the Master</i></div> + <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Pupils</span>:</div> + <div class='line in2'><span class='sc'>Iollann Beag</span></div> + <div class='line in2'><span class='sc'>Art</span></div> + <div class='line in2'><span class='sc'>Breasal</span></div> + <div class='line in2'><span class='sc'>Maine</span></div> + <div class='line in2'><span class='sc'>Ronan</span></div> + <div class='line in2'><span class='sc'>Ceallach</span></div> + <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Daire</span>, <i>the King</i></div> + <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Messenger</span></div> + <div class='line'><span class='sc'>The Archangel Michael</span></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +</div> +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c000'> + <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_71'>71</span><span class='large'>THE MASTER</span></div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c013'><i>A little cloister in a woodland. The +subdued sunlight of a forest place comes +through the arches. On the left, one arch +gives a longer vista where the forest opens +and the sun shines upon a far hill. In +the centre of the cloister two or three steps +lead to an inner place, as it were a little +chapel or cell.</i></p> + +<p class='c014'><i>Art, Breasal, and Maine are busy with +a game of jackstones about the steps. They +play silently.</i></p> + +<p class='c014'><i>Ronan enters from the left.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ronan.</span> Where is the Master?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Art.</span> He has not left his cell yet.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ronan.</span> He is late. Who is with him, Art?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Art.</span> I was with him till a while ago. +When he had finished his thanksgiving he +told me he had one other little prayer to +say which he could not leave over. He +said it was for a soul that was in danger. I +left him on his knees and came out into the +sunshine.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_72'>72</span><span class='sc'>Maine.</span> Aye, you knew that Breasal and +I were here with the jackstones.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Breasal.</span> I served his Mass yesterday, and +he stayed praying so long after it that I fell +asleep. I did not stir till he laid his hand +upon my shoulder. Then I started up and +said I, “Is that you, little mother?” He +laughed and said he, “No, Breasal, it’s no +one so good as your mother.”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ronan.</span> He is merry and gentle this +while back, although he prays and fasts +longer than he used to. Little Iollann says +he tells him the merriest stories.</p> + +<p class='c009'><a id='tn-breasal'></a><span class='sc'>Breasal.</span> He is fond of little Iollann.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maine.</span> Aye; when Iollann is late, or +when he is inattentive, the Master pretends +not to notice it.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Breasal.</span> Well, Iollann is only a little +lad.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maine.</span> He is more like a little maid, +with his fair cheek that reddens when the +Master speaks to him.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Art.</span> Faith, you wouldn’t call him a +little maid when you’d see him strip to +swim a river.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ronan.</span> Or when you’d see him spring +up to meet the ball in a hurley match.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_73'>73</span><span class='sc'>Maine.</span> He has, certainly, many accomplishments.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Breasal.</span> He has a high, manly heart.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maine.</span> He has a beautiful white body, +and, therefore, you all love him; aye, the +Master and all. We have no woman here +and so we make love to our little Iollann.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ronan</span> (<i>laughing</i>). Why, I thrashed him +ere-yesterday for putting magories down my +neck!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maine.</span> Men sometimes thrash their +women, Ronan. It is one of the ways of +loving.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Art.</span> Maine, you have been listening to +some satirist making satires. There was +once a Maine that was called Maine Honey-mouth. +You will be called Maine Bitter-Tongue.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maine.</span> Well, I’ve won this game of +jackstones. Will you play another?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ceallach</span> (<i>enters hastily</i>). Lads, do you +know what I have seen?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Art.</span> What is it, Ceallach?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ceallach.</span> A host of horsemen riding +through the dark of the wood. A grim +host, with spears.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maine.</span> The King goes hunting.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_74'>74</span><span class='sc'>Ceallach.</span> My grief for the noble deer +that the King hunts!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Breasal.</span> What deer is that?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ceallach.</span> Our Master, Ciaran.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ronan.</span> I heard one of the captains say +that the cell was to be surrounded.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Art.</span> But why does the King come +against Ciaran?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ceallach.</span> It is the Druids that have +incited him. They say that Ciaran is overturning +the ancient law of the people.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maine.</span> The King has ordered him to +leave the country.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Breasal.</span> Aye, there was a King’s Messenger +here the other day who spoke long +to the Master.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Art.</span> It is since then that the Master +has been praying so long every day.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ronan.</span> Is he afraid that the King will +kill him?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Art.</span> No, it is for a soul that is in danger +that he prays. Is it the King’s soul that +is in danger?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maine.</span> Hush, the Master is coming.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran</span> (<i>comes out from the inner place; +the pupils rise</i>). Are all here?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Breasal.</span> Iollann Beag has not come yet.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_75'>75</span><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> Not yet?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ceallach.</span> Master, the King’s horsemen +are in the wood.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> I hope no evil has chanced to +little Iollann.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maine.</span> What evil could chance to him?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ceallach.</span> Master, the King is seeking +you in the wood.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> Does he not know where my +cell is?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Breasal.</span> The King has been stirred up +against you, Master, rise and fly before the +horsemen surround the cell.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> No, if the King seeks me he +will find me here…. I wish little +Iollann were come. (<i>The voice of Iollann +Beag is heard singing. All listen.</i>) That is +his voice.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Art.</span> He always comes singing.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maine.</span> Aye, he sings profane songs in +the very church porch.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ronan.</span> Which is as bad as if one +were to play with jackstones on the church +steps.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> I am glad little Iollann has +come safe.</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>Iollann Beag comes into the cloister singing.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_76'>76</span><span class='sc'>Iollann Beag</span> (<i>sings</i>).</p> + +<div class='lg-container-b'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><a id='tn-ladybird'></a>We watch the wee lady-bird fly far away,</div> + <div class='line'>With an óró and an iero and an úmbó éró.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Art.</span> Hush, Iollann. You are in God’s +place.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Iollann Beag.</span> Does God not like music? +Why then did he make the finches and the +chafers?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maine.</span> Your song is profane.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Iollann Beag.</span> I didn’t know.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> Nay, Maine, no song is profane +unless there be profanity in the heart. But +why do you come so late, Iollann Beag?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Iollann Beag.</span> There was a high oak +tree that I had never climbed. I went up +to its top, and swung myself to the top of +the next tree. I saw the tops of all the +trees like the green waves of the sea.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> Little truant!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Iollann Beag.</span> I am sorry, Master.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> Nay, I am not vext with you. +But you must not climb tall trees again at +lesson time. We have been waiting for +you. Let us begin our lesson, lads. +<span class="sdr"> +<i>He sits down.</i> +</span></p> +<div class="clear"></div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ceallach.</span> Dear Master, I ask you to fly +<span class='pageno' id='Page_77'>77</span>from this place ere the King’s horsemen +close you in.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> My boy, you must not tempt +me. He is a sorry champion who forsakes +his place of battle. This is my place of battle. +You would not have me do a coward thing?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Art.</span> But the King has many horsemen. +It is not cowardly for one to fly before a +host.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> Has not the high God captains +and legions? What are the King’s horsemen +to the heavenly riders?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ceallach.</span> O my dear Master!—</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ronan.</span> Let be, Ceallach. You cannot +move him.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> Of what were we to speak +to-day? +<span class="sdr"> +<i>They have sat down around him.</i> +</span></p> +<div class="clear"></div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Art.</span> You said you would speak of the +friends of Our Lord.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> Aye, I would speak of friendship +and kindly fellowship. Is it not a sad thing +that every good fellowship is broken up? +No league that is made among men has more +than its while, its little, little while. Even +that little league of twelve in Galilee was +broken full soon. The shepherd was struck +and the sheep of the flock scattered. The +<span class='pageno' id='Page_78'>78</span>hardest thing Our dear Lord had to bear +was the scattering of His friends.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Iollann Beag.</span> Were none faithful to +Him?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> One man only and a few women.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Iollann Beag.</span> Who was the man?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ceallach.</span> I know! It was John, the +disciple that He loved.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> Aye, John of the Bosom they +call him, for he was Iosa’s bosom friend. +Can you tell me the names of any others of +His friends?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Art.</span> There was James, his brother.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ronan.</span> There was Lazarus, for whom +He wept.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Breasal</span>. There was Mary, the poor +woman that loved Him.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maine.</span> There was her sister Martha, who +busied herself to make Him comfortable; +and the other Mary.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ceallach.</span> Mary and Martha; but that +other Mary is only a name.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> Nay, she was the mother of the +sons of Zebedee. She stands for all lowly, +hidden women, all the nameless women of +the world who are just the mothers of their +children. And so we name her one of the +<span class='pageno' id='Page_79'>79</span>three great Marys, with poor Mary that +sinned, and with Mary of the Sorrows, the +greatest of the Marys. What other friends +can you tell me of?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Iollann Beag.</span> There was John the Baptist, +His little playmate.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> That is well said. Those two +Johns were good comrades to Iosa.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ronan.</span> There was Thomas.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> Poor, doubting Thomas. I am +glad you did not leave him out.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maine.</span> There was Judas who betrayed +Him.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Art.</span> There was Peter who—</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Iollann Beag.</span> Aye, good Peter of the +Sword!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> Nay, Iollann, it is Paul that +carries a sword.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Iollann Beag.</span> Peter should have a sword, +too. I will not have him cheated of his +sword! It was a good blow he struck!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Breasal.</span> Yet the Lord rebuked him for it.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Iollann Beag.</span> The Lord did wrong to +rebuke him. He was always down on +Peter.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> Peter was fiery, and the Lord +was very gentle.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_80'>80</span><span class='sc'>Iollann Beag.</span> But when He wanted a +rock to build His church on He had to go +to Peter. No John of the Bosom then, but +the old swordsman. Paul must yield his +sword to Peter. I do not like that Paul.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> Paul said many hard things and +many dark things. When you understand +him, Iollann, you will like him.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maine.</span> Let him not arrogate a sword +merely because his head was cut off, and +Iollann will tolerate him.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> Who has brought me a poem +to-day? You were to bring me poems of +Christ’s friends.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Breasal.</span> I have made a Song for Mary +Magdalene. Shall I say it to you?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> Do, Breasal.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Breasal</span> (<i>chants</i>).</p> + +<div class='lg-container-b'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>O woman of the gleaming hair</div> + <div class='line in2'>(Wild hair that won men’s gaze to thee),</div> + <div class='line'>Weary thou turnest from the common stare,</div> + <div class='line in2'>For the <span lang="ga"><i>shuiler</i></span> Christ is calling thee.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>O woman, of the snowy side,</div> + <div class='line in2'>Many a lover hath lain with thee,</div> + <div class='line'>Yet left thee sad at the morning tide;</div> + <div class='line in2'>But thy lover Christ shall comfort thee.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_81'>81</span>O woman with the wild thing’s heart,</div> + <div class='line in2'>Old sin hath set a snare for thee;</div> + <div class='line'>In the forest ways forspent thou art,</div> + <div class='line in2'>But the hunter Christ shall pity thee.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>O woman spendthrift of thyself,</div> + <div class='line in2'>Spendthrift of all the love in thee,</div> + <div class='line'>Sold unto sin for little pelf,</div> + <div class='line in2'>The captain Christ shall ransom thee.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>O woman that no lover’s kiss</div> + <div class='line in2'>(Tho’ many a kiss was given thee)</div> + <div class='line'>Could slake thy love, is it not for this</div> + <div class='line in2'>The hero Christ shall die for thee?</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> That is a good song, Breasal. +What you have said is true, that love is a +very great thing. I do not think faith will +be denied to him that loves…. +Iollann was to make me a song to-day, too.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Iollann Beag.</span> I have made only a little +rann. I couldn’t think of rhymes for a +big song.</p> + +<p class='c009'><a id='tn-ciaran'></a><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> What do you call your rann?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Iollann Beag.</span> It is the Rann of the +Little Playmate. It is a rann that John the +Baptist made when he was on the way to +Iosa’s house one day.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> Sing it to us, Iollann.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_82'>82</span><span class='sc'>Iollann</span> (<i>sings</i>):</p> + +<div class='lg-container-b'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>Young Iosa plays with me every day</div> + <div class='line in2'>(<i>With an <span lang="ga">óró</span> and an <span lang="ga">iero</span></i>)</div> + <div class='line'>Tig and Pookeen and Hide-in-the-Hay</div> + <div class='line in2'>(<i>With an <span lang="ga">óró</span> and an <span lang="ga">iero</span>.</i>)</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>We race in the river with otters gray,</div> + <div class='line in2'>We climb the tall trees where red squirrels play,</div> + <div class='line'>We watch the wee lady-bird fly far away,</div> + <div class='line in2'>(<i>With an <span lang="ga">óró</span> and an <span lang="ga">iero</span> and an <span lang="ga">imbó éro</span></i>).</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class="sdr"> +<i>A knocking is heard.</i> +</span></p> +<div class="clear"></div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> Run and open the postern, +Iollann.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ceallach.</span> Master, this may be the +King’s people.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> If it be, Iollann will let them +in. +<span class="sdr"> +<i>Iollann Beag goes to the door.</i> +</span></p> +<div class="clear"></div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ceallach.</span> Why have good men such +pride?</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>A King’s Messenger appears upon the +threshold. Iollann Beag holds the curtain of +the door while the Messenger speaks.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Messenger.</span> Who in this house is +Ciaran?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> I am Ciaran.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_83'>83</span><span class='sc'>The Messenger.</span> I bring you greeting +from the King.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> Take back to him my greeting.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Messenger.</span> The King has come to +make the hunting of this wood.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> It is the King’s privilege to +hunt the woods of the cantred.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Messenger.</span> Not far from here is +a green glade of the forest in which the +King with his nobles and good men, his +gillies and his runners, has sat down to meat.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> May it be a merry sitting for +them.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Messenger.</span> It has seemed to the +King an unroyal thing to taste of the cheer +of this greenwood while he is at enmity +with you; for he has remembered the old +saying that friendship is more welcome at +meat than ale or music. Therefore, he has +sent me to say to you that he has put all +enmity out of his heart, and that in token +thereof he invites you to share his forest +feast, such as it is, you and your pupils.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> The King is kind. I would +like well to come to him, but my rule +forbids me to leave this house.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Messenger.</span> The King will take +<span class='pageno' id='Page_84'>84</span>badly any refusal. It is not usual to refuse +a King’s invitation.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> When I came to this place, after +journeying many long roads of land and sea, +I said to myself: “I will abide here henceforth, +this shall be the sod of my death.” +And I made a vow to live in this little +cloister alone, or with a few pupils, I who +had been restless and a wanderer, and a +seeker after difficult things; the King will +not grudge me the loneliness of my cloister.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Messenger.</span> I will say all this to the +King. These lads will come with me?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> Will ye go to the King’s feast, lads?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Breasal.</span> May we go, Master.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> I will not gainsay you.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Maine.</span> It will be a great thing to sit at +the King’s table.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ceallach.</span> Master, it may turn aside the +King’s displeasure for your not going if we +go in your name. We may, perchance, +bring the King here, and peace will be +bound between you.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> May God be near you in the +places to which you go.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ceallach.</span> I am loath to leave you alone, +Master.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_85'>85</span><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> Little Iollann will stay with +me. Will you not, little Iollann.</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>Iollann Beag looks yearningly towards the +Messenger and the others as if he would fain +go; then he turns to Ciaran.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Iollann Beag.</span> I will.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran</span> (<i>caressing him</i>). That is my +good little lad.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Art.</span> We will bring you back some of +the King’s mead, Iollann.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Iollann Beag.</span> Bring me some of his +apples and his hazel-nuts.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ronan.</span> We will, and, maybe, a roast +capon, or a piece of venison.</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>They all go out laughing. Ceallach turns +back in the door.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ceallach.</span> Good-bye, Master.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> May you go safe, lad. (<i>To +Iollann</i>). You are my whole school now, +Iollann.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Iollann</span> (<i>sitting down at his knee</i>). Do +you think the King will come here?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> Yes, I think he will come.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Iollann.</span> I would like to see him. Is he +a great, tall man?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> I have not seen him for a long +time; not since he and I were lads.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_86'>86</span><span class='sc'>Iollann.</span> Were you friends?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> We were fostered together.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Iollann.</span> Is he a wicked King?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> No; he has ruled this country +well. His people love him. They have +gone into many perilous places with him, +and he has never failed them.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Iollann.</span> Why then does he hate you? +Why do Ceallach and the others fear that +he may do you harm?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> For twenty years Daire and I +have stood over against each other. When +we were at school we were rivals for the +first place. I was first in all manly games; +Daire was first in learning. Everyone said +“Ciaran will be a great warrior and Daire +will be a great poet or a great teacher.” +And yet it has not been so. I was nearly +as good as he in learning, and he was nearly +as good as I in manly feats. I said that I +would be his master in all things, and he +said that he would be my master. And we +strove one against the other.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Iollann Beag.</span> Why did you want to be +his master?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> I do not know. I thought that +I should be happy if I were first and Daire +<span class='pageno' id='Page_87'>87</span>only second. But Daire was always first. +I sought out difficult things to do that I +might become a better man than he: I went +into far countries and won renown among +strange peoples, but very little wealth and +no happiness; I sailed into seas that no man +before me had sailed into, and saw islands +that only God and the angels had seen +before me; I learned outland tongues and +read the books of many peoples and their +old lore; and when I came back to my own +country I found that Daire was its king, +and that all men loved him. Me they had +forgotten.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Iollann Beag.</span> Were you sad when you +came home and found that you were forgotten?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> No, I was glad. I said, “This +is a hard thing that I have found to do, to +live lonely and unbeloved among my own +kin. Daire has not done anything as hard as +this.” In one of the cities that I had sailed +to I had heard of the true, illustrious God, +and of men who had gone out from warm +and pleasant houses, and from the kindly +faces of neighbours to live in desert places, +where God walked alone and terrible; and +I said that I would do that hard thing, +<span class='pageno' id='Page_88'>88</span>though I would fain have stayed in my +father’s house. And so I came into this +wilderness, where I have lived for seven +years. For a few years I was alone; then +pupils began to come to me. By-and-bye +the druids gave out word that I was teaching +new things and breaking established custom; +and the King has forbade my teaching, and +I have not desisted, and so he and I stand +opposed as of old.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Iollann Beag.</span> You will win this time, +little Master.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> I think so; I hope so, dear. +(<i>Aside.</i>) I would I could say “I know so.” +This seems to me the hardest thing I have +tried to do. Can a soldier fight for a cause +of which he is not sure? Can a teacher die +for a thing he does not believe?… +Forgive me, Lord! It is my weakness that +cries out. I believe, I believe; help my +unbelief. (<i>To Iollann Beag.</i>) Why do you +think I shall win this time, Iollann,—I who +have always lost?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Iollann Beag.</span> Because God’s great angels +will fight for you. Will they not?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> Yes, I think they will. All that +old chivalry stands harnessed in Heaven.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_89'>89</span><span class='sc'>Iollann Beag.</span> Will they not come if you +call them?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> Yes, they will come. (<i>Aside.</i>) +Is it a true thing I tell this child or do I lie +to him? Will they come at my call? Will +they come at my call? My spirit reaches +out and finds Heaven empty. The great +halls stand horseless and riderless. I have +called to you, O riders, and I have not heard +the thunder of your coming. The multitudinous, +many-voiced sea and the green, quiet +earth have each its children, but where are +the sons of Heaven? Where in all this +temple of the world, this dim and wondrous +temple, does its God lurk?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Iollann Beag.</span> And would they come if +I were to call them—old Peter, and the +Baptist John, and Michael and his riders?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> We are taught that if one calls +them with faith they will come.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Iollann Beag.</span> Could I see them and +speak to them?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> If it were necessary for any dear +purpose of God’s, as to save a soul that were +in peril, we are taught that they would come +in bodily presence, and that one could see +them and speak to them.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_90'>90</span><span class='sc'>Iollann Beag.</span> If the soul of any dear +friend of mine be ever in peril I will call +upon them. I will say, “Baptist John, +Baptist John, attend him. Good Peter of +the Sword, strike valiantly. Young Michael, +stand near with all the heroes of Heaven!”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran</span> (<i>aside</i>). If the soul of any dear +friend of his were in peril! The peril is +near! The peril is near!</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>A knock at the postern; Iollann Beag +looks towards Ciaran.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> Run, Iollann, and see who +knocks. (<i>Iollann Beag goes out.</i>) I have +looked back over the journey of my life as a +man at evening might look back from a +hill on the roads he had travelled since +morning. I have seen with a great clearness +as if I had left this green, dim wood and +climbed to the top of that far hill I have +seen from me for seven years now, yet never +climbed. And I see that all my wayfaring +has been in vain. A man may not escape +from that which is in himself. A man shall +not find his quest unless he kill the dearest +thing he has. I thought that I was sacrificing +everything, but I have not sacrificed the old +pride of my heart. I chose self-abnegation, +<span class='pageno' id='Page_91'>91</span>not out of humility, but out of pride: +and God, that terrible hidden God, has +punished me by withholding from me His +most precious gift of faith. Faith comes to +the humble only…. Nay, Lord, I +believe: this is but a temptation. Thou, +too, wast tempted. Thou, too, wast forsaken. +O valiant Christ, give me Thy strength! +My need is great. +<span class="sdr"> +<i>Iollann Beag returns.</i> +</span></p> +<div class="clear"></div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Iollann Beag.</span> There is a warrior at the +door, Master, that asks a shelter. He says +he has lost his way in the wood.</p> + +<p class='c009'><a id='tn-bidhim'></a><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> Bid him to come in, Iollann. +(<i>Iollann Beag goes to the door again.</i>) I, too, +have lost my way. I am like one that has +trodden intricate forest paths that have crossed +and recrossed and never led him to any +homestead; or like a mariner that has +voyaged on a shoreless sea yearning for a +glimpse of green earth, yet never descrying +it. If I could find some little place to rest, +if I could but lie still at last after so much +wayfaring, after such clamour of loud-voiced +winds, methinks that would be to +find God; for is not God quiet, is not God +peace? But always I go on with a cry as +of baying winds or of vociferous hounds +<span class='pageno' id='Page_92'>92</span>about me…. They say the King +hunts me to-day: but the King is not so +terrible a hunter as the desires and the doubts +of a man’s heart. The King I can meet unafraid, +but who is not afraid of himself? +(<i>Daire enters, wrapped in a long mantle, and +stands a little within the threshold: Iollann +Beag behind him. Ciaran looks fixedly at him; +then speaks.</i>) You have hunted well to-day, +O Daire!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daire.</span> I am famed as a hunter.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> When I was a young man I said, +“I will strive with the great untamed +elements, with the ancient, illimitable sea +and the anarchic winds;” you, in the manner +of Kings, have warred with timid, furtive +creatures, and it has taught you only cruelty +and craft.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daire.</span> What has your warfare taught +you? I do not find you changed, Ciaran. +Your old pride but speaks a new language…. +I am, as you remind me, only a +King; but I have been a good King. Have +you been a good teacher?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> My pupils must answer.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daire.</span> Where are your pupils?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> True; they are not here.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_93'>93</span><span class='sc'>Daire.</span> They are at an ale-feast in my +tent…. (<i>Coming nearer to Ciaran.</i>) +I have not come to taunt you, Ciaran. +Nor should you taunt me. You seem to +me to have spent your life pursuing shadows +that fled before you; yea, pursuing ghosts +over wide spaces and through the devious +places of the world: and I pity you for the +noble manhood you have wasted. I seem +to you to have spent my life busy with the +little, vulgar tasks and the little, vulgar +pleasures of a King: and you pity me because +I have not adventured, because I have not +been tried, because I have not suffered as +you have. It should be sufficient triumph +for each of us that each pities the other.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> You speak gently, Daire; and +you speak wisely. You were always wise. +And yet, methinks, you are wrong. There +is a deeper antagonism between you and me +than you are aware of. It is not merely +that the little things about you, the little, +foolish, mean, discordant things of a man’s +life, have satisfied you, and that I have been +discontent, seeking things remote and holy +and perilous—</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daire.</span> Ghosts, ghosts!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_94'>94</span><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> Nay, they alone are real; or, +rather, it alone is real. For though its +names be many, its substance is one. One +man will call it happiness, another will call +it beauty, a third will call it holiness, a +fourth will call it rest. I have sought it +under all its names.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daire.</span> What is it that you have sought?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> I have sought truth.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daire.</span> And have you found truth? +(<i>Ciaran bows his head in dejection.</i>) Ciaran, +was it worth your while to give up all goodly +life to follow that mocking phantom? I do +not say that a man should not renounce ease. +I have not loved ease. But I have loved +power, and victory, and life, and men, and +women, and the gracious sun. He who +renounces these things to follow a phantom +across a world has given his all for nothing.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> Is not the mere quest often worth +while, even if the thing quested be never +found?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daire.</span> And so you have not found your +quest?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> You lay subtle traps for me in +your speeches, Daire. It was your way at +school when we disputed.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_95'>95</span><span class='sc'>Daire.</span> Kings must be subtle. It is by +craft we rule…. Ciaran, for the +shadow you have pursued I offer you a +substance; in place of vain journeying I +invite you to rest…. If you make +your peace with me you shall be the second +man in my kingdom.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran</span> (<i>in scorn and wrath</i>). The second +man!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daire.</span> There speaks your old self, Ciaran. +I did not mean to wound you. I am the +King, chosen by the people to rule and lead. +I could not, even if I would, place you above +me; but I will place you at my right hand.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> You would bribe me with this +petty honour?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daire.</span> No. I would gain you for the +service of your people. What other service +should a man take upon him?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> I told you that you did not +understand the difference between you and +me. May one not serve the people by +bearing testimony in their midst to a true +thing even as by feeding them with +bread?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daire.</span> Again you prate of truth. Are +you fond enough to think that what has not +<span class='pageno' id='Page_96'>96</span>imposed even upon your pupils will impose +upon me?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> My pupils believe. You must +not wrong them, Daire.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daire.</span> Are you sure of them?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> Yes, I am sure. (<i>Aside.</i>) Yet +sometimes I thought that that gibing Maine +did not believe. It may be—</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daire.</span> Where are your pupils? Why +are they not here to stand by you in your +bitter need?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> You enticed them from me by +guile.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daire.</span> I invited them; they came. You +could not keep them, Ciaran. Think you my +young men would have left me, in similar +case? Their bodies would have been my +bulwark against a host.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> You hint unspeakable things.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daire.</span> I do but remind you that you +have to-day no disciples; (<i>smiling</i>) except, +perhaps, this little lad. Come, I will win +him from you with an apple.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> You shall not tempt him!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daire</span> (<i>laughing</i>). Ciaran, you stand confessed: +you have no faith in your disciples; +methinks you have no faith in your religion.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_97'>97</span><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> You are cruel, Daire. You were +not so cruel when we were lads.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daire.</span> You have come into my country +preaching to my people new things, incredible +things, things you dare not believe yourself. +I will not have this lie preached to men. If +your religion be true, you must give me a +sign of its truth.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> It is true, it is true!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daire.</span> Give me a sign. Nay, show me +that you yourself believe. Call upon your +God to reveal Himself. I do not trust these +skulking gods.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> Who am I to ask that great +Mystery to unveil Its face? Who are you +that a miracle should be wrought for you?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daire.</span> This is not an answer. So priests +ever defend their mysteries. I will not be +put off as one would put off a child that +asks questions. Lo, here I bare my sword +against God; lo, here I lift up my shield. +Let one of his great captains come down to +answer the challenge!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> This the bragging of a fool.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daire.</span> Nor does that answer me. Ciaran, +you are in my power. My young men +surround this house. Yours are at an ale-feast.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_98'>98</span><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> O wise and far-seeing King! +You have planned all well.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daire.</span> There is a watcher at every door +of your house. There a tracker on every +path of the forest. The wild boar crouches +in his lair for fear of the men that fill +this wood. Three rings of champions ring +round the tent in which your pupils feast. +Your God had need to show Himself +a God!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> Nay, slay me, Daire. I will +bear testimony with my life.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daire.</span> What will that prove? Men die +for false things, for ridiculous things, for +evil things. What vile cause has not its +heroes? Though you were to die here with +joy and laughter you would not prove +your cause a true one. Ciaran, let God +send down an angel to stand between you +and me.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> Do you think that to save my +poor life Omnipotence will display Itself?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daire.</span> Who talks of your life? It is +your soul that is at stake, and mine, and this +little boy’s, and the souls of all this nation, +born and unborn.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran</span> (<i>aside</i>). He speaks true.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_99'>99</span><span class='sc'>Daire.</span> Nay, I will put you to the proof. +(<i>To Iollann.</i>) Come hither, child. (<i>Iollann +Beag approaches.</i>) He is daintily fashioned, +Ciaran, this last little pupil of yours. I +swear to you that he shall die unless your +God sends down an angel to rescue him. +Kneel boy. (<i>Iollann Beag kneels.</i>) Speak +now, if God has ears to hear. +<span class="sdr"> +<i>He raises his sword.</i> +</span></p> +<div class="clear"></div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Ciaran</span> (<i>aside</i>). I dare not speak. My +God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Iollann Beag.</span> Fear not, little Master, I +remember the word you taught me…. +Young Michael, stand near me!</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>The figure of a mighty Warrior, winged, +and clothed in light, seems to stand beside the +boy. Ciaran bends on one knee.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daire.</span> Who art thou, O Soldier?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Michael.</span> I am he that waiteth at the +portal. I am he that hasteneth. I am he that +rideth before the squadron. I am he that +holdeth a shield over the retreat of man’s +host when Satan cometh in war. I am he +that turneth and smiteth. I am he that is +Captain of the Host of God. +<span class="sdr"> +<i>Daire bends slowly on one knee.</i> +</span></p> +<div class="clear"></div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_100'>100</span><span class='sc'>Ciaran.</span> The Seraphim and the Cherubim +stand horsed. I hear the thunder of their +coming…. O Splendour! +<span class="sdr"> +<i>He falls forward, dead.</i> +</span></p> +<div class="clear"></div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c001'> + <div><span class='small'>CURTAIN</span></div> + </div> +</div> + +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_101'>101</span></div> +<div class='chapter' id='link-iosagan-1'> + +<div> + <h2 class='c004'>IOSAGAN</h2> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c000'> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c000'> + <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_102'>102</span><i>CHARACTERS</i></div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='dramatis'> + +<div class='lg-container-l c012'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Iosagan</span></div> + <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Old Matthias</span></div> + <div class='line'><span class='sc'>The Priest</span></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +</div> + +<p class='c008'><span class='sc'>Boys</span>:—<span class='sc'>Daragh</span>, <span class='sc'>Padraic</span>, <span class='sc'>Coilin</span>, <span class='sc'>Cuimin</span>, +<span class='sc'>Feichin</span>, <span class='sc'>Eoghan</span></p> + +<p class='c008'><i>Daragh and Padraic are a little older than +the other boys</i></p> + +<p class='c008'><i>PLACE—A sea-strand beside a village +in Iar-Connacht</i></p> + +<p class='c008'><i>TIME—The present</i></p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c013'><a id='tn-iosa'></a><span class='small'><span class='sc'><span lang="ga">Iosagan</span></span>, loving diminutive of <b><span lang="ga">Íosa</span></b>; “Jesukin” +(“<b><span lang="ga">Ísuccán</span></b>”) is the name of the Child Jesus in the +exquisite hymn attributed to St. Ita, b. 470, d. 580, +<span class='fss'>A.D.</span>—<i>Author’s Note.</i></span></p> + +</div> +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c000'> + <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_103'>103</span><span class='large'>IOSAGAN</span></div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c001'> + <div>SCENE I</div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>A sea-strand beside a village in Iar-Connacht. +A house on the right-hand side. +The sound of a bell comes east, very clearly. +The door of the house is opened. An aged +man, old Matthias, comes out on the door-flag +and stands for a spell looking down the road. +He sits then on a chair that is outside the door, +his two hands gripping a stick, his head bent, +and he listening attentively to the sound of the +bell. The bell stops ringing. Daragh, +Padraic and Coilin come up from the sea +and they putting on their share of clothes after +bathing.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daragh</span> (<i>stretching his finger towards the +sea</i>). The flowers are white in the fisherman’s +garden.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Padraic.</span> They are, <span lang="ga"><i>muise</i></span>.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Coilin.</span> Where are they?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_104'>104</span><span class='sc'>Daragh.</span> See them out on the sea.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Coilin.</span> Those are not white flowers. +Those are white horses.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daragh.</span> They’re like white flowers.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Coilin.</span> No; Old Matthias says those are +the white horses that go galloping across the +sea from the Other Country.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Padraic.</span> I heard Iosagan saying they +were flowers.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Coilin.</span> What way would flowers grow +on the sea?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Padraic.</span> And what way would horses +travel on the sea?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Coilin.</span> Easy, if they were fairy horses +would be in them.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Padraic.</span> And wouldn’t flowers grow on +the sea as easy, if they were fairy flowers +would be in them? Isn’t it often you saw +the water-lilies on Loch Ellery? And +couldn’t they grow on the sea as well as on +the lake?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Coilin.</span> I don’t know if they could.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Padraic.</span> They could, <span lang="ga"><i>muise</i></span>.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daragh.</span> The sea was fine to-day, lad.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Coilin.</span> It was, but it was devilish cold.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Padraic.</span> Why wouldn’t you be cold +when you’d only go into your knees?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_105'>105</span><span class='sc'>Coilin.</span> By my word, I was afraid the +waves would knock me down if I’d go in +any further. They were terrible big.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daragh.</span> That’s what I like, lad. Do +you mind yon terrible big one that came +over our heads?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Padraic.</span> Aye, and Coilin screaming out +he was drowned.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Coilin.</span> It went down my throat; it did +that, and it nearly smothered me.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Padraic.</span> Sure, you had your mouth +open, and you shouting. It would be a queer +story if it didn’t go down your throat.</p> + +<p class='c009'><a id='tn-yonone'></a><span class='sc'>Coilin.</span> Yon one gave me enough. I +kept out of their way after that.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daragh.</span> Have the other lads on them yet?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Padraic.</span> Aye. Here they are.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Coilin.</span> Look at Feichin’s hair!</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>Feichin, Eoghan and Cuimin come up from +the sea and they drying their hair.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> What’ll we play to-day?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Coilin.</span> “Blind Man’s Buff!”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Padraic.</span> Ara, shut up, yourself and your +“Blind Man’s Buff.”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Coilin.</span> “High Gates,” then!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Padraic.</span> No. We’re tired of those +“High Gates.”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_106'>106</span><span class='sc'>Daragh.</span> “Hide and Seek!”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Feichin.</span> Away!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Eoghan.</span> “Fox and Chickens!”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Coilin.</span> No. We’ll play “<span lang="ga"><i>Lúrabóg +Lárabóg</i></span>.”</p> + +<p class='c009'><a id='tn-lurabog'></a><span class='sc'>Padraic.</span> I’ll make a <span lang="ga"><i>lúrabóg</i></span> of you!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Coilin.</span> You do be always at me, Padraic. +(<i>Padraic catches hold of him.</i>) Listen to me, +will you?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> Ara, listen to him, Padraic.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daragh.</span> Listen to him. +<span class="sdr"> +<i>Padraic lets him go.</i> +</span></p> +<div class="clear"></div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Coilin.</span> Speak yourself, Padraic, if you +won’t give leave to anyone else.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Padraic.</span> Let’s jump!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Eoghan.</span> Let’s jump! Let’s jump!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daragh.</span> I’ll bet I’ll beat you, Padraic.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Padraic.</span> At jumping, is it?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daragh.</span> Aye.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Padraic.</span> Didn’t I beat you the day +before yesterday at the School Rock?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daragh.</span> I’ll bet you won’t beat me +to-day. Will you try?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Padraic.</span> I won’t. My feet are sore. (<i>The +other boys begin laughing; Padraic speaks with +a shamed face.</i>) I’d rather play ball.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Eoghan.</span> Ball! Ball!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_107'>107</span><span class='sc'>Daragh.</span> Has anybody a ball?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> And if they had, itself, where +would we play?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Padraic.</span> Against Old Matthias’s gable-end. +There’s no nicer place to be found.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Coilin.</span> Who has the ball?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> My soul, I haven’t it.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daragh.</span> No, nor I.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Padraic.</span> You yourself, Coilin, had it on +Friday.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Coilin.</span> By my word, didn’t the master +grab it where I was hopping it in the school +at Catechism?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Feichin.</span> True for you, lad.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> My soul, but I thought he’d give +you the rod that time.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Coilin.</span> He would, too, only he was +expecting the priest to come in.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daragh.</span> It’s the ball he wanted. He’ll +have a game with the peelers to-day after +Mass.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Padraic.</span> My soul, but he will, and it’s +he can beat the peelers, too.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daragh.</span> He can’t beat the sergeant. +The sergeant’s the best man of them all. +He beat Hoskins and the red man together +last Sunday.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_108'>108</span><span class='sc'>Feichin.</span> Ara, stop! Did he beat them?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daragh.</span> He did, <span lang="ga"><i>muise</i></span>. The red man +was raging, and the master and the peelers +all laughing at him.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Padraic.</span> I bet the master will beat the +sergeant.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daragh.</span> I’ll bet he won’t.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Padraic.</span> Do ye hear him?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daragh.</span> I’ll bet the sergeant can beat +any man in this country.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Padraic.</span> Ara, how do you know whether +he can or not?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daragh.</span> I know well he can. Don’t +I be always watching them?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Padraic.</span> You don’t know!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daragh.</span> I do know! It’s I that know +it!</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>They threaten each other. A quarrel +arises among the boys, a share of them saying, +<em>“The sergeant’s the best!”</em> and others, +<em>“The master’s best!”</em> Old Matthias +gets up to listen to them. He comes forward, +twisted and bent in his body, and barely able +to drag his feet along. He speaks to them +quietly, laying his hand on Daragh’s head.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> O! O! O! My shame +ye are!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_109'>109</span><span class='sc'>Padraic.</span> This fellow says the master +can’t beat the sergeant playing ball.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daragh.</span> By my word, wouldn’t the +sergeant beat anybody at all in this country, +Matthias?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> Never mind the sergeant. +Look at that lonesome wild goose that’s +making on us over Loch Ellery! Look! +<span class="sdr"> +<i>All the boys look up.</i> +</span></p> +<div class="clear"></div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Padraic.</span> I see it, by my soul!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daragh.</span> Where’s she coming from, +Matthias?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> From the Eastern World. +I would say she has travelled a thousand +miles since she left her nest in the lands to +the north.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Coilin.</span> The poor thing. And where will +she drop?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> To Aran she’ll go, it’s a +chance. See her now out over the sea. +My love you are, lonesome wild goose!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Coilin.</span> Tell us a story, Matthias.</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>He sits on a stone by the strand-edge, and +the boys gather round him.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> What story shall I tell?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Feichin.</span> “The Adventures of the Grey +Horse!”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_110'>110</span><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> “The Hen-Harrier and the +Wren!”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Padraic.</span> “The Two-Headed Giant!”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Coilin.</span> “The Adventures of the Piper +in the Snail’s Castle!”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Eoghan.</span> Aye, by my soul, “The Adventures +of the Piper in the Snail’s Castle!”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Boys</span> (<i>with one voice</i>). “The Adventures +of the Piper in the Snail’s Castle!”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> I’ll do that. “There was a +Snail in it long ago, and it’s long since it +was. If we’d been there that time, we +wouldn’t be here now; and if we were, +itself, we’d have a new story or an old +story, and that’s better than to be without +e’er a story at all. The Castle this Snail +lived in was the finest that man’s eye ever saw. +It was greater entirely, and it was a thousand +times richer than Meave’s Castle in Rath +Cruachan, or than the Castle of the High-King +of Ireland itself in Tara of the Kings. +This Snail made love to a Spider—”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Coilin.</span> No, Matthias, wasn’t it to a +Granny’s Needle he made love?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> My soul, but you’re right. +What’s coming on me?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Padraic.</span> Go on, Matthias.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_111'>111</span><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> “This Nettle-Worm was +very comely entirely—”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Feichin.</span> What’s the Nettle-Worm, +Matthias?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> Why, the Nettle-Worm he +made love to.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> But I thought it was to a +Granny’s Needle he made love.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> Was it? The story’s going +from me. “This Piper was in love with +the daughter of the King of Connacht—”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Eoghan.</span> But you didn’t mention the +Piper yet, Matthias!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> Didn’t I! “The Piper +…” yes, by my soul, the Piper—I’m +losing my memory. Look here, neighbours, +we won’t meddle with the story +to-day. Let’s have a song.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Coilin.</span> “Hi diddle dum!”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> Are ye satisfied?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Boys.</span> We are.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> I’ll do that. (<i>He sings the +following rhyme</i>):</p> + +<div class='versed'> + +<div class='lg-container-l c016'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>“Hi diddle dum, the cat and his mother,</div> + <div class='line'> That went to Galway riding a drake.”</div> + <div class='line in2'><span class='sc'>The Boys.</span> And hi diddle dum!</div> + <div class='line in2'><span class='pageno' id='Page_112'>112</span><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span></div> + <div class='line'>“Hi diddle dum, the rain came pelting,</div> + <div class='line'> And drenched to the skin the cat and his mother.”</div> + <div class='line in2'><span class='sc'>The Boys.</span> And hi diddle dum!</div> + <div class='line in2'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span></div> + <div class='line'>“Hi diddle dum, ’twas like in the deluge</div> + <div class='line'> The cat and his mother would both be drownded.”</div> + <div class='line in2'><span class='sc'>The Boys.</span> And hi diddle dum!</div> + <div class='line in2'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span></div> + <div class='line'>“Hi diddle dum, my jewel the drake was,</div> + <div class='line'> That carried his burden—”</div> + <div class='line in2'><span class='sc'>Coilin.</span> Swimming—</div> + <div class='line in2'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> Good man, Coilin.</div> + <div class='line'>“That carried his burden swimming to Galway.”</div> + <div class='line in2'><span class='sc'>The Boys.</span> And hi diddle dum!</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +</div> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>Old Matthias shakes his head wearily; +he speaks in a sad voice.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> My songs are going from +me, neighbours. I’m like an old fiddle +that’s lost all its strings.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> Haven’t you the “<span lang="ga"><cite>Báidín</cite></span>” +always, Matthias?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> I have, my soul; I have it +as long as I’m living. I won’t lose the +<span class='pageno' id='Page_113'>113</span>“<span lang="ga"><cite>Báidín</cite></span>” till I’m stretched in the clay. +Shall we have it?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Boys.</span> Aye.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> Are ye ready to go rowing?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Boys.</span> We are!</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>They order themselves as they would be +rowing. Old Matthias sings these verses.</i></p> + +</div> + +<div class='versed'> + +<div class='lg-container-l c016'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line in2'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span></div> + <div class='line'>“I will hang a sail, and I will go west.”</div> + <div class='line in2'><span class='sc'>The Boys.</span> <span lang="ga"><i>Oró, mo churaichín, O!</i></span></div> + <div class='line in2'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span></div> + <div class='line'>“And till St. John’s Day I will not rest.”</div> + <div class='line in2'><span class='sc'>The Boys.</span> <span lang="ga"><i>Oró, mo churaichín, O!</i></span></div> + <div class='line in2'><span class="hidden"><span class='sc'>The Boys.</span></span> <span lang="ga"><i>Oró, mo churaichín, O!</i></span></div> + <div class='line in2'><span class="hidden"><span class='sc'>The Boys.</span></span> <span lang="ga"><i>’S óró, mo bháidín!</i></span></div> + <div class='line in2'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span></div> + <div class='line'>“Isn’t it fine, my little boat, sailing on the bay.”</div> + <div class='line in2'><span class='sc'>The Boys.</span> <span lang="ga"><i>Oró, mo churaichín, O!</i></span></div> + <div class='line in2'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> “The oars pulling—”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +</div> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>He stops suddenly, and puts his hand to +his head.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Padraic.</span> What’s on you, Matthias?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Eoghan.</span> Are you sick, Matthias?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> Something that came on my +head. It’s nothing. What’s this I was +saying?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_114'>114</span><span class='sc'>Coilin.</span> You were saying the “<span lang="ga"><cite>Báidín</cite></span>,” +Matthias, but don’t mind if you don’t feel +well. Are you sick?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> Sick? By my word, I’m +not sick. What would make me sick? +We’ll start again:</p> + +<div class='versed'> + +<div class='lg-container-l c016'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>“Isn’t it fine, my little boat, sailing on the bay.”</div> + <div class='line in2'><span class='sc'>The Boys.</span> <span lang="ga"><i>Oró, mo churaichín, O!</i></span></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +</div> + +<p class='c017'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> “The oars pulling strongly—” (<i>He stops again.</i>) Neighbours, the “<span lang="ga"><cite>Báidín</cite></span>” +itself is gone from me. (<i>They remain silent +for a spell, the old man sitting and his head +bent on his breast, and the boys looking on him +sorrowfully. The old man speaks with a start.</i>) +Are those the people coming home from +Mass?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> No. They won’t be free for +a half hour yet.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Coilin.</span> Why don’t you go to Mass, +Matthias?</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>The old man rises up and puts his hand +to his head again. He speaks angrily at +first, and after that softly.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> Why don’t I go?… I’m +not good enough. By my word, God +<span class='pageno' id='Page_115'>115</span>wouldn’t hear me…. What’s this I’m +saying?… (<i>He laughs.</i>) And I have +lost the “<span lang="ga"><cite>Báidín</cite></span>,” do ye say? Amn’t I the +pitiful object without my “<span lang="ga"><cite>Báidín</cite></span>!”</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>He hobbles slowly across the road. Coilin +rises and puts his shoulder under the old +man’s hand to support him. The boys begin +playing “jackstones” quietly. Old Matthias +sits on the chair again, and Coilin returns. +Daragh speaks in a low voice.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daragh.</span> There’s something on Old +Matthias to-day. He never forgot the +“<span lang="ga"><cite>Báidín</cite></span>” before.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> I heard my father saying to my +mother, the other night, that it’s not long +he has to live.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Coilin.</span> Do you think is he very old?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Padraic.</span> Why did you put that question +on him about the Mass? Don’t you know +he hasn’t been seen at Mass in the memory +of the people?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daragh.</span> I heard Old Cuimin Enda +saying to my father that he himself saw +Old Matthias at Mass when he was a +youth.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Coilin.</span> Do you know why he doesn’t +go to Mass now?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_116'>116</span><span class='sc'>Padraic</span> (<i>in a whisper</i>). It’s said he +doesn’t believe there’s a God.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> I heard Father Sean Eamonn +saying it’s the way he did some terrible +sin at the start of his life, and when +the priest wouldn’t give him absolution in +confession there came a raging anger on +him, and he swore an oath he wouldn’t +touch priest or chapel for ever again.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daragh.</span> That’s not how I heard it. +One night when I was in bed the old people +were talking and whispering by the fireside, +and I heard Maire of the Bridge saying to the +other old women that it’s the way Matthias +sold his soul to some Great Man he met +once on the top of Cnoc-a’-Daimh, and that +this Man wouldn’t allow him to go to +Mass.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Padraic.</span> Do you think was it the devil +he saw?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daragh.</span> I don’t know. A “Great +Man,” said Maire of the Bridge.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> I wouldn’t believe a word of it. +Sure, if Matthias sold his soul to the devil +it must be he’s a wicked person.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Padraic.</span> He’s not a wicked person, +<span lang="ga"><i>muise</i></span>. Don’t you mind the day Iosagan +<span class='pageno' id='Page_117'>117</span>said that his father told him Matthias would +be among the saints on the Day of the +Mountain?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> I mind it well.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Coilin.</span> Where’s Iosagan from us to-day?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daragh.</span> He never comes when there +does be a grown person watching us.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> Wasn’t he here a week ago +to-day when old Matthias was watching us?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daragh.</span> Was he?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> He was.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Padraic.</span> Aye, and a fortnight to-day, as +well.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Daragh.</span> There’s a chance he’ll come +to-day, then. +<span class="sdr"> +<i>Cuimin rises and looks east.</i> +</span></p> +<div class="clear"></div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> O, see, he’s coming.</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>Iosagan enters—a little, brown-haired boy, +a white coat on him, and he without shoes or +cap like the other boys. The boys welcome +him.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Boys.</span> God save you, Iosagan!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Iosagan.</span> God and Mary save you!</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>He sits among them, a hand of his about +Daragh’s neck; the boys begin playing again, +gently, without noise or quarrelling. Iosagan +joins in the game. Matthias rises with a +start on the coming of Iosagan, and stands +<span class='pageno' id='Page_118'>118</span>gazing at him. After they have played for +a spell he comes towards them, and then +stands again and calls over to Coilin.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> Coilin!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Coilin.</span> What do you want?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> Come here to me. (<i>Coilin rises +and goes to him.</i>) Who is that boy I see among +you this fortnight back—he, yonder, with +the brown head on him—but take care it’s +not red he is; I don’t know is it black or +is it fair he is, the way the sun is burning +on him? Do you see him—him that has +his arm about Daragh’s neck?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Coilin.</span> That’s Iosagan.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> Iosagan?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Coilin.</span> That’s the name he gives himself.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> Who are his people?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Coilin.</span> I don’t know, but he says his +father’s a king.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> Where does he live?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Coilin.</span> He never told us that, but he +says his house isn’t far away.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> Does he be among you +often?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Coilin.</span> He does, when we do be amusing +ourselves like this. But he goes from us +when grown people come near. He will +<span class='pageno' id='Page_119'>119</span>go from us now as soon as the people begin +coming from Mass.</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>The boys rise and go, in ones and twos, +when they have finished the game.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Coilin.</span> O! They are going jumping.</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>He runs out after the others. Iosagan +and Daragh rise and go. Matthias comes +forward and calls Iosagan.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> Iosagan! (<i>The Child turns +back and comes towards him at a run.</i>) Come +here and sit on my knee for a little while, +Iosagan. (<i>The Child links his hand in the old +man’s hand, and they cross the road together. +Matthias sits on his chair and draws Iosagan to +him.</i>) Where do you live, Iosagan?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Iosagan.</span> Not far from this my house is. +Why don’t you come to see me?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> I would be afraid in a royal +house. They tell me that your father’s a +king.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Iosagan.</span> He is High-King of the World. +But there’s no call for you to be afraid of +Him. He’s full of pity and love.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> I fear I didn’t keep His law.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Iosagan.</span> Ask forgiveness of Him. I and +my Mother will make intercession for you.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> It’s a pity I didn’t see You +<span class='pageno' id='Page_120'>120</span>before this, Iosagan. Where were You +from me?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Iosagan.</span> I was here always. I do be +travelling the roads and walking the hills +and ploughing the waves. I do be among +the people when they gather into My house. +I do be among the children they do leave +behind them playing on the street.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> I was too shy, or too proud, +to go into Your house, Iosagan: among the +children, it was, I found You.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Iosagan.</span> There isn’t any place or time +the children do be making fun to themselves +that I’m not with them. Times they see +Me; other times they don’t see Me.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> I never saw You till lately.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Iosagan.</span> All the grown people do be +blind.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> And it has been granted me +to see You, Iosagan.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Iosagan.</span> My Father gave Me leave to +show Myself to you because you loved His +little children. (<i>The voices are heard of the +people returning from Mass.</i>) I must go now +from you.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> Let me kiss the hem of +Your coat.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_121'>121</span><span class='sc'>Iosagan.</span> Kiss it. +<span class="sdr"> +<i>He kisses the hem of His coat.</i> +</span></p> +<div class="clear"></div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> Shall I see You again, Iosagan?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Iosagan.</span> You will.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> When?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Iosagan.</span> To-night.</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>Iosagan goes. The old man stands on the +door-flag looking after Him.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> I will see Him to-night.</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>The people pass along the road, returning +from Mass.</i></p> + +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c001'> + <div><span class='small'>CURTAIN</span></div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c001'> + <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_122'>122</span>SCENE II</div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>Old Matthias’s room. It is very dark. The +old man lying on his bed. Some one knocks +outside the door. Matthias speaks in a weak +voice.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> Come in. (<i>The Priest enters. +He sits down beside the bed and hears the old +man’s confession. When they have finished, +Matthias speaks.</i>) Who told you I was +wanting you, Father? I was praying God +that you’d come, but I hadn’t a messenger +to send for you.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Priest.</span> But, sure, you did send a messenger +for me?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> No.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Priest.</span> You didn’t? But a little boy +came and knocked at my door, and he said +you were wanting my help.</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>The old man straightens himself back in the +bed, and his eyes flash.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> What sort of a little boy was +he, Father?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_123'>123</span><span class='sc'>Priest.</span> A mannerly little boy, with a +white coat on him.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> Did you take notice if there +was a shadow of light about his head?</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Priest.</span> I did, and it put great wonder +on me.</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>The door opens. Iosagan stands on the +threshold, and He with His two arms stretched +out towards Matthias; a miraculous light +about His face and head.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>Matthias.</span> Iosagan! You’re good, +Iosagan. You didn’t fail me, love. I was +too proud to go into Your house, but at the +last it was granted me to see You. “I was +here always,” says He. “I do be travelling +the roads and walking the hills and ploughing +the waves. I do be among the people +when they gather into My house. I do be +among the children they do leave behind +playing on the street.” Among the children, +it was, I found You, Iosagan. “Shall I see +You again?” “You will,” says He. “You’ll +see Me to-night.” <span lang="ga"><i>Sé do bheatha, a Iosagáin!</i></span></p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c014'><i>He falls back on the bed, and he dead. +The Priest goes softly to him and closes his +eves.</i></p> + +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c001'> + <div><span class='small'>CURTAIN</span></div> + </div> +</div> + +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_125'>125</span></div> +<div class='chapter' id='link-mother'> + +<div> + <h2 class='c004'>THE MOTHER</h2> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c000'> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c000'> + <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_127'>127</span><span class='large'>THE MOTHER</span></div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c008'>There was a company of women sitting +up one night in the house of Barbara of the +Bridge, spinning frieze. It would be +music to you to be listening to them, and +their voices making harmony with the drone +of the wheels, like the sound of the wind +with the shaking of the bushes.</p> + +<p class='c009'>They heard a cry. The child, it was, +talking in its sleep.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Some evil thing that crossed the door,” +says Barbara. “Rise, Maire, and stir the +cradle.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The woman spoken-to got up. She was +sitting on the floor till that, carding. She +went over to the cradle. The child was +wide awake before her, and he crying +pitifully. Maire knelt down beside the +cradle. As soon as the child saw her face +he ceased from crying. A long, beautiful +face she had; a brow, broad and smooth, +black hair and it twisted in clusters about +her head, and two grey eyes that would +look on you slow, serious, and troubled-like. +<span class='pageno' id='Page_128'>128</span>It was a gift Maire had, the way she would +quieten a cross child or put a sick child to +sleep, looking on that smooth, pleasant face +and those grey, loving eyes of hers.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Maire began singing the “<span lang="ga"><cite>Crónán na +Banaltra</cite></span>” (The Nurse’s Lullaby) in a +low voice. The other women ceased from +their talk to listen to her. It wasn’t long +till the child was in a dead sleep. Maire +rose and went back to where she was sitting +before. She fell to her carding again.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“May you have good, Maire,” says +Barbara. “There’s no wonder in life but +the way you’re able to put children asleep. +Though that’s my own heir, I would be +hours of the clock with him before he +would go off on me.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Maire has magic,” says another woman.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“She’s like the harpers of Meave that +would put a host of men asleep when they +would play their sleep-tunes,” says old Una +ní Greelis.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Isn’t it fine she can sing the <span lang="ga"><cite>Crónán na +Banaltra</cite></span>?” says the second woman.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“My soul, you would think it was the +Virgin herself that would be saying it,” +says old Una.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_129'>129</span>“Do you think is it true, Una, that it +was the Blessed Virgin (praise to her for +ever) that made that tune?” says Barbara.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I know it’s true. Isn’t it with that +tune she used put the Son of God (a +thousand glories to His name) asleep when +He was a child?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“And how is it, then, the people do +have it now?” says Barbara.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Coming down from generation to generation, +I suppose, like the Fenian tales,” says +one of the women.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“No, my soul,” says old Una. “The +people it was heard the tune from the +Virgin’s mouth itself, here in this countryside, +not so long ago.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“And how would they hear it?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Doesn’t the world know that the +glorious Virgin goes round the townlands +every Christmas Eve, herself and her child?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I heard the people saying she does.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“And don’t you know if the door is left +ajar and a candle lighting in the window, +that the Virgin and her Child will come +into the house, and that they will sit down +to rest themselves?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“My soul, but I heard that, too.”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_130'>130</span>“A woman of the Joyce country, it +was, waiting up on Christmas Eve to see +the Virgin, that heard the tune from +her for the first time and taught it to +the country. It’s often I heard discourse +about her, and I a growing girl. +‘Maire of the Virgin’ was the name they +gave her. It’s said that it’s often she saw +the glorious Virgin. She died in the poor-house +in Uachtar Ard a couple of years +before I was married. The blessing of God +be with the souls of the dead.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Amen, O Lord,” say the other women.</p> + +<p class='c009'>But Maire did not speak. She and her +two big grey eyes were going, as you would +say, through old Una’s forehead, and she +telling the story. She spoke after a spell.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Are you sure, Una, that the Virgin and +her Child come into the houses on Christmas +Eve?” says she.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“As sure as I’m living.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Did you ever see her?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I did not, then. But the Christmas +Eve after I was married I waited up to see +her, if it would be granted me. A cloud +of sleep fell on me. Some noise woke me, +and when I opened my eyes I thought +<span class='pageno' id='Page_131'>131</span>I saw, as it would be, a young woman and +a child in her arms going out the door.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>No one spoke for a long time. Nothing +was heard in the house but the drone of +the spinning-wheels and the crackling of the +fire, and the chirping of the crickets. Maire +got up.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I’ll be shortening the road,” says she. +“May God give you good night, women.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“God speed you, Maire,” they answered +together.</p> + +<p class='c009'>She drew-to the door on herself.</p> + +<p class='c009'>There was, as it would be, a blaze of fire +in that woman’s heart, and she going the +road home in the blackness of night. The +great longing of her soul was plundering +and desolating her—the longing for children. +She had been married four years, and hadn’t +clann. It’s often she would spend the hours +on her knees, praying God to send her a +child. It’s often she would rise from the +bed in the night-time, and go on her two +naked knees on the cold, hard stone making +the same petition. It’s many a penance +she used put on herself in hopes that the +torture of her body would soften God’s +heart. It’s often when her man would be +<span class='pageno' id='Page_132'>132</span>from home, that she would go to sleep +without dinner and without supper. Once +or twice, when her man was asleep, she left +the bed and went out and stood a long while +under the dew of the night sending her +prayer to the dark, lonesome skies. Once +she drew blood from her shoulder-blades +with blows she gave herself with a switch. +Another time she stuck thorns into her flesh +in memory of the crown of thorns that went +on the brow of the Saviour. The penances +and the heart-scald were preying on her +health. Nobody guessed what was wrong +with her. Her own husband—a decent, +kindly man—didn’t understand the story +right, though it’s often he would hear her +in the night talking to herself as a mother +would be talking to a child, when she would +feel its hand or its mouth at her breast. Ah! +it’s many a woman hugs her heart and +whispers in the dead time of night to the +child that isn’t born, and will not be.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Maire thought long until Christmas Eve +came. But as there’s a wearing on everything, +so there was a wearing on the delay +of that time. The day of Christmas Eve +was tedious to her until evening came. She +<span class='pageno' id='Page_133'>133</span>swept the floor of the house, and she cleaned +the chairs, and she made up a good fire +before going to sleep. She left the door on the +latch, and she put a tall, white candle in the +window. When she stretched herself beside +her man it wasn’t to sleep it was, but to +watch. She thought her man would never +sleep. She felt at last by the quiet breath +he was drawing that he was gone off. +Then she got up. She put on her dress, +and she stole out to the kitchen. No one +was there. Not even a mouse was stirring. +The crickets themselves were asleep. The +fire was in red ashes. The candle was +shining brightly. She bent on her knees +in the room door. It’s sweet the calm of +the house was to her in the middle of the +night, though, I tell you, it was terrible. +There came a heightening of mind on her +as it used to come betimes in the chapel, +and she going to receive communion from +the priest’s hands. She felt, somehow, that +the Presence wasn’t far from her, and that it +wouldn’t be long until she would hear a footstep. +She listened patiently. The house +itself, she thought, and what was in it both +living and dead, was listening as well. The +<span class='pageno' id='Page_134'>134</span>hills were listening, and the stones of the +earth, and the starry stars of the sky.</p> + +<p class='c009'>She heard a sound. A footstep on the +door-flag. She saw a young woman coming +in and a child in her arms. The young +woman drew up to the fire. She sat down +on a chair. She began crooning, very low, +to the child. Maire recognised the music. +The tune that was on it was the “<span lang="ga"><cite>Crónán +na Banaltra</cite></span>.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>A while to them like that. The woman +hugging the child to her breast, and crooning, +very sweetly, very softly. Maire on +her two knees, under the shadow of the +door. It wasn’t in her to speak nor to +move. She was barely able to draw her breath.</p> + +<p class='c009'>At last the woman rose. It’s then Maire +rose. She went hither to the woman.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“<span lang="ga"><i>A Mhuire</i></span>,” says she, whispering-like.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The woman turned her countenance +towards her. A lovely, noble countenance +it was.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“<span lang="ga"><i>A Mhuire</i></span>,” says Maire again. “I have +a request of you.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Say it,” says the other woman.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“A child drinking the milk of my breast,” +says Maire. “Don’t deny me, <span lang="ga"><i>a Mhuire</i></span>.”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_135'>135</span>“Come closer to me,” says the other +woman.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Maire came closer to her. The other +woman raised her child. The child stretched +out its two little hands, and it laid a hand +softly on each cheek of Maire’s two cheeks.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“That blessing will make you fruitful,” +says the Mother.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Its a good woman you are, <span lang="ga"><i>a Mhuire</i></span>,” +says Maire. “It’s good your Son is.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I leave a blessing in this house,” says +the other woman.</p> + +<p class='c009'>She squeezed her child to her breast again +and went out the door. Maire fell on her +knees.</p> + +<hr class='c015'> + +<p class='c009'>It’s a year since that Christmas Eve. The +last time I passed Maire’s house there was +a child in her breast. There was that look +on her that doesn’t be on living soul but a +mother when she feels the mouth of her +firstborn at her nipple.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“God loves the women better than the +men,” said I to myself. “It’s to them He +sends the greatest sorrows, and it’s on them +He bestows the greatest joy.”</p> + +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_137'>137</span></div> +<div class='chapter' id='link-dearg-daol'> + +<div> + <h2 class='c004'>THE DEARG-DAOL</h2> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c000'> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c000'> + <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_139'>139</span><span class='large'>THE DEARG-DAOL</span></div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c008'>A walking-man, it was, come into my +father’s house out of the Joyce Country, +that told us this story by the fireside one +wild winter’s night. The wind was wailing +round the house, like women keening the +dead, while he spoke, and he would make +his voice rise or fall according as the wind’s +voice would rise or fall. A tall man he was, +with wild eyes, and his share of clothes +almost in tatters. There was a sort of fear +on me of him when he came in, and his +story didn’t lessen my fear.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The three most blessed beasts in the world, +says the walking-man, are the haddock, the +robin redbreast, and God’s cow. And the +three most cursed beasts in the world are +the viper, the wren, and the <span lang="ga"><i>dearg-daol</i></span> +(“black chafer”). And it’s the <span lang="ga"><i>dearg-daol</i></span> +is the most cursed of them. ’Tis I that +know that. Woman of the house, if a man +would murder his son, don’t call him the +<span lang="ga"><i>dearg-daol</i></span>. If a woman would come between +yourself and the husband of your bed, don’t +put her in comparison with the <span lang="ga"><i>dearg-daol</i></span>.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_140'>140</span>“God save us,” says my mother.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Amen, Lord,” says the walking-man.</p> + +<p class='c009'>He didn’t speak again for a spell. We +all listened, for we knew he was going to +tell a story. It wasn’t long before he began.</p> + +<p class='c009'>When I was a lad, says the walking-man, +there was a woman of our people +that everybody was afraid of. In a little, +lonely cabin in a gap of a mountain, it was, +she lived. No one would go near her house. +She, herself, wouldn’t come next or near any +other body’s house. Nobody would speak +to her when they met her on the road. She +wouldn’t put word nor wisdom on anybody +at all. You’d think a pity to see the +creature and she going the road alone.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Who is she,” I would say to my mother, +“or why wouldn’t they speak to her?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Whisht, boy,” my mother would say to +me. “That’s the <span lang="ga"><i>Dearg-Daol</i></span>. ’Tis a cursed +woman she is.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“What did she do, or who put the curse +on her?” I would say.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“A priest of God that put the curse on +her,” my mother would say. “No one in +life knew what she did.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>And that’s all the knowledge I got of +<span class='pageno' id='Page_141'>141</span>her until I was a grown chap. And indeed +to you, neighbours, I never heard anything +about her but that she committed some +dreadful sin at the start of her life, and that +the priest put his curse on her before the +people on account of that sin. One +Sunday, when the people were gathered at +Mass, the priest turned round on them, and +says he:—</p> + +<p class='c009'>“There is a woman here,” says he, “that +will merit eternal damnation for herself and +for every person that makes familiar with +her. And I say to that woman,” says he, +“that she is a cursed woman, and I say to +you, let you not have intercourse or neighbourliness +with that woman but as much as +you’d have with a <span lang="ga"><i>dearg-daol</i></span>. Rise up now, +<span lang="ga"><i>Dearg-Daol</i></span>,” says he, “and avoid the company +of decent people henceforth.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The poor woman got up, and went out +the chapel door. There was no name on +her from that out but the <span lang="ga"><i>Dearg-Daol</i></span>. Her +own name and surname were put out of mind. +’Twas said that she had the evil eye. If +she’d look on a calf or a sheep that wasn’t +her own, the animal would die. The women +were afraid to let their children out on the +<span class='pageno' id='Page_142'>142</span>street if the <span lang="ga"><i>Dearg-Daol</i></span> was going the +road.</p> + +<p class='c009'>I married a comely girl when I was of +the age of one-and-twenty. We had a little +slip of a girl, and we had hopes of another +child. One day when I was cutting turf in +the bog, my wife was feeding the fowl on +the street, when she saw—God between us +and harm—the <span lang="ga"><i>Dearg-Daol</i></span> making on her +up the bohereen, and she with the little, soft +<span lang="ga"><i>pataire</i></span> of a child in her arms. An arm of +the child was about the woman’s neck, and +her shawl covering her. Speech left my +wife.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The <span lang="ga"><i>Dearg-Daol</i></span> laid the little girl in +her mother’s breast. My woman took notice +that her clothes were wet.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“What happened the child?” says she.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Falling into Lochán na Luachra (the +Pool of the Rushes), she did it,” says the +<span lang="ga"><i>Dearg-Daol</i></span>. “Looking for water-lilies she +was. I was crossing the road, and I heard +her scream. In over the dyke with me. +It was only by dint of trouble I caught +her.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“May God reward you,” says my wife. +The other woman went off before she had +<span class='pageno' id='Page_143'>143</span>time to say more. My wife fetched the +little wee thing inside, she dried her, and +put her to sleep. When I came in from the +bog she told me the story. The two of us +prayed our blessing on the <span lang="ga"><i>Dearg-Daol</i></span> that +night.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The day after, the little girl began prattling +about the woman that saved her. “The +water was in my mouth, and in my eyes, +and in my ears,” says she. “I saw shining +sparks, and I heard a great noise; I was +slipping and slipping,” says she; “and +then,” says she, “I felt a hand about me, +and she lifted me up and she kissed me. I +thought it was at home, I was, when I was +in her arms and her shawl about me,” says +she.</p> + +<p class='c009'>A couple of days after that my wife +noticed the little thing away from her. We +sought her for the length of two hours. +When she came home she told us that she +was after paying a visit to the woman that +saved her. “She made a cake for me,” +says she. “She has ne’er a one in the house +at all but herself, and she said to me I should +go visiting her every evening.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Neither I nor my wife was able to say a +<span class='pageno' id='Page_144'>144</span>word against her. The <span lang="ga"><i>Dearg-Daol</i></span> was +after saving our girl’s life, and it wouldn’t +be natural to hinder the child going into her +house. From that day out the little girl +would go up the hill to her every day.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The neighbours said to us that it wasn’t +right. There was a sort of suspicion on +ourselves that it wasn’t right, but how +could we help it?</p> + +<p class='c009'>Would you believe me, people? From +the day the <span lang="ga"><i>Dearg-Daol</i></span> laid eyes on the +little girl, she began dwindling and dwindling, +like a fire that wouldn’t be mended. +She lost her appetite and her activity. After +a quarter she was only a shadow. After +another month she was in the churchyard.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The <span lang="ga"><i>Dearg-Daol</i></span> came down the mountain +the day she was buried. She wouldn’t +be let into the graveyard. She went her +road up the mountain again alone. My +heart bled for the creature, for I knew that +our trouble was no heavier than her trouble. +I myself went up the hill the morning of +the next day. I meant to say to her that +neither my wife nor myself had any upbraiding +for her. I knocked at the door. +I didn’t get any answer. I went into the +<span class='pageno' id='Page_145'>145</span>house. The ashes were red on the hearth. +There was no one at all to be seen. I +noticed a bed in the corner. I went over +to the bed. The <span lang="ga"><i>Dearg-Daol</i></span> was lying +there, and she cold dead.</p> + +<p class='c009'>There wasn’t any luck on me or on my +household from that day out. My wife +died a month after that, and she in childbirth. +The child didn’t live. There fell +a murrain on my cattle the winter following. +The landlord put me out of my holding. +I am a walking man, and the roads of +Connacht before me, from that day to this.</p> + +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_147'>147</span></div> +<div class='chapter' id='link-roads'> + +<div> + <h2 class='c004'>THE ROADS</h2> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c000'> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c000'> + <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_149'>149</span><span class='large'>THE ROADS</span></div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c008'>Rossnageeragh will mind till death the +night the Dublin Man gave us the feast in +the schoolhouse of Turlagh Beg. We had +no name or surname for that same man ever +but the “Dublin Man.” Peatin Pharaig +would say to us that he was a man who +wrote for the newspapers. Peatin would +read the Gaelic paper the mistress got +every week, and it’s a small thing he +hadn’t knowledge of, for there was discourse +in that paper on the doings of the Western +World and on the goings-on of the Eastern +World, and there would be no bounds to +the information Peatin would have to give +us every Sunday at the chapel gate. He +would say to us that the Dublin Man had +a stack of money, for two hundred pounds +in the year were coming to him out of the +heart of that paper he wrote for every +week.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The Dublin Man would pay a fortnight’s +or a month’s visit to Turlagh every year. +This very year he sent out word calling +<span class='pageno' id='Page_150'>150</span>poor and naked to a feast he was gathering +for us in the schoolhouse. He announced +that there would be music and dancing and +Gaelic speeches in it; that there would be +a piper there from Carrowroe; that Brigid +ni Mhainin would be there to give <span lang="ga"><i>Conntae +Mhuigheó</i></span>; that Martin the Fisherman +would tell a Fenian story; that old Una ni +Greelis would recite a poem if the creature +wouldn’t have the asthma; and that Marcuseen +Mhichil Ruaidh would do a bout +of dancing unless the rheumatic pains would +be too bad on him. Nobody ever knew +Marcuseen to have the rheumatics but when +he’d be asked to dance. “Bedam, but I’m +dead with the pains for a week,” he’d +always say when a dance would be hinted. +But no sooner would the piper start on +“Tatter Jack Walsh,” than Marcuseen +would throw his old hat in the air, “hup!” +he’d say, and take the floor.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The family of Col Labhras were drinking +tea the evening of the feast.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Will we go to the schoolhouse to-night, +daddy?” says Cuimin Col to his father.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“We will. Father Ronan said he’d like +all the people to go.”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_151'>151</span>“Won’t we have the spree!” says +Cuimin.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“You’ll stay at home, Nora,” says the +mother, “to mind the child.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Nora put a lip on herself, but she didn’t +speak.</p> + +<p class='c009'>After tea Col and his wife went into the +room to ready themselves for the road.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“My sorrow that it’s not a boy God +made me,” says Nora to her brother.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“<span lang="ga"><i>Muise</i></span>, why?” says Cuimin.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“For one reason better than another,” +says Nora. With that she gave a little +slap to the child that was half-asleep and +half-awake in the cradle. The child let a +howl out of him.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“<span lang="ga"><i>Ara</i></span>, listen to the child,” says Cuimin. +“If my mother hears him crying, she’ll +take the ear off you.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I don’t care if she takes the two ears +off me,” says Nora.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“What’s up with you?” Cuimin was +washing himself, and he stopped to look +over his shoulder at his sister, and the water +streaming from his face.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Tired of being made a little ass of by +my mother and by everybody, I am,” says +<span class='pageno' id='Page_152'>152</span>Nora. “I working from morning till night, +and ye at your ease. Ye going to the +spree to-night, and I sitting here nursing this +child. ‘You’ll stay at home, Nora, to +mind the child,’ says my mother. That’s +always the way. It’s a pity it’s not a boy +God made me.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Cuimin was drying his face meanwhile, +and “s-s-s-s-s” coming out of him like a +person would be grooming a horse.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“It’s a pity, right enough,” says he, +when he was able to speak.</p> + +<p class='c009'>He threw the towel from him, he put +his head to one side, and looked complacently +at himself in the glass was hanging +on the wall.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“A parting in my hair now,” says he, +“and I’ll be first-class.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Are you ready, Cuimin?” says his +father, coming out of the room.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I am.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“We’ll be stirring on then.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The mother came out.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“If he there is crying, Nora,” says she, +“give him a drink of milk out of the bottle.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Nora didn’t say a word. She remained +sitting on the stool beside the cradle, and her +<span class='pageno' id='Page_153'>153</span>chin laid in her two hands and her two +elbows stuck on her knees. She heard her +father and her mother and Cuimin going out +the door and across the street; she knew by +their voices that they were going down the +bohereen. The voices died away, and she understood +that they were after taking the road.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Nora began making fancy pictures in her +mind. She saw, she thought, the fine, level +road and it white under the moonlight. The +people were in groups making for the schoolhouse. +The Rossnageeragh folk were coming +out the road, and the Garumna folk +journeying round by the mistress’s house, +and the Kilbrickan folk crowding down the +hill, and the Turlagh Beg’s crowding likewise; +there was a band from Turlagh, and +an odd sprinkling from Glencaha, and one +or two out of Inver coming in the road. +She imagined her own people were at the +school gate by now. They were going up +the path. They were entering in the door. +The schoolhouse was well-nigh full, and +still no end to the coming of the people. +There were lamps hung on the walls, and +the house as bright as it would be in the +middle of day. Father Ronan was there, +<span class='pageno' id='Page_154'>154</span>and he going from person to person and +bidding welcome to everybody. The Dublin +Man was there, and he as nice and friendly-like +as ever. The mistress was there, and +the master and mistress from Gortmore, and +the lace-instructress. The schoolgirls sitting +together on the front benches. Weren’t +they to sing a song? She saw, she thought, +Maire Sean Mor, and Maire Pheatin Johnny, +and Babeen Col Marcus, and the Boatman’s +Brigid, and her red head on her, and Brigid +Caitin ni Fhiannachta, with her mouth open +as usual. The girls were looking round and +nudging one another, and asking one another +where was Nora Col Labhras. The schoolhouse +was packed to the door now. Father +Ronan was striking his two hands together. +They were stopping from talk and from +whispering. Father Ronan was speaking to +them. He was speaking comically. Everybody +was laughing. He was calling on the +schoolgirls to give their song. They were +getting up and going to the head of the +room and bowing to the people.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“My sorrow, that I’m not there,” says +poor Nora to herself, and she laid her face +in her palms and began crying.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_155'>155</span>She stopped crying, suddenly. She hung +her head, and rubbed a palm to her eyes.</p> + +<p class='c009'>It wasn’t right, says she in her own mind. +It wasn’t right, just, or decent. Why should +she be kept at home? Why should they +always keep her at home? If she was +a boy she’d be let out. Since she was only +a girl they would keep her at home. She +was, as she had said to Cuimin that evening, +only a little ass of a girl. She wouldn’t put +up with it any longer. She would have her +own way. She would be as free as any boy +that came or went. It’s often before that +she set her mind to the deed. She would +do the deed that night.</p> + +<p class='c009'>It’s often Nora thought that it would be a +fine life to be going like a flying hawk, +independent of everybody. The roads of +Ireland before her, and her face on them; +the back of her head to home and hardship +and the vexation of her people. She going +from village to village, and from glen to +glen. The fine, level road before her, fields +on both sides of her, little, well-sheltered +houses on the slopes of the hills. If she’d +get tired she could stretch back by the side +of a ditch, or she could go into some house +<span class='pageno' id='Page_156'>156</span>and ask the good woman for a drink of milk +and a seat by the fire. To make the night’s +sleep in some wood under the shadow of +trees, and to rise early in the morning and +stretch out again under the lovely fresh air. +If she wanted food (and it’s likely she would +want it), she would do a day’s work here +and a day’s work there, and she would be +full-satisfied if she got a cup of tea and a +crumb of bread in payment for it. Wouldn’t +it be a fine life that, besides being a little ass +of a girl at home, feeding the hens and +minding the child!</p> + +<p class='c009'>It’s not as a girl she’d go, but as a boy. +No one in life would know that it’s not a +boy was in it. When she’d cut her hair +and put on herself a suit of Cuimin’s +bawneens, who would know that it’s a girl +she was?</p> + +<p class='c009'>It’s often Nora took that counsel to herself, +but the fear would never let her put it +in practice. She never had right leave for +it. Her mother would always be in the +house, and no sooner would she be gone +than she’d feel wanted. But she had leave +now. None of them would be back in the +house for another hour of the clock, at the +<span class='pageno' id='Page_157'>157</span>least. She’d have a power of time to change +her clothes, and to go off unbeknown to the +world. She would meet nobody on the road, +for all the people were gathered in the +schoolhouse. She would have time to go +as far as Ellery to-night and to sleep in the +wood. She would rise early on the morrow +morning, and she would take the road before +anybody would be astir.</p> + +<p class='c009'>She jumped from the stool. There were +scissors in the drawer of the dresser. It +wasn’t long till she had a hold of them, and +snip! snap! She cut off her back hair, +and the fringe that was on her brow, and +each ringleted tress that was on her, in one +attack. She looked at herself in the glass. +<span lang="ga"><i>A inghean O!</i></span> isn’t it bald and bare she looked. +She gathered the curls of hair from the +floor, and she hid them in an old box. Over +with her then to the place where a clean +suit of bawneens belonging to Cuimin was +hanging on a nail. Down with her on her +knees searching for a shirt of Cuimin’s that +was in a lower drawer of the dresser. She +threw the clothes on the floor beside the fire.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Here she is now taking off her own share +of clothes in a hurry. She threw her +<span class='pageno' id='Page_158'>158</span>dress and her little blouse and her shift into +a chest that was under the table. She put +Cuimin’s shirt on herself. She stuck her +legs into the breeches, and she pulled them +up on herself. She minded then that she +had neither belt nor gallowses. She’d have +to make a belt out of an old piece of cord. +She put the jacket on herself. She looked +in the glass, and she started. It’s how she +thought Cuimin was before her! She +looked over her shoulder, but she didn’t +see anybody. It’s then she minded that it’s +her own self was looking at her, and she +laughed. But if she did itself, she was a +little scared. If she’d a cap now she’d be +ready for the road. Yes, she knew where +there was an old cap of Cuimin’s. She got +it, and put it on her head. Farewell for +ever now to the old life, and a hundred +welcomes to the new!</p> + +<p class='c009'>When she was at the door she turned +back and she crept over to the cradle. The +child was sound asleep. She bent down +and she gave a kiss to the baby, a little, +little, light kiss in on his forehead. She +stole on the tips of her toes to the door, +opened it gently, went out on the street, +<span class='pageno' id='Page_159'>159</span>and shut the door quietly after her. Across +the street with her, and down the bohereen. +It was short till she took the road to herself. +She pressed on then towards Turlagh +Beg.</p> + +<p class='c009'>It was short till she saw the schoolhouse +by the side of the road. There was a fine +light burning through the windows. She +heard a noise, as if they’d be laughing and +clapping hands within. Over across the +fence with her, and up the school path. +She went round to the back of the house. +The windows were high enough, but she +raised herself up till she’d a view of what +was going on inside. Father Ronan was +speaking. He stopped, and O, Lord!—the +people began getting up. It was plain +that the fun was over, and that they were +about to separate to go home. What +would she do, if she’d be seen?</p> + +<p class='c009'>She threw a leap from the window. Her +foot slipped from her, coming down on the +ground, and she got a drop. She very +nearly screamed out, but she minded herself +in time. Her knee was a little hurt, she +thought. The people were out on the +school yard by that. She must stay in +<span class='pageno' id='Page_160'>160</span>hiding till they were all gone. She moved +into the wall as close as she could. She +heard the people talking and laughing, and +she knew that they were scattering after +one another.</p> + +<p class='c009'>What was that? The voices of people +coming towards her; the sound of a footstep +on the path beside her! It’s then she +minded that there was a short-cut across +the back of the house, and that there might +be some people going the short-cut. Likely, +her own people would be going that way, +for it was a little shorter than round by +the high road. A little knot came towards +her; she recognized by their voices that +they were Peatin Johnny’s people. They +passed. Another little knot; the Boatman’s +family. They drew that close to her that +Eamonn trod on her poor, bare, little foot. +She almost let a cry out of her the second +time, but she didn’t—she only squeezed +herself tighter to the wall. Another crowd +was coming: O, Great God, her own +people! Cuimin was saying, “Wasn’t it +wonderful, Marcuseen’s dancing!” Her +mother’s dress brushed Nora’s cheek going +by: she didn’t draw her breath all that +<span class='pageno' id='Page_161'>161</span>time. A company or two more went +past. She listened for a spell. Nobody +else was coming. It’s how they were all +gone, said she to herself. Out with her +from her hiding-place, and she tore across +the path. Plimp! She ran against somebody. +Two big hands were about her. +She heard a man’s voice. She recognized +the voice. The priest that was in it.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Who have I?” says Father Ronan.</p> + +<p class='c009'>She told a lie. What else had she to +say?</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Cuimin Col Labhras, Father,” says she.</p> + +<p class='c009'>He laid a hand on each shoulder of her, +and looked down on her. She had her +head bent.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I thought you went home with your +father and mother,” says he.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I did, Father, but I lost my cap and I +came back looking for it.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Isn’t your cap on your head?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I found it on the path.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Aren’t your father and mother gone +the short-cut?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“They are, Father, but I am going the +road so that I’ll be with the other boys.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Off with you, then, or the ghosts’ll +<span class='pageno' id='Page_162'>162</span>catch you!” With that Father Ronan +let her go from him.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“May God give you good-night, Father,” +says she. She didn’t mind to take off her +cap, but it’s how she curtseyed to the +priest after the manner of girls! If the +priest took notice of that much he hadn’t +time to say a word, for she was gone in the +turning of your hand.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Her two cheeks were red-hot with shame, +and she giving face on the road. She was +after telling four big lies to the priest! +She was afraid that those lies were a +terrible sin on her soul. She was afraid +going that lonesome road in the darkness +of the night, and that burthen on +her heart. The night was very black. +There was a little brightening on her right +hand. The lake of Turlagh Beg that was +in it. There rose some bird, a curlew or a +snipe, from the brink of the lake, letting +mournful cries out of it. Nora started +when she heard the bird’s voice, that +suddenly, and the drumming of its wings. +She hurried on, and her heart beating against +her breast. She left Turlagh Beg behind +her, and faced the long, straight road that +<span class='pageno' id='Page_163'>163</span>leads to the Crosses of Kilbrickan. It’s +with trouble she recognized the shape of the +houses on the hill when she reached the +Crosses. There was a light in the house of +Peadar O Neachtain, and she heard voices +from the side of Snamh-Bo. She followed +on, drawing on Turlagh. When she reached +the Bog Hill the moon came out, and she +saw from her the scar of the hills. There +came a great cloud across the face of the +moon, and it seemed to her that it’s double +dark the night was then. Terror seized her, +for she minded that Cnoc-a’-Leachta (the +Hill of the Grave) wasn’t far off, and that +the graveyard would be on her right hand +then. It’s often she heard that was an +evil place in the middle of the night. She +sharpened her pace; she began running. +She thought that she was being followed; +that there was a bare-footed woman treading +almost on her heels; that there was a +thin, black man travelling alongside her; +that there was a child, and a white shirt on +him, going the road before her. She opened +her mouth to let a screech out of her, but +there didn’t come a sound from her. She +was in a cold sweat. Her legs were bending +<span class='pageno' id='Page_164'>164</span>under her. She nearly fell in a heap on +the road. She was at Cnoc-a’-Leachta +about that time. It seemed to her that +Cill Eoin was full of ghosts. She minded +the word the priest said “Have a care, or +the ghosts’ll catch you.” They were on +her! She heard, she thought, the “plub-plab” +of naked feet on the road. She +turned to her left hand and she gave a leap +over the ditch. She went near to being +drowned in a deal-hole that was between +her and the wood, unbeknown to her. She +twisted her foot trying to save herself, and +she felt pain. On with her, reeling. She +was in the fields of Ellery then. She saw +the lamp of the lake through the branches. +A tree-root took a stumble out of her, and +she fell. She lost her senses.</p> + +<hr class='c015'> + +<p class='c009'>After a very long time she imagined that +the place was filled with a sort of half-light, +a light that was between the light of the +sun and the light of the moon. She saw, +very clearly, the feet of the trees, and them +dark against a yellowish-green sky. She +never saw a sky of that colour before, and it +was beautiful to her. She heard a footstep, +<span class='pageno' id='Page_165'>165</span>and she understood that there was someone +coming towards her up from the lake. She +knew in some manner that a prodigious +miracle was about to be shown her, and that +someone was to suffer there some awful +passion. She hadn’t long to wait till she +saw a young man struggling wearily through +the tangle of the wood. He had his head +bent, and the appearance of great sorrow on +him. Nora recognised him. The Son of +Mary that was in it, and she knew that He +was journeying all alone to His death.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The Man threw himself on His knees, and +He began praying. Nora didn’t hear one +word from Him, but she understood in her +heart what He was saying. He was asking +His Eternal Father to send someone to Him +who would side with Him against His +enemies, and who would bear half of His +burthen. Nora wished to rise and to go to +Him, but she couldn’t stir out of the place +she was in.</p> + +<p class='c009'>She heard a noise, and the place was filled +with armed men. She saw dark, devilish +faces and grey swords and edged weapons. +The gentle Man was seized outrageously, +and His share of clothes torn from Him, and +<span class='pageno' id='Page_166'>166</span>He was scourged with scourges there till His +body was in a bloody mass and in an everlasting +wound from His head to the soles of +His feet. A thorny crown was put then on +His gentle head, and a cross was laid on His +shoulders, and He went before Him, heavy-footed, +pitifully, the sorrowful way of His +journey to Calvary. The chain that was +tying Nora’s tongue and limbs till that broke, +and she cried aloud:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Let me go with You, Jesus, and carry +Your cross for You!”</p> + +<hr class='c015'> + +<p class='c009'>She felt a hand on her shoulder. She +looked up. She saw her father’s face.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“What’s on my little girl, or why did +she go from us?” says her father’s voice.</p> + +<p class='c009'>He lifted her in his arms and he brought her +home. She lay on her bed till the end of a +month after that. She was out of her mind +for half of that time, and she thought at times +that she was going the road, like a lone, +wild-goose, and asking knowledge of the +way of people; and she thought at other +times that she was lying in under a tree in +Ellery, and that she was watching again the +passion of that gentle Man, and she trying +<span class='pageno' id='Page_167'>167</span>to help Him, but without power to help +him. That wandering went out of her +mind at long last, and she understood she +was at home again. And when she recognised +her mother’s face her heart was filled +with consolation, and she asked her to put +the child into the bed with her, and when +he was put into the bed she kissed him +lovingly.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Oh, mameen,” says she, “I thought I +wouldn’t see you or my father or Cuimin or +the child ever again. Were ye here all +that time?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“We were, white lamb,” says her mother.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I’ll stay in the place where ye are,” says +she. “Oh, mameen, heart, the roads were +very dark…. And I’ll never strike +the child again,”—and she gave him another +little kiss.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The child put his arm about her neck, +and he curled himself up in the bed at his +full ease.</p> + +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_169'>169</span></div> +<div class='chapter' id='link-brigid'> + +<div> + <h2 class='c004'>BRIGID OF THE SONGS</h2> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c000'> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c000'> + <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_171'>171</span><span class='large'>BRIGID OF THE SONGS</span></div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c008'>Brigid of the Songs was the most famous +singer in Rossnageeragh, not only in my +time but in my father’s time. It’s said +that she could wile the song-thrush from +the branch with the sweetness of the music +that God gave her; and I would believe it, +for it’s often she wiled me and other lads +besides from our dinner or our supper. I’d +be a rich man to-day if I had a shilling for +every time I stopped outside her door, on +my way home from school, listening to her +share of songs; and my father told me that +it’s often and often he did the same thing +when he was a lad going to school. It was +a tradition among the people that it was +from Raftery himself that Brigid learned +“<span lang="ga"><cite>Conntae Mhuigheó</cite></span>” (The County of Mayo), +and isn’t it with the “<span lang="ga"><cite>Conntae Mhuigheó</cite></span>” +that she drew the big tears out of the eyes +of John MacHale one time he was on a visit +here, along with our own Bishop, a year +exactly before I was born?</p> + +<p class='c009'>A thing that’s no wonder, when we heard +<span class='pageno' id='Page_172'>172</span>that there was to be a Feis in Moykeeran, +we all settled in our minds that it’s Brigid +would have the prize for the singing, if +she’d enter for it. There was no other +person, neither men-singers nor women-singers, +half as good as she was in the seven +parishes. She couldn’t be beaten, if right +was to be done. She would put wonderment +on the people of Moykeeran and on +the grand folk would be in it out of Galway +and out of Tuam. She would earn name +and fame for Rossnageeragh. She would +win the prize easy, and she would be sent +to Dublin to sing a song at the Oireachtas. +There was a sort of hesitation on Brigid at +first. She was too old, she said. Her +voice wasn’t as good as it used be. She +hadn’t her wind. A share of her songs +were going out of her memory. She didn’t +want a prize. Didn’t the men of Ireland +know that she was the best singer in Iar-Connacht? +Didn’t Raftery praise her, +didn’t Colm Wallace make a song in her +honour, didn’t she draw tears out of the +eyes of John MacHale? Brigid said that +much and seven times more; but it was +plain, at the same time, that there was a +<span class='pageno' id='Page_173'>173</span>wish on her to go to the Feis, and we all +knew that she would go. To make a short +story of it, we were at her until we took a +promise out of her that she would go.</p> + +<p class='c009'>She went. It’s well I remember the day +of the Feis. The world of Ireland was +there, you’d think. The house was overflowing +with poor people and with rich +people, with noble folk and with lowly folk, +with strong, active youths, and with +withered, done old people. There were +priests and friars there from every art. +There were doctors and lawyers there from +Tuam and from Galway and from Uachtar +Ard. There were newspaper people there +from Dublin. There was a lord’s son there +from England. The full of people went +up, singing songs. Brigid went up. We +were at the back of the house, listening to +her. She began. There was a little +bashfulness on her at the start, and her +voice was too low. But she came to +herself in time, according as she was stirring +out into the song, and she took tears out +of the eyes of the gathering with the last +verse. There was great cheering when she +had finished, and she coming down. <em>We</em> +<span class='pageno' id='Page_174'>174</span>put a shout out of us you’d think would +crack the roof of the house. A young girl +went up. Her voice was a long way better +than Brigid’s, but, we thought, there was +not the same sadness nor sweetness in the +song as there was in Brigid’s. She came +down. The people cheered again, but I +didn’t notice that anybody was crying. One +of the judges got up. He praised Brigid +greatly. He praised the young girl greatly, +too. He was very tedious.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Who won the prize?” says one of us at +last, when our share of patience was +exhausted.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Oh, the prize!” says he. “Well, in +regard to the prize, we are giving it to +Nora Cassidy (the young girl), but we +are considering the award of a special prize +to Brígid ní Mhainín (our Brigid). Nora +Cassidy will be sent to Dublin to sing a song +at the Oireachtas.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The Moykeeran people applauded, for it +was out of Moykeeran that Nora Cassidy +was. We didn’t say anything. We looked +over at Brigid. Her face was grey-white, +and she trembling in every limb.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“What did you say, sir, please?” says +<span class='pageno' id='Page_175'>175</span>she in a strange voice. “Is it I that have +the prize?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“We are considering the award of a +special prize to you, my good woman, as +you shaped so excellently—you did that,—but +it’s to Nora Cassidy that the Feis prize +is given.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Brigid didn’t speak a word; but it’s how +she rose up, and without looking either to +the right hand or to the left, she went out +the door. She took the road to Rossnageeragh, +and she was before us when we +reached the village late in the night.</p> + +<hr class='c015'> + +<p class='c009'>The Oireachtas was to be in Dublin the +week after. We were a sad crowd, remembering +that Brigid of the Songs wouldn’t +be there. We were full sure that fair play +wasn’t done her in Moykeeran, and we +thought that if she’d go to Dublin she’d +get satisfaction. But alas! we had no +money to send her there, and if we had +itself we knew that she wouldn’t take it +from us. We were arguing the question one +evening at the gable of the Boatman’s house, +when who should come up but little Martin +Connolly, at a full run, and he said to us +<span class='pageno' id='Page_176'>176</span>that Brigid of the Songs was gone, the lock +on the door, and no tale or tidings to be got +of her.</p> + +<p class='c009'>We didn’t know what happened her +until a fortnight’s time after that. Here’s +how it fell out. When she heard that the +Oireachtas was to be in Dublin on such a +day, she said to herself that she would be +there if she lived. She didn’t let on to +anyone, but went off with herself in the +night-time, walking. She had only a florin +piece in her pocket. She didn’t know +where Dublin was, nor how far it was +away. She followed her nose, it’s like, +asking the road of the people she met, +tramping always, until she’d left behind her +Cashlagh, and Spiddal, and Galway, and +Oranmore, and Athenry, and Kilconnell, +and Ballinasloe, and Athlone, and Mullingar, +and Maynooth, until at last she saw from +her the houses of Dublin. It’s like that her +share of money was spent long before that, +and nobody will ever know how the creature +lived on that long, lonesome journey. But +one evening when the Oireachtas was in full +swing in the big hall in Dublin, a countrywoman +was seen coming in the door, her +<span class='pageno' id='Page_177'>177</span>feet cut and bleeding with the hard stones +of the road, her share of clothes speckled +with dust and dirt, and she weary, worn-out +and exhausted.</p> + +<p class='c009'>She sat down. People were singing in +the old style. Brígid ní Mhainín from +Rossnageeragh was called on (for we had +entered her name in hopes that we’d be +able to send her). The old woman rose, +went up, and started “<span lang="ga"><cite>Conntae Mhuigheó</cite></span>.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>When she finished the house was in one +ree-raw with shouts, it was that fine. She +was told to sing another song. She +began on the “<span lang="ga"><cite>Sail Og Ruadh</cite></span>” (The +Red Willow). She had only the first +line of the second verse said when there +came some wandering in her head. She +stopped and she began again. The wandering +came on her a second time, then a +trembling, and she fell in a faint on the +stage. She was carried out of the hall. +A doctor came to examine her.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“She is dying from the hunger and the +hardship,” says he.</p> + +<p class='c009'>While that was going on, great shouts +were heard inside the hall. One of the +judges came out in a hurry.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_178'>178</span>“You have won the first prize!” +says he. “You did”—. He stopped +suddenly.</p> + +<p class='c009'>A priest was on his knees bending over +Brigid. He raised his hand and he gave +the absolution.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“She has won a greater reward than the +first prize,” says he.</p> + +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_179'>179</span></div> +<div class='chapter' id='link-thief'> + +<div> + <h2 class='c004'>THE THIEF</h2> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c000'> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c000'> + <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_181'>181</span><span class='large'>THE THIEF</span></div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c008'>One day when the boys of Gortmore were +let out from school, after the Glencaha boys +and the Derrybanniv boys had gone east, the +Turlagh boys and the Inver boys stayed to +have a while’s chat before separating at the +Rossnageeragh road. The master’s house +is exactly at the head of the road, its back +to the hill and its face to Loch Ellery.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I heard that the master’s bees were +swarming,” says Michileen Bartly Enda.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“In with you into the garden till we +look at them,” says Daragh Barbara of the +Bridge.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I’m afraid,” says Michileen.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“What are you afraid of?” says Daragh.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“By my word, the master and the mistress +will be out presently.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Who’ll stay to give us word when the +master will be coming?” says Daragh.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I will,” says little Anthony Manning.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“That’ll do,” says Daragh. “Let a +whistle when you see him leaving the school.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>In over the fence with him. In over the +fence with the other boys after him.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_182'>182</span>“Have a care that none of you will get +a sting,” says Anthony.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Little fear,” says Daragh. And off +forever with them.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Anthony sat on the fence, and his back to +the road. He could see the master over his +right shoulder if he’d leave the schoolhouse. +What a nice garden the master had, thought +Anthony. He had rose-trees and gooseberry-trees +and apple-trees. He had little white +stones round the path. He had big white +stones in a pretty rockery, and moss and +maiden-hair fern and common fern growing +between them. He had….</p> + +<p class='c009'>Anthony saw a wonder greater than any +wonder the master had in the garden. He +saw a little, beautiful wee house under the +shade of one of the rose-trees; it made of +wood; two storys in it; white colour on +the lower story and red colour on the upper +story; a little green door on it; three +windows of glass on it, one downstairs and +two upstairs; house furniture in it, between +tables and chairs and beds and delf, and the +rest; and, says Anthony to himself, look at +the lady of the house sitting in the door!</p> + +<p class='c009'>Anthony never saw a doll’s house before, +<span class='pageno' id='Page_183'>183</span>and it was a wonder to him, its neatness and +order, for a toy. He knew that it belonged +to the master’s little girl, little Nance. A pity +that his own little sister hadn’t one like it—Eibhlin, +the creature, that was stretched on +her bed for a long three months, and she +weak and sick! A pity she hadn’t the doll +itself! Anthony put the covetousness of his +heart in that doll for Eibhlin. He looked +over his right shoulder—neither master nor +mistress was to be seen. He looked over +his left shoulder—the other boys were out +of sight. He didn’t think the second +thought. He gave his best leap from the +fence; he seized the doll; he stuck it under +his jacket; he clambered out over the ditch +again, and away with him home.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I have a present for you,” says he to +Eibhlin, when he reached the house. +“Look!” and with that he showed her the +doll.</p> + +<p class='c009'>There came a blush on the wasted cheeks +of the little sick girl, and a light into her eyes.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“<span lang="ga"><i>Ora</i></span>, Anthony, love, where did you get +it?” says she.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The master’s little Nance, that sent it to +you for a present,” says Anthony.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_184'>184</span>Their mother came in.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Oh, mameen, treasure,” says Eibhlin, +“look at the present that the master’s little +Nance sent me!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“In earnest?” says the mother.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Surely,” says Eibhlin. “Anthony, it +was, that brought it in to me now.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Anthony looked down at his feet, and +began counting the toes that were on them.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“My own pet,” says the mother, “isn’t +it she that was good to you! <span lang="ga"><i>Muise</i></span>, Nance! +I’ll go bail that that present will put great +improvement on my little girl.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>And there came tears in the mother’s eyes +out of gratitude to little Nance because she +remembered the sick child. Though he +wasn’t able to look his mother between the +eyes, or at Eibhlin, with the dint of fear, +Anthony was glad that he committed the +theft.</p> + +<p class='c009'>He was afraid to say his prayers that +night, and he lay down on his bed without +as much as an “Our Father.” He couldn’t +say the Act of Contrition, for it wasn’t +truthfully he’d be able to say to God that +he was sorry for that sin. It’s often he +started in the night, imagining that little +<span class='pageno' id='Page_185'>185</span>Nance was coming seeking the doll from +Eibhlin, that the master was taxing him +with the robbery before the school, that +there was a miraculous swarm of bees rising +against him, and Daragh Barbara of the +Bridge and the other boys exciting them +with shouts and with the music of drums. +But the next morning he said to himself: +“I don’t care. The doll will make Eibhlin +better.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>When he went to school the boys asked +him why he went off unawares the evening +before that, and he after promising them +he’d keep watch.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“My mother sent for me,” says Anthony. +“She’d a task for me.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>When little Nance came into the school, +Anthony looked at her under his brows. +He fancied that she was after being crying; +he thought that he saw the track of the +tears on her cheeks. The first time the +master called him by his name he jumped, +because he thought that he was going to tax +him with the fault or to cross-question him +about the doll. He never put in as miserable +a day as that day at school. But when he +went home and saw the great improvement +<span class='pageno' id='Page_186'>186</span>on Eibhlin, and she sitting up in the bed for +the first time for a month, and the doll +clasped in her arms, says he to himself: “I +don’t care. The doll is making Eibhlin +better.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>In his bed in the night-time he had bad +dreams again. He thought that the master +was after telling the police that he stole the +doll, and that they were on his track; he +imagined one time that there was a policeman +hiding under the bed and that there +was another hunkering behind the window-curtain. +He screamed out in his sleep.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“What’s on you?” says his father to +him.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The peeler that’s going to take me,” +says Anthony.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“You’re only rambling, boy,” says his +father to him. “There’s no peeler in it. +Go to sleep.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>There was the misery of the world on the +poor fellow from that out. He used think +they would be pointing fingers at him, and +he going the road. He used think they +would be shaking their heads and saying +to each other, “There’s a thief,” or, “Did +you hear what Anthony Pharaig Manning +<span class='pageno' id='Page_187'>187</span>did? Her doll he stole from the master’s +little Nance. Now what do you say?” +But he didn’t suffer rightly till he went to +Mass on Sunday and till Father Ronan +started preaching a sermon on the Seventh +Commandment: “Thou shalt not steal; and +if you commit a theft it will not be forgiven +you until you make restitution.” Anthony +was full sure that it was a mortal sin. He +knew that he ought to go to confession and +tell the sin to the priest. But he couldn’t +go to confession, for he knew that the priest +would say to him that he must give the doll +back. And he wouldn’t give the doll back. +He hardened his heart and he said that he’d +never give the doll back, for that the doll +was making Eibhlin better every day.</p> + +<p class='c009'>One evening he was sitting by the bed-foot +in serious talk with Eibhlin when his +mother ran in in a hurry, and says she—</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Here’s the mistress and little Nance +coming up the bohereen!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Anthony wished the earth would open +and swallow him. His face was red up to +his two ears. He was in a sweat. He +wasn’t able to say a word or to think a +thought. But these words were running +<span class='pageno' id='Page_188'>188</span>through his head: “They’ll take the doll +from Eibhlin.” It was all the same to him +what they’d say or what they’d do to himself. +The only answer he’d have would be, +“The doll’s making Eibhlin better.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The mistress and little Nance came into +the room. Anthony got up. He couldn’t +look them in the face. He began at his old +clatter, counting the toes of his feet. Five +on each foot; four toes and a big toe; or +three toes, a big toe, and a little toe; that’s +five; twice five are ten; ten in all. He +couldn’t add to their number or take from +them. His mother was talking, the mistress +was talking, but Anthony paid no heed to +them. He was waiting till something would +be said about the doll. There was nothing +for him to do till that but count his toes. +One, two, three….</p> + +<p class='c009'>What was that? Eibhlin was referring +to the doll. Anthony listened now.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Wasn’t it good of you to send me the +doll?” she was saying to Nance. “From +the day Anthony brought it in to me a +change began coming on me.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“It did that,” says her mother. “We’ll +be forever grateful to you for that same doll +<span class='pageno' id='Page_189'>189</span>you sent to her. May God increase your +store, and may He requite you for it a +thousand times.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Neither Nance nor the mistress spoke. +Anthony looked at Nance shyly. His two +eyes were stuck in the doll, for the doll was +lying cosy in the bed beside Eibhlin. It +had its mouth half open, and the wonder of +the world on it at the sayings of Eibhlin +and her mother.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“It’s with trouble I believed Anthony +when he brought it into me,” says Eibhlin, +“and when he told me you sent it to me as +a present.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Nance looked over at Anthony. Anthony +lifted his head slowly, and their eyes met. +It will never be known what Nance read in +Anthony’s eyes. What Anthony read in +Nance’s eyes was mercy, love and sweetness. +Nance spoke to Eibhlin.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Do you like it?” says she.</p> + +<p class='c009'><a id='tn-ratherit'></a>“Over anything,” says Eibhlin. “I’d +rather it than anything I have in the +world.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I have the little house it lives in,” says. +Nance. “I must send it to you. Anthony +will bring it to you to-morrow.”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_190'>190</span>“<span lang="ga"><i>Ora!</i></span>” says Eibhlin, and she clapping +her two little thin palms together.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“You’ll miss it, love,” says Eibhlin’s +mother to Nance.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“No,” said Nance. “It will put more +improvement on Eibhlin. I have lots of +things.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Let her do it, Cait,” said the mistress +to the mother.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Ye are too good,” says the poor woman.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Anthony thought that it’s dreaming he +was. Or he thought that it’s not a person +of this world little Nance was at all, but an +angel come down out of heaven. He +wanted to go on his knees to her.</p> + +<p class='c009'>When the mistress and little Nance went +off, Anthony ran out the back door and +tore across the garden, so that he’d be before +them at the bohereen-foot, and they going out +on the road.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Nance,” says he, “I s-stole it,—the +d-doll.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Never mind, Anthony,” says Nance, +“you did good to Eibhlin.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Anthony stood like a stake in the road, +and he couldn’t speak another word.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Isn’t it he was proud bringing the doll’s +<span class='pageno' id='Page_191'>191</span>house home to Eibhlin after school the +next day! And isn’t it they had the fun +that evening settling the house and polishing +the furniture and putting the doll to sleep +on its little bed!</p> + +<p class='c009'>The Saturday following Anthony went to +confession, and told his sin to the priest. +The penance the priest put on him was to +clean the doll’s house once in the week for +Eibhlin, till she would be strong enough +to clean it herself. Eibhlin was strong +enough for it by the end of a month. By +the end of another month she was at school +again.</p> + +<p class='c009'>There wasn’t a Saturday evening from +that out that they wouldn’t hear a little, +light tapping at the master’s door. On the +mistress going out Anthony would be +standing at the door.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Here’s a little present for Nance,” +he’d say, stretching towards her half-a-dozen +duck’s eggs, or a bunch of heather, or, at the +least, the full of his fist of <span lang="ga"><i>duileasg</i></span>, and then +he’d brush off with him without giving the +mistress time to say “thank you.”</p> + +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_193'>193</span></div> +<div class='chapter' id='link-keening'> + +<div> + <h2 class='c004'>THE KEENING WOMAN</h2> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c000'> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c000'> + <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_195'>195</span><span class='large'>THE KEENING WOMAN</span></div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c001'> + <div>I</div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>“Coilin,” says my father to me one +morning after the breakfast, and I putting my +books together to be stirring to school—“Coilin,” +says he, “I have a task for you +to-day. Sean will tell the master it was +myself kept you at home to-day, or it’s the +way he’ll be thinking you’re miching, like +you were last week. Let you not forget +now, Sean.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I will not, father,” says Sean, and a lip +on him. He wasn’t too thankful it to be +said that it’s not for him my father had the +task. This son was well satisfied, for my +lessons were always a trouble to me, and the +master promised me a beating the day +before unless I’d have them at the tip of +my mouth the next day.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“What you’ll do, Coilin,” says my father +when Sean was gone off, “is to bring the +ass and the little car with you to Screeb, +and draw home a load of sedge. Michileen +<span class='pageno' id='Page_196'>196</span>Maire is cutting it for me. We’ll be +starting, with God’s help, to put the new +roof on the house after to-morrow, if the +weather stands.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Michileen took the ass and car with +him this morning,” says I.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“You’ll have to leg it, then, <span lang="ga"><i>a mhic O</i></span>,” +says my father. “As soon as Michileen +has an ass-load cut, fetch it home with you +on the car, and let Michileen tear till he’s +black. We might draw the other share +to-morrow.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>It wasn’t long till I was knocking steps +out of the road. I gave my back to Kilbrickan +and my face to Turlagh. I left +Turlagh behind me, and I made for Gortmore. +I stood a spell looking at an oared +boat that was on Loch Ellery, and another +spell playing with some Inver boys that +were late going to Gortmore school. I +left them at the school gate, and I reached +Glencaha. I stood, for the third time, +watching a big eagle that was sunning +himself on Carrigacapple. East with me, then, +till I was in Derrybanniv, and the hour and +a half wasn’t spent when I cleared Glashaduff +bridge.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_197'>197</span>There was a house that time a couple of +hundred yards east from the bridge, near +the road, on your right-hand side and you +drawing towards Screeb. It was often before +that that I saw an old woman standing in +the door of that house, but I had no +acquaintance on her, nor did she ever put +talk or topic on me. A tall, thin woman +she was, her head as white as the snow, +and two dark eyes, as they would be two +burning sods, flaming in her head. She +was a woman that would scare me if I met +her in a lonely place in the night. Times +she would be knitting or carding, and she +crooning low to herself; but the thing she +would be mostly doing when I travelled, +would be standing in the door, and looking +from her up and down the road, exactly as +she’d be waiting for someone that would be +away from her, and she expecting him home.</p> + +<p class='c009'>She was standing there that morning as +usual, her hand to her eyes, and she staring +up the road. When she saw me going +past, she nodded her head to me. I went +over to her.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Do you see a person at all coming up +the road?” says she.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_198'>198</span>“I don’t,” says I.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I thought I saw someone. It can’t +be that I’m astray. See, isn’t that a young +man making up on us?” says she.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Devil a one do I see,” says I. “There’s +not a person at all between the spot we’re +on and the turning of the road.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I was astray, then,” says she. “My +sight isn’t as good as it was. I thought I +saw him coming. I don’t know what’s +keeping him.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Who’s away from you?” says myself.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“My son that’s away from me,” says +she.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Is he long away?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“This morning he went to Uachtar Ard.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“But, sure, he couldn’t be here for a +while,” says I. “You’d think he’d barely +be in Uachtar Ard by now, and he doing +his best, unless it was by the morning train +he went from the Burnt House.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“What’s this I’m saying?” says she. +“It’s not to-day he went, but yesterday,—or +the day ere yesterday, maybe…. +I’m losing my wits.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“If it’s on the train he’s coming,” says I, +“he’ll not be here for a couple of hours yet.”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_199'>199</span>“On the train?” says she. “What train?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The train that does be at the Burnt +House at noon.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“He didn’t say a word about a train,” +says she. “There was no train coming as +far as the Burnt House yesterday.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Isn’t there a train coming to the Burnt +House these years?” says I, wondering +greatly. She didn’t give me any answer, +however. She was staring up the road +again. There came a sort of dread on me +of her, and I was about gathering off.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“If you see him on the road,” says she, +“tell him to make hurry.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I’ve no acquaintance on him,” says I.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“You’d know him easy. He’s the play-boy +of the people. A young, active lad, +and he well set-up. He has a white head +on him, like is on yourself, and grey eyes +… like his father had. Bawneens +he’s wearing.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“If I see him,” says I, “I’ll tell him +you’re waiting for him.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Do, son,” says she.</p> + +<p class='c009'>With that I stirred on with me east, and +left her standing in the door.</p> + +<hr class='c015'> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_200'>200</span>She was there still, and I coming home a +couple of hours after that, and the load of +sedge on the car.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“He didn’t come yet?” says I to +her.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“No, <span lang="ga"><i>a mhuirnín</i></span>. You didn’t see him?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“No.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“No? What can have happened him?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>There were signs of rain on the day.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Come in till the shower’s over,” says +she. “It’s seldom I do have company.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>I left the ass and the little car on the +road, and I went into the house.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Sit and drink a cup of milk,” says +she.</p> + +<p class='c009'>I sat on the bench in the corner, and she +gave me a drink of milk and a morsel of +bread. I was looking all round the house, +and I eating and drinking. There was a +chair beside the fire, and a white shirt and a +suit of clothes laid on it.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I have these ready against he will +come,” says she. “I washed the bawneens +yesterday after his departing,—no, the day +ere yesterday—I don’t know right which +day I washed them; but, anyhow, they’ll +be clean and dry before him when he does +<span class='pageno' id='Page_201'>201</span>come…. What’s your own name?” +says she, suddenly, after a spell of silence.</p> + +<p class='c009'>I told her.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“<span lang="ga"><i>Muise</i></span>, my love you are!” says she. +“The very name that was—that is—on my +own son. Whose are you?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>I told her.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“And do you say you’re a son of Sean +Feichin’s?” says she. “Your father was in +the public-house in Uachtar Ard that night….” +She stopped suddenly with that, +and there came some change on her. She +put her hand to her head. You’d think +that it’s madness was struck on her. She +sat before the fire then, and she stayed for a +while dreaming into the heart of the fire. +It was short till she began moving herself +to and fro over the fire, and crooning or +keening in a low voice. I didn’t understand +the words right, or it would be better for +me to say that it’s not on the words I was +thinking but on the music. It seemed to me +that there was the loneliness of the hills in +the dead time of night, or the loneliness of +the grave when nothing stirs in it but +worms, in that music. Here are the words +as I heard them from my father after that:—</p> + +<div class='lg-container-b'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_202'>202</span>Sorrow on death, it is it that blackened my heart,</div> + <div class='line'>That carried off my love and that left me ruined,</div> + <div class='line'>Without friend, without companion under the roof of my house</div> + <div class='line'>But this sorrow in my middle, and I lamenting.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>Going the mountain one evening,</div> + <div class='line'>The birds spoke to me sorrowfully,</div> + <div class='line'>The melodious snipe and the voiceful curlew,</div> + <div class='line'>Telling me that my treasure was dead.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>I called on you, and your voice I did not hear,</div> + <div class='line'>I called again, and an answer I did not get.</div> + <div class='line'>I kissed your mouth, and O God, wasn’t it cold!</div> + <div class='line'>Och, it’s cold your bed is in the lonely graveyard.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>And O sod-green grave, where my child is,</div> + <div class='line'>O narrow, little grave, since you are his bed,</div> + <div class='line'>My blessing on you, and the thousand blessings</div> + <div class='line'>On the green sods that are over my pet.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>Sorrow on death, its blessing is not possible—</div> + <div class='line'>It lays fresh and withered together;</div> + <div class='line'>And, O pleasant little son, it is it is my affliction,</div> + <div class='line'>Your sweet body to be making clay!</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>When she had that finished, she kept on +moving herself to and fro, and lamenting +in a low voice. It was a lonesome place +to be, in that backward house, and you to +have no company but yon solitary old +<span class='pageno' id='Page_203'>203</span>woman, mourning to herself by the fireside. +There came a dread and a creeping +on me, and I rose to my feet.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“It’s time for me to be going home,” +says I. “The evening’s clearing.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Come here,” says she to me.</p> + +<p class='c009'>I went hither to her. She laid her two +hands softly on my head, and she kissed my +forehead.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The protection of God to you, little +son,” says she. “May He let the harm of +the year over you, and may He increase the +good fortune and happiness of the year to +you and to your family.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>With that she freed me from her. I left +the house, and pushed on home with me.</p> + +<hr class='c015'> + +<p class='c009'>“Where were you, Coilin, when the +shower caught you?” says my mother to me +that night. “It didn’t do you any hurt.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I waited in the house of yon old woman +on the east side of Glashaduff bridge,” says +I. “She was talking to me about her son. +He’s in Uachtar Ard these two days, and +she doesn’t know why he hasn’t come home +ere this.”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_204'>204</span>My father looked over at my mother.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The Keening Woman,” says he.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Who is she?” says I.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The Keening Woman,” says my father. +“Muirne of the Keens.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Why was that name given to her?” +says I.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“For the keens she does be making,” +answered my father. “She’s the most +famous keening-woman in Connemara or +in the Joyce Country. She’s always sent +for when anyone dies. She keened my +father, and there’s a chance but she’ll keen +myself. But, may God comfort her, it’s +her own dead she does be keening always, +it’s all the same what corpse is in the +house.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“And what’s her son doing in Uachtar +Ard?” says I.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Her son died twenty years since, +Coilin,” says my mother.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“He didn’t die at all,” says my father, +and a very black look on him. “<em>He was +murdered.</em>”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Who murdered him?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>It’s seldom I saw my father angry, but +it’s awful his anger was when it would +<span class='pageno' id='Page_205'>205</span>rise up in him. He took a start out of me +when he spoke again, he was that angry.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Who murdered your own grandfather? +Who drew the red blood out of my grandmother’s +shoulders with a lash? Who +would do it but the English? My curse +on—”</p> + +<p class='c009'>My mother rose, and she put her hand +on his mouth.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Don’t give your curse to anyone, Sean,” +says she. My mother was that kind-hearted, +she wouldn’t like to throw the +bad word at the devil himself. I believe +she’d have pity in her heart for Cain and +for Judas, and for Diarmaid of the Galls. +“It’s time for us to be saying the Rosary,” +says she. “Your father will tell you about +Coilin Muirne some other night.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Father,” says I, and we going on our +knees, “we should say a prayer for Coilin’s +soul this night.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“We’ll do that, son,” says my father +kindly.</p> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c001'> + <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_206'>206</span>II</div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>Sitting up one night, in the winter that +was on us, my father told us the story of +Muirne from start to finish. It’s well I +mind him in the firelight, a broad-shouldered +man, a little stooped, his share of hair going +grey, lines in his forehead, a sad look in his +eyes. He was mending an old sail that +night, and I was on my knees beside him in +the name of helping him. My mother and +my sisters were spinning frieze. Seaneen +was stretched on his face on the floor, and +he in grips of a book. ’Twas small the +heed he gave to the same book, for it’s the +pastime he had, to be tickling the soles of +my feet and taking an odd pinch out of my +calves; but as my father stirred out in the +story Sean gave over his trickery, and it is +short till he was listening as interested as +anyone. It would be hard not to listen to +my father when he’d tell a story like that by +the hearthside. He was a sweet storyteller. +It’s often I’d think there was music in his +<span class='pageno' id='Page_207'>207</span>voice; a low, deep music like that in the +bass of the organ in Tuam Cathedral.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Twenty years are gone, Coilin (says my +father), since the night myself and Coilin +Muirne (may God give him grace) and three +or four others of the neighbours were in +Neachtan’s public-house in Uachtar Ard. +There was a fair in the town the same day, +and we were drinking a glass before taking +the road home on ourselves. There were +four or five men in it from Carrowroe and +from the Joyce Country, and six or seven +of the people of the town. There came a +stranger in, a thin, black man that nobody +knew. He called for a glass.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Did ye hear, people,” says he to us, and +he drinking with us, “that the lord is to +come home to-night?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“What business has the devil here?” +says someone.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Bad work he’s up to, as usual,” says the +black man. “He has settled to put seven +families out of their holdings.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Who’s to be put out?” says one of us.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Old Thomas O’Drinan from the Glen,—I’m +told the poor fellow’s dying, but it’s +on the roadside he’ll die, if God hasn’t him +<span class='pageno' id='Page_208'>208</span>already; a man of the O’Conaire’s that lives +in a cabin on this side of Loch Shindilla; +Manning from Snamh Bo; two in Annaghmaan; +a woman at the head of the Island; +and Anthony O’Greelis from Lower Camus.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Anthony’s wife is heavy in child,” says +Cuimin O’Niadh.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“That won’t save her, the creature,” +says the black man. “She’s not the first +woman out of this country that bore her +child in a ditch-side of the road.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>There wasn’t a word out of anyone of +us.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“What sort of men are ye?” says the +black man,—“ye are not men, at all. I +was born and raised in a countryside, and, +my word to you, the men of that place +wouldn’t let the whole English army together +throw out seven families on the road without +them knowing the reason why. Are ye +afraid of the man that’s coming here to-night?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“It’s easy to talk,” said Cuimin, “but +what way can we stop the bodach?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Murder him this night,” says a voice +behind me. Everybody started. I myself +turned round. It was Coilin Muirne that +<span class='pageno' id='Page_209'>209</span>spoke. His two eyes were blazing in his +head, a flame in his cheeks, and his head +thrown high.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“A man that spoke that, whatever his +name and surname,” says the stranger. He +went hither and gripped Coilin’s hand. +“Drink a glass with me,” says he.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Coilin drank the glass. The others +wouldn’t speak.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“It’s time for us to be shortening the +road,” says Cuimin, after a little spell.</p> + +<p class='c009'>We got a move on us. We took the +road home. The night was dark. There +was no wish for talk on any of us, at all. +When we came to the head of the street +Cuimin stood in the middle of the road.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Where’s Coilin Muirne?” says he.</p> + +<p class='c009'>We didn’t feel him from us till Cuimin +spoke. He wasn’t in the company.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Myself went back to the public-house. +Coilin wasn’t in it. I questioned the pot-boy. +He said that Coilin and the black +man left the shop together five minutes after +our going. I searched the town. There +wasn’t tale or tidings of Coilin anywhere. +I left the town and I followed the other +men. I hoped it might be that he’d be to +<span class='pageno' id='Page_210'>210</span>find before me. He wasn’t, nor the track +of him.</p> + +<p class='c009'>It was very far in the night when we reached +Glashaduff bridge. There was a light in +Muirne’s house. Muirne herself was standing +in the door.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“God save you, men,” says she, coming +over to us. “Is Coilin with you?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“He isn’t, <span lang="ga"><i>muise</i></span>,” says I. “He stayed +behind us in Uachtar Ard.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Did he sell?” says she.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“He did, and well,” says I. “There’s +every chance that he’ll stay in the town till +morning. The night’s black and cold in +itself. Wouldn’t it be as well for you to go +in and lie down?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“It’s not worth my while,” says she. +“I’ll wait up till he comes. May God +hasten you.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>We departed. There was, as it would be, +a load on my heart. I was afraid that there +was something after happening to Coilin. +I had ill notions of that black man…. +I lay down on my bed after coming home, +but I didn’t sleep.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The next morning myself and your +mother were eating breakfast, when the +<span class='pageno' id='Page_211'>211</span>latch was lifted from the door, and in comes +Cuimin O’Niadh. He could hardly draw +his breath.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“What’s the news with you, man?” +says I.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Bad news,” says he. “The lord was +murdered last night. He was got on the +road a mile to the east of Uachtar Ard, +and a bullet through his heart. The +soldiers were in Muirne’s house this morning +on the track of Coilin, but he wasn’t +there. He hasn’t come home yet. It’s +said it was he murdered the lord. You +mind the words he said last night?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>I leaped up, and out the door with me. +Down the road, and east to Muirne’s house. +There was no one before me but herself. +The furniture of the house was this way +and that way, where the soldiers were +searching. Muirne got up when she saw +me in the door.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Sean O’Conaire,” says she, “for God’s +pitiful sake, tell me where’s my son? You +were along with him. Why isn’t he +coming home to me?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Let you have patience, Muirne,” says +I. “I’m going to Uachtar Ard after him.”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_212'>212</span>I struck the road. Going in the street +of Uachtar Ard, I saw a great ruck of +people. The bridge and the street before +the chapel were black with people. People +were making on the spot from every art. +But, a thing that put terror on my heart, +there wasn’t a sound out of that terrible +gathering,—only the eyes of every man +stuck in a little knot that was in the right-middle +of the crowd. Soldiers that were +in that little knot, black coats and red +coats on them, and guns and swords in +their hands; and among the black coats +and red coats I saw a country boy, and +bawneens on him. Coilin Muirne that +was in it, and he in holds of the soldiers. +The poor boy’s face was as white as my +shirt, but he had the beautiful head of him +lifted proudly, and it wasn’t the head of a +coward, that head.</p> + +<p class='c009'>He was brought to the barracks, and that +crowd following him. He was taken to +Galway that night. He was put on his +trial the next month. It was sworn that +he was in the public-house that night. It +was sworn that the black man was discoursing +on the landlords. It was sworn that +<span class='pageno' id='Page_213'>213</span>he said the lord would be coming that +night to throw the people out of their +holdings the next day. It was sworn that +Coilin Muirne was listening attentively to +him. It was sworn that Coilin said those +words, “Murder him this night,” when +Cuimin O’Niadh said, “What way can we +stop the bodach?” It was sworn that the +black man praised him for saying those +words, that he shook hands with him, +that they drank a glass together. It was +sworn that Coilin remained in the shop +after the going of the Rossnageeragh people, +and that himself and the black man left +the shop together five minutes after that. +There came a peeler then, and he swore +he saw Coilin and the black man leaving +the town, and that it wasn’t the Rossnageeragh +road they took on themselves, but +the Galway road. At eight o’clock they +left the town. At half after eight a shot +was fired at the lord on the Galway road. +Another peeler swore he heard the report +of the shot. He swore he ran to the place, +and, closing up to the place, he saw two +men running away. A thin man one of +them was, and he dressed like a gentleman +<span class='pageno' id='Page_214'>214</span>would be. A country boy the other man +was.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“What kind of clothes was the country +boy wearing?” says the lawyer.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“A suit of bawneens,” says the peeler.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Is that the man you saw?” says the +lawyer, stretching his finger towards Coilin.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I would say it was.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Do you swear it?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The peeler didn’t speak for a spell.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Do you swear it?” says the lawyer +again.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I do,” says the peeler. The peeler’s +face at that moment was whiter than the +face of Coilin himself.</p> + +<p class='c009'>A share of us swore then that Coilin +never fired a shot out of a gun; that he was +a decent, kindly boy that wouldn’t hurt a +fly, if he had the power for it. The parish +priest swore that he knew Coilin from the +day he baptized him; that it was his opinion +that he never committed a sin, and that he +wouldn’t believe from anyone at all that he +would slay a man. It was no use for us. +What good was our testimony against the +testimony of the police? Judgment of death +was given on Coilin.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_215'>215</span>His mother was present all that time. She +didn’t speak a word from start to finish, but +her two eyes stuck in the two eyes of her +son, and her two hands knitted under her +shawl.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“He won’t be hanged,” says Muirne that +night. “God promised me that he won’t +be hanged.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>A couple of days after that we heard that +Coilin wouldn’t be hanged, that it’s how his +soul would be spared him on account of him +being so young as he was, but that he’d be +kept in gaol for the term of his life.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“He won’t be kept,” says Muirne. “O +Jesus,” she would say, “don’t let them keep +my son from me.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>It’s marvellous the patience that woman +had, and the trust she had in the Son of +God. It’s marvellous the faith and the hope +and the patience of women.</p> + +<p class='c009'>She went to the parish priest. She said +to him that if he’d write to the people of +Dublin, asking them to let Coilin out to her, +it’s certain he would be let out.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“They won’t refuse you, Father,” says +she.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The priest said that there would be no +<span class='pageno' id='Page_216'>216</span>use at all in writing, that no heed would be +paid to his letter, but that he himself would +go to Dublin and that he would speak with +the great people, and that, maybe, some good +might come out of it. He went. Muirne +was full-sure her son would be home to her +by the end of a week or two. She readied +the house before him. She put lime on it +herself, inside and outside. She set two +neighbours to put a new thatch on it. She +spun the makings of a new suit of clothes +for him; she dyed the wool with her own +hands; she brought it to the weaver, and +she made the suit when the frieze came +home.</p> + +<p class='c009'>We thought it long while the priest was +away. He wrote a couple of times to the +master, but there was nothing new in the +letters. He was doing his best, he said, but +he wasn’t succeeding too well. He was +going from person to person, but it’s not +much satisfaction anybody was giving him. +It was plain from the priest’s letters that he +hadn’t much hope he’d be able to do anything. +None of us had much hope, either. +But Muirne didn’t lose the wonderful trust +she had in God.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_217'>217</span>“The priest will bring my son home with +him,” she used say.</p> + +<p class='c009'>There was nothing making her anxious +but fear that she wouldn’t have the new suit +ready before Coilin’s coming. But it was +finished at last; she had everything ready, +repair on the house, the new suit laid on a +chair before the fire,—and still no word of +the priest.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Isn’t it Coilin will be glad when he sees +the comfort I have in the house,” she would +say. “Isn’t it he will look spruce going the road +to Mass of a Sunday, and that suit on him!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>It’s well I mind the evening the priest +came home. Muirne was waiting for him +since morning, the house cleaned up, and +the table laid.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Welcome home,” she said, when the +priest came in. She was watching the door, +as she would be expecting someone else to +come in. But the priest closed the door +after him.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I thought that it’s with yourself he’d +come, Father,” says Muirne. “But, sure, +it’s the way he wouldn’t like to come on the +priest’s car. He was shy like that always, +the creature.”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_218'>218</span>“Oh, poor Muirne,” says the priest, +holding her by the two hands, “I can’t +conceal the truth from you. He’s not +coming, at all. I didn’t succeed in doing +anything. They wouldn’t listen to me.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Muirne didn’t say a word. She went +over and she sat down before the fire. The +priest followed her and laid his hand on her +shoulder.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Muirne,” says he, like that.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Let me be, Father, for a little while,” +says she. “May God and His Mother +reward you for what you’ve done for me. +But leave me to myself for a while. I +thought you’d bring him home to me, and +it’s a great blow on me that he hasn’t +come.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The priest left her to herself. He thought +he’d be no help to her till the pain of that +blow would be blunted.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The next day Muirne wasn’t to be found. +Tale or tidings no one had of her. Word +nor wisdom we never heard of her till the +end of a quarter. A share of us thought +that it’s maybe out of her mind the creature +went, and a lonely death to come on her in +the hollow of some mountain, or drowning +<span class='pageno' id='Page_219'>219</span>in a boghole. The neighbours searched +the hills round about, but her track wasn’t +to be seen.</p> + +<p class='c009'>One evening myself was digging potatoes +in the garden, when I saw a solitary woman +making on me up the road. A tall, thin +woman. Her head well-set. A great +walk under her. “If Muirne ni Fhiannachta +is living,” says I to myself, “it’s she +that’s in it.” ’Twas she, and none else. +Down with me to the road.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Welcome home, Muirne,” says I to +her. “Have you any news?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I have, then,” says she, “and good +news. I went to Galway. I saw the +Governor of the gaol. He said to me that +he wouldn’t be able to do a taste, that it’s +the Dublin people would be able to let him +out of gaol, if his letting-out was to be got. +I went off to Dublin. O, Lord, isn’t it +many a hard, stony road I walked, isn’t it +many a fine town I saw before I came to +Dublin? ‘Isn’t it a great country, Ireland +is?’ I used say to myself every evening +when I’d be told I’d have so many miles to +walk before I’d see Dublin. But, great +thanks to God and to the Glorious Virgin, I +<span class='pageno' id='Page_220'>220</span>walked in on the street of Dublin at last, +one cold, wet evening. I found a lodging. +The morning of the next day I enquired +for the Castle. I was put on the way. I +went there. They wouldn’t let me in at +first, but I was at them till I got leave of +talk with some man. He put me on to +another man, a man that was higher than +himself. He sent me to another man. I +said to them all I wanted was to see the +Lord Lieutenant of the Queen. I saw him +at last. I told him my story. He said to +me that he couldn’t do anything. I gave +my curse to the Castle of Dublin, and out +the door with me. I had a pound in my +pocket. I went aboard a ship, and the +morning after I was in Liverpool of the +English. I walked the long roads of England +from Liverpool to London. When I +came to London I asked knowledge of the +Queen’s Castle. I was told. I went there. +They wouldn’t let me in. I went there +every day, hoping that I’d see the Queen +coming out. After a week I saw her +coming out. There were soldiers and great +people about her. I went over to the +Queen before she went in to her coach. +<span class='pageno' id='Page_221'>221</span>There was a paper, a man in Dublin wrote +for me, in my hand. An officer seized me. +The Queen spoke to him, and he freed me +from him. I spoke to the Queen. She +didn’t understand me. I stretched the paper +to her. She gave the paper to the officer, +and he read it. He wrote certain words +on the paper, and he gave it back to me. +The Queen spoke to another woman that +was along with her. The woman drew out +a crown piece and gave it to me. I gave +her back the crown piece, and I said that +it’s not silver I wanted, but my son. They +laughed. It’s my opinion they didn’t +understand me. I showed them the paper +again. The officer laid his finger on the +words he was after writing. I curtseyed +to the Queen and went off with me. A +man read for me the words the officer wrote. +It’s what was in it, that they would write +to me about Coilin without delay. I struck +the road home then, hoping that, maybe, +there would be a letter before me. <a id='tn-doyouthink'></a>Do +you think, Sean,” says Muirne, finishing +her story, “has the priest any letter? +There wasn’t a letter at all in the house +before me coming out the road; but I’m +<span class='pageno' id='Page_222'>222</span>thinking it’s to the priest they’d send the +letter, for it’s a chance the great people +might know him.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I don’t know did any letter come,” says +I. “I would say there didn’t, for if +there did the priest would be telling us.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“It will be here some day yet,” says +Muirne. “I’ll go in to the priest, anyhow, +and I’ll tell him my story.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>In the road with her, and up the hill to +the priest’s house. I saw her going home +again that night, and the darkness falling. +It’s wonderful how she was giving it to +her footsoles, considering what she suffered +of distress and hardship for a quarter.</p> + +<p class='c009'>A week went by. There didn’t come +any letter. Another week passed. No +letter came. The third week, and still no +letter. It would take tears out of the grey +stones to be looking at Muirne, and the +anxiety that was on her. It would break +your heart to see her going in the road to +the priest every morning. We were afraid +to speak to her about Coilin. We had evil +notions. The priest had evil notions. He +said to us one day that he heard from +another priest in Galway that it’s not more +<span class='pageno' id='Page_223'>223</span>than well Coilin was, that it’s greatly the +prison was preying on his health, that he +was going back daily. That story wasn’t +told to Muirne.</p> + +<p class='c009'>One day myself had business with the +priest, and I went in to him. We were +conversing in the parlour when we heard a +person’s footstep on the street outside. +Never a knock on the house-door, or on +the parlour-door, but in into the room with +Muirne ni Fhiannachta, and a letter in her +hand. It’s with trouble she could talk.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“A letter from the Queen, a letter from +the Queen!” says she.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The priest took the letter. He opened +it. I noticed that his hand was shaking, +and he opening it. There came the colour +of death in his face after reading it. Muirne +was standing out opposite him, her two +eyes blazing in her head, her mouth half open.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“What does she say, Father?” says she. +“Is she sending him home to me?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“It’s not from the Queen this letter came, +Muirne,” says the priest, speaking slowly, +like as there would be some impediment on +him, “but from the Governor of the gaol +in Dublin.”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_224'>224</span>“And what does he say? Is he sending +him home to me?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The priest didn’t speak for a minute. It +seemed to me that he was trying to mind +certain words, and the words, as you would +say, going from him.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Muirne,” says he at last, “he says that +poor Coilin died yesterday.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>At the hearing of those words, Muirne +burst a-laughing. The like of such laughter +I never heard. That laughter was ringing +in my ears for a month after that. She +made a couple of terrible screeches of +laughter, and then she fell in a faint on +the floor.</p> + +<p class='c009'>She was fetched home, and she was on +her bed for a half year. She was out of +her mind all that time. She came to herself +at long last, and no person at all would +think there was a thing the matter with +her,—only the delusion that her son isn’t +returned home yet from the fair of Uachtar +Ard. She does be expecting him always, +standing or sitting in the door half the day, +and everything ready for his home-coming. +She doesn’t understand that there’s any +change on the world since that night. “That’s +<span class='pageno' id='Page_225'>225</span>the reason, Coilin,” says my father to me, +<a id='tn-knowtherailway'></a>“that she didn’t know the railway was +coming as far as Burnt House. Times +she remembers herself, and she starts keening +like you saw her. ’Twas herself that made +yon keen you heard from her. May God +comfort her,” <a id='tn-comforther'></a>says my father, putting an +end to his story.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“And daddy,” says I, “did any letter +come from the Queen after that?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“There didn’t, nor the colour of one.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Do you think, daddy, was it Coilin that +killed the lord?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I know it wasn’t,” says my father. “If +it was he’d acknowledge it. I’m as certain +as I’m living this night that it’s the black +man killed the lord. I don’t say that poor +Coilin wasn’t present.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Was the black man ever caught?” says +my sister.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“He wasn’t, <span lang="ga"><i>muise</i></span>,” says my father. +“Little danger on him.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Where did he belong, the black man, +do you think, daddy?” says I.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I believe, before God,” says my father, +“that it’s a peeler from Dublin Castle was +in it. Cuimin O’Niadh saw a man very like +<span class='pageno' id='Page_226'>226</span>him giving evidence against another boy in +Tuam a year after that.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Daddy,” says Seaneen suddenly, “when +I’m a man I’ll kill that black man.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“God save us,” says my mother.</p> + +<p class='c009'>My father laid his hand on Seaneen’s +head.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Maybe, little son,” says he, “we’ll all +be taking tally-ho out of the black soldiers +before the clay will come on us.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“It’s time for the Rosary,” says my +mother.</p> + +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_227'>227</span></div> +<div class='chapter' id='link-iosagan-2'> + +<div> + <h2 class='c004'>IOSAGAN</h2> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c000'> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c000'> + <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_229'>229</span><span class='large'>IOSAGAN</span></div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c008'>Old Matthias was sitting beside his door. +Anyone going the road would think that +it was an image of stone or of marble was +in it—that, or a dead person—for he couldn’t +believe that a living man could stay so +calm, so quiet as that. He had his head +high and an ear on him listening. It’s +many a musical sound there was to listen +to, for the person who’d have heed on +them. Old Matthias heard the roar of the +waves on the rocks, and the murmur of the +stream flowing down and over the stones. +He heard the screech of the heron-crane +from the high, rocky shore, and the lowing +of the cows from the pasture, and the bright +laughter of the children from the green. +But it wasn’t to any of these he was listening +that attentively—though all of them +were sweet to him—but to the clear sound +of the bell for Mass that was coming to him +on the wind in the morning stillness.</p> + +<p class='c009'>All the people were gathered into Mass. +Old Matthias saw them going past, in ones +<span class='pageno' id='Page_230'>230</span>and twos, or in little groups. The boys +were running and leaping. The girls were +chattering merrily. The women were +conversing in low tones. The men were +silent. Like this, they’d travel the road +every Sunday. Like this, Old Matthias +would sit on his chair watching them till +they’d go out of sight. They went past +him this morning as usual. The old man +remained looking at them till there was an +end to the noise and the commotion, till +the last group cleared the top of the church +hill, till there was nothing to be seen but +a long, straight road stretching out, and it +white, till there were none to be found in +the village but an odd old person in his bed, +or children tricking on the green, and himself +sitting beside his door.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Old Matthias would not go to the chapel. +He hadn’t heard “the sweet Mass” for +over three score years. He was a strong, +active youth the last time he blessed himself +before the people, and now he was a +withered, done old man, his share of hair +grey-white, furrows in his brow, his +shoulders bent. He hadn’t bent his knee +before God for the length of those three +<span class='pageno' id='Page_231'>231</span>score years; he hadn’t put a prayer to his +Creator; he hadn’t given thanks to his +Saviour. A man apart, Old Matthias +was.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Nobody knew why he wouldn’t go to +Mass. People said that he didn’t believe +there was a God in it. Other people said +that he committed some terrible sin at the +start of his life, and when the priest wouldn’t +give him absolution in confession, that a +rage of anger came on him, and he swore +an oath that he wouldn’t touch priest or +chapel while he was living again. Other +people said—but this was said only in a +whisper by the fireside when the old people +would be yarning by themselves after the +children had gone asleep—these said that +he sold his soul to a certain Great Man +that he met once on the top of Cnoc-a’-daimh, +and that this person wouldn’t allow +him to frequent the Mass. I don’t know +is it true or lying these stories are, but I do +know that old Matthias wasn’t seen at God’s +Mass in the memory of the oldest person +in the village. Cuimin O’Niadh—an old +man that got death a couple of years before +this in his ninetieth year—said that he +<span class='pageno' id='Page_232'>232</span>himself saw him there when he was a lump +of a lad.</p> + +<p class='c009'>It wasn’t thought that Old Matthias was a +bad character. He was a man as honest, +as simple, as natural as you would meet in +a day’s walking. There wasn’t ever heard +out of his mouth but the good word. He +had no delight in drink or in company, no +wish for gold or for property. He was +poor, but it’s often he shared with people +that were poorer than he. He had pity for +the infirm. He had mercy for the wretched. +Other men had honour and esteem for him. +The women, the children, and the animals +loved him; and he had love for them and +for everything that was generous and of +clean heart.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Old Matthias liked women’s talk better +than men’s talk. But he liked the talk of +boys and girls still better than the talk of +men or women. He used say that the +women were more discerning than the men, +and that the children were more discerning +than either of them. It’s along with the +young folk he would spend the best part of +his idle time. He would sit with them in +a corner of the house, telling them stories, +<span class='pageno' id='Page_233'>233</span>or getting stories out of them. They were +wonderful, his share of stories. He had +the “Adventures of the Grey Horse” in +grandest way in the world. He was the +one old body in the village who had +the story of the “Hen-Harrier and the +Wren,” properly. Isn’t it he would put +fright on the children, and he reciting “<span lang="ga"><cite>Fú +Fá Féasóg</cite></span>” (The Two-Headed Giant), and +isn’t it he would take the laughs out of +them discoursing on the doings of the +piper in the Snail’s Castle! And the songs +he had! He could coax an ailing child +asleep with his:</p> + +<div class='lg-container-b'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>“Shoheen, sho, and sleep, my pet;</div> + <div class='line'>The fairies are out walking the glen!”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c018'>or he could put the full of a house of +children in fits of laughter with his:</p> + +<div class='lg-container-b'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>“Hi diddle dum, the cat and his mother,</div> + <div class='line'>That went to Galway riding a drake!”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c018'>And isn’t it he had the funny old ranns; and +the hard, difficult questions; and the fine +riddles! As for games, where was the +person, man, woman, or child could keep +“<span lang="ga"><cite>Lúrabóg, Lárabóg</cite></span>,” or “<span lang="ga"><cite>An Bhuidhean +<span class='pageno' id='Page_234'>234</span>Bhalbh</cite></span>” (The Dumb Band) going with him!</p> + +<p class='c009'>In the fine time it’s on the side of the +hill, or walking the bog, you’d see Old +Matthias and his little playmates, he explaining +to them the way of life of the ants and +of the woodlice, or inventing stories about +the hedgehog and the red squirrel. Another +time to them boating, the old man with an +oar, some little wee boy with another one, +and maybe a young girl steering. It’s often +the people who’d be working near the strand +would hear the shouts of joy of the children +coming to them from the harbour-mouth, +or, it might be, Old Matthias’s voice, and he +saying:</p> + +<div class='lg-container-b'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>“Oró! my curragheen O!</div> + <div class='line'>And óró! my little boat!”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c018'>or something like it.</p> + +<p class='c009'>There used come fear on a share of the +mothers at times, and they’d say to each +other that they oughtn’t let their children +spend that much time with Old Matthias,—“a +man that frequents neither clergy nor +Mass.” Once a woman of them laid bare +these thoughts to Father Sean. It’s what +the priest said:</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_235'>235</span>“Don’t meddle with the poor children,” +says he. “They couldn’t be in better +company.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“But they tell me he doesn’t believe in +God, Father.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“There’s many a saint in heaven to-day +that didn’t believe in God some time of his +life. And, whisper here. If Old Matthias +hasn’t love for God—a thing that neither +you nor I know—it’s wonderful the love he +has for the cleanest and most beautiful thing +that God created,—the shining soul of +the child. Our Saviour Himself and the +most glorious saints in heaven had the same +love for them. How do we know that it +isn’t the children that will draw Old Matthias +to the knee of our Saviour yet?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>And the story was left like that.</p> + +<p class='c009'>On this Sunday morning the old man +remained listening till the bell for Mass +stopped ringing. When there was an end +to it he gave a sigh, as the person would +that would be weary and sorrowful, and he +turned to the group of boys that were sporting +themselves on the plot of grass—the +“green” Old Matthias would call it—at +the cross-roads. Old Matthias knew every +<span class='pageno' id='Page_236'>236</span>curly-headed, bare-footed child of them. +He liked no pastime at all better than +to be sitting there watching them and +listening to them. He was counting them, +seeing which of his friends were in it and +which of them were gone to Mass with the +grown people, when he noticed among them +a child he never saw before. A little, brown +boy, with a white coat on him, like was on +every other boy, and he without shoes or +cap, as is the custom with the children of +the West. The face of this boy was as +bright as the sun, and it seemed to Old +Matthias that there were, as it would be, +rays of light coming from his head. The +sun shining on his share of hair, maybe.</p> + +<p class='c009'>There was wonder on the old man at +seeing this child, for he hadn’t heard that +there were any strangers after coming to the +village. He was on the point of going +over and questioning one of the little lads +about him, when he heard the stir and +chatter of the people coming home from +Mass. He didn’t feel the time slipping by +him while his mind was on the tricks of the +boys. Some of the people saluted him going +past, and he saluted them. When he gave +<span class='pageno' id='Page_237'>237</span>an eye on the group of boys again, the +strange boy wasn’t among them.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The Sunday after that, Old Matthias was +sitting beside his door, as usual. The people +were gathered west to Mass. The young +folk were running and throwing jumps on +the green. Running and throwing jumps +along with them was the strange child. +Matthias looked at him for a long time, for +he gave the love of his heart to him on +account of the beauty of his person and the +brightness of his countenance. At last he +called over one of the little boys:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Who’s yon boy I see among you for a +fortnight back, Coilin?” says he—“he there +with the brown head on him,—but have a +care that it’s not reddish-fair he is: I don’t +know is it dark or fair he is, and the way +the sun is burning on him. Do you see +him now—that one that’s running towards +us?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“That’s Iosagan,” says the little lad.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Iosagan?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“That’s the name he gives himself.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Who are his people?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I don’t know, but he says his father’s +a king.”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_238'>238</span>“Where does he live?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“He never told us that, but he says that +it’s not far from us his house is.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Does he be along with you often?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Aye, when we do be spending time to +ourselves like this. But he goes from us +when a grown person is present. Look! +he’s gone already!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The old man looked, and there was no +one in it but the boys he knew. The child, +the little boy called Iosagan, was missing. +The same moment, the noise and bustle of +the people were heard returning from +Mass.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The next Sunday everything fell out +exactly as it fell on the two Sundays before +that. The people gathered west as usual, +and the old man and the children were left +by themselves in the village. The heart of +Old Matthias gave a leap in his middle +when he saw the Holy Child among them +again.</p> + +<p class='c009'>He rose. He went over and he stood +near Him. After a time, standing without +a move, he stretched his two hands towards +Him, and he spoke in a low voice:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Iosagan!”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_239'>239</span>The Child heard him, and He came +towards him, running.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Come here and sit on my knee for a +little while, Iosagan.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The Child put His hand in the thin, +knuckly hand of the old man, and they +travelled side by side across the road. Old +Matthias sat on his chair, and drew Iosagan +to his breast.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Where do You live, Iosagan?” says he, +speaking low always.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Not far from this My House is. Why +don’t you come on a visit to Me?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I’d be afraid in a royal house. It’s told +me that Your Father’s a King.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“He is High-King of the World. But +there is no need for you to be afraid of Him. +He is full of mercy and love.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I fear I haven’t kept His law.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Ask forgiveness of Him. I and My +Mother will make intercession for you.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“It’s a pity I didn’t see You before this, +Iosagan. Where were You from me?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I was here always. I do be travelling +the roads, and walking the hills, and ploughing +the waves. I do be among the people +when they gather into My House. I do be +<span class='pageno' id='Page_240'>240</span>among the children they do leave behind +them playing on the street.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I was too timid—or too proud—to go +into Your House, Iosagan; but I found You +among the children.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“There isn’t any time or place that +children do be amusing themselves that I +am not along with them. Times they see +Me; other times they do not see Me.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I never saw You till lately.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The grown people do be blind.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“And it has been granted me to see You, +Iosagan?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“My Father gave Me leave to show Myself +to you, because you loved His little +children.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The voices were heard of the people +returning from Mass.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I must go now from you.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Let me kiss the border of Your coat, +Iosagan.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Kiss it.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Shall I see You again?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“You will.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“When?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“This night.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>With that word He was gone.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_241'>241</span>“I will see Him this night!” says Old +Matthias, and he going into the house.</p> + +<hr class='c015'> + +<p class='c009'>The night came wet and stormy. The +great waves were heard breaking with a +booming roar against the strand. The trees +round the chapel were swaying and bending +with the strength of the wind. (The +chapel is on a little hill that falls down +with a slope to the sea.) Father Sean was +on the point of closing his book and saying +his Rosary when he heard a noise, as it +would be somebody knocking at the door. +He listened for a spell. He heard the +noise again. He rose from the fire, went to +the door, and opened it. A little boy was +standing on the door-flag—a boy the priest +didn’t mind ever to have seen before. He +had a white coat on him, and he without +shoes or cap. The priest thought that +there were rays of light shining from his +countenance, and about his head. The +moon that was shining on his brown, comely +head, it’s like.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Who have I here?” says Father Sean.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Put on you as quickly as you’re able, +<span class='pageno' id='Page_242'>242</span>Father, and strike east to the house of +Old Matthias. He is in the mouths of +death.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The priest didn’t want the second word.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Sit here till I’m ready,” says he. But when +he came back, the little messenger was gone.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Father Sean struck the road, and he didn’t +take long to finish the journey, though the +wind was against him, and it raining heavily. +There was a light in Old Matthias’s house +before him. He took the latch from the +door, and went in.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Who is this coming to me?” says a voice +from the old man’s bed.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The priest.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I’d like to speak to you, Father. Sit +here beside me.” The voice was feeble, and +the words came slowly from him.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The priest sat down, and heard Old +Matthias’s story from beginning to end. +Whatever secret was in the old body’s +heart it was laid bare to the servant of God +there in the middle of the night. When +the confession was over, Old Matthias +received communion, and he was anointed.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Who told you that I was wanting you, +Father?” says he in a weak, low voice, when +<span class='pageno' id='Page_243'>243</span>everything was done. “I was praying God +that you’d come, but I hadn’t any messenger +to send for you.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“But, sure, you did send a messenger to +me?” says the priest, and great wonder on him.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I didn’t.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“You didn’t? But a little boy came, +and he knocked at my door, and he said to +me that you were wanting my help!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The old man sat up straight in the bed. +There was a flashing in his eyes.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“What sort was the little boy was in it, +Father?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“A gentle little boy, with a white coat +on him.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Did you take notice was there a haze +of light about his head?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I did, and it put great wonder on me.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Old Matthias looked up, there came a +smile on his mouth, and he stretched out +his two arms:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Iosagan!” says he.</p> + +<p class='c009'>With that word, he fell back on the bed. +The priest went hither to him softly, and +closed his eyes.</p> + +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_245'>245</span></div> +<div class='chapter' id='link-priest'> + +<div> + <h2 class='c004'>THE PRIEST</h2> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c000'> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c000'> + <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_247'>247</span><span class='large'>THE PRIEST</span></div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c008'>It’s in yon little house you see in the glen +below you, and you going down the road +from Gortmore to Inver, that my Priest +lives. Himself and his mother, and his little +sister, and his little, small, wee brother,—those +are the family in it. The father died +before Taimeen, the youngest child of them, +was born. There’s no time I do be in +Rossnageeragh but I spend an evening or +two along with them, for the Priest and +Maireen (the little sister) and Taimeen are +the dearest friends I have. A soft, youngish-looking +woman the Priest’s mother is; she’s +a bit headstrong, maybe, but if she is itself +she’s as kind-hearted a woman as is living, +after that. ’Twas she told me this story +one evening that I was on a visit to her. +She was washing the Priest, meanwhile, +before the fire: a big tub of water laid on +the floor beside her, the Priest and his share +of clothes stripped from him, and she rubbing +and scrubbing every inch of his body. +I have my doubts that this work agreed too +<span class='pageno' id='Page_248'>248</span>well with the Priest, for now and again he’d +let a screech out of him. With every +screech his mother would give him a little +slap, and after that she’d kiss him. It’s +hard for a mother to keep her hand off a +child when she has him bare; and ’twould +be harder than that for a mother, as loving +as this mother, to keep her mouth from a +wee, red moutheen as sweet as Paraig’s +(Paraig’s my Priest’s name, you know). I +ought to say that the Priest was only eight +years old yet. He was a lovely picture, +standing there, and the firelight shining on +his well-knit body and on his curly head, +and dancing in his grey, laughing eyes. +When I think on Paraig, it’s that way I see +him before me, standing on the floor in the +brightening of the fire.</p> + +<p class='c009'>But in regard to the story. About a +year before this it is it fell out. Nora (the +mother) was working about the house. +Maireen and Taimeen were amusing themselves +on the floor. “<span lang="ga"><cite>Fromsó Framsó</cite></span>” they +had going on. Maireen was trying to teach +the words to Taimeen, a thing that was +failing on her, for Taimeen hadn’t any talk +yet. You know the words, I suppose?—they’re +<span class='pageno' id='Page_249'>249</span>worth learning, for there’s true +poetry in them:</p> + +<div class='lg-container-b'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>“<span lang="ga"><i>Fromsó Framsó</i></span>,—</div> + <div class='line'>A woman dancing,</div> + <div class='line'>That would make sport,</div> + <div class='line'>That would drink ale,</div> + <div class='line'>That would be in time</div> + <div class='line in4'>Here in the morning!”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>Nora wanted a can of water to make tea. +It was supper-time.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Where’s Paraig, Maireen?” says she. +“He’s lost this half-hour.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“He went into the room, mameen.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Paraig!” says the mother, calling +loudly.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Not a word from within.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Do you hear, Paraig?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Never a word.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“What’s wrong with the boy? Paraig, +I say!” says she, as loud as it was in her +head.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I’ll be out presently, mama,” says a +voice from the room.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Hurry with you, son. It’s tea-time, +and devil a tear of water have I in the +house.”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_250'>250</span>Paraig came out of the room.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“You’re found at last. Push on down +with you,—but what’s this? Where did +you get that shirt, or why is it on you? +What were you doing?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Paraig was standing in the door, like a +stake. A shirt was fastened on him over +his little coat. He looked down on himself. +His face was red-burning to the ears.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I forgot to take it off me, mama,” says +he.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Why is it on you at all?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Sport I was having.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Take it off you this minute! The rod +you want, yourself and your sport!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Paraig took off the shirt without a word +and left it back in the room.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Brush down to the well now and get a +can of water for me, like a pet.” Nora +already regretted that she spoke as harshly +as that. It’s a woman’s anger that isn’t +lasting.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Paraig took the can and whipped off with +it. Michileen Enda, a neighbour’s boy, +came in while he was out.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“It beats me, Michileen,” says Nora, +after a spell, “to make out what Paraig does +<span class='pageno' id='Page_251'>251</span>be doing in that room the length of the +evening. No sooner has he his dinner +eaten every day than he clears off in there, +and he’s lost till supper-time.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Some sport he does have on foot,” says +Michileen.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“That’s what he says himself. But it’s +not in the house a lad like him ought to be +stuck on a fine evening, but outside in the +air, tearing away.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“‘A body’s will is his delight,’” says +Michileen, reddening his pipe.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“One apart is Paraig, anyhow,” says +Nora. “He’s the most contrary son you +ever saw. Times, three people wouldn’t +watch him, and other times you wouldn’t +feel him in the house.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Paraig came in at this, and no more was +said on the question. He didn’t steal away +this time, but instead of that he sat down on +the floor, playing “<span lang="ga"><cite>Fromsó Framsó</cite></span>” with +Maireen and Taimeen.</p> + +<hr class='c015'> + +<p class='c009'>The dinner was on the table when Paraig +came home from school the next evening. +He ate his share of stirabout and he drank +<span class='pageno' id='Page_252'>252</span>his noggin of milk, thankfully and with +blessing. As soon as he had eaten and +drunk, he took his satchel of books and west +with him into the room, as was his habit.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The mother didn’t let on that she was +giving any heed to him. But, after a couple +of minutes, she opened the door of the room +quietly, and stuck the tip of her nose inside. +Paraig didn’t notice her, but she had a view +of everything that was going on in the room.</p> + +<p class='c009'>It was a queer sight. Paraig was standing +beside the table and he dressed in the +shirt again. Outside of this, and back over +his shoulders, he was fixing a red bodice of +his mother’s, that she had hanging on the +wall. When he had this arranged properly, +he took out the biggest book he had in his +satchel—the “Second Book” it was, I +believe—he opened it, and laid it before +him on the table, propped against the looking-glass.</p> + +<p class='c009'>It’s then began the antics in earnest. +Paraig stood out opposite the table, bent his +knee, blessed himself, and began praying +loudly. It’s not well Nora was able to +understand him, but, as she thought, he had +Latin and Gaelic mixed through other, and +<span class='pageno' id='Page_253'>253</span>an odd word that wasn’t like Latin or Gaelic. +Once, it seemed to her, she heard the words +“<span lang="ga"><i>Fromsó Framsó</i></span>,” but she wasn’t sure. +Whatever wonder was on Nora at this, it +was seven times greater the wonder was on +her when she saw Paraig genuflecting, beating +his breast, kissing the table, letting on +he was reading Latin prayers out of the +“Second Book,” and playing one trick odder +than another. She didn’t know rightly +what he was up to, till he turned round and +said:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“<span lang="la"><i>Dominus vobiscum!</i></span>”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“God save us!” says she to herself when +she saw this. “He’s pretending that he’s +a priest and he reading Mass! That’s the +Mass vestment he’s wearing, and the little +Gaelic book is the book of the Mass!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>It’s no exaggeration to say that Nora +was scared. She came back to the kitchen +and sat before the fire. She didn’t know +what she ought to do. She was between +two advices, which of them would be seemliest +for her—to put Paraig across her knee +and give him a good whipping, or to go +on her two knees before him and beg his +blessing!</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_254'>254</span>“How do I know,” says she to herself, +“that it’s not a terrible sin for me to let him +make a mimic of the priest like that? But +how do I know, after that, that it’s not a +saint out of heaven I have in the house? +And, sure, it would be a dreadful sin to lay +hand on a saint! May God forgive it to +me, it’s often I laid the track of my fingers +on him already! I don’t know either way. +I’m in a strait, surely!” Nora didn’t sleep +a wink that night with putting this question +through other.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The next morning, as soon as Paraig was +cleared off to school, Nora put the lock on the +door, left the two young children under the +care of Michileen’s mother, and struck +the road to Rossnageeragh. She didn’t stop +till she came to the parish priest’s house +and told her story to Father Ronan from +start to finish. The priest only smiled, but +Nora was with him till she drew a promise +from him that he’d take the road out to her +that evening. She whipped home then, +satisfied.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The priest didn’t fail her. He struck in +to her in the evening. Timely enough, +Paraig was in the room “reading Mass.”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_255'>255</span>“On your life, don’t speak, Father!” +says Nora. “He’s within.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The two stole over on their tiptoes to the +room door. They looked inside. Paraig +was dressed in the shirt and bodice, exactly +as he was the day before that, and he praying +piously. The priest stood a spell looking +at him.</p> + +<p class='c009'>At last my lad turned round, and setting +his face towards the people, as it would be:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“<span lang="la"><i>Orate, fratres</i></span>,” says he, out loud.</p> + +<p class='c009'>While this was saying, he saw his mother +and the priest in the door. He reddened, +and stood without a stir.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Come here to me,” says Father Ronan.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Paraig came over timidly.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“What’s this you have going on?” says +the priest.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I was reading Mass, Father,” says Paraig. +He said this much shyly, but it was plain he +didn’t think that he had done anything out of +the way—and, sure, it’s not much he had. +But poor Nora was on a tremble with +fear.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Don’t be too hard on him, Father,” +says she. “He’s only young.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The priest laid his hand lightly on the +<span class='pageno' id='Page_256'>256</span>white head of the little lad, and he spoke +gently and kindly to him.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“You’re too young yet, Paraigeen,” says +he, “to be a priest, and it’s not granted to +anyone but to God’s priest to say the Mass. +But whisper here to me. Would you like +to be serving Mass on Sunday?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Paraig’s eyes lit up and his cheek reddened +again, not with shyness this time but with +sheer delight.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“<span lang="ga"><i>Ora</i></span>, I would, Father,” says he; “I’d +like nothing at all better.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“That will do,” says the priest. “I see +you have some of the prayers already.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“But, Father, <span lang="ga"><i>a mhuirnín</i></span>”—says Nora, +and stopped like that, suddenly.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“What’s on you now?” says the priest.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Breeches nor brogues he hasn’t worn +yet!” says she. “I think it early to put +breeches on him till—”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The priest burst out laughing.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I never heard,” says he, “that there +was call for breeches. We’ll put a little +cassock out over his coat, and I warrant it’ll +fit him nicely. As for shoes, we’ve a pair +that Martin the Fisherman left behind him +when he went to Clifden. We’ll dress you +<span class='pageno' id='Page_257'>257</span>right, Paraig, no fear,” says he. And like +that it was settled.</p> + +<hr class='c015'> + +<p class='c009'>When the priest was gone, the mother +stooped down and kissed her little son.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“My love you are!” says she.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Going to sleep that night, the last words +she said to herself were: “My little son +will be a priest! And how do I know,” +says she, closing her eyes, “how do I know +that it’s not a bishop he might be by-and-by?”</p> + +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_259'>259</span></div> +<div class='chapter' id='link-barbara'> + +<div> + <h2 class='c004'>BARBARA</h2> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c000'> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c000'> + <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_261'>261</span><span class='large'>BARBARA</span></div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c008'>Barbara wasn’t too well-favoured, the best +day she was. Anybody would admit that +much. The first cause of it,—she was purblind. +You’d say, to look at her, she was +one-eyed. Brideen never gave in that she +was, however. Once when another little +girl said, out of sheer spite on them both, +that Barbara had only “one blind little eye, +like the tailor’s cat,” Brideen said angrily +that Barbara had her two eyes as good as +anybody, but it’s how she’d have one eye +shut, for the one was enough for her (let it +be blind), to do her share of work. However +it was, it couldn’t be hidden that she +was bald; and I declare a bald head isn’t a +nice thing in a young woman. Another +thing, she was a dummy; or it would be +more correct for me to say, that she didn’t +ever speak with anybody, but with Brideen +only. If Brideen told truth, she had a tasty +tongue of Irish, and her share of thoughts +were the loveliest in the world. It’s not +well she could walk, for she was one-legged, +<span class='pageno' id='Page_262'>262</span>and that one leg itself broken. She had two +legs on a time, but the dog ate one of them, +and the other was broken where she fell +from the top of the dresser.</p> + +<p class='c009'>But who’s Barbara, say you, or who’s +Brideen? Brideen is the little girl, or, as +she’d say herself, the little slip of a woman, +that lives in the house next the master’s,—on +the left-hand side, I think, going up the +road. It’s likely you know her now? If +you don’t, I can’t help you. I never heard +who her people were, and she herself said to +me that her father has ne’er a name but +“Daddy.” As for Barbara,—well, it’s as good +for me to tell you her adventures and travels +from start to finish.</p> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c001'> + <div>THE ADVENTURES OF BARBARA HERE.</div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>One day when Brideen’s mother got up, +she gave their breakfasts to Brideen and to +her father, to the dog, to the little cat, to +the calves, to the hens, to the geese, to the +ducks, and to the little robin redbreast that +would come to the door at breakfast-time +every morning. When she had that much +<span class='pageno' id='Page_263'>263</span>done, she ate her own breakfast. Then she +began readying herself for the road.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Brideen was sitting on her own little stool +without a word out of her, but she putting +the eyes through her mother. At long last +she spoke:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Is mama going from Brideen?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“She’s not, <span lang="ga"><i>a stóir</i></span>. Mama will come +again in the evening. She’s going to +Galway.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Is Brideen going there, too?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“She’s not, <span lang="ga"><i>a chuid</i></span>. The road’s too long, +and my little girl would be tired. She’ll +stay at home making sport for herself, like +a good little girl would. Won’t she stay?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“She will.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“She won’t run out on the street?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“She won’t.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Daddy’ll come in at dinner-time, and +ye’ll have a meal together. Give mama a +kiss, now.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The kiss was given, and the mother was +going. Brideen started up.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Mama!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“What is it <span lang="ga"><i>a rúin</i></span>?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Won’t you bring home a fairing to +Brideen?”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_264'>264</span>“I will, <span lang="ga"><i>a chuid</i></span>. A pretty fairing.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The mother went off, and Brideen remained +contented at home. She sat down on her +little stool. The dog was curled before the +fire, and he snoring. Brideen woke him up, +and put a whisper in his ear:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Mama will bring home a fairing to +Brideen!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Wuff!” says the dog, and went asleep to +himself again. Brideen knew that “Wuff!” +was the same as “Good news!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The little cat was sitting on the hearth. +Brideen lifted it in her two arms, rubbed its +face to her cheeks, and put a whisper in its +ear:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Mama will bring home a fairing to +Brideen!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Mee-ow!” says the little cat. Brideen +knew that “Mee-ow!” was the same as +“Good news!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>She laid the little cat from her, and went +about the house singing to herself. She made +a little song as follows:</p> + +<div class='lg-container-b'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>“O little dog, and O little dog!</div> + <div class='line'>Sleep a while till my mama comes!</div> + <div class='line'>O little cat, and O little cat!</div> + <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_265'>265</span>Be purring till she comes home!</div> + <div class='line'>O little dog, and O little cat!</div> + <div class='line'>At the fair O! my mama is,</div> + <div class='line'>But she’ll come again in the little evening O!</div> + <div class='line'>And she’ll bring home a fairing with her!”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>She tried to teach this song to the dog, +but it’s greater the wish the dog had for +sleep than for music. She tried to teach +it to the little cat, but the little cat thought +its own purring sweeter. When her father +came in at midday, nothing would do her +but to say this song to him, and make him +to learn it by heart.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The mother returned home before evening. +The first word Brideen said was:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Did you bring the fairing with you, +mama?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I did, <span lang="ga"><i>a chuisle</i></span>.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“What did you bring with you?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Guess!” The mother was standing +in the middle of the floor. She had her +bag laid on the floor, and her hands behind +her.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Sweets?”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_266'>266</span>“No!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“A sugar cake?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“No, <span lang="ga"><i>muise</i></span>! I have a sugar cake in my +bag, <a id='tn-fairing'></a>but that’s not the fairing.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“A pair of stockings?” Brideen never +wore shoes or stockings, and she had been +long coveting them.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“No, indeed! You’re too young for +stockings a little while yet.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“A prayer book?” There’s no need +for me to say that Brideen wasn’t able to +read (for she hadn’t put in a day at school +in her life), but she thought she was. “A +prayer book?” says she.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Not at all!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“What is it, then?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Look!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The mother spread out her two hands, +and what did she lay bare but a little doll! +A little wooden doll that was bald, and it +purblind; but its two cheeks were as red as +a berry, and there was a smile on its mouth. +Anybody who’d have an affection for dolls, +he would give affection and love to it. +Brideen’s eyes lit up with joy.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“<span lang="ga"><i>Ora</i></span>, isn’t it pretty! <span lang="ga"><i>Ara</i></span>, mama, heart, +where did you get it? <span lang="ga"><i>Ora ó</i></span>! I’ll have +<span class='pageno' id='Page_267'>267</span>a child of my very own now,—a child of +my very owneen own! Brideen will have +a child!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>She snatched the little doll, and she squeezed +it to her heart. She kissed its little bald +head, and its two red cheeks. She kissed +its little mouth, and its little snub nose. +Then she remembered herself, raised her +head, and says she to her mother:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Kith!” (like that Brideen would say +“Kiss.”)</p> + +<p class='c009'>The mother stooped down till the little +girl kissed her. Then she must kiss the +little doll. The father came in at that +moment, and he was made do the same.</p> + +<p class='c009'>There wasn’t a thing making Brideen +anxious that evening but what name she’d +christen the doll. Her mother praised +“Molly” for it, and her father thought +the name “Peggy” would be apt. But +none of these were grand enough, it seemed +to Brideen.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Why was I called Brideen, daddy?” +says she after supper.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The old women said that you were like +your uncle Padraic, and since we couldn’t +christen you ‘Padraic,’ you were christened +<span class='pageno' id='Page_268'>268</span>‘Brigid,’ as that, we thought, was the thing +nearest it.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Do you think is she here” (the doll), +“like my uncle Padraic, daddy?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“O, not like a bit. Your uncle Padraic +is fair-haired,—and, I believe, he has a +beard on him now.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Who’s she like, then?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“<span lang="ga"><i>Muise</i></span>, ’twould be hard to say, girl!—’twould +be hard, that.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Brideen meditated for a while. Her +father was stripping her clothes from her in +front of the fire during this time, for it was +time for her to be going to sleep. When +she was stripped, she went on her knees, +put her two little hands together, and she +began like this:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“O Jesus Christ, bless us and save us! O +Jesus Christ, bless daddy and mama and +Brideen, and keep us safe and well from +accident, and from the harm of the year, if +it is the will of my Saviour. <a id='tn-padraic'></a>O God, bless +my uncle Padraic that’s now in America, +and my Aunt Barbara—.” She stopped, +suddenly, and put a shout of joy out +of her.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I have it! I have it, daddy!” says she.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_269'>269</span>“What have you, love? Wait till you +finish your share of prayers.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“My Aunt Barbara! She’s like my +Aunt Barbara!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Who’s like your Aunt Barbara?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The little doll! That’s the name I’ll +give her! Barbara!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The father let a great shout of laughter +before he remembered that the prayers +weren’t finished. Brideen didn’t laugh, at +all, but followed on like this:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“O God, bless my Uncle Padaric that’s +now in America, and my Aunt Barbara, +and (this is an addition she put to it +herself), and bless my own little Barbara, +and keep her from mortal sin! Amen, +O Lord!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The father burst laughing again. Brideen +looked at him, and wonder on her.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Brush off, now, and in into your bed +with you!” says he, as soon as he could +speak for the laughing. “And don’t forget +Barbara!” says he.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Little fear!” West with her into the +room, and into the bed with her with a +leap. Be sure she didn’t forget Barbara.</p> + +<p class='c009'>From that night out Brideen wouldn’t +<span class='pageno' id='Page_270'>270</span>go to sleep, for gold nor for silver, without +Barbara being in the bed with her. She +wouldn’t sit to take food without Barbara +sitting beside her. She wouldn’t go out +making fun to herself without Barbara +being along with her. One Sunday that +her mother brought her with her to Mass, +Brideen wasn’t satisfied till Barbara was +brought, too. A neighbour woman wouldn’t +come in visiting, but Barbara would be +introduced to her. One day that the priest +struck in to them, Brideen asked him to +give Barbara his blessing. He gave his +blessing to Brideen herself. She thought +it was to the doll he gave it, and she was +full-satisfied.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Brideen settled a nice little parlour for +Barbara on top of the dresser. She heard +that her Aunt Barbara had a parlour (in +Uachtar Ard she was living), and she thought +that it wasn’t too much for Barbara to have +a parlour as good as anybody. My poor +Barbara fell from the top of the dresser one +day, as I have told already, and one of her +legs was broken. It’s many a disaster over +that happened her. Another day the dog +grabbed her, and was tearing her joint from +<span class='pageno' id='Page_271'>271</span>joint till Brideen’s mother came to help her. +The one leg remained safe with the dog. +She fell into the river another time, and +she had like to be drowned. It’s Brideen’s +father that came to her help this journey. +Brideen herself was almost drowned, and +she trying to save her from the riverbank.</p> + +<p class='c009'>If Barbara wasn’t too well-favoured the +first day she came, it stands to nature it’s +not better the appearance was on her after +putting a year by her. But ’twas all the +same to Brideen whether she was well-favoured +or ill-favoured. She gave the +love of her heart to her from the first +minute she laid an eye on her, and it’s +increasing that love was from day to day. +Isn’t it the two of them used to have the +fun when the mother would leave the house +to their care, times she’d be visiting in a +neighbour’s house! They would have the +floor swept and the plates washed before +her, when she’d return. And isn’t it on +the mother would be the wonder, <span lang="ga"><i>mor +’eadh</i></span>!</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Is it Brideen cleaned the floor for her +mama?” she’d say.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_272'>272</span>“Brideen and Barbara,” the little girl +would say.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“<span lang="ga"><i>Muise</i></span>, I don’t know what I’d do, if it +weren’t for the pair of you!” the mother +would say. And isn’t it on Brideen would +be the delight and the pride!</p> + +<p class='c009'>And the long days of summer they would +put from them on the hillside, among the +fern and flowers!—Brideen gathering daisies +and fairy-thimbles and buttercups, and Barbara +reckoning them for her (so she’d say); +Brideen forever talking and telling tales +that a human being (not to say a little doll) +never heard the likes of before or since, +and Barbara listening to her; it must be +she’d be listening attentively, for there +wouldn’t come a word out of her mouth.</p> + +<p class='c009'>It’s my opinion that there wasn’t a little +girl in Connacht, or if I might say it, in +the Continent of Europe, that was more +contented and happy-like, than Brideen was +those days; and, I declare, there wasn’t +a little doll under the hollow of the sun +that was more contented and happy-like than +Barbara.</p> + +<p class='c009'>That’s how it stood till Niamh Goldy-Head +came.</p> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c001'> + <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_273'>273</span>II</div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>Niamh Goldy-Head was a native of +Dublin. A lady that came to Gortmore +learning Irish promised before leaving that +she’d send some valuable to Brideen. And, +sure, she did. One day, about a week after +her departure, Bartly the Postman walked in +into the middle of the kitchen and laid a +big box on the floor.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“For you, young woman,” says he to +Brideen.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“<span lang="ga"><i>Ara</i></span>, what’s in it, Bartly?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“How do I know? A fairy, maybe.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“<span lang="ga"><i>O bhó!</i></span> Where did you get it?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“From a little green maneen, with a +long blue beard on him, a red cap on his +nob, and he riding a hare.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“<span lang="ga"><i>Ora</i></span>, daddy! And what did he say to +you, Bartly?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Devil a thing did he say only, ‘Give +this to Brideen, and my blessing,’ and off +with him while you’d be winking.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>I am doubtful if this story of Bartly’s +<span class='pageno' id='Page_274'>274</span>was all true, but Brideen believed every +word of it. She called to her mother, where +she was inside in the room tidying the place +after the breakfast.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Mama, mama, a big box for Brideen! +A little green maneen, with a long blue +beard on him, that gave it to Bartly the +Postman!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The mother came out and Bartly gathered +off.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Mameen, mameen, open the box quick! +Bartly thinks it’s maybe a fairy is in it! +Hurry, mameen, or how do we know he +won’t be smothered inside in the box?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The mother cut the string. She tore the +paper from the box. She lifted the lid. +What should be in it, lying nice and comfortably +in the box, like a child would be in a +cradle, but the grandest and the beautifullest +doll that eye ever saw! There was yellow-golden +hair on it, and it falling in ringleted +tresses over its breast and over its shoulders. +There was the blush of the rose on its cheek. +It’s the likeness I’d compare its little mouth +to—two rowanberries; and ’twas like pearls +its teeth were. Its eyes were closed. There +was a bright suit of silk covering its body, +<span class='pageno' id='Page_275'>275</span>and a red mantle of satin over that outside. +There was a glittering necklace of noble +stones about its throat, and, as a top on all +the wonders, there was a royal crown on +its head.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“A Queen!” says Brideen in a whisper, +for there was a kind of dread on her before +this glorious fairy. “A Queen from Tir-na-nOg! +Look, mama, she’s asleep. Do +you think will she waken?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Take her in your hand,” says the +mother.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The little girl stretched out her two +hands timidly, laid them reverently on the +wonderful doll, and at last lifted it out of +the box. No sooner did she take it than +the doll opened its eyes, and said in a sweet, +weeny voice:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Mam—a!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“God bless us!” says the mother, making +the sign of the cross on herself, “she +can talk!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>There was a queer edge in Brideen’s +eyes, and there was a queer light in her +features. But I don’t think she was half as +scared as the mother was. Children do be +expecting wonders always, and when a +<span class='pageno' id='Page_276'>276</span>wonderful thing happens it doesn’t put as +much astonishment on them as it does on +grown people.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Why wouldn’t she talk?” says Brideen. +“Can’t Barbara talk? But it’s sweeter +entirely this voice than Barbara’s voice.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>My grief, you are, Barbara! Where +were you all this time? Lying on the floor +where you fell from Brideen’s hand when +Bartly came in. I don’t know did you +hear these words from your friend’s mouth. +If you did, it’s surely they’d go like a stitch +through your heart.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Brideen continued speaking. She spoke +quickly, her two eyes dancing in her head:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“A Queen this is,” says she. “A fairy +Queen! Look at the fine suit she’s wearing! +Look at the mantle of satin is on +her! Look at the beautiful crown she has! +She’s like yon Queen that Stephen of the +Stories was discoursing about the other +night,—the Queen that came over sea from +Tir-na-nOg riding on the white steed. +What’s the name that was on that Queen, +mama?”</p> + +<p class='c009'><a id='tn-niamh'></a>“Niamh of the Golden Head.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“This is Niamh Goldy-Head!” says the +<span class='pageno' id='Page_277'>277</span>little girl. “I’ll show her to Stephen the +first other time he comes! Isn’t it he will +be glad to see her, mama? He was angry +the other night when my daddy said there +are no fairies at all in it. I knew my daddy +was only joking.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>I wouldn’t like to say that Niamh Goldy-Head +was a fairy, as Brideen thought, but +I’m sure there was some magic to do with +her; and I’m full-sure that Brideen herself +was under a spell from the moment she +came into the house. If she weren’t, she +wouldn’t leave Barbara lying by herself on +the floor through the evening, without +saying a word to her, or even remembering +her, till sleep-time; nor would she go to +sleep without bringing Barbara into the bed +with her, as was her habit. It’s with trouble +you’d believe it, but it’s the young Queen +that slept along with Brideen that night, +instead of the faithful little companion that +used sleep with her every night for a year.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Barbara remained lying on the floor, till +Brideen’s mother found her, and lifted and +put her on top of the dresser where her +own little parlour was. Barbara spent that +night on the top of the dresser. I didn’t +<span class='pageno' id='Page_278'>278</span>hear that Brideen or her mother or her +father noticed any lamenting from the +kitchen in the middle of the night, and, to say +truth, I don’t think that Barbara shed a tear. +But it’s certain she was sad enough, lying +up yonder by herself, without her friend’s +arm about her, without the heat of her +friend’s body warming her, without man or +mortal near her, without hearing a sound +but the faint, truly-lonesome sounds that do +be heard in a house in the dead time of the +night.</p> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c001'> + <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_279'>279</span>III</div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>It’s sitting or lying on the top of the +dresser that Barbara spent the greater +part of the next quarter. ’Twas seldom +Brideen used speak to her; and when she +would speak, she’d only say, “Be a good +girl, Barbara. You see I’m busy. I must +give attention to Niamh Goldy-Head. She’s +a Queen, you know, and she must be +attended well.” Brideen was getting older +now (I believe she was five years past, or, +maybe, five and a-half), and she was rising +out of a share of the habits she learned at +the start of her babyhood. It’s not “Brideen” +she’d call herself now, for she knew +the meaning that was in the little word +“I,” and in those little tails “am” and +“am not” when they’re put after “I.” She +knew, too, that it’s great the respect and +the honour due to a Queen, over what is due +to a poor, little creatureen like Barbara.</p> + +<p class='c009'>I’m afraid Barbara didn’t understand this +story at all. She was only a little wooden +<span class='pageno' id='Page_280'>280</span>doll, and, sure, ’twould be hard for its likes +to understand the heart of a girl. It was +plain to her that she was cast to one +side. It’s Niamh Goldy-Head would +sleep along with Brideen now; it’s Niamh +Goldy-Head would sit beside her at +meal-time; <a id='tn-itsniamh'></a>it’s Niamh Goldy-Head would +go out on the hill, foot to foot with +her, that would lie with her among the +fern, and would go with her gathering +daisies and fairy-thimbles. It’s Niamh +Goldy-Head she’d press to her breast. It’s +Niamh Goldy-Head she’d kiss. Some other +body to be in the place you’d be, some other +body to be walking with the person you’d +walk with, some other body to be kissing +the mouth you’d long to kiss,—that’s the +greatest pain is to be suffered in this world; +and that’s the pain was in Barbara’s heart +now, torturing her from morning till night, +and tormenting her from night till morning.</p> + +<p class='c009'>I suppose it’ll be said to me that it’s not +possible for these thoughts, or any other +thoughts, to be in Barbara’s heart, for +wasn’t she only a wooden toy, without +feeling, without mind, without understanding, +without strength? My answer to +<span class='pageno' id='Page_281'>281</span>anybody who’d speak like this to me would +be:—<em>How do we know?</em> How do you or I +know that dolls, and wooden toys, and the +tree, and the hill, and the river, and the +waterfall, and the little blossoms of the +field, and the little stones of the strand +haven’t their own feeling, and mind, and +understanding, and guidance?—aye, and the +hundred other things we see about us? I +don’t say they have; but ’twould be daring for +me or for anybody else to say that they haven’t. +The children think they have; and it’s my +opinion that the children are more discerning +in things of this sort than you or I.</p> + +<p class='c009'>One day that Barbara was sitting up +lonesomely by herself in her parlour, Brideen +and Niamh Goldy-Head were in earnest +conversation by the fireside; or, I ought to +say, Brideen was in earnest conversation with +herself, and Niamh listening to her; for +nobody ever heard a word out of the Queen’s +mouth but only “Mam-a.” Brideen’s mother +was outside the door washing. The father +was setting potatoes in the garden. There +only remained in the house Brideen and the +two dolls.</p> + +<p class='c009'>It’s like the little girl was tired, for she’d +<span class='pageno' id='Page_282'>282</span>spent the morning washing (she’d wash the +Queen’s sheet and blanket every week). It +was short till sleep came on her. It was +short, after that, till she dropped her head +on her breast and she was in deep slumber. I +don’t rightly understand what happened after +that, but, by all accounts, Brideen was falling +down and down, till she was stretched on +the hearth-flag within the nearness of an +inch to the fire. She didn’t waken, for +she was sound asleep. It’s like that Niamh +Goldy-Head was asleep, too, but, however, +or whatever, the story is, she didn’t +stir. There wasn’t a soul in the house to protect +the darling little child from the death that +was faring on her. Nobody knew her to be +in peril, but only God and—Barbara.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The mother was working without, and +she not thinking that death was that near the +child of her heart. She was turning a +tune to herself, and lifting it finely, when +she heard a “plop”—a sound as if something +was falling on the floor.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“What’s that, now?” says she to herself. +“Something that fell from the wall, it’s a +chance. It can’t be that Brideen meddled +with it?”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_283'>283</span>In with her in a hurry. It’s barely the +life didn’t drop out of her, with the dint of +fright. And what wonder? Her darling +child was stretched on the hearth, and her +little coateen blazing in the fire!</p> + +<p class='c009'>The mother rushed to her across the +kitchen, lifted her in her arms, and pulled +the coat from her. She only just saved +her. If she’d waited another little half-moment, +she was too late.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Brideen was awake now, and her two +arms about the neck of her mother. She +was trembling with the dint of fear, and, +sure enough, crying, though it isn’t too +well she understood the story yet. Her +mother was “smothering her with kisses +and drowning her with tears.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“What happened me, mama? I was +dreaming. I felt hot, and I thought I was +going up, up in the sky, and that the sun +was burning me? What happened me?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“It’s the will of God that my <span lang="ga"><i>stóirín</i></span> wasn’t +burnt,—not with the sun, but with the fire. +O, Brideen, your mother’s little pet, what +would I do if they’d kill you on me? +What would your father do? ’Twas God +spoke to me coming in that minute!—I +<span class='pageno' id='Page_284'>284</span>don’t know what sort of noise I heard? If +it weren’t for that, I mightn’t have come +in at all.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>She looked round her. Everything was +in its own place on the table, and on the +walls, and on the dresser,—but stay! In +front of the dresser she took notice of a +thing on the floor. What was it? A little +body without a head—a doll’s body.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Barbara fallen from the dresser again,” +says the mother. “My conscience, it’s she +saved your life to you, Brideen.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Not falling she did it at all!” says +the little girl, “but it’s how she saw I was +in danger, and she threw a leap from the +top of the dresser to save me. O, poor +Barbara, you gave your life for my sake!”</p> + +<p class='c009'>She went on her knees, lifted the little +corpse of the doll, and kissed it softly and +fondly.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Mama,” says she, sadly, “since Niamh +Goldy-Head came, I’m afraid I forgot poor +Barbara, and it’s greater the liking I put in +Niamh Goldy-Head than in her; and see, +it’s she was most true to me in the end. +And she’s dead now on me, and I won’t be able +to speak with her ever again, nor to say to +<span class='pageno' id='Page_285'>285</span>her that I’d rather her a thousand times,—aye, +a hundred thousand times—than +Niamh.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“It’s not dead she is at all,” says the +mother, “but hurted. Your father will +put the head on her again when he comes in.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“If I’d fall from the top of the dresser, +mama, and lose my head, would he be able +to put it on me again?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“He wouldn’t. But you’re not the same +as Barbara.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I am the same. She’s dead. Don’t +you see she’s not moving or speaking?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The mother had to admit this much.</p> + +<p class='c009'>Nothing would convince Brideen that +Barbara wasn’t killed, and that it wasn’t to +save her she gave her life. I myself wouldn’t +say she was right, but I wouldn’t say she +wasn’t. I can only say what I said before: +How do I know? How do you know?</p> + +<p class='c009'>Barbara was buried that evening on the +side of the hill in the place where she and +Brideen spent those long days of summer +among the fern and the flowers. There +are fairy-thimbles growing at the head of +the grave, and daisies and buttercups plentifully +about it.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_286'>286</span>Before going to sleep that night, Brideen +called over to her mother.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Do you think, mama,” says she, “will +I see Barbara in heaven?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Maybe, by the King of Glory, you +might,” says the mother.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Do you think will I, daddy?” says she +to her father.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I know well you will,” says the father.</p> + +<hr class='c015'> + +<p class='c009'>Those were the Adventures and Tragic +Fate of Barbara up to that time.</p> + +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_287'>287</span></div> +<div class='chapter' id='link-eoineen'> + +<div> + <h2 class='c004'>EOINEEN OF THE BIRDS</h2> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c000'> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c000'> + <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_289'>289</span><span class='large'>EOINEEN OF THE BIRDS</span></div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c008'>A conversation that took place between +Eoineen of the Birds and his mother, one +evening of spring, before the going under +of the sun. The song-thrush and the +yellow-bunting that heard it, and (as I +think) told it to my friends the swallows. +The swallows that told the story to me.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Come on in, pet. It’s rising cold.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I can’t stir a while yet, little mother. +I’m waiting for the swallows.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“For what, little son?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The swallows. I’m thinking they’ll +be here this night.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Eoineen was high on the big rock that +was close to the gable of the house, he +settled nicely on top of it, and the white +back of his head against the foot of the +ash-tree that was sheltering him. He had +his head raised, and he looking from him +southward. His mother looked up at him. +It seemed to her that his share of hair was +yellow gold where the sun was burning on +his head.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_290'>290</span>“And where are they coming from, +child?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“From the Southern World—the place +it does be summer always. I’m expecting +them for a week.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“And how do you know that it’s this +night they’ll come?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I don’t know, only thinking it. ’Twould +be time for them to be here some day now. +I mind that it was this day surely they +came last year. I was coming up from the +well when I heard their twittering—a sweet, +joyful twittering as they’d be saying: +‘We’ve come to you again, Eoineen! News +to you from the Southern World!’—and +then one of them flew past me, rubbing his +wing to my cheek.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>There’s no need to say that this talk put +great wonder on the mother. Eoineen +never spoke to her like that before. She +knew that he put a great wish in the +birds, and that it’s many an hour he used +spend in the wood or by the strand-side, +“talking to them,” as he’d say. But she +didn’t understand why there should be that +great a wish on him to see the swallows +coming again. She knew by his face, as +<span class='pageno' id='Page_291'>291</span>well as by the words of his mouth, that he +was forever thinking on some thing that +was making him anxious. And there came +unrest on the woman over it, a thing that’s +no wonder. “Sure, it’s queer talk from +a child,” says she in her own mind. She +didn’t speak a breath aloud, however, but +she listening to each word that came out of +his mouth.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I’m very lonely since they left me in +the harvest,” says the little boy again, like +one that would be talking to himself. +“They had that much to say to me. +They’re not the same as the song-thrush +or the yellow-bunting that do spend the +best part of their lives by the ditch-side in +the garden. They do have wonderful +stories to tell about the lands where it does +be summer always, and about the wild seas +where the ships are drowned, and about the +lime-bright cities where the kings do be +always living. It’s long, long the road +from the Southern World to this country. +They see everything coming over, and they +don’t forget anything. I think long, wanting +them.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Come in, white love, and go to sleep. +<span class='pageno' id='Page_292'>292</span>You’ll be perished with the cold if you stay +out any longer.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I’ll go in presently, little mother. I +wouldn’t like them to come, and I not to +be here to give them welcome. They +would be wondering.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The mother saw that it was no good +to be at him. She went in, troubled. +She cleaned the table and the chairs. She +washed the vessels and the dishes. She +took the brush, and she brushed the floor. +She scoured the kettle and the big pot. She +trimmed the lamp, and hung it on the +wall. She put more turf on the fire. She +did a hundred other things that she needn’t +have done. Then she sat before the fire, +thinking to herself.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The “piper of the ashes” (the cricket) +came out, and started on his heartsome +tune. The mother stayed by the hearthside, +pondering. The little boy stayed on +his airy seat, watching. The cows came +home from the pasture. The hen called +to her her chickens. The blackbird and +the wren, and the other little people of +the wood went to sleep. The buzzing of the +flies was stopped, and the bleating of the +<span class='pageno' id='Page_293'>293</span>lambs. The sun sank slowly till it was close +to the bottom of the sky, till it was +exactly on the bottom of the sky, till it was +under the bottom of the sky. A cold wind +blew from the east. The darkness spread +on the earth. At last Eoineen came in.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I fear they won’t come this night,” +says he. “Maybe, with God’s help, they +might come to-morrow.”</p> + +<hr class='c015'> + +<p class='c009'>The morning of the next day came. +Eoineen was up early, and he watching out +from the top of the rock. The middle of +day came. The end of day came. The +night came. But, my grief! the swallows +did not come.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Maybe we might see them here to-morrow,” +says Eoineen, and he coming in +sadly that night.</p> + +<p class='c009'>But they didn’t see them. Nor did they +see them the day after that, nor the day +after that again. And it’s what Eoineen +would say every night and he coming in:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Maybe they might be with us to-morrow.”</p> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c001'> + <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_294'>294</span>II</div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>There came a delightful evening in the +end of April. The air was clear and cool +after a shower of rain. There was a wonderful +light in the western heavens. The birds +sang a strain of music in the wood. The +waves were chanting a poem on the strand. +But loneliness was on the heart of the boy +and he waiting for the swallows.</p> + +<p class='c009'>There was heard, suddenly, a sound that +hadn’t been heard in that place for more +than a half-year. A little, tiny sound. A +faint, truly-melodious sound. A pert, joyous +twittering, and it unlike any other +twittering that comes from the mouth of a +bird. With fiery swiftness a small black +body drove from the south. It flying high +in the air. Two broad, strong wings on it. +The shaping of a fork on its tail. It cutting +the way before it, like an arrow shot from a +bow. It swooped suddenly, it turned, rose +again, swooped and turned again. Then it +made straight for Eoineen, it speaking at +<span class='pageno' id='Page_295'>295</span>the top of its voice, till it lay and nestled in +the breast of the little boy after its long +journey from the Southern World.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“O, my love, my love you are!” says +Eoineen, taking it in his two hands and +kissing it on the little black head. “Welcome +to me from the strange countries! +Are you tired after your lonely journey over +lands and over seas? <span lang="ga"><i>Ora</i></span>, my thousand, +thousand loves you are, beautiful little +messenger from the country where it does +be summer always! Where are your +companions from you? Or what happened +you on the road, or why didn’t ye come +before this?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>While he was speaking like this with the +swallow, kissing it again and yet again, and +rubbing his hand lovingly over its blue-black +wings, its little red throat and its bright, +feathered breast, another little bird sailed +from the south and alighted beside them. +The two birds rose in the air then, and it is +the first other place they lay, in their own +little nest that was hidden in the ivy that +was growing thickly on the walls of the +house.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“They are found at last, little mother!” +<span class='pageno' id='Page_296'>296</span>says Eoineen, and he running in joyfully. +“The swallows are found at last! A pair +came this night—the pair who have their +nest over my window. The others will be +with us to-morrow.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The mother stooped and drew him to +her. Then she put a prayer to God in a +whisper, giving thanks to Him for sending +the swallows to them. The flame that was +in the eyes of the boy, it would put delight +on the heart of any mother at all.</p> + +<p class='c009'>It was sound the sleep of Eoineen that +night.</p> + +<hr class='c015'> + +<p class='c009'>The swallows came one after another +now—singly at first, in pairs then, and at +last in little flocks. Isn’t it they were glad +when they saw the old place again! The +little wood and the brook running through +it; the white, sandy beach; the ash-trees +that were close to the house; the house +itself and the old nests exactly as they left +them half a year before that. There was no +change on anything but only on the little +boy. He was quieter and gentler than +he used to be. He was oftener sitting than +<span class='pageno' id='Page_297'>297</span>running with himself about the fields, as +was his habit before that. He wasn’t heard +laughing or singing as often as he used be +heard. If the swallows took notice of this +much—and I wouldn’t say they didn’t—it’s +certain that they were sorry for him.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The summer went by. It was seldom +Eoineen would stir out on the street, but he +sitting contentedly on the top of the rock, +looking at the swallows and listening to their +twittering. He’d spend the hours like this. +’Twas often he was there from early morning +till there came “<span lang="ga"><i>tráthnóna gréine buidhe</i></span>,”—the +evening of the yellow sun; and going +within every night he’d have a great lot of +stories, beautiful, wonderful stories, to tell +to his mother. When she’d question him +about these stories, he’d always say to her +that it’s from the swallows he’d get them.</p> +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c001'> + <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_298'>298</span>III.</div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>The priest came in the evening.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“How is Eoineen of the Birds this +weather, Eibhlin?” says he. (The other +boys had nicknamed him “Eoineen of the +Birds” on account of the love he had for +the birds.)</p> + +<p class='c009'>“<span lang="ga"><i>Muise</i></span>, Father, he wasn’t as well for +many a long day as he is since the summer +came. There’s a blush in his cheek I +never saw in it before.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The priest looked sharply at her. He +had noticed that blush for a time, and if he +did, it didn’t deceive him. Other people +had noticed it, too, and if they did, it didn’t +deceive them. But it was plain it deceived +the mother. There were tears in the priest’s +eyes, but Eibhlin was blowing the fire, and +she didn’t see them. There was a stoppage +in his voice when he spoke again, but the +mother didn’t notice it.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Where’s Eoineen now, Eibhlin?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“He’s sitting on the rock outside, ‘talking +<span class='pageno' id='Page_299'>299</span>to the swallows,’ as himself says. It’s +wonderful the affection he has for those +little birds. Do you know, Father, what +he said to me the other day?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I don’t know, Eibhlin.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“He was saying that it’s short now till +the swallows would be departing from us +again, and says he to me, suddenly, ‘What +would you do, little mother,’ says he, ‘if +I’d steal away from you with the swallows?’”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“And what did you say, Eibhlin?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I said to him to brush out with him, +and not be bothering me. But I’m thinking +ever since on the thing he said, and it’s +troubling me. Wasn’t it a queer thought +for him, Father,—he going with the +swallows?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“It’s many a queer thought comes into +the heart of a child,” says the priest. And +he went out the door, without saying +another word.</p> + +<hr class='c015'> + +<p class='c009'>“Dreaming, as usual, Eoineen?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“No, Father. I’m talking to the +swallows.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Talking to them?”</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_300'>300</span>“Aye, Father. We do be talking +together always.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“And whisper. What do ye be saying +to one another?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“We do be talking about the countries far +away, where it does be summer always, and +about the wild seas where the ships do be +drowned, and about the lime-bright cities +where the kings do be always living.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The wonder of his heart came on the +priest, as it came on the mother before that.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“It’s you do be discoursing on these +things, and they listening to you, it’s like?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“No, Father. They, mostly, that do +be talking, and I listening to them.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“And do you understand their share of +talk, Eoineen?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Aye, Father. Don’t you understand +it?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Not too well I understand it. Make +room for me on the rock there, and I’ll +sit a while till you explain to me what +they do be saying.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Up with the priest on the rock, and he +sat beside the little boy. He put an arm +about his neck, and began taking talk out +of him.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_301'>301</span>“Tell me what the swallows do be saying +to you, Eoineen.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“It’s many a thing they do be saying +to me. It’s many a fine story they do tell to +me. Did you see that little bird that went +past just now, Father?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I did.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“That’s the cleverest storyteller of them +all. That one’s nest is under the ivy that’s +growing over the window of my room. +And she has another nest in the Southern +World—herself and her mate.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Has she, Eoineen?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Aye—another beautiful little nest +thousands and thousands of miles from +this. Isn’t it a queer story, Father?—to +say that the little swallow has two houses, +and we having one only?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“It’s queer, indeed. And what sort is +the country she has this other house in?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“When I shut my eyes I see a lonely, +awful country. I see it now, Father! A +lonely, terrible country. There’s neither +mountain, nor hill, nor valley in it, but it a +great, level, sandy plain. There’s neither +wood, nor grass, nor growth in it, but the +earth as bare as the heart of your palm. +<span class='pageno' id='Page_302'>302</span>Sand entirely. Sand under your feet. Sand +on every side of you. The sun scorching +over your head. Without a cloud at all +to be seen in the sky. It very hot. Here +and there there’s a little grassy spot, as it +would be a little island in the middle of the +sea. A couple of high trees growing on +each spot of them. They sheltered from +wind and sun. I see on one of these islands +a high cliff. A terrible big cliff. There’s +a cleft in the cliff, and in the cleft there’s +a little swallow’s nest. That’s the nest of +my little swallow.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Who told you this, Eoineen?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“The swallow. She spends half of her +life in that country, herself and her mate. +Isn’t it the grand life they have on that +lonely little island in the middle of the +desert! There does be neither cold nor +wet in it, frost nor snow, but it summer +always…. And after that, Father, they +don’t forget their other little nest here in +Ireland, nor the wood, nor the brook, nor +the ash-trees, nor me, nor my mother. Every +year in the spring they hear, as it would be, a +whispering in their ears telling them that +the woods are in leaf in Ireland, and that +<span class='pageno' id='Page_303'>303</span>the sun is shining on the bawn-fields, and +that the lambs are bleating, and I waiting +for them. And they bid farewell to their +dwelling in the strange country, and they +go before them, and they make neither stop +nor stay till they see the tops of the ash-trees +from them, and till they hear the voice of +the river and the bleating of the lambs.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The priest was listening attentively.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“O!—and isn’t it wonderful the journey +they do have from the Southern World! +They leave the big sandy plain behind them, +and the high, bald mountains that are on +its border, and they go before them till they +come to the great sea. Out with them +over the sea, flying always, always, without +weariness, without growing weak. They +see below them the mighty-swelling waves, +and the ships ploughing the ocean, and +the white sails, and seagulls, and the ‘black +hags of the sea’ (cormorants), and other +wonders that I couldn’t remember. And +times, there rise wind and storm, and they +see the ships drowning and the waves rising +on top of each other; and themselves, the +creatures, do be beaten with the wind, and +blinded with the rain and with the salt water, +<span class='pageno' id='Page_304'>304</span>till they make out the land at last. A +while to them then going before them, and +they looking on grassy parks, and on green-topped +woods, and on high-headed reeks, +and on broad lakes, and on beautiful rivers, +and on fine cities, as they were wonderful +pictures, and they looking on them down +from them. They see people at work. +They hear cattle lowing, and children +laughing, and bells ringing. But they don’t +stop, but forever going till they come to +the brink of the sea again, and no rest to +them then till they strike the country of +Ireland.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Eoineen continued speaking like this for +a long time, the priest listening to every +word he said. They were chatting till the +darkness fell, and till the mother called +Eoineen in. The priest went home pondering +to himself.</p> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c001'> + <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_305'>305</span>IV</div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c009'>August and September went. October +was half out. As the days were getting +shorter, Eoineen was rising sadder. ’Twas +seldom he’d speak to his mother now, but +every night before going to sleep he’d kiss +her fondly and tenderly, and he’d say:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Call me early in the morning, little +mother. It’s little time I have now. They’ll +be departing without much delay.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>A beautiful day brightened in the middle +of the month. Early in the morning, +Eoineen took notice that the swallows were +crowding together on the top of the house. +He didn’t stir from his seat the length of +that day. Coming in in the evening, says +he to his mother:</p> + +<p class='c009'>“They’ll be departing to-morrow.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“How do you know, white love?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“They told me to-day…. Little +mother,” says he again, after a spell of silence.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“What is it, little child?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“I can’t stay here when they’re gone. I +<span class='pageno' id='Page_306'>306</span>must go along with them … to the +country where it does be summer always. +You wouldn’t be lonely if I’d go?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>“O! treasure, my thousand treasures, +don’t speak to me like that!” says the +mother, taking him and squeezing him to +her heart. “You’re not to be stolen from +me! Sure, you wouldn’t leave your little +mother, and go after the swallows?”</p> + +<p class='c009'>Eoineen didn’t say a word, but to kiss her +again and again.</p> + +<hr class='c015'> + +<p class='c009'>Another day brightened. The little, wee +boy was up early. From the start of day +hundreds of swallows were gathered together +on the ridge of the house. From time to +time one or two of them would go off and +they’d return again, as if they’d be considering +the weather. At last a pair went off +and they didn’t return. Another pair went +off. The third pair went. They were +going one after another then, till there didn’t +remain but one little flock only on the horn +of the house. The pair that came first on +yon evening of spring six months before that +were in this little flock. It’s like they were +loath to leave the place.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_307'>307</span>Eoineen was watching them from the +rock. His mother was standing beside him.</p> + +<p class='c009'>The little flock of birds rose in the air, +and they faced the Southern World. Going +over the top of the wood a pair turned +back,—the pair whose nest was over the +window. Down with them from the sky, +making on Eoineen. Over with them then, +they flying close to the ground. Their +wings rubbed a cheek of the little boy, and +they sweeping past him. Up with them in +the air again, they speaking sorrowfully, +and off for ever with them after the other +crowd.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“Mother,” says Eoineen, “they’re calling +me. ‘Come to the country where the sun +does be shining always,—come, Eoineen, +over the wild seas to the Country of Light,—come, +Eoineen of the Birds!’ I can’t +deny them. A blessing with you, little +mother,—my thousand, thousand blessings +to you, little mother of my heart. I’m +going from you … over the wild +seas … to the country where it does +be summer always.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>He let his head back on his mother’s +shoulder and he put a sigh out of him. +<span class='pageno' id='Page_308'>308</span>There was heard the crying of a woman in +that lonely place—the crying of a mother +keening her child. Eoineen was departed +along with the swallows.</p> + +<hr class='c015'> + +<p class='c009'>Autumn and winter went by and the +spring was at hand again. The woods were +in leaf, and the lambs bleating, and the sun +shining on the bawn-fields. One glorious +evening in April the swallows came. There +was a wonderful light at the bottom of the +sky in the west, as it was a year from that +time. The birds sang a strain of music in +the wood. The waves chanted a poem on +the strand. But there was no little white-haired +boy, sitting on the top of the rock +under the shadow of the ash-trees. Inside +in the house there was a solitary woman, +weeping by the fire.</p> + +<p class='c009'>“… And, darling little son,” says +she, “I see the swallows here again, but I’ll +never, never see you here.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The swallows heard her, and they going +past the door. I don’t know did Eoineen +hear her, as he was thousands of miles away +… in the country where it does be +summer always.</p> + +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<div><span class='pageno' id='Page_309'>309</span></div> +<div class='chapter' id='link-poems'> + +<div> + <h2 class='c004'>POEMS</h2> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c000'> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_311'>311</span><a id='poem-1'></a></p> +<h3 class='c019'>LULLABY OF A WOMAN OF THE MOUNTAIN</h3> + +<div class='lg-container-b c001'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>Little gold head, my house’s candle,</div> + <div class='line'>You will guide all wayfarers that walk this mountain.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>Little soft mouth that my breast has known,</div> + <div class='line'>Mary will kiss you as she passes.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>Little round cheek, O smoother than satin,</div> + <div class='line'>Jesus will lay His hand on you.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>Mary’s kiss on my baby’s mouth,</div> + <div class='line'>Christ’s little hand on my darling’s cheek!</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>House, be still, and ye little grey mice,</div> + <div class='line'>Lie close to-night in your hidden lairs.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>Moths on the window, fold your wings,</div> + <div class='line'>Little black chafers, silence your humming.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>Plover and curlew, fly not over my house,</div> + <div class='line'>Do not speak, wild barnacle, passing over this mountain.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>Things of the mountain that wake in the night-time,</div> + <div class='line'>Do not stir to-night till the daylight whitens!</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_312'>312</span><a id='poem-2'></a></p> +<h3 class='c019'>A WOMAN OF THE MOUNTAIN KEENS HER SON</h3> + +<div class='lg-container-b c001'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>Grief on the death, it has blackened my heart:</div> + <div class='line'>It has snatched my love and left me desolate,</div> + <div class='line'>Without friend or companion under the roof of my house</div> + <div class='line'>But this sorrow in the midst of me, and I keening.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>As I walked the mountain in the evening</div> + <div class='line'>The birds spoke to me sorrowfully,</div> + <div class='line'>The sweet snipe spoke and the voiceful curlew</div> + <div class='line'>Relating to me that my darling was dead.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>I called to you and your voice I heard not,</div> + <div class='line'>I called again and I got no answer,</div> + <div class='line'>I kissed your mouth, and O God how cold it was!</div> + <div class='line'>Ah, cold is your bed in the lonely churchyard.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>O green-sodded grave in which my child is,</div> + <div class='line'>Little narrow grave, since you are his bed,</div> + <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_313'>313</span>My blessing on you, and thousands of blessings</div> + <div class='line'>On the green sods that are over my treasure.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>Grief on the death, it cannot be denied,</div> + <div class='line'>It lays low, green and withered together,—</div> + <div class='line'>And O gentle little son, what tortures me is</div> + <div class='line'>That your fair body should be making clay!</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_314'>314</span><a id='poem-3'></a></p> +<h3 class='c019'>O LITTLE BIRD</h3> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c001'> + <div><span class='small'>(A sparrow which I found dead on my doorstep on a day of winter.)</span></div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='lg-container-b c001'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>O little bird!</div> + <div class='line'>Cold to me thy lying on the flag:</div> + <div class='line'>Bird, that never had an evil thought,</div> + <div class='line'>Pitiful the coming of death to thee!</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_315'>315</span><a id='poem-4'></a></p> +<h3 class='c019'>WHY DO YE TORTURE ME?</h3> + +<div class='lg-container-b c001'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>Why are ye torturing me, O desires of my heart?</div> + <div class='line'>Torturing me and paining me by day and by night?</div> + <div class='line'>Hunting me as a poor deer would be hunted on a hill,</div> + <div class='line'>A poor long-wearied deer with the hound-pack after him?</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>There’s no ease to my paining in the loneliness of the hills,</div> + <div class='line'>But the cry of the hunters terrifically to be heard,</div> + <div class='line'>The cry of my desires haunting me without respite,—</div> + <div class='line'>O ravening hounds, long is your run!</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>No satisfying can come to my desires while I live,</div> + <div class='line'>For the satisfaction I desired yesterday is no satisfaction,</div> + <div class='line'>And the hound-pack is the greedier of the satisfaction it has got,—</div> + <div class='line'>And forever I shall not sleep till I sleep in the grave.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_316'>316</span><a id='poem-5'></a></p> +<h3 class='c019'>LITTLE LAD OF THE TRICKS</h3> + +<div class='lg-container-b c001'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>Little lad of the tricks</div> + <div class='line'>Full well I know</div> + <div class='line'>That you have been in mischief:</div> + <div class='line'>Confess your fault truly.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>I forgive you, child</div> + <div class='line'>Of the soft red mouth:</div> + <div class='line'>I will not condemn anyone</div> + <div class='line'>For a sin not understood.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>Raise your comely head</div> + <div class='line'>Till I kiss your mouth:</div> + <div class='line'>If either of us is the better of that</div> + <div class='line'>I am the better of it.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>There is a fragrance in your kiss</div> + <div class='line'>That I have not found yet</div> + <div class='line'>In the kisses of women</div> + <div class='line'>Or in the honey of their bodies.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>Lad of the grey eyes,</div> + <div class='line'>That flush in thy cheek</div> + <div class='line'>Would be white with dread of me</div> + <div class='line'>Could you read my secrets.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_317'>317</span>He who has my secrets</div> + <div class='line'>Is not fit to touch you:</div> + <div class='line'>Is not that a pitiful thing,</div> + <div class='line'>Little lad of the tricks?</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_318'>318</span><a id='poem-6'></a></p> +<h3 class='c019'>O LOVELY HEAD</h3> + +<div class='lg-container-b c001'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>O lovely head of the woman that I loved,</div> + <div class='line'>In the middle of the night I remember thee:</div> + <div class='line'>But reality returns with the sun’s whitening,</div> + <div class='line'>Alas, that the slender worm gnaws thee to-night.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>Beloved voice, that wast low and beautiful,</div> + <div class='line'>Is it true that I heard thee in my slumbers!</div> + <div class='line'>Or is the knowledge true that tortures me?</div> + <div class='line'>My grief, the tomb hath no sound or voice?</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_319'>319</span><a id='poem-7'></a></p> +<h3 class='c019'>LONG TO ME THY COMING</h3> + +<div class='lg-container-b c001'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>Long to me thy coming,</div> + <div class='line'>Old henchman of God,</div> + <div class='line'>O friend of all friends,</div> + <div class='line'>To free me from my pain.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>O syllable on the wind,</div> + <div class='line'>O footfall not heavy,</div> + <div class='line'>O hand in the dark,</div> + <div class='line'>Your coming is long to me.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_320'>320</span><a id='poem-8'></a></p> +<h3 class='c019'>A RANN I MADE</h3> + +<div class='lg-container-b c001'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>A rann I made within my heart</div> + <div class='line'>To the rider, to the high king,</div> + <div class='line'>A rann I made to my love,</div> + <div class='line'>To the king of kings, ancient death.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>Brighter to me than light of day</div> + <div class='line'>The dark of thy house, tho’ black clay;</div> + <div class='line'>Sweeter to me than the music of trumpets</div> + <div class='line'>The quiet of thy house and its eternal silence.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_321'>321</span><a id='poem-9'></a></p> +<h3 class='c019'>TO A BELOVED CHILD</h3> + +<div class='lg-container-b c001'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>Laughing mouth, what tortures me is</div> + <div class='line'>That thou shalt be weeping;</div> + <div class='line'>Lovely face, it is my pity</div> + <div class='line'>That thy brightness shall grow grey.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>Noble head, thou art proud,</div> + <div class='line'>But thou shalt bow with sorrow;</div> + <div class='line'>And it is a pitiful thing I forbode for thee</div> + <div class='line'>Whenever I kiss thee.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_322'>322</span><a id='poem-10'></a></p> +<h3 class='c019'>I HAVE NOT GARNERED GOLD</h3> + +<div class='lg-container-b c001'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>I have not garnered gold;</div> + <div class='line'>The fame I found hath perished;</div> + <div class='line'>In love I got but grief</div> + <div class='line'>That withered my life.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>Of riches or of store</div> + <div class='line'>I shall not leave behind me</div> + <div class='line'>(Yet I deem it, O God, sufficient)</div> + <div class='line'>But my name in the heart of a child.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_323'>323</span><a id='poem-11'></a></p> +<h3 class='c019'>I AM IRELAND</h3> + +<div class='lg-container-b c001'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>I am Ireland:</div> + <div class='line'>I am older than the Old Woman of Beare.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>Great my glory:</div> + <div class='line'>I that bore Cuchulainn the valiant.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>Great my shame:</div> + <div class='line'>My own children that sold their mother.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>I am Ireland:</div> + <div class='line'>I am lonelier than the Old Woman of Beare.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_324'>324</span><a id='poem-12'></a></p> +<h3 class='c019'>RENUNCIATION</h3> + +<div class='lg-container-b c001'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>Naked I saw thee,</div> + <div class='line'>O beauty of beauty,</div> + <div class='line'>And I blinded my eyes</div> + <div class='line'>For fear I should fail.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>I heard thy music,</div> + <div class='line'>O melody of melody,</div> + <div class='line'>And I closed my ears</div> + <div class='line'>For fear I should falter.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>I tasted thy mouth,</div> + <div class='line'>O sweetness of sweetness,</div> + <div class='line'>And I hardened my heart</div> + <div class='line'>For fear of my slaying.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>I blinded my eyes,</div> + <div class='line'>And I closed my ears,</div> + <div class='line'>I hardened my heart</div> + <div class='line'>And I smothered my desire.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>I turned my back</div> + <div class='line'>On the vision I had shaped,</div> + <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_325'>325</span>And to this road before me</div> + <div class='line'>I turned my face.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>I have turned my face</div> + <div class='line'>To this road before me,</div> + <div class='line'>To the deed that I see</div> + <div class='line'>And the death I shall die.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_326'>326</span><a id='poem-13'></a></p> +<h3 class='c019'>THE RANN OF THE LITTLE PLAYMATE</h3> + +<div class='lg-container-b c001'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>Young Iosa plays with me every day,</div> + <div class='line'><i>(With an <span lang="ga">óró</span> and an <span lang="ga">iaró</span>)</i></div> + <div class='line'>Tig and Pookeen and Hide-in-the-Hay,</div> + <div class='line'><i>(With an <span lang="ga">óró</span> and an <span lang="ga">iaró</span>)</i></div> + <div class='line'>We race in the rivers with otters grey,</div> + <div class='line'>We climb the tall trees where red squirrels play,</div> + <div class='line'>We watch the wee lady-bird fly far away.</div> + <div class='line'><i>(With an <span lang="ga">óró</span> and an <span lang="ga">iaró</span> and an <span lang="ga">úmbó éró</span>!)</i></div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_327'>327</span><a id='poem-14'></a></p> +<h3 class='c019'>A SONG FOR MARY MAGDALENE</h3> + +<div class='lg-container-b c001'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>O woman of the gleaming hair,</div> + <div class='line'>(Wild hair that won men’s gaze to thee)</div> + <div class='line'>Weary thou turnest from the common stare,</div> + <div class='line'>For the <span lang="ga"><i>shuiler</i></span> Christ is calling thee.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>O woman of the snowy side,</div> + <div class='line'>Many a lover hath lain with thee,</div> + <div class='line'>Yet left thee sad at the morning tide,</div> + <div class='line'>But thy lover Christ shall comfort thee.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>O woman with the wild thing’s heart,</div> + <div class='line'>Old sin hath set a snare for thee:</div> + <div class='line'>In the forest ways forspent thou art</div> + <div class='line'>But the hunter Christ shall pity thee.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>O woman spendthrift of thyself,</div> + <div class='line'>Spendthrift of all the love in thee,</div> + <div class='line'>Sold unto sin for little pelf,</div> + <div class='line'>The captain Christ shall ransom thee.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>O woman that no lover’s kiss</div> + <div class='line'>(Tho’ many a kiss was given thee)</div> + <div class='line'>Could slake thy love, is it not for this</div> + <div class='line'>The hero Christ shall die for thee?</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_328'>328</span><a id='poem-15'></a></p> +<h3 class='c019'>CHRIST’S COMING</h3> + +<div class='lg-container-b c001'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>I have made my heart clean to-night</div> + <div class='line'>As a woman might clean her house</div> + <div class='line'>Ere her lover come to visit her:</div> + <div class='line'>O Lover, pass not by!</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>I have opened the door of my heart</div> + <div class='line'>Like a man that would make a feast</div> + <div class='line'>For his son’s coming home from afar:</div> + <div class='line'>Lovely Thy coming, O Son!</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_329'>329</span><a id='poem-16'></a></p> +<h3 class='c019'>ON THE STRAND OF HOWTH</h3> + +<div class='lg-container-b c001'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>On the strand of Howth</div> + <div class='line'>Breaks a sounding wave;</div> + <div class='line'>A lone sea-gull screams</div> + <div class='line'>Above the bay.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>In the middle of the meadow</div> + <div class='line'>Beside Glasnevin</div> + <div class='line'>The corncrake speaks</div> + <div class='line'>All night long.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>There is minstrelsy of birds</div> + <div class='line'>In Glenasmole,</div> + <div class='line'>The blackbird and thrush</div> + <div class='line'>Chanting music.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>There is shining of sun</div> + <div class='line'>On the side of Slieverua,</div> + <div class='line'>And the wind blowing</div> + <div class='line'>Down over its brow.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>On the harbour of Dunleary</div> + <div class='line'>Are boat and ship</div> + <div class='line'>With sails set</div> + <div class='line'>Ploughing the waves.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_330'>330</span>Here in Ireland,</div> + <div class='line'>Am I, my brother,</div> + <div class='line'>And you far from me</div> + <div class='line'>In gallant Paris,</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>I beholding</div> + <div class='line'>Hill and harbour,</div> + <div class='line'>The strand of Howth</div> + <div class='line'>And Slieverua’s side,</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>And you victorious</div> + <div class='line'>In mighty Paris</div> + <div class='line'>Of the limewhite palaces</div> + <div class='line'>And the surging hosts;</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>And what I ask</div> + <div class='line'>Of you, beloved,</div> + <div class='line'>Far away</div> + <div class='line'>Is to think at times</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>Of the corncrake’s tune</div> + <div class='line'>Beside Glasnevin</div> + <div class='line'>In the middle of the meadow,</div> + <div class='line'>Speaking in the night;</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_331'>331</span>Of the voice of the birds</div> + <div class='line'>In Glenasmole</div> + <div class='line'>Happily, with melody,</div> + <div class='line'>Chanting music;</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>Of the strand of Howth</div> + <div class='line'>Where a wave breaks,</div> + <div class='line'>And the harbour of Dunleary,</div> + <div class='line'>Where a ship rocks;</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>On the sun that shines</div> + <div class='line'>On the side of Slieverua,</div> + <div class='line'>And the wind that blows</div> + <div class='line'>Down over its brow.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_332'>332</span><a id='poem-17'></a></p> +<h3 class='c019'>THE DORD FEINNE</h3> + +<div class='lg-container-b c001'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><span lang="ga"><i>’Se do bheatha</i></span>, O woman that wast sorrowful,</div> + <div class='line'>What grieved us was thy being in chains,</div> + <div class='line'>Thy beautiful country in the possession of rogues,</div> + <div class='line in2'>And thou sold to the Galls,</div> + <div class='line in2'><span lang="ga"><i>Oró, ’se do bheatha a bhaile</i></span>,</div> + <div class='line in2'><span lang="ga"><i>Oró, ’se do bheatha a bhaile</i></span>,</div> + <div class='line in2'><span lang="ga"><i>Oró, ’se do bheatha a bhaile</i></span>,</div> + <div class='line in2'>Now at summer’s coming!</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>Thanks to the God of miracles that we see,</div> + <div class='line'>Altho’ we live not a week thereafter,</div> + <div class='line'>Gráinne Mhaol and a thousand heroes</div> + <div class='line in2'>Proclaiming the scattering of the Galls!</div> + <div class='line in2'><span lang="ga"><i>Oró, ’se do bheatha a bhaile</i></span>,</div> + <div class='line in2'><span lang="ga"><i>Oró, ’se do bheatha a bhaile</i></span>,</div> + <div class='line in2'><span lang="ga"><i>Oró, ’se do bheatha a bhaile</i></span>,</div> + <div class='line in2'>Now at summer’s coming!</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>Gráinne Mhaol is coming from over the sea,</div> + <div class='line'>The Fenians of Fál as a guard about her,</div> + <div class='line'>Gaels they, and neither French nor Spaniard,</div> + <div class='line in2'>And a rout upon the Galls!</div> + <div class='line in2'><span lang="ga"><i>Oró, ’se do bheatha a bhaile</i></span>,</div> + <div class='line in2'><span lang="ga"><i>Oró, ’se do bheatha a bhaile</i></span>,</div> + <div class='line in2'><span lang="ga"><i>Oró, ’se do bheatha a bhaile</i></span>,</div> + <div class='line in2'>Now at summer’s coming!</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_333'>333</span><a id='poem-18'></a></p> +<h3 class='c019'>THE MOTHER</h3> + +<div class='lg-container-b c001'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>I do not grudge them: Lord, I do not grudge</div> + <div class='line'>My two strong sons that I have seen go out</div> + <div class='line'>To break their strength and die, they and a few,</div> + <div class='line'>In bloody protest for a glorious thing,</div> + <div class='line'>They shall be spoken of among their people,</div> + <div class='line'>The generations shall remember them,</div> + <div class='line'>And call them blessed;</div> + <div class='line'>But I will speak their names to my own heart</div> + <div class='line'>In the long nights;</div> + <div class='line'>The little names that were familiar once</div> + <div class='line'>Round my dead hearth.</div> + <div class='line'>Lord, thou art hard on mothers:</div> + <div class='line'>We suffer in their coming and their going;</div> + <div class='line'>And tho’ I grudge them not, I weary, weary</div> + <div class='line'>Of the long sorrow—And yet I have my joy:</div> + <div class='line'>My sons were faithful, and they fought.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_334'>334</span><a id='poem-19'></a></p> +<h3 class='c019'>THE FOOL</h3> + +<div class='lg-container-b c001'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>Since the wise men have not spoken, I speak that am only a fool;</div> + <div class='line'>A fool that hath loved his folly,</div> + <div class='line'>Yea, more than the wise men their books or their counting houses, or their quiet homes,</div> + <div class='line'>Or their fame in men’s mouths;</div> + <div class='line'>A fool that in all his days hath done never a prudent thing,</div> + <div class='line'>Never hath counted the cost, nor recked if another reaped</div> + <div class='line'>The fruit of his mighty sowing, content to scatter the seed;</div> + <div class='line'>A fool that is unrepentant, and that soon at the end of all</div> + <div class='line'>Shall laugh in his lonely heart as the ripe ears fall to the reaping-hooks</div> + <div class='line'>And the poor are filled that were empty,</div> + <div class='line'>Tho’ he go hungry.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>I have squandered the splendid years that the Lord God gave to my youth</div> + <div class='line'>In attempting impossible things, deeming them alone worth the toil.</div> + <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_335'>335</span>Was it folly or grace? Not men shall judge me, but God.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>I have squandered the splendid years:</div> + <div class='line'>Lord, if I had the years I would squander them over again,</div> + <div class='line'>Aye, fling them from me!</div> + <div class='line'>For this I have heard in my heart, that a man shall scatter, not hoard,</div> + <div class='line'>Shall do the deed of to-day, nor take thought of to-morrow’s teen,</div> + <div class='line'>Shall not bargain or huxter with God; or was it a jest of Christ’s</div> + <div class='line'>And is this my sin before men, to have taken Him at His word?</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>The lawyers have sat in council, the men with the keen, long faces,</div> + <div class='line'>And said, “This man is a fool,” and others have said, “He blasphemeth;”</div> + <div class='line'>And the wise have pitied the fool that hath striven to give a life</div> + <div class='line'>In the world of time and space among the bulks of actual things,</div> + <div class='line'>To a dream that was dreamed in the heart, and that only the heart could hold.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_336'>336</span>O wise men, riddle me this: what if the dream come true?</div> + <div class='line'>What if the dream come true? and if millions unborn shall dwell</div> + <div class='line'>In the house that I shaped in my heart, the noble house of my thought?</div> + <div class='line'>Lord, I have staked my soul, I have staked the lives of my kin</div> + <div class='line'>On the truth of Thy dreadful word. Do not remember my failures,</div> + <div class='line'>But remember this my faith.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>And so I speak.</div> + <div class='line'>Yea, ere my hot youth pass, I speak to my people and say:</div> + <div class='line'>Ye shall be foolish as I; ye shall scatter, not save;</div> + <div class='line'>Ye shall venture your all, lest ye lose what is more than all;</div> + <div class='line'>Ye shall call for a miracle, taking Christ at His word.</div> + <div class='line'>And for this I will answer, O people, answer here and hereafter,</div> + <div class='line'>O people that I have loved shall we not answer together?</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_337'>337</span><a id='poem-20'></a></p> +<h3 class='c019'>THE REBEL</h3> + +<div class='lg-container-b c001'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>I am come of the seed of the people, the people that sorrow,</div> + <div class='line'>That have no treasure but hope,</div> + <div class='line'>No riches laid up but a memory</div> + <div class='line'>Of an Ancient glory.</div> + <div class='line'>My mother bore me in bondage, in bondage my mother was born,</div> + <div class='line'>I am of the blood of serfs;</div> + <div class='line'>The children with whom I have played, the men and women with whom I have eaten,</div> + <div class='line'>Have had masters over them, have been under the lash of masters,</div> + <div class='line'>And, though gentle, have served churls;</div> + <div class='line'>The hands that have touched mine, the dear hands whose touch is familiar to me,</div> + <div class='line'>Have worn shameful manacles, have been bitten at the wrist by manacles,</div> + <div class='line'>Have grown hard with the manacles and the task-work of strangers,</div> + <div class='line'>I am flesh of the flesh of these lowly, I am bone of their bone,</div> + <div class='line'>I that have never submitted;</div> + <div class='line'>I that have a soul greater than the souls of my people’s masters,</div> + <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_338'>338</span>I that have vision and prophecy and the gift of fiery speech,</div> + <div class='line'>I that have spoken with God on the top of His holy hill.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>And because I am of the people, I understand the people,</div> + <div class='line'>I am sorrowful with their sorrow, I am hungry with their desire:</div> + <div class='line'>My heart has been heavy with the grief of mothers,</div> + <div class='line'>My eyes have been wet with the tears of children,</div> + <div class='line'>I have yearned with old wistful men,</div> + <div class='line'>And laughed or cursed with young men;</div> + <div class='line'>Their shame is my shame, and I have reddened for it,</div> + <div class='line'>Reddened for that they have served, they who should be free,</div> + <div class='line'>Reddened for that they have gone in want, while others have been full,</div> + <div class='line'>Reddened for that they have walked in fear of lawyers and of their jailors</div> + <div class='line'>With their writs of summons and their handcuffs,</div> + <div class='line'>Men mean and cruel!</div> + <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_339'>339</span>I could have borne stripes on my body rather than this shame of my people.</div> + </div> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>And now I speak, being full of vision;</div> + <div class='line'>I speak to my people, and I speak in my people’s name to the masters of my people.</div> + <div class='line'>I say to my people that they are holy, that they are august, despite their chains,</div> + <div class='line'>That they are greater than those that hold them, and stronger and purer,</div> + <div class='line'>That they have but need of courage, and to call on the name of their God,</div> + <div class='line'>God the unforgetting, the dear God that loves the peoples</div> + <div class='line'>For whom He died naked, suffering shame.</div> + <div class='line'>And I say to my people’s masters: Beware,</div> + <div class='line'>Beware of the thing that is coming, beware of the risen people,</div> + <div class='line'>Who shall take what ye would not give. Did ye think to conquer the people,</div> + <div class='line'>Or that Law is stronger than life and than men’s desire to be free?</div> + <div class='line'>We will try it out with you, ye that have harried and held,</div> + <div class='line'>Ye that have bullied and bribed, tyrants, hypocrites, liars!</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_340'>340</span><a id='poem-21'></a></p> +<h3 class='c019'>CHRISTMAS</h3> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c001'> + <div>1915</div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='lg-container-b c001'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>O King that was born</div> + <div class='line'>To set bondsmen free,</div> + <div class='line'>In the coming battle,</div> + <div class='line'>Help the Gael!</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<p class='c009'><span class='pageno' id='Page_341'>341</span><a id='poem-22'></a></p> +<h3 class='c019'>THE WAYFARER</h3> + +<div class='lg-container-b c001'> + <div class='linegroup'> + <div class='group'> + <div class='line'>The beauty of the world hath made me sad,</div> + <div class='line'>This beauty that will pass;</div> + <div class='line'>Sometimes my heart hath shaken with great joy</div> + <div class='line'>To see a leaping squirrel in a tree,</div> + <div class='line'>Or a red lady-bird upon a stalk,</div> + <div class='line'>Or little rabbits in a field at evening,</div> + <div class='line'>Lit by a slanting sun,</div> + <div class='line'>Or some green hill where shadows drifted by</div> + <div class='line'>Some quiet hill where mountainy man hath sown</div> + <div class='line'>And soon would reap; near to the gate of Heaven;</div> + <div class='line'>Or children with bare feet upon the sands</div> + <div class='line'>Of some ebbed sea, or playing on the streets</div> + <div class='line'>Of little towns in Connacht,</div> + <div class='line'>Things young and happy.</div> + <div class='line'>And then my heart hath told me:</div> + <div class='line'>These will pass,</div> + <div class='line'>Will pass and change, will die and be no more,</div> + <div class='line'>Things bright and green, things young and happy;</div> + <div class='line'>And I have gone upon my way</div> + <div class='line'>Sorrowful.</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> + +<div class='chapter' id='link-appendix'> + +<div> + <h2 class='c004'>APPENDIX</h2> +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c000'> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c000'> + <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_aiii'>iii</span><span class='large'>APPENDIX</span></div> + </div> +</div> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c001'> + <div>THE SINGER</div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c020'>The following is the version of a passage in this play, +which was with the Author’s manuscript:</p> + +<p class='c013'><span class='sc'>Colm.</span> Is it to die like rats you’d have us <a id='tn-thewordisnot'></a>because +the word is not given?</p> + +<p class='c014'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> Our plans are not finished. Our orders are +not here.</p> + +<p class='c014'><span class='sc'>Colm.</span> Our plans will never be finished. Our orders +may never be here.</p> + +<p class='c014'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> We’ve no one to lead us.</p> + +<p class='c014'><span class='sc'>Colm.</span> Didn’t you elect me your captain?</p> + +<p class='c014'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> We did, but not to bid us rise out when the +whole country is quiet. We were to get the word from +the men that are over the people. They’ll speak when +the time comes. (<i>The door opens again and Feichin comes in +with two or three others.</i>) Am I speaking lie or truth, +men? Colm here wants us to rise out before the word +comes. I say we must wait for the word. <a id='tn-whatdoyousay'></a>What do +you say, Feichin, you that’s got a wiser head than +these young fellows?</p> + +<p class='c014'><span class='sc'>Feichin.</span> God forgive me if I’m wrong, but I say we +should wait for our orders.</p> + +<p class='c014'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> What do you say, Diarmaid?</p> + +<p class='c014'><span class='sc'>Diarmaid.</span> I like you, Colm, for the way you spoke +so well and bravely; but I’m slow to give my voice to +<span class='pageno' id='Page_aiv'>iv</span>send out the boys of this mountain—our poor little +handful—to stand with their poor little pikes against the +big guns of the Gall. If we had news that they were +rising in the other countrysides; but we’ve got no news.</p> + +<p class='c014'><span class='sc'>Colm.</span> Master, you haven’t spoken yet. I’m afraid +to ask you to speak.</p> + +<p class='c014'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn.</span> Cuimin is right when he says that +we must not rise out until we get the word; but what do +you say, neighbours, if the man that’ll give the word is +under the roof of this house?</p> + +<p class='c014'><span class='sc'>Diarmaid.</span> What do you mean?</p> + +<p class='c014'><span class='sc'>Maoilsheachlainn</span> (<i>going to the door of the room and +throwing it open</i>). Let you rise out, MacDara, and reveal +yourself to the men that are waiting your word!</p> + +<p class='c014'><span class='sc'>Feichin.</span> Has MacDara come home?</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c021'><i>MacDara comes out of the room, Maire ni Fhiannachta +and Sighle stand behind him in the doorway.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c014'><span class='sc'>Diarmaid</span> (<i>starting up</i>). That is the man that stood +among the people in the fair of Uachtar Ard! (<i>He goes +up to MacDara and kisses his hand.</i>) I could not get +near you yesterday, MacDara, the crowds were so +great. What was on me that I didn’t know you? +Sure I ought to have known that sad, proud head. +Maire, men and women yet unborn will bless the pains +of your first childing.</p> + +<p class='c014'><span class='sc'>Maire</span> (<i>comes forward and takes her son’s hand and kisses +it</i>). Soft hand that played at my breast, strong hand that +will fall heavy on the Gall, brave hand that will break +the yoke! Men of the mountain, my son, MacDara, +is the Singer that has quickened the dead years and the +young blood. Let the horsemen that sleep in Aileach +rise up to-day and follow him into the war!</p> + +<div class='sd'> + +<p class='c021'><i>They come forward, one by one, and kiss his hand, +Colm and Sighle last.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class='c014'><span class='sc'>Colm.</span> The Gall have marched from Clifden, +<span class='pageno' id='Page_av'>v</span>MacDara. I wanted to rise out to-day, but these old +men think it is not yet time.</p> + +<p class='c014'><span class='sc'>Cuimin.</span> We were waiting for the word.</p> + +<p class='c014'><span class='sc'>MacDara.</span> And must I speak the word? Old men, +you have left me no choice. I had hoped that more +would not be asked of me than to sow the secret word +of hope, and that the toil of the reaping would be for +others. But I see that one does not serve</p> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c001'> + <div>IOSAGAN</div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c020'>Author’s Foreword to <span lang="ga"><cite>Iosagán agus Sgealta eile</cite></span>, which +is here translated by Mr. Joseph Campbell:</p> + +<p class='c013'>Putting these stories in order, it is no wonder that my +thoughts are on the friends that told them to me, and on +the lonely place on the edge of Ireland where they live. +I see before my eyes a countryside, hilly, crossed with +glens, full of rivers, brimming with lakes; great horns +threatening their tops on the verge of the sky in the +north-west; a narrow, moaning bay stretching in from +the sea on each side of a “ross;” the “ross” rising up +from the round of the bay, but with no height compared +with the nigh-hand hills or the horns far off; a little +cluster of houses in each little glen and mountain gap, +and a solitary cabin here and there on the shoulder of +the hills. I think I hear the ground-bass of the waterfalls +and rivers, the sweet cry of the golden plover and +curlew, and the low voice of the people in talk by the +fireside…. My blessing with you little book, to +Rossnageeragh and to them in it, my friends!</p> + +<p class='c014'>It is from the “<span lang="ga"><i>patairidhe beaga</i></span>,” the “little soft +young things” that Old Matthias used see making +<span class='pageno' id='Page_avi'>vi</span>sport to themselves on the green that I heard the greater +part of the first story. They do be there always, every +sunny evening and every fine Sunday morning, running +and throwing leaps exactly as they would be when Old +Matthias would sit looking on them. I never saw Iosagan +among them, but it’s like He does be there, for all +that. Isn’t His wish to be rejoicing on the earth, and +isn’t His delight to be along with His Father’s children?… +I have told in the story itself the place and the +time I heard <span class='sc'>The Priest</span>. It’s well I remember +Nora’s little house, and the kindly little woman herself, +and the three children. Paraig is serving Mass now, +and I hear Taimeen has “<span lang="ga"><cite>Fromsó Framsó</cite></span>,” by heart…. +It was from Brideen herself that I heard the +adventures of Barbara. One evening that we went in +on Oilean ni Raithnighe (the Ferny Island), I and she, +it was she told it to me, and we sitting on the brink of +the lake looking over on the Big Rock. She showed +me Barbara’s grave the same evening after our coming +home, and she took a promise from me that I’d say a +prayer for her friend’s soul every night of my life. +Brideen will be going to school next year, and she will +be able to read the story of Barbara out of this, I hope +she will like it…. As for <span class='sc'>Eoineen of the Birds</span>, +I don’t know who it was I heard it from, unless it was +from the swallows themselves. Yes, I think it was they +told it to me one evening that I was stretched in the +heather looking at them flying here and there over Loch +Eireamhlach. From what mouth the swallows heard +the start of the story, I don’t know. From the song-thrush +and from that yellow-bunting that have their +nests in a ditch of the garden, it’s like.</p> + +<p class='c014'>To you, sweet friends, people of the telling of my +stories, both little and big, I give and dedicate this little +book.</p> + +<div class='nf-center-c0'> +<div class='nf-center c001'> + <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_avii'>vii</span>CHRONOLOGICAL NOTE</div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c020'><span class='sc'>The Singer</span> was written in the late Autumn of 1915. +Joseph Plunkett was profoundly impressed when he +read it. “If Pearse were dead,” he said, “this would +cause a sensation.” Mr. Pearse rather deprecated his +view that the play was entirely a personal revelation. +No Irish MS. is extant. The two poems <span class='sc'>The Rebel</span> +and <span class='sc'>The Fool</span> also belong to the same period, and are in +no sense translations. The same may be said of <span class='sc'>On +the Strand of Howth</span> and <span class='sc'>The Mother</span>. With the +exceptions of <span class='sc'>Song for Mary Magdalene</span>, <span class='sc'>Rann of +the Little Playmate</span> (both taken from <span class='sc'>The Master</span>), +<span class='sc'>Christ’s Coming</span>, <span class='sc'>Christmas 1915</span>, <span class='sc'>Dord Feinne</span>, +and the <span class='sc'>Wayfarer</span> (written in Kilmainham Jail, May, +1916), the remaining Poems are translations of +<span lang="ga"><cite>Suantraide agus Goltraide</cite></span> (1914). These twelve poems, +<span class='sc'>Dord Feinne</span>, and <span class='sc'>Christ’s Coming</span>, are the only +poems in this volume originally written in Irish.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The King</span> was first produced as an open air play +upon the banks of the river which runs through +the Hermitage, Rathfarnham, by the students of St. +Enda’s College. In reference to its subsequent production +at the Abbey Theatre, Dublin, 17th May, +1913, Mr. Pearse wrote in <span lang="ga"><cite>An Macaomh</cite></span>, Vol. II, No. 2, +1913: “The play we decided to produce along with +<span class='sc'>The Post Office</span>, was <a id='tn-anri'></a>my morality <span lang="ga"><cite>An Rí</cite></span>. We +had enacted it during the previous summer with much +pageantry of horses and marchings, at a place in our +grounds where an old castellated bridge, not unlike an +<span class='pageno' id='Page_aviii'>viii</span>entrance to a monastery, is thrown across a stream. +Since that performance I had added some speeches with +the object of slightly deepening the characterization.” +William Pearse played the Abbot’s part.</p> + +<p class='c009'><span class='sc'>The Master</span> was produced Whitsuntide, 1915, +at the Irish Theatre, Hardwicke Street, Dublin, with +William Pearse as Ciaran. No Irish MS. is extant. +<span lang="ga"><cite>Iosagán</cite></span>, the dramatization of the author’s story of +the same name, was first acted in Cullenswood House, +Rathmines, Dublin, in February, 1910, by St. Enda +students. Mr. Pearse writes in <span lang="ga"><cite>An Macaomh</cite></span>, Vol. I., +No. 2, 1909: “In <span lang="ga"><cite>Iosagán</cite></span> I have religiously followed +the phraseology of the children and old men in <span lang="ga"><i>Iar-Connacht</i></span> +from whom I have learned the Irish I speak. +I have put no word, no speech into the mouths of my +little boys which the real little boys of the parish I have +in mind—boys whom I know as well as I know my +pupils in <span lang="ga"><i>Sgoil Eanna</i></span>—would not use in the same +circumstances. I have given their daily conversation, +anglicism, vulgarisms and all; if I gave anything else +my picture would be a false one. <span lang="ga"><cite>Iosagán</cite></span> is not a +play for ordinary theatres or for ordinary players. It +requires a certain atmosphere and a certain attitude of +mind on the part of the actors. It has in fact been +written for performance in a particular place and by +particular players. I know that in that place and by +those players it will be treated with the reverence due +to a prayer.”</p> + +<p class='c009'>The first six stories here given are translations of <span lang="ga"><cite>An +Mátair</cite></span> (1916). The last four stories are translations +of <span lang="ga"><cite>Iosagán agus Sgéalta eile</cite></span>, some of which were published +in <span lang="ga"><cite>An Claideam Soluis</cite></span> in 1905-6, re-published a few +years later in book-form.</p> + +<div class='c011'>D. R.</div> + +</div> + +<div class='pbb'> + <hr class='pb c003'> +</div> +<div> + +<p class='c022'></p> + +</div> +<div class='transcribers-notes'> + +<div class='nf-center-c1'> + <div class='nf-center'> + <div><span class='xlarge'>Transcriber’s Notes</span></div> + </div> +</div> + +<p class='c023'>In some cases, Irish words appear to be printed with grave accents rather than the acute <span lang="ga">síneadh fada</span>. In this edition all Irish words use only the modern standard <span lang="ga">fada</span>.</p> + +<p class='c024'>The page images used to create this ebook are inconsistent as to whether there is a fada over the “a” in “Pádraic”, and it is not always clear whether the fadas that do appear were printed with the volume or added in afterwards. As there is no fada the majority of the time, the fadas appearing in the front matter of the volumes have been omitted.</p> + +<p class='c024'>On <a href='#tn-iosa'>page 102</a>, the words “<span lang="ga">Íosa</span>” and “<span lang="ga">Ísuccán</span>” were printed in <span lang="ga">cló Gaelach</span>, Irish script. They are presented here +in boldface Roman script.</p> + +<p class='c024'>The end of the Appendix section on <cite>The Singer</cite>, on page v, ends with no punctuation; this has been left as is.</p> + +<p class='c024'>New original cover art included with this ebook is granted to the public domain.</p> + +<p class='c024'>The following changes and corrections have been made:</p> + <ul class='ul_1'> + <li><a href='#tn-torture'>Table of Contents</a>: Added question mark after title “WHY DO YE TORTURE + ME?” to match title above poem. + </li> + <li><a href='#tn-paraig'>p. xii</a>: Replaced “Paraic” with “Paraig” in phrase “Paraig wearing a + surplice.” + </li> + <li><a href='#tn-homecoming'>p. 24</a>: Replaced period with comma in phrase “I meant this to be a + home-coming, but it seems….” + </li> + <li><a href='#tn-butmine'>p. 51</a>: Added period after phrase “It is not, but mine.” + </li> + <li><a href='#tn-breasal'>p. 72</a>: Removed second period before phrase “He is fond of little + Iollann.” + </li> + <li><a href='#tn-ladybird'>p. 76</a>: Replaced “ladybird” with “lady-bird” before phrase “We watch the + wee lady-bird fly far away.” + </li> + <li><a href='#tn-ciaran'>p. 81</a>: Replaced “Ciarnn” with “Ciaran” before phrase “What do you call + your rann?” + </li> + <li><a href='#tn-bidhim'>p. 91</a>: Added comma in phrase “Bid him to come in, Iollann.” + </li> + <li><a href='#tn-yonone'>p. 105</a>: Replaced comma with period before phrase “Yon one gave me enough.” + </li> + <li><a href='#tn-lurabog'>p. 106</a>: Added period before phrase “I’ll make a <span lang="ga"><i>lúrabóg</i></span> of + you!” + </li> + <li><a href='#tn-ratherit'>p. 189</a>: Added opening double quotation mark before phrase “I’d rather + it than anything I have in the world.” + </li> + <li><a href='#tn-doyouthink'>p. 221</a>: Removed opening quotation mark before phrase “Do you think, + Sean.” + </li> + <li><a href='#tn-knowtherailway'>p. 225</a>: Added opening double quotation mark before phrase “that + she didn’t know the railway.” + </li> + <li><a href='#tn-comforther'>p. 225</a>: Moved closing double quotation mark from after to before + phrase “says my father.” + </li> + <li><a href='#tn-fairing'>p. 266</a>: Changed comma to period after phrase “but that’s not the + fairing.” + </li> + <li><a href='#tn-padraic'>p. 269</a>: Replaced “Padaric” with “Padraic” in phrase “bless my Uncle + Padaric that’s now in America” + </li> + <li><a href='#tn-niamh'>p. 276</a>: Changed single to double closing quotation mark after phrase + “Niamh of the Golden Head.” + </li> + <li><a href='#tn-itsniamh'>p. 280</a>: Changed “its” to “it’s” and “head” to “Head” in phrase “it’s + Niamh Goldy-Head would go out on the hill.” + </li> + <li><a href='#tn-thewordisnot'>Appendix p. iii</a>: Changed “the the” to “the” in phrase “because the + word is not given.” + </li> + <li><a href='#tn-whatdoyousay'>Appendix p. iii</a>: Changed “do do” to “do” in phrase “What do you + say, Feichin.” + </li> + <li><a href='#tn-anri'>Appendix p. vii</a>: Removed closing double quotation mark after phrase “my + morality <span lang="ga"><cite>An Rí</cite></span>.” + </li> + </ul> + +</div> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78495 ***</div> +</body> +<!-- created with ppgen.py 3.57i (with regex) on 2026-04-19 14:24:56 GMT --> +</html> diff --git a/78495-h/images/cover.jpg b/78495-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..efa9dfd --- /dev/null +++ b/78495-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/78495-h/images/frontispiece.jpg b/78495-h/images/frontispiece.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..afdf3fd --- /dev/null +++ b/78495-h/images/frontispiece.jpg diff --git a/78495-h/images/publisher-logo.jpg b/78495-h/images/publisher-logo.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c48c76d --- /dev/null +++ b/78495-h/images/publisher-logo.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6c72794 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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