[They go out by the left-hand door, and enter again in a little while, carrying full bags upon their shoulders.
FIRST MERCHANTBrave thought, brave thought a shining thought of mine!
She now no more may bribe the poor no more
Cheat our great master of his merchandise,
While our heels dangle at the house in the woods,
And grass grows on the threshold, and snails crawl
Along the window-pane and the mud floor.
Brother, where wander all these dwarfish folk,
Hostile to men, the people of the tides?
They are gone. They have already wandered away,
Unwilling labourers.
I will call them hither.
Come hither, hither, hither, water-folk:
Come, all you elemental populace;
Leave lonely the long-hoarding surges: leave
The cymbals of the waves to clash alone,
And, shaking the sea-tangles from your hair,
Gather about us. [After a pause.
I can hear a sound
As from waves beating upon distant strands;
And the sea-creatures, like a surf of light,
Pour eddying through the pathways of the oaks;
And as they come, the sentient grass and leaves
Bow towards them, and the tall, drouth-jaded oaks
Fondle the murmur of their flying feet.
The green things love unknotted hearts and minds;
And neither one with angels or with us,
Nor risen in arms with evil nor with good,
In laughter roves the litter of the waves.
[A crowd of faces fill up the darkness outside the window. A figure separates from the others and speaks.
THE SPIRITWe come unwillingly, for she whose gold
We must now carry to the house in the woods
Is dear to all our race. On the green plain,
Beside the sea, a hundred shepherds live
To mind her sheep; and when the nightfall comes
They leave a hundred pans of white ewes milk
Outside their doors, to feed us when the dawn
Has driven us out of Finbars ancient house,
And broken the long dance under the hill.
Obey! I make a sign upon your hearts.
The sign of evil burns upon our hearts,
And we obey.
[They crowd through the window, and take out of the bags a small bag each. They are dressed in green robes and have ruddy hair. They are a little less than the size of men and women.
FIRST MERCHANTAnd now begone begone! [They go.
I bid them go, for, being garrulous
And flighty creatures, they had soon begun
To deafen us with their sea-gossip. Now
We must go bring more money. Brother, brother,
I long to see my masters face again,
For I turn homesick.
I too tire of toil.
[They go out, and return as before, with their bags full.
SECOND MERCHANT[Pointing to the oratory.]How may we gain this woman for our lord?
This pearl, this turquoise fastened in his crown
Would make it shine like His we dare not name.
Now that the winds are heavy with our kind,
Might we not kill her, and bear off her spirit
Before the mob of angels were astir?
Who tore the bag?
The finger of Priest John
When he fled through the leather. I had thought
Because his was an old and little spirit
The tear would hardly matter.
This comes, brother,
Of stealing souls that are not rightly ours.
If we would win this turquoise for our lord,
It must go dropping down of its freewill.
She will have heard the noise. She will stifle us
With holy names.
[He goes to the oratory door and opens it a little, and then closes it.]
No, she has fallen asleep.
The noise wakened the household. While you spoke
I heard chairs moved, and heard folks shuffling feet.
And now they are coming hither.
It was here.
No, further away.
It was in the western tower.
Come quickly; we will search the western tower.
We still have time they search the distant rooms.
Call hither the fading and the unfading fires.
There are none here. They tired and strayed from hence
Unwilling labourers.
I will draw them in.
Come hither, you lost souls of men, who died
In drunken sleep, and by each others hands
When they had bartered you come hither all
Who mourn among the scenery of your sins,
Turning to animal and reptile forms,
The visages of passions; hither, hither
Leave marshes and the reed-encumbered pools,
You shapeless fires, that were the souls of men,
And are a fading wretchedness.
They come not.
Come hither, hither, hither.
I can hear
A crying as of storm-distempered reeds.
The fading and the unfading fires rise up
Like steam out of the earth; the grass and leaves
Shiver and shrink away and sway about,
Blown by unnatural gusts of ice-cold air.
They are one with all the beings of decay,
Ill longings, madness, lightning, famine, drouth.
[The whole stage is gradually filled with vague forms, some animal shapes, some human, some mere lights.
Come you and you and you, and lift these bags.
We are too violent; mere shapes of storm.
Come you and you and you, and lift these bags.
We are too feeble, fading out of life.
Come you, and you, who are the latest dead,
And still wear human shape: the shape of power.
[The two robbing peasants of the last scene come forward. Their faces have withered from much pain.
[The whole stage is gradually filled with vague forms, some animal shapes, some human, some mere lights.
Come you and you and you, and lift these bags.
We are too violent; mere shapes of storm.
Come you and you and you, and lift these bags.
We are too feeble, fading out of life.
Come you, and you, who are the latest dead,
And still wear human shape: the shape of power.
[The two robbing peasants of the last scene come forward. Their faces have withered from much pain.
Now, brawlers, lift the bags of gold.
Yes, yes!
Unwillingly, unwillingly; for she,
Whose gold we bear upon our shoulders thus,
Has endless pity even for lost souls
In her good heart. At moments, now and then,
When plunged in horror, brooding each alone,
A memory of her face floats in on us.
It brings a crowned misery, half repose,
And we wail one to other; we obey,
For heavens many-angled star reversed,
Now sign of evil, burns into our hearts.
When these pale sapphires and these diadems
And these small bags of money are in our house,
The burning shall give over now begone.
No no no. I will carry the diadem.
No, brother, not yet.
For none can carry her treasures wholly away
But spirits that are too light for good and evil,
Or, being evil, can remember good.
Begone! [The spirits vanish.] I bade them go, for they are lonely,
And when they see aught living love to sigh.
[Pointing to the oratory.] Brother, I heard a sound in there a sound
That troubles me.
Upon the altar steps
The Countess tosses, murmuring in her sleep
A broken Paternoster.
She is grown still.
A great plan floats into my mind no wonder,
For I come from the ninth and mightiest Hell,
Where all are kings. I will wake her from her sleep,
And mix with all her thoughts a thought to serve.
May we be well remembered in your prayers!
[The COUNTESS CATHLEEN wakes, and comes to the door of the oratory. The MERCHANTS descend into the room again. She stands at the top of the stone steps.
CATHLEENWhat would you, sirs?
We are two merchant men,
New come from foreign lands. We bring you news.
Forgive our sudden entry: the great door
Was open, we came in to seek a face.
The door stands always open to receive,
With kindly welcome, starved and sickly folk,
Or any who would fly the woful times.
Merchants, you bring me news?
We saw a man
Heavy with sickness in the Bog of Allan,
Whom you had bid buy cattle. Near Fair Head
We saw your grain ships lying all becalmed
In the dark night, and not less still than they
Burned all their mirrored lanthorns in the sea.
My thanks to God, to Mary, and the angels,
I still have bags of money, and can buy
Meal from the merchants who have stored it up,
To prosper on the hunger of the poor.
You have been far, and know the signs of things:
When will this yellow vapour no more hang
And creep about the fields, and this great heat
Vanish away and grass show its green shoots?
There is no sign of change day copies day,
Green things are dead the cattle too are dead,
Or dying and on all the vapour hangs
And fattens with disease and glows with heat.
In you is all the hope of all the land.
And heard you of the demons who buy souls?
There are some men who hold they have wolves heads,
And say their limbs, dried by the infinite flame,
Have all the speed of storms; others again
Say they are gross and little; while a few
Will have it they seem much as mortals are,
But tall and brown and travelled, like us, lady.
Yet all agree a power is in their looks
That makes men bow, and flings a casting-net
About their souls, and that all men would go
And barter those poor flames their spirits only
You bribe them with the safety of your gold.
Praise be to God, to Mary, and the angels,
That I am wealthy. Wherefore do they sell?
The demons give a hundred crowns and more
For a poor soul like his who lies asleep
By your great door under the porters niche;
A little soul not worth a hundred pence.
But, for a soul like yours, I heard them say,
They would give five hundred thousand crowns and more.
How can a heap of crowns pay for a soul?
Is the green grave so terrible a thing?
Some sell because the money gleams, and some
Because they are in terror of the grave,
And some because their neighbours sold before,
And some because there is a kind of joy
In casting hope away, in losing joy,
In ceasing all resistance, in at last
Opening ones arms to the eternal flames,
In casting all sails out upon the wind:
To this full of the gaiety of the lost
Would all folk hurry if your gold were gone.
There is a something, merchant, in your voice
That makes me fear. When you were telling how
A man may lose his soul and lose his God,
Your eyes lighted, and the strange weariness
That hangs about you vanished. When you told
How my poor money serves the people both
Merchants, forgive me seemed to smile.
Mans sins
Move us to laughter only, we have seen
So many lands and seen so many men.
How strange that all these people should be swung
As on a ladys shoe-string under them
The glowing leagues of never-ending flame!
There is a something in you that I fear:
A something not of us. Were you not born
In some most distant corner of the world?
[The SECOND MERCHANT, who has been listening at the door to the right, comes forward, and as he comes a sound of voices and feet is heard through the door to his left.