be to God, to Mary, and the angels,
That I am wealthy. Wherefore do they sell?
FIRST MERCHANT.
The demons give a hundred crowns and more
For a poor soul like his who lies asleep
By your great door under the porter’s 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.
CATHLEEN.
How can a heap of crowns pay for a soul?
Is the green grave so terrible a thing?
FIRST MERCHANT.
Some sell because the money gleams, and some
Because they are in terror of the grave,
And some because their neighbours sold before,
And some because there is a kind of joy
In casting hope away, in losing joy,
In ceasing all resistance, in at last
Opening one’s arms to the eternal flames,
In casting all sails out upon the wind:
To this—full of the gaiety of the lost—
Would all folk hurry if your gold were gone.
CATHLEEN.
There is a something, merchant, in your voice
That makes me fear. When you were telling how
A man may lose his soul and lose his God,
Your eyes 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.
FIRST MERCHANT.
Man’s sins
Move us to laughter only, we have seen
So many lands and seen so many men.
How strange that all these people should be swung
As on a lady’s shoe-string—under them
The glowing leagues of never-ending flame!
CATHLEEN.
There is a something in you that I fear:
A something not of us. 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.
SECOND MERCHANT [aside to FIRST MERCHANT].
Away now—they are in the passage—hurry,
For they will know us, and freeze up our hearts
With Ave Marys, and burn all our skin
With holy water.
FIRST MERCHANT.
Farewell: we must ride
Many a mile before the morning come;
Our horses beat the ground impatiently.
[They go out to R. A number of peasants enter at the same moment by the opposite door.
CATHLEEN.
What would you?
A PEASANT.
As we nodded by the fire,
Telling old histories, we heard a noise
Of falling money. We have searched in vain.
CATHLEEN.
You are too timid. I heard naught at all.
THE OLD PEASANT.
Ay, we are timid, for a rich man’s word
Can shake our houses, and a moon of drouth
Shrivel our seedlings in the barren earth;
We are the slaves of wind, and hail, and flood;
Fear jogs our elbow in the market-place,
And nods beside us on the chimney-seat.
Ill-bodings are as native unto our hearts
As are their spots unto the woodpeckers.
CATHLEEN.
You need not shake with bodings in this house.
[Oona enters from the door to L.
OONA.
The treasure-room is broken in—mavrone—mavrone;
The door stands open and the gold is gone.
[The peasants raise a lamenting cry.
CATHLEEN.
Be silent. [The cry ceases.
Saw you any one?
OONA.
Mavrone,
That my good mistress should lose all this money.
CATHLEEN.
You three upon my right hand, ride and ride;
I will give a farm to him who finds the thieves.
[A man with keys at his girdle has entered while she was speaking.
A PEASANT.
The porter trembles.
THE PORTER.
It is all no use;
Demons were here. I sat beside the door
In my
