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COSTELLO had come up from the fields, and
lay
upon the ground before the door of his
square tower, supporting his head
upon his
hands, looking at the sunset, and considering
the chances of
the weather. Though the
customs of Elizabeth and James, now going
out
of fashion in England, had begun to pre-
vail among the gentry, he still
wore the
great cloak of the native Irishry; and the
sensitive outlines
of his face and the greatness of his indolent body
showed a commingling of
pride and strength which belonged to a
simpler age. His eyes strayed in a
little from the sunset to where the
long white road lost itself over the
south-western horizon, and then
falling, lit upon a horseman who toiled
slowly up the hill. A few more
minutes and the horseman was near enough for
his little and shapeless
body, his long Irish cloak and the dilapidated
bagpipes hanging from
his shoulders, and the rough-haired garron under him,
to stand out dis-
tinctly in the gathering greyness. So soon as he had come
within
earshot he began crying in Gaelic,
their hearts on the great white roads? Listen to me,
Tumaus Costello
the Proud, for I come out of Coolavin, and bring a message
from Oona
MacDermott, and it is the good pay I must have, for the saddle
was
bitter under me.’
cursing the while by God, and Bridget and the
devil; for riding in all
weathers from wake to wedding and wedding to wake
had made him
rheumatic. Costello had risen to his feet, and was fumbling at
the
mouth of the leather bag, in which he carried his money, but it
was
some time before it would open, for the hand that had thrown so
many
in wrestling shook with excitement.
of French and Spanish silver into the hand of the
piper. ‘I got it
for a heifer down at Ballysumaghan last week!’ The other
bit a
shilling between his teeth, and went on,
lay their hands upon me in any boreen after sundown,
or in Coolavin
by broad day, I will be flung among the
nettles in a ditch, or hanged
upon the sycamore, where they hanged the
horse thieves out by Leitram
last Great Beltan four years!’ And while he
spoke he tied the reins
of his garron to a bar of rusty iron that was
mortared into the wall.
no man dare lay hands upon the man or the goat, or the
horse or the
dog protected by Tumaus Costello.’
on the ground, ‘in the corner of the chimney with a
noggin of Spanish
ale in my hand, and a jug of Spanish ale beside me, for
though I am
ragged and empty my forbears were well clothed and full until
their
house was burnt, and their cattle harried in the time of Cathal of
the
Red Hand by the Dillons, whom I shall yet see on the hob of hell,
and
they screeching,’ and while he spoke the little eyes gleamed and
the
thin hands clenched.
of the comforts which had begun to grow common among
the gentry,
but a feudal gauntness and bareness, and led him to the bench
in the
great chimney; and when he had sat down, filled up a horn noggin,
and
set it on the bench beside him, and set a great black-jack of
leather
beside the noggin, and lit a torch that slanted out from a ring in
the wall,
his hands trembling the while; and then turned towards him and
said,
Dermott of the Sheep, has set women to watch her, but she
bid me tell
you that this day sennight will be the eve of St. John and the
night of
her betrothal to Macnamara of the Lake, and she would have you
there,
that, when they bid her drink to him she loves best, as the way is,
she
may drink to you, oh Tumaus Costello, and let all know where her
heart
is and how little of gladness is in her marrying: and I myself bid
you
go with good men about you, for I saw the horse thieves with my
own
eyes, and they dancing the blue pigeon in the air.’ And then he
held
the now empty noggin towards Costello, his hand closing round it
like
the claw of a bird, and cried,
water in the world is to shrink into a periwinkle shell,
that I might
drink nothing but the poteen.’ Finding that Costello made no
reply,
but sat in a dream, he burst out,
that he should not wait upon an O’Daly,
even though the O’Daly travel
the road with his pipes and the Costello have
a bare hill, an empty
house, a horse, a herd of goats and a handful of
cows.’
‘for you have brought me a kind word from my love.’
raise a body guard; and every man he met had some
story of Costello,
how he killed the wrestler, when but a boy, by so
straining at the belt,
that went about them both, that he broke the back of
his opponent;
how, when somewhat older, he dragged the fierce horses of the
Dunns of
Shancough through a ford in the Unchion for a wager; how, when
he
came to maturity, he broke the steel horse shoe in Mayo; how he
drove
many men before him through Drumlease and Cloonbougher and
Druma-
hair, because of a malevolent song they had about his poverty;
and
of many another deed of his strength and pride; but he could find
none who would trust themselves with any so passionate and poor in
a
quarrel with careful and wealthy persons, like MacDermott of the
Sheep, and
Macnamara of the Lake.
excuses and in many places, brought in a big half-witted
fellow who
followed him like a dog, a farm labourer who worshipped him for
his
strength, a fat farmer whose forefathers had served his family, and
a
couple of lads who looked after his goats and cows, and marshalled
them before the fire in the empty hall. They had brought with them
their
stout alpeens, and Costello gave them an old pistol a-piece, and
kept them
all night drinking Spanish ale, and shooting at a white
turnip which he
pinned against the wall with a skewer. O’Daly sat on
the bench in the
chimney playing 'The Green Bunch of Rushes,’ 'The
Unchion Stream,’ and 'The
Princes of Beffeny’ on his old pipes, and
railing now at the appearance of
the shooters, now at their clumsy shoot-
ing, and now at Costello because
he had no better servants. The
labourer, the half-witted fellow, the farmer
and the lads were all well
accustomed to O’Daly’s unquenchable railing, for
it was as inseparable
from wake or wedding as the squealing of his pipes,
but they wondered
at the forbearance of Costello, who seldom came either to
wake or
wedding, and, if he had, would scarce have been patient with a
scolding
piper.
tolerable horse and carrying a sword, the others upon
rough haired
garrons, and with their stout alpeens
under their arms. As they rode
over the bogs, and in the boreens among the
hills, they could see fire
answering fire from hill to hill, from horizon
to horizon, and everywhere
groups who danced in the ruddy light of the
turf, celebrating the bridal
of life and fire. When they came to
MacDermott’s house they saw
before the door an unusually large group of the
very poor, dancing
about a fire, in the midst of which was a blazing
cartwheel, that cir-
cular dance which is so ancient that the gods, long
dwindled to be
but fairies, dance no other in their secret places. From the
door, and
through the long loop-holes on either side, came the pale light
of
candles, and the sound of many feet dancing a dance of Elizabeth
and
James.
showed that the stables were full, and shoved their way
through a
crowd of peasants who stood about the door, and went into the
great
hall where the dance was. The labourer, the half-witted fellow,
the
farmer, and the two lads mixed with a group of servants, who were
looking on from an alcove, and Duallach sat with the pipers on their
bench;
but Costello made his way through the dancers to where
MacDermott of the
Sheep stood with Macnamara of the Lake, pouring
poteen out of a porcelain
jug into horn noggins with silver rims.
to forget what has been, and to fling away enmity and come
to the
betrothal of my daughter to Macnamara of the Lake.’
of the Heavy Sighs my forbears overcame your forbears, and
afterwards
made peace, a compact was made that a Costello might go with
his
body servants and his piper to every feast given by a MacDermott
for
ever, and a MacDermott with his body servants and his piper to
every
feast given by a Costello for ever.’
flushing, ‘no matter how strong your hands to wrestle
and to swing the
sword, it shall go badly with you, for some of my wife’s
clan have come
out of Mayo, and my three brothers and their servants have
come down
from the Mountains of the Ox,’ and while he spoke he kept his
hand
inside his coat as though upon the handle of a weapon.
your daughter.’
pale girl who had been standing a little
way off for the last few
moments, with her mild eyes fixed upon the ground.
will never see one another again.’
that trust of the humble in the proud, the gentle in
the violent, which
has been the tragedy of woman from the beginning.
Costello led her
among the dancers, and they were soon absorbed in the
rhythm of the
Pavane, that stately dance which, with the Saraband, the
Gallead, and
the Morrice dances, had driven out, among all but the most
Irish of the
gentry, the quicker rhythms of the verse-interwoven,
pantomimic dances
of earlier days ; and while they danced came over them
the unutterable
melancholy, the weariness with the world, the poignant and
bitter pity,
the vague anger against common hopes and fears, which is the
exulta-
tion of love. And when a dance ended and the pipers laid down
their
pipes and lifted their horn noggins, they stood a little from the
others,
waiting pensively and silently for the dance to begin again and the
fire
in their hearts to leap up and to wrap them anew; and so they
danced
and danced through Pavane and Saraband and Gallead the night
through, and many stood still to watch them, and the peasants came
about
the door and peered in, as though they understood that they
would gather
their children’s children about them long hence, and tell
how they had seen
Costello dance with Oona MacDermott, and become,
by the telling, themselves
a portion of ancient romance; but through all
the dancing and piping
Macnamara of the Lake went hither and thither
talking loudly and making
foolish jokes, that all might seem well with
him, and old MacDermott of the
Sheep grew redder and redder, and
looked oftener and oftener at the doorway
to to see if the candles there
grew yellow in the dawn.
after a dance, cried out from where the horn noggins
stood, that his
daughter would now drink the cup of betrothal; then Oona
came over
to where he was, and the guests stood round in a half circle,
Costello
close to the wall to the right, and the labourer, the farmer, the
half-witted
man, and the two farm lads close behind. The old man took out
of a
niche in the wall the silver cup, from which her mother and her
mother’s
mother had drunk the toasts of their betrothals, and poured into
it a
little of the poteen out of a porcelain jug, and handed it to his
daughter
with the customary words, ‘Drink to him whom you love the best.’
soft voice,
bell, for the old man had struck her in the face, and it
had fallen in her
confusion; and there was a deep silence. There were many
of Macna-
mara’s people among the servants, now come out of the alcove, and
one
of them, a story teller and poet, a last remnant of the bardic order,
who
had a chair and a platter in Macnamara’s kitchen, drew a French
knife
out of his girdle, and made as though he would strike at Costello,
but in
a moment a blow had hurled him on the ground, his shoulder
sending
the cup rolling and ringing again. The click of steel had
followed
quickly had not there come a muttering and shouting from the
peasants
about the door, and from those crowding up behind them; and all
knew
that these were no children of Queen’s Irish or friendly
Macnamaras
and MacDermotts, but wild Lavells and Quinns and Dunns from
about
Lough Garra, who rowed their skin coracles, and had masses of
hair
over their eyes, and left the right arms of their children
unchristened,
that they might give the stouter blows, and swore only by St.
Atty and
sun and moon, and worshipped beauty and strength more than St.
Atty
or sun and moon.
knuckles had grown white, but now he drew it away, and,
followed by
those who were with him, strode towards the door, the dancers
giving
before him, the most angrily and slowly and with glances at the
mut-
tering and shouting peasants, but some gladly and quickly because
the
glory of his fame was over him; and passed through the fierce and
friendly peasant faces, and came where his good horse and the rough-
haired
garrons were tied to bushes; and mounted and bade his ungainly
body-guard
mount also, and rode into the narrow borreen. When
they had gone a little
way, Duallach, who rode last, turned towards the
house where a little group
of MacDermotts and Macnamaras stood next
to a far more numerous group of
peasants, and cried,
hour, a lantern without a candle, a purse without a penny,
a sheep
without wool, for your hand was ever niggardly to piper and fiddler
and
story teller and to poor travelling folk.’ He had not done before
the
three old MacDermotts from the Mountains of the Ox had run towards
their horses, and old MacDermott himself had caught the bridle of a
garron of the Macnamaras, and was
calling to others to follow him; and
many blows and many deaths had been,
had not the Lavells and Dunns
and Quinns caught up still glowing brands
from the ashes of the fire,
and hurled them among the horses with loud
cries, making all plunge
and rear, and some break from their owners with
the whites of their eyes
gleaming in the dawn.
now a woman selling eggs or fowls, and now a man or a woman
on
pilgrimage to the holy well of Tubbernalty, would tell him how his
love
had fallen ill the day after St. John’s Eve, and how she was a
little
better or a little worse, as it might be; and though he looked to
his
horses and his cows and goats as usual, the common and uncomely
things, the dust upon the roads, the songs of men returning from fairs
and
wakes, men playing cards in the corners of fields on Sundays and
Saints’
Days, the rumours of battles and changes in the great world, the
deliberate
purposes of those about him, troubled him with an inexplic-
able trouble;
but the peasants still remember how when night had fallen
he would bid
Duallach O’Daly recite, to the chirping of the crickets,
‘The Son of
Apple,’ ‘The Beauty of the World,’ ‘The Feast of Bricriu,’
or some other of
those traditional tales, which were as much a piper’s
business as ‘The
Green Bunch of Rushes,’ ‘The Unchion Stream,’ or
‘The Chiefs of Breffany’;
and, while the boundless and phantasmal
world of the legends was
a-building, would abandon himself to the
dreams of his sorrow.
Quinns or O’Dalys, or other tribe near his heart, had come
from some
Lu, god of the leaping lightning, or incomparable King of the
Blue Belt
or Warrior of the Ozier Wattle, or to tell with many railings how
all the
strangers and most of the Queen’s Irish were the seed of some
misshapen
and horned Fomoroh or servile and creeping Firbolg; but
Costello
cared only for the love sorrows, and no matter whither the stories
wan-
dered, whether to the Isle of the Red Loch where the blessed are, or
to
the malign country of the Hag of the East, Oona alone endured their
shadowy hardships; for it was she, and no King’s daughter of old, who
was
hidden in the steel tower under the water with the folds of the
Worm of
Nine Eyes round and about her prison; and it was she who
won, by seven
years of service, the right to deliver from hell all she
could carry, and
carried away multitudes clinging with worn fingers to
the hem of her dress;
and it was she who endured dumbness for a year
because of the little thorn of
enchantment the fairies had thrust into her
tongue; and it was a lock of
her hair, coiled in a little carved box, which
gave so great a light that
men threshed by it from sundown to sunrise,
and awoke so great a wonder
that kings spent years in wandering, or
fell before unknown armies in
seeking, to discover her hiding place; for
there was no beauty in the world
but hers, no tragedy in the world
but hers: and when at last the voice of
the piper, grown gentle
with the wisdom or old romance, was silent, and his
rheumatic
steps had toiled upstairs and to bed, and Costello had dipped
his
fingers into the little delf font of holy water, and begun to pray
to Maurya of the Seven Sorrows, the blue eyes and star-covered
dress of the
painting in the chapel faded from his imagination, and the
brown eyes and
homespun dress of Oona MacDermott came in their
stead; for there was no
tenderness in the world but hers. He was of
those ascetics of passion who
keep their hearts pure for love or for
hatred, as other men for God, for
Mary and for the saints, and who,
when the hour of their visitation
arrives, come to the Divine Essence by
the bitter tumult, the Garden of
Gethsemane, and the desolate rood,
ordained for immortal passions in mortal
hearts.
lads to reap a meadow, gave him a letter and rode away
without a word;
and the letter contained these words in English: ‘Tumaus
Costello, my
daughter is very ill. The wise woman from Knock-na-shee has
seen
her, and says she will die unless you come to her. I therefore bid
you
to her, whose peace you stole by treachery—Teig MacDermott.’
who had become associated in his mind with Oona, and
himself saddled
his great horse and Duallach’s garron.
Lough Garra lay down below them, blue, mirrorlike, and
deserted; and
though they had seen, when at a distance, dark figures moving
about the
door, the house appeared not less deserted than the lake. The
door
stood half-open, and Costello rapped upon it again and again,
making
a number of lake gulls fly up out of the grass, and circle screaming
over
his head, but there was no answer.
is too proud to welcome Costello the Proud,’ and, flinging
the door open,
showed a ragged, dirty, and very ancient woman, who sat upon
the floor
leaning against the wall. Costello recognised Bridget Delaney, a deaf
and dumb beggar; and she, when she saw
him, stood up, made a sign to
him to follow, and led him and his companion
up a stair and down a
long corridor to a closed door. She pushed the door
open, and went a
little way off and sat down as before. Duallach sat upon
the ground
also, but close to the door, and Costello went and gazed upon
Oona
MacDermott asleep upon a bed. He sat upon a chair beside her and
waited, and a long time passed, and still she slept on, and then Duallach
motioned to him through the door to wake her, but he hushed his very
breath
that she might sleep on, for his heart was full of that ungovern-
able pity
which makes the fading heart of the lover a shadow of the
divine heart.
Presently he returned to Duallach and said,
for the common people are ever ready to blame the
beautiful.’ And
then they went down and stood at the door of the house and
waited,
but the evening wore on and no one came.
at last; ‘had he seen you waiting and waiting
where they left none but a
beggar to welcome you, it is Costello the Humble
he would have called you.
ridden a little way, Costello tightened the reins and made
his horse
stand still. Many minutes passed, and then Duallach cried,
Sheep, for he has many brothers and friends, and though he
is old he is
a strong man, and ready with his hands.’
there again if they do not send after me before I pass
the ford in the
Donogue,’ and he rode on, but so very slowly, that the sun
went down
and the bats began to fly over the bogs. When he came to the
river he
lingered a while upon the bank among the purple flag-flowers,
but
presently rode out into the middle, and stopped his horse in a
foaming
shallow. Duallach, however, crossed over and waited on the
further
bank above a deeper place. After a good while, Duallach cried
out
again, and this time very bitterly:
fools of all fools who say you come of an old and noble
stock, for you
come of whey-faced beggars, who travelled from door to door,
bowing
to gentles and to serving men.’
him, and would have spoken had not
hoofs clattered on the further bank
and a horseman splashed towards them.
It was a serving man of Teig
MacDermott’s, and he said, speaking
breathlessly like one who had
ridden hard,
When you had gone, Oona MacDermott awoke and
called your name,
for you had been in her dreams. Bridget Delaney, the
dummy, saw her
lips move and the trouble upon her, and came where we were
hiding
in the wood above the house, and took Teig MacDermott by the
coat
and brought him to his daughter. He saw the trouble upon her, and
bid me ride his own horse to bring you the quicker.'
him about the waist, lifted him out of the saddle, and
hurled him against
a grey rock that rose up out of the river, so that he
fell lifeless into the
deep place, and the waters swept over the tongue
which God had made
bitter that there might be a story in men’s ears in
after time; and
plunging his spurs into the horse, he rode away furiously
towards the
north-west, along the edge of the river, and did not pause
until he came
to another and smoother ford and saw the rising moon mirrored
in the
water. He paused for a moment irresolute, and then rode into the
ford
and on over the Mountains of the Ox, and down towards the sea,
his
eyes almost continually resting upon the moon, which glimmered in
the
dimness like a great white rose hung on the lattice of some
boundless
and phantasmal world. But now his horse, long dank with sweat
and
breathing hard, for he kept spurring it to utmost speed, fell
heavily,
hurling him into the grass at the road side. He tried to make it
stand
up, and, failing this, went on alone towards the moonlight; and came
to
the sea, and saw a schooner lying there at anchor. Now that he
could
go no further because of the sea, he found that he was very tired
and
the night very cold, and went into a shebeen close to the shore, and
threw
himself down upon a bench. The room was full of Spanish and
Irish
sailors, who had just smuggled a cargo of wine and ale, and were
waiting
a favourable wind to set out again. A Spaniard offered him a drink
in
bad Gaelic. He drank it greedily, and began talking wildly and rapidly.
violence, and the sailors stayed, drinking and talking and
playing cards,
and Costello stayed with them, sleeping upon a bench in the
shebeen,
and drinking and talking and playing more than any. He soon
lost
what little money he had, and then his horse, which some one had brought
from the mountain boreen, to a
Spaniard, who sold it to a farmer from
the mountains for a score of silver
crowns, and then his long cloak and
his spurs and his boots of soft
leather. At last a gentle wind blew
towards Spain, and the crew rowed out
to their schooner singing Gaelic
and Spanish songs, and lifted the anchor,
and in a little the white
sails had dropped under the horizon. Then
Costello turned homeward,
his empty life gaping before him, and walked all
day, coming in the
early evening to the road that went from near Lough
Garra to the
southern edge of Lough Cay. Here he overtook a great crowd
of
peasants and farmers, who were walking very slowly after two
priests,
and a group of well dressed persons who were carrying a coffin.
He
stopped an old man and asked whose burying it was and whose people
they were, and the old man answered,
and the MacDermotts and their following, and you are
Tumaus Costello
who murdered her.’
who looked at him with fierce eyes, and only vaguely
understanding
what he had heard, for, now that he had lost the quick
apprehension of
perfect health, it seemed impossible that a gentleness and
a beauty
which had been so long the world’s heart could pass away.
Presently he
stopped and asked again whose burying it was, and a man
answered,
buried in the island of the Holy Trinity,’ and the man
stooped and
picked up a stone and cast it at Costello, striking him on the
cheek, and
making the blood flow out over his face. Costello went on
scarcely
feeling the blow, and, coming to those about the coffin,
shouldered his
way into the midst of them, and, laying his hand upon the
coffin, asked
in a loud voice,
up stones and bid those about them do the same; and he
was driven
from the road covered with wounds, and but for the priests would
surely
have been killed.
and saw from a distance the coffin laid upon a large boat
and those
about it get into other boats and the boats move slowly over the
water
to Insula Trinitatis; and after a time he saw the boats return and
their
passengers mingle with the crowd upon the bank and all disperse by
many roads and boreens. It seemed to
him that Oona was somewhere
on the island smiling gently as of old, and,
when all had gone, he swam
in the way the boats had been rowed and found
the new-made grave
beside the ruined Abbey of the Trinity, and threw
himself upon it,
calling to Oona to come to him. Above him the
three-cornered leaves
of the ivy trembled, and all about him white moths
moved over white
flowers and sweet odours drifted through the dim air.
time calling her to come to him, but when the third
night came he had
forgotten, worn out with hunger and sorrow, that her body
lay in the
earth beneath; and only knew she was somewhere near and would
not
come to him.
crying out, his pride awoke and he called loudly,
return to the island of the Holy Trinity;’ and, before his
voice had died
away, a cold and whirling wind had swept over the island,
and he saw
many figures rushing past, women of the Shee with crowns of
silver and
dim floating drapery; and then Oona MacDermott, but no
longer
smiling gently, for she passed him swiftly and angrily, and as
she
passed struck him upon the face crying,
whole glimmering company rose up into the air, and, rushing
together
into the shape of a great silvery rose, faded into the ashen dawn.
had made his beloved angry, and that she wished him to
go, and, wading
out into the lake, began to swim. He swam on and on, but
his limbs
were too weary to keep him long afloat, and her anger was heavy
about
him, and, when he had gone a little way, he sank without a struggle
like
a man passing into sleep and dreams.
lake shore, lying upon the white lake sand with his arms
flung out as
though he lay upon a rood, and carried him to his own house.
And the
very poor lamented over him and sang the keen, and, when the time
had
come, laid him in the Abbey on Insula Trinitatis with only the
ruined
altar between him and Oona MacDermott, and planted above them
two
ash trees that in after days wove their branches together and
mingled
their trembling leaves.