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W. B. Yeats >> Stories of Red Hanrahan
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STORIES OF RED HANRAHAN
BY
W.B. YEATS
CONTENTS.
STORIES OF RED HANRAHAN:
RED HANRAHAN
THE TWISTING OF THE ROPE
HANRAHAN AND CATHLEEN THE DAUGHTER OF HOOLIHAN
RED HANRAHAN'S CURSE
HANRAHAN'S VISION
THE DEATH OF HANRAHAN
I owe thanks to Lady Gregory, who helped me to rewrite The Stories of
Red Hanrahan in the beautiful country speech of Kiltartan, and nearer
to the tradition of the people among whom he, or some likeness of
him, drifted and is remembered.
RED HANRAHAN.
Hanrahan, the hedge schoolmaster, a tall, strong, red-haired young
man, came into the barn where some of the men of the village were
sitting on Samhain Eve. It had been a dwelling-house, and when the
man that owned it had built a better one, he had put the two rooms
together, and kept it for a place to store one thing or another.
There was a fire on the old hearth, and there were dip candles stuck
in bottles, and there was a black quart bottle upon some boards that
had been put across two barrels to make a table. Most of the men were
sitting beside the fire, and one of them was singing a long wandering
song, about a Munster man and a Connaught man that were quarrelling
about their two provinces.
Hanrahan went to the man of the house and said, 'I got your message';
but when he had said that, he stopped, for an old mountainy man that
had a shirt and trousers of unbleached flannel, and that was sitting
by himself near the door, was looking at him, and moving an old pack
of cards about in his hands and muttering. 'Don't mind him,' said the
man of the house; 'he is only some stranger came in awhile ago, and
we bade him welcome, it being Samhain night, but I think he is not in
his right wits. Listen to him now and you will hear what he is
saying.'
They listened then, and they could hear the old man muttering to
himself as he turned the cards, 'Spades and Diamonds, Courage and
Power; Clubs and Hearts, Knowledge and Pleasure.'
'That is the kind of talk he has been going on with for the last
hour,' said the man of the house, and Hanrahan turned his eyes from
the old man as if he did not like to be looking at him.
'I got your message,' Hanrahan said then; '"he is in the barn with
his three first cousins from Kilchriest," the messenger said, "and
there are some of the neighbours with them."'
'It is my cousin over there is wanting to see you,' said the man of
the house, and he called over a young frieze-coated man, who was
listening to the song, and said, 'This is Red Hanrahan you have the
message for.'
'It is a kind message, indeed,' said the young man, 'for it comes
from your sweetheart, Mary Lavelle.'
'How would you get a message from her, and what do you know of her?'
'I don't know her, indeed, but I was in Loughrea yesterday, and a
neighbour of hers that had some dealings with me was saying that she
bade him send you word, if he met any one from this side in the
market, that her mother has died from her, and if you have a mind yet
to join with herself, she is willing to keep her word to you.'
'I will go to her indeed,' said Hanrahan.
'And she bade you make no delay, for if she has not a man in the
house before the month is out, it is likely the little bit of land
will be given to another.'
When Hanrahan heard that, he rose up from the bench he had sat down
on. 'I will make no delay indeed,' he said, 'there is a full moon,
and if I get as far as Gilchreist to-night, I will reach to her
before the setting of the sun to-morrow.'
When the others heard that, they began to laugh at him for being in
such haste to go to his sweetheart, and one asked him if he would
leave his school in the old lime-kiln, where he was giving the
children such good learning. But he said the children would be glad
enough in the morning to find the place empty, and no one to keep
them at their task; and as for his school he could set it up again in
any place, having as he had his little inkpot hanging from his neck
by a chain, and his big Virgil and his primer in the skirt of his
coat.
Some of them asked him to drink a glass before he went, and a young
man caught hold of his coat, and said he must not leave them without
singing the song he had made in praise of Venus and of Mary Lavelle.
He drank a glass of whiskey, but he said he would not stop but would
set out on his journey.
'There's time enough, Red Hanrahan,' said the man of the house. 'It
will be time enough for you to give up sport when you are after your
marriage, and it might be a long time before we will see you again.'
'I will not stop,' said Hanrahan; 'my mind would be on the roads all
the time, bringing me to the woman that sent for me, and she lonesome
and watching till I come.'
Some of the others came about him, pressing him that had been such a
pleasant comrade, so full of songs and every kind of trick and fun,
not to leave them till the night would be over, but he refused them
all, and shook them off, and went to the door. But as he put his foot
over the threshold, the strange old man stood up and put his hand
that was thin and withered like a bird's claw on Hanrahan's hand, and
said: 'It is not Hanrahan, the learned man and the great songmaker,
that should go out from a gathering like this, on a Samhain night.
And stop here, now,' he said, 'and play a hand with me; and here is
an old pack of cards has done its work many a night before this, and
old as it is, there has been much of the riches of the world lost and
won over it.'
One of the young men said, 'It isn't much of the riches of the world
has stopped with yourself, old man,' and he looked at the old man's
bare feet, and they all laughed. But Hanrahan did not laugh, but he
sat down very quietly, without a word. Then one of them said, 'So you
will stop with us after all, Hanrahan'; and the old man said: 'He
will stop indeed, did you not hear me asking him?'
They all looked at the old man then as if wondering where he came
from. 'It is far I am come,' he said, 'through France I have come,
and through Spain, and by Lough Greine of the hidden mouth, and none
has refused me anything.' And then he was silent and nobody liked to
question him, and they began to play. There were six men at the
boards playing, and the others were looking on behind. They played
two or three games for nothing, and then the old man took a fourpenny
bit, worn very thin and smooth, out from his pocket, and he called to
the rest to put something on the game. Then they all put down
something on the boards, and little as it was it looked much, from
the way it was shoved from one to another, first one man winning it
and then his neighbour. And some-times the luck would go against a
man and he would have nothing left, and then one or another would
lend him something, and he would pay it again out of his winnings,
for neither good nor bad luck stopped long with anyone.
And once Hanrahan said as a man would say in a dream, 'It is time for
me to be going the road'; but just then a good card came to him, and
he played it out, and all the money began to come to him. And once he
thought of Mary Lavelle, and he sighed; and that time his luck went
from him, and he forgot her again.
But at last the luck went to the old man and it stayed with him, and
all they had flowed into him, and he began to laugh little laughs to
himself, and to sing over and over to himself, 'Spades and Diamonds,
Courage and Power,' and so on, as if it was a verse of a song.
And after a while anyone looking at the men, and seeing the way their
bodies were rocking to and fro, and the way they kept their eyes on
the old man's hands, would think they had drink taken, or that the
whole store they had in the world was put on the cards; but that was
not so, for the quart bottle had not been disturbed since the game
began, and was nearly full yet, and all that was on the game was a
few sixpenny bits and shillings, and maybe a handful of coppers.
'You are good men to win and good men to lose,' said the old man,
'you have play in your hearts.' He began then to shuffle the cards
and to mix them, very quick and fast, till at last they could not see
them to be cards at all, but you would think him to be making rings
of fire in the air, as little lads would make them with whirling a
lighted stick; and after that it seemed to them that all the room was
dark, and they could see nothing but his hands and the cards.
And all in a minute a hare made a leap out from between his hands,
and whether it was one of the cards that took that shape, or whether
it was made out of nothing in the palms of his hands, nobody knew,
but there it was running on the floor of the barn, as quick as any
hare that ever lived.
Some looked at the hare, but more kept their eyes on the old man, and
while they were looking at him a hound made a leap out between his
hands, the same way as the hare did, and after that another hound and
another, till there was a whole pack of them following the hare round
and round the barn.
The players were all standing up now, with their backs to the boards,
shrinking from the hounds, and nearly deafened with the noise of
their yelping, but as quick as the hounds were they could not
overtake the hare, but it went round, till at the last it seemed as
if a blast of wind burst open the barn door, and the hare doubled and
made a leap over the boards where the men had been playing, and went
out of the door and away through the night, and the hounds over the
boards and through the door after it.
Then the old man called out, 'Follow the hounds, follow the hounds,
and it is a great hunt you will see to-night,' and he went out after
them. But used as the men were to go hunting after hares, and ready
as they were for any sport, they were in dread to go out into the
night, and it was only Hanrahan that rose up and that said, 'I will
follow, I will follow on.'
'You had best stop here, Hanrahan,' the young man that was nearest
him said, 'for you might be going into some great danger.' But
Hanrahan said, 'I will see fair play, I will see fair play,' and he
went stumbling out of the door like a man in a dream, and the door
shut after him as he went.
He thought he saw the old man in front of him, but it was only his
own shadow that the full moon cast on the road before him, but he
could hear the hounds crying after the hare over the wide green
fields of Granagh, and he followed them very fast for there was
nothing to stop him; and after a while he came to smaller fields that
had little walls of loose stones around them, and he threw the stones
down as he crossed them, and did not wait to put them up again; and
he passed by the place where the river goes under ground at Ballylee,
and he could hear the hounds going before him up towards the head of
the river. Soon he found it harder to run, for it was uphill he was
going, and clouds came over the moon, and it was hard for him to see
his way, and once he left the path to take a short cut, but his foot
slipped into a boghole and he had to come back to it. And how long he
was going he did not know, or what way he went, but at last he was up
on the bare mountain, with nothing but the rough heather about him,
and he could neither hear the hounds nor any other thing. But their
cry began to come to him again, at first far off and then very near,
and when it came quite close to him, it went up all of a sudden into
the air, and there was the sound of hunting over his head; then it
went away northward till he could hear nothing more at all. 'That's
not fair,' he said, 'that's not fair.' And he could walk no longer,
but sat down on the heather where he was, in the heart of Slieve
Echtge, for all the strength had gone from him, with the dint of the
long journey he had made.
And after a while he took notice that there was a door close to him,
and a light coming from it, and he wondered that being so close to
him he had not seen it before. And he rose up, and tired as he was he
went in at the door, of and although it was night time outside, it
was daylight he found within. And presently he met with an old man
that had been gathering summer thyme and yellow flag-flowers, and it
seemed as if all the sweet smells of the summer were with them. And
the old man said: 'It is a long time you have been coming to us,
Hanrahan the learned man and the great songmaker.'
And with that he brought him into a very big shining house, and every
grand thing Hanrahan had ever heard of, and every colour he had ever
seen, were in it. There was a high place at the end of the house, and
on it there was sitting in a high chair a woman, the most beautiful
the world ever saw, having a long pale face and flowers about it, but
she had the tired look of one that had been long waiting. And there
was sitting on the step below her chair four grey old women, and the
one of them was holding a great cauldron in her lap; and another a
great stone on her knees, and heavy as it was it seemed light to her;
and another of them had a very long spear that was made of pointed
wood; and the last of them had a sword that was without a scabbard.
Red Hanrahan stood looking at them for a long Hanrahan-time, but none
of them spoke any word to him or looked at him at all. And he had it
in his mind to ask who that woman in the chair was, that was like a
queen, and what she was waiting for; but ready as he was with his
tongue and afraid of no person, he was in dread now to speak to so
beautiful a woman, and in so grand a place. And then he thought to
ask what were the four things the four grey old women were holding
like great treasures, but he could not think of the right words to
bring out.
Then the first of the old women rose up, holding the cauldron between
her two hands, and she said 'Pleasure,' and Hanrahan said no word.
Then the second old woman rose up with the stone in her hands, and
she said 'Power'; and the third old woman rose up with the spear in
her hand, and she said 'Courage'; and the last of the old women rose
up having the sword in her hands, and she said 'Knowledge.' And
everyone, after she had spoken, waited as if for Hanrahan to question
her, but he said nothing at all. And then the four old women went out
of the door, bringing their tour treasures with them, and as they
went out one of them said, 'He has no wish for us'; and another said,
'He is weak, he is weak'; and another said, 'He is afraid'; and the
last said, 'His wits are gone from him.' And then they all said
'Echtge, daughter of the Silver Hand, must stay in her sleep. It is a
pity, it is a great pity.'
And then the woman that was like a queen gave a very sad sigh, and it
seemed to Hanrahan as if the sigh had the sound in it of hidden
streams; and if the place he was in had been ten times grander and
more shining than it was, he could not have hindered sleep from
coming on him; and he staggered like a drunken man and lay down there
and then.
When Hanrahan awoke, the sun was shining on his face, but there was
white frost on the grass around him, and there was ice on the edge of
the stream he was lying by, and that goes running on through Daire-
caol and Druim-da-rod. He knew by the shape of the hills and by the
shining of Lough Greine in the distance that he was upon one of the
hills of Slieve Echtge, but he was not sure how he came there; for
all that had happened in the barn had gone from him, and all of his
journey but the soreness of his feet and the stiffness in his bones.
It was a year after that, there were men of the village of
Cappaghtagle sitting by the fire in a house on the roadside, and Red
Hanrahan that was now very thin and worn and his hair very long and
wild, came to the half-door and asked leave to come in and rest
himself; and they bid him welcome because it was Samhain night. He
sat down with them, and they gave him a glass of whiskey out of a
quart bottle; and they saw the little inkpot hanging about his neck,
and knew he was a scholar, and asked for stories about the Greeks.
He took the Virgil out of the big pocket of his coat, but the cover
was very black and swollen with the wet, and the page when he opened
it was very yellow, but that was no great matter, for he looked at it
like a man that had never learned to read. Some young man that was
there began to laugh at him then, and to ask why did he carry so
heavy a book with him when he was not able to read it.
It vexed Hanrahan to hear that, and he put the Virgil back in his
pocket and asked if they had a pack of cards among them, for cards
were better than books. When they brought out the cards he took them
and began to shuffle them, and while he was shuffling them something
seemed to come into his mind, and he put his hand to his face like
one that is trying to remember, and he said: 'Was I ever here before,
or where was I on a night like this?' and then of a sudden he stood
up and let the cards fall to the floor, and he said, 'Who was it
brought me a message from Mary Lavelle?'
'We never saw you before now, and we never heard of Mary Lavelle,'
said the man of the house. 'And who is she,' he said, 'and what is it
you are talking about?'
'It was this night a year ago, I was in a barn, and there were men
playing cards, and there was money on the table, they were pushing it
from one to another here and there--and I got a message, and I was
going out of the door to look for my sweetheart that wanted me, Mary
Lavelle.' And then Hanrahan called out very loud: 'Where have I been
since then? Where was I for the whole year?'
'It is hard to say where you might have been in that time,' said the
oldest of the men, 'or what part of the world you may have travelled;
and it is like enough you have the dust of many roads on your feet;
for there are many go wandering and forgetting like that,' he said,
'when once they have been given the touch.'
'That is true,' said another of the men. 'I knew a woman went
wandering like that through the length of seven years; she came back
after, and she told her friends she had often been glad enough to eat
the food that was put in the pig's trough. And it is best for you to
go to the priest now,' he said, 'and let him take off you whatever
may have been put upon you.'
'It is to my sweetheart I will go, to Mary Lavelle,' said Hanrahan;
'it is too long I have delayed, how do I know what might have
happened her in the length of a year?'
He was going out of the door then, but they all told him it was best
for him to stop the night, and to get strength for the journey; and
indeed he wanted that, for he was very weak, and when they gave him
food he eat it like a man that had never seen food before, and one of
them said, 'He is eating as if he had trodden on the hungry grass.'
It was in the white light of the morning he set out, and the time
seemed long to him till he could get to Mary Lavelle's house. But
when he came to it, he found the door broken, and the thatch dropping
from the roof, and no living person to be seen. And when he asked the
neighbours what had happened her, all they could say was that she had
been put out of the house, and had married some labouring man, and
they had gone looking for work to London or Liverpool or some big
place. And whether she found a worse place or a better he never knew,
but anyway he never met with her or with news of her again.
THE TWISTING OF THE ROPE.
Hanrahan was walking the roads one time near Kinvara at the fall of
day, and he heard the sound of a fiddle from a house a little way off
the roadside. He turned up the path to it, for he never had the habit
of passing by any place where there was music or dancing or good
company, without going in. The man of the house was standing at the
door, and when Hanrahan came near he knew him and he said: 'A welcome
before you, Hanrahan, you have been lost to us this long time.' But
the woman of the house came to the door and she said to her husband:
'I would be as well pleased for Hanrahan not to come in to-night, for
he has no good name now among the priests, or with women that mind
themselves, and I wouldn't wonder from his walk if he has a drop of
drink taken.' But the man said, 'I will never turn away Hanrahan of
the poets from my door,' and with that he bade him enter.
There were a good many neighbours gathered in the house, and some of
them remembered Hanrahan; but some of the little lads that were in
the corners had only heard of him, and they stood up to have a view
of him, and one of them said: 'Is not that Hanrahan that had the
school, and that was brought away by Them?' But his mother put her
hand over his mouth and bade him be quiet, and not be saying things
like that. 'For Hanrahan is apt to grow wicked,' she said, 'if he
hears talk of that story, or if anyone goes questioning him.' One or
another called out then, asking him for a song, but the man of the
house said it was no time to ask him for a song, before he had rested
himself; and he gave him whiskey in a glass, and Hanrahan thanked him
and wished him good health and drank it off.
The fiddler was tuning his fiddle for another dance, and the man of
the house said to the young men, they would all know what dancing was
like when they saw Hanrahan dance, for the like of it had never been
seen since he was there before. Hanrahan said he would not dance, he
had better use for his feet now, travelling as he was through the
five provinces of Ireland. Just as he said that, there came in at the
half-door Oona, the daughter of the house, having a few bits of bog
deal from Connemara in her arms for the fire. She threw them on the
hearth and the flame rose up, and showed her to be very comely and
smiling, and two or three of the young men rose up and asked for a
dance. But Hanrahan crossed the floor and brushed the others away,
and said it was with him she must dance, after the long road he had
travelled before he came to her. And it is likely he said some soft
word in her ear, for she said nothing against it, and stood out with
him, and there were little blushes in her cheeks. Then other couples
stood up, but when the dance was going to begin, Hanrahan chanced to
look down, and he took notice of his boots that were worn and broken,
and the ragged grey socks showing through them; and he said angrily
it was a bad floor, and the music no great things, and he sat down in
the dark place beside the hearth. But if he did, the girl sat down
there with him.
The dancing went on, and when that dance was over another was called
for, and no one took much notice of Oona and Red Hanrahan for a
while, in the corner where they were. But the mother grew to be
uneasy, and she called to Oona to come and help her to set the table
in the inner room. But Oona that had never refused her before, said
she would come soon, but not yet, for she was listening to whatever
he was saying in her ear. The mother grew yet more uneasy then, and
she would come nearer them, and let on to be stirring the fire or
sweeping the hearth, and she would listen for a minute to hear what
the poet was saying to her child. And one time she heard him telling
about white-handed Deirdre, and how she brought the sons of Usnach to
their death; and how the blush in her cheeks was not so red as the
blood of kings' sons that was shed for her, and her sorrows had never
gone out of mind; and he said it was maybe the memory of her that
made the cry of the plover on the bog as sorrowful in the ear of the
poets as the keening of young men for a comrade. And there would
never have been that memory of her, he said, if it was not for the
poets that had put her beauty in their songs. And the next time she
did not well understand what he was saying, but as far as she could
hear, it had the sound of poetry though it was not rhymed, and this
is what she heard him say: 'The sun and the moon are the man and the
girl, they are my life and your life, they are travelling and ever
travelling through the skies as if under the one hood. It was God
made them for one another. He made your life and my life before the
beginning of the world, he made them that they might go through the
world, up and down, like the two best dancers that go on with the
dance up and down the long floor of the barn, fresh and laughing,
when all the rest are tired out and leaning against the wall.'
The old woman went then to where her husband was playing cards, but
he would take no notice of her, and then she went to a woman of the
neighbours and said: 'Is there no way we can get them from one
another?' and without waiting for an answer she said to some young
men that were talking together: 'What good are you when you cannot
make the best girl in the house come out and dance with you? And go
now the whole of you,' she said, 'and see can you bring her away from
the poet's talk.' But Oona would not listen to any of them, but only
moved her hand as if to send them away. Then they called to Hanrahan
and said he had best dance with the girl himself, or let her dance
with one of them. When Hanrahan heard what they were saying he said:
'That is so, I will dance with her; there is no man in the house must
dance with her but myself.'