The Whale and the Grasshopper Part 4

"Well, well, well! Who'd ever think of meeting any one at the dead of night like this? And the stars themselves nearly hidden by the dark clouds, that are drifting about in the s.p.a.cious and likewise wondrous sky."

"Sure 'tis disappointed as well as surprised that I am, to find any one but myself out of doors, and the whole world on its knees, so to speak, praying for the dead," said Micus.

"This is All Souls' Night, of course," said Padna.

"Or the Night of All Souls, if you will," said Micus. "And sure, 'tis we that are the queer creatures entirely, and we that does be praying for the dead and not caring a traneen about the living, unless, maybe, when we can take advantage of their decency and generosity."

"'Tis true, indeed, 'tis true! Though 'tis with shame that I must admit it. However, don't leave any one hear you saying so but myself,"

said Padna.

"And who would hear me at all?" said Micus.

"Well, any one of the people who will be marching down the road when the fairies will go to their homes in the mountains," said Padna.

"And when will that be?" said Micus.

"When the clocks will strike the midnight hour," said Padna. "Then all the dead will arise from their graves, and march along the road to the Valley of the Dead, beyond, and return from whence they came before to-morrow's sun will emblazon the east with its dazzling light."

"I'm surprised at that," said Micus.

"You should be surprised at nothing," said Padna. "That's if you want to maintain a solid equanimity. But hold your tongue for a while, and cast your eye along the valley, and watch the mist gathering on the furze and sloe trees. And in a minute or two, the moon will come from behind a cloud, and the most glorious sight that ever met the gaze of man will unfold itself before you. The mist will soon cover all the trees, and you will see nothing at all but one long serpentine trail of vapour, into which all the armies of the dead will plunge with a wild fury that will make every hair on your head stand on end and nearly freeze the very marrow in your bones with cold fear."

"And what's all the hurry about; why won't they take their time?"

"They can't," said Padna. "From life to death is but a step, and we must follow some master or be driven by another until the threshold of eternity is crossed."

"I hear the clock of some distant church striking the midnight hour."

"So do I. And I can see the army of the dead approaching!"

"The devil a one of me can see anything or any one, except a fox scampering through the boreen beyond, with a water hen in his mouth,"

said Micus.

"Look, look," said Padna, as he pointed with the stem of his pipe. "There they come: all the people who dwelt on this holy island since G.o.d made the world, and man made mistakes. I can see them all. There's Brian Boru's army, with Brian himself out in front, and he holding the golden crucifix the same as he carried it to battle when he drove the Danes from our sh.o.r.es."

"I don't see him at all," said Micus.

"Look, there he is mounted on the black charger that trampled and crushed to death the valorous invaders who were foolish enough to come in his way. Look, how he prances and shakes his mane and sniffs the air. He was the King of all the black horses, and when he was shot through the heart by an arrow, his spirit flew away to the world beyond the fleecy clouds, but, as it could never rest, it came back to earth again, and now dwells in all the black horses of the world. And they, each and every one, are pledged to avenge the death of Brian and his war steed. So if ever you see a black horse on a lonely road or crowded street, with a fiery look in his eye, keep out of his way unless you love Granuaile, or he will trample you with his iron hoofs until you are dead."

"I can see neither horses nor men," persisted Micus.

"They are all pa.s.sing into the valley now, and I can see the soldiers keeping step to the music."

"What are they playing?"

"What would they be playing, but Brian Boru's march, of course."

"I haven't heard a sound."

"Don't you hear the war pipes and the stamp of the soldiers' feet?"

"I hear no sound at all."

"It is most wonderful music. It filled the hearts of the Irish soldiers with courage, the like of which astonished mankind, and drove terror into the hearts of the invaders as they ran to the sea and got drowned. It fills me with courage now, and will instil valour into every Irish heart until the crack of doom. Don't you hear it yet?"

"No, I hear nothing."

"It grows fainter and fainter," said Padna. "The army is now in the valley but 'twill return when winter gives way to spring, and spring gives way to summer, and when summer gives way to autumn, and when All Souls' Night will come again."

"When the Christmas daisies wither, and when the daffodils and the bog lilies and the blue-bell and the hyacinth bloom again, and when the gooseberry and black-currant bushes are laden down with fruit, and when the green leaves turn to brown and the autumnal breeze scatters them on the roadside, we may be dead ourselves," said Micus.

"Hush," said Padna, "here come all the bards and minstrels that loved poor Granuaile, and sang her praises, on the mountain side, on the scaffold, behind prison bars, at home and in distant lands. At morning and at evening, at noon and at night, in early youth and at the brink of the grave. And sad they all look too," said Padna.

"The world is a sad place for those who can see sorrow," said Micus. "Granuaile herself is sad, because for centuries she has lived in sorrow. She weeps for her own sons and the sons of all nations. She wakes with a smile in the morning, but when the dark cloak of night is flung on the world, her eyes are always filled with tears. And when n.o.body does be looking, she weeps, and weeps, and weeps!"

"It is for the sins of men she weeps."

"And for the contrariness of women."

"And for the folly of children, whether they be grown up with beards upon their chins, or in their teens and staying up the nights writing love letters for their philandering sweethearts to laugh at and show to their worthless friends so that they may do likewise."

"Granuaile is the Queen of Beauty."

"And of valour, and of purity, and of goodness. All her lovers are coming along the road."

"Is Parnell there?"

"Of course, he's there. And he with a look of melancholy on him that would melt a stone to tears."

"'Twas Granuaile broke his heart."

"Granuaile would break any one's heart."

"Poor Parnell hated England."

"But he loved Ireland! And never forgot her wherever he travelled."

"The Irish are the great travellers, and it would seem indeed that the world itself is too small for them. Who else do you see?"

"I see St. Patrick himself, and all the holy bishops, and they looking as respectable, and as contented and as prosperous as ever."

"'Twas they that saved us from Paganism."

"That's so. But 'twas religion that kept Granuaile poor."

"'Tis as well, maybe. Who'd be rich and with power enough to cripple Christianity, like others, just for the sake of saying that one race or one country was better than another?"

"Man will never get real sense."