Stories of Red HanrahanYeats, W. B. (William Butler)
General
Stories of Red Hanrahan
Yeats, W. B. (William Butler)
Ireland -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
He stood up trembling and was going to turn away from the valley, when
he saw two dark and half-hidden forms standing as if in the air just
beyond the rock, and one of them that had the sorrowful eyes of a beggar
said to him in a woman's voice, 'Speak to me, for no one in this world
or any other world has spoken to me for seven hundred years.'
'Tell me who are those that have passed by,' said Hanrahan.
'Those that passed first,' the woman said, 'are the lovers that had the
greatest name in the old times, Blanad and Deirdre and Grania and their
dear comrades, and a great many that are not so well known but are as
well loved. And because it was not only the blossom of youth they were
looking for in one another, but the beauty that is as lasting as the
night and the stars, the night and the stars hold them for ever from the
warring and the perishing, in spite of the wars and the bitterness their
love brought into the world. And those that came next,' she said, 'and
that still breathe the sweet air and have the mirrors in their hearts,
are not put in songs by the poets, because they sought only to triumph
one over the other, and so to prove their strength and beauty, and
out of this they made a kind of love. And as to the women with
shadow-bodies, they desired neither to triumph nor to love but only to
be loved, and there is no blood in their hearts or in their bodies until
it flows through them from a kiss, and their life is but for a moment.
All these are unhappy, but I am the unhappiest of all, for I am
Dervadilla, and this is Dermot, and it was our sin brought the Norman
into Ireland. And the curses of all the generations are upon us, and
none are punished as we are punished. It was but the blossom of the man
and of the woman we loved in one another, the dying beauty of the
dust and not the everlasting beauty. When we died there was no lasting
unbreakable quiet about us, and the bitterness of the battles we brought
into Ireland turned to our own punishment. We go wandering together for
ever, but Dermot that was my lover sees me always as a body that has
been a long time in the ground, and I know that is the way he sees me.
Ask me more, ask me more, for all the years have left their wisdom in my
heart, and no one has listened to me for seven hundred years.'
A great terror had fallen upon Hanrahan, and lifting his arms above
his head he screamed out loud three times, and the cattle in the valley
lifted their heads and lowed, and the birds in the wood at the edge
of the mountain awaked out of their sleep and fluttered through the
trembling leaves. But a little below the edge of the rock, the troop of
rose leaves still fluttered in the air, for the gateway of Eternity had
opened and shut again in one beat of the heart.
THE DEATH OF HANRAHAN.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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