The Valley Of The Dead

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Title:     The Valley Of The Dead
Author: Seumas O'Brien [More Titles by O'Brien]

Large dark clouds, lined and fringed with a snowy whiteness, were floating about in a starry sky, when Padna Dan vacated his chair by the glowing hearth, where faggots blazed and a kettle sang, and where his large black dog and small white cat lay asleep and snored in chorus that made a strange harmony with the crackling of the dried oak branches in the grate. When he reached the half door, the moon was hiding behind a rift of cloud; and as he watched it emerge from its hiding place and sail into a starlit region, he up and said:

"Sure 'tis myself that's like the moon, with my goings in and my comings out, and with my exits and my entrances, and the glory that sometimes does be on my brow and the shadows that at other times hide my face. Sometimes not a single thing hinders my progress, from cock-crow to sundown, and other times everything capable of disturbing a man's peace and quiet confronts me at every turn. But, nevertheless, I manage to steer clear of all obstacles and evade all that might upset me in any way, and show a smiling face to the world, like the moon itself."

And then he filled a new clay pipe, that came all the way from France, and was presented to him by his youngest granddaughter, as a birthday gift, and sauntered along the boreen towards the Valley of the Dead. And as he wended his lonely way, without looking to the right or the left, and trampled down the tall grass that the sleeping cows, and the sleeping sheep, and the sleeping donkeys were dreaming about,--the very same tall grass that on the morrow they would greedily feast on,--and as his footfalls startled wandering rabbits, badgers, hares, and foxes, and they roaming from place to place at the dead of night, he only thought of the world beyond the stars and of those who had gone to dwell there. And so eerie an atmosphere did he create about himself that he might have been a fairy or an elf without care or sorrow for the past or future, but a love of the things that be. And not until he reached the top of a high hill, from which he could see in the moonlight the towering spires of distant churches, where a red light is always kept burning before the high altars, did he stand and rest. And he did not sit down until he found a comfortable seat on a projecting ledge of rock, overlooking a long winding valley covered with larch and beech trees, sloe and crabapple, and all kinds of thorny underwood.

The rising mist, as it spread through the trees along the serpentine course of the valley, seemed like some fabulous monster devouring all that came in its way. And as he sat with his feet dangling in the air, the sound of familiar footsteps caused him to look from the mist to where the sound came from near by. And lo and behold! whom did he see but his old friend Micus. And what he said, before Micus had time to say anything at all, or get over his surprise, was:

"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 spacious 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 God 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 shores."

"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 passing 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 nobody 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."

"Not until he loses his pride."

"And his arrogance and his selfishness."

"What are you looking at now?"

"I'm not looking at anything in particular, but watching to see my great, great, great grandaunt Helen of Aughrim."

"Who was she?"

"She was the most beautiful of all womankind."

"Maybe she passed by unknownst to you."

"She has not passed yet. I could recognise her by her queenly gait. They say she was the most beautiful woman that ever lived and had as may lovers as Granuaile herself."

"And whom did she marry?"

"No one at all."

"And what is her story then?"

"Listen, and I'll tell you."

"I'll listen," said Micus.

"As I have already told you, for beauty and elegance there was never the likes of Helen of Aughrim, and though every one who laid eyes on her fell in love, she never fell in love with any one at all."

"And who did she like best of the lot?"

"Maurice the Rover. And when he was a young man of three sevens, he up and ses to her: 'Helen' ses he, 'will you marry me?' But she said she would wed no man, and told him to search the whole wide world for some one more beautiful. So he sailed away that very hour, and for seven years he travelled, and travelled, and travelled, up hill and down dale, but could find no one more beautiful. And then he returned and told her his story. But all she said when she heard it, was: 'Try again,' ses she. And away over the seas he sailed again, and searched until seven more years had passed away, and he returned again, and he said, 'Helen'; but she interrupted and ses: 'I know what you are going to say,' ses she. 'But all I can say to you, is try again.'

"And so he came and went every seven years, only to get the same answer, and the years passed, and his hair turned white, and his eyes grew dim, and the stateliness of Helen's figure disappeared, and deep lines were on her brow, and once again, he up and ses: 'Helen,' ses he, 'will you marry me?' And for the first time her eyes filled with tears, and she ses: 'You are a faithful lover,' ses she, 'and I will marry you on the morrow.' But when he came on the morrow, she was dead."

"Is that a true story?" said Micus.

"Of course, 'tis a true story. I can see them now walking along the road arm in arm. And 'tis seven years ago since I saw them before, and 'twill be seven years before I will see them again. But they will walk along the road to the Valley of the Dead every seven years, until the stars fall from the sky and time is no more," said Padna.

"Love is a wonderful thing."

"A wonderful thing, surely."

"And a faithful lover is the dearest treasure of all."

"Without love, there is no life, for its roots are centered in the heart of God."

"Without love the world would wither up, and every plant and shrub and flower would die. And when I die, I hope I will be with my friends."

"And while I live, I hope that I will be with mine."

"Friendship is a great thing."

"Love is greater."

"What are you waiting here for?"

"Nothing at all. The last of the great army has passed into the Valley, and I will go home and pray for the dead," said Padna.

"And I will go home and pray for the living," said Micus.

"Good night," said Padna.

"Good morning, you mean," said Micus.

[The end]
Seumas O'Brien's short story: Valley Of The Dead

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