Rosscullen.Westward a hillside of granite rock and heather slopes upward across the prospect from south to north,a huge stone stands on it in a naturally impossible place,as if it had been tossed up there by a giant.Over the brow,in the desolate valley beyond,is a round tower.A lonely white high road trending away westward past the tower loses itself at the foot of the far mountains.It is evening;and there are great breadths of silken green in the Irish sky.The sun is setting.
A man with the face of a young saint,yet with white hair and perhaps 50years on his back,is standing near the stone in a trance of intense melancholy,looking over the hills as if by mere intensity of gaze he could pierce the glories of the sunset and see into the streets of heaven.He is dressed in black,and is rather more clerical in appearance than most English curates are nowadays;but he does not wear the collar and waistcoat of a parish priest.He is roused from his trance by the chirp of an insect from a tuft of grass in a crevice of the stone.His face relaxes:he turns quietly,and gravely takes off his hat to the tuft,addressing the insect in a brogue which is the jocular assumption of a gentleman and not the natural speech of a peasant.
THE MAN.An is that yourself,Misther Grasshopper?I hope I see you well this fine evenin.
THE GRASSHOPPER [prompt and shrill in answer].X.X.
THE MAN [encouragingly].That's right.I suppose now you've come out to make yourself miserable by admyerin the sunset?
THE GRASSHOPPER [sadly].X.X.
THE MAN.Aye,you're a thrue Irish grasshopper.
THE GRASSHOPPER [loudly].X.X.X.
THE MAN.Three cheers for ould Ireland,is it?That helps you to face out the misery and the poverty and the torment,doesn't it?
THE GRASSHOPPER [plaintively].X.X.
THE MAN.Ah,it's no use,me poor little friend.If you could jump as far as a kangaroo you couldn't jump away from your own heart an its punishment.You can only look at Heaven from here:you can't reach it.There![pointing with his stick to the sunset]that's the gate o glory,isn't it?
THE GRASSHOPPER [assenting].X.X.
THE MAN.Sure it's the wise grasshopper yar to know that!But tell me this,Misther Unworldly Wiseman:why does the sight of Heaven wring your heart an mine as the sight of holy wather wrings the heart o the divil?What wickedness have you done to bring that curse on you?Here!where are you jumpin to?Where's your manners to go skyrocketin like that out o the box in the middle o your confession [he threatens it with his stick]?
THE GRASSHOPPER [penitently].X.
THE MAN [lowering the stick].I accept your apology;but don't do it again.And now tell me one thing before I let you go home to bed.Which would you say this counthry was:hell or purgatory?
THE GRASSHOPPER.X.
THE MAN.Hell!Faith I'm afraid you're right.I wondher what you and me did when we were alive to get sent here.
THE GRASSHOPPER [shrilly].X.X.
THE MAN [nodding].Well,as you say,it's a delicate subject;and I won't press it on you.Now off widja.
THE GRASSHOPPER.X.X.[It springs away].
THE MAN [waving his stick]God speed you![He walks away past the stone towards the brow of the hill.Immediately a young laborer,his face distorted with terror,slips round from behind the stone.
THE LABORER [crossing himself repeatedly].Oh glory be to God!glory be to God!Oh Holy Mother an all the saints!Oh murdher!
murdher![Beside himself,calling Fadher Keegan!Fadher Keegan]!
THE MAN [turning].Who's there?What's that?[He comes back and finds the laborer,who clasps his knees]Patsy Farrell!What are you doing here?
PATSY.O for the love o God don't lave me here wi dhe grasshopper.I hard it spakin to you.Don't let it do me any harm,Father darlint.
KEEGAN.Get up,you foolish man,get up.Are you afraid of a poor insect because I pretended it was talking to me?
PATSY.Oh,it was no pretending,Fadher dear.Didn't it give three cheers n say it was a divil out o hell?Oh say you'll see me safe home,Fadher;n put a blessin on me or somethin [he moans with terror].
KEEGAN.What were you doin there,Patsy,listnin?Were you spyin on me?
PATSY.No,Fadher:on me oath an soul I wasn't:I was waitn to meet Masther Larry n carry his luggage from the car;n I fell asleep on the grass;n you woke me talkin to the grasshopper;n Ihard its wicked little voice.Oh,d'ye think I'll die before the year's out,Fadher?
KEEGAN.For shame,Patsy!Is that your religion,to be afraid of a little deeshy grasshopper?Suppose it was a divil,what call have you to fear it?If I could ketch it,I'd make you take it home widja in your hat for a penance.
PATSY.Sure,if you won't let it harm me,I'm not afraid,your riverence.[He gets up,a little reassured.He is a callow,flaxen polled,smoothfaced,downy chinned lad,fully grown but not yet fully filled out,with blue eyes and an instinctively acquired air of helplessness and silliness,indicating,not his real character,but a cunning developed by his constant dread of a hostile dominance,which he habitually tries to disarm and tempt into unmasking by pretending to be a much greater fool than he really is.Englishmen think him half-witted,which is exactly what he intends them to think.He is clad in corduroy trousers,unbuttoned waistcoat,and coarse blue striped shirt].
KEEGAN [admonitorily].Patsy:what did I tell you about callin me Father Keegan an your reverence?What did Father Dempsey tell you about it?
PATSY.Yis,Fadher.
KEEGAN.Father!
PATSY [desperately].Arra,hwat am I to call you?Fadher Dempsey sez you're not a priest;n we all know you're not a man;n how do we know what ud happen to us if we showed any disrespect to you?
N sure they say wanse a priest always a priest.
KEEGAN [sternly].It's not for the like of you,Patsy,to go behind the instruction of your parish priest and set yourself up to judge whether your Church is right or wrong.
PATSY.Sure I know that,sir.
