(SHORT STORY.) THE THREEPENNY PIECE.

Auckland Star, Volume LXIV, Issue 16, 20 January 1933, Page 13

(SHORT STORY.) THE THREEPENNY PIECE.

;By JAMES STEPHENS.)

When Brien O'Brien died people said that it did not matter very much, because he would have died young in any case. He would hate been hanged, or his head would have been split in two halves with a hatchet, or he would have tumbled down the cliff when he was drunk and been smashed into jelly. Something like that was due to him, and everybody likes to se ea man get what he deserves to get.

Meanwhile, he was dead, and one was at liberty to be a trifle sorry for him. Further, he belonged to the O'Brien nation, a stock to whom reverence was due. A stock not easily forgotten. The historic memory could reconstruct forgotten glories of station and battle, of terrible villainy and terrible Baintliness, the pitiful, valorous, slow descent to the degradation which was not yet wholly victorious. A great stock! The O'Neills remembered it. The O'Tools and the MacSwceneys had stories by the hundred of love and hate. The Burkes and the Geraldines and the new strangers had memories also.

His family was left in the poorest way, but they were used to that, for he had kept them as poor as he left them, or found them, for that matter. They had shaken hands with Charity so often, that they no longer disliked the sallowfaced lady, and, eo, certain small gifts made by the neighbours were accepted, not very thankfully, but very readily. These gifts were almost always in kind —a few eggs, a bag of potatoes, a handful of meal, a couple of twists of tea and such like.

One of the visitors, however, moved by an extraordinary dejection, slipped a silver threepenny piece into the hand of Brien's little daughter, Sheila, aged four years, and later on she did not like to ask for it back again.

Little Sheila had been well trained by her father. She knew exactly what should be done with money, and eo, when nobody was looking, she tip-toed, to the coffin and slipped the threepenny piece into Brien's hand. That hand had never refused money when it was alive; it did not reject it either when it was dead.

They buried him the next day. He was called up for judgment the day after, and made his appearance with a miscellaneous crowd of wretches, and there he again received what was due to him. He was removed, protesting and struggling, to the place decreed. "Down," said Rhadamanthus, pointing with his great hand, and down he went. In the struggle he dropped the threepenny piece, but he was so bustled and heated that he did not observe his loss. He went down, far down, out of sight, out of remembrance, to a howling black gulf with others of his unseen kind. _ A young seraph, named Cuchulain, chancing to pass that way shortly afterwards, saw the threepenny piece peeping brightly from the rocks, and he picked it up. He looked at it in astonishment. He turned' it over and over, .this way and that way. Examined it at the stretch of his arm, and peered minutely at it from two inches distance—

"I have never in my life Seen anything so beautifully wrought," said he, and, having stowed it in his pouch along with some Other trinkets, he strolled homewards again through the massy gates. It was not long until Brien discovered his loss, and, suddenly, through the black region, his voice went mounting and brawling. "I have been robbed," he yelled. "I have been robbed in heaven!" Having begun to yell, he did not stop. Sometimes he was simply angry and made.a noise. Sometimes he became sarcastic and would send his query swirling upwards-—• "Who stole the threepenny bit?" he roared. He addressed the surrounding black space— "Who stole the last threepenny-bit of a poor man?" Again and again hl9 voice pealed upwards, The pains of his habitation lost all their sting for him. His mind had nourishment, and the heat within him vanquished the fumes without. He had' a grievance, a righteous cause; he was buoyed and strengthened, nothing could silence him. They tried ingenious devices, all kinds of complicated things, but he paid 116 heed, and the tormentors were in despair. "I hate these sinners from the kingdom of Kerry," said the Chief Tormentor, and he sat moodily down on his own circular saw; and that worried him also, for he Was clad only in a loin cloth. "t bate the entire Clan of the Gael," said he. "Why cannot they send them somewhere else?" and then he started practising again on Brien. It was no use. Brien's query still blared upwards like the sound of the dteat trump itself. It wakened and rung Ihe rocky caverns, screamed through fissure and funnel, and was battered and slung from pinnacle to crag and Up again. Worse! his companions in doom became interested and took up the cry, until at last the uproar became so appalling that the Master himself could not stand it. "I have not had a wink of Sleep for three nights," Said that harassed one, and he sent a special embassy to the powers. ... Rhadamanthiia was Astonished when they arrived* His elbow was leaning on his vaat knee, and his heavy head rested on a hand that Was acres long, acres "Wide* "What is all this about?" said he. "The Master cannot go to sleep," said the spokesman of tho embassy, and he grinned as h© said it, for it dOuhded queer even to himself. , "It is not necessary that h<s Should sle6p," said Rhadamanthus. "I have never slept sinc£ time began, and I will never sleep until time is over. Bufc the complaint is CUriOUfl. What has troubled your master?" . . , "H6ll is turned upside down and inside out," Said the fiend "The tors are weeping like little children. The principalities are Squatting on their hunkers doing nothing. The orders are running here and there fighting each other. The styles are leaning agamst walls shrugging their Shoulders, and the damned are shouting and laughing and have become callous to, torment. "It is not my business,' said the

JIJ "Th6 Sihncfs demand justice," 6aid the got it," said Rh&damanthuß, "let them s?eW ill it" "They feftiSe to stew, -replied the epokesman, wringing his hands. Rhadamaiithus sfet tip. , "ti is an axiom in lav," said he, that however complicated an fcveflt may oe, thefe can flsver he more than cm p« it<the extreme bottow 61 it, Jvihd IB tß®

"It is one Brien of the O'Brien nation, late of the kingdom of Kerry. A bad one! He got the maximum punishment a week ago." For the first time in his life Rhadamanthus was disturbed. He scratched his head, and it was the first time he had ever done that either. "You say he got the maximum," said Rhadamanthus; "then it's a fix. I have damned him for ever, and better Or worse than that cannot be done. It is none of my business," said he angrily, and he had the deputation moved by force. - But that did not ease the trouble. The contagion spread until ten billions of voices were chanting in unison, and uncountable multitudes were listening between their pangs. "Who stole the threepenny-bit? Who stole the threepenny-bit?" That was still their cry. Heaven rang with it as well as hell. Spaed was filled with, that rhythmic tumult. Chaos and empty Nox had a new discord added to their elemental throes. Another memorial was drafted below, showing that unless the missing coin was restored to its owner hell would have to close its doors. There was a veiled menace in the memorial also, for Clause 0 hinted that if hell was allowed to go by the board heaven might find itself in some jeopardy thereafter. The document was dispatched and considered. In consequence a proclamation was sent through all the wards of Paradise, calling on whatever person, archangel, seraph, cherub or acolyte had found a threepenny-piece since midday of the tenth August then instant, that the same person, arcliangel, seraph, cherub or acolyte should deliver the said threepenny-piece to Rhadamanthus at his Court, and should receive in return a free pardon and a receipt. The coin was not delivered.

That young seraph, Cuchulain, walked about like a person who was strange to himself. He wa6 not tormented; he was angry. Ho frowned, he cogitated and fumed. He drew one golden curl through his fingers until it was lank and drooping; save the end only, that was still a ripple of gold. He put the end in his mouth and strode moodily chewing it. And every day his feet turned in the same direction —down the long entrance boulevard, through the mighty gates, along the strip of carved slabs, to that piled wilderness where Rhadamanthus sat monumentally.

So, day by day, he went to stand near the judge; and one day Rhadamanthus, looking on him more Intently, lifted his> great hand and pointed— "Go you among those to be judged," said he. For Rhadamanthus knew. It was his business to look deep into the heart and mind, to fish for secrets in the pools of being. And the young seraph Cuchulain, still rolling his golden curl between his lips, went obediently forward and set down his nodding plumes between two who whimpered and stared and quaked. When his turn came Rhadamanthus eyed him intently for a long time. "Well!" said Rhadamanthus. The young seraph Chuchulain blew the curl of gold away from his mouth. "Findings are keepings," said he, loudly, and he closed hia mouth and stared very impertinently at the judge. "It is to be given up,' 7 said the judge. "Let them come and take it from me,' said the seraph Cuchulain. And suddenly (for these things are at the will of spirits) around his head the lights nings spun, and his hands were on the necks of thunders. For the second time in his life Rhadamanthus was disturbed; again he scratched his head. "It's a fix," said he moodily. But in a moment he called to those WhCSe duty it was— , "Take him to this side," he roared. And they advanced. But the seraph CuchuTain swUng to meet them, afid his I golden hair blazed and shriekeu; and the thunders rolled at his feet, and about him a bright network that hissed and stung—and those who advanced turned haltingly backwards and ran screaming. "It's a fix," said Rhadamanthus; and for a little time he stared menacingly at the seraph Cuchulain. But only for a little time. Suddenly he put his hands on the rest of his throne and heaved Upwards his terrific bulk. Never before had Rhadamanthus stood from his ordained chair. He strode mightily forward and in an instant had quelled that rebel. The thunders and lightnings Were but moonbeams and dew on that stony carcase. He seized the derftph Ctichulaln. lifted hiih to his breast fes one lilts a sparrow, and trainped back with hfffl. "Fetch me that Other/' Said he sternly, and he sat dowri.

Those whose duty it was sped Swiftly downwards! to find Brian of the O'Brien nation; and While they Were gone, all in vain the seraph Cuchulain crushed flamy barbs against that bosom of doom. Now, indeed, his goldert locks were drooping and his plumes were broken and tossed; but his fierce eye still glared courageously against the nipple of Rhadamanthuo. Soon they brought Brien. He was a sight of woe —howling, flaked & tree hi yfcjxteXg. black m a- tarred

carved and gashed, tattered' in all but his throat, wherewith, until one's ears rebelled, he bawled his one demand.

But the sudden light struck him to a wondering silence, and the sight of the judge holding the seraph Cuchulain like a limp flower to his breast held him gaping. "Bring him here," said Rhadamanthus. And they brought him to the steps of the throne. "You have lost a medal,!" said Rhadamanthus. "This one has it." Brien looked straightly at the seraph Cuchulain. Rhadamanthus stood again, whirled his arm in an enormous arc, jerked, and let go, and the seraph Cuchulain went swirling through space like a slung stone. "Go after him, Kerryman," said Rhadamanthus, stooping; and he seized Brien by the leg, whirled him wide and out and far; dizzy, dizzy as a swooping comet, and down, and down, and down. Rhadamanthus seated himself. He motioned with his hand. "Next," said he coldly. Down went the seraph Cuchulain, swirling in wide tumbles, scarcely visible for quickness. Sometimes, with outstretched hands, he was a cross that dropped plumb. Anon, head urgently downwards, he dived steeply. Again, like a living hoop, head and heels together, he spun giddily. Blind, deaf, dumb, breathless, mindless; and behind him Brien of the O'Brien nation came pelting and whizzing.

What of that journey! Who could give it words, Of the suns that appeared and disappeared like winking eyes. Comets that shone for an instant, went black and vanished. Moons that came, and stood, and were gone. And around all, including all, boundless space, boundless silence; the black unmoving void —the deep, unending quietude, through which they fell with Saturn and Orion, and mildly-smiling Venus, and the fair, stark-naked moon and the decent earth wreathed in pearl and blue. From afar she appeared, the quiet one, all lonely in the void. As sudden as a fair face in a crowded street. Beautiful

as the sound of falling waters. Beautiful as the sound of music in a silence. Like a white sail on a windy sea. Like a green tree in a solitary place. Chaste and wonderful she was. Flying afar. Flying aloft like a joyous bird when the morning breaks on the darkness and he shrills sweet tidings. She soared and sang. Gently she sang to timid pipes and flutes of tender straw and murmuring, distant strings. A song that grew and swelled, gathering to a multitudinous, deep-tliundered harmony, until the overburdened ear failed before the appalling uproar of her ecstasy, and denounced her. No longer a stari No longer a bird! A plumed and horned fury! Gigantic, gigantic, leaping and shrieking tempestuously, spouting whirlwinds of lightning, tearing gluttonously along her path, avid, rampant, howling with rage and terror she leaped, dread-

fully she leaped and flew. . . Enough! They hit the carta —they] were not smashed, there was that virtue in them. They hit the ground just outside the village of Donnybrook where the back road' runs to the hills; and scarcely had they bumped twice when Brien of the O'Brien nation had the seraph Cuchulain by the throat — "My threepenny-bit," he roared, with one fist up — But the seraph Cuchulain only laughed "That!" said he. "Look at me, man. Your little medal dropped far beyond the rings of Saturn." And Brien stood back looking at him. He was ae naked as Brien was. He was as naked! as a stone, or an eel, or a pot, or a new-born babe. He was very naked. So Brien of the O'Brien nation strode across the path and sat down by the side of a hedge— "The first man that passes this way, said he, "will give me his clothes, or 111 strangle him." The seraph Cuchulain walked over to him. , „ , "I will take the clothes of the second man that passes," said he, and he sat down. THE END.