Three Plays By Padraic Colum

THREE PLAYS THE FIDDLER’S HOUSE THE LAND THOMAS MUSKERRY BYPADRAIC COLUM BOSTONLITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 1916 TO MY FRIENDTHOMAS HUGHES KELLYTHESE THREE IRISH PLAYS AUTHOR’S NOTE I have been asked to say something about the intentions and ideas that underlie the three short plays in this volume. These plays were conceived in the early days of the Irish National Theatre. I had been one of the group that formed the National Theatre Society and I wrote plays for players who were my colleagues and my instructors; I wrote them for a small, barely-furnished stage in a small theatre; I wrote them, too, for an audience that was tremendously interested in every expression of national character. “The Land” was written to celebrate the redemption of the soil of Ireland–an event made possible by the Land Act of 1903. This event, as it represented the passing of Irish acres from an alien landlordism, was considered to be of national importance. “The Land” also dealt with a movement that ran counter to the rooting of the Celtic people in the soil–emigration–the emigration to America of the young and the fit. In “The Land” I tried to show that it was not altogether an economic necessity that was driving young men and women out of the Irish rural districts; the lack of life and the lack of freedom there had much to do with emigration. “The Land” touched upon a typical conflict, the conflict between the individual and that which, in Ireland, has much authority, the family group. This particular conflict was shown again in “The Fiddler’s House.” where the life, not of the actual peasants, but of rural people with artistic and aristocratic traditions, was shown. I tried to show the same conflict working out more tragically in the play of middle-class life, “Thomas Muskerry.” Here I went above the peasant and the wandering artist and came to the official. I had intended to make plays about the merchant, the landowner, the political and the intellectual leader and so write a chapter in an Irish Human Comedy. But while I was thinking of the play that is third in this volume my connection with the National Theatre Society was broken off. “Thomas Muskerry” was produced in the Abbey Theatre after I had ceased to be a member of the group that had founded it. PADRAIC COLUM NEW YORK August, 1916 CONTENTS AUTHOR’S NOTE THE FIDDLER’S HOUSE THE LAND: AN AGRARIAN COMEDY IN THREE ACTS THOMAS MUSKERRY THE FIDDLER’S HOUSE CHARACTERS CONN HOURICAN, a Fiddler.MAIRE (Mary) [1] HOURICAN, his daughter. ANNE HOURICAN, a younger daughter. BRIAN MACCONNELL, a younger farmer. JAMES MOYNIHAN, a farmer’s son. The action passes in the Houricans’ house in the Irish Midlands. [Footnote 1: The name is pronounced as if written “Maurya.”] ACT I SCENE: The interior of a farmer’s cottage; the kitchen. The entrance is at the back right. To the left is the fire-place, an open hearth, with a fire of peat. There is a room door to the right, a pace below the entrance; and another room door below the fire-place. Between the room door and the entrance there is a row of wooden pegs, on which men’s coats hang. Below this door is a dresser containing pretty delpht. There is a small window at back, a settle bed folded into a high bench; a small mirror hangs right of the window. A backed chair and some stools are about the hearth. A table to the right with cloth and tea things on it. The cottage looks pretty and comfortable. It is towards the close of an Autumn day. James Moynihan has finished tea; Anne Hourican is at the back, seated on the settle knitting, and watching James. James Moynihan is about twenty-eight. He has a good forehead, but his face is indeterminate. He has been working in the fields, and is dressed in trousers, shirt, and heavy boots. Anne Hourican is a pretty, dark-haired girl of about nineteen. James Moynihan rises. ANNEAnd so you can’t stay any longer, James? JAMES_(with a certain solemnity)_ No, Anne. I told my father I’d be back while there was light, and I’m going back. (He goes to the rack, takes his coat, and puts it on him) Come over to our house to-night, Anne. I’ll be watching the girls coming in, and thinking on yourself; there’s none of them your match for grace and favour. My father wanted me to see a girl in Arvach. She has three hundred pounds, besides what the priest, her uncle, will leave her. “Father,” says I, “listen to me now. Haven’t I always worked for you like a steady, useful boy?” “You have,” says he. “Did I ever ask you for anything unreasonable?” says I. “No,” says he. “Well then,” says I, “don’t ask me to do unreasonable things. I’m fond of Anne Hourican, and not another girl will I marry. What’s money, after all?” says I, “there’s gold on the whin-bushes if you only knew it.” And he had to leave it at that. ANNEYou always bring people around. JAMESThe quiet, reasonable way is the way that people like. ANNEStill, with all, I’m shy of going into your house. JAMESDon’t doubt but there’ll be a welcome before you; come round with Maire. Anne rises, and comes to him. She has graceful, bird-like movements. ANNE_(putting her hands on James’ shoulders)_ Maybe we won’t have a chance of seeing each other after all. James Moynihan kisses her reverently JAMESSit down now, Anne, because there’s something I want to show you. Do you ever see “The Shamrock”? ANNEVery seldom. James and Anne go to the settle; they sit down. JAMESThere be good pieces in it sometimes. There’s a poem of mine in it this week. ANNEOf yours, James? Printed, do you mean? JAMESAy, printed. (He takes a paper out of his pocket, and opens it) It’s a poem to yourself, though your name doesn’t come into it. (Gives paper) Let no one see it, Anne, at least not for the present. And now, good-bye. Goes to the door. Anne continues reading the verse eagerly. At the door James turns and recites:– When lights are failing, and skies are paling, And leaves are sailing a-down the air, O, it’s then that love lifts my heart above My roving thoughts and my petty care; And though the gloom be like the tomb, Where there’s no room for my love and me, O, still I’ll find you, and still I’ll bind you, My wild sweet rose of Aughnalee! That’s the first stanza. Good-bye. James goes out. Anne continues reading, then she leaves the paper down with a sigh. ANNEO, it’s lovely! (She takes the paper up again, rises and goes to the door. She remains looking out. Some one speaks to her) No, Brian, Maire’s not back yet. Ay, I’ll engage she’ll give you a call when she does come back. (Anne turns back. She opens drawer in the dresser and puts paper in. She begins to clear table, putting the delpht back on dresser. To herself, anxiously) I hope Maire won’t forget to call at the mill. (Room door right opens, and Conn Hourican comes down. Conn Hourican is a man of about fifty, with clear-cut, powerful features, his face is clean-shaven, his expression vehement. His dress is old-fashioned. He wears knee-breeches, a frieze coat rather long, a linen shirt with a little linen collar and a black string for bow. He carries a slick and moves about restlessly) ANNEHad Maire any talk of going to the mill, father? CONNI heard nothing of it. ANNEI hope she’ll mind of it. We must get the meal there, and not be going to the shop so often. CONNI suppose we must. He moves about restlessly. ANNEAnd I was just thinking that one of us ought to go to Arvach on Tuesday, and get the things there. CONNThe mean, odious creatures! Anne is startled. She turns from dresser. ANNEWhat are you thinking of, father? CONNThat den of robbers. Well, well, I’m finished with them now; but I’m a proud man, and a passionate man, and I’ll be even with them yet. ANNEThere’s no comfort in going into rough places. CONNYou know nothing at all about it. Were the men in yet? ANNEJames Moynihan was here, because he had to go away early; but Brian MacConnell is outside still. Father, you were home late two nights this week. CONNAnd is a man to have no life to himself? But sure you know nothing at all about it. I’m going out now to give Brian MacConnell a hand. ANNEIt’s hardly worth while going out now. CONNThere’s still light enough to do a bit of mowing, and you ought to know that it isn’t right to neglect the boy that’s come to do a day’s work with you. (Going to the door) Many’s the day I put in with the scythe in Ireland, and in England too; I did more than stroll with the fiddle, and I saw more places than where fiddling brought me. (Brian MacConnell comes to the door) I was just going out to you, Brian. I was telling the girl here that it’s not right to neglect the boy that’s giving you a day’s work out of his own goodness. BRIANI’m only coming in for a light. CONNAs you’re here now, rest yourself. Brian MacConnell comes in, and goes over to the hearth. He is dark and good-looking, and has something reckless in his look. He wears corduroy trousers, and a shirt loose at the neck. Anne comes to Brian. Conn stands at entrance, his back turned. BRIAN_(lighting his pipe with a coal)_ When do you expect Maire back? ANNEShe’ll be here soon. Shell give you a call if you’re outside, BRIANHow is it you couldn’t keep James Moynihan? ANNEIt’s because you didn’t say the good word for me, I must think. Be sure you praise me the next time you’re working together. BRIANWill you do as much for me? ANNEIndeed, I will, Brian. Myself and another are making a devotion to Saint Anthony. BRIANAnd what would that be for? ANNEThat the Saint might send us good comrades. BRIANI thought it was Saint Joseph did that for the girls. ANNESure we couldn’t be asking the like from him. We couldn’t talk to Saint Joseph that way. We want a nice young saint to be looking at. Conn turns from the door. CONN_(bitterly)_ It’ll be a poor season, Brian MacConnell. BRIANThe season’s not so bad, after all. CONNGod help them that are depending on the land and the weather for the bit they put into their heads. It’s no wonder that the people here are the sort they are, harassed, anxious people. ANNEThe people here mind their own business, and they’re a friendly people besides. CONNPeople that would leave the best fiddler at the fair to go and look at a bullock. ANNE_(to Brian)_ He’s not satisfied to have this shelter, Brian. CONN_(to Brian)_ I’m saying, Brian, that her mother had this shelter, and she left it to go the roads with myself. ANNEThat God may rest my mother. It’s a pity she never lived to come back to the place. But we ought to be praising grandmother night and day, for leaving this place to Maire. CONNYour grandmother did that as she did everything else. ANNE_(to Brian)_ Now, Brian, what would you do with a man that would say the like? Anne goes outside. CONN_(to Brian)_ It’s small blame to the girl here for thinking something of the place; but I saw the time, Brian MacConnell, when I could make more playing at one fair than working a whole season in this bit of a place. BRIANGirls like the shelter, Conn. CONNAy, but the road for the fiddler. I’m five years settled here, and I come to be as well known as the begging ass, and there is as much thought about me. Fiddling, let me tell you, isn’t like a boy’s whistling. It can’t be kept up on nothing. BRIANI understand that, Conn. CONNI’m getting that I can’t stand the talk you hear in houses, wars and Parliaments, and the devil knows what ramais. BRIANThere’s still a welcome for the man of art, somewhere. CONNThat somewhere’s getting further and further away, Brian. BRIANYou were not in the town last night? CONNI was not, Brian. God help me, I spent the night my lone. BRIANThere’s Sligomen in the town. CONNIs there, now? It would be like our times to play for them. (Anne comes in with some peat) Anne, would you bring me down my spectacles? They’re in the room, daughter. (Anne goes to room. Conn turns to Brian eagerly) I suppose the Sligomen will be in Flynn’s. BRIANThey were there last night. CONNListen, Brian, I’ve a reason for not going to Flynn’s. Would you believe it, Brian, Flynn spoke to me about the few shillings I owe him? BRIANThat was shabby of him. He got a lot out of you in the way of playing. CONNIt’s just like them. Besides, Maire keeps us tight enough, and I often have to take treats from the men. They’re drovers and rambling labourers and the like, though, as you say, they’ve the song and music, and the proper talk. Listen, Brian, could you leave a few shillings on the dresser for me? BRIANTo be sure I will, Conn. Brian goes to the dresser, and puts money on a shelf. CONN_(with dignity)_ Thank you, Brian. There’s few I’d let put me under a compliment; but I take it from you. Maire, as I said, is a careful girl, but some of us must have our freedom. Besides, Brian, the bird that sings lone sings slow. The man of art must have his listeners. (Conn takes the money off dresser) Anne, daughter, what’s keeping you there? Sure the spectacles were in my pocket the whole time, child. (Anne comes dawn) When I spoke against the people about here, I was leaving you out of it, Brian. BRIANI’m fond of tune, though it wasn’t here I got fond of it. Brian goes to the door. ANNE_(going to Brian)_ You won’t be rambling again, Brian? BRIANI’m settled here, Anne; I made it up with my brothers. ANNEThey used to say that a MacConnell quarrel was a lasting quarrel. BRIANMaybe we’re working the bad blood out of us. ANNEDon’t be staying out long, Brian. BRIANTill Maire gives me the call. Brian MacConnell goes out. ANNEWe oughtn’t to take another clay from Brian MacConnell. There’s only the patch at the back to be mown, and you could do that yourself. CONNYou can depend on me for the mowing. I’m going up now, to go over an oul’ tune I have. ANNEJames Moynihan would come over and stack for us. CONNJames Moynihan is a decent boy, too. ANNEYou won’t be going out to-night, father? CONNNow, how’s a man to know what he’ll be doing? ANNEIt leaves me very anxious. CONNI’ll give you this advice, and it’s proper advice to give to a girl thinking of marrying. Never ask of your menkind where they’re going. ANNEThe like of that brings bad luck on a house. CONNYou have too much dead knowledge, and the shut fist never caught a bird. ANNEI only wish you were settled down. CONNSure I am settled down. ANNEI can’t speak to you, after all. CONNYou’re a good girl, Anne, and he’ll be lucky that gets you. And don’t be grieving that you’re not bringing James Moynihan a fortune. You’re bringing him the decency of birth and rearing. You’re like the lone pigeon I often think–the pet that doesn’t fly, and keeps near the house. ANNEThat’s the way you always treat me, and I never can talk to you. CONN_(at window)_ Hush now, here’s the other, your sister Maire. She’s like the wild pigeon of the woods. (Maire Hourican comes in) We were discoursing on affairs, Maire. We won’t be bringing Brian MacConnell here tomorrow; there’s only the bit at the back to be mown, and I’ll do that myself. Conn Hourican goes into the room right; soon after the fiddle is heard. Anne goes to the settle, and takes up her knitting. Maire takes her shawl off, and hangs it on the rack. Maire Hourican is over twenty. She is tall, and has easy, graceful movements; her features are fine and clear-cut; the nose is rather blunted, the mouth firm. Her gaze is direct and clear. She has heavy auburn hair, loose now, and falling. Maire comes down to the table, opens basket, and takes some flowers from top. She turns to dresser and arranges some of the flowers in a jar. MAIREWe’d have no right to take another day from Brian. And when there’s no one here to-morrow, you and me could draw some of the turf. ANNEYour hair is loose, Maire. Maire goes to the mirror and fixes her hair. MAIREThe wind blew it about me, and then I let it down. I came home by the long way, just to feel young again with my hair about me. ANNEAnd did you meet any one? MAIREIndeed I did. I met James Moynihan. ANNEJames had to go early. They’re building at his place. MAIREIndeed they ought to let James build a house for himself. ANNE Some day they will, Maire. MAIRE Butwe must not let some day be a far day. ANNE_(hesitatingly)_ I think I’ll show you something. MAIRE What is it, daughter? Anne rises and goes to the dresser. She opens drawer. Maire watches her. MAIRE_(waiting)_ I made a good girl out of you, anyway. ANNEYou wouldn’t let me use stroller words when we were on the road. Do you mind of that? MAIREI kept you to the mannerly ways. I have that to my credit. ANNE_(showing Maire the verses)_ Read that, Maire. It was James that made it. MAIREIt’s a song, I declare. ANNENo, Maire, it’s a poem. MAIREA poem? O, that’s grand! She begins to read it eagerly. ANNEAnd, Maire– MAIREWell? ANNEJames says it’s about me. MAIREAbout you? O, I wish some one would put me into a song, or into a poem; I suppose a poem would be best. You might ask James. No, I’ll coax him myself. Ah, no I won’t, Anne. ANNEYou may keep it for a while, but don’t let any one know. MAIREHe must be very fond of you, and I thinking him so quiet. ANNE_(happy)_ He has grand thoughts about me. MAIREWell, you’ll be seeing him to-night. ANNEI don’t know that I’ll go out to-night. MAIRESure Grace Moynihan asked us to go over. ANNEI’m shy of going into James’. MAIREAnne, you’re the only one of us that has any manners. Maybe you’re right not to go. ANNEI’ll stay in to-night. MAIREThen Brian and myself will go to Moynihan’s. ANNEYou’d get an indulgence, Maire, if you missed a dance. MAIREWould it be so hard to get an indulgence? (She takes flowers from dresser and puts them in window) The house looks nice this evening. We’ll keep Brian here for a while, and then we’ll go to Moynihan’s. ANNEFather will be going out to-night. MAIRE_(turning suddenly from window)_ Will he? ANNEHe will. I think I ought to stay in. Maire, father was in only a while before you the night before last and another night. MAIREO, and I thinking things were going so well with us. He’s drinking again. ANNEHe’s going to Flynn’s again. MAIREDisgracing us again. ANNEI’ll stay in to-night. MAIREI’m tired of this. ANNEDon’t say it that way, Maire. MAIREWhat will people say of us two now? ANNEI’ll talk to him to-night. MAIRENo, you’re going out–you’re going to Moynihan’s–you’re going to see your sweetheart. ANNEI think you’re becoming a stranger to us, Maire. MAIREYou’re going to Moynihan’s to-night, and I’m going, too. But I’m going to settle this first. Once and for all I’m going to settle this. The fiddle has ceased. As Maire goes towards the room, Conn Hourican comes down, the fiddle in his hand. CONNWere you listening to the tune I was playing? Ah, that was a real oul tune, if there was anyone that knew it. Maire, my jewel, were you listening? MAIREI heard you. CONNIt was a real oul’ tune, and while I was playing it a great scheme came into my head. Now, listen to me, Maire; and you listen, too, Anne. Both of you would like to see your father having what’s his due after all, honour and respect. MAIREBoth of us would like to see our father earn the same. CONNI could earn the same, ay, and gold and silver cups besides, if I had the mind to earn them. He puts fiddle on table and prepares to speak impressively. CONNLet ye listen to me now; I’ve a scheme to put before ye. When I was going over the oul tune, I remembered that I’d heard of a Feis [2] that’s coming on soon, the Feis of Ardagh. I’m thinking of going there. There will be great prizes for some one; I don’t doubt but I’d do at Ardagh better than I did at the Feis of Granard, where people as high as bishops were proud and glad to know Conn Hourican the Fiddler. [Footnote 2: Feis, pronounced Fesh, a musical or literary gathering, with competitions.] ANNEFather, you’ve a place to mind. CONNI’m tired of that kind of talk; sure I’m always thinking of the place. Maire hasn’t little notions. What do you say to it, Maire, my girl? MAIREWhat do I say? I say you’re not a rambler now, though indeed you behave like one. CONNYou have something against me, Maire. MAIREI have. CONNWhat has she against me, Anne? MAIREAll the promises you broke. CONNYou were listening to what the town is saying. MAIREWhat does the town know? Does it know that you stripped us of stock and crop the year after we came here? Does it know that Anne and myself, two girls of the roads, had to struggle ever since to keep a shelter? CONN_(bitterly)_ It knows that. It couldn’t help but know it, maybe. But does it know all the promises you made and broke? CONN_(angrily)_ Hush now; I’ll hear no more. I went my own way always, and I’ll go my own way always. He goes to the entrance, and remains with his back turned. Maire goes to Anne. MAIRE_(raising her voice)_ Ay, he’ll go his own way always. What was the good of working and saving here? ANNEBe quiet with him. MAIREHe’ll go his own way always, and it’s foolish of us to be fretting for him night and day. Maire sits on stool and puts her hands across her face. CONN_(turning his head)_ Fretting for me. It was too easy that I reared you. ANNEGod help Maire! She kept the house together at the worst, and she is always fretting for us. CONNI’m oul’ enough to mind myself. Let her remember that. ANNEIt’s you that ought to remember that. CONN_(going to Maire)_ Did I ever give the harsh word to you, child? No answer. CONNThere, there; I never could see tears in a woman’s eyes; there, there, colleen. I’m an oul’ man; I won’t be a trouble to you long. MAIRE_(rising)_ Why need you play in Flynn’s? You’re as good as any that goes there. CONNI know that. I’m disgusted with Flynn. May hell loosen his knees for him! I’ll go in and throw his money on the counter. MAIRESome one else can do that. Promise me you won’t go near the place. CONNYou’ll have me promise. I promise. MAIRETake this in your hand and promise. It’s a medal that belonged to mother. She takes a medal from her neck CONN_(taking the medal)_ I’m disgusted with Flynn. I promise you, Maire. MAIRENow you’ve honour and respect. CONNAnd what about Ardagh, Maire? MAIRESure, you’re not the rambling fiddler any more. CONNThat would be the good rambling. I see the trees making shadows across the roads. MAIREWe’ll talk about it again. ANNEBrian MacConnell will be coming in now. CONN I’m going out to Brian MacConnell. He goes to the door. ANNETell Brian to come in now. Conn Hourican goes out. There is a pause. Maire hums a tune as she goes to the mirror. MAIREAm I looking well to-day? ANNE_(rather distantly)_ You’re looking your best, I think. (Seriously) Maire, I didn’t like the way you talked to father. MAIRE_(petulantly)_ What have you against it? ANNEYou’re becoming a stranger to us, Maire. MAIRE_(as an apology)_ I’m out often, I know, but I think as much as ever of the house, and about you and father. You know we couldn’t let him go to the Feis at Ardagh. We couldn’t let him go off like a rambling fiddler. ANNEWe couldn’t let him go off by himself. MAIREYou’re going to Moynihan’s. ANNEMaybe I’ll go. MAIREAnne, honey, do something for me. ANNEWhat will I do? MAIREYou’ll meet father coming up with Brian, and take him away. ANNEAnd will you tell me everything to-night? MAIREWho else would I talk to but yourself, Nancy? (Anne goes out) I wish Anne hadn’t spoken to me like that. I feel the like of that. (Desperately) Well, I’ll pray for nothing now but to look my best. (She goes to the fire. Brian MacConnell comes in) You’re welcome, Brian. BRIANWe didn’t finish to-day. I’ll come in to-morrow and finish. MAIREO no, Brian, we won’t take another day from you. BRIANWell, what’s a day after all? Many’s the day and night I put in thinking on you. MAIREBut did you do what I asked you to do? BRIANI did. I made it up with my brothers. It was never my way before. What I wanted I took with the strong hand; or if I mightn’t put the strong hand on it, I left it alone. MAIRE_(eagerly)_ Tell me what your brother said to you. BRIANWhen I came up to the door, Hugh came out to meet me. “What destruction are you bringing me?” he said. “There’s my hand,” says I, “and I take your offer.” MAIRE Ah, that’s settled. You could settle anything, Brian. (She goes to the settle and sits down) I wonder could you settle something for us? BRIANWhat is it, Maire? MAIREIt’s my father. He wants to be rambling again. He wants to be going to some Feis. BRIANSure, let him go. He takes her hand. MAIREI couldn’t, Brian. Couldn’t you help us? Couldn’t you keep father’s mind on the right things? BRIANSure, let the fiddler go on the roads. MAIREYou might stay here this evening with ourselves. Father would be glad to talk with you. BRIAN_(putting his arm around her)_ But I want the two of us to be seen in Moynihan’s to-night. MAIRE_(resistance in her voice)_ Stay here with us, and let all that go by. BRIANHugh will be there with that woman that brought him the big fortune; and I want you to take the shine out of her. MAIRE_(rising)_ I was out often lately. You know that, Brian. She goes to chair at table, and sits away from him. BRIAN_(rising and going to her)_ But this night above all you must be with me. MAIRE_(turning to him impulsively)_ Stay here and I’ll be as nice to you as if we were in another house. (He kisses her. She rises and goes from him) If you knew me at all, Brian MacConnell, that’s not the way you’d treat me. BRIANAre you not coming out with me? MAIREYou must leave me to myself now. (Conn Hourican comes in) Is Anne with you, father? CONNShe’s gathering posies or something like that. Brian, did you hear about the Feis at Ardagh? MAIRE_(with vehemence)_ Oh, what’s the good of talking about that? You can’t go. CONNCan’t go, did you say, girl? MAIREOh, how could you go? CONNIs that the way? Well, God help us. Give me that fiddle till I leave it up. He takes the fiddle off dresser, and turns to go. MAIREFather, let me be with you to-night; oh, I’m sorry if I vexed you. (No reply) Well, stay with Brian MacConnell; I’m going out to Anne. Maire goes out. Brian goes to rack, and puts on his coat. BRIANAre you coming, Conn? I’m off. CONNWhere to, man? BRIANTo Flynn’s. CONNI can’t be going, I’m sorry to say. BRIANI’m going anyway. It’s a great thing to be in the company of men. CONNAy, in troth. Women, Brian, leave the heart of one very lonesome. BRIAN_(masterfully)_ Why can’t you come out? I thought you were going to-night. CONNI can’t, Brian, and that reminds me. Give these few shillings to Flynn for me. I’ll owe them to you still. BRIANI’m not going to be bothered by the like. Why can’t you come? CONNI promised Maire. Brian strides away. He turns, comes back deliberately, and sits on table beside Conn. BRIANThey’ll be all looking out for you at Flynn’s. CONNWell, the next time they see me they may respect me. BRIANSome of the boys will take it very unkindly. CONN They’re decent enough fellows, some of them. BRIANAnd above all nights they’ll be watching out for you this night, on account of the Sligomen. CONNThey’re decent enough fellows, as I said, and I’ll be sorry to disappoint them. BRIANThe Sligomen will have great stories about Shawn Heffernan. CONNShawn Heffernan! Is that impostor still alive? BRIANHe is, and for fiddling these Sligomen think there’s not the like of him in the whole of Ireland. CONNGod help them if that’s all they know. We played against each other at the Granard Feis. He got the prize, but everybody knew that it was me played the best. BRIANThere’s few of them alive now that mind of the Granard Feis. He got the prize, and there’s no talk of you at all. CONNNo talk of me at all? BRIANIt’s said that since you settled down you lost your art. CONNAnd what had the men at Flynn’s to say about that? BRIAN They bragged about you for a while, but the Sligomen put them down. CONNI wonder would we have time to go up, play a few tunes, and come back, while Maire would be doing something? It would be a pity not to give them fellows a lesson and close their ignorant mouths for them. I wonder would we have time? (Anne comes in with Maire) I thought you went somewhere and left Brian and myself here. ANNEWe’re going somewhere and Brian might come with us. MAIREEvery one is going to Moynihan’s. CONNIt’s a pleasant house, a pleasant house. Brian will make his ceilidh [3] with me. We might go over a few tunes. ANNELet Brian come where there are girls that might miss him. MAIREAnne, you’re a great one for keeping up the story that girls are always thinking about men. ANNEAnd so they are. Just as men are always thinking about girls. MAIREYou’d make a good ribbonman.[4] You’d put a face on anything you said. [Footnote 3: Celidh, pronounced cayley, a visit.] [Footnote 4: A ribbonman–a member of a secret agrarian society.] ANNERibbonism and secret societies were denounced off the altar. MAIREGoodness! The men will begin to think they’ve secrets worth telling. ANNEHave you secrets worth telling, Brian? MAIREI daresay he has. There are foolish women in the world. ANNEAre you coming to Moynihan’s, Brian? BRIANNo. I’m going where there’s men. MAIRECome, Anne, till I deck you out. Come here, daughter, don’t wear flowers. I think they’re unlucky. Here I am talking like this, and I going to a dance. I suppose I’ll dance with seven or eight and forget what’s on my mind…. Everyone is going to Moynihan’s except the men here. Are you going out, father? CONNI’m making a ceilidh with Brian. MAIREWell, God be with you both. Come on, Anne. Maire takes down her shawl, and puts it over her head. She stands at the door, watching Anne, who goes to Brian. ANNEBrian, what have you against Moynihan’s? BRIANNothing at all. I may go in. MAIRE Come on, Anne. God be with you both. Maire and Anne go out. They are heard talking for a while. Conn goes to the door. CONNMaire and Anne are turning the bohereen. [5] Come on now. He takes his fiddle and begins to wrap it up eagerly. BRIANAy, let’s go. CONN_(at door)_ I never forget, I never forget. The Granard Feis is as fresh in my mind as the day I played at it. Shawn Heffernan, indeed! I never forget. I never forget. Conn Hourican and Brian MacConnell go out. [Footnote 5: Bohereen–the little path going from the cottage to the main road.] CURTAIN ACT II The next day: The scene is as in previous Act. It is now in the forenoon. Maire Hourican is seated at the fire in a listless attitude. Anne is busy at the dresser. Maire rises. MAIREWe shouldn’t have stayed at Moynihan’s so late. ANNEIndeed it would have been better to go home, but I was sure that Brian MacConnell would come in. MAIREWell, it was his own loss if he didn’t come. Maybe there was one there that I liked better. ANNEYou couldn’t have liked Connor Gilpatrick better than Brian MacConnell. MAIREConnor’s the best-looking boy in the country. Was it noticed that we were together often? ANNE_(significantly)_ Peggy Carroll noticed it. MAIREWell, the boy was glad to talk to me. Connor’s a good dancer, and he has fine talk besides. If Brian MacConnell had come to the door, I wouldn’t have turned my head towards him. ANNESure, you wouldn’t compare a young boy like Connor Gilpatrick with Brian MacConnell? MAIREI wouldn’t have turned my head towards Brian. O! never expect kindness from men. Why did you let me stay on? I’m afraid to look at myself in the glass to-day. (She goes over to the mirror) You were hard on me, Anne, yesterday. ANNEI didn’t like the way you talked to father. MAIREI think I’m getting different to what I used to be. Well, I’ve reason to be sorry for what I did yesterday. (She is at window) Was Peggy Carroll vexed at the way I went on? ANNEShe never took her eyes off the pair of you. You know she’s very fond of Connor. MAIREAnne, never remind me of my foolishness, I’m heartsick of myself to-day. ANNEI’ll comb out your hair for you, and you’ll look well enough. MAIREThen you’re expecting Brian MacConnell? ANNEIt’s likely he’ll come in to see if there’s anything to be done. MAIREI suppose he’ll come in. Gracious, how did father get out? He’s coming up the path. ANNE_(coming to Maire)_ Father’s not up, surely? Maire, be easy with Brian MacConnell when he comes in. MAIREFather’s coming up the path. Anne! ANNEWhat is it, Maire? MAIREFather wasn’t in at all, last night. ANNEThen he went to Flynn’s, after all. MAIREAy, he went to Flynn’s. She goes to Anne. ANNEO Maire, what will become of us all? MAIREI don’t know. Maire goes to the settle, and sits down. ANNEWhat will we do with him at all? Conn Hourican comes in. CONNGod save you! (He looks around) Well, I came back to ye. ANNEYou did, God help us! And we depending on you. It’s the bad way you always treated us. CONNDid you hear what happened to me, before you attack me? ANNEWhat happened to you? What always happens to you? CONNI wonder that a man comes in at all! The complaints against him are like the Queen’s Speech, prepared beforehand. ANNEEver since I can remember, you treated us like that. Bringing us into drinking-places and we little. It’s well we got to know anything, or got into the way of being mannerly at all. CONNYou know too much. I always said that. Is James Moynihan coming here to-day? ANNENo, he isn’t coming here to-day. CONNWell, we can do without him. There’s something to be done to-day. I said I’d do the bit of mowing, and I was thinking of that all along. (He looks at Maire) Did you hear what happened to me, Maire? MAIREIt’s no matter at all. CONNI went over to Flynn’s, I may tell you. ANNEIn troth we might have known that. CONNBut did you hear what happened to me? ANNEHow could we hear? It was Maire went to the door, and there you were coming up the path; and we thinking you were in bed, resting yourself. CONNI went over to Flynn’s, but I had good reason for going there. (He puts the fiddle down on the table) Didn’t you hear there were Sligomen in the town, Maire? Well, one of them was in the way of rewarding the prizes. I told you about the Feis; well, it’s no matter now, I’ll say no more about that. At all events the man I mentioned wanted to know what music was in the country, so he sent a message to myself. ANNE_(as satirical as she can be)_ That was kind of him. CONNIt was. I could do no less than go. I’ll rest myself now, and then get ready for the mowing. (He goes to the room door; he turns again and watches Maire) Maire, I’m sorry you weren’t on the spot. You might have advised me. I couldn’t think of where you went or I’d have followed you. I had to make haste. MAIREIt’s no matter at all now. CONNI’ll stretch myself on the bed before I begin work. Anne, did you say you were leaving something in the room for me? ANNEI suppose I’ll have to leave the tea in the room for you. She gets the tea ready. Maire remains motionless. CONNWell, I have the pattern of daughters, anyway. I wouldn’t give this house for the praise of Ireland, no, not if they carried me on their backs. (Anne takes the tea up to the room) It’s a pity you weren’t there, Maire, though of course I wouldn’t bring you into such a place. But they were decent fellows, decent, warm-hearted fellows. If you were to see their faces when I played An Chaitin Donn. I’ll warrant they’ll be whistling it, though they never heard the tune before. And the manners they have! I offered the fiddle to one of them. “No,” says he, “not a string will I touch while the master of us is here.” That’s something like the spirit. (Maire has turned to him and is attentive) But there, I won’t fill myself up with false music telling you about it all. He turns to the room. MAIREBring up your fiddle. CONN_(taking fiddle and going towards room again)_ It will be as good as sound sleeping for me. I’ll never forget it. Flynn will never forget it. It will be the making of Flynn. Maire rises. MAIREYou’ve only your fiddle; we shouldn’t forget that. Conn goes up to the room. Maire turns to the fire. Anne comes down. ANNEO Maire, what will become of us at all? MAIREHe is very pleased with himself. He has only his fiddle, we shouldn’t forget that. ANNEIt will be a long time till he does the like again. MAIREIt will be a long time, I suppose. Both of us might be in a different house and have different cares. ANNEThat would be terrible. I’ll never leave him, Maire. MAIRE You can’t say the like now. ANNEWhy? MAIREHow could you take such things upon you and life stretching out before you? You’re not young enough, Anne. Besides, it’s not what we say; it’s what we feel. No, it’s not what we feel either; it’s what grows up in us. ANNEHe might never do the like again. MAIREMany’s the time mother said that, and she and me lying together. ANNEWill we ever get out of it, Maire? James enters. MAIREYou have only a while to stay with us. ANNEO James, what will your father say if he hears of you giving us another day? JAMESMy father took a stick in his hand this morning, and went off with himself. MAIREYou’re welcome, James. It was a pleasant time we had in your house last evening. JAMESI hope you liked the company, Maire. I’m afraid there was very little to be called refined or scholarly, and the conversation at times was homely enough. But we did our best, and we were proud to see you. MAIRESit down, James. James sits on chair, near table. Maire is seated at fire, left of James. Anne leans against table, right of him. JAMESYour father is outside, maybe? MAIRENo. He’s above in the room. JAMESYes. Practising, I suppose. Them that have the gift have to mind the gift. In this country there isn’t much thought for poetry, or music, or scholarship. Still, a few of us know that a while must be spared from the world if we are to lay up riches in the mind. ANNEI hope there’s nothing wrong at home? JAMES_(turning to Anne)_ To tell you the truth, Anne, and to keep nothing back, there is. MAIREAnd what is it, James? JAMES_(turning to Maire)_ Anne was talking to my father last night. ANNEIndeed I was, and I thought him very friendly to me. JAMESAy, he liked you well enough, I can tell you that, Anne. This morning when he took a stick in his hand, I knew he was making ready for a journey, for the horse is laid up. “Walk down a bit with me,” said he, “and we’ll go over a few things that are in my mind.” Well, I walked down with him, and indeed we had a serious conversation. ANNEWell? JAMES“Anne Hourican is too young,” said my father; “she’s a nice girl, and a good girl, but she’s too young.” MAIRESure in a while Anne will be twenty. JAMES_(turning to Maire)_ Ten years from this father would still think Anne too young. And late marriages, as everybody knows, is the real weakness of the country. ANNEI thought your father liked me. JAMESHe likes you well enough, but, as he says, “what would she be doing here and your sisters years older than herself?” There’s truth in that, mind you. I always give in to the truth. MAIREJames? JAMES_(turning to Maire)_ Well, Maire? MAIREIs Anne a girl to be waiting twenty years for a man, like Sally Cassidy? JAMESGod forbid, Maire Hourican, that I’d ask your sister to wait that length. MAIRE She hasn’t got a fortune. We were brought up different to farmers, and maybe we never gave thought to the like. JAMESShe has what’s better than a fortune. MAIREWhy aren’t your sisters married off? JAMESBig fortunes are expected with them. MAIREAnd they look to your wife to bring a big fortune into the house? JAMESAy, they do that. MAIREYou, James, ought to have some control in the house. You’re the only son. Your father is well off. Get him to fortune off your sisters, and then bring Anne to the house. JAMESBut how could I get father to fortune off the girls? MAIREHow? By wakening up. You have the right. When we have the right, we ought to be able to do anything we like with the people around us. JAMESI give in to the truth of that, Maire. MAIREWhat will come of you giving in to the truth of it? But sure you ought to remember, Anne. ANNE_(taking James’s hand)_ James has the good way with people. MAIREWell, I suppose it will come out right for you in the end. You are both very deserving. (She rises) But some time or another we have to take things into our own hands. JAMESIndeed that’s true, Maire. Maire goes to back. ANNE_(holding James’s hand)_ Did you make any more songs, James? JAMESI have a song in my head since last night. ANNEThe one in the paper is lovely. I know it by heart. JAMESThe next I make will be ten times better. Conn Hourican comes down. CONNI heard your voice, James, and I thought I’d come down. It’s very good of you to come here again. I’ll be out with you to-day. JAMESIt’ll be a good day from this on. Were you practising above, Mister Hourican? CONNWell, no, James, I wasn’t practising. I was at a big gathering last night, and my hands are unstrung like. We’ll talk for a while, and then I’ll go out with you. ANNE_(taking James’s arm)_ Come out with me for a minute, James. JAMES_(going off)_ I’ll see you again, Mister Hourican. James and Anne go out, CONNWell, God help us. (He turns to go back to the room. Maire comes down from back) Are you going out, Maire? MAIRENo, I’m staying here. CONN_(aggrieved)_ Do you mind them two, how they went out together. I think I’ll go out and see what’s to be done about the place. Conn goes towards the entrance. Maire goes towards the fire. CONN_(pausing at door)_ I broke my word to you, Maire. MAIREI don’t know what to say to you now. CONNIt was the music and the strange faces that drew me. MAIREI know that now. CONNIt will be a long time till I break my word to you again. MAIREI’ll never ask for your word again. CONN_(warmly)_ I can tell you this, Maire. There’s many’s the place in Ireland where Conn Hourican’s word would be respected. MAIREI’ll never ask for your word again. You have only your fiddle, and you must go among people that will praise you. When I heard you talking of your listeners, I knew that. I was frightened before that. When I saw you coming, I went and sat there, and I thought the walls of the house were crowding in on me. CONNYou were partly to blame, Maire. You left me there very lonesome. MAIREI was to blame, I suppose. I should have treated you differently. Well, I know you better now. Let you sit down and we’ll talk together. (Conn sits on chair to right of table) What’s to become of myself I don’t know. Anne and James Moynihan will marry, I hope. Neither of us have fortunes, and for that reason our house should be well spoken of. CONNSure I know that. I wouldn’t bring the shadow of a disgrace near ye. MAIREIf the father isn’t well spoken of, how could the house be well spoken of? They’re big drinkers that go to Flynn’s, and it’s easy for the fiddler to get into the way of drinking. CONNI won’t go to Flynn’s when you put it that way. MAIREI’ll ask for no word. I’ll let you know the real way of the house, and then trust you. CONNYou’re a good girl, Maire. I should have been said by you. MAIREFrom this out there will be dances at the schoolhouse and the like of that. You could be playing at them. CONN None of the oul’ people go to the like, and the young don’t understand me nor my ways. God knows will I ever play again. That thought is often with me of late, and it makes me very lonesome. MAIREThat’s foolishness. CONNI was very lonesome when you left me. You don’t know how I was tempted, Maire. There was Brian MacConnell putting on his coat to go to Flynn’s, and talking of the Sligomen. MAIRE_(startled)_ And was it to Flynn’s that Brian MacConnell went? CONNIt was Brian that brought me to Flynn’s. MAIREWas it Brian MacConnell that brought you to Flynn’s? CONNIt was. MAIRE_(passionately)_ You must never go to Flynn’s. CONNI’m ashamed of myself. Didn’t I say that, Maire? MAIRE_(with hardness)_ You must never go again. CONNAnd is a man to have no life to himself? MAIREThat’s talk just. It’s time you thought of your own place and your own children. It’s time you gave up caring for the praise of foolish people, CONNFoolish people, did you say? MAIREAy, foolish people. You had all your life to yourself, and you went here and there, straying from place to place, and caring only for the praise of foolish people. CONNGod help you, if that’s your way of thinking! Sure the world knows that a man is born with the gift, and isn’t the gift then the sign of the grace of God? Foolish people, indeed! Them that know the gift have some of the grace of God, no matter how poor they may be. MAIREYou’re always thinking of them. You never think of your own. Many’s the time your own cried tears over your playing. CONN_(passionately, starting up)_ I’ll go out of the house. MAIRELet you stay here. CONN_(going towards entrance)_ I’ll go out of the house, I tell you. MAIRENo. Conn goes over to the fire. CONNGod help me that ever came into this country at all. (He sits down on the armchair, his hands resting on his stick) I had friends once, and was well thought of; I can tell you that, my daughter. MAIRE I know that. CONN Well, you can have your own way with me now. MAIREWhy can’t you stay here? There’s lots to be done here. Our fields are a laughing-stock to the neighbours, they’re that poor and wasted. Let us put all our minds into working, and have a good place of our own. CONNAy, and the grabbers and informers of this place would think well of you then. MAIREWho do you call grabbers and informers? CONNThe people of this place. The people you want to shine before. MAIREI don’t want to shine before the people. CONNI’m not saying against you, Maire. MAIREYou’re wrong in thinking I want to shine at all. CONNSure you go to every dance and ceilidh; and to every house where you can show off your face, and dancing, and conversation. MAIREDo I? Maybe I do. Every girl does the like. CONNI’m not saying against it. Pause. MAIREYou think I’m like yourself, wanting the praise of the people. CONNAnd what’s the harm if you do? MAIRENo harm at all. But I don’t go to houses to show myself off. CONNTroth and you do, Maire. He rises and goes towards the entrance, and remains looking out. MAIREI won’t believe it. She goes to the settle. Anne comes in. Anne goes to the glass to fix her hair. CONNHad you a good night at Moynihan’s, Anne? ANNEA sort of a good night. CONNI was going to tell you about a man I met last night. He had a song about your grandmother. ANNEWas grandmother a great beauty, father? CONNHonor Gilroy had good looks, and indeed she made the most of them. MAIREIt’s likely there was some to tell her that she was showing off. CONNNo one was to her liking unless they praised her. ANNEAh well, a fiddler ought to forgive that to a woman. MAIRE Fiddlers and women are all alike, but don’t say that to him. Anne goes to Maire and sits beside her. CONN_(speaking to both)_ Well, Honor Gilroy wasn’t the worst, maybe. MAIREAnd fiddlers and women oughtn’t be hard on each other. CONNDo you say that, Maire? MAIRE_(rising and going to him)_ I say it, father. CONNGod forgive me if I vexed you, Maire. ANNEIt’s clearing up now, father, and you ought to go out to James. (Conn turns to the door. He remains in the doorway. Anne rises and goes to Maire) What did you say to him? MAIRE_(looking at Conn)_ He doesn’t feel it at all. Father will always be the fiddler, no matter what we say. ANNEMaire. Come and talk to me. (They sit at fire) I was talking to James. He’ll never be happy until we’re under the one roof. Maire clasps Anne’s hands passionately. MAIRE_(with cry)_ Anne, daughter, I’ll be very lonesome for you. ANNEBut sure I won’t be far off, Maire. MAIREAy, but it’s terrible to face things alone. James has come to the door. Conn and James have been talking. They turn in. CONNBut I’ll be glad enough to have the scythe in my hands after it all, James. JAMESAnne was telling me how you took the victory from Connaught. CONNStill I’m sorry for him! That poor Heffernan! He’ll never hold up his head again. JAMESSure I’d have it in a ballad that would be sung in his own town. It would be well worth putting into a ballad. CONNWell indeed, it would make a right good ballad, James. JAMESI’d like to make a ballad about it, that would be sung all over Connaught. CONNAnd why wouldn’t you do it, James Moynihan? Sure it would be the making of you. It would be sung all over Ireland, and your name to it. Do you hear that, Maire? Do you hear that, Anne? JAMESI’m saying that I’d like to do a ballad about your father’s victory. CONNMaybe you could have it this night week, James? ANNE Will it be a poem or a ballad, James? Anne goes to him. CONNIf you had it this night week, we could bring the boys to the place. What do you say to that, Maire? We’ll bring the boys here this night week to hear James Moynihan’s ballad. MAIREI was thinking of the Feis at Ardagh. CONNThe Feis at Ardagh? MAIREMaybe you’ll be going to it this night week. CONN