Three Plays: The Fiddler's House, The Land, Thomas Muskerry

by Padraic Colum

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.

MAIRE
We shouldn't have stayed at Moynihan's so late.

ANNE Indeed it would have been better to go home, but I was sure that Brian MacConnell would come in.

MAIRE Well, it was his own loss if he didn't come. Maybe there was one there that I liked better.

ANNE
You couldn't have liked Connor Gilpatrick better than Brian
MacConnell.

MAIRE Connor's the best-looking boy in the country. Was it noticed that we were together often?

ANNE (significantly) Peggy Carroll noticed it.

MAIRE Well, 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.

ANNE Sure, you wouldn't compare a young boy like Connor Gilpatrick with Brian MacConnell?

MAIRE I 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.

ANNE
I didn't like the way you talked to father.

MAIRE
I 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?

ANNE She never took her eyes off the pair of you. You know she's very fond of Connor.

MAIRE Anne, never remind me of my foolishness, I'm heartsick of myself to-day.

ANNE
I'll comb out your hair for you, and you'll look well enough.

MAIRE
Then you're expecting Brian MacConnell?

ANNE
It's likely he'll come in to see if there's anything to be done.

MAIRE
I 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.

MAIRE
Father's coming up the path. Anne!

ANNE
What is it, Maire?

MAIRE
Father wasn't in at all, last night.

ANNE
Then he went to Flynn's, after all.

MAIRE
Ay, he went to Flynn's.

She goes to Anne.

ANNE
O Maire, what will become of us all?

MAIRE
I don't know.

Maire goes to the settle, and sits down.

ANNE
What will we do with him at all?

Conn Hourican comes in.

CONN
God save you! (He looks around) Well, I came back to ye.

ANNE You did, God help us! And we depending on you. It's the bad way you always treated us.

CONN
Did you hear what happened to me, before you attack me?

ANNE
What happened to you? What always happens to you?

CONN I wonder that a man comes in at all! The complaints against him are like the Queen's Speech, prepared beforehand.

ANNE Ever 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.

CONN You know too much. I always said that. Is James Moynihan coming here to-day?

ANNE
No, he isn't coming here to-day.

CONN
Well, 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?

MAIRE
It's no matter at all.

CONN
I went over to Flynn's, I may tell you.

ANNE
In troth we might have known that.

CONN
But did you hear what happened to me?

ANNE How 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.

CONN I 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.

CONN It 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.

MAIRE
It's no matter at all now.

CONN I'll stretch myself on the bed before I begin work. Anne, did you say you were leaving something in the room for me?

ANNE
I suppose I'll have to leave the tea in the room for you.

She gets the tea ready. Maire remains motionless.

CONN Well, 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.

MAIRE
Bring 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.

MAIRE
You've only your fiddle; we shouldn't forget that.

Conn goes up to the room. Maire turns to the fire. Anne comes down.

ANNE
O Maire, what will become of us at all?

MAIRE He is very pleased with himself. He has only his fiddle, we shouldn't forget that.

ANNE
It will be a long time till he does the like again.

MAIRE It will be a long time, I suppose. Both of us might be in a different house and have different cares.

ANNE That would be terrible. I'll never leave him, Maire. MAIRE You can't say the like now.

ANNE
Why?

MAIRE How 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.

ANNE
He might never do the like again.

MAIRE
Many's the time mother said that, and she and me lying together.

ANNE
Will we ever get out of it, Maire?

James enters.

MAIRE
You have only a while to stay with us.

ANNE O James, what will your father say if he hears of you giving us another day?

JAMES My father took a stick in his hand this morning, and went off with himself.

MAIRE You're welcome, James. It was a pleasant time we had in your house last evening.

JAMES I 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.

MAIRE
Sit down, James.

James sits on chair, near table. Maire is seated at fire, left of
James. Anne leans against table, right of him.

JAMES
Your father is outside, maybe?

MAIRE
No. He's above in the room.

JAMES Yes. 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.

ANNE
I hope there's nothing wrong at home?

JAMES (turning to Anne) To tell you the truth, Anne, and to keep nothing back, there is.

MAIRE
And what is it, James?

JAMES (turning to Maire) Anne was talking to my father last night.

ANNE
Indeed I was, and I thought him very friendly to me.

JAMES Ay, 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.

ANNE
Well?

JAMES "Anne Hourican is too young," said my father; "she's a nice girl, and a good girl, but she's too young."

MAIRE
Sure 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.

ANNE
I thought your father liked me.

JAMES He 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.

MAIRE
James?

JAMES (turning to Maire) Well, Maire?

MAIRE
Is Anne a girl to be waiting twenty years for a man, like
Sally Cassidy?

JAMES God 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.

JAMES
She has what's better than a fortune.

MAIRE
Why aren't your sisters married off?

JAMES
Big fortunes are expected with them.

MAIRE And they look to your wife to bring a big fortune into the house?

JAMES
Ay, they do that.

MAIRE You, 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.

JAMES
But how could I get father to fortune off the girls?

MAIRE How? 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.

JAMES
I give in to the truth of that, Maire.

MAIRE What 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.

MAIRE Well, 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.

JAMES
Indeed that's true, Maire.

Maire goes to back.

ANNE (holding James's hand) Did you make any more songs, James?

JAMES
I have a song in my head since last night.

ANNE
The one in the paper is lovely. I know it by heart.

JAMES
The next I make will be ten times better.

Conn Hourican comes down.

CONN I 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.

JAMES
It'll be a good day from this on. Were you practising above,
Mister Hourican?

CONN Well, 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,

CONN Well, God help us. (He turns to go back to the room. Maire comes down from back) Are you going out, Maire?

MAIRE
No, 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.

MAIRE
I don't know what to say to you now.

CONN
It was the music and the strange faces that drew me.

MAIRE
I know that now.

CONN
It will be a long time till I break my word to you again.

MAIRE
I'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.

MAIRE I'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.

CONN
You were partly to blame, Maire. You left me there very lonesome.

MAIRE I 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.

CONN Sure I know that. I wouldn't bring the shadow of a disgrace near ye.

MAIRE If 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.

CONN
I won't go to Flynn's when you put it that way.

MAIRE I'll ask for no word. I'll let you know the real way of the house, and then trust you.

CONN
You're a good girl, Maire. I should have been said by you.

MAIRE From 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.

MAIRE
That's foolishness.

CONN I 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?

CONN
It was Brian that brought me to Flynn's.

MAIRE
Was it Brian MacConnell that brought you to Flynn's?

CONN
It was.

MAIRE (passionately) You must never go to Flynn's.

CONN
I'm ashamed of myself. Didn't I say that, Maire?

MAIRE (with hardness) You must never go again.

CONN
And is a man to have no life to himself?

MAIRE That'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,

CONN
Foolish people, did you say?

MAIRE Ay, 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.

CONN God 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.

MAIRE
You'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.

MAIRE
Let you stay here.

CONN (going towards entrance) I'll go out of the house, I tell you.

MAIRE
No.

Conn goes over to the fire.

CONN God 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.

MAIRE Why 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.

CONN Ay, and the grabbers and informers of this place would think well of you then.

MAIRE
Who do you call grabbers and informers?

CONN
The people of this place. The people you want to shine before.

MAIRE
I don't want to shine before the people.

CONN
I'm not saying against you, Maire.

MAIRE
You're wrong in thinking I want to shine at all.

CONN Sure you go to every dance and ceilidh; and to every house where you can show off your face, and dancing, and conversation.

MAIRE
Do I? Maybe I do. Every girl does the like.

CONN
I'm not saying against it.

Pause.

MAIRE
You think I'm like yourself, wanting the praise of the people.

CONN
And what's the harm if you do?

MAIRE
No harm at all. But I don't go to houses to show myself off.

CONN
Troth and you do, Maire.

He rises and goes towards the entrance, and remains looking out.

MAIRE
I won't believe it.

She goes to the settle. Anne comes in. Anne goes to the glass to
fix her hair.

CONN
Had you a good night at Moynihan's, Anne?

ANNE
A sort of a good night.

CONN I was going to tell you about a man I met last night. He had a song about your grandmother.

ANNE
Was grandmother a great beauty, father?

CONN Honor Gilroy had good looks, and indeed she made the most of them.

MAIRE
It's likely there was some to tell her that she was showing off.

CONN
No one was to her liking unless they praised her.

ANNE
Ah 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.

MAIRE
And fiddlers and women oughtn't be hard on each other.

CONN
Do you say that, Maire?

MAIRE (rising and going to him) I say it, father.

CONN
God forgive me if I vexed you, Maire.

ANNE It'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.

ANNE Maire. 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.

ANNE
But sure I won't be far off, Maire.

MAIRE
Ay, but it's terrible to face things alone.

James has come to the door. Conn and James have been talking. They
turn in.

CONN But I'll be glad enough to have the scythe in my hands after it all, James.

JAMES
Anne was telling me how you took the victory from Connaught.

CONN Still I'm sorry for him! That poor Heffernan! He'll never hold up his head again.

JAMES
Sure I'd have it in a ballad that would be sung in his own town.
It would be well worth putting into a ballad.

CONN
Well indeed, it would make a right good ballad, James.

JAMES I'd like to make a ballad about it, that would be sung all over Connaught.

CONN And 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?

JAMES I'm saying that I'd like to do a ballad about your father's victory.

CONN Maybe you could have it this night week, James? ANNE Will it be a poem or a ballad, James?

Anne goes to him.

CONN If 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.

MAIRE
I was thinking of the Feis at Ardagh.

CONN
The Feis at Ardagh?

MAIRE
Maybe you'll be going to it this night week.

CONN
Sure you're not joking with me, Maire?

MAIRE
No.

She rises.

CONN
God forgive me, Maire, if I vexed you.

Maire goes up to Conn's room.

CONN
Anne, jewel, had Maire anything to say about Ardagh?

ANNE
We weren't talking about that at all.

JAMES Play me a rouse on the fiddle and maybe the ballad will come into my head.

Maire comes down, a fiddle in her hands.

MAIRE
Here's the fiddle that was your favourite, the Granard fiddle.

CONN
And this is the fiddle I'll bring with me to Ardagh.

ANNE
And is he going to Ardagh?

JAMES
And what about the ballad, Mister Hourican?

CONN
I leave it all to Maire now. How well she bethought of the
Granard fiddle.

MAIRE
Father, we were always together.

She hands him the fiddle. Conn, Maire, James, Anne, are at table.

CURTAIN

ACT III

A week later: The scene is as in previous Acts. The table is near entrance. It is laid for a meal. The time is near sunset. Conn Hourican, Maire Hourican, and James Moynihan are seated at table. Maire Hourican rises. She goes to entrance and remains looking out. Conn and James go on eating.

CONN However it is, I could never play my best in this place. The houses are too scattered, I often think. And it doesn't do for the fiddler to remain too long in the one place. The people get too used to him. Virgil made better songs than any man, but if Virgil was sung in the fairs constant, divil much heed would be given to his songs.

JAMES
Now, I often thought of that.

CONN Another thing, James Moynihan, Ribbonism and the Land League ruined the country.

Maire goes out.

JAMES
But sure we must be doing something for the Cause.

CONN They were all Fenians here when I came into this country first, over twenty years ago.

He rises and goes into room.

JAMES Well, he's a great man, Conn Hourican. (James rises and goes to fire. Conn comes out of room, carrying a greatcoat) How do you think you'll do at Ardagh?

CONN
I think I'll do very well at Ardagh, James.

He leaves coat on settle.

JAMES
Everything's ready for the start.

CONN
Ay, and it's near time for going. I'm playing very well lately,
James. It's the thought of being before people who'll know music. If
I was staying in this place any longer, James, I'd put my fiddle in
the thatch, and leave it there for the birds to pick holes in.

JAMES
But won't you be back here after the Feis at Ardagh?

CONN
Well, I will, for a while anyway.

JAMES And would you be going off again after a while?

CONN I'm thinking that when my daughters are settled I'll have the years before me. I was reared in a place south of this, and I'd like to go back there for a while.

JAMES
But wouldn't you come back to us?

CONN There's many's the place in Ireland that I never saw, town and countryside. (He takes the greatcoat off settle and puts it on him) Tell me, James Moynihan, is your father satisfied with the settlement that Maire's making for yourself and Anne?

JAMES
My father is very well satisfied.

CONN (going towards his room) And so he ought to be, James Moynihan.

Goes into his room.

JAMES
My father had always a great liking for Anne. (Anne comes out
of the other room. James Moynihan goes to her) May you never think,
Anne, that you made the bad choice when you took James Moynihan.

They sit on settle.

ANNE
Sure I was never fond of any one but yourself.

JAMES
And I never cared for any one after I saw you.

ANNE
I used to hear that you were fond of another girl.

JAMES I was fond of the girl that used to be in the newspaper shop in the town.

ANNE
And used you to talk with her?

JAMES The elbows were worn out of my coat with leaning on the counter to talk with her. But she married a policeman after that. He was a friend of mine, too. It was me that got him the words and music for "I'll hang my harp on a willow tree"—a song that he was always looking for.

ANNE
Did you make any songs about the girl?

JAMES
I did not.

ANNE
Oh, James, I'm glad of that. I'm glad you made no songs about her.

JAMES
Are you content to marry me in the town of Ardagh, after the
Feis, as Maire wishes?

ANNE It will be strange to be married in Ardagh, away from the people I know.

JAMES
It will be lucky getting married after the Feis.

ANNE
James, it's a great trial for a girl to face marriage; but,
James, I'm very fond of you.

James kisses her.

JAMES
I don't know what to think of them writers who say that the
Irish girls haven't the heart for love.

ANNE
Is Maire outside?

JAMES
She went out.

ANNE
It's a wonder that Brian MacConnell isn't here before this.

Anne rises. Maire comes in.

ANNE
Is there no one coming here?

MAIRE
There is no one on the road.

ANNE
Brian MacConnell is late in coming.

Maire comes up to the fire. Anne stands with her. James goes to
entrance, and remains looking out.

MAIRE
I saw Brian yesterday.

ANNE
And did you tell him that you were going at the sunset?

MAIRE
I told him we were going in the evening.

ANNE
Maybe you were distant with Brian?

MAIRE
He looked like a man that something had happened to. Connor
Gilpatrick came up, and then I went away.

Conn Hourican comes out of room. He has left the greatcoat in room.
He brings the fiddle with him. Maire and Anne go to the settle. They
talk.

JAMES (to Conn) What would you think of a row of trees planted before the door?

Conn leaves fiddle on dresser, and comes to him.

CONN
They might be very becoming, James.

JAMES
My father was saying that the front looked very bare.

CONN
A row of trees, when they'd grow, would make a great difference.

JAMES
That's what my father was saying.

They talk, Conn leaning on the half-door.

ANNE I'm glad to be here. It would be very strange for me to be married, and in another house.

MAIRE I was thinking, Anne, that father and myself ought to stay a while on the road, till you and James get settled here.

ANNE Listen, Maire. James says that he'll be giving this place back to you after a while. With this start he'll be able to get a house and land near his father's place. He has fine schemes for making this place prosperous. James, come here. (James turns from door) Come here, James, and talk with Maire.

James comes to girls, leaving Conn looking out. Maire rises.

JAMES I'll make a path down to the road, and, with a row of trees before the door, the place will be well worth looking at.

MAIRE
We won't know the place after a while.

JAMES We can never forget, Maire, that it is to you that we owe the place and the start in life.

MAIRE
I never looked on the place as my own.

JAMES And now that the land is in Anne's name, my father will be glad to stock the place.

MAIRE You have all our will of the place. Father, speak to James and tell him that he has your will of the place.

CONN (turning from door) Indeed you have, James, and we're overglad to have Anne settled with a steady boy.

JAMES Well, long life to you, Conn; and may the man of art never want fame nor a friend.

CONN (going to dresser) Drink to that, James.

He takes up a bottle and fills two glasses.

JAMES
I never touch anything, Conn; but if Anne won't think bad of me,
I'll drink to your prosperity.

ANNE
I won't be watching you at all. (She goes to door. To Maire)
I'm going down the road, and if there's any one coming here, I'll
let you know.

Anne goes out. James takes the glass from Conn.

JAMES Here's to the fiddler, first of all. May it be again like in the days of Ireland's glory, when the men of art had their rights and their dues.

He drinks.

CONN Long life to yourself, James Moynihan. (Conn drinks) I know you a long time now, and I know nothing to your discredit. You're one of the few people here that are to my liking. Well, if I'm nothing to them, they're nothing to me. I lived my own life, and I had the gift.

JAMES (with excitement) If Anne was here, I'd drink to her. I must go after Anne. May she never repent of her choice. (He goes to the door, then turns round) But sure I'm forgetting the jewel of them all, yourself, Maire Hourican. Long may you reign in splendour and success, and in the wish of your heart.

James Moynihan goes out. Conn Hourican goes back to the door, and remains looking out. Maire stands at fire.

CONN It's strange to be looking across that door, and the sun setting for our journey. And now we're letting the place go out of our hands. Well, Honor Gilroy's bit of land has been brought to a great many people.

He comes down to dresser. Maire goes up to window, and remains
looking out.

CONN
Is there any one coming here, Maire?

MAIRE There is no one coming. It's no wonder James's father thought the place was bare-looking.

CONN Well, the bit of land is going to James, and I was saying that it has been brought to a great many people.

Maire takes paper out, and looks at it.

CONN
What paper is that, Maire?

MAIRE It's a paper that I have to put my name to. (She goes and sits at table) There's a pen and ink near your hand on the dresser, and you might give them to me. It's about giving this place to Anne, and James's father wants my name on the paper.

CONN Well, isn't James's father the councillor, with his paper and his signing? (He brings pen and ink from dresser, and leaves them on table. Maire makes preparations for writing. Conn lights candle at fire, and brings it over to table) And does that give the place to Anne for ever?

MAIRE It gives it to herself. (Maire signs the paper with the slowness of one unaccustomed to writing) It will be a great change for us when we come back to this place.

CONN (going to chair at fire) It will be a great change for you and me, no matter what we say.

MAIRE
And now that James's father is putting stock on the land, the
Moynihans will have great call to the place.

CONN
Maire, your father is thinking of taking to the road.

MAIRE
And how long would you be staying on the roads?

CONN
Ah, what is there to bring me back to this country, Maire?

MAIRE
Sure you're not thinking of going on the roads altogether?

CONN
The road for the fiddler.

MAIRE Would you leave the shelter and the settled life? Would you go on the road by yourself?

CONN
Anne and yourself will be settled, and I'll have the years before me.

MAIRE
Then you'd go on the roads by yourself?

CONN
Sure I did it before, Maire.

MAIRE Ah, but do you not remember the prayers that mother used to say for us to get some shelter? Do you not remember how proud and glad we were when we come by a place of our own?

CONN
The shelter was for Anne and yourself. What had I to do with it?

MAIRE The Moynihans are not the sort to make us feel strangers in the place.

CONN The place was your own, Maire, and you gave it to your sister rather than see her waiting years and years.

MAIRE
I came to give it to her after I saw how hard I was on yourself.

CONN Listen, my jewel, even if the Moynihans had nothing to do with the place, what would Conn Hourican the fiddler be doing in this country?

MAIRE Ah, there are many you might play to; there are lots that know about music. There's Michael Gilpatrick and John Molloy—

CONN
And that's all, Maire. MAIRE You might go to Flynn's an odd time.

CONN And what do they know about music in Flynn's? Young Corney Myles was up there a while ago, and you'd think, from what the men said, that there was never the like of Corney for playing, and the boy isn't three years at the fiddle,

MAIRE
Father, stay here where the shelter is.

CONN Sure, I'd be getting ould, and staying in the chimney-corner, with no one to talk to me, for you'd be going to a place of your own, and Anne? after a while, would have too much to mind.

MAIRE
The people here are kinder than you think.

CONN But what has Conn Hourican to do with them anyhow? The very greatest were glad of my playing, and were proud to know me.

MAIRE
I know that, father.

CONN Well, one is always meeting new life upon the roads, and I want to spend the years I have before me going from place to place.

MAIRE (going to him) If you took to the roads, I'd think I ought to go with you, for we were always together.

CONN
Ah, Maire, there are some that would keep you here.

MAIRE
Do you know who would keep me here?

CONN
Brian MacConnell is very fond of you.

MAIRE
Do you know that, father?

CONN
And I know that you are fond of Brian. (There is no answer)
That my jewel may have luck and prosperity. (Goes towards room door,
leaving Maire standing there) I'll be taking this fiddle, Maire.

MAIRE
Oh, are we going on the roads?

CONN
To Ardagh, Maire.

MAIRE
To Ardagh.

CONN
I'll go up now, and make ready.

He takes candle off table, and goes back towards room door.

MAIRE
Oh, what do I know about Brian MacConnell, after all?

CONN
Brian is wild, but he is free-handed.

MAIRE Wild and free-handed! Are all men like that? Wild and free-handed! But that's not the sort of man I want to look to now.

CONN That's nothing to Brian's discredit. MAIRE Ah, what do I know about Brian MacConnell, except that he's a man of quarrels and broken words?

Conn holds up his hand warningly. Brian MacConnell comes to door.

CONN (opening half-door) You're welcome, Brian.

BRIAN
Thank you for the good word, Conn.

He comes in.

MAIRE
You're welcome, Brian MacConnell.

CONN (taking candle off dresser) I was going up to the room to make ready, but Maire will be glad to speak to you. I knew you wouldn't let us go without wishing us the luck of the road.

Goes up to room. Maire goes and sits on settle.

MAIRE
Brian MacConnell has come to us again.

BRIAN I'm before you again. Let me tell you what I was doing since I was here last.

MAIRE
What were you doing, Brian? Making quarrels, may be?

BRIAN (startled) Why do you say that?

MAIRE
I'm thinking that you were doing what would become you, Brian
MacConnell, with the free hand and the wild heart.

BRIAN
They were telling you about me?

MAIRE
I know you, Brian MacConnell.

BRIAN You don't know how I care for you, or you couldn't talk to me like that. Many's the time I left the spade in the ground, and went across the bogs and the rushes, to think of you. You come between me and the work I'd be doing. Ay, and if Heaven opened out before me, you would come between me and Heaven itself.

MAIRE
It's easy taking a girl's heart.

BRIAN
And I long to have more than walls and a roof to offer you.
I'd have jewels and gold for you. I'd have ships on the sea for you.

MAIRE
It's easy to take a girl's heart with the words of a song.

BRIAN
I'm building a house for you, Maire. I'm raising it day by day.

MAIRE
You left me long by myself.

BRIAN
It's often I came to see the light in the window.

MAIRE
Brian, my father wants to go back to the roads.

Brian goes and sits by her.

BRIAN
I know that Conn would like to go back.

MAIRE He wants to go on the roads, to go by himself from place to place.

BRIAN
Maybe he has the right to go.

MAIRE He has the right to go. It's the life of a fiddler to be on the roads.

BRIAN
But you won't go on the roads.

MAIRE
Oh, what am I to do, Brian?

BRIAN
Do you think of me at all, Maire?

MAIRE Indeed I think of you. Until to-day I'd neither laugh nor cry but on account of you.

BRIAN I'm building a house, and it will be white and fine, and it's for you that I'm building the house.

MAIRE
You're going to ask for my promise.

BRIAN
Give me your promise before you go to Ardagh.

Maire rises.

MAIRE If I gave you my promise now, I'd have great delight in coming back to this place again.

BRIAN
You won't deny me, my jewel of love?

MAIRE Oh, I'm very fond of Aughnalee. I feel that I was reared in the place. I'd like to live all my life in the place.

BRIAN
And why would you go from it? MAIRE You might come with us to
Ardagh, Brian.

BRIAN
Your father might stay with us when he'd be in this country.

MAIRE
That's true; I'm glad to think on that.

BRIAN
Give me your promise, Maire.

MAIRE We'll talk on the road. There's the blackbird. I'll hear him every evening on the road, and I'll think I'm a day nearer home.

BRIAN
Sure you'd leave them all to come with me.

MAIRE Ay, I think I would. (She takes up a new kerchief, and puts it on her, standing before the mirror) Do you know where I saw you first, Brian?

BRIAN
Where was it, Maire?

MAIRE
In a field by the road. You were breaking a horse.

BRIAN
I was always a good hand with a horse.

MAIRE The poor beast was covered with foam and sweat, and at last you made it still. I thought it was grand then.

She sings.

I know where I'm going,
I know who's going with me,
I know who I love,
But the dear knows who I'll marry.

Are your brothers with you, Brian?

BRIAN
Is it building with me?

MAIRE
Building with you?

She sings.

Some say he's dark,
I say he's bonny.
He's the flower of the flock,
My charming, coaxing Johnny.

BRIAN (with sombre passion) No. My brothers are not with me. I quarrelled with them all and I am nearly heart broken for what I did.

MAIRE
Ah, Brian MacConnell, I don't know what to say to you at all.

BRIAN
You'll give me your promise, Maire?

MAIRE
Promise. I've no promise to give to any man.

BRIAN
Remember that these days past I had only yourself to think on.

MAIRE There was never a man but failed me some time. They all leave me to face the world alone.

BRIAN
You said that I might go with you as far as Ardagh.

MAIRE No. You're not to come. Myself and my father go to Ardagh by ourselves.

BRIAN
How was I to know that you would take that quarrel to heart?

MAIRE I thought you were strong, but I see now that you are only a man who forces himself to harsh behaviour. I have my own way to go; my father wants to go back to the roads, and it's right that I should be with him, to watch over him.

BRIAN
What shelter will you have on the road?

MAIRE I'll have the quiet of evening, and my own thoughts, and I'll follow the music; I'll laugh and hold up my head again.

BRIAN
Maire Hourican, would you leave me?

MAIRE
What can I do for you, Brian MacConnell?

Brian goes to settle, and puts his hands before his eyes. She goes
to him.

BRIAN
You have thought for your father, and you have no thought for me.

MAIRE
Indeed I have thought for you.

BRIAN
O Maire, my jewel, do you care for me at all?

She kisses him.

BRIAN
Maire!

She rises.

MAIRE
I'm going to call my father.

BRIAN
You go to him, and you go from me.

MAIRE
You are both my care: my father and yourself.

BRIAN
What will become of me when you go?

MAIRE Isn't it right, Brian, that I should be with my father on the roads? Even if I was in your house, I would be thinking that I should watch over him.

BRIAN
Then it's good-bye you'd be saying?

MAIRE
Good-bye, Brian MacConnell.

BRIAN (at door) Good-bye, Maire Hourican; gold and jewels, ships on the sea, may you have them all.

He goes out. With a cry Maire follows him to the door. She stands before door for a minute, then she goes back to table, and throwing herself down, remains with her head buried in her hands. James Moynihan comes in. Maire raises her head, and remains looking before her. James comes to table, and puts flowers beside Maire.

JAMES We gathered them for you, Maire. They're the woodbine. We were saying that you would be glad of the flower of the road. (Maire puts her hand on the flowers. James goes to the fire) Anne remembers a good deal about the road. She minds of the grassy ditches, where the two of you used to catch the young birds.

MAIRE
I mind of them too.

JAMES And the women that used to be with your mother, that used to tell you the stories.

MAIRE And the things we used to talk about after a story! There's the turn of the road, and who's waiting for you? If it's your sweetheart, what will you say to him?

JAMES I'm often taken with the thought of the road! Going to the fair on a bright morning, I'd often wish to leave everything aside and follow the road.

A fiddle is heard outside. Conn Hourican comes down, dressed for the road. He has on the greatcoat. He carries fiddle. He puts fiddle on dresser.

CONN
What music is that, James?

JAMES Some of the boys are coming to meet you, and they have a fiddle with them.

CONN
Well, now, that's friendly of the boys.

JAMES I'll go out now, and let them know that you're coming. (He goes to door) Brian MacConnell turned the other way, and Anne went after him.

He goes out.

CONN (anxiously) Why did Brian MacConnell go away?

MAIRE
We didn't agree; no, not after all you said.

CONN
Maybe we'll see Brian at Ardagh.

MAIRE
How would he ever come back when I bid him go from me?

CONN You bid Brian go from you! (He goes to the window) And there was myself that had the mind to go on the road that I see stretched out before me.

MAIRE (going to him) You need never come back here.

CONN
I'll come back with yourself.

MAIRE I remember the time when we were on the roads. I remember sights we used to see! Little towns here, and big towns far away, and always the road.

CONN
And the lasting kindness of the road!

MAIRE
There is no need for you to come back here, father.

CONN
And would you follow the road?

MAIRE Go back to the fiddler's life, and I'll go back with you. Well see Anne and James at Ardagh, and we'll be at their marriage. (She turns round as though to take farewell of the house) It's right that this place should go to Anne. The house wasn't for you, and it wasn't for me either, I begin to think.

Anne comes in.

ANNE (with a cry) Maire, you are going on the roads!

MAIRE
How do you know that?

ANNE You bid Brian MacConnell go from you, and where else would you go but on the roads?

She goes to the settle and throws herself down, her hands before her face. Maire puts cloak on. Conn goes to Anne. He takes her hands from her face and holds them.

CONN Don't be grieving that we're going from you, Anne. When you come back here again, your own care will begin. I know that you grieve for Maire going from you, and my own heart is unquiet for her. (He goes to dresser, takes fiddle and wraps it up. He puts hat on. Maire goes to settle, and sits beside Anne) Well, here's Conn Hourican the fiddler going on his travels again. No man knows how his own life will end; but them who have the gift have to follow the gift. I'm leaving this house behind me; and maybe the time will come when I'll be climbing the hills and seeing this little house with the tears in my eyes. I'm leaving the land behind me, too; but what's land after all against the music that comes from the far, strange places, when the night is on the ground, and the bird in the grass is quiet?

The fiddle is heard again. Conn Hourican goes to door. Maire embraces Anne again, rises and goes to door. Anne follows slowly. Conn goes out. Maire turns to Anne.

MAIRE Tell Brian MacConnell that when we meet again maybe we can be kinder to each other.

Maire Hourican goes out with Conn. Anne is left standing at the door in the dusk.

END OF PLAY

THE FIDDLER'S HOUSE was first produced on 21st March, 1907, by the Theatre of Ireland, in the Rotunda, Dublin, with the following cast: —

CONN HOURICAN Joseph Goggin
MAIRE HOURICAN Maire MacShiubhlaigh
ANNE HOURICAN Eileen O'Doherty
BRIAN MACCONNELL Ed. Keegan
JAMES MOYNIHAN P. MacShiubhlaigh.

THE LAND: AN AGRARIAN COMEDY IN THREE ACTS

CHARACTERS

MURTAGH COSGAR, a farmer
MATT, his son
SALLY, his daughter
MARTIN DOURAS, a farmer
CORNELIUS, his son
ELLEN, his daughter
A group of men,
A group of boys and girls.

The scene is laid in the Irish Midlands, present time.

ACT I

The interior of Murtagh Cosgar's. It is a large flagged kitchen with the entrance on the right. The dresser is below the entrance. There is a large fireplace in the back, and a room door to the left of the fireplace; the harness-rack is between room door and fireplace. The yard door is on the left. The table is down from the room door. There are benches around fireplace.

It is the afternoon of a May day. Sally Cosgar is kneeling, near the entrance chopping up cabbage-leaves with a kitchen-knife. She is a girl of twenty-five, dark, heavily built, with the expression of a half-awakened creature. She is coarsely dressed, and has a sacking apron. She is quick at work, and rapid and impetuous in speech. She is talking to herself.

SALLY Oh, you may go on grunting, yourself and your litter, it won't put me a bit past my own time. You oul' black baste of a sow, sure I'm slaving to you all the spring. We'll be getting rid of yourself and your litter soon enough, and may the devil get you when we lose you.

Cornelius comes to the door. He is a tall young man with a slight stoop. His manners are solemn, and his expression somewhat vacant.

CORNELIUS Good morrow, Sally. May you have the good of the day. (He comes in)

SALLY (impetuously) Ah, God reward you, Cornelius Douras, for coming in. I'm that busy keeping food to a sow and a litter of pigs that I couldn't get beyond the gate to see any one.

CORNELIUS (solemnly) You're a good girl, Sally. You're not like some I know. There are girls in this parish who never put hands to a thing till evening, when the boys do be coming in. Then they begin to stir themselves the way they'll be thought busy and good about a house.

SALLY (pleased and beginning to chop again with renewed energy) Oh, it's true indeed for you, Cornelius. There are girls that be decking themselves, and sporting are themselves all day.

CORNELIUS
I may say that I come over to your father's, Murtagh
Cosgar's house, this morning, thinking to meet the men.

SALLY
What men, Cornelius Douras?

CORNELIUS Them that are going to meet the landlord's people with an offer for the land. We're not buying ourselves, unfortunately, but this is a great day—the day of the redemption, my father calls it—and I'd like to have some hand in the work if it was only to say a few words to the men.

SALLY It's a wonder Martin, your father isn't on the one errand with you.

CORNELIUS We came out together, but the priest stopped father and us on the road. Father Bartley wanted his advice, I suppose. Ah, it's a pity the men won't have some one like my father with them! He was in gaol for the Cause. Besides, he's a well-discoursed man, and a reading man, and, moreover, a man with a classical knowledge of English, Latin, and the Hibernian vernacular.

Martin Douras comes in. He is a man of about sixty, with a refined, scholarly look. His manner is subdued and nervous. He has a stoop, and is clean-shaven.

CORNELIUS I was just telling Sally here what a great day it is, father.

MARTIN DOURAS Ay, it's a great day, no matter what our own troubles may be. I should be going home again. (He takes a newspaper out of his pocket, and leaves it on the table)

CORNELIUS
Wait for the men, father.

MARTIN DOURAS
Maybe they'll be here soon. Is Murtagh in, Sally?

Cornelius takes the paper up, and begins to read it.

SALLY
He's down at the bottoms, Martin.

MARTIN DOURAS
He's going to Arvach Fair, maybe.

SALLY
He is in troth.

MARTIN DOURAS
I'll be asking him for a lift. He'll be going to the
Fair when he come back from the lawyer's, I suppose?
Ay, he'll be going to-night. (She gathers the chopped cabbage
into her apron, and goes to the door)

SALLY (at the door) Cornelius.

Cornelius puts down the paper, and goes to the door. Sally goes out.

MARTIN DOURAS
Cornelius!

Cornelius goes to Martin.

SALLY (outside) Cornelius, give me a hand with this.

Cornelius turns again.

MARTIN DOURAS
Cornelius, I want to speak to you.

Cornelius goes to him.

MARTIN DOURAS
There is something on my mind, Cornelius.

CORNELIUS
What is it, father?

MARTIN DOURAS
It's about our Ellen. Father Bartley gave me news for her.
"I've heard of a school that'll suit Ellen," says he. "It's in
the County Leitrim."

CORNELIUS If it was in Dublin itself, Ellen is qualified to take it on. And won't it be grand to have one of our family teaching in a school?

MARTIN DOURAS (with a sigh) I wouldn't stand in her way, Cornelius; I wouldn't stand in her way. But won't it be a poor thing for an old man like me to have no one to discourse with in the long evenings? For when I'm talking with you, Cornelius, I feel like a boy who lends back all the marbles he's won, and plays again, just for the sake of the game.

CORNELIUS We were in dread of Ellen going to America at one time, and then she went in for the school. Now Matt Cosgar may keep her from the school. Maybe we won't have to go further than this house to see Ellen.

MARTIN DOURAS
I'm hoping it'll be like that; but I'm in dread that
Murtagh Cosgar will never agree to it. He's a hard man to deal with.
Still Murtagh and myself will be on the long road to-night, and we
might talk of it. I'm afeard of Ellen going.

CORNELIUS (at the door) It's herself that's coming here, father.

MARTIN DOURAS
Maybe she has heard the news and is coming to tell us.

Ellen comes in. She has a shawl over her head which she lays aside.
She is about twenty-five, slightly built, nervous, emotional.

ELLEN
Is it only ourselves that's here?

MARTIN DOURAS
Only ourselves. Did you get any news to bring you over, Ellen?

ELLEN
No news. It was the shine of the day that brought me out; and
I was thinking, too, of the girls that are going to America in the
morning, and that made me restless.

Martin and Cornelius look significantly at each other.

MARTIN DOURAS
And did you see Matt, Ellen?

ELLEN He was in the field and I coming up; but I did not wait for him, as I don't want people to see us together. (Restlessly) I don't know how I can come into this house, for it's always like Murtagh Cosgar. There's nothing of Matt in it at all. If Matt would come away. There are little labourers' houses by the side of the road. Many's the farmer's son became a labourer for the sake of a woman he cared for!

CORNELIUS
And are you not thinking about the school at all, Ellen?

ELLEN
I'll hear about it some time, I suppose.

MARTIN DOURAS You're right to take it that way, Ellen. School doesn't mean scholarship now. Many's the time I'm telling Cornelius that a man farming the land, with a few books on his shelf and a few books in his head, has more of the scholar's life about him than the young fellows who do be teaching in schools and teaching in colleges.

CORNELIUS That's all very well, father. School and scholarship isn't the one. But think of the word "Constantinople!" I could leave off herding and digging every time I think on that word!

MARTIN DOURAS Ah, it's a great word. A word like that would make you think for days. And there are many words like that.

ELLEN It's not so much the long words that we've to learn and teach now. When will you be home, father? Will Cornelius be with you?

MARTIN DOURAS
Ellen, I have news for you. There is a school in
Leitrim that Father Bartley can let you have.

ELLEN
In Leitrim! Did you tell Matt about it?

MARTIN DOURAS
I did not.

Sally is heard calling "Cornelius." Cornelius goes to the door.

CORNELIUS
Here's Matt now. The benefit of the day to you, Matt.

He stands aside to let Matt enter. Matt Cosgar is a young peasant of about twenty-eight. He is handsome and well-built. He is dressed in a trousers, shirt, and coat, and has a felt hat on. Cornelius goes out.

MATT (going to Ellen) You're welcome, Ellen. Good morrow, Martin. It's a great day for the purchase, Martin.

MARTIN DOURAS
A great day, indeed, thank God.

MATT
Ah, it's a great thing to feel the ownership of the land, Martin.

MARTIN DOURAS
I don't doubt but it is.

MATT
Look at the young apple-trees, Ellen. Walking up this morning,
I felt as glad of them as a young man would be glad of the
sweetheart he saw coming towards him.

ELLEN
Ay, there's great gladness and shine in the day.

MATT
It seems to trouble you.

ELLEN
It does trouble me.

MATT
Why?

ELLEN Everything seems to be saying, "There's something here, there's something going."

MATT Ay, a day like this often makes you feel that way. It's a great day for the purchase though. How many years ought we to offer, Ellen?

Martin goes out.

ELLEN
Twenty years, I suppose—-(suddenly) Matt!

MATT
What is it, Ellen?

ELLEN
I have got an offer of a school in the County Leitrim.

MATT I wish they'd wait, Ellen. I wish they'd wait till I had something to offer you.

ELLEN
I'm a long time waiting here, Matt.

MATT
Sure we're both young.

ELLEN
This is summer now. There will be autumn in a month or two.
The year will have gone by without bringing me anything.

MATT
He'll be letting me have my own way soon, my father will.

ELLEN
Murtagh Cosgar never let a child of his have their own way.

MATT
When the land's bought out, he'll be easier to deal with.

ELLEN When he owns the land, he'll never let a son of his marry a girl without land or fortune.

MATT Ellen, Ellen, I'd lose house and land for you. Sure you know that, Ellen. My brothers and sisters took their freedom. They went from this house and away to the ends of the world. Maybe I don't differ from them so much. But I've put my work into the land, and I'm beginning to know the land. I won't lose it, Ellen. Neither will I lose you.

ELLEN
O Matt, what's the land after all? Do you ever think of America?
The streets, the shops, the throngs?

MATT
The land is better than that when you come to know it, Ellen.

ELLEN
May be it is.

MATT I've set my heart on a new house. Ay and he'll build one for us when he knows my mind.

ELLEN Do you think he'd build a new house for us, Matt? I could settle down if we were by ourselves. Maybe it's true that there are things stirring and we could begin a new life, even here.

MATT
We can, Ellen, we can. Hush! father's without.

Martin Douras and Murtagh Cosgar are heard exchanging greetings. Then Murtagh comes in, Martin behind him. Murtagh Cosgar is about sixty. He is a hard, strong man, seldom-spoken, but with a flow of words and some satirical power. He is still powerful, mentally and physically. He is clean shaven, and wears a sleeved waistcoat, heavy boots, fell hat. He goes towards Ellen.

MURTAGH Good morrow to you. (Turning to Matt) When I get speaking to that Sally again, she'll remember what I say. Giving cabbage to the pigs, and all the bad potatoes in the house. And I had to get up in the clouds of the night to turn the cows out of the young meadow. No thought, no care about me. Let you take the harness outside and put a thong where there's a strain in it.

Murtagh goes to the fire. Matt goes to the harness-rack. Martin
Douras and Ellen are at the door.

MARTIN DOURAS
Ellen, I'll have news for you when I see you again.
I've made up my mind to that.

ELLEN
Are you going to the fair, father?

MARTIN DOURAS
Ay, with Murtagh.

ELLEN
God be with you, father. (She goes out)

MARTIN DOURAS
What purchase are you thinking of offering, Murtagh?

MURTAGH COSGAR
Twenty years.

MARTIN DOURAS It's fair enough. Oh, it's a great day for the country, no matter what our own troubles may be.

Matt has taken down the harness. He takes some of it up and goes out to yard.

MURTAGH COSGAR (with some contempt) It's a pity you haven't a share in the day after all.

MARTIN DOURAS
Ay, it's a pity indeed.

Murtagh goes to the door.

MURTAGH COSGAR (with suppressed enthusiasm) From this day out we're planted in the soil.

MARTIN DOURAS
Ay, we're planted in the soil.

MURTAGH COSGAR
God, it's a great day.

Cornelius comes back.

CORNELIUS This is a memorial occasion, Murtagh Cosgar, and I wish you the felicitations of it. I met the delegates and I coming in, and I put myself at the head of them. It's the day of the redemption, Murtagh Cosgar.

Murtagh, without speaking, goes up to the room.

CORNELIUS He's gone up to get the papers. Father, we must give the men understanding for this business. They must demand the mineral rights. Here they are. Men of Ballykillduff, I greet your entrance.

Six men enter discussing.

FIRST MAN We'll leave it to Murtagh Cosgar. Murtagh Cosgar isn't a grazier or a shopkeeper.

SECOND MAN It's the graziers and shopkeepers that are putting a business head on this.

THIRD MAN If we're all on the one offer, we can settle it at the lawyer's.

FOURTH MAN
Sure it's settled for twenty years on the first-term rents.

FIFTH MAN There are some here that would let it go as high as twenty-three.

SIXTH MAN
What does Murtagh Cosgar say?

SOME OF THE MEN
Well take the word from him.

MARTIN DOURAS
He mentioned twenty years.

SECOND MAN
Not as a limit, surely?

OTHER MEN
We're not for any higher offer.

SECOND MAN Well, men, this is all I have to say. If you can get it for twenty, take it, and my blessing with it. But I want to be dealing with the Government, and not with landlords and agents. To have a straight bargain between myself and the Government, I'd put it up to twenty-three, ay, up to twenty-five years' purchase.

THIRD MAN
More power to you, Councillor. There's some sense in that.

SIXTH MAN
I'm with the Councillor.

FIRST MAN It's all very well for graziers and shopkeepers to talk, but what about the small farmer?

FOURTH MAN
The small farmer. That's the man that goes under.

FIFTH MAN (knocking at the table) Murtagh Cosgar! Murtagh Cosgar!

CORNELIUS
I tell you, men, that Murtagh Cosgar is in agreement with myself.
Twenty years, I say, first term, no more. Let my father speak.

MARTIN DOURAS
There's a great deal to be said on both sides, men.

FIRST MAN
Here's Murtagh now.

MURTAGH COSGAR
Twenty years first term, that's what I agreed to.

SECOND MAN
And if they don't rise to that, Murtagh?

MURTAGH COSGAR Let them wait. We can wait. I won't be going with you, men. I had a few words with the agent about the turbary this morning, and maybe you're better without me.

FIRST MAN
All right, Murtagh. We can wait.

FOURTH MAN
We know our own power now.

FIFTH MAN
Come on, men.

MURTAGH COSGAR
If they don't rise to it, bide a while. We can make a new offer.

SECOND MAN
We want to be settled by the Fall.

THIRD MAN
The Councillor is right. We must be settled by the Fall.

SIXTH MAN
A man who's a farmer only has little sense for a business like this.

SECOND MAN We'll make the offer, Murtagh Cosgar, and bide a while. But we must be settled this side of the Fall. We'll offer twenty years first term.

MURTAGH COSGAR
Do, and God speed you.

CORNELIUS (to the men going out)
I told you Murtagh Cosgar and myself are on the one offer. And
Murtagh is right again when he says that you can bide your time. But
make sure of the mineral rights, men; make sure of the mineral rights.

The men go out; Cornelius follows them.

MURTAGH COSGAR (with irony) Musha, but that's a well-discoursed lad. It must be great to hear the two of you at it.

MARTIN DOURAS God be good to Cornelius. There's little of the world's harm in the boy.

MURTAGH COSGAR He and my Sally would make a great match of it. She's a bright one, too.

MARTIN DOURAS
Murtagh Cosgar, have you no feeling for your own flesh and blood?

MURTAGH COSGAR
Too much feeling, maybe. (He stands at the door in silence. With
sudden enthusiasm) Ah, but that's the sight to fill one's heart.
Lands ploughed and spread. And all our own; all our own.

MARTIN DOURAS
All our own, ay. But we made a hard fight for them.

MURTAGH COSGAR
Ay.

MARTIN DOURAS
Them that come after us will never see them as we're seeing them now.

MURTAGH COSGAR (turning round) Them that come after us. Isn't that a great thought, Martin Douras? and isn't it a great thing that we're able to pass this land on to them, and it redeemed for ever? Ay, and their manhood spared the shame that our manhood knew. Standing in the rain with our hats off to let a landlord—ay, or a landlord's dog-boy—pass the way!

MARTIN DOURAS (mournfully) May it be our own generation that will be in it. Ay, but the young are going fast; the young are going fast.

MURTAGH COSGAR (sternly) Some of them are no loss.

MARTIN DOURAS
Ten of your own children went, Murtagh Cosgar.

MURTAGH COSGAR I never think of them. When they went from my control, they went from me altogether. There's the more for Matt.

MARTIN DOURAS (moistening his mouth, and beginning very nervously) Ay, Matt. Matt's a good lad.

MURTAGH COSGAR
There's little fear of him leaving now.

MARTIN DOURAS (nervously) Maybe, maybe. But, mind you, Murtagh Cosgar, there are things—little things, mind you. Least, ways, what we call little things. And, after all, who are we to judge whether a thing—

MURTAGH COSGAR
Is there anything on your mind, Martin Douras?

MARTIN DOURAS (hurriedly) No; oh, no. I was thinking—I was thinking, maybe you'd give me a lift towards Arvach, if you'd be going that way this night.

MURTAGH COSGAR
Ay, why not?

MARTIN DOURAS And we could talk about the land, and about Matt, too. Wouldn't it be a heart-break if any of our children went—because of a thing we might—

MURTAGH COSGAR (fiercely) What have you to say about Matt?

MARTIN DOURAS (stammering) Nothing except in a—in what you might call a general way. There's many a young man left house and land for the sake of some woman, Murtagh Cosgar.

MURTAGH COSGAR
There's many a fool did it.

MARTIN DOURAS (going to door) Ay, maybe; maybe. I'll be going now, Murtagh.

MURTAGH COSGAR Stop! (clutching him) You know about Matt. What woman is he thinking of?

MARTIN DOURAS (frightened) We'll talk about it again, Murtagh. I said I'd be back.

MURTAGH COSGAR
We'll talk about it now. Who is she? What name has she?

MARTIN DOURAS (breaking from him and speaking with sudden dignity) It's a good name, Murtagh Cosgar; it's my own name.

MURTAGH COSGAR
Your daughter! Ellen! You're—

MARTIN DOURAS
Ay, a good name, and a good girl.

MURTAGH COSGAR
And do you think a son of mine would marry a daughter of yours?

MARTIN DOURAS
What great difference is between us, after all?

MURTAGH COSGAR (fiercely) The daughter of a man who'd be sitting over his fire reading his paper, and the clouds above his potatoes, and the cows trampling his oats. (Martin is beaten down) Do you know me at all, Martin Douras? I came out of a little house by the roadway and built my house on a hill. I had many children. Coming home in the long evenings, or kneeling still when the prayers would be over, I'd have my dreams. A son in Aughnalee, a son in Ballybrian, a son in Dunmore, a son of mine with a shop, a son of mine saying Mass in Killnalee. And I have a living name—a name in flesh and blood.

MARTIN DOURAS
God help you, Murtagh Cosgar.

MURTAGH COSGAR But I've a son still. It's not your daughter he'll be marrying. (He strides to the door and calls Matt)

MARTIN DOURAS (going to him) Murtagh Cosgar—for God's sake—we're both old men, Murtagh Cosgar.

MURTAGH COSGAR
You've read many stories, Martin Douras, and you know many endings.
You'll see an ending now, and it will be a strong ending, and a
sudden ending.

Matt comes in.

MURTAGH COSGAR
You're wanted here.

MATT I heard you call. (He sits on table) So they're sticking to the twenty years.

MARTIN DOURAS (eagerly) Twenty years, Matt, and they'll get it for twenty. O, it's a great day for you both! Father and son, you come into a single inheritance. What the father wins the son wields.

MURTAGH COSGAR
What the father wins, the son wastes.

MATT
What's the talk of father and son?

MARTIN DOURAS They're the one flesh and blood. There's no more strife between them than between the right hand and the left hand.

MURTAGH COSGAR (to Matt) We were talking about you. We were fixing a match for you.

MATT (startled, looking at Martin Douras) Fixing a match for me? (He rises)

MURTAGH COSGAR
Ay, Matt. Don't you think it's time to be making a match for you?

MATT (sullenly, going to the door) Maybe it is. When you have chosen the woman, call. I'll be without.

MURTAGH COSGAR (going to him) We haven't chosen yet. But it won't be Martin Douras' daughter, anyhow.

MATT Stop. You drove all your living children away, except Sally and myself. You think Sally and myself are the one sort.

MURTAGH COSGAR (tauntingly) Martin's daughter, Corney's sister. That's the girl for you!

MATT We're not the one sort, I tell you. Martin Douras, isn't he a foolish old man that would drive all his children from him? What would his twenty years' purchase be to him then?

MURTAGH COSGAR It wasn't for my children I worked. No, no; thank God; it wasn't for my children I worked. Go, if you will. I can be alone.

MARTIN DOURAS O Murtagh, Murtagh, sure you know you can't be alone. We're two old men, Murtagh.

MURTAGH COSGAR
He daren't go.

MATT
Because I'm the last of them he thinks he can dare me like that.

MURTAGH COSGAR
There was more of my blood in the others.

MATT
Do you say that?

MARTIN DOURAS
Don't say it again. For God's sake, don't say it again, Murtagh.

MURTAGH COSGAR
I do say it again. Them who dared to go had more of my blood in them!

MATT Ah, you have put me to it now, and I'm glad, glad. A little house, a bit of land. Do you think they could keep me here?

MURTAGH COSGAR (to Martin Douras) It's his own way he wants. I never had my own way. (To Matt) You're my last son. You're too young to know the hardship there was in rearing you.

MATT (exultantly) Your last son; that won't keep me here. I'm the last of my name, but that won't keep me here. I leave you your lands, your twenty years' purchase. Murtagh Cosgar, Murtagh Cosgar! isn't that a great name, Martin Douras—a name that's well planted, a name for generations? Isn't he a lucky man that has a name for generations? (He goes out)

MURTAGH COSGAR He can't go. How could he go and he the last of the name. Close the door, I say.

MARTIN DOURAS
He'll go to Ellen, surely. We'll lose both of them. Murtagh Cosgar,
God comfort you and me.

MURTAGH COSGAR
Ellen; who's Ellen? Ay, that daughter of yours. Close the door, I say.

He sits down at fireplace. Martin Douras closes door and goes to
him.

CURTAIN