The Project Gutenberg eBook of Three Plays: The Fiddler's House, The Land, Thomas Muskerry, by Padraic Colum

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.

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.

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 (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.

ANNE (putting her hands on James' shoulders) Maybe we won't have a chance of seeing each other after all.

JAMES Sit down now, Anne, because there's something I want to show you. Do you ever see "The Shamrock"?

JAMES There be good pieces in it sometimes. There's a poem of mine in it this week.

JAMES
Ay, 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!

James goes out. Anne continues reading, then she leaves the paper down with a sigh .

ANNE O, 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)

ANNE I hope she'll mind of it. We must get the meal there, and not be going to the shop so often.

ANNE
And I was just thinking that one of us ought to go to Arvach on
Tuesday, and get the things there.

CONN That 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.

ANNE
James 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.

CONN And 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.

CONN There'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.

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 .

ANNE
It'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.

ANNE Indeed, I will, Brian. Myself and another are making a devotion to Saint Anthony.

ANNE Sure 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 God 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.

ANNE The people here mind their own business, and they're a friendly people besides.

CONN People that would leave the best fiddler at the fair to go and look at a bullock.

CONN (to Brian) I'm saying, Brian, that her mother had this shelter, and she left it to go the roads with myself.

ANNE That 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.

ANNE (to Brian) Now, Brian, what would you do with a man that would say the like?

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.

CONN Ay, 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.

CONN I'm getting that I can't stand the talk you hear in houses, wars and Parliaments, and the devil knows what ramais .

CONN Is 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.

CONN Listen, 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?

CONN It'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?

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.

ANNE We 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.

CONN You can depend on me for the mowing. I'm going up now, to go over an oul' tune I have.

CONN I'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.

CONN You'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.

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 .

MAIRE We'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.

MAIRE The 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.

MAIRE
Indeed they ought to let James build a house for himself. ANNE
Some day they will, Maire.

ANNE
You wouldn't let me use stroller words when we were on the road.
Do you mind of that?

MAIRE
About 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.

MAIRE Anne, you're the only one of us that has any manners. Maybe you're right not to go.

MAIRE Would 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.

ANNE He will. I think I ought to stay in. Maire, father was in only a while before you the night before last and another night.

MAIRE No, you're going out—you're going to Moynihan's—you're going to see your sweetheart.

MAIRE You'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 .

CONN Were 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?

CONN It 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.

CONN
I could earn the same, ay, and gold and silver cups besides, if
I had the mind to earn them.

CONN Let 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.]

CONN I'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?

MAIRE What do I say? I say you're not a rambler now, though indeed you behave like one.

MAIRE What 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?

MAIRE He'll go his own way always, and it's foolish of us to be fretting for him night and day.

ANNE God help Maire! She kept the house together at the worst, and she is always fretting for us.

CONN There, 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.

CONN I 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.

CONN That would be the good rambling. I see the trees making shadows across the roads.

ANNE
Brian MacConnell will be coming in now. CONN I'm going out to
Brian MacConnell.

Conn Hourican goes out. There is a pause. Maire hums a tune as she
goes to the mirror .

ANNE (rather distantly) You're looking your best, I think. (Seriously) Maire, I didn't like the way you talked to father.

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.

MAIRE Who 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.

BRIAN Well, what's a day after all? Many's the day and night I put in thinking on you.

BRIAN I 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.

BRIAN When 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?

MAIRE It's my father. He wants to be rambling again. He wants to be going to some Feis.

MAIRE I couldn't, Brian. Couldn't you help us? Couldn't you keep father's mind on the right things?

MAIRE You 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.

BRIAN Hugh will be there with that woman that brought him the big fortune; and I want you to take the shine out of her.

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.

MAIRE
You must leave me to myself now. (Conn Hourican comes in) Is
Anne with you, father?

CONN She'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.

CONN Is that the way? Well, God help us. Give me that fiddle till I leave it up.

MAIRE
Father, 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.

BRIAN (masterfully) Why can't you come out? I thought you were going to-night.

CONN I can't, Brian, and that reminds me. Give these few shillings to Flynn for me. I'll owe them to you still.

Brian strides away. He turns, comes back deliberately, and sits on
table beside Conn .

BRIAN Some of the boys will take it very unkindly. CONN They're decent enough fellows, some of them.

BRIAN And above all nights they'll be watching out for you this night, on account of the Sligomen.

CONN They're decent enough fellows, as I said, and I'll be sorry to disappoint them.

BRIAN He is, and for fiddling these Sligomen think there's not the like of him in the whole of Ireland.

CONN God 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.

BRIAN
There'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.

CONN And 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.

CONN I 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.

CONN It's a pleasant house, a pleasant house. Brian will make his ceilidh [3] with me. We might go over a few tunes.

MAIRE Anne, you're a great one for keeping up the story that girls are always thinking about men.

MAIRE Come, 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?

Maire takes down her shawl, and puts it over her head. She stands
at the door, watching Anne, who goes to Brian.

Maire and Anne go out. They are heard talking for a while. Conn
goes to the door .

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.

[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 .

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.

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

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.

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
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.

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

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?

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?

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.

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.

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?

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.

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

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.

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 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.

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

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

MAIRE What will come of you giving in to the truth of it? But sure you ought to remember, Anne.

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.

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.

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

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 (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.

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.

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.

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

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 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,

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 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.

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

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

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 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.

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

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.

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?

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

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.

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

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.

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

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

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
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.

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.

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 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.

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.

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

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

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

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

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?

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 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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 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.

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

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

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 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,

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.

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.

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
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 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 (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.

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

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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?

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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 (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.

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 .

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

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.

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 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.

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 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.

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 .

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.

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.

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.

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)

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)

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.

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

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.

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!

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.

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.

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 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?

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

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

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 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.

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.

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

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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
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 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.

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—

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.

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—

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 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.

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

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.

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 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.

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.

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
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.

CURTAIN

ACT II

Interior of Martin Douras'. The entrance is at back left. There is a dresser against wall back; a table down from dresser; room doors right and left. The fireplace is below the room door right; there are stools and chairs about it. There is a little bookcase left of the dresser, and a mirror beside it. There are patriotic and religious pictures on the wall. There are cups and saucers on table, and a teapot beside fire. It is afternoon still. Ellen Douras is near the fire reading. Cornelius comes in slowly .

CORNELIUS I left the men down the road a bit. We ought to take great pride out of this day, Ellen. Father did more than any of them to bring it about.

ELLEN He suffered more than any of them. And it's little we'll get out of the day.

CORNELIUS It's a great thing to have prophesied it, even. We'll be here to see a great change.

SALLY (breathlessly) Oh, God save you, Cornelius. Tell me, is my father gone? I dread going back and he there! It was all over that baste of a sow that has kept me slaving all through the spring till I don't know whether greens or potatoes is the fittest for her!

CORNELIUS
He didn't go, Sally. I went down a bit of the road myself with the men.

SALLY Oh, God help me! And I'll have to be going back to boil meal for her now. How are you, Ellen. (She goes to Ellen)

ELLEN Sit down for a while, Sally; it's a long time since I was speaking to you.

CORNELIUS
I'll leave this paper where they won't be looking for pipe-lights.
There are things in that paper I'd like to be saying. (He takes a
newspaper out of his pocket and goes to room right)

ELLEN (to Sally, who has been watching Cornelius) Tell me, Sally, are they always that busy in your house? Is your father as harsh as they say?

ELLEN
Matt will be bringing a wife into the house soon from all I hear.
How would your father treat her?

SALLY In my mother's country there are lots of girls with fortunes that Matt could have.

SALLY Oh, I suppose father would give in in the end. It wouldn't be clay against flint when Matt and father would be to it.

ELLEN You're a good girl, Sally. If I was Matt's wife, do you think you'd be fond of me?

CORNELIUS
Some of the boys and girls that are for America. They are going
to Gilroy's to-night, and are leaving from that in the morning.
They are coming in to see Ellen on their way down.

SALLY There are a good many going this flight. The land never troubles them in America, and they can wear fine clothes, and be as free as the larks over the bogs. It's a wonder you never thought of going, Ellen.

ELLEN Father wouldn't like me to be far from him, and so I went in for the school instead.

SALLY And now you've got a fine boy like Matt. It was lucky for you to be staying here.

SALLY Oh, I knew all about it before you talked to me at all. Matt always goes to the place where he thinks you'd be.

SALLY (going to Cornelius) God help us, but she's the silent creature. Isn't it a wonder she's not filled with talk of him after seeing him to-day? But Ellen's right. We shouldn't be talking about men, nor thinking about them either; and that's the way to keep them on our hands on the long run. I'll be going myself.

SALLY Well, as high as she is, and as mighty as she is, she came into his own house to see Matt. God between us and harm, Cornelius, maybe they'll be saying I came into your house to see you.

SALLY (after a pause) Would you like me to knit you a pair of socks, Cornelius?

SALLY I'll knit them. We'll be getting rid of the sow tonight, maybe, and I'll have time after that.

CORNELIUS And you come along the road when I'm herding. I don't want to be going near your father's house.

SALLY
O Cornelius, it won't be lucky for us when father hears about
Ellen and Matt.

SALLY Come down a bit of the road with me, Cornelius. The sow will be grunting and grunting, reminding father that I'm away. Och, a minute ago I was as contented as if there was no land or pigs, or harsh words to trouble one. (She goes to the door) The boys and girls for America are coming here.

CORNELIUS Give me your hands to hold, Sally. (She gives him her hands) We are as young as any of them after all.

SALLY It's a fine time for them to be going when the leaves are opening on the trees.

SALLY God save you, girls. Good-bye, Cornelius. I'll have to run like a redshank.

CORNELIUS I'll call Ellen down to you. (He goes to the room door and calls) I'm going herding myself. Herding is pleasant when you have thoughts with you.

He takes up the rod and goes out. The girls begin whispering, then chattering .

FIRST GIRL Sure I know. Every night I'm dreaming of the sea and the great towns. Streets and streets of houses and every street as crowded as the road outside the chapel when the people do be coming from Mass. I could watch the crowd in the street; I would think it better than any sight I ever knew.

SECOND BOY There's no stir here. There's no fine clothes, nor fine manners, nor fine things to be seen.

THIRD BOY There's no money. One could never get a shilling together here. In America there's money to have and to spend and to send home.

ELLEN
I'm glad you came. I have tea ready for you. I can't go to
Gilroy's to-night.

A GIRL (at table, to Ellen) They say that a peat fire like that will seem very strange to us after America. Bridget wondered at it when she came back. "Do civilized people really cook at the like of them?" said she.

A BOY It's the little houses with only three rooms in them that will seem strange. I'm beginning to wonder myself at their thatch and their mud walls.

ANOTHER GIRL
Houses in bogs and fields. It was a heart-break trying
to keep them as we'd like to keep them. A GIRL (at door) Ah, but
I'll never forget Gortan and the little road to Aughnalee.

ANOTHER GIRL I think I'll be lonesome for a long time. I'll be thinking on my brothers and sisters. I nursed and minded all the little ones.

FIRST GIRL I have no friends there, either. But I'll get on. You could get on better than any of us, Ellen.

SECOND GIRL She's waiting for her school. It will be a little place by the side of a bog.

THIRD GIRL (going to Ellen) There would be little change in that. And isn't it a life altogether different from this life that we have been longing for? To be doing other work, and to be meeting strange people. And instead of bare roads and market-towns, to be seeing streets, and crowds, and theaters.

ELLEN (passionately) O what do you know about streets and theaters? You have only heard of them. They are finer than anything you could say. They are finer than anything you could think of, after a story, when you'd be A GIRL You'll be going after all, Ellen.

ONE OF THE BOYS Phil said that an egg was all he could touch while he was on the sea.

Ellen has parted with the girls. The boys light their pipes at fire.
They go to door, and shake hands with Ellen. The boys go out .

ELLEN Theaters! What do they know of theaters? And it's their like will be enjoying them.

SALLY Ellen! Ellen! I have wonders to tell. Where is Cornelius, at all? He's never here when you have wonders to tell.

SALLY Oh, I don't know how I'll get it all out! Matt and father had an odious falling out, and it was about you. And Matt's going to America; and he's to bring you with him. And Cornelius was saying that if father found out about yourself and Matt—

ELLEN And I thought I'd be content with a new house. Now we can go away together. I can see what I longed to see. I have a chance of knowing what is in me. (She takes Sally's hands) It's great news you've brought me. No one ever brought me such news before. Take this little cross. You won't have a chance of getting fond of me after all. (She wears a cross at her throat; she breaks the string, and gives it to Sally)

SALLY I don't know why I was so fervent to tell you. There's the stool before me that myself and Cornelius were sitting on, and he saying— (She goes to the door) Here's Matt! Now we'll hear all about it.

ELLEN So soon; so soon. (She goes to the mirror. After a pause, turning to Sally) Go down the road a bit, when he comes in. Sally, you have a simple mind; you might be saying a prayer that it will be for the best.

SALLY (going to the door muttering) Go down the road a bit! 'Deed and I will not till I know the whole ins and outs of it. Sure I'm as much concerned in it as herself! "No man sees his house afire but watches his rick," he was saying. Ah, there's few of them could think of as fine a thing as that.

SALLY I was—leastways as far as the door. Father and oul' Martin were discoursing.

MATT I've given them something to discourse about. Maybe you'll be treated better from this day. Sally.

MATT (going to Ellen) It happened at last, Ellen; the height of the quarrel came.

MATT I had in troth. The others went when there was less to be done. They could not stand him. Even the girls stole away.

MATT I showed it to him. "Stop," said I; "no more, or I fling lands and house and everything aside."

MATT Ay. "Your other children went for less," said I; "do you think there's no blood in me at all?"

MATT "I'm your last son," I said; "keep your land and your twenty years' purchase. I'm with the others; and it's poor your land will leave you, and you without a son to bring down your name. A bit of land, a house," said I; "do you think these will keep me here?"

ELLEN I knew they could not keep you here, Matt. You have broken from them at last; and now the world is before us. Think of all that is before us—the sea, and the ships, the strange life, and the great cities.

MATT I was always shy of crowds. I'm simple, after all, Ellen, and have no thought beyond the land.

ELLEN You said that house and land could not keep you. You told him you were going as your brothers went.

MATT And I felt I was going. I frightened him. He'll be glad to see me back. It will be long before he treats me that way again.

ELLEN I don't know—I was upset—thinking of the quarrel (putting her hands on his shoulders) My poor Matt. It was about me you quarrelled.

MATT Ellen, it's no shame for a man to have harsh words said to him when it's about a woman like you.

ELLEN Let nothing come between us now. I saw you in the winter making drains and ditches, and it wet. It's a poor story, the life of a man on the land.

ELLEN You had. Have thought for me now. There is no one in fair or market but would notice me. I was never a favourite. I lived to myself. I did not give my love about. You have never offered me anything. In the song a man offers towns to his sweetheart. You can offer me the sights of great towns, and the fine manners, and the fine life.

MATT Ellen! (He draws a little away) It's not me that could offer the like of that. I never had anything to my hand but a spade.

MATT His name is something to a man. Could you hear of your own name melting away without unease? And you are a woman. A man feels it more.

ELLEN I do not understand men. Will you go back to your father's house after he shaming you out of it?

ELLEN Matt, your father said words against me. Will you go to him and take his hand after that?

ELLEN (sinking down on a chair, and putting hands before her face) My God! After all my waiting, you talk like that.

MATT (going to her) Ellen, Ellen, tell me what I can do for you? There's land and houses to be had here. Father will let me have my own way after this.

ELLEN (rising, with anger) What does it matter to me whether he lets you have your own way or not? Do you think I could go into a farmer's house?

ELLEN It's a bad hand I'd make of a farmer's house. I'm not the sort to be in one. I'm not like Sally.

ELLEN (with great vehemence) I must be talking like this. If you take me, you will have to go from your father's house. I always knew it. You ought to know it now, Matt Cosgar.

MATT You didn't know it always. And you have let some one come between us when you talk like that.

ELLEN I'm not one to be listening to what people say about you. Nor do I be talking in the markets about you.

MATT I suppose not. You wouldn't have people think you gave any thought to me; I'm not good enough for you. The people you know are better.

MATT I know I am foolish. Fit only to be working in drains and ditches in the winter. That's what you think.

MATT Ellen Douras! Ellen Douras! A farmer's roof will be high enough for you some day.

ELLEN May I never see the day. Go back, go back. Make it up with your father. Your father will be glad of a labourer.

ELLEN I said too much. We don't know each other at all. Go back. You have made your choice.

MATT Very well, then. God above, am I to be treated everywhere like a heifer strayed into a patch of oats? Neither man nor woman will make me put up with this any longer. (Going to door) When Ellen Douras wants me, she knows the place to send to. (He stands at door. There is no sound from room. Going back he speaks loudly) I'll be waiting two days or three days to hear from Ellen Douras.

There is no sound. Matt goes out. The room door is thrown open, and Ellen comes down.

ELLEN (furiously) Two days or three days he'll wait for me. As if I'd go into Murtagh Cosgar's house. As if I'd go into any farmer's house. As if I'd get married at all, and the world before me. Two days or three days you'll wait. Maybe it's lonesome, weary years you'll be waiting, Matt Cosgar.

CURTAIN

ACT III

Interior of Murtagh Cosgar's. It is towards sunset. Murtagh Cosgar is standing before the door looking out. Martin Douras is sitting at the fire in an armchair.

MARTIN DOURAS
It's time for me to be going home. I should be seeing
Ellen. (He rises)

MURTAGH COSGAR Stay where you are. (Turning round) We're two old men, as you say. We should keep each other's company for a bit.

MURTAGH COSGAR Divil a bit it will trouble her. You're going to the fair anyway?

MURTAGH COSGAR It's myself used to have the great heart. Driving in on my own side-car, and looking down on the crowd of them. It's twenty years since I took a sup of drink. Oh, we'll have drinking to-morrow that will soften the oul' skin of you. You'll be singing songs about the Trojans to charm every baste in the fair.

MURTAGH COSGAR And is there any reason in your scholarship why oul' men should be dry men? Answer me that!

MARTIN DOURAS I won't answer you at all, Murtagh Cosgar. There's no use in talking to you.

MURTAGH COSGAR Put it down on a piece of paper that oul' men should have light hearts when their care is gone from them. They should be like—

MARTIN DOURAS There's nothing in the world like men with their rearing gone from them, and they old.

MURTAGH COSGAR Ha, here's one of the clutch home. Well, did you see that brother of yours?

MURTAGH COSGAR What's that you say? Were you talking to him? Did he say he'd be home?

MURTAGH COSGAR How could he go and he the last of them? Sure it would be against nature. Where did you see him, Sally?

MURTAGH COSGAR It's that Ellen Douras that's putting him up to all this. Don't you be said by her, Sally.

MURTAGH COSGAR You're a good girl, and if you haven't wit, you have sense. He'll be home soon, did you say?

SALLY
He was coming home. He went round the long way, I'm thinking.
Ellen Douras was vexed with him, father. She isn't going either,
Matt says, but I'm thinking that you might as well try to keep a
corncrake in the meadow for a whole winter, as to try to keep Ellen
Douras in Aughnalee.

MURTAGH COSGAR Make the place tidy for him to come into. He'll have no harsh words from me. (He goes up to the room)

MARTIN DOURAS (sitting down) He's gone up to rest himself, God help him. Sally, a stor , I'm that fluttered, I dread going into my own house.

SALLY I'll get ready now, and let you have a good supper before you go to the fair.

MARTIN DOURAS
Sit down near me, and let me hear everything, Sally.
Was it Matt that told you, or were you talking to Ellen herself?

SALLY O, indeed, I had a talk with Ellen, but she won't give much of her mind away. It was Matt that was telling me. "Indeed she's not going," said he, "and a smart young fellow like myself thinking of her. Ellen is too full of notions." Here's Matt himself. Father won't have a word to say to him. He's getting mild as he's getting ould, and maybe it's a fortune he'll be leaving to myself.

MATT Ay, I saw Ellen (gloomily) . She shouldn't talk the way she talks, Martin. What she said keeps coming into my mind, and I'm troubled. God knows I've trouble enough on my head.

MATT I don't know that she thinks much of me now. We had a few words, but there's nothing in the world I put above Ellen Douras.

MATT Wait a bit, and I'll be going with you. Wait a bit. Let us talk it over. She wouldn't go from you, and you old.

MARTIN DOURAS God forgive my age, if it would keep her here. Would I have my Ellen drawing turf, or minding a cow, or feeding pigs?

MATT I'm fond of her, Martin. She couldn't go, and I so fond of her. What am I doing here? I should be making it up with her. What good will anything be if Ellen Douras goes? (He turns to the door, then stops) I came to settle with him. I mustn't be running about like a frightened child.

The room door opens, and Murtagh Cosgar is seen. Sally has hung a pot over the fire, and is cleaning the dishes at the dresser .

MURTAGH COSGAR (at the room door) Sally, it's time to be putting on the meal. If you have any cabbage left, put it through the meal. (To Matt) You put the thong in the harness?

MURTAGH COSGAR You said, "I've come back," and I said, "you're welcome." You said, "I'm going out again," and I said, "I'll not be wanting you."

MURTAGH COSGAR You're my son, and so I feel sorry for you; and you beginning to know your own foolishness. (He turns to Sally) I'm not taking the pigs. Put a fresh bedding under them to-night.

MURTAGH COSGAR Be up early, and let the cows along the road, or they'll be breaking into the young meadow.

MATT (turning on Murtag) Before I go out again there's something I want settled.

MATT But I will be talking of it. You must treat me differently if you want me to stay. You must treat me differently to the way you treat Sally.

MURTAGH COSGAR You were always treated differently, Matt. In no house that ever I remember was there a boy treated as well as you are treated here.

MATT The houses that you remember are different from the houses that are now. Will you have me go, or will you have me stay?

MURTAGH COSGAR You're very threatening. I'd have you stay. For the sake of the name, I'd have you stay.

MATT You have no feeling. I'd go out of this house, only I want to give you a chance.

MURTAGH COSGAR Stop. We can have kindness in this. We needn't be beating each other down, like men at a fair.

MURTAGH COSGAR (bitterly) In the houses that are now, the young marry where they have a mind to. It's their own business, they say.

MATT Maybe it is their own business. I'm going to marry Ellen Douras, if she'll have me.

MURTAGH COSGAR Ellen is a good girl, and clever, I'm told. But I would not have you deal before you go into the fair.

MURTAGH COSGAR Her father is here, and we can settle it now. What fortune will you be giving Ellen, Martin? That 100 pounds that was saved while you were in Maryborough gaol?

MURTAGH COSGAR (passionately) Boy, your father built this house. He got these lands together. He has a right to see that you and your generations are in the way of keeping them together.

MATT Now, Martin, we mustn't let an hour pass without going to her. (He takes Martin's arm, and they go to the door)

MURTAGH COSGAR Marry Ellen Douras, I bid you. Break what I have built, scatter what I have put together. That is what all the young will be doing,

MURTAGH COSGAR (going to the door, and drawing the bolt from the half-door) When you come to my house, Ellen Douras, you are welcome within.

ELLEN It's right that I should speak to you all. Matt Cosgar, I am going from here.

MATT
Ellen, Ellen, don't be saying that. Don't be thinking of the
few words between us. It's all over now. Father agrees to us marrying.
Speak, father, and let her hear yourself say it.

ELLEN It's true, it's true. I can't go into a farmer's house. This place is strange to me.

ELLEN I've stayed here long enough. I want my own way; I want to know the world.

MATT If you go, how will I be living, day after day? The heart will be gone out of me.

MATT (passionately) I've worked on the land all my days. Don't talk to me about it now.

Ellen goes to Martin. Murtagh goes up to the door, and then turns and speaks .

MURTAGH COSGAR Listen to me, Matt Cosgar; and you listen too, Ellen Douras. It's a new house you want maybe. This house was built for me and my generations; but I'll build a new house for you both. It's hard for a man to part with his land before the hour of his death; and it's hard for a man to break his lands; but I'll break them, and give a share of land to you.

ELLEN You were never friendly to me; but you have the high spirit, and you deserve a better daughter than I would make. The land and house you offer would be a drag on me. (She goes to the door)

MATT
Ellen, what he offers is nothing, after all; but I care for you.
Sure you won't go from me like that?

ELLEN
Oh, can't you let me go?
I care for you as much as I care for any one. But it's my freedom I
want.

She goes out, Martin follows her. Matt stands dazed. Murtagh
closes the door, then goes and takes Matt's arm, and brings him down .

MURTAGH COSGAR
Be a man. We offered her everything, and she went.
There's no knowing what the like of her wants. The men will be in
soon, and we'll drink to the new ownership.

MATT Oh, what's the good in talking about that now? If Ellen was here, we might be talking about it.

MURTAGH COSGAR To-morrow you and me might go together. Ay, the bog behind the meadow is well drained by this, and we might put the plough over it. There will be a fine, deep soil in it, I'm thinking. Don't look that way, Matt, my son.

MATT When I meet Ellen Douras again, it's not a farmer's house I'll be offering her, nor life in a country place.

MURTAGH COSGAR No one could care for you as I care for you. I know the blood between us, and I know the thoughts I had as I saw each of you grow up.

MURTAGH COSGAR Wait till the fall and I'll give you money to go and come back. Farrell Kavanagh often goes to America. You could go with him.

MATT I'll go by myself, unless Ellen Douras comes now. The creamery owes me money for the carting, and I'll get it.

MURTAGH COSGAR The floor swept, the hearth tidied. It's a queer end to it all. Twenty years I bid them offer. Twenty years, twenty years!

MURTAGH COSGAR You're a queer fellow, Martin Douras. You went to gaol for some meeting.

MURTAGH COSGAR Them was the stirring times. I can't help but think of you in gaol, and by yourself. What brings you back now?

MARTIN DOURAS
Ellen told me to go back. I should say something to
Matt, I think.

MARTIN DOURAS I'll go in when the house is quiet. I'll have a few prayers to be saying this night.

MURTAGH COSGAR Why won't you be going to the fair? Didn't you ask me for a lift? You'll be going with me.

MARTIN DOURAS
I won't be going, and don't be overbearing me now,
Murtagh Cosgar.

MURTAGH COSGAR
You will be going to the fair, if it was only to be
showing that, seemly face of yours. (Going to the door, he calls)
"Sally!" (He turns to Martin Douras) I've a daughter still, Martin
Douras.

SALLY If you fed that baste on honey, she'd turn on you. Cabbage I gave her and got into trouble for it, and now she's gone and trampled the bad potatoes till they're hardly worth the boiling. I'll put the bush in the gap when I'm going out again, father.

CORNELIUS
Well, Murtagh Cosgar, a great and memorial day is ended.
May you live long to enjoy the fruits of it. Twenty years on the
first term, and the land is ours and our children's. I met the men.

MURTAGH COSGAR Ours and our children's, ay. We've been making a match between yourself and Sally.

CORNELIUS
And tell me one thing, Murtagh Cosgar. Is it true that
Matt's going to America, and that Ellen will wait for him for a year
at the school? I met them together, and they told me that.

MURTAGH COSGAR What they say is true, I'm sure. The land is yours and your children's.

CORNELIUS Aren't they foolish to be going away like that, father, and we at the mouth of the good times? The men will be coming in soon, and you might say a few words. (Martin shakes his head) Indeed you might, father; they'll expect it of you. (Martin shakes his head. Murtagh and Sally try to restrain him) "Men of Ballykillduff," you might say, "stay on the land, and you'll be saved body and soul; you'll be saved in the man and in the nation. The nation, men of Ballykillduff, do you ever think of it at all? Do you ever think of the Irish nation that is waiting all this time to be born?"

END OF PLAY

THE LAND was first produced at the Abbey Theater, Dublin, in June, 1905, by The Irish National Theater Society, under the direction of W.G. Fay, with the following cast:—

MURTAGH COSGAR W. G. Fay
MATT Proinsias MacSiubhlaigh
SALLY Sara Allgood
MARTIN DOURAS F.J. Fay
CORNELIUS Arthur Sinclair
ELLEN Maire Ni Gharbhaigh.

THOMAS MUSKERRY

CHARACTERS

THOMAS MUSKERRY The Master of Garrisowen Workhouse
MRS. CRILLY His Daughter
CROFTON CRILLY His Son-in-law
ALBERT CRILLY His Grandson
ANNA CRILLY His Granddaughter
JAMES SCOLLARD Thomas Muskerry's Successor
FELIX TOURNOUR The Porter at Workhouse Lodge
MYLES GORMAN A Blind Piper
CHRISTY CLARKE A Boy reared in the Workhouse
SHANLEY |
MICKIE CRIPES | Paupers in Workhouse
AN OLD MAN |

SCENE: Garrisowen, a town in the Irish Midlands .

ACT FIRST

The Master's office in Garrisowen Workhouse. It is partly an office, partly a living room. To the right is a door opening on corridor, and in the back, left, a door leading to the Master's apartments. There is an iron stove down from back and towards right, and a big grandfather's clock back towards door of apartments. A basket arm chair down from stove, and a wooden chair beside it. There is a desk against wall, left, and an office stool before it. Down from this desk a table on which is a closed desk. On table are books, papers, and files. On a wooden chair beside the arm chair is a heap of newspapers and periodicals. There is a rack beside corridor door, and on rack a shawl, an old coat, a hat, and a bunch of big keys. In the corner, right, is a little cabinet, and on it a small mirror. Above door of apartments a picture of Daniel O'Connell. The grandfather's clock is ticking audibly. It is 8.45 p.m. The gas over desk is lighted .

Christy Clarke, a youth of about seventeen, is seated in the armchair reading a periodical. His clothes are threadbare, but brushed and clean. He looks studious, and has intellectual possibilities. The clock ticks on, the boy reads, but with little attention. At the corridor door there is a knocking. Christy Clarke turns slightly. The door opens, and a tall man in the ugly dress of a pauper is seen. The man is Felix Tournour. He carries in a bucket of coal. He performs this action like one who has acquired the habit of work under an overseer. He is an ugly figure in his pauper dress. His scanty beard is coal black. He has a wide mouth and discoloured teeth. His forehead is narrow and bony. He is about forty-five.

TOURNOUR The master I'm talking about. I don't know where he does be going those evenings.

TOURNOUR Don't talk to me like that, young fellow. You're poorhouse rearing, even though you are a pet. Will he be sitting up here to-night, do you know?

TOURNOUR Then he will be staying up. He goes out for a walk in the evenings now, and I don't know where he does be going.

CHRISTY
He goes out for a walk in the country. (Tournour makes a
leer of contempt) Do you never go for a walk in the country, Felix
Tournour?

TOURNOUR They used to take me out for walks when I was a little fellow, but they never got me out into the country since.

CHRISTY I suppose, now that you're in the porter's lodge, you watch every one that goes up and down the road?

TOURNOUR We're told to advance in knowledge, young fellow. How long is Tom Muskerry the Master of Garrisowen Workhouse?

TOURNOUR Twenty-nine years. I was born in the workhouse, and I mind when the Master came in to it. Whist now, here he is, and time for him.

He falls into an officious manner. He closes up the stove and puts bucket away. Then he goes over to desk, and, with his foot on the rung of the office stool, he turns the gas on full. Christy Clarke gets out of armchair, and begins to arrange the periodicals that are on wooden chair. The corridor door opens. The man who appears is not the Master, however. He is the blind piper, Myles Gorman, who is dressed in the pauper garb. Myles Gorman is a Gael of the West of Ireland, with a face full of intellectual vigour. He is about sixty, and carries himself with energy. His face is pale and he has a fringe of a white beard. The eye-balls in his head are contracted, but it is evident he has some vestiges of sight. Before the others are aware who he is, he has advanced into the room. He stands there now turning the attentive face of the blind .

GORMAN Felix Tournour! Ay, ay. Good night, Felix Tournour. When will the Master be back?

CHRISTY Yes (speaking as if to a deaf man) The Master will be going the rounds in a while, and you can speak to him in the ward.

GORMAN I've a favour to ask the Master, and I don't want to ask it before the others. (To Christy) Will the Master be here soon, a vick vig? [6]

TOURNOUR (taking him by the shoulders) Here, now, come on, this is your way out.

TOURNOUR This oul' fellow came into the office, and I was leading him back into his ward.

Tournour retreats to the stove and takes up the bucket; after a look behind he goes out and closes the corridor door. Christy Clarke takes the periodicals over to table and sits down. Myles Gorman has been eager and attentive. Thomas Muskerry stands with his back to the stove. He is over sixty. He is a large man, fleshy in face and figure, sanguine and benevolent in disposition. He has the looks and movements of one in authority. His hair is white and long; his silver beard is trimmed. His clothes are loosely fitting. He wears no overcoat, but has a white knitted muffler round his neck. He has on a black, broad-brimmed hat, and carries a walking-stick.

MUSKERRY
You should proffer your request when I'm in the ward.
However, I'm ready to give you my attention.

GORMAN I'm a blinded man, Master, and when you're in the ward I can't get you by yourself conveniently. I can't come up to you like the other oul' men and speak to you private like.

GORMAN (eagerly) They tell me that to-morrow's the market-day, and I thought that you might give me a pass, and let me go out about the town.

GORMAN I'm not thinking of the music at all, Master, but to be out in the day and to feel the throng moving about, and to be talking to the men that do be on the roads.

MUSKERRY We'll consider it, Gorman. (He takes off muffler, and puts it on back of armchair)

GORMAN
Well, I'm very much obliged to your honour. Good night to you,
Master. (He passes Muskerry and goes towards the door. Muskerry has
been regarding him)

GORMAN I was driving cattle, and I was dealing in horses. Then I took up with an oul' man, and he taught me the pipes. I'm playing the pipes ever since, and that's thirty years ago. Well, the eyes began to wither up on me, and now I've only a stim of sight. I'm a blinded man from this out, Master.

GORMAN
Oh, sure the roads of Ireland are before me when I leave this;
I'll be playing my bit of music. (He moves to the door)

GORMAN
Ne'er a chick nor child belonging to me. Ne'er a woman lay by
me. I went the road by myself. Will you think of what I asked you,
Master?

GORMAN
Good night to your honour. Remember my name, Master—Gorman,
Myles Gorman.

MUSKERRY Now, Christy Clarke, I consider that the man gone out is a very exceptional man.

MUSKERRY
Yes. I'd even say that, considering his station in life,
Myles Gorman is a very superior man.

MUSKERRY And maybe he's not. I consider, however, that there's great intelligence in his face. He stands before you, and you feel that he has the life of a young colt, and then you're bound to think that, in spite of the fact that he's blind and a wanderer, the man has not wasted his life. (Muskerry settles himself in the armchair)

CHRISTY He and his brother had a farm between them. His brother was married, and one day the brother told Myles to go to Dublin to see a comrade of his who was sick. Myles was home in a week, and when he came back he found that his brother had sold the place and was gone out of the country.

MUSKERRY He sent Myles Gorman to his own life. He's a man who went his own way always; a man who never had any family nor any affairs; a man far different from me, Christy Clarke. I was always in the middle of affairs. Then, too, I busied myself about other people. It was for the best, I think; but that's finished. On the desk under your hand is a letter, and I want you to bring it to me.

CHRISTY (reading another letter) "I am about to add to the obligations under which I stand to you, by recommending to your notice my grandson, Albert Crilly—"

MUSKERRY That's the letter. It's the last of its kind. Bring it to me. (Christy Clarke brings over the letter) There comes a turn in the blood and a turn in the mind, Christy. This while back I've been going out to the country instead of into the town, and coming back here in the evenings I've seen the workhouse with the big wall around it, and the big gate going into it, and I've said to myself that Thomas Muskerry ought to be as secure and contented here as if he was in his own castle.

MUSKERRY Look round at the office, Christy. I've made it as fit for me as the nest for the wren. I'll spend a few more years here, and then I'll go out on pension. I won't live in the town, I've seen a place in the country I'd like, and the people will be leaving it in a year or two.

MUSKERRY I'll say no more about it now, but it's not far from this, and its near the place, where I was reared.

MUSKERRY As Oliver Goldsmith my fellow county man, and I might almost say, my fellow parishioner, says—What's this the lines are about the hare, Christy?

CHRISTY "And like the Hare whom Hounds and Horns pursue Pants to the place from whence at first he flew."

MUSKERRY Aye. "And like the Hare whom Hounds and Horns pursue"— (The clock strikes nine)

MUSKERRY (startled) Would you believe it, now, it was nearly passing my mind to go on the rounds? (He rises, putting the letter in his pocket) Where's that fellow, Albert Crilly? He was to have been in here to give me a hand with the abstracts. Christy Clarke, go down to Miss Coghlan's and get me two novelettes. Bring me up two nice love stories, and be here when I come back.

Christy Clarke takes his cap off rack and goes out. Thomas Muskerry puts on his scarf, goes to the rack and takes down the bunch of keys. As he is going out Felix Tournour enters with a bucket of coal. He carries it over to the stove .

Thomas Muskerry goes out by corridor door. Felix Tournour takes brush from under desk, left, and begins to sweep in the direction of corridor door .

TOURNOUR Sweeping, sweeping! I'll run out of the house some day on account of the work I've to do for Master Thomas Muskerry. (He leans on his brush in front of stove) I know why you're going for walks in the country, my oul' cod. There's them in town that you've got enough of. You don't want to go bail for Madam Daughter, nor for Count Crofton Crilly, your son-in-law, nor for the Masters and Mistresses; all right, my oul' cod-fish. That I may see them laying you out on the flags of Hell. (He puts the brush standing upright, and speaks to it) :

"The Devil went out for a ramble at night,
Through Garrisowen Union to see every sight.
The ould men were dreaming of meat to come near them,
And the Devil cocked ears at the words for to hear them.
'Twice a year we get meat,' said the toothless oul' men,
'Oh, Lord send the meat won't be too tough again.'
To clear away dishes Mick Fogarty goes,
May the Devil burn the nails off his toes.
Deep dreaming that night of fast days before,
Sagging the walls with the pull of his snore,
In his chamber above Thomas Muskerry lay snug,
When the Devil this summons roared in his lug—"

The door of the Master's apartments is opened and Albert Crilly enters. Albert Crilly is a young man, who might be a bank clerk or a medical student. He is something of a dude, but has a certain insight and wit .

TOURNOUR He's well off that can get somebody else to do the work for him. (He continues to sweep towards corridor)

ALBERT Tournour, you're a damned clever fellow. I heard a piece of yours yesterday that I thought was damned good.

TOURNOUR (taking a step towards him) Don't let the boss hear, and I'll tell it to you, Mr. Albert. (He holds the brush in his hands and is about to begin the recitation when Crofton Crilly enters from the Master's apartments. Crofton Crilly has a presentable appearance. He is big and well made, has a fair beard and blue eyes. A pipe is always in his mouth. He is a loiterer, a talker, a listener)

CRILLY (with easy contempt) Go on with it, man; I'll leave a pint in Keegan's for you.

"In his chamber above—a—a person lay snug,
When the Devil this summons roared in his lug—
'Get up,' said the Devil, 'and swear you'll be true,
And the oath of allegiance I'll tender anew.
You'll have pork, veal, and lamb, mutton-chops, fowl and fish,
Cabbage and carrots and leeks as you wish.
No fast days to you will make visitation,
For your sake the town will have dispensation.
Long days you will have, without envy or strife,
And when you depart you'll find the same life,
And in the next world you'll have your will and your sway,
With a Poorhouse to govern all your own way,
And I'll promise you this; to keep up your state,
You'll have Felix Tournour to watch at the gate.'"

CRILLY That's damn good. I must get a copy of the whole of it to show at Keegan's.

Tournour has swept as far as the corridor door. He opens it and sweeps down the passage. He goes out and closes door .

CRILLY That's a damn clever fellow. (He becomes anxious, as with a troubled recollection. He goes to the little cabinet, opens it, and takes out a bottle of whisky and a glass. He pours some whisky into the glass, and remains looking at himself in the mirror. He smooths his beard. He goes to the arm chair with the glass of whisky, the anxious expression still on his face) This is a cursed town. (He drinks)

CRILLY But this is an extraordinarily cursed town. Everybody's in debt to everybody else. I don't know what's to be done. Now, imagine that fellow, James Covey, failing in business and getting clear out of the town.

CRILLY
Albert, you don't know how these financial things work out.
Do you think would his brother settle?

CRILLY
Well … with any of the … any of the people that have …
I don't know. It's a cursed town. If I had joined the police at your
age, I'd have a pension by this, and I mightn't care for any of them.

CRILLY 'Pon my soul, Albert, I don't know what's to be done. ( His mind wanders off) I suppose the abstracts have to go out in the morning.

CRILLY The Guardians hear that he's late in the mornings, Albert, and some of them are beginning to question his fitness to check the stores.

CRILLY
I suppose he ought. I'm not wishing for his resignation myself,
Albert. You know your mother regards it as a settled thing that he
should come and live with us.

CRILLY It mightn't be bad. Scollard mightn't want Nancy's money under that arrangement. Still I don't like the idea of the old man living in the house.

ALBERT The mother would never think of letting him take himself and his pension anywhere else.

ALBERT I wouldn't be surprised if he did go somewhere else. I hear he often goes up to that cottage in Stradrina.

ALBERT Briar Cottage. I hear he sits down there, and talks of coming to live in the place.

CRILLY (warningly) Albert, don't clap hands behind the bird. Take my word, and say nothing about it.

Mrs. Crilly enters from corridor. She is a woman of forty, dressed
in a tailor-made costume. She has searching eyes. There is something
of hysteria about her mouth. She has been good-looking.

ALBERT I'm working at them. It's a good job we didn't leave the old man much latitude for making mistakes.

MRS. CRILLY Well. Let him be sent away without a pension. Of course, he can live with us the rest of his life and give us nothing for keeping him.

CRILLY I don't know what's in your mind at all, Marianne. (He crosses over to the cabinet, opens it, and fills out another glass of whisky)

CRILLY (coming back to stove) Do, Marianne. Let him do what suits himself. For the present.

MRS. CRILLY For pity's sake put down that glass and listen to what I have to say.

MRS. CRILLY James Scollard came to me to-day, and he told me about the things that are noticed…. The nuns notice them, the Guardians notice them. He misses Mass. He is late on his rounds. He can't check the stores that are coming into the house. He may get himself into such trouble that he'll be dismissed with only an apology for a pension, or with no pension at all.

MRS. CRILLY If he could be got to resign now James Scollard would have a good chance of becoming Workhouse Master. He would marry Anna, and we would still have some hand in the affairs of the House.

ALBERT Well, here he is what's called a potentate. He won't care to come down and live over Crilly's shop.

MRS. CRILLY What crowd? The boys can be sent to school, you'll be on your situation, and Anna will be away. (She seats herself in the armchair) I don't know what Albert means when he says that the Master would not be content to live with us. It was always settled that he would come to us when his service was over.

Albert, who has been going over the books, has met something that surprises him. He draws Crilly to the desk. The two go over the papers, puzzled and excited. Anna Crilly enters from corridor. She is a handsome girl of about nineteen or twenty, with a rich complexion dark hair and eyes. She is well dressed, and wears a cap of dark fur. She stands at the stove, behind her mother, holding her hands over the stove. Mrs. Crilly watches the pair at the desk .

MRS. CRILLY We can't think of allowing a pension of fifty pounds a year to go out of our house. Where will we get money to send the boys to school?

ANNA Grandfather goes to Martin's cottage nearly every evening, and stays there for hours. They'll be leaving the place in a year or two, and Grandfather was saying that he would take the cottage when he retired from the Workhouse.

MRS. CRILLY And that's the reason why he has kept away from us. He goes to strangers, and leaves us in black ignorance of his thought.

Albert turns round deliberately, leaving his father going through the papers in desperate eagerness. Albert takes a cigarette from behind his ear, takes a match-box from his waistcoat pocket, and strikes a light. He goes towards door of apartments. Mrs. Crilly rises .

ALBERT
It's a matter of fifty pounds. The old man has let the
Guardians pay for a hundred tons of coal when only fifty were
delivered.

ALBERT There were fifty tons of coal already in stores, but the Governor didn't take them into account. That cute boy, James Covey, delivered fifty tons and charged for the hundred. The old man passed on the certificate, and the Guardians paid Covey. They helped him to his passage to America. (He opens door and goes through)

ANNA And how would they know at this time whether there was a hundred or a hundred and fifty tons there at first?

CRILLY The business men amongst them would know. However, there won't be an inspection for some time.

ANNA
Suppose grandfather had got his pension and had left the
Workhouse, who would know about the coal?

CRILLY (at door of apartments) After all, I'm one of the Guardians, and something might be done.

MRS. CRILLY You can do nothing. We can do nothing for him. Let him go to the strangers.

MRS. CRILLY If he resigns now his pension will be safe. There is nothing else against him.

MRS. CRILLY (abandoning a position) Well, after your grandfather gets his pension we could make some arrangement with the Guardians.

MRS. CRILLY We could give you the eighty pounds, Anna, but after that we would need all the help we could get from you.

MRS. CRILLY (again taking up a position) But if we help James Scollard to the place.

ANNA (with determination) Whether Mr. Scollard gets the place or does not get the place, I'll want my fortune, mother.

MRS. CRILLY Very well, Anna. If we could get him to come over. … (She sits in arm chair) There's a lamb in Ginnell's field; you might call in to-morrow and ask them to prepare it for us.

Some one is coming up the passage. Anna's hand is on handle of door.
She holds it open. Thomas Muskerry stands there .

MUSKERRY
This Nancy girl is looking remarkably well. (He turns to
Mrs. Crilly) Well, ma'am, and how are you? I've written that letter
for that rascally Albert.

He leaves his stick on table and goes to desk. Mrs. Crilly watches him. Anna comes to her. Muskerry addresses an envelope with some labour. Mrs. Crilly notices a tress of Anna's hair falling down. Anna kneels down beside her. She takes off Anna's cap, settles up the hair, and puts the cap on again. Having addressed the envelope, Muskerry holds up a piece of wax to the gas. He seals the letter then holds it out .

MUSKERRY Here's the letter now, and maybe it's the last thing I can do for any of ye.

MUSKERRY
In season and out of season I've put myself at your service.
I can do no more for ye.

She takes the letter from him. His resentment is breaking down. He
sits on chair beside armchair. He speaks in a reconciling tone .

MUSKERRY
I dreamt of him last night. I thought Joseph became a bishop.
He ought to be reared for the Church, Marianne. Well, well, I've
nothing more to do with that. (He settles himself in the armchair)
Did Christy Clarke bring in the papers?

MUSKERRY Stand here till I look at you Nancy. (Anna comes left of stove) I wouldn't be surprised if you were the best-looking girl in the town, Nancy.

ANNA (without any coquettishness) Anna Crilly is riot going into competition with the others. (She wraps the muffler round him, then kisses him) Good night, grandpapa. (She goes out by corridor door)

MRS. CRILLY Well, we can't tell a bad story of you, and things are well with us.

MUSKERRY I'll send round a bottle of wine. Perhaps we'll be in the way of celebrating something for Albert.

MRS. CRILLY
You could get somebody to look after the House. James
Scollard would do it, and you could stay out for a few days.

MUSKERRY Well, indeed, I'll do no such thing. What put it into your head to ask me this?

MUSKERRY I suppose you heard I was late a few mornings. No matter for that. I'm as well as ever I was. No more talk about it; I'm going on with the work. (He rises and goes over to desk)

MRS. CRILLY I'm sorry to say that no one else thinks as well of you as you do yourself.

MUSKERRY
Well, I'll hear no more about it, and that's enough about it.
Why isn't Albert Crilly here?

MUSKERRY I'll want him. (He takes up a card left on the desk. He turns round and reads) —"You have let the Guardians pay for a hundred tons. James Covey delivered only fifty tons of coal." Who left this here?

MUSKERRY The impudent rascal. How dare he address himself like that to me? (He throws card on table)

MUSKERRY No matter whether he did or not, he'll have to have respect when he addresses me. Anyway it's a lie—a damn infernal lie. I was in the stores the other day, and there was eighty tons of coal still there. Certainly twenty tons had been taken out of it. The Provision Check Account will show. (He takes up a book and turns round. He goes back some pages. He lets the book fall. He stands there helpless) I suppose you all are right in your judgment of me. I'm at my failing time. I'll have to leave this without pension or prospect. They'll send me away.

MUSKERRY Before this comes out. (He looks for help) Marianne, it would be like the blow to the struck ox if I lost my pension.

MRS. CRILLY
If you managed to get the pension you could pay the
Guardians back in a lump sum.

MRS. CRILLY You'll have the place to yourself. The boys will be going to school, and Albert will be away, too. Anna and myself will look after you.

MUSKERRY Remember what I said, Marianne. I've worked for you and yours, in season and out of season. There should be no more claims on me.

MUSKERRY
I'm willing to leave in the shop what I put into the shop.
Let Anna know that it will come to her from me. I'll write to the
Guardians to-night and I'll send in my resignation. I venture to
think that they'll know their loss.

MUSKERRY (by himself) And I had made this place as fit for me as the nest for the wren. Wasn't he glad to write that card, the impudent rascal, with his tongue in his cheek? I'll consider it again. I won't leave this place till it fits myself to leave it.

MUSKERRY Thirty years, thirty years. Ay, Christy, thirty years; it's a long time. And I'm at my failing time. Perhaps I'm not able to do any more. Day after day there would be troubles here, and I wouldn't be able to face them. And in the end I might lose my position. I'm going to write out my resignation. (He goes to the desk and writes. Christy is at table. Muskerry turns round after writing)

MUSKERRY No one that comes here can have the same heart for the poor that I had. I was earning in the year of the famine. I saw able men struggling to get the work that would bring them a handful of Indian meal. And I saw the little children waiting on the roads for relief. (He turns back and goes on with letter. Suddenly a bell in the House begins to toll) What's that for, Christy?

MUSKERRY Aye, I gave orders to toll him when he died. He was an estated gentleman, and songs were made about his family. People used to annoy him, but he's gone from them now. Bring me a little whisky, Christy.

MUSKERRY (bitterly) No, I suppose not. And is that rascal, Albert Crilly, coming back?

CHRISTY
He's coming, Mister Muskerry. I left the novelette on the
table. Miss Coghlan says it's a nice love story. "The Heart of
Angelina," it is called.

Christy Clarke goes out through apartments. Thomas Muskerry is
standing with hand on arm chair. The bell tolls .

CURTAIN

ACT SECOND

In Crilly's, a month later. The room is the parlour off the shop. A glass door, right, leads into the shop, and the fireplace is above this door. In the back, right, is a cupboard door. Back is a window looking on the street. A door, left, leads to other rooms. There is a table near shop door and a horse-hair sofa back, an armchair at fire, and two leather-covered chairs about. Conventional pictures on walls, and two certificates framed, showing that some one in the house has passed some Intermediate examinations.

It is the forenoon of an April day. Mrs. Crilly is seated on sofa, going through a heap of account books. Anna Crilly is at window. Crofton Crilly enters from the shop.

CRILLY The Guardians insisted on appointing an outside person to take stock of the workhouse stores. It's the new regulation, you know. Well, the job lay between young Dobbs and Albert, and Albert has got it. I don't say but it was a near thing.

ANNA I know who those two children are now. They are the new gas-manager's children.

ANNA And married for the second time. Mother, Mrs. Dunne is going to the races. Such a sketch of a hat.

MRS. CRILLY It would be better for her if she stayed at home and looked after her business.

ANNA She won't have much business to look after soon. That's the third time her husband has come out of Farrell's public-house.

CRILLY He's drinking with the Dispensary Doctor. Companions! They're the curse of this town, Marianne. (He sits down)

CRILLY
Yes, I am uneasy, Marianne. There's some presentment on me.
Fifty pounds a year is a good pension for the old man. He's a month
out now. He ought to be getting an instalment.

ANNA (imitating an accent) Send up a pound of butter, two pounds of sugar, and a pound of tea.

MRS. CRILLY
These people are paying nobody. But we can't refuse her.
I suppose we'll have to send them up. Be very distant with her, Anna.

MRS. CRILLY It's from the bank. They want me to call. What does the bank manager want with me, I wonder?

CRILLY I have something to tell you, Marianne. I'll tell you in a while. (He takes a turn up and down)

CRILLY
The bank manager sent for me when he came to the town after
Covey cleared.

CRILLY There's no use in beating about the bush. The bill was for three hundred pounds.

CRILLY I'm sorry to say, Marianne, the bank has taken the money over from our account.

CRILLY You should never forgive me, Marianne. I'll go to America and begin life again. (He turns to go out by shop)

James Scollard comes in. Anna is behind him. Scollard has an
account book in his hand .

SCOLLARD Don't go, Mr. Crilly. I have something particular to say to yourself and Mrs. Crilly.

Anna brings chair, and Scollard sits center. Anna stands behind him.
Mrs. Crilly sits left of him .

MRS. CRILLY We couldn't wish for a better match for Anna. But I feel bound to tell you, Mr. Scollard, that we have had a very severe loss in our business.

MRS. CRILLY I don't mind telling you. Mr. Crilly has made himself responsible for a bill on the bank.

Crofton Crilly comes back from shop. He brings in a glass of whisky.
He puts whisky on chimney-piece.

CRILLY Oh, I was just thinking—about a bill you know—If some one would go security for us at the bank—

MRS. CRILLY It's unnecessary to talk like that. In spite of your foolishness, we still have a balance at the bank.

SCOLLARD I have been definitely appointed Master of the Union, and I may say that Anna and myself are anxious to marry.

SCOLLARD I am anxious to settle down, Mrs. Crilly. I'm on my way to a meeting of the Board of Guardians, but before I go I'd like to have some more information about your loss.

MRS. CRILLY Anna's portion is not touched, but we could hardly afford to let the money go from us now.

SCOLLARD Very severe, indeed. Still, you understand, Mrs. Crilly, the difficulties of taking such a step as marriage without adequate provision.

MRS. CRILLY Yes, Anna. But I'd like to tell Mr. Scollard that it would come as a strain on us to let the money go at once.

ANNA
James has ambitions, and there's no reason why he shouldn't
venture for the post of Secretary of the County Council when old
Mr. Dobbs retires.

SCOLLARD In a few years, Mrs. Crilly, when I had more official experience and some reputation.

SCOLLARD As I said, a man like myself would want to be in a perfectly solvent position.

SCOLLARD
I never had the chance of putting money by—Family calls,
Mrs. Crilly.

MRS. CRILLY You won't want the whole of the money. I'll give you forty pounds now.

SCOLLARD I need only say this. Anna and myself were talking over affairs, and we came to the conclusion it would be best not to start with less than eighty pounds. (He rises) I have to go down to the Board Room now, for there is a meeting of the Guardians. (He goes towards door)

ANNA But, mother, if I don't get all my money, what security have I that what's left will be good in six months or a year?

MRS. CRILLY Forty pounds will be given to you and forty pounds will be kept safe for you.

ANNA Forty pounds! There's not a small farmer comes into the shop but his daughter has more of a dowry than forty pounds.

MRS. CRILLY Well, you know the way we're situated. If you insist on getting eighty pounds we'll have to make an overdraft on the bank, and, in the way business is, I don't know how we'll ever recover it.

ANNA There won't be much left out of eighty pounds when we get what suits us in furniture.

MRS. CRILLY Come upstairs. (Anna goes, left) Three hundred pounds of a loss. Eighty pounds with that. I'm terrified when I think. (She goes after Anna)

Crofton Crilly comes in from shop. He takes glass of whisky from table, and sits down in arm chair .

CRILLY I don't know what Marianne's to do at all. She has a shocking lot to contend with. Can anything be got from the old man, I wonder?

ALBERT 'Pon my word, father, the mother will have to take out a mandamus against you.

ALBERT Temporary clerkship in the Land Department. I wonder would the mother let me have the money for clothes?

ALBERT I have a card from a Dublin tailor in my pocket. If I could pay him for one suit, I could get another on tick.

CRILLY
I tell you not to talk to your mother about money. That fellow,
Scollard, has put her out.

CRILLY
Money again. Wants the whole of Anna's portion down. And
Anna's backing him up, too. I don't know how your mother can stand it.
I don't like Scollard. Then you won't be staying on, Albert, to do
the stocktaking in the Workhouse?

CRILLY Between you and me, Albert, women aren't acquainted with the working of affairs, and they expect unusual things to happen. Who will they make stocktaker, now?

ALBERT Young Dobbs, likely. I suppose the whole business about the coal will come out then?

CRILLY I suppose it will; but say nothing about it now, Albert. Let the hare sit.

CRILLY (rising) I wonder what they think about Scollard in the Poor-house. (He and Albert go into the shop as Muskerry enters from left)

Muskerry is untidily dressed. His boots are unlaced. He walks across the room and speaks pettishly .

MUSKERRY They haven't brought my soup yet. They won't give much of their time to me. I'm disappointed in Anna Crilly. Well, a certain share in this shop was to have gone to Anna Crilly. I'll get that share, and I'll hoard it up myself. I'll hoard it up. And the fifty pounds of my pension, I'll hoard that up, too.

MUSKERRY That's a black fire that's in the grate. I don't like the coal that comes into this place.

ALBERT (talking into the shop) You're wanted here, Tournour. Come in now or I'll entertain the boss with "The Devil's Rambles." (He turns to Muskerry) I was given the job of stocktaking.

MUSKERRY I was too precipitate about the coal. But don't have me at the loss of fifty pounds through any of your smartness.

Felix Tournour enters. He looks prosperous. He has on a loud check
suit. He wears a red tie and a peaked cap .

ALBERT I suppose you don't know, grandpapa, that Tournour has a middling high position in the Poorhouse now.

"The Devil went out for a ramble at night,
Through Garrisowen Union to see every sight.
He saw Felix Tournour—"

TOURNOUR

"He saw one in comfort, of that you'll be sure.
With his back to the fire stands Felix Tournour,"

MUSKERRY
Come back here, Tournour. I made it a rule that no
Ward-master should let drink be brought in to the paupers.

TOURNOUR I dunno. I'm going away now, if your honour has nothing more to say to me. (He turns to go)

MUSKERRY Go out of the house. No, stay here. You think I'm out of the Workhouse. No. That's not so. I've claims, great claims, on it still. Not for nothing was I there for thirty years, the pattern for the officials of Ireland.

TOURNOUR The Guardians might take an account of Thomas Muskerry in a way he mightn't like. (He goes to door)

TOURNOUR Aye, you and your fifty tons of coal. (Muskerry goes back from him) Great claims on the Workhouse have you. The Guardians will take account of you. Will they? Talk to them about the fifty tons of coal. Go and do that, my pattern of the officials of Ireland!

MUSKERRY This minute I'll go down to the Guardians and make my complaint. (He notices his appearance) I'm going about all day with my boots unlaced. I'm falling into bad ways, bad, slovenly ways. And my coat needs brushing, too. (He takes off his coat and goes to window and brushes it) That's Myles Gorman going back to the Workhouse. I couldn't walk with my head held as high as that. In this house I am losing my uprightness. I'll do more than lace my boots and brush my coat. I'll go down to the Guardians and I'll pay them back their fifty pounds.

MUSKERRY No, Anna, I won't take anything until my mind is at rest about the coal. A certain person has spoken to me in a way I'll never submit to be spoken to again.

MUSKERRY Felix Tournour knows about the coal, Marianne. He can disgrace me before the world.

ANNA And grandpapa wants to go before the Guardians and pay them back the fifty pounds.

MUSKERRY
No, Marianne. I'm not going to be a party to this any longer.
I'm going before the Guardians, and I'll pay them back their fifty
pounds.

MRS. CRILLY I'll do no such thing. Anna is getting married, and she claims her fortune.

MUSKERRY
Anna getting married. This was kept from me. And who is
Anna getting married to?

MUSKERRY To James Scollard. And so Anna is getting married to my successor, James Scollard. My successor. How well I knew there was some such scheme behind shifting me out of the Workhouse. And Anna Crilly was against me all the time. Well, well, well. I'll remember this.

MUSKERRY I'm going out now to pay back the Guardians the sum due to them from me. I want fifty pounds from you. I claim it, and I have a right to claim it.

MRS. CRILLY We have no money at all. Listen. Crofton Crilly backed a bill for James Covey, and three hundred pounds has been taken from our account.

MUSKERRY He backed a bill for three hundred pounds. And do you think, Marianne Crilly, there can be any luck, in a house where such a thing could happen? I tell you there is no luck nor grace in your house. (He puts on his hat and goes to cupboard to get his stick. He opens the cupboard. He turns round)

MUSKERRY (greatly moved) My God, my God. I'm made cry at the things that happen in this house.

MUSKERRY The good meat I brought in. There it is on the floor and the cat mangling it. I'll go out of this house, and I'll never put foot into it again.

MUSKERRY I'll go before the Board of Guardians and I'll ask them to provide for me.

MUSKERRY Your children. Yes, you have to provide for your children. I provided for them long enough. And now you would take my place, my honour, and my self-respect, and provide for them over again. (He goes out)

ANNA It's not likely they'll do that for a man with a pension of fifty pounds a year.

MRS. CRILLY He will. But everything will have been made public, and the money will have to be paid.

ANNA Towards the Workhouse. And here's the doctor's daughter coming into the shop again, mother.

MRS. CRILLY
I'll go out and see her myself. (As she goes out she
hands Anna a cheque) That's the last cheque I'll be able to make out.
There's your eighty pounds, Anna. (She goes into the shop)

CURTAIN

ACT THIRD

The infirm ward in the Workhouse. Entrance from corridor, right. Forward, left, are three beds with bedding folded upon them. Back, left, is a door leading into Select Ward. This door is closed, and a large key is in lock. Fireplace with a grating around it, left. Back, right, is a window with little leaded panes .

Two paupers are seated at fire. One of them, Mickie Cripes, is a man of fifty, stooped and hollow-chested, but with quick blue eyes. The other man, Tom Shanley, is not old, but he looks broken and listless. Myles Gorman, still in pauper dress, is standing before window, an expectant look on his face .

Thomas Muskerry enters from corridor. He wears his own clothes, but he has let them get into disorder. His hair and beard are disordered, and he seems very much broken down. Nevertheless, he looks as if his mind were composed .

MUSKERRY I find it very spiritless after coming up from the chapel. Don't pass your whole day here. Go down into the yard. (He stands before the window) This is the first fine day, and you ought to go out along the country road. Ask the Master for leave. It's the month of May, and you'll be glad of the sight of the grass and the smell of the bushes. Now here's a remarkable thing. I venture to think that the like of this has never happened before. Here are the bees swarming at the window pane.

GORMAN You'll hear my pipes on the road to-day. That's as sure as the right hand is on my body. (He goes out by corridor door)

CRIPES The buzzing at the pane would let any one know that the air is nice for a journey.

CRIPES I'll tell you what brought Thomas Muskerry back to the workhouse to be an inmate in it. Living in a bad house. Living with his own. That's what brought him back. And that's what left me here, too.

An old pauper comes into the ward. His face looks bleached. He has the handle of a sweeping-brush for a staff. He moves about the ward, muttering to himself. He seats himself on chair, right .

THE OLD MAN (speaking as if thinking aloud) I was at twelve o'clock Mass. Now one o'clock would be a late Mass. I was at Mass at one o'clock. Wouldn't that be a long time to keep a priest, and he fasting the whole time?

CRIPES I'll tell you what Thomas Muskerry did when he left the bad house he was in. (He puts coal on the fire)

THE OLD MAN I was at one o'clock Mass in Skibbereen. I know where Skibbereen is well. In the County Cork. Cork is a big county. As big as Dublin and Wicklow. That's where the people died when there was the hunger.

CRIPES He came before the meeting of the Guardians, and he told them he owed them the whole of his year's pension. Then he got some sort of a stroke, and he broke down. And the Guardians gave him the Select Ward there for himself.

CRIPES Why wouldn't they give him the Select Ward? It's right that he'd get the little room, and not have to make down the pauper's bed with the rest of us.

THE OLD MAN Skibbereen! That's where the people died when there was the hunger. Men and women without coffins, or even their clothes off. Just buried. Skibbereen I remember well, for I was a whole man then. And the village. For there are people living in it yet. They didn't all die.

CRIPES That's what they were talking about. The nuns are sending a patient up here.

SHANLEY I suppose the Ward-master will be in here to regulate the room. (He rises)

CRIPES Aye, the Ward-master. Felix Tournour, the Ward-master. You've come to your own place at last, Felix Tournour.

SHANLEY Felix Tournour will be coming the master over me if he finds me here. (Shanley goes out)

CRIPES Felix Tournour! That's the lad that will be coming in with his head up like the gander that's after beating down a child.

CRIPES He's in the room. (A sound of water splashing and the movements of a heavy person are heard) Will you be speaking with him, young fellow?

CRIPES Tell him, like a good little boy, that the oul' men would be under a favour to him if he left a bit of tobacco. You won't forget that?

CRIPES I don't want to be in the way of Felix Tournour. We're going down to the yard, but we'll see Mr. Muskerry when he's going away.

CHRISTY No news, except that my mother is in the cottage, and is expecting you to-day.

MUSKERRY I'll be in the cottage to-day, Christy. I'm cleaning myself. (A sound of splashing and moving about) The Guardians were good to get the little house for me. I'd as lieve be there as in a mansion. There's about half an acre of land to the place, and I'll do work on the ground from time to time, for it's a good thing for a man to get the smell of the clay.

MUSKERRY I'm very well in health. I was anointed, you know, and after that I mended miraculously.

MUSKERRY I'm getting three hundred pounds. They asked me to realize the pension. I hope I have life enough before me. (He comes out. He has on trousers, coat, and starched shirt. The shirt is soiled and crushed)

MUSKERRY On Saturdays I'll do my marketing. I'll come into the town, and I'll buy the bit of meat for my dinner on Sunday. But what are you doing with this portmanteau, Christy?

MUSKERRY I wish you luck, Christy. (He shakes hands with the boy, and sits down on a chair) I was dreaming on new things all last night. New shirts, new sheets, everything new.

MUSKERRY
Listen, now, and tell me do you hear anything. That's the
sound of bees swarming at the window. That's a good augury for you,
Christy.

MUSKERRY I wish success to all your efforts. Be very careful of your personal appearance.

CHRISTY I saw clean shirts of yours before the fire last night in my mother's house.

MUSKERRY You're a very willing boy, Christy, and you're sure to get on. (He goes to a little broken mirror on the wall) I am white and loose of flesh, and that's not a good sign with me, Christy. I'll tell you something. If I were staying here to-night, it's the pauper's bed I'd have to sleep on.

MRS. CRILLY A starched shirt, I suppose, Christy. Go down to our house, and tell Mary to give you one of the shirts that are folded up.

MRS. CRILLY (with nervous excitement, restrained) No one of us will ever go near the place.

MRS. CRILLY Our house is the best house in the town, and I'm the nearest person to you.

MRS. CRILLY Well, maybe you do right not to live with us, but you ought not to forsake us altogether.

MRS. CRILLY When you leave the place and do not even turn your step in our direction it's a sign to all who want to know that you forsake us altogether.

MRS. CRILLY Come up to Cross Street with me, have dinner and spend the night with us. People would have less to talk about if you did that.

MUSKERRY I wish you wouldn't trouble me, woman. Can't you see that when I go out of this I want to go to my own place?

MUSKERRY You're very anxious to get me to come with you. What do you want from me?

MRS. CRILLY We want nothing from you. You know how insecure our business is. When it's known in the town that you forsake us, everybody will close in on us.

MUSKERRY God knows I did everything that a man could do for you and yours. I won't forget you. I haven't much life left to me, and I want to live to myself.

MRS. CRILLY I know. Sure I lie awake at night, too tired to sleep, and long to get away from the things that are pressing in on me. I know that people are glad of their own way, and glad to live in the way that they like. When I heard the birds stirring I cried to be away in some place where I won't hear the thing that's always knocking at my head. The business has to be minded, and it's slipping away from us like water. And listen, if my confinement comes on me and I worried as I was last year, nothing can save me. I'll die, surely.

MRS. CRILLY Stay with us for a while, so that we'll have the name of your support.

MRS. CRILLY
That wouldn't do at all. There's a reason for what I ask.
The town must know that you are with us from the time you leave this.

MUSKERRY (with emotion) God help me with you all, and God direct me what to do.

MUSKERRY Will you never be done taking from me? I want to leave this and go to a place of my own.

Muskerry puts his hand to his eyes. When he lowers his hand again
Mrs. Crilly lays hers in it. Christy Clarke comes in. Muskerry turns
to him. Muskerry has been crying .

MRS. CRILLY I sent Mary to help to prepare the place for you, and the woman was impertinent to Mary—

MUSKERRY
No, ma'am, I'll take no one's side, but I'll tell you this.
I want my own life, and I won't be interfered with.

MRS. CRILLY I'm sorry for what occurred, and I'll apologise to the boy's mother if you like.

MUSKERRY
I won't be interfered with, I tell you. From this day out
I'm free of my own life. And now, Christy Clarke, go down stairs and
tell the Master, Mr. Scollard, that I want to see him.

MRS. CRILLY I may as well tell you something else. None of the things you ordered were sent up to the cottage.

MRS. CRILLY I went round to the shop, and everything you ordered was sent to us.

MRS. CRILLY If the town knew you were going from us, in a week we would have to put up the shutters.

MUSKERRY
Well, I'll walk out of this, and when I come to the road
I'll go my own way.

MRS. CRILLY (at corridor door) We can't prevent you going if you have the doctor's discharge.

SCOLLARD
I will be glad to take up the necessary formalities for you,
Mr. Muskerry.

MRS. CRILLY First of all, has the doctor marked my father off the infirmary list?

MRS. CRILLY My father was seriously ill only a short time ago, and I do not believe he is in a fit state to leave the infirmary.

SCOLLARD That certainly has to be considered. Without the doctor explicitly sending you down to the body of the house you are hardly under my jurisdiction, Mr. Muskerry.

MUSKERRY
Mr. Scollard, I ask you to give me leave to go out of the
Workhouse for a day. You can do this on your own responsibility.

MRS. CRILLY In the present state of his mind it's not likely he would return to-night. Then if anything happened him your situation is at stake.

MUSKERRY I'm not a pauper. I'll go out of this to-day without leave or license from any of you.

SCOLLARD As you know yourself, Mr. Muskerry, it would be as much as my situation is worth to let you depart in that way.

SCOLLARD The old arrangements will continue. Can I do anything further for you, Mr. Muskerry?

MUSKERRY No, you can do nothing further for me. It's a great deal you have done for me! It's the pauper's bed you have given me! (He goes into the Select Ward)

MRS. CRILLY The bank manager is in the town to-day, and there are people waiting to tell him whether my father goes to our house or goes away from us.

MRS. CRILLY
I have my own battle to fight, and a hard battle it is.
I have to make bits of myself to mind everything and be prepared for
everything.

MRS. CRILLY There are people who will blame me, but they cannot see into my mind.

She remains seated, looking out steadily before her. Myles Gorman
comes in. He is dressed in his own clothes .

MRS. CRILLY He expected to be in a different place to-day, but delay does little harm.

SCOLLARD Come down to the parlour, Mrs. Crilly, and drink a glass of wine with us.

They go out. The door of the Select Ward opens, and Thomas Muskerry appears. He has got a stroke. His breathing makes a noise in his mouth. As he moves he lags somewhat at the right knee. He carries his right hand at his breast. He moves slowly across ward. Felix Tournour enters, carrying a bunch of keys .

MUSKERRY (in a thickened voice) Ow—out. (Motioning with left hand. He moves across ward, and goes out on door of corridor)

TOURNOUR Well, you're not getting back to your snuggery, my oul' cod. (He goes into the Select Ward and begins to pitch Muskerry's belongings into the outer ward. First of all come the pillows and clothes off the bed) And there's your holy picture, and there's your holy book. (He comes out holding another book in official binding. He opens it and reads) "Marianne, born May the 20th, 1870." (He turns back some pages and reads) Thomas Muskerry wrote this, 1850—

"In the pleasant month of May,
When the lambkins sport and play,
As I roved out for recreation,
I spied a comely maid,
Sequestered in the shade,
And on her beauty I gazed in admiration."

"I said I greatly fear
That Mercury will draw near,
As once he appeared unto Venus,
Or as it might have been
To the Carthaginian Queen,
Or the Grecian Wight called Polyphemus."

Muskerry comes back to the ward. He stands looking stupidly at the heap Tournour has thrown out. Tournour throws down the book. Muskerry goes towards the open door of the ward. Felix Tournour closes the door deliberately turns the key and holds the key in his hand .

TOURNOUR
You have no more to do with your snug little ward, Mr.
Muskerry. (He puts the key on his bunch and goes out)

MUSKERRY (muttering with slack lips and cheeks) It's—it's—the pau—pauper's bed they've given me.

MUSKERRY I'll want to make—the bed. Give me a hand to make the bed. (Gorman comes over to him) My own sheet and blanket is here. I needn't lie on a pauper's sheet. Whose bed is this?

MUSKERRY Myles—Myles Gorman. The man that was without family or friends. Myles Gorman. Help me to lay down the mattress. Where will you sleep to-night, Myles Gorman?

GORMAN At Mrs. Muirnan's, a house between this and the town of Ballinagh. I haven't the money to pay, but she'll give me the place for to-night. Now, Master, I'll spread the sheet for you. (They spread the sheet on the bed .)

MUSKERRY Can you go down the stairs, Myles Gorman? I tried to get down the stairs and my legs failed me.

MUSKERRY (resting his hand on the bed and standing up) Sure one of the men will lead me down the stairs, too.

Myles Gorman spreads blanket on bed. He stands up, takes pipes,
and is ready to go out. Muskerry becomes more feeble. He puts
himself on the bed .

GORMAN (taking off his hat) "God be good to Thomas Muskerry, the man who was good to the poor." Is that all, Master?

He goes out. There is the sound of heavy breathing from the bed. Then silence. The old pauper with the staff enters. He is crossing the ward when his attention is taken by the humming of the bees at the window pane. He listens for a moment .

THE OLD PAUPER A bright day, and the clay on their faces. That's what I saw. And we used to be coming from Mass and going to the coursing match. The hare flying and the dogs stretching after her up the hill. Fine dogs and fine men. I saw them all.

Christy Clarke comes in. He goes to table for his bag. He sees the figure on the bed, and goes over .

CHRISTY
I'm going now, Mister Muskerry. Mister Muskerry!
Mister Muskerry! Oh! the Master is dead. (He runs back to the door)
Mrs. Crilly. Mrs. Crilly. (He goes back to the bed, and throws
himself on his knees) Oh! I'm sorry you're gone, Thomas Muskerry.

THE OLD PAUPER And is he gone home, too! And the bees humming and all! He was the best of them. Each of his brothers could lift up their plough and carry it to the other side of the field. Four of them could clear a fair. But their fields were small and poor, and so they scattered.

MRS. CRILLY No. Bring no one here yet. We killed him. When everything is known that will be known.

CHRISTY The bees at the window pane. And there's Myles Gorman's pipes on the road.

END OF PLAY

"Thomas Muskerry" was first produced on May 5th, 1910, by the Abbey Theater Company, at the Abbey Theater, Dublin, with the following cast:—

THOMAS MUSKERRY Arthur Sinclair
MRS. CRILLY Cara Allgood
CROFTON CRILLY J.M. Kerrigan
ALBERT CRILLY Eric Gorman
ANNA CRILLY Maire O'Neill
MYLES GORMAN Fred O'Donovan
FELIX TOURNOUR Sydney Morgan
JAMES SCOLLARD J.A. O'Rourke
CHRISTY CLARKE U. Wright
MICKIE GRIPES Fred Rowland
TOM SHANLEY Ambrose Power
AN OLD PAUPER J.M. Kerrigan.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THREE PLAYS: THE FIDDLER'S HOUSE, THE LAND, THOMAS MUSKERRY ***

Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed.

Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark license, especially commercial redistribution.

START: FULL LICENSE

PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work (or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at www.gutenberg.org/license.

Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works

1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™ electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property (trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.

1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.

1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the United States and you are located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™ works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when you share it without charge with others.

1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any country other than the United States.

1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, copied or distributed:

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org . If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™ trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.

1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™ License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™.

1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project Gutenberg™ License.

1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website (www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works provided that:

• You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.”
• You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™ License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™ works.
• You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of receipt of the work.
• You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works.

1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.

1.F.

1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment.

1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGE.

1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further opportunities to fix the problem.

1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.

1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any Defect you cause.

Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™

Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from people in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.

Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit 501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.

The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact

Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations ($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt status with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate .

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who approach us with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate.

Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works

Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.

Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.

Most people start at our website which has the main PG search facility: www.gutenberg.org .

This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™, including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.