Three Plays: The Fiddler's House, The Land, Thomas Muskerry Part 13

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

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

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

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

_He takes up a bottle and fills two gla.s.ses_.

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

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

_Anne goes out. James takes the gla.s.s from Conn_.

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

_He drinks_.

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

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

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

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

_He comes down to dresser. Maire goes up to window, and remains looking out_.

CONN Is there any one coming here, Maire?

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

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

_Maire takes paper out, and looks at it_.

CONN What paper is that, Maire?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CONN The road for the fiddler.

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

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

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

CONN Sure I did it before, Maire.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MAIRE Father, stay here where the shelter is.

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

MAIRE The people here are kinder than you think.

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

MAIRE I know that, father.

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

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