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

      ANNE

       What happened to you? What always happens to you?

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

      ANNE Ever since I can remember, you treated us like that. Bringing us into drinking-places and we little. It's well we got to know anything, or got into the way of being mannerly at all.

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

      ANNE

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

      CONN

       Well, we can do without him. There's something to be done to-day.

       I said I'd do the bit of mowing, and I was thinking of that all along.

       (He looks at Maire) Did you hear what happened to me, Maire?

      MAIRE

       It's no matter at all.

      CONN

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

      ANNE

       In troth we might have known that.

      CONN

       But did you hear what happened to me?

      ANNE How could we hear? It was Maire went to the door, and there you were coming up the path; and we thinking you were in bed, resting yourself.

      CONN I went over to Flynn's, but I had good reason for going there. (He puts the fiddle down on the table) Didn't you hear there were Sligomen in the town, Maire? Well, one of them was in the way of rewarding the prizes. I told you about the Feis; well, it's no matter now, I'll say no more about that. At all events the man I mentioned wanted to know what music was in the country, so he sent a message to myself.

      ANNE (as satirical as she can be) That was kind of him.

      CONN It was. I could do no less than go. I'll rest myself now, and then get ready for the mowing. (He goes to the room door; he turns again and watches Maire) Maire, I'm sorry you weren't on the spot. You might have advised me. I couldn't think of where you went or I'd have followed you. I had to make haste.

      MAIRE

       It's no matter at all now.

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

      ANNE

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

      She gets the tea ready. Maire remains motionless.

      CONN Well, I have the pattern of daughters, anyway. I wouldn't give this house for the praise of Ireland, no, not if they carried me on their backs. (Anne takes the tea up to the room) It's a pity you weren't there, Maire, though of course I wouldn't bring you into such a place. But they were decent fellows, decent, warm-hearted fellows. If you were to see their faces when I played An Chaitin Donn. I'll warrant they'll be whistling it, though they never heard the tune before. And the manners they have! I offered the fiddle to one of them. "No," says he, "not a string will I touch while the master of us is here." That's something like the spirit. (Maire has turned to him and is attentive) But there, I won't fill myself up with false music telling you about it all.

      He turns to the room.

      MAIRE

       Bring up your fiddle.

      CONN (taking fiddle and going towards room again) It will be as good as sound sleeping for me. I'll never forget it. Flynn will never forget it. It will be the making of Flynn.

      Maire rises.

      MAIRE

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

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

      ANNE

       O Maire, what will become of us at all?

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

      ANNE

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

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

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

      ANNE

       Why?

      MAIRE How could you take such things upon you and life stretching out before you? You're not young enough, Anne. Besides, it's not what we say; it's what we feel. No, it's not what we feel either; it's what grows up in us.

      ANNE

       He might never do the like again.

      MAIRE

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

      ANNE

       Will we ever get out of it, Maire?

      James enters.

      MAIRE

       You have only a while to stay with us.

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

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

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

      JAMES I hope you liked the company, Maire. I'm afraid there was very little to be called refined or scholarly, and the conversation at times was homely enough. But we did our best, and we were proud to see you.

      MAIRE

       Sit down, James.

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

      JAMES

       Your father is outside, maybe?

      MAIRE

       No. He's above in the room.

      JAMES Yes. Practising, I suppose. Them that have the gift have to mind the gift. In this country there isn't much thought for poetry, or music, or scholarship. Still, a few of us know that a while must be spared from the world if we are to lay up riches in the mind.

      ANNE

       I hope there's nothing wrong at home?

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

      MAIRE

       And what is it, James?

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

      ANNE

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

      JAMES Ay, he liked you well enough, I can tell you that, Anne. This morning when he took a stick in his hand, I knew he was making ready for a journey, for the horse is laid up. "Walk down a bit with me," said he, "and we'll go over a few things that are in my mind." Well, I walked down with him, and indeed we had a serious conversation.

      ANNE

       Well?

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

      MAIRE

       Sure in a while Anne will be twenty.

      JAMES (turning to Maire) Ten years from this father would still think Anne too young. And late marriages, as everybody knows, is the real weakness of the country.

      ANNE