Large posters everywhere announced the holding of a concert in
Garradrimna. As in many other aspects of life in the village, it was
not given to John Brennan to see their full meaning. He had not even
seen in Thomas James, who posted the bills, a symbolic figure, but only
one whom disaster had overtaken through the pursuit of his passion. For
many a year had Thomas James gone about in this way, foretelling some
small event in the life of Garradrimna. Now it was a race-meeting or a
circus, again an auction or a fair. All the while he had been slipping
into his present condition, and herein lay the curious pathos of him.
For he would never post like this the passing of his own life; he would
never set up a poster of Eternity.
It was curious to think of that, no poster at all of the exact moment
amid the mass of Time when the Great White Angel would blow his blast
upon the Shining Trumpet to awaken all Earth by its clear, wide ringing
across the Seven Seas.
John Brennan spoke to his mother of the concert.
"The cheek of them I do declare, with their concert. People don't find
it hard enough to get their money without giving it to them. Bits of
shop-boys and shop-girls! But I suppose they want new clothes and
costumes for the summer. I'll go bail you'll see them girls with new
hats after this venture."
"The bills announce that it is for the Temperance Club funds."
"And them's the quare funds, you might say, and the quare club. Young
fellows and young girls meeting in the one room to get up plays. No
good can come of it."
"Of course we need not attend if we don't like."
"Ah, we must go all the same. If we didn't, 'tis what they would say
mebbe that we hadn't the means, and so we must let them know that we
have. It wouldn't be nice to see you away from it."
"I have no desire to go, mother, I assure you. A quiet evening more or
less will not matter."
"But sure it'll be a bit of diversion and amusement."
"Yes, that is exactly what I was thinking, so I didn't see anything
very wrong in going or in supporting those who organized it. But if you
don't care to go, it does not matter."
"Ah, but wouldn't it be the quare thing to see your mother ignorant and
not having a word to say about what was after passing to any one that
would come in, and they knowing the whole thing? Now what you'll do for
me, John, is this. You'll go into Phillips's this evening and get two
of the most expensive tickets, one for yourself and one for me."
John Brennan had a momentary realization of the pitiful vanity behind
this speech. He remained thinking while she went upstairs for the price
of the tickets, for that must be her object, he fancied, in ascending
into the upper story. He could hear her moving a trunk and opening it.
The sounds came to him with perfect clearness in the still room and
struck him with a sense of their little mournfulness, even though he
was quite unaware that his mother had secretly begun the destruction
of a bright portion of her life's dream.
In the evening he went to the village for the tickets.
"It'll be a grand turn-out," said Jimmy Phillips, as he took in the
money and blinked in anticipation with his one eye.
"I'm sure," said John, as he left the little shop where you might buy
the daily newspaper and sweets and everything.
He strolled up the street towards the old castle of the De Lacys. The
local paper, published at Mullaghowen, was never tired of setting down
its fame. The uncouth historians of the village had almost exhausted
their adjectives in relating the exploits of this marauding baron of
the Normans who had here built him a fortress, from which his companies
of conquering freebooters had sallied forth so long ago. Yet, as an
extraordinary mistake on the part of those who concerned themselves so
intimately with the life around them, they had altogether missed the
human side of the crumbling ruin. Of what romances of knighthood it
had once been the scene? Of what visions of delight when fair women
had met cuirassed gallants? Of all that pride which must have reared
itself aloft in this place which was now the resort, by night, of the
most humble creatures of the wild? Not one of them had ever been able
to fancy the thoughts which must have filled the mind of Hugh De Lacy
as he drew near this noble monument of his glory after some successful
expedition against the chieftains of the Pale.
Through the thin curtain of the twilight John Brennan saw two figures
stealing from the labyrinthine ways which led beneath the castle into
what were known as "The Cells." These were dark, narrow places in which
two together would be in close proximity, and it was out from them that
this man and this woman were now stealing. He could not be certain of
their identity, but they looked like two whom he knew.... And he had
heard that Rebecca Kerr was going to sing at the concert, and also
that Ulick Shannon was coaching the Garradrimna Dramatic Class in the
play they were to produce, which was one he had seen at the Abbey
Theater.... A curious thrill ran through him which was like a spasm of
pain. Could it be this girl and this young man who had spoken with such
disgusting intimacy of the female sex in the bar of the "North Leinster
Arms" in Ballinamult ...? They went by a back way into the Club, where
the rehearsals were now going forward.
John Brennan was sitting stiffly beside his mother in the front
seats. Around and about him were people of renowned respectability,
who had also paid two shillings each for their tickets. The seven
publicans of Garradrimna were there, some with their wives, some with
their wives and daughters, and some with their wives and daughters
and sisters-in-law. The Clerk of the Union continually adjusting and
re-adjusting his lemon-colored gloves. The old bespectacled maid from
the Post Office sitting near the gray, bullet-headed postmaster,
whose apoplectic jowl was shining. They were keeping up a continual
chatter and buzz and giggle before the rise of the curtain. The jaws
of the ancient postmistress never ceased to work, and those hot words
of criticism and scorn which did not sizzle outwardly from her lips
dropped inwardly to feed the fire of her mind, which was a volcano in
perpetual eruption.
Mrs. Brennan sat in silence by the side of her son, in the pride of his
presence, glad that he and she were here. She was as fine as any of
them, for she kept fine raiment for such occasions. In the first place
as an advertisement for her craft of dressmaker, and, secondly, to
afford a cloak for her past, even as those among whom she sat cloaked
their pasts in heavy garments of pride. Her attention was concentrated
not so much upon the performance she was about to witness as upon the
audience assembled to witness it. To her the audience was the concert,
and, although she was speaking no word, she was as nervously observant
as the old postmistress. She was concerned by the task before her, for
would she not be in honor bound to "go over" all that passed to any one
who might happen into the sewing-room next day, and lay everything bare
with a searching and deadly analysis for her son John? Thus was she not
distracted by the chattering and giggling, but perfectly at ease while
her mind worked nimbly within the limits of its purpose.
The mind of John Brennan was not enjoying the same contentment. He was
a little excited by the presence of Rebecca Kerr on a seat adjacent.
She had a place on the program, and was awaiting her time to appear.
His eye was dwelling upon her hair, which lifted gracefully from her
white neck in a smooth wave of gold. It was the fairest thing in this
clouded place of human fumes, and the dear softness from which it
sprang such a recess of beauty.
The concert had at last begun. Harry Holton, the comic, was holding the
stage and the audience was in convulsions. Harry Holton was a distant
disciple of Harry Lauder. Having heard the funny Scotchman upon the
gramophone he rather fancied that it was he who should have been Harry
Lauder. In course of time, he had grown to think that it was Lauder and
not himself who was doing the impersonation. His effort to be broadly
Scotch, while the marks of the son of Erin were so strong upon him, was
where, all unseen, his power to move towards laughter really lay. Yet
the audience rocked its sides in crude mirth at this crude exhibition,
and each man asked his neighbor was it not the funniest damned thing?
The seven sleek publicans of Garradrimna threatened to explode.... John
Brennan saw big beads of perspiration rise upon the comedian's brow and
gleam in the sickly glare of the lamplight. Beyond the excitement, from
behind the scenes, came a new sound--the popping of a cork--and through
a chink in the back cloth he saw Ulick Shannon take his drink from
the bottle.... Had Rebecca Kerr seen that as well as he or----. But
his speculation was cut short by the exit of the comedian after many
encores, amidst tumultuous applause.
Next came Agnes McKeon, a near relation of Monica's and the
schoolmistress of Ballinamult. Her big spectacles gave her the look of
her profession, and although she sang well in a pleasing contralto, she
appeared stiff and unalluring in her white dress, which was starched to
a too strong resplendence. John heard two old maids with scraggy necks
remarking, not upon the power of Miss McKeon's voice, but upon the
extraordinary whiteness of her dress, and saying it was grand surely,
but they anxiously wondered were all her garments as clean for they
were ready to credit her with extreme slovenliness of habit.
The play was the notable event of the evening. Although the work of a
famous Abbey playwright, it had been evidently re-written for Harry
Holton, who was the principal character. It was purely a Harry Holton
show. Dramatic point and sequence were sacrificed to give scope to
his renowned abilities. The other players would seem to have merged
themselves to give him prominence. But the ladies had not merged their
natural vanity. One in particular, who was supposed to represent an old
woman of Ireland, wore an attractive dress which was in the prevailing
fashion. It was the illiterate pronunciation of even the simplest words
which chiefly amused John Brennan. Herein might be detected the touch
of Ulick Shannon, who, in coaching the production, had evidently added
this means of diversion for his own amusement. John fancied that his
friend must be enjoying it hugely in there behind the scenes.
When the play had been concluded by Harry Holton giving a few steps
of a dance, John Brennan saw Rebecca moving towards the stage. He
observed the light grace with which she went to the ordeal. Here was no
self-consciousness, but instead that easy quietness which is a part of
dignity.... It was Ulick Shannon who held aside the curtain allowing
her to pass in upon the stage.
"Well now, isn't that one the brazen thing?"
This was the expression of opinion which came clearly from out the
whispering and giggling. It was an unpardonable offense to appear in
public like this without a certain obvious fluttering and fear which
it was one of Garradrimna's most notable powers to create. It was a
great flout. Even his mother was moved to nudge him, so unusual was the
method of this strange girl, appearing in public before the place into
which she had come to earn a living.
But she was singing. Rebecca Kerr was singing, and to John Brennan
this was all he wished to know. He trembled as he listened and grew
weary with delight. He became nervous, as before some unaccountable
apprehension, and turned to his mother. She was looking quizzically
at the girl on the stage. But the stage to him was now a sort of haze
through which there moved ever little dancing specks.
The concert was over and his mind had not yet returned to realization.
Rebecca had not come from behind the scenes. He moved with his mother
out into the night, and, as they went, glanced around the corner of the
hall. He saw Rebecca Kerr and Ulick Shannon standing within the shadow
of the surrounding wood. He spoke no word to his mother as they went
down the road towards the house in the valley.