_Neighbours and a piper who have come to Maurya's house for a dance_.
SCENE. _A farmer's house in Munster a hundred years ago. Men
and women moving about and standing round the walls as if they had just
finished a dance._ HANRAHAN, _in the foreground, talking to_
OONA.
_The piper is beginning a preparatory drone for another dance, but_
SHEAMUS _brings him a drink and he stops. A man has come and
holds out his hand to_ OONA, _as if to lead her out, but she
pushes him away._
OONA. Don't be bothering me now; don't you see I'm listening to
what he is saying? (_To_ HANRAHAN) Go on with what you were
saying just now.
HANRAHAN. What did that fellow want of you?
OONA. He wanted the next dance with me, but I wouldn't give it
to him.
HANRAHAN. And why would you give it to him? Do you think I'd
let you dance with anyone but myself, and I here? I had no comfort or
satisfaction this long time until I came here to-night, and till I saw
yourself.
OONA. What comfort am I to you?
HANRAHAN. When a stick is half burned in the fire, does it not
get comfort when water is poured on it?
OONA. But, sure, you are not half burned.
HANRAHAN. I am; and three-quarters of my heart is burned, and
scorched and consumed, struggling with the world, and the world
struggling with me.
OONA. You don't look that bad.
HANRAHAN. O, Oona ni Regaun, you have not knowledge of the life
of a poor bard, without house or home or havings, but he going and ever
going a drifting through the wide world, without a person with him but
himself. There is not a morning in the week when I rise up that I do not
say to myself that it would be better to be in the grave than to be
wandering. There is nothing standing to me but the gift I got from God,
my share of songs; when I begin upon them, my grief and my trouble go
from me; I forget my persecution and my ill luck; and now since I saw
you, Oona, I see there is something that is better even than the songs.
OONA. Poetry is a wonderful gift from God; and as long as you
have that, you are richer than the people of stock and store, the people
of cows and cattle.
HANRAHAN. Ah, Oona, it is a great blessing, but it is a great
curse as well for a man, he to be a poet. Look at me: have I a friend in
this world? Is there a man alive that has a wish for me? is there the
love of anyone at all on me? I am going like a poor lonely barnacle
goose throughout the world; like Oisin after the Fenians; every person
hates me: you do not hate me, Oona?
OONA. Do not say a thing like that; it is impossible that
anyone would hate you.
HANRAHAN. Come and we will sit in the corner of the room
together; and I will tell you the little song I made for you; it is for
you I made it. (_They go to a corner and sit down together._
SHEELA _comes in at the door._)
SHEELA. I came to you as quick as I could.
MAURYA. And a hundred welcomes to you.
SHEELA. What have you going on now?
MAURYA. Beginning we are; we had one jig, and now the piper is
drinking a glass. They'll begin dancing again in a minute when the piper
is ready.
SHEELA. There are a good many people gathering in to you
to-night. We will have a fine dance.
MAURYA. Maybe so, Sheela; but there's a man of them there, and
I'd sooner him out than in.
SHEELA. It's about the long red man you are talking, isn't
it--the man that is in close talk with Oona in the corner? Where is he
from, and who is he himself?
MAURYA. That's the greatest vagabond ever came into Ireland;
Tumaus Hanrahan they call him; but it's Hanrahan the rogue he ought to
have been christened by right. Aurah, wasn't there the misfortune on me,
him to come in to us at all to-night?
SHEELA. What sort of a person is he? Isn't he a man that makes
songs, out of Connacht? I heard talk of him before; and they say there
is not another dancer in Ireland so good as him. I would like to see him
dance.
MAURYA. Bad luck to the vagabond! It is well I know what sort
he is; because there was a kind of friendship between himself and the
first husband I had; and it is often I heard from poor Diarmuid--the
Lord have mercy on him!--what sort of person he was. He was a
schoolmaster down in Connacht; but he used to have every trick worse
than another; ever making songs he used to be, and drinking whiskey and
setting quarrels afoot among the neighbours with his share of talk. They
say there isn't a woman in the five provinces that he wouldn't deceive.
He is worse than Donal na Greina long ago. But the end of the story is
that the priest routed him out of the parish altogether; he got another
place then, and followed on at the same tricks until he was routed out
again, and another again with it. Now he has neither place nor house nor
anything, but he to be going the country, making songs and getting a
night's lodging from the people; nobody will refuse him, because they
are afraid of him. He's a great poet, and maybe he'd make a rann on you
that would stick to you for ever, if you were to anger him.
SHEELA. God preserve us; but what brought him in to-night?
MAURYA. He was travelling the country and he heard there was to
be a dance here, and he came in because he knew us; he was rather great
with my first husband. It is wonderful how he is making out his way of
life at all, and he with nothing but his share of songs. They say there
is no place that he'll go to, that the women don't love him, and that
the men don't hate him.
SHEELA (_catching_ MAURYA _by the shoulder_). Turn
your head, Maurya; look at him now, himself and your daughter, and their
heads together; he's whispering in her ear; he's after making a poem for
her and he's whispering it in her ear. Oh, the villain, he'll be putting
his spells on her now.
MAURYA. Ohone, go deo! isn't it a misfortune that he came? He's
talking every moment with Oona since he came in three hours ago. I did
my best to separate them from one another, but it failed me. Poor Oona
is given up to every sort of old songs and old made-up stories; and she
thinks it sweet to be listening to him. The marriage is settled between
herself and Sheamus O'Herin there, a quarter from to-day. Look at poor
Sheamus at the door, and he watching them. There is grief and hanging
of the head on him; it's easy to see that he'd like to choke the
vagabond this minute. I am greatly afraid that the head will be turned
on Oona with his share of blathering. As sure as I am alive there will
come evil out of this night.
SHEELA. And couldn't you put him out?
MAURYA. I could. There's no person here to help him unless
there would be a woman or two; but he is a great poet, and he has a
curse that would split the trees, and that would burst the stones. They
say the seed will rot in the ground and the milk go from the cows when a
poet like him makes a curse, if a person routed him out of the house;
but if he was once out, I'll go bail I wouldn't let him in again.
SHEELA. If himself were to go out willingly, there would be no
virtue in his curse then.
MAURYA. There would not, but he will not go out willingly, and
I cannot rout him out myself for fear of his curse.
SHEELA. Look at poor Sheamus. He is going over to her.
(SHEAMUS _gets up and goes over to her._)
SHEAMUS. Will you dance this reel with me, Oona, as soon as the
piper is ready?
HANRAHAN (_rising up_). I am Tumaus Hanrahan, and I am speaking
now to Oona ni Regaun; and as she is willing to be talking to me, I will
allow no living person to come between us.
SHEAMUS (_without heeding_ HANRAHAN). Will you not
dance with me, Oona?
HANRAHAN (_savagely_). Didn't I tell you now that it was to me
Oona ni Regaun was talking? Leave that on the spot, you clown, and do
not raise a disturbance here.