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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/3612-h.zip b/3612-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5e705ab --- /dev/null +++ b/3612-h.zip diff --git a/3612-h/3612-h.htm b/3612-h/3612-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ef15643 --- /dev/null +++ b/3612-h/3612-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7801 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<HTML> +<HEAD> + +<META HTTP-EQUIV="Content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> + +<TITLE> +The Project Gutenberg E-text of John Bull's Other Island, by George Bernard Shaw +</TITLE> + +<STYLE TYPE="text/css"> +BODY { color: Black; + background: White; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +P {text-indent: 4% } + +P.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +P.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: small } + +P.letter {text-indent: 0%; + font-size: small ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.dialog {font-size: small ; + text-indent: -5% ; + margin-left: 5% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.stage {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.finis { font-size: larger ; + text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +</STYLE> + +</HEAD> + +<BODY> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's John Bull's Other Island, by George Bernard Shaw + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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 + + +Title: John Bull's Other Island + +Author: George Bernard Shaw + +Posting Date: April 22, 2009 [EBook #3612] +Release Date: January, 2003 +First Posted: June 13, 2001 +Last Updated: April 12, 2006 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JOHN BULL'S OTHER ISLAND *** + + + + +Produced by Eve Sobol + + + + + +</pre> + + +<BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +JOHN BULL'S OTHER ISLAND +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +by +</H3> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +GEORGE BERNARD SHAW +</H2> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H4> +<A HREF="#act1">ACT I</A><BR> +<A HREF="#act2">ACT II</A><BR> +<A HREF="#act3">ACT III</A><BR> +<A HREF="#act4">ACT IV</A><BR> +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="act1"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +ACT I +</H3> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +Great George Street, Westminster, is the address of Doyle and +Broadbent, civil engineers. On the threshold one reads that the +firm consists of Mr Lawrence Doyle and Mr Thomas Broadbent, and +that their rooms are on the first floor. Most of their rooms are +private; for the partners, being bachelors and bosom friends, +live there; and the door marked Private, next the clerks' office, +is their domestic sitting room as well as their reception room +for clients. Let me describe it briefly from the point of view of +a sparrow on the window sill. The outer door is in the opposite +wall, close to the right hand corner. Between this door and the +left hand corner is a hatstand and a table consisting of large +drawing boards on trestles, with plans, rolls of tracing paper, +mathematical instruments and other draughtsman's accessories on +it. In the left hand wall is the fireplace, and the door of an +inner room between the fireplace and our observant sparrow. +Against the right hand wall is a filing cabinet, with a cupboard +on it, and, nearer, a tall office desk and stool for one person. +In the middle of the room a large double writing table is set +across, with a chair at each end for the two partners. It is a +room which no woman would tolerate, smelling of tobacco, and much +in need of repapering, repainting, and recarpeting; but this is +the effect of bachelor untidiness and indifference, not want of +means; for nothing that Doyle and Broadbent themselves have +purchased is cheap; nor is anything they want lacking. On the +walls hang a large map of South America, a pictorial advertisement +of a steamship company, an impressive portrait of Gladstone, and +several caricatures of Mr Balfour as a rabbit and Mr Chamberlain +as a fox by Francis Carruthers Gould. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +At twenty minutes to five o'clock on a summer afternoon in 1904, +the room is empty. Presently the outer door is opened, and a +valet comes in laden with a large Gladstone bag, and a strap of +rugs. He carries them into the inner room. He is a respectable +valet, old enough to have lost all alacrity, and acquired an air +of putting up patiently with a great deal of trouble and +indifferent health. The luggage belongs to Broadbent, who enters +after the valet. He pulls off his overcoat and hangs it with his +hat on the stand. Then he comes to the writing table and looks +through the letters which are waiting for him. He is a robust, +full-blooded, energetic man in the prime of life, sometimes eager +and credulous, sometimes shrewd and roguish, sometimes portentously +solemn, sometimes jolly and impetuous, always buoyant and irresistible, +mostly likeable, and enormously absurd in his most earnest moments. +He bursts open his letters with his thumb, and glances through them, +flinging the envelopes about the floor with reckless untidiness +whilst he talks to the valet. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [calling] Hodson. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON [in the bedroom] Yes sir. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Don't unpack. Just take out the things I've worn; and +put in clean things. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON [appearing at the bedroom door] Yes sir. [He turns to go +back into the bedroom. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. And look here! [Hodson turns again]. Do you remember +where I put my revolver? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON. Revolver, sir? Yes sir. Mr Doyle uses it as a +paper-weight, sir, when he's drawing. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Well, I want it packed. There's a packet of cartridges +somewhere, I think. Find it and pack it as well. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON. Yes sir. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. By the way, pack your own traps too. I shall take you +with me this time. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON [hesitant]. Is it a dangerous part you're going to, sir? +Should I be expected to carry a revolver, sir? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Perhaps it might be as well. I'm going to Ireland. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON [reassured]. Yes sir. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. You don't feel nervous about it, I suppose? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON. Not at all, sir. I'll risk it, sir. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Have you ever been in Ireland? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON. No sir. I understand it's a very wet climate, sir. I'd +better pack your india-rubber overalls. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Do. Where's Mr Doyle? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON. I'm expecting him at five, sir. He went out after lunch. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Anybody been looking for me? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON. A person giving the name of Haffigan has called twice to-day, sir. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Oh, I'm sorry. Why didn't he wait? I told him to wait +if I wasn't in. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON. Well Sir, I didn't know you expected him; so I thought it +best to—to—not to encourage him, sir. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Oh, he's all right. He's an Irishman, and not very +particular about his appearance. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON. Yes sir, I noticed that he was rather Irish.... +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. If he calls again let him come up. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON. I think I saw him waiting about, sir, when you drove up. +Shall I fetch him, sir? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Do, Hodson. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON. Yes sir [He makes for the outer door]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. He'll want tea. Let us have some. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON [stopping]. I shouldn't think he drank tea, sir. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Well, bring whatever you think he'd like. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON. Yes sir [An electric bell rings]. Here he is, sir. Saw +you arrive, sir. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Right. Show him in. [Hodson goes out. Broadbent gets +through the rest of his letters before Hodson returns with the +visitor]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON. Mr Affigan. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +Haffigan is a stunted, shortnecked, smallheaded, redhaired man of +about 30, with reddened nose and furtive eyes. He is dressed in +seedy black, almost clerically, and might be a tenth-rate +schoolmaster ruined by drink. He hastens to shake Broadbent's +hand with a show of reckless geniality and high spirits, helped +out by a rollicking stage brogue. This is perhaps a comfort to +himself, as he is secretly pursued by the horrors of incipient +delirium tremens. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HAFFIGAN. Tim Haffigan, sir, at your service. The top o the +mornin to you, Misther Broadbent. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [delighted with his Irish visitor]. Good afternoon, Mr +Haffigan. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +TIM. An is it the afthernoon it is already? Begorra, what I call +the mornin is all the time a man fasts afther breakfast. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Haven't you lunched? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +TIM. Divil a lunch! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. I'm sorry I couldn't get back from Brighton in time to +offer you some; but— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +TIM. Not a word, sir, not a word. Sure it'll do tomorrow. +Besides, I'm Irish, sir: a poor ather, but a powerful dhrinker. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. I was just about to ring for tea when you came. Sit +down, Mr Haffigan. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +TIM. Tay is a good dhrink if your nerves can stand it. Mine +can't. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +Haffigan sits down at the writing table, with his back to the +filing cabinet. Broadbent sits opposite him. Hodson enters +emptyhanded; takes two glasses, a siphon, and a tantalus from the +cupboard; places them before Broadbent on the writing table; +looks ruthlessly at Haffigan, who cannot meet his eye; and +retires. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Try a whisky and soda. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +TIM [sobered]. There you touch the national wakeness, sir. +[Piously] Not that I share it meself. I've seen too much of the +mischief of it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [pouring the whisky]. Say when. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +TIM. Not too sthrong. [Broadbent stops and looks enquiringly at +him]. Say half-an-half. [Broadbent, somewhat startled by this +demand, pours a little more, and again stops and looks]. Just a +dhrain more: the lower half o the tumbler doesn't hold a fair +half. Thankya. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [laughing]. You Irishmen certainly do know how to +drink. [Pouring some whisky for himself] Now that's my poor +English idea of a whisky and soda. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +TIM. An a very good idea it is too. Dhrink is the curse o me +unhappy counthry. I take it meself because I've a wake heart and +a poor digestion; but in principle I'm a teetoatler. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [suddenly solemn and strenuous]. So am I, of course. +I'm a Local Optionist to the backbone. You have no idea, Mr +Haffigan, of the ruin that is wrought in this country by the +unholy alliance of the publicans, the bishops, the Tories, and +The Times. We must close the public-houses at all costs [he +drinks]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +TIM. Sure I know. It's awful [he drinks]. I see you're a good +Liberal like meself, sir. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. I am a lover of liberty, like every true Englishman, +Mr Haffigan. My name is Broadbent. If my name were Breitstein, +and I had a hooked nose and a house in Park Lane, I should carry +a Union Jack handkerchief and a penny trumpet, and tax the food +of the people to support the Navy League, and clamor for the +destruction of the last remnants of national liberty— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +TIM. Not another word. Shake hands. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. But I should like to explain— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +TIM. Sure I know every word you're goin to say before yev said +it. I know the sort o man yar. An so you're thinkin o comin to +Ireland for a bit? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Where else can I go? I am an Englishman and a Liberal; +and now that South Africa has been enslaved and destroyed, there +is no country left to me to take an interest in but Ireland. +Mind: I don't say that an Englishman has not other duties. He has +a duty to Finland and a duty to Macedonia. But what sane man can +deny that an Englishman's first duty is his duty to Ireland? +Unfortunately, we have politicians here more unscrupulous than +Bobrikoff, more bloodthirsty than Abdul the Damned; and it is +under their heel that Ireland is now writhing. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +TIM. Faith, they've reckoned up with poor oul Bobrikoff anyhow. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Not that I defend assassination: God forbid! However +strongly we may feel that the unfortunate and patriotic young man +who avenged the wrongs of Finland on the Russian tyrant was +perfectly right from his own point of view, yet every civilized +man must regard murder with abhorrence. Not even in defence of +Free Trade would I lift my hand against a political opponent, +however richly he might deserve it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +TIM. I'm sure you wouldn't; and I honor you for it. You're goin +to Ireland, then, out o sympithy: is it? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. I'm going to develop an estate there for the Land +Development Syndicate, in which I am interested. I am convinced +that all it needs to make it pay is to handle it properly, as +estates are handled in England. You know the English plan, Mr +Haffigan, don't you? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +TIM. Bedad I do, sir. Take all you can out of Ireland and spend +it in England: that's it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [not quite liking this]. My plan, sir, will be to take +a little money out of England and spend it in Ireland. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +TIM. More power to your elbow! an may your shadda never be less! +for you're the broth of a boy intirely. An how can I help you? +Command me to the last dhrop o me blood. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Have you ever heard of Garden City? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +TIM [doubtfully]. D'ye mane Heavn? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Heaven! No: it's near Hitchin. If you can spare half +an hour I'll go into it with you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +TIM. I tell you hwat. Gimme a prospectus. Lemme take it home and +reflect on it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. You're quite right: I will. [He gives him a copy of Mr +Ebenezer Howard's book, and several pamphlets]. You understand +that the map of the city—the circular construction—is only a +suggestion. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +TIM. I'll make a careful note o that [looking dazedly at the +map]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. What I say is, why not start a Garden City in Ireland? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +TIM [with enthusiasm]. That's just what was on the tip o me +tongue to ask you. Why not? [Defiantly] Tell me why not. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. There are difficulties. I shall overcome them; but +there are difficulties. When I first arrive in Ireland I shall be +hated as an Englishman. As a Protestant, I shall be denounced +from every altar. My life may be in danger. Well, I am prepared +to face that. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +TIM. Never fear, sir. We know how to respict a brave innimy. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. What I really dread is misunderstanding. I think you +could help me to avoid that. When I heard you speak the other +evening in Bermondsey at the meeting of the National League, I +saw at once that you were—You won't mind my speaking frankly? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +TIM. Tell me all me faults as man to man. I can stand anything +but flatthery. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. May I put it in this way?—that I saw at once that you +were a thorough Irishman, with all the faults and all, the +qualities of your race: rash and improvident but brave and +goodnatured; not likely to succeed in business on your own +account perhaps, but eloquent, humorous, a lover of freedom, and +a true follower of that great Englishman Gladstone. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +TIM. Spare me blushes. I mustn't sit here to be praised to me +face. But I confess to the goodnature: it's an Irish wakeness. +I'd share me last shillin with a friend. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. I feel sure you would, Mr Haffigan. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +TIM [impulsively]. Damn it! call me Tim. A man that talks about +Ireland as you do may call me anything. Gimme a howlt o that +whisky bottle [he replenishes]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [smiling indulgently]. Well, Tim, will you come with me +and help to break the ice between me and your warmhearted, +impulsive countrymen? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +TIM. Will I come to Madagascar or Cochin China wid you? Bedad +I'll come to the North Pole wid you if yll pay me fare; for the +divil a shillin I have to buy a third class ticket. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. I've not forgotten that, Tim. We must put that little +matter on a solid English footing, though the rest can be as +Irish as you please. You must come as my—my—well, I hardly know +what to call it. If we call you my agent, they'll shoot you. If +we call you a bailiff, they'll duck you in the horsepond. I have +a secretary already; and— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +TIM. Then we'll call him the Home Secretary and me the Irish +Secretary. Eh? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [laughing industriously]. Capital. Your Irish wit has +settled the first difficulty. Now about your salary— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +TIM. A salary, is it? Sure I'd do it for nothin, only me cloes ud +disgrace you; and I'd be dhriven to borra money from your +friends: a thing that's agin me nacher. But I won't take a penny +more than a hundherd a year. [He looks with restless cunning at +Broadbent, trying to guess how far he may go]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. If that will satisfy you— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +TIM [more than reassured]. Why shouldn't it satisfy me? A +hundherd a year is twelve-pound a month, isn't it? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. No. Eight pound six and eightpence. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +TIM. Oh murdher! An I'll have to sind five timme poor oul mother +in Ireland. But no matther: I said a hundherd; and what I said +I'll stick to, if I have to starve for it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [with business caution]. Well, let us say twelve pounds +for the first month. Afterwards, we shall see how we get on. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +TIM. You're a gentleman, sir. Whin me mother turns up her toes, +you shall take the five pounds off; for your expinses must be kep +down wid a sthrong hand; an—[He is interrupted by the arrival of +Broadbent's partner.] +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +Mr Laurence Doyle is a man of 36, with cold grey eyes, strained +nose, fine fastidious lips, critical brown, clever head, rather +refined and goodlooking on the whole, but with a suggestion of +thinskinedness and dissatisfaction that contrasts strongly with +Broadbent's eupeptic jollity. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +He comes in as a man at home there, but on seeing the stranger +shrinks at once, and is about to withdraw when Broadbent +reassures him. He then comes forward to the table, between the +two others. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE [retreating]. You're engaged. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Not at all, not at all. Come in. [To Tim] This +gentleman is a friend who lives with me here: my partner, Mr +Doyle. [To Doyle] This is a new Irish friend of mine, Mr Tim +Haffigan. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +TIM [rising with effusion]. Sure it's meself that's proud to meet +any friend o Misther Broadbent's. The top o the mornin to you, +sir! Me heart goes out teeye both. It's not often I meet two such +splendid speciments iv the Anglo-Saxon race. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [chuckling] Wrong for once, Tim. My friend Mr Doyle is +a countryman of yours. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +Tim is noticeably dashed by this announcement. He draws in his +horns at once, and scowls suspiciously at Doyle under a vanishing +mark of goodfellowship: cringing a little, too, in mere nerveless +fear of him. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE [with cool disgust]. Good evening. [He retires to the +fireplace, and says to Broadbent in a tone which conveys the +strongest possible hint to Haffigan that he is unwelcome] Will +you soon be disengaged? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +TIM [his brogue decaying into a common would-be genteel accent +with an unexpected strain of Glasgow in it]. I must be going. +Ivnmportnt engeegement in the west end. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [rising]. It's settled, then, that you come with me. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +TIM. Ish'll be verra pleased to accompany ye, sir. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. But how soon? Can you start tonight—from Paddington? +We go by Milford Haven. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +TIM [hesitating]. Well—I'm afreed—I [Doyle goes abruptly into +the bedroom, slamming the door and shattering the last remnant of +Tim's nerve. The poor wretch saves himself from bursting into +tears by plunging again into his role of daredevil Irishman. He +rushes to Broadbent; plucks at his sleeve with trembling fingers; +and pours forth his entreaty with all the brogue be can muster, +subduing his voice lest Doyle should hear and return]. Misther +Broadbent: don't humiliate me before a fella counthryman. Look +here: me cloes is up the spout. Gimme a fypounnote—I'll pay ya +nex choosda whin me ship comes home—or you can stop it out o me +month's sallery. I'll be on the platform at Paddnton punctial an +ready. Gimme it quick, before he comes back. You won't mind me +axin, will ye? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Not at all. I was about to offer you an advance for +travelling expenses. [He gives him a bank note]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +TIM [pocketing it]. Thank you. I'll be there half an hour before +the thrain starts. [Larry is heard at the bedroom door, +returning]. Whisht: he's comin back. Goodbye an God bless ye. [He +hurries out almost crying, the 5 pound note and all the drink it +means to him being too much for his empty stomach and overstrained +nerves]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE [returning]. Where the devil did you pick up that seedy +swindler? What was he doing here? [He goes up to the table where +the plans are, and makes a note on one of them, referring to his +pocket book as he does so]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. There you go! Why are you so down on every Irishman +you meet, especially if he's a bit shabby? poor devil! Surely a +fellow-countryman may pass you the top of the morning without +offence, even if his coat is a bit shiny at the seams. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE [contemptuously]. The top of the morning! Did he call you +the broth of a boy? [He comes to the writing table]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [triumphantly]. Yes. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. And wished you more power to your elbow? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. He did. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. And that your shadow might never be less? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Certainly. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE [taking up the depleted whisky bottle and shaking his head +at it]. And he got about half a pint of whisky out of you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. It did him no harm. He never turned a hair. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. How much money did he borrow? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. It was not borrowing exactly. He showed a very +honorable spirit about money. I believe he would share his last +shilling with a friend. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. No doubt he would share his friend's last shilling if his +friend was fool enough to let him. How much did he touch you for? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Oh, nothing. An advance on his salary—for travelling +expenses. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. Salary! In Heaven's name, what for? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. For being my Home Secretary, as he very wittily called +it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. I don't see the joke. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. You can spoil any joke by being cold blooded about it. +I saw it all right when he said it. It was something—something +really very amusing—about the Home Secretary and the Irish +Secretary. At all events, he's evidently the very man to take +with me to Ireland to break the ice for me. He can gain the +confidence of the people there, and make them friendly to me. Eh? +[He seats himself on the office stool, and tilts it back so that +the edge of the standing desk supports his back and prevents his +toppling over]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. A nice introduction, by George! Do you suppose the whole +population of Ireland consists of drunken begging letter writers, +or that even if it did, they would accept one another as +references? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Pooh! nonsense! He's only an Irishman. Besides, you +don't seriously suppose that Haffigan can humbug me, do you? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. No: he's too lazy to take the trouble. All he has to do is +to sit there and drink your whisky while you humbug yourself. +However, we needn't argue about Haffigan, for two reasons. First, +with your money in his pocket he will never reach Paddington: +there are too many public houses on the way. Second, he's not an +Irishman at all. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Not an Irishman! [He is so amazed by the statement +that he straightens himself and brings the stool bolt upright]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. Born in Glasgow. Never was in Ireland in his life. I know +all about him. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. But he spoke—he behaved just like an Irishman. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. Like an Irishman!! Is it possible that you don't know that +all this top-o-the-morning and broth-of-a-boy and more-power-to-your-elbow +business is as peculiar to England as the Albert Hall concerts of +Irish music are? No Irishman ever talks like that in Ireland, or +ever did, or ever will. But when a thoroughly worthless Irishman +comes to England, and finds the whole place full of romantic duffers +like you, who will let him loaf and drink and sponge and brag as +long as he flatters your sense of moral superiority by playing the +fool and degrading himself and his country, he soon learns the antics +that take you in. He picks them up at the theatre or the music hall. +Haffigan learnt the rudiments from his father, who came from my part +of Ireland. I knew his uncles, Matt and Andy Haffigan of Rosscullen. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [still incredulous]. But his brogue! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. His brogue! A fat lot you know about brogues! I've heard +you call a Dublin accent that you could hang your hat on, a +brogue. Heaven help you! you don't know the difference between +Connemara and Rathmines. [With violent irritation] Oh, damn Tim +Haffigan! Let's drop the subject: he's not worth wrangling about. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. What's wrong with you today, Larry? Why are you so +bitter? +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +Doyle looks at him perplexedly; comes slowly to the writing +table; and sits down at the end next the fireplace before +replying. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. Well: your letter completely upset me, for one thing. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Why? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Your foreclosing this Rosscullen mortgage and turning poor +Nick Lestrange out of house and home has rather taken me aback; +for I liked the old rascal when I was a boy and had the run of +his park to play in. I was brought up on the property. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. But he wouldn't pay the interest. I had to foreclose +on behalf of the Syndicate. So now I'm off to Rosscullen to look +after the property myself. [He sits down at the writing table +opposite Larry, and adds, casually, but with an anxious glance at +his partner] You're coming with me, of course? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE [rising nervously and recommencing his restless movements]. +That's it. That's what I dread. That's what has upset me. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. But don't you want to see your country again after 18 +years absence? to see your people, to be in the old home again? +To— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE [interrupting him very impatiently]. Yes, yes: I know all +that as well as you do. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Oh well, of course [with a shrug] if you take it in +that way, I'm sorry. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. Never you mind my temper: it's not meant for you, as you +ought to know by this time. [He sits down again, a little ashamed +of his petulance; reflects a moment bitterly; then bursts out] I +have an instinct against going back to Ireland: an instinct so +strong that I'd rather go with you to the South Pole than to +Rosscullen. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. What! Here you are, belonging to a nation with the +strongest patriotism! the most inveterate homing instinct in the +world! and you pretend you'd rather go anywhere than back to +Ireland. You don't suppose I believe you, do you? In your heart— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. Never mind my heart: an Irishman's heart is nothing but +his imagination. How many of all those millions that have left +Ireland have ever come back or wanted to come back? But what's +the use of talking to you? Three verses of twaddle about the +Irish emigrant "sitting on the stile, Mary," or three hours of +Irish patriotism in Bermondsey or the Scotland Division of +Liverpool, go further with you than all the facts that stare you +in the face. Why, man alive, look at me! You know the way I nag, +and worry, and carp, and cavil, and disparage, and am never +satisfied and never quiet, and try the patience of my best +friends. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Oh, come, Larry! do yourself justice. You're very +amusing and agreeable to strangers. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. Yes, to strangers. Perhaps if I was a bit stiffer to +strangers, and a bit easier at home, like an Englishman, I'd be +better company for you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. We get on well enough. Of course you have the +melancholy of the Celtic race— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE [bounding out of his chair] Good God!!! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [slyly]—and also its habit of using strong language +when there's nothing the matter. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. Nothing the matter! When people talk about the Celtic +race, I feel as if I could burn down London. That sort of rot +does more harm than ten Coercion Acts. Do you suppose a man need +be a Celt to feel melancholy in Rosscullen? Why, man, Ireland was +peopled just as England was; and its breed was crossed by just +the same invaders. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. True. All the capable people in Ireland are of English +extraction. It has often struck me as a most remarkable +circumstance that the only party in parliament which shows the +genuine old English character and spirit is the Irish party. Look +at its independence, its determination, its defiance of bad +Governments, its sympathy with oppressed nationalities all the +world over! How English! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. Not to mention the solemnity with which it talks +old-fashioned nonsense which it knows perfectly well to be a century +behind the times. That's English, if you like. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. No, Larry, no. You are thinking of the modern hybrids +that now monopolize England. Hypocrites, humbugs, Germans, Jews, +Yankees, foreigners, Park Laners, cosmopolitan riffraff. Don't +call them English. They don't belong to the dear old island, but +to their confounded new empire; and by George! they're worthy of +it; and I wish them joy of it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE [unmoved by this outburst]. There! You feel better now, +don't you? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [defiantly]. I do. Much better. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. My dear Tom, you only need a touch of the Irish climate to +be as big a fool as I am myself. If all my Irish blood were +poured into your veins, you wouldn't turn a hair of your +constitution and character. Go and marry the most English +Englishwoman you can find, and then bring up your son in +Rosscullen; and that son's character will be so like mine and so +unlike yours that everybody will accuse me of being his father. +[With sudden anguish] Rosscullen! oh, good Lord, Rosscullen! The +dullness! the hopelessness! the ignorance! the bigotry! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [matter-of-factly]. The usual thing in the country, +Larry. Just the same here. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE [hastily]. No, no: the climate is different. Here, if the +life is dull, you can be dull too, and no great harm done. [Going +off into a passionate dream] But your wits can't thicken in that +soft moist air, on those white springy roads, in those misty +rushes and brown bogs, on those hillsides of granite rocks and +magenta heather. You've no such colors in the sky, no such lure +in the distances, no such sadness in the evenings. Oh, the +dreaming! the dreaming! the torturing, heartscalding, never +satisfying dreaming, dreaming, dreaming, dreaming! [Savagely] No +debauchery that ever coarsened and brutalized an Englishman can +take the worth and usefulness out of him like that dreaming. An +Irishman's imagination never lets him alone, never convinces him, +never satisfies him; but it makes him that he can't face reality +nor deal with it nor handle it nor conquer it: he can only sneer +at them that do, and [bitterly, at Broadbent] be "agreeable to +strangers," like a good-for-nothing woman on the streets. +[Gabbling at Broadbent across the table] It's all dreaming, all +imagination. He can't be religious. The inspired Churchman that +teaches him the sanctity of life and the importance of conduct is +sent away empty; while the poor village priest that gives him a +miracle or a sentimental story of a saint, has cathedrals built +for him out of the pennies of the poor. He can't be intelligently +political, he dreams of what the Shan Van Vocht said in +ninety-eight. If you want to interest him in Ireland you've got to call +the unfortunate island Kathleen ni Hoolihan and pretend she's a +little old woman. It saves thinking. It saves working. It saves +everything except imagination, imagination, imagination; and +imagination's such a torture that you can't bear it without +whisky. [With fierce shivering self-contempt] At last you get +that you can bear nothing real at all: you'd rather starve than +cook a meal; you'd rather go shabby and dirty than set your mind +to take care of your clothes and wash yourself; you nag and +squabble at home because your wife isn't an angel, and she +despises you because you're not a hero; and you hate the whole +lot round you because they're only poor slovenly useless devils +like yourself. [Dropping his voice like a man making some +shameful confidence] And all the while there goes on a horrible, +senseless, mischievous laughter. When you're young, you exchange +drinks with other young men; and you exchange vile stories with +them; and as you're too futile to be able to help or cheer them, +you chaff and sneer and taunt them for not doing the things you +daren't do yourself. And all the time you laugh, laugh, laugh! +eternal derision, eternal envy, eternal folly, eternal fouling +and staining and degrading, until, when you come at last to a +country where men take a question seriously and give a serious +answer to it, you deride them for having no sense of humor, and +plume yourself on your own worthlessness as if it made you better +than them. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [roused to intense earnestness by Doyle's eloquence]. +Never despair, Larry. There are great possibilities for Ireland. +Home Rule will work wonders under English guidance. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE [pulled up short, his face twitching with a reluctant +smile]. Tom: why do you select my most tragic moments for your +most irresistible strokes of humor? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Humor! I was perfectly serious. What do you mean? Do +you doubt my seriousness about Home Rule? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. I am sure you are serious, Tom, about the English guidance. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [quite reassured]. Of course I am. Our guidance is the +important thing. We English must place our capacity for government +without stint at the service of nations who are less fortunately +endowed in that respect; so as to allow them to develop in perfect +freedom to the English level of self-government, you know. You +understand me? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. Perfectly. And Rosscullen will understand you too. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [cheerfully]. Of course it will. So that's all right. +[He pulls up his chair and settles himself comfortably to lecture +Doyle]. Now, Larry, I've listened carefully to all you've said +about Ireland; and I can see nothing whatever to prevent your +coming with me. What does it all come to? Simply that you were +only a young fellow when you were in Ireland. You'll find all +that chaffing and drinking and not knowing what to be at in +Peckham just the same as in Donnybrook. You looked at Ireland +with a boy's eyes and saw only boyish things. Come back with me +and look at it with a man's, and get a better opinion of your +country. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. I daresay you're partly right in that: at all events I +know very well that if I had been the son of a laborer instead of +the son of a country landagent, I should have struck more grit +than I did. Unfortunately I'm not going back to visit the Irish +nation, but to visit my father and Aunt Judy and Nora Reilly and +Father Dempsey and the rest of them. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Well, why not? They'll be delighted to see you, now +that England has made a man of you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE [struck by this]. Ah! you hit the mark there, Tom, with +true British inspiration. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Common sense, you mean. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE [quickly]. No I don't: you've no more common sense than a +gander. No Englishman has any common sense, or ever had, or ever +will have. You're going on a sentimental expedition for perfectly +ridiculous reasons, with your head full of political nonsense +that would not take in any ordinarily intelligent donkey; but you +can hit me in the eye with the simple truth about myself and my +father. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [amazed]. I never mentioned your father. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE [not heeding the interruption]. There he is in Rosscullen, +a landagent who's always been in a small way because he's a +Catholic, and the landlords are mostly Protestants. What with +land courts reducing rents and Land Acts turning big estates into +little holdings, he'd be a beggar this day if he hadn't bought +his own little farm under the Land Purchase Act. I doubt if he's +been further from home than Athenmullet for the last twenty +years. And here am I, made a man of, as you say, by England. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [apologetically]. I assure you I never meant— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. Oh, don't apologize: it's quite true. I daresay I've +learnt something in America and a few other remote and inferior +spots; but in the main it is by living with you and working in +double harness with you that I have learnt to live in a real +world and not in an imaginary one. I owe more to you than to any +Irishman. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [shaking his head with a twinkle in his eye]. Very +friendly of you, Larry, old man, but all blarney. I like blarney; +but it's rot, all the same. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. No it's not. I should never have done anything without +you; although I never stop wondering at that blessed old head of +yours with all its ideas in watertight compartments, and all the +compartments warranted impervious to anything that it doesn't +suit you to understand. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [invincible]. Unmitigated rot, Larry, I assure you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. Well, at any rate you will admit that all my friends are +either Englishmen or men of the big world that belongs to the big +Powers. All the serious part of my life has been lived in that +atmosphere: all the serious part of my work has been done with +men of that sort. Just think of me as I am now going back to +Rosscullen! to that hell of littleness and monotony! How am I to +get on with a little country landagent that ekes out his 5 per +cent with a little farming and a scrap of house property in the +nearest country town? What am I to say to him? What is he to say +to me? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBFNT [scandalized]. But you're father and son, man! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. What difference does that make? What would you say if I +proposed a visit to YOUR father? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [with filial rectitude]. I always made a point of going +to see my father regularly until his mind gave way. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE [concerned]. Has he gone mad? You never told me. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. He has joined the Tariff Reform League. He would never +have done that if his mind had not been weakened. [Beginning to +declaim] He has fallen a victim to the arts of a political +charlatan who— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE [interrupting him]. You mean that you keep clear of your +father because he differs from you about Free Trade, and you +don't want to quarrel with him. Well, think of me and my father! +He's a Nationalist and a Separatist. I'm a metallurgical chemist +turned civil engineer. Now whatever else metallurgical chemistry +may be, it's not national. It's international. And my business +and yours as civil engineers is to join countries, not to +separate them. The one real political conviction that our +business has rubbed into us is that frontiers are hindrances and +flags confounded nuisances. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [still smarting under Mr Chamberlain's economic +heresy]. Only when there is a protective tariff— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE [firmly] Now look here, Tom: you want to get in a speech on +Free Trade; and you're not going to do it: I won't stand it. My +father wants to make St George's Channel a frontier and hoist a +green flag on College Green; and I want to bring Galway within 3 +hours of Colchester and 24 of New York. I want Ireland to be the +brains and imagination of a big Commonwealth, not a Robinson +Crusoe island. Then there's the religious difficulty. My +Catholicism is the Catholicism of Charlemagne or Dante, qualified +by a great deal of modern science and folklore which Father +Dempsey would call the ravings of an Atheist. Well, my father's +Catholicism is the Catholicism of Father Dempsey. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [shrewdly]. I don't want to interrupt you, Larry; but +you know this is all gammon. These differences exist in all +families; but the members rub on together all right. [Suddenly +relapsing into portentousness] Of course there are some questions +which touch the very foundations of morals; and on these I grant +you even the closest relationships cannot excuse any compromise +or laxity. For instance— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE [impatiently springing up and walking about]. For instance, +Home Rule, South Africa, Free Trade, and the Education Rate. +Well, I should differ from my father on every one of them, +probably, just as I differ from you about them. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Yes; but you are an Irishman; and these things are not +serious to you as they are to an Englishman. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. What! not even Home Rule! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [steadfastly]. Not even Home Rule. We owe Home Rule not +to the Irish, but to our English Gladstone. No, Larry: I can't +help thinking that there's something behind all this. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE [hotly]. What is there behind it? Do you think I'm +humbugging you? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Don't fly out at me, old chap. I only thought— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. What did you think? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Well, a moment ago I caught a name which is new to me: +a Miss Nora Reilly, I think. [Doyle stops dead and stares at him +with something like awe]. I don't wish to be impertinent, as you +know, Larry; but are you sure she has nothing to do with your +reluctance to come to Ireland with me? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE [sitting down again, vanquished]. Thomas Broadbent: I +surrender. The poor silly-clever Irishman takes off his hat to +God's Englishman. The man who could in all seriousness make that +recent remark of yours about Home Rule and Gladstone must be +simply the champion idiot of all the world. Yet the man who could +in the very next sentence sweep away all my special pleading and +go straight to the heart of my motives must be a man of genius. +But that the idiot and the genius should be the same man! how is +that possible? [Springing to his feet] By Jove, I see it all now. +I'll write an article about it, and send it to Nature. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [staring at him]. What on earth— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. It's quite simple. You know that a +caterpillar— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. A caterpillar!!! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. Yes, a caterpillar. Now give your mind to what I am going +to say; for it's a new and important scientific theory of the +English national character. A caterpillar— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Look here, Larry: don't be an ass. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE [insisting]. I say a caterpillar and I mean a caterpillar. +You'll understand presently. A caterpillar [Broadbent mutters a +slight protest, but does not press it] when it gets into a tree, +instinctively makes itself look exactly like a leaf; so that both +its enemies and its prey may mistake it for one and think it not +worth bothering about. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. What's that got to do with our English national +character? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. I'll tell you. The world is as full of fools as a tree is +full of leaves. Well, the Englishman does what the caterpillar +does. He instinctively makes himself look like a fool, and eats +up all the real fools at his ease while his enemies let him alone +and laugh at him for being a fool like the rest. Oh, nature is +cunning, cunning! [He sits down, lost in contemplation of his +word-picture]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [with hearty admiration]. Now you know, Larry, that +would never have occurred to me. You Irish people are amazingly +clever. Of course it's all tommy rot; but it's so brilliant, you +know! How the dickens do you think of such things! You really +must write an article about it: they'll pay you something for it. +If Nature won't have it, I can get it into Engineering for you: I +know the editor. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. Let's get back to business. I'd better tell you about Nora +Reilly. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. No: never mind. I shouldn't have alluded to her. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. I'd rather. Nora has a fortune. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [keenly interested]. Eh? How much? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. Forty per annum. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Forty thousand? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. No, forty. Forty pounds. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [much dashed.] That's what you call a fortune in +Rosscullen, is it? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. A girl with a dowry of five pounds calls it a fortune in +Rosscullen. What's more 40 pounds a year IS a fortune there; and +Nora Reilly enjoys a good deal of social consideration as an +heiress on the strength of it. It has helped my father's +household through many a tight place. My father was her father's +agent. She came on a visit to us when he died, and has lived with +us ever since. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [attentively, beginning to suspect Larry of misconduct +with Nora, and resolving to get to the bottom of it]. Since when? +I mean how old were you when she came? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. I was seventeen. So was she: if she'd been older she'd +have had more sense than to stay with us. We were together for 18 +months before I went up to Dublin to study. When I went home for +Christmas and Easter, she was there: I suppose it used to be +something of an event for her, though of course I never thought +of that then. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Were you at all hard hit? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. Not really. I had only two ideas at that time, first, to +learn to do something; and then to get out of Ireland and have a +chance of doing it. She didn't count. I was romantic about her, +just as I was romantic about Byron's heroines or the old Round +Tower of Rosscullen; but she didn't count any more than they did. +I've never crossed St George's Channel since for her sake—never +even landed at Queenstown and come back to London through +Ireland. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. But did you ever say anything that would justify her +in waiting for you? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. No, never. But she IS waiting for me. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. How do you know? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. She writes to me—on her birthday. She used to write on +mine, and send me little things as presents; but I stopped that +by pretending that it was no use when I was travelling, as they +got lost in the foreign post-offices. [He pronounces post-offices +with the stress on offices, instead of on post]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. You answer the letters? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. Not very punctually. But they get acknowledged at one time +or another. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. How do you feel when you see her handwriting? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. Uneasy. I'd give 50 pounds to escape a letter. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [looking grave, and throwing himself back in his chair +to intimate that the cross-examination is over, and the result +very damaging to the witness] Hm! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. What d'ye mean by Hm!? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Of course I know that the moral code is different in +Ireland. But in England it's not considered fair to trifle with a +woman's affections. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. You mean that an Englishman would get engaged to another +woman and return Nora her letters and presents with a letter to +say he was unworthy of her and wished her every happiness? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Well, even that would set the poor girl's mind at +rest. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. Would it? I wonder! One thing I can tell you; and that is +that Nora would wait until she died of old age sooner than ask my +intentions or condescend to hint at the possibility of my having +any. You don't know what Irish pride is. England may have knocked +a good deal of it out of me; but she's never been in England; and +if I had to choose between wounding that delicacy in her and +hitting her in the face, I'd hit her in the face without a +moment's hesitation. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [who has been nursing his knee and reflecting, +apparently rather agreeably]. You know, all this sounds rather +interesting. There's the Irish charm about it. That's the worst +of you: the Irish charm doesn't exist for you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. Oh yes it does. But it's the charm of a dream. Live in +contact with dreams and you will get something of their charm: +live in contact with facts and you will get something of their +brutality. I wish I could find a country to live in where the +facts were not brutal and the dreams not unreal. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [changing his attitude and responding to Doyle's +earnestness with deep conviction: his elbows on the table and his +hands clenched]. Don't despair, Larry, old boy: things may look +black; but there will be a great change after the next election. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE [jumping up]. Oh get out, you idiot! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [rising also, not a bit snubbed]. Ha! ha! you may +laugh; but we shall see. However, don't let us argue about that. +Come now! you ask my advice about Miss Reilly? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE [reddening]. No I don't. Damn your advice! [Softening] +Let's have it, all the same. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Well, everything you tell me about her impresses me +favorably. She seems to have the feelings of a lady; and though +we must face the fact that in England her income would hardly +maintain her in the lower middle class— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE [interrupting]. Now look here, Tom. That reminds me. When +you go to Ireland, just drop talking about the middle class and +bragging of belonging to it. In Ireland you're either a gentleman +or you're not. If you want to be particularly offensive to Nora, +you can call her a Papist; but if you call her a middle-class +woman, Heaven help you! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [irrepressible]. Never fear. You're all descended from +the ancient kings: I know that. [Complacently] I'm not so +tactless as you think, my boy. [Earnest again] I expect to find +Miss Reilly a perfect lady; and I strongly advise you to come and +have another look at her before you make up your mind about her. +By the way, have you a photograph of her? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. Her photographs stopped at twenty-five. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [saddened]. Ah yes, I suppose so. [With feeling, +severely] Larry: you've treated that poor girl disgracefully. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. By George, if she only knew that two men were talking +about her like this—! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. She wouldn't like it, would she? Of course not. We +ought to be ashamed of ourselves, Larry. [More and more carried +away by his new fancy]. You know, I have a sort of presentiment +that Miss Really is a very superior woman. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE [staring hard at him]. Oh you have, have you? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Yes I have. There is something very touching about the +history of this beautiful girl. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. Beau—! Oho! Here's a chance for Nora! and for me! +[Calling] Hodson. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON [appearing at the bedroom door]. Did you call, sir? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DOYLE. Pack for me too. I'm going to Ireland with Mr Broadbent. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON. Right, sir. [He retires into the bedroom.] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [clapping Doyle on the shoulder]. Thank you, old chap. +Thank you. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="act2"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +ACT II +</H3> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +Rosscullen. Westward a hillside of granite rock and heather +slopes upward across the prospect from south to north, a huge +stone stands on it in a naturally impossible place, as if it had +been tossed up there by a giant. Over the brow, in the desolate +valley beyond, is a round tower. A lonely white high road +trending away westward past the tower loses itself at the foot of +the far mountains. It is evening; and there are great breadths of +silken green in the Irish sky. The sun is setting. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +A man with the face of a young saint, yet with white hair and +perhaps 50 years on his back, is standing near the stone in a +trance of intense melancholy, looking over the hills as if by +mere intensity of gaze he could pierce the glories of the sunset +and see into the streets of heaven. He is dressed in black, and +is rather more clerical in appearance than most English curates +are nowadays; but he does not wear the collar and waistcoat of a +parish priest. He is roused from his trance by the chirp of an +insect from a tuft of grass in a crevice of the stone. His face +relaxes: he turns quietly, and gravely takes off his hat to the +tuft, addressing the insect in a brogue which is the jocular +assumption of a gentleman and not the natural speech of a +peasant. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +THE MAN. An is that yourself, Misther Grasshopper? I hope I see +you well this fine evenin. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +THE GRASSHOPPER [prompt and shrill in answer]. X.X. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +THE MAN [encouragingly]. That's right. I suppose now you've come +out to make yourself miserable by admyerin the sunset? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +THE GRASSHOPPER [sadly]. X.X. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +THE MAN. Aye, you're a thrue Irish grasshopper. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +THE GRASSHOPPER [loudly]. X.X.X. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +THE MAN. Three cheers for ould Ireland, is it? That helps you to +face out the misery and the poverty and the torment, doesn't it? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +THE GRASSHOPPER [plaintively]. X.X. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +THE MAN. Ah, it's no use, me poor little friend. If you could +jump as far as a kangaroo you couldn't jump away from your own +heart an its punishment. You can only look at Heaven from here: +you can't reach it. There! [pointing with his stick to the +sunset] that's the gate o glory, isn't it? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +THE GRASSHOPPER [assenting]. X.X. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +THE MAN. Sure it's the wise grasshopper yar to know that! But +tell me this, Misther Unworldly Wiseman: why does the sight of +Heaven wring your heart an mine as the sight of holy wather +wrings the heart o the divil? What wickedness have you done to +bring that curse on you? Here! where are you jumpin to? Where's +your manners to go skyrocketin like that out o the box in the +middle o your confession [he threatens it with his stick]? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +THE GRASSHOPPER [penitently]. X. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +THE MAN [lowering the stick]. I accept your apology; but don't do +it again. And now tell me one thing before I let you go home to +bed. Which would you say this counthry was: hell or purgatory? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +THE GRASSHOPPER. X. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +THE MAN. Hell! Faith I'm afraid you're right. I wondher what you +and me did when we were alive to get sent here. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +THE GRASSHOPPER [shrilly]. X.X. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +THE MAN [nodding]. Well, as you say, it's a delicate subject; and +I won't press it on you. Now off widja. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +THE GRASSHOPPER. X.X. [It springs away]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +THE MAN [waving his stick] God speed you! [He walks away past the +stone towards the brow of the hill. Immediately a young laborer, +his face distorted with terror, slips round from behind the +stone. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +THE LABORER [crossing himself repeatedly]. Oh glory be to God! +glory be to God! Oh Holy Mother an all the saints! Oh murdher! +murdher! [Beside himself, calling Fadher Keegan! Fadher Keegan]! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +THE MAN [turning]. Who's there? What's that? [He comes back and +finds the laborer, who clasps his knees] Patsy Farrell! What are +you doing here? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PATSY. O for the love o God don't lave me here wi dhe +grasshopper. I hard it spakin to you. Don't let it do me any +harm, Father darlint. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. Get up, you foolish man, get up. Are you afraid of a poor +insect because I pretended it was talking to me? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PATSY. Oh, it was no pretending, Fadher dear. Didn't it give +three cheers n say it was a divil out o hell? Oh say you'll see +me safe home, Fadher; n put a blessin on me or somethin [he moans +with terror]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. What were you doin there, Patsy, listnin? Were you spyin +on me? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PATSY. No, Fadher: on me oath an soul I wasn't: I was waitn to +meet Masther Larry n carry his luggage from the car; n I fell +asleep on the grass; n you woke me talkin to the grasshopper; n I +hard its wicked little voice. Oh, d'ye think I'll die before the +year's out, Fadher? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. For shame, Patsy! Is that your religion, to be afraid of +a little deeshy grasshopper? Suppose it was a divil, what call +have you to fear it? If I could ketch it, I'd make you take it +home widja in your hat for a penance. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PATSY. Sure, if you won't let it harm me, I'm not afraid, your +riverence. [He gets up, a little reassured. He is a callow, +flaxen polled, smoothfaced, downy chinned lad, fully grown but +not yet fully filled out, with blue eyes and an instinctively +acquired air of helplessness and silliness, indicating, not his +real character, but a cunning developed by his constant dread of +a hostile dominance, which he habitually tries to disarm and +tempt into unmasking by pretending to be a much greater fool than +he really is. Englishmen think him half-witted, which is exactly +what he intends them to think. He is clad in corduroy trousers, +unbuttoned waistcoat, and coarse blue striped shirt]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN [admonitorily]. Patsy: what did I tell you about callin me +Father Keegan an your reverence? What did Father Dempsey tell you +about it? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PATSY. Yis, Fadher. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. Father! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PATSY [desperately]. Arra, hwat am I to call you? Fadher Dempsey +sez you're not a priest; n we all know you're not a man; n how do +we know what ud happen to us if we showed any disrespect to you? +N sure they say wanse a priest always a priest. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN [sternly]. It's not for the like of you, Patsy, to go +behind the instruction of your parish priest and set yourself up +to judge whether your Church is right or wrong. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PATSY. Sure I know that, sir. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. The Church let me be its priest as long as it thought me +fit for its work. When it took away my papers it meant you to +know that I was only a poor madman, unfit and unworthy to take +charge of the souls of the people. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PATSY. But wasn't it only because you knew more Latn than Father +Dempsey that he was jealous of you? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN [scolding him to keep himself from smiling]. How dar you, +Patsy Farrell, put your own wicked little spites and foolishnesses +into the heart of your priest? For two pins I'd tell him what you +just said. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PATSY [coaxing] Sure you wouldn't— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. Wouldn't I? God forgive you! You're little better than a +heathen. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PATSY. Deedn I am, Fadher: it's me bruddher the tinsmith in +Dublin you're thinkin of. Sure he had to be a freethinker when he +larnt a thrade and went to live in the town. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. Well, he'll get to Heaven before you if you're not +careful, Patsy. And now you listen to me, once and for all. +You'll talk to me and pray for me by the name of Pether Keegan, +so you will. And when you're angry and tempted to lift your hand +agen the donkey or stamp your foot on the little grasshopper, +remember that the donkey's Pether Keegan's brother, and the +grasshopper Pether Keegan's friend. And when you're tempted to +throw a stone at a sinner or a curse at a beggar, remember that +Pether Keegan is a worse sinner and a worse beggar, and keep the +stone and the curse for him the next time you meet him. Now say +God bless you, Pether, to me before I go, just to practise you a +bit. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PATSY. Sure it wouldn't be right, Fadher. I can't— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. Yes you can. Now out with it; or I'll put this stick into +your hand an make you hit me with it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PATSY [throwing himself on his knees in an ecstasy of adoration]. +Sure it's your blessin I want, Fadher Keegan. I'll have no luck +widhout it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN [shocked]. Get up out o that, man. Don't kneel to me: I'm +not a saint. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PATSY [with intense conviction]. Oh in throth yar, sir. [The +grasshopper chirps. Patsy, terrified, clutches at Keegan's hands] +Don't set it on me, Fadher: I'll do anythin you bid me. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN [pulling him up]. You bosthoon, you! Don't you see that it +only whistled to tell me Miss Reilly's comin? There! Look at her +and pull yourself together for shame. Off widja to the road: +you'll be late for the car if you don't make haste [bustling him +down the hill]. I can see the dust of it in the gap already. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PATSY. The Lord save us! [He goes down the hill towards the road +like a haunted man]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +Nora Reilly comes down the hill. A slight weak woman in a pretty +muslin print gown [her best], she is a figure commonplace enough +to Irish eyes; but on the inhabitants of fatter-fed, crowded, +hustling and bustling modern countries she makes a very +different impression. The absence of any symptoms of coarseness +or hardness or appetite in her, her comparative delicacy of +manner and sensibility of apprehension, her thin hands and +slender figure, her travel accent, with the caressing plaintive +Irish melody of her speech, give her a charm which is all the +more effective because, being untravelled, she is unconscious of +it, and never dreams of deliberately dramatizing and exploiting +it, as the Irishwoman in England does. For Tom Broadbent +therefore, an attractive woman, whom he would even call ethereal. +To Larry Doyle, an everyday woman fit only for the eighteenth +century, helpless, useless, almost sexless, an invalid without +the excuse of disease, an incarnation of everything in Ireland +that drove him out of it. These judgments have little value and +no finality; but they are the judgments on which her fate hangs +just at present. Keegan touches his hat to her: he does not take +it off. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. Mr Keegan: I want to speak to you a minute if you don't +mind. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN [dropping the broad Irish vernacular of his speech to +Patsy]. An hour if you like, Miss Reilly: you're always welcome. +Shall we sit down? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. Thank you. [They sit on the heather. She is shy and +anxious; but she comes to the point promptly because she can +think of nothing else]. They say you did a gradle o travelling at +one time. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. Well you see I'm not a Mnooth man [he means that he was +not a student at Maynooth College]. When I was young I admired +the older generation of priests that had been educated in +Salamanca. So when I felt sure of my vocation I went to +Salamanca. Then I walked from Salamanca to Rome, an sted in a +monastery there for a year. My pilgrimage to Rome taught me that +walking is a better way of travelling than the train; so I walked +from Rome to the Sorbonne in Paris; and I wish I could have +walked from Paris to Oxford; for I was very sick on the sea. +After a year of Oxford I had to walk to Jerusalem to walk the +Oxford feeling off me. From Jerusalem I came back to Patmos, and +spent six months at the monastery of Mount Athos. From that I +came to Ireland and settled down as a parish priest until I went +mad. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [startled]. Oh dons say that. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. Why not? Don't you know the story? how I confessed a +black man and gave him absolution; and how he put a spell on me +and drove me mad. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. How can you talk such nonsense about yourself? For shame! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. It's not nonsense at all: it's true—in a way. But never +mind the black man. Now that you know what a travelled man I am, +what can I do for you? [She hesitates and plucks nervously at the +heather. He stays her hand gently]. Dear Miss Nora: don't pluck +the little flower. If it was a pretty baby you wouldn't want to +pull its head off and stick it in a vawse o water to look at. +[The grasshopper chirps: Keegan turns his head and addresses it +in the vernacular]. Be aisy, me son: she won't spoil the +swing-swong in your little three. [To Nora, resuming his urbane +style] You see I'm quite cracked; but never mind: I'm harmless. +Now what is it? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [embarrassed]. Oh, only idle curiosity. I wanted to know +whether you found Ireland—I mean the country part of Ireland, of +course—very small and backwardlike when you came back to it from +Rome and Oxford and all the great cities. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. When I went to those great cities I saw wonders I had +never seen in Ireland. But when I came back to Ireland I found +all the wonders there waiting for me. You see they had been there +all the time; but my eyes had never been opened to them. I did +not know what my own house was like, because I had never been +outside it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. D'ye think that's the same with everybody? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. With everybody who has eyes in his soul as well as in his +head. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. But really and truly now, weren't the people rather +disappointing? I should think the girls must have seemed rather +coarse and dowdy after the foreign princesses and people? But I +suppose a priest wouldn't notice that. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. It's a priest's business to notice everything. I won't +tell you all I noticed about women; but I'll tell you this. The +more a man knows, and the farther he travels, the more likely he +is to marry a country girl afterwards. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [blushing with delight]. You're joking, Mr Keegan: I'm sure +yar. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. My way of joking is to tell the truth. It's the funniest +joke in the world. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [incredulous]. Galong with you! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN [springing up actively]. Shall we go down to the road and +meet the car? [She gives him her hand and he helps her up]. Patsy +Farrell told me you were expecting young Doyle. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [tossing her chin up at once]. Oh, I'm not expecting him +particularly. It's a wonder he's come back at all. After staying +away eighteen years he can harly expect us to be very anxious to +see him, can he now? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. Well, not anxious perhaps; but you will be curious to see +how much he has changed in all these years. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [with a sudden bitter flush]. I suppose that's all that +brings him back to look at us, just to see how much WE'VE +changed. Well, he can wait and see me be candlelight: I didn't +come out to meet him: I'm going to walk to the Round Tower [going +west across the hill]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. You couldn't do better this fine evening. [Gravely] I'll +tell him where you've gone. [She turns as if to forbid him; but +the deep understanding in his eyes makes that impossible; and she +only looks at him earnestly and goes. He watches her disappear on +the other side of the hill; then says] Aye, he's come to torment +you; and you're driven already to torment him. [He shakes his +head, and goes slowly away across the hill in the opposite +direction, lost in thought]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +By this time the car has arrived, and dropped three of its +passengers on the high road at the foot of the hill. It is a +monster jaunting car, black and dilapidated, one of the last +survivors of the public vehicles known to earlier generations as +Beeyankiny cars, the Irish having laid violent tongues on the +name of their projector, one Bianconi, an enterprising Italian. +The three passengers are the parish priest, Father Dempsey; +Cornelius Doyle, Larry's father; and Broadbent, all in overcoats +and as stiff as only an Irish car could make them. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +The priest, stout and fatherly, falls far short of that finest +type of countryside pastor which represents the genius of +priesthood; but he is equally far above the base type in which a +strongminded and unscrupulous peasant uses the Church to extort +money, power, and privilege. He is a priest neither by vocation +nor ambition, but because the life suits him. He has boundless +authority over his flock, and taxes them stiffly enough to be a +rich man. The old Protestant ascendency is now too broken to gall +him. On the whole, an easygoing, amiable, even modest man as long +as his dues are paid and his authority and dignity fully +admitted. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +Cornelius Doyle is an elder of the small wiry type, with a +hardskinned, rather worried face, clean shaven except for sandy +whiskers blanching into a lustreless pale yellow and quite white +at the roots. His dress is that of a country-town titan of +business: that is, an oldish shooting suit, and elastic sided +boots quite unconnected with shooting. Feeling shy with +Broadbent, he is hasty, which is his way of trying to appear +genial. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +Broadbent, for reasons which will appear later, has no luggage +except a field glass and a guide book. The other two have left +theirs to the unfortunate Patsy Farrell, who struggles up the +hill after them, loaded with a sack of potatoes, a hamper, a fat +goose, a colossal salmon, and several paper parcels. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +Cornelius leads the way up the hill, with Broadbent at his heels. +The priest follows; and Patsy lags laboriously behind. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS. This is a bit of a climb, Mr. Broadbent; but it's +shorter than goin round be the road. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [stopping to examine the great stone]. Just a moment, +Mr Doyle: I want to look at this stone. It must be Finian's +die-cast. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS [in blank bewilderment]. Hwat? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Murray describes it. One of your great national +heroes—I can't pronounce the name—Finian Somebody, I think. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +FATHER DEMPSEY [also perplexed, and rather scandalized]. Is it +Fin McCool you mean? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. I daresay it is. [Referring to the guide book]. +Murray says that a huge stone, probably of Druidic origin, is +still pointed out as the die cast by Fin in his celebrated match +with the devil. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS [dubiously]. Jeuce a word I ever heard of it! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +FATHER DEMPSEY [very seriously indeed, and even a little +severely]. Don't believe any such nonsense, sir. There never was +any such thing. When people talk to you about Fin McCool and the +like, take no notice of them. It's all idle stories and +superstition. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [somewhat indignantly; for to be rebuked by an Irish +priest for superstition is more than he can stand]. You don't +suppose I believe it, do you? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +FATHER DEMPSEY. Oh, I thought you did. D'ye see the top o the +Roun Tower there? That's an antiquity worth lookin at. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [deeply interested]. Have you any theory as to what the +Round Towers were for? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +FATHER DEMPSEY [a little offended]. A theory? Me! [Theories are +connected in his mind with the late Professor Tyndall, and with +scientific scepticism generally: also perhaps with the view that +the Round Towers are phallic symbols]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS [remonstrating]. Father Dempsey is the priest of the +parish, Mr Broadbent. What would he be doing with a theory? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +FATHER DEMPSEY [with gentle emphasis]. I have a KNOWLEDGE of what +the Roun Towers were, if that's what you mean. They are the +forefingers of the early Church, pointing us all to God. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +Patsy, intolerably overburdened, loses his balance, and sits down +involuntarily. His burdens are scattered over the hillside. +Cornelius and Father Dempsey turn furiously on him, leaving +Broadbent beaming at the stone and the tower with fatuous +interest. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS. Oh, be the hokey, the sammin's broke in two! You +schoopid ass, what d'ye mean? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +FATHER DEMPSEY. Are you drunk, Patsy Farrell? Did I tell you to +carry that hamper carefully or did I not? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PATSY [rubbing the back of his head, which has almost dented a +slab of granite] Sure me fut slpt. Howkn I carry three men's +luggage at wanst? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +FATHER DEMPSEY. You were told to leave behind what you couldn't +carry, an go back for it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PATSY. An whose things was I to lave behind? Hwat would your +reverence think if I left your hamper behind in the wet grass; n +hwat would the masther say if I left the sammin and the goose be +the side o the road for annywan to pick up? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS. Oh, you've a dale to say for yourself, you, +butther-fingered omadhaun. Wait'll Ant Judy sees the state o that +sammin: SHE'LL talk to you. Here! gimme that birdn that fish +there; an take Father Dempsey's hamper to his house for him; n +then come back for the rest. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +FATHER DEMPSEY. Do, Patsy. And mind you don't fall down again. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PATSY. Sure I— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS [bustling him up the bill] Whisht! heres Ant Judy. +[Patsy goes grumbling in disgrace, with Father Dempsey's hamper]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +Aunt Judy comes down the hill, a woman of 50, in no way +remarkable, lively and busy without energy or grip, placid +without tranquillity, kindly without concern for others: indeed +without much concern for herself: a contented product of a +narrow, strainless life. She wears her hair parted in the middle +and quite smooth, with a fattened bun at the back. Her dress is a +plain brown frock, with a woollen pelerine of black and aniline +mauve over her shoulders, all very trim in honor of the occasion. +She looks round for Larry; is puzzled; then stares incredulously +at Broadbent. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. Surely to goodness that's not you, Larry! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS. Arra how could he be Larry, woman alive? Larry's in +no hurry home, it seems. I haven't set eyes on him. This is his +friend, Mr Broadbent. Mr Broadbent, me sister Judy. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY [hospitably: going to Broadbent and shaking hands +heartily]. Mr. Broadbent! Fancy me takin you for Larry! Sure we +haven't seen a sight of him for eighteen years, n he only a lad +when he left us. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. It's not Larry's fault: he was to have been here +before me. He started in our motor an hour before Mr Doyle +arrived, to meet us at Athenmullet, intending to get here long +before me. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. Lord save us! do you think he's had n axidnt? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. No: he's wired to say he's had a breakdown and will +come on as soon as he can. He expects to be here at about ten. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. There now! Fancy him trustn himself in a motor and we +all expectn him! Just like him! he'd never do anything like +anybody else. Well, what can't be cured must be injoored. Come on +in, all of you. You must be dyin for your tea, Mr Broadbent. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [with a slight start]. Oh, I'm afraid it's too late for +tea [he looks at his watch]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. Not a bit: we never have it airlier than this. I hope +they gave you a good dinner at Athenmullet. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [trying to conceal his consternation as he realizes +that he is not going to get any dinner after his drive] Oh—er—excellent, +excellent. By the way, hadn't I better see about a room at the +hotel? [They stare at him]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS. The hotel! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +FATHER DEMPSEY. Hwat hotel? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. Indeedn you'e not goin to a hotel. You'll stay with +us. I'd have put you into Larry's room, only the boy's pallyass +is too short for you; but we'll make a comfortable bed for you on +the sofa in the parlor. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. You're very kind, Miss Doyle; but really I'm ashamed +to give you so much trouble unnecessarily. I shan't mind the +hotel in the least. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +FATHER DEMPSEY. Man alive! There's no hotel in Rosscullen. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. No hotel! Why, the driver told me there was the finest +hotel in Ireland here. [They regard him joylessly]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. Arra would you mind what the like of him would tell +you? Sure he'd say hwatever was the least trouble to himself and +the pleasantest to you, thinkin you might give him a thruppeny +bit for himself or the like. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Perhaps there's a public house. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +FATHER DEMPSEY [grimly.] There's seventeen. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. Ah then, how could you stay at a public house? They'd +have no place to put you even if it was a right place for you to +go. Come! is it the sofa you're afraid of? If it is, you can have +me own bed. I can sleep with Nora. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Not at all, not at all: I should be only too +delighted. But to upset your arrangements in this way— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS [anxious to cut short the discussion, which makes him +ashamed of his house; for he guesses Broadbent's standard of +comfort a little more accurately than his sister does] That's all +right: it'll be no trouble at all. Hweres Nora? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. Oh, how do I know? She slipped out a little while ago: +I thought she was goin to meet the car. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS [dissatisfied] It's a queer thing of her to run out o +the way at such a time. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. Sure she's a queer girl altogether. Come. Come in, +come in. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +FATHER DEMPSEY. I'll say good-night, Mr Broadbent. If there's +anything I can do for you in this parish, let me know. [He shakes +hands with Broadbent]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [effusively cordial]. Thank you, Father Dempsey. +Delighted to have met you, sir. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +FATHER DEMPSEY [passing on to Aunt Judy]. Good-night, Miss Doyle. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. Won't you stay to tea? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +FATHER DEMPSEY. Not to-night, thank you kindly: I have business +to do at home. [He turns to go, and meets Patsy Farrell returning +unloaded]. Have you left that hamper for me? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PATSY. Yis, your reverence. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +FATHER DEMPSEY. That's a good lad [going]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PATSY [to Aunt Judy] Fadher Keegan sez— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +FATHER DEMPSEY [turning sharply on him]. What's that you say? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PATSY [frightened]. Fadher Keegan— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +FATHER DEMPSEY. How often have you heard me bid you call Mister +Keegan in his proper name, the same as I do? Father Keegan +indeed! Can't you tell the difference between your priest and any +ole madman in a black coat? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PATSY. Sure I'm afraid he might put a spell on me. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +FATHER DEMPSEY [wrathfully]. You mind what I tell you or I'll put +a spell on you that'll make you lep. D'ye mind that now? [He goes +home]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +Patsy goes down the hill to retrieve the fish, the bird, and the +sack. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. Ah, hwy can't you hold your tongue, Patsy, before +Father Dempsey? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PATSY. Well, what was I to do? Father Keegan bid me tell you Miss +Nora was gone to the Roun Tower. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. An hwy couldn't you wait to tell us until Father +Dempsey was gone? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PATSY. I was afeerd o forgetn it; and then maybe he'd a sent the +grasshopper or the little dark looker into me at night to remind +me of it. [The dark looker is the common grey lizard, which is +supposed to walk down the throats of incautious sleepers and +cause them to perish in a slow decline]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS. Yah, you great gaum, you! Widjer grasshoppers and dark +lookers! Here: take up them things and let me hear no more o your +foolish lip. [Patsy obeys]. You can take the sammin under your +oxther. [He wedges the salmon into Patsy's axilla]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PATSY. I can take the goose too, sir. Put it on me back and gimme +the neck of it in me mouth. [Cornelius is about to comply +thoughtlessly]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY [feeling that Broadbent's presence demands special +punctiliousness]. For shame, Patsy! to offer to take the goose in +your mouth that we have to eat after you! The master'll bring it +in for you. [Patsy, abashed, yet irritated by this ridiculous +fastidiousness, takes his load up the hill]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS. What the jeuce does Nora want to go to the Roun Tower +for? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. Oh, the Lord knows! Romancin, I suppose. Props she +thinks Larry would go there to look for her and see her safe +home. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. I'm afraid it's all the fault of my motor. Miss Reilly +must not be left to wait and walk home alone at night. Shall I go +for her? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY [contemptuously]. Arra hwat ud happen to her? Hurry in +now, Corny. Come, Mr Broadbent. I left the tea on the hob to +draw; and it'll be black if we don't go in an drink it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +They go up the hill. It is dark by this time. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +Broadbent does not fare so badly after all at Aunt Judy's board. +He gets not only tea and bread-and-butter, but more mutton chops +than he has ever conceived it possible to eat at one sitting. +There is also a most filling substance called potato cake. Hardly +have his fears of being starved been replaced by his first +misgiving that he is eating too much and will be sorry for it +tomorrow, when his appetite is revived by the production of a +bottle of illicitly distilled whisky, called pocheen, which he +has read and dreamed of [he calls it pottine] and is now at last +to taste. His good humor rises almost to excitement before +Cornelius shows signs of sleepiness. The contrast between Aunt +Judy's table service and that of the south and east coast hotels +at which he spends his Fridays-to-Tuesdays when he is in London, +seems to him delightfully Irish. The almost total atrophy of any +sense of enjoyment in Cornelius, or even any desire for it or +toleration of the possibility of life being something better than +a round of sordid worries, relieved by tobacco, punch, fine +mornings, and petty successes in buying and selling, passes with +his guest as the whimsical affectation of a shrewd Irish humorist +and incorrigible spendthrift. Aunt Judy seems to him an incarnate +joke. The likelihood that the joke will pall after a month or so, +and is probably not apparent at any time to born Rossculleners, +or that he himself unconsciously entertains Aunt Judy by his +fantastic English personality and English mispronunciations, does +not occur to him for a moment. In the end he is so charmed, and +so loth to go to bed and perhaps dream of prosaic England, that +he insists on going out to smoke a cigar and look for Nora Reilly +at the Round Tower. Not that any special insistence is needed; +for the English inhibitive instinct does not seem to exist in +Rosscullen. Just as Nora's liking to miss a meal and stay out at +the Round Tower is accepted as a sufficient reason for her doing +it, and for the family going to bed and leaving the door open for +her, so Broadbent's whim to go out for a late stroll provokes +neither hospitable remonstrance nor surprise. Indeed Aunt Judy +wants to get rid of him whilst she makes a bed for him on the +sofa. So off he goes, full fed, happy and enthusiastic, to +explore the valley by moonlight. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +The Round Tower stands about half an Irish mile from Rosscullen, +some fifty yards south of the road on a knoll with a circle of +wild greensward on it. The road once ran over this knoll; but +modern engineering has tempered the level to the Beeyankiny car +by carrying the road partly round the knoll and partly through a +cutting; so that the way from the road to the tower is a footpath +up the embankment through furze and brambles. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +On the edge of this slope, at the top of the path, Nora is +straining her eyes in the moonlight, watching for Larry. At last +she gives it up with a sob of impatience, and retreats to the +hoary foot of the tower, where she sits down discouraged and +cries a little. Then she settles herself resignedly to wait, and +hums a song—not an Irish melody, but a hackneyed English +drawing-room ballad of the season before last—until some slight +noise suggests a footstep, when she springs up eagerly and runs +to the edge of the slope again. Some moments of silence and suspense +follow, broken by unmistakable footsteps. She gives a little gasp as +she sees a man approaching. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. Is that you, Larry? [Frightened a little] Who's that? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +[BROADBENT's voice from below on the path]. Don't be alarmed. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. Oh, what an English accent you've got! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [rising into view] I must introduce myself— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [violently startled, retreating]. It's not you! Who are you? +What do you want? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [advancing]. I'm really so sorry to have alarmed you, +Miss Reilly. My name is Broadbent. Larry's friend, you know. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [chilled]. And has Mr Doyle not come with you? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. No. I've come instead. I hope I am not unwelcome. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [deeply mortified]. I'm sorry Mr Doyle should have given you +the trouble, I'm sure. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. You see, as a stranger and an Englishman, I thought it +would be interesting to see the Round Tower by moonlight. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. Oh, you came to see the tower. I thought—[confused, trying +to recover her manners] Oh, of course. I was so startled—It's a +beautiful night, isn't it? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Lovely. I must explain why Larry has not come himself. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. Why should he come? He's seen the tower often enough: it's +no attraction to him. [Genteelly] An what do you think of +Ireland, Mr Broadbent? Have you ever been here before? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Never. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. An how do you like it? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [suddenly betraying a condition of extreme +sentimentality]. I can hardly trust myself to say how much I like +it. The magic of this Irish scene, and—I really don't want to be +personal, Miss Reilly; but the charm of your Irish voice— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [quite accustomed to gallantry, and attaching no seriousness +whatever to it]. Oh, get along with you, Mr Broadbent! You're +breaking your heart about me already, I daresay, after seeing me +for two minutes in the dark. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. The voice is just as beautiful in the dark, you know. +Besides, I've heard a great deal about you from Larry. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [with bitter indifference]. Have you now? Well, that's a +great honor, I'm sure. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. I have looked forward to meeting you more than to +anything else in Ireland. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [ironically]. Dear me! did you now? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. I did really. I wish you had taken half as much +interest in me. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. Oh, I was dying to see you, of course. I daresay you can +imagine the sensation an Englishman like you would make among us +poor Irish people. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Ah, now you're chaffing me, Miss Reilly: you know you +are. You mustn't chaff me. I'm very much in earnest about Ireland +and everything Irish. I'm very much in earnest about you and +about Larry. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. Larry has nothing to do with me, Mr Broadbent. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. If I really thought that, Miss Reilly, I should—well, +I should let myself feel that charm of which I spoke just now +more deeply than I—than I— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. Is it making love to me you are? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [scared and much upset]. On my word I believe I am, +Miss Reilly. If you say that to me again I shan't answer for +myself: all the harps of Ireland are in your voice. [She laughs +at him. He suddenly loses his head and seizes her arms, to her +great indignation]. Stop laughing: do you hear? I am in earnest—in +English earnest. When I say a thing like that to a woman, I +mean it. [Releasing her and trying to recover his ordinary manner +in spite of his bewildering emotion] I beg your pardon. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. How dare you touch me? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. There are not many things I would not dare for you. +That does not sound right perhaps; but I really—[he stops and +passes his hand over his forehead, rather lost]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. I think you ought to be ashamed. I think if you were a +gentleman, and me alone with you in this place at night, you +would die rather than do such a thing. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. You mean that it's an act of treachery to Larry? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. Deed I don't. What has Larry to do with it? It's an act of +disrespect and rudeness to me: it shows what you take me for. You +can go your way now; and I'll go mine. Goodnight, Mr Broadbent. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. No, please, Miss Reilly. One moment. Listen to me. I'm +serious: I'm desperately serious. Tell me that I'm interfering +with Larry; and I'll go straight from this spot back to London +and never see you again. That's on my honor: I will. Am I +interfering with him? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [answering in spite of herself in a sudden spring of +bitterness]. I should think you ought to know better than me +whether you're interfering with him. You've seen him oftener than +I have. You know him better than I do, by this time. You've come +to me quicker than he has, haven't you? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. I'm bound to tell you, Miss Reilly, that Larry has not +arrived in Rosscullen yet. He meant to get here before me; but +his car broke down; and he may not arrive until to-morrow. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [her face lighting up]. Is that the truth? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Yes: that's the truth. [She gives a sigh of relief]. +You're glad of that? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [up in arms at once]. Glad indeed! Why should I be glad? As +we've waited eighteen years for him we can afford to wait a day +longer, I should think. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. If you really feel like that about him, there may be a +chance for another man yet. Eh? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [deeply offended]. I suppose people are different in +England, Mr Broadbent; so perhaps you don't mean any harm. In +Ireland nobody'd mind what a man'd say in fun, nor take advantage +of what a woman might say in answer to it. If a woman couldn't +talk to a man for two minutes at their first meeting without +being treated the way you're treating me, no decent woman would +ever talk to a man at all. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. I don't understand that. I don't admit that. I am +sincere; and my intentions are perfectly honorable. I think you +will accept the fact that I'm an Englishman as a guarantee that I +am not a man to act hastily or romantically, though I confess +that your voice had such an extraordinary effect on me just now +when you asked me so quaintly whether I was making love to you— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [flushing] I never thought— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADHHNT [quickly]. Of course you didn't. I'm not so stupid as +that. But I couldn't bear your laughing at the feeling it gave +me. You—[again struggling with a surge of emotion] you don't +know what I— [he chokes for a moment and then blurts out with +unnatural steadiness] Will you be my wife? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [promptly]. Deed I won't. The idea! [Looking at him more +carefully] Arra, come home, Mr Broadbent; and get your senses +back again. I think you're not accustomed to potcheen punch in +the evening after your tea. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [horrified]. Do you mean to say that I—I—I—my God! +that I appear drunk to you, Miss Reilly? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [compassionately]. How many tumblers had you? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [helplessly]. Two. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. The flavor of the turf prevented you noticing the strength +of it. You'd better come home to bed. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [fearfully agitated]. But this is such a horrible doubt +to put into my mind—to—to—For Heaven's sake, Miss Reilly, am I +really drunk? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [soothingly]. You'll be able to judge better in the morning. +Come on now back with me, an think no more about it. [She takes +his arm with motherly solicitude and urges him gently toward the +path]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [yielding in despair]. I must be drunk—frightfully +drunk; for your voice drove me out of my senses [he stumbles over +a stone]. No: on my word, on my most sacred word of honor, Miss +Reilly, I tripped over that stone. It was an accident; it was +indeed. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. Yes, of course it was. Just take my arm, Mr Broadbent, +while we're goin down the path to the road. You'll be all right +then. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [submissively taking it]. I can't sufficiently +apologize, Miss Reilly, or express my sense of your kindness when +I am in such a disgusting state. How could I be such a bea— [he +trips again] damn the heather! my foot caught in it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. Steady now, steady. Come along: come. [He is led down to +the road in the character of a convicted drunkard. To him there +it something divine in the sympathetic indulgence she substitutes +for the angry disgust with which one of his own countrywomen +would resent his supposed condition. And he has no suspicion of +the fact, or of her ignorance of it, that when an Englishman is +sentimental he behaves very much as an Irishman does when he is +drunk]. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="act3"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +ACT III +</H3> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +Next morning Broadbent and Larry are sitting at the ends of a +breakfast table in the middle of a small grass plot before +Cornelius Doyle's house. They have finished their meal, and are +buried in newspapers. Most of the crockery is crowded upon a +large square black tray of japanned metal. The teapot is of brown +delft ware. There is no silver; and the butter, on a dinner +plate, is en bloc. The background to this breakfast is the house, +a small white slated building, accessible by a half-glazed door. +A person coming out into the garden by this door would find the +table straight in front of him, and a gate leading to the road +half way down the garden on his right; or, if he turned sharp to +his left, he could pass round the end of the house through an +unkempt shrubbery. The mutilated remnant of a huge planter +statue, nearly dissolved by the rains of a century, and vaguely +resembling a majestic female in Roman draperies, with a wreath in +her hand, stands neglected amid the laurels. Such statues, though +apparently works of art, grow naturally in Irish gardens. Their +germination is a mystery to the oldest inhabitants, to whose +means and taste they are totally foreign. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +There is a rustic bench, much roiled by the birds, and +decorticated and split by the weather, near the little gate. At +the opposite side, a basket lies unmolested because it might as +well be there as anywhere else. An empty chair at the table was +lately occupied by Cornelius, who has finished his breakfast and +gone in to the room in which he receives rents and keeps his +books and cash, known in the household as "the office." This +chair, like the two occupied by Larry and Broadbent, has a +mahogany frame and is upholstered in black horsehair. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +Larry rises and goes off through the shrubbery with his +newspaper. Hodson comes in through the garden gate, disconsolate. +Broadbent, who sits facing the gate, augurs the worst from his +expression. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Have you been to the village? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON. No use, sir. We'll have to get everything from London by +parcel post. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. I hope they made you comfortable last night. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON. I was no worse than you were on that sofa, sir. One +expects to rough it here, sir. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. We shall have to look out for some other arrangement. +[Cheering up irrepressibly] Still, it's no end of a joke. How do +you like the Irish, Hodson? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON. Well, sir, they're all right anywhere but in their own +country. I've known lots of em in England, and generally liked +em. But here, sir, I seem simply to hate em. The feeling come +over me the moment we landed at Cork, sir. It's no use my +pretendin, sir: I can't bear em. My mind rises up agin their +ways, somehow: they rub me the wrong way all over. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Oh, their faults are on the surface: at heart they are +one of the finest races on earth. [Hodson turns away, without +affecting to respond to his enthusiasm]. By the way, Hodson— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON [turning]. Yes, sir. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Did you notice anything about me last night when I +came in with that lady? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON [surprised]. No, sir. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Not any—er—? You may speak frankly. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON. I didn't notice nothing, sir. What sort of thing ded you +mean, sir? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Well—er—er—well, to put it plainly, was I drunk? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON [amazed]. No, sir. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Quite sure? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON. Well, I should a said rather the opposite, sir. Usually +when you've been enjoying yourself, you're a bit hearty like. +Last night you seemed rather low, if anything. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. I certainly have no headache. Did you try the pottine, +Hodson? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON. I just took a mouthful, sir. It tasted of peat: oh! +something horrid, sir. The people here call peat turf. Potcheen +and strong porter is what they like, sir. I'm sure I don't know +how they can stand it. Give me beer, I say. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. By the way, you told me I couldn't have porridge for +breakfast; but Mr Doyle had some. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON. Yes, sir. Very sorry, sir. They call it stirabout, sir: +that's how it was. They know no better, sir. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. All right: I'll have some tomorrow. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +Hodson goes to the house. When he opens the door he finds Nora +and Aunt Judy on the threshold. He stands aside to let them pass, +with the air of a well trained servant oppressed by heavy trials. +Then he goes in. Broadbent rises. Aunt Judy goes to the table and +collects the plates and cups on the tray. Nora goes to the back +of the rustic seat and looks out at the gate with the air of a +woman accustomed to have nothing to do. Larry returns from the +shrubbery. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Good morning, Miss Doyle. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY [thinking it absurdly late in the day for such a +salutation]. Oh, good morning. [Before moving his plate] Have you +done? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Quite, thank you. You must excuse us for not waiting +for you. The country air tempted us to get up early. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. N d'ye call this airly, God help you? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Aunt Judy probably breakfasted about half past six. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. Whisht, you!—draggin the parlor chairs out into the +gardn n givin Mr Broadbent his death over his meals out here in +the cold air. [To Broadbent] Why d'ye put up with his foolishness, +Mr Broadbent? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. I assure you I like the open air. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. Ah galong! How can you like what's not natural? I hope +you slept well. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. Did anything wake yup with a thump at three o'clock? I +thought the house was falling. But then I'm a very light sleeper. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. I seem to recollect that one of the legs of the sofa in +the parlor had a way of coming out unexpectedly eighteen years +ago. Was that it, Tom? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [hastily]. Oh, it doesn't matter: I was not hurt—at +least—er— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. Oh now what a shame! An I told Patsy Farrll to put a +nail in it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. He did, Miss Doyle. There was a nail, certainly. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. Dear oh dear! +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +An oldish peasant farmer, small, leathery, peat faced, with a +deep voice and a surliness that is meant to be aggressive, and is +in effect pathetic—the voice of a man of hard life and many +sorrows—comes in at the gate. He is old enough to have perhaps +worn a long tailed frieze coat and knee breeches in his time; but +now he is dressed respectably in a black frock coat, tall hat, +and pollard colored trousers; and his face is as clean as washing +can make it, though that is not saying much, as the habit is +recently acquired and not yet congenial. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +THE NEW-COMER [at the gate]. God save all here! [He comes a +little way into the garden]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY [patronizingly, speaking across the garden to him]. Is that +yourself, Mat Haffigan? Do you remember me? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW [intentionally rude and blunt]. No. Who are you? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. Oh, I'm sure you remember him, Mr Haffigan. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW [grudgingly admitting it]. I suppose he'll be young Larry +Doyle that was. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Yes. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW [to Larry]. I hear you done well in America. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Fairly well. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW. I suppose you saw me brother Andy out dhere. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. No. It's such a big place that looking for a man there is +like looking for a needle in a bundle of hay. They tell me he's a +great man out there. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW. So he is, God be praised. Where's your father? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. He's inside, in the office, Mr Haffigan, with Barney +Doarn n Father Dempsey. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +Matthew, without wasting further words on the company, goes +curtly into the house. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY [staring after him]. Is anything wrong with old Mat? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. No. He's the same as ever. Why? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. He's not the same to me. He used to be very civil to +Master Larry: a deal too civil, I used to think. Now he's as +surly and stand-off as a bear. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. Oh sure he's bought his farm in the Land Purchase. +He's independent now. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. It's made a great change, Larry. You'd harly know the old +tenants now. You'd think it was a liberty to speak t'dhem—some o +dhem. [She goes to the table, and helps to take off the cloth, +which she and Aunt Judy fold up between them]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. I wonder what he wants to see Corny for. He hasn't +been here since he paid the last of his old rent; and then he as +good as threw it in Corny's face, I thought. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. No wonder! Of course they all hated us like the devil. +Ugh! [Moodily] I've seen them in that office, telling my father +what a fine boy I was, and plastering him with compliments, with +your honor here and your honor there, when all the time their +fingers were itching to beat his throat. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. Deedn why should they want to hurt poor Corny? It was +he that got Mat the lease of his farm, and stood up for him as an +industrious decent man. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Was he industrious? That's remarkable, you know, in an +Irishman. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Industrious! That man's industry used to make me sick, +even as a boy. I tell you, an Irish peasant's industry is not +human: it's worse than the industry of a coral insect. An +Englishman has some sense about working: he never does more than +he can help—and hard enough to get him to do that without +scamping it; but an Irishman will work as if he'd die the moment +he stopped. That man Matthew Haffigan and his brother Andy made a +farm out of a patch of stones on the hillside—cleared it and dug +it with their own naked hands and bought their first spade out of +their first crop of potatoes. Talk of making two blades of wheat +grow where one grew before! those two men made a whole field of +wheat grow where not even a furze bush had ever got its head up +between the stones. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. That was magnificent, you know. Only a great race is +capable of producing such men. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Such fools, you mean! What good was it to them? The moment +they'd done it, the landlord put a rent of 5 pounds a year on +them, and turned them out because they couldn't pay it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. Why couldn't they pay as well as Billy Byrne that took +it after them? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY [angrily]. You know very well that Billy Byrne never paid +it. He only offered it to get possession. He never paid it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. That was because Andy Haffigan hurt him with a brick +so that he was never the same again. Andy had to run away to +America for it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [glowing with indignation]. Who can blame him, Miss +Doyle? Who can blame him? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY [impatiently]. Oh, rubbish! What's the good of the man +that's starved out of a farm murdering the man that's starved +into it? Would you have done such a thing? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Yes. I—I—I—I—[stammering with fury] I should have +shot the confounded landlord, and wrung the neck of the damned +agent, and blown the farm up with dynamite, and Dublin Castle +along with it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Oh yes: you'd have done great things; and a fat lot of +good you'd have got out of it, too! That's an Englishman all +over! make bad laws and give away all the land, and then, when +your economic incompetence produces its natural and inevitable +results, get virtuously indignant and kill the people that carry +out your laws. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. Sure never mind him, Mr Broadbent. It doesn't matter, +anyhow, because there's harly any landlords left; and ther'll +soon be none at all. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. On the contrary, ther'll soon be nothing else; and the +Lord help Ireland then! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. Ah, you're never satisfied, Larry. [To Nora] Come on, +alanna, an make the paste for the pie. We can leave them to their +talk. They don't want us [she takes up the tray and goes into the +house]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [rising and gallantly protesting] Oh, Miss Doyle! +Really, really— +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +Nora, following Aunt Judy with the rolled-up cloth in her hands, +looks at him and strikes him dumb. He watches her until she +disappears; then comes to Larry and addresses him with sudden +intensity. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Larry. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. What is it? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. I got drunk last night, and proposed to Miss Reilly. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. You HWAT??? [He screams with laughter in the falsetto +Irish register unused for that purpose in England]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. What are you laughing at? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY [stopping dead]. I don't know. That's the sort of thing an +Irishman laughs at. Has she accepted you? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. I shall never forget that with the chivalry of her +nation, though I was utterly at her mercy, she refused me. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. That was extremely improvident of her. [Beginning to +reflect] But look here: when were you drunk? You were sober +enough when you came back from the Round Tower with her. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. No, Larry, I was drunk, I am sorry to say. I had two +tumblers of punch. She had to lead me home. You must have noticed +it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. I did not. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. She did. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. May I ask how long it took you to come to business? You +can hardly have known her for more than a couple of hours. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. I am afraid it was hardly a couple of minutes. She was +not here when I arrived; and I saw her for the first time at the +tower. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Well, you are a nice infant to be let loose in this +country! Fancy the potcheen going to your head like that! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Not to my head, I think. I have no headache; and I +could speak distinctly. No: potcheen goes to the heart, not to +the head. What ought I to do? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Nothing. What need you do? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. There is rather a delicate moral question involved. +The point is, was I drunk enough not to be morally responsible +for my proposal? Or was I sober enough to be bound to repeat it +now that I am undoubtedly sober? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. I should see a little more of her before deciding. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. No, no. That would not be right. That would not be +fair. I am either under a moral obligation or I am not. I wish I +knew how drunk I was. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Well, you were evidently in a state of blithering +sentimentality, anyhow. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. That is true, Larry: I admit it. Her voice has a most +extraordinary effect on me. That Irish voice! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY [sympathetically]. Yes, I know. When I first went to London +I very nearly proposed to walk out with a waitress in an Aerated +Bread shop because her Whitechapel accent was so distinguished, +so quaintly touching, so pretty— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [angrily]. Miss Reilly is not a waitress, is she? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Oh, come! The waitress was a very nice girl. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. You think every Englishwoman an angel. You really have +coarse tastes in that way, Larry. Miss Reilly is one of the finer +types: a type rare in England, except perhaps in the best of the +aristocracy. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Aristocracy be blowed! Do you know what Nora eats? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Eats! what do you mean? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Breakfast: tea and bread-and-butter, with an occasional +rasher, and an egg on special occasions: say on her birthday. +Dinner in the middle of the day, one course and nothing else. In +the evening, tea and bread-and-butter again. You compare her with +your Englishwomen who wolf down from three to five meat meals a +day; and naturally you find her a sylph. The difference is not a +difference of type: it's the difference between the woman who +eats not wisely but too well, and the woman who eats not wisely +but too little. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [furious]. Larry: you—you—you disgust me. You are a +damned fool. [He sits down angrily on the rustic seat, which +sustains the shock with difficulty]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Steady! stead-eee! [He laughs and seats himself on the +table]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +Cornelius Doyle, Father Dempsey, Barney Doran, and Matthew +Haffigan come from the house. Doran is a stout bodied, short +armed, roundheaded, red-haired man on the verge of middle age, of +sanguine temperament, with an enormous capacity for derisive, +obscene, blasphemous, or merely cruel and senseless fun, and a +violent and impetuous intolerance of other temperaments and other +opinions, all this representing energy and capacity wasted and +demoralized by want of sufficient training and social pressure to +force it into beneficent activity and build a character with it; +for Barney is by no means either stupid or weak. He is recklessly +untidy as to his person; but the worst effects of his neglect are +mitigated by a powdering of flour and mill dust; and his +unbrushed clothes, made of a fashionable tailor's sackcloth, were +evidently chosen regardless of expense for the sake of their +appearance. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +Matthew Haffigan, ill at ease, coasts the garden shyly on the +shrubbery side until he anchors near the basket, where he feels +least in the way. The priest comes to the table and slaps Larry +on the shoulder. Larry, turning quickly, and recognizing Father +Dempsey, alights from the table and shakes the priest's hand +warmly. Doran comes down the garden between Father Dempsey and +Matt; and Cornelius, on the other side of the table, turns to +Broadbent, who rises genially. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS. I think we all met las night. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN. I hadn't that pleasure. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS. To be sure, Barney: I forgot. [To Broadbent, +introducing Barney] Mr Doran. He owns that fine mill you noticed +from the car. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [delighted with them all]. Most happy, Mr Doran. Very +pleased indeed. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +Doran, not quite sure whether he is being courted or patronized, +nods independently. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN. How's yourself, Larry? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Finely, thank you. No need to ask you. [Doran grins; and +they shake hands]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS. Give Father Dempsey a chair, Larry. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +Matthew Haffigan runs to the nearest end of the table and takes +the chair from it, placing it near the basket; but Larry has +already taken the chair from the other end and placed it in front +of the table. Father Dempsey accepts that more central position. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS. Sit down, Barney, will you; and you, Mat. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +Doran takes the chair Mat is still offering to the priest; and +poor Matthew, outfaced by the miller, humbly turns the basket +upside down and sits on it. Cornelius brings his own breakfast +chair from the table and sits down on Father Dempsey's right. +Broadbent resumes his seat on the rustic bench. Larry crosses to +the bench and is about to sit down beside him when Broadbent +holds him off nervously. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Do you think it will bear two, Larry? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Perhaps not. Don't move. I'll stand. [He posts himself +behind the bench]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +They are all now seated, except Larry; and the session assumes a +portentous air, as if something important were coming. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS. Props you'll explain, Father Dempsey. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +FATHER DEMPSEY. No, no: go on, you: the Church has no politics. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS. Were yever thinkin o goin into parliament at all, +Larry? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Me! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +FATHER DEMPSEY [encouragingly] Yes, you. Hwy not? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. I'm afraid my ideas would not be popular enough. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS. I don't know that. Do you, Barney? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN. There's too much blatherumskite in Irish politics a dale +too much. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. But what about your present member? Is he going to retire? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS. No: I don't know that he is. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY [interrogatively]. Well? then? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW [breaking out with surly bitterness]. We've had enough of +his foolish talk agen lanlords. Hwat call has he to talk about +the lan, that never was outside of a city office in his life? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS. We're tired of him. He doesn't know hwere to stop. +Every man can't own land; and some men must own it to employ +them. It was all very well when solid men like Doran and me and +Mat were kep from ownin land. But hwat man in his senses ever +wanted to give land to Patsy Farrll an dhe like o him? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. But surely Irish landlordism was accountable for what +Mr Haffigan suffered. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW. Never mind hwat I suffered. I know what I suffered +adhout you tellin me. But did I ever ask for more dhan the farm I +made wid me own hans: tell me that, Corny Doyle, and you that +knows. Was I fit for the responsibility or was I not? [Snarling +angrily at Cornelius] Am I to be compared to Patsy Farrll, that +doesn't harly know his right hand from his left? What did he ever +suffer, I'd like to know? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS. That's just what I say. I wasn't comparin you to your +disadvantage. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW [implacable]. Then hwat did you mane be talkin about +givin him lan? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN. Aisy, Mat, aisy. You're like a bear with a sore back. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW [trembling with rage]. An who are you, to offer to taitch +me manners? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +FATHER DEMPSEY [admonitorily]. Now, now, now, Mat none o dhat. +How often have I told you you're too ready to take offence where +none is meant? You don't understand: Corny Doyle is saying just +what you want to have said. [To Cornelius] Go on, Mr Doyle; and +never mind him. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW [rising]. Well, if me lan is to be given to Patsy and his +like, I'm goin oura dhis. I— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN [with violent impatience] Arra who's goin to give your lan +to Patsy, yowl fool ye? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +FATHER DEMPSEY. Aisy, Barney, aisy. [Sternly, to Mat] I told you, +Matthew Haffigan, that Corny Doyle was sayin nothin against you. +I'm sorry your priest's word is not good enough for you. I'll go, +sooner than stay to make you commit a sin against the Church. +Good morning, gentlemen. [He rises. They all rise, except +Broadbent]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN [to Mat]. There! Sarve you dam well right, you cantankerous +oul noodle. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW [appalled]. Don't say dhat, Fadher Dempsey. I never had a +thought agen you or the Holy Church. I know I'm a bit hasty when +I think about the lan. I ax your pardn for it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +FATHER DEMPSEY [resuming his seat with dignified reserve]. Very +well: I'll overlook it this time. [He sits down. The others sit +down, except Matthew. Father Dempsey, about to ask Corny to +proceed, remembers Matthew and turns to him, giving him just a +crumb of graciousness]. Sit down, Mat. [Matthew, crushed, sits +down in disgrace, and is silent, his eyes shifting piteously from +one speaker to another in an intensely mistrustful effort to +understand them]. Go on, Mr Doyle. We can make allowances. Go on. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS. Well, you see how it is, Larry. Round about here, +we've got the land at last; and we want no more Goverment +meddlin. We want a new class o man in parliament: one dhat knows +dhat the farmer's the real backbone o the country, n doesn't care +a snap of his fingers for the shoutn o the riff-raff in the +towns, or for the foolishness of the laborers. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN. Aye; an dhat can afford to live in London and pay his own +way until Home Rule comes, instead o wantin subscriptions and the +like. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +FATHER DEMPSEY. Yes: that's a good point, Barney. When too much +money goes to politics, it's the Church that has to starve for +it. A member of parliament ought to be a help to the Church +instead of a burden on it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Here's a chance for you, Tom. What do you say? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [deprecatory, but important and smiling]. Oh, I have no +claim whatever to the seat. Besides, I'm a Saxon. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN. A hwat? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. A Saxon. An Englishman. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN. An Englishman. Bedad I never heard it called dhat before. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW [cunningly]. If I might make so bould, Fadher, I wouldn't +say but an English Prodestn mightn't have a more indepindent mind +about the lan, an be less afeerd to spake out about it, dhan an +Irish Catholic. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS. But sure Larry's as good as English: aren't you, +Larry? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. You may put me out of your head, father, once for all. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS. Arra why? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. I have strong opinions which wouldn't suit you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN [rallying him blatantly]. Is it still Larry the bould +Fenian? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. No: the bold Fenian is now an older and possibly foolisher +man. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS. Hwat does it matter to us hwat your opinions are? You +know that your father's bought his farm, just the same as Mat +here n Barney's mill. All we ask now is to be let alone. You've +nothin against that, have you? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Certainly I have. I don't believe in letting anybody or +anything alone. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS [losing his temper]. Arra what d'ye mean, you young +fool? Here I've got you the offer of a good seat in parliament; n +you think yourself mighty smart to stand there and talk +foolishness to me. Will you take it or leave it? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Very well: I'll take it with pleasure if you'll give it to +me. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS [subsiding sulkily]. Well, why couldn't you say so at +once? It's a good job you've made up your mind at last. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN [suspiciously]. Stop a bit, stop a bit. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW [writhing between his dissatisfaction and his fear of the +priest]. It's not because he's your son that he's to get the +sate. Fadher Dempsey: wouldn't you think well to ask him what he +manes about the lan? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY [coming down on Mat promptly]. I'll tell you, Mat. I always +thought it was a stupid, lazy, good-for-nothing sort of thing to +leave the land in the hands of the old landlords without calling +them to a strict account for the use they made of it, and the +condition of the people on it. I could see for myself that they +thought of nothing but what they could get out of it to spend in +England; and that they mortgaged and mortgaged until hardly one +of them owned his own property or could have afforded to keep it +up decently if he'd wanted to. But I tell you plump and plain, +Mat, that if anybody thinks things will be any better now that +the land is handed over to a lot of little men like you, without +calling you to account either, they're mistaken. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW [sullenly]. What call have you to look down on me? I +suppose you think you're everybody because your father was a land +agent. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. What call have you to look down on Patsy Farrell? I +suppose you think you're everybody because you own a few fields. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW. Was Patsy Farrll ever ill used as I was ill used? tell +me dhat. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. He will be, if ever he gets into your power as you were in +the power of your old landlord. Do you think, because you're poor +and ignorant and half-crazy with toiling and moiling morning noon +and night, that you'll be any less greedy and oppressive to them +that have no land at all than old Nick Lestrange, who was an +educated travelled gentleman that would not have been tempted as +hard by a hundred pounds as you'd be by five shillings? Nick was +too high above Patsy Farrell to be jealous of him; but you, that +are only one little step above him, would die sooner than let him +come up that step; and well you know it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW [black with rage, in a low growl]. Lemme oura this. [He +tries to rise; but Doran catches his coat and drags him down +again] I'm goin, I say. [Raising his voice] Leggo me coat, Barney +Doran. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN. Sit down, yowl omadhaun, you. [Whispering] Don't you want +to stay an vote against him? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +FATHER DEMPSEY [holding up his finger] Mat! [Mat subsides]. Now, +now, now! come, come! Hwats all dhis about Patsy Farrll? Hwy need +you fall out about HIM? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Because it was by using Patsy's poverty to undersell +England in the markets of the world that we drove England to ruin +Ireland. And she'll ruin us again the moment we lift our heads +from the dust if we trade in cheap labor; and serve us right too! +If I get into parliament, I'll try to get an Act to prevent any +of you from giving Patsy less than a pound a week [they all +start, hardly able to believe their ears] or working him harder +than you'd work a horse that cost you fifty guineas. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN. Hwat!!! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS [aghast]. A pound a—God save us! the boy's mad. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +Matthew, feeling that here is something quite beyond his powers, +turns openmouthed to the priest, as if looking for nothing less +than the summary excommunication of Larry. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. How is the man to marry and live a decent life on less? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +FATHER DEMPSEY. Man alive, hwere have you been living all these +years? and hwat have you been dreaming of? Why, some o dhese +honest men here can't make that much out o the land for +themselves, much less give it to a laborer. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY [now thoroughly roused]. Then let them make room for those +who can. Is Ireland never to have a chance? First she was given +to the rich; and now that they have gorged on her flesh, her +bones are to be flung to the poor, that can do nothing but suck +the marrow out of her. If we can't have men of honor own the +land, lets have men of ability. If we can't have men with +ability, let us at least have men with capital. Anybody's better +than Mat, who has neither honor, nor ability, nor capital, nor +anything but mere brute labor and greed in him, Heaven help him! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN. Well, we're not all foostherin oul doddherers like Mat. +[Pleasantly, to the subject of this description] Are we, Mat? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. For modern industrial purposes you might just as well be, +Barney. You're all children: the big world that I belong to has +gone past you and left you. Anyhow, we Irishmen were never made +to be farmers; and we'll never do any good at it. We're like the +Jews: the Almighty gave us brains, and bid us farm them, and +leave the clay and the worms alone. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +FATHER DEMPSEY [with gentle irony]. Oh! is it Jews you want to +make of us? I must catechize you a bit meself, I think. The next +thing you'll be proposing is to repeal the disestablishment of +the so-called Irish Church. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Yes: why not? [Sensation]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW [rancorously]. He's a turncoat. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. St Peter, the rock on which our Church was built, was +crucified head downwards for being a turncoat. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +FATHER DEMPSEY [with a quiet authoritative dignity which checks +Doran, who is on the point of breaking out]. That's true. You +hold your tongue as befits your ignorance, Matthew Haffigan; and +trust your priest to deal with this young man. Now, Larry Doyle, +whatever the blessed St Peter was crucified for, it was not for +being a Prodestan. Are you one? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. No. I am a Catholic intelligent enough to see that the +Protestants are never more dangerous to us than when they are +free from all alliances with the State. The so-called Irish +Church is stronger today than ever it was. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW. Fadher Dempsey: will you tell him dhat me mother's ant +was shot and kilt dead in the sthreet o Rosscullen be a soljer in +the tithe war? [Frantically] He wants to put the tithes on us +again. He— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY [interrupting him with overbearing contempt]. Put the +tithes on you again! Did the tithes ever come off you? Was your +land any dearer when you paid the tithe to the parson than it was +when you paid the same money to Nick Lestrange as rent, and he +handed it over to the Church Sustentation Fund? Will you always +be duped by Acts of Parliament that change nothing but the +necktie of the man that picks your pocket? I'll tell you what I'd +do with you, Mat Haffigan: I'd make you pay tithes to your own +Church. I want the Catholic Church established in Ireland: that's +what I want. Do you think that I, brought up to regard myself as +the son of a great and holy Church, can bear to see her begging +her bread from the ignorance and superstition of men like you? I +would have her as high above worldly want as I would have her +above worldly pride or ambition. Aye; and I would have Ireland +compete with Rome itself for the chair of St Peter and the +citadel of the Church; for Rome, in spite of all the blood of the +martyrs, is pagan at heart to this day, while in Ireland the +people is the Church and the Church the people. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +FATHER DEMPSEY [startled, but not at all displeased]. Whisht, +man! You're worse than mad Pether Keegan himself. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [who has listened in the greatest astonishment]. You +amaze me, Larry. Who would have thought of your coming out like +this! [Solemnly] But much as I appreciate your really brilliant +eloquence, I implore you not to desert the great Liberal +principle of Disestablishment. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. I am not a Liberal: Heaven forbid! A disestablished Church +is the worst tyranny a nation can groan under. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [making a wry face]. DON'T be paradoxical, Larry. It +really gives me a pain in my stomach. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. You'll soon find out the truth of it here. Look at Father +Dempsey! he is disestablished: he has nothing to hope or fear +from the State; and the result is that he's the most powerful man +in Rosscullen. The member for Rosscullen would shake in his shoes +if Father Dempsey looked crooked at him. [Father Dempsey smiles, +by no means averse to this acknowledgment of his authority]. Look +at yourself! you would defy the established Archbishop of +Canterbury ten times a day; but catch you daring to say a word +that would shock a Nonconformist! not you. The Conservative party +today is the only one that's not priestridden—excuse the +expression, Father [Father Dempsey nods tolerantly]—cause it's +the only one that has established its Church and can prevent a +clergyman becoming a bishop if he's not a Statesman as well as a +Churchman. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +He stops. They stare at him dumbfounded, and leave it to the +priest to answer him. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +FATHER DEMPSEY [judicially]. Young man: you'll not be the member +for Rosscullen; but there's more in your head than the comb will +take out. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. I'm sorry to disappoint you, father; but I told you it +would be no use. And now I think the candidate had better retire +and leave you to discuss his successor. [He takes a newspaper +from the table and goes away through the shrubbery amid dead +silence, all turning to watch him until he passes out of sight +round the corner of the house]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN [dazed]. Hwat sort of a fella is he at all at all? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +FATHER DEMPSEY. He's a clever lad: there's the making of a man in +him yet. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW [in consternation]. D'ye mane to say dhat yll put him +into parliament to bring back Nick Lesthrange on me, and to put +tithes on me, and to rob me for the like o Patsy Farrll, because +he's Corny Doyle's only son? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN [brutally]. Arra hould your whisht: who's goin to send him +into parliament? Maybe you'd like us to send you dhere to thrate +them to a little o your anxiety about dhat dirty little podato +patch o yours. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW [plaintively]. Am I to be towld dhis afther all me +sufferins? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN. Och, I'm tired o your sufferins. We've been hearin nothin +else ever since we was childher but sufferins. Haven it wasn't +yours it was somebody else's; and haven it was nobody else's it +was ould Irelan's. How the divil are we to live on wan anodher's +sufferins? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +FATHER DEMPSEY. That's a thrue word, Barney Doarn; only your +tongue's a little too familiar wi dhe devil. [To Mat] If you'd +think a little more o the sufferins of the blessed saints, Mat, +an a little less o your own, you'd find the way shorter from your +farm to heaven. [Mat is about to reply] Dhere now! Dhat's enough! +we know you mean well; an I'm not angry with you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Surely, Mr Haffigan, you can see the simple +explanation of all this. My friend Larry Doyle is a most +brilliant speaker; but he's a Tory: an ingrained oldfashioned +Tory. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS. N how d'ye make dhat out, if I might ask you, Mr +Broadbent? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [collecting himself for a political deliverance]. Well, +you know, Mr Doyle, there's a strong dash of Toryism in the Irish +character. Larry himself says that the great Duke of Wellington +was the most typical Irishman that ever lived. Of course that's +an absurd paradox; but still there's a great deal of truth in it. +Now I am a Liberal. You know the great principles of the Liberal +party. Peace— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +FATHER DEMPSEY [piously]. Hear! hear! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [encouraged]. Thank you. Retrenchment—[he waits for +further applause]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW [timidly]. What might rethrenchment mane now? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. It means an immense reduction in the burden of the +rates and taxes. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW [respectfully approving]. Dhats right. Dhats right, sir. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [perfunctorily]. And, of course, Reform. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> + CORNELIUS }<BR> + FATHER DEMPSEY} [conventionally]. Of course.<BR> + DORAN }<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW [still suspicious]. Hwat does Reform mane, sir? Does it +mane altherin annythin dhats as it is now? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [impressively]. It means, Mr Haffigan, maintaining +those reforms which have already been conferred on humanity by +the Liberal Party, and trusting for future developments to the +free activity of a free people on the basis of those reforms. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN. Dhat's right. No more meddlin. We're all right now: all we +want is to be let alone. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS. Hwat about Home Rule? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [rising so as to address them more imposingly]. I +really cannot tell you what I feel about Home Rule without using +the language of hyperbole. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN. Savin Fadher Dempsey's presence, eh? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [not understanding him] Quite so—er—oh yes. All I can +say is that as an Englishman I blush for the Union. It is the +blackest stain on our national history. I look forward to the +time-and it cannot be far distant, gentlemen, because Humanity is +looking forward to it too, and insisting on it with no uncertain +voice—I look forward to the time when an Irish legislature shall +arise once more on the emerald pasture of College Green, and the +Union Jack—that detestable symbol of a decadent Imperialism—be +replaced by a flag as green as the island over which it waves—a +flag on which we shall ask for England only a modest quartering +in memory of our great party and of the immortal name of our +grand old leader. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN [enthusiastically]. Dhat's the style, begob! [He smites his +knee, and winks at Mat]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW. More power to you, Sir! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. I shall leave you now, gentlemen, to your +deliberations. I should like to have enlarged on the services +rendered by the Liberal Party to the religious faith of the great +majority of the people of Ireland; but I shall content myself +with saying that in my opinion you should choose no representative +who—no matter what his personal creed may be—is not an ardent +supporter of freedom of conscience, and is not prepared to prove +it by contributions, as lavish as his means will allow, to the +great and beneficent work which you, Father Dempsey [Father +Dempsey bows], are doing for the people of Rosscullen. Nor should +the lighter, but still most important question of the sports of +the people be forgotten. The local cricket club— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS. The hwat! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN. Nobody plays bats ball here, if dhat's what you mean. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Well, let us say quoits. I saw two men, I think, last +night—but after all, these are questions of detail. The main +thing is that your candidate, whoever he may be, shall be a man +of some means, able to help the locality instead of burdening it. +And if he were a countryman of my own, the moral effect on the +House of Commons would be immense! tremendous! Pardon my saying +these few words: nobody feels their impertinence more than I do. +Good morning, gentlemen. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +He turns impressively to the gate, and trots away, congratulating +himself, with a little twist of his head and cock of his eye, on +having done a good stroke of political business. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HAFFIGAN [awestruck]. Good morning, sir. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +THE REST. Good morning. [They watch him vacantly until he is out +of earshot]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS. Hwat d'ye think, Father Dempsey? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +FATHER DEMPSEY [indulgently] Well, he hasn't much sense, God help +him; but for the matter o that, neither has our present member. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN. Arra musha he's good enough for parliament what is there +to do there but gas a bit, an chivy the Goverment, an vote wi dh +Irish party? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS [ruminatively]. He's the queerest Englishman I ever +met. When he opened the paper dhis mornin the first thing he saw +was that an English expedition had been bet in a battle in Inja +somewhere; an he was as pleased as Punch! Larry told him that if +he'd been alive when the news o Waterloo came, he'd a died o +grief over it. Bedad I don't think he's quite right in his head. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN. Divil a matther if he has plenty o money. He'll do for us +right enough. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW [deeply impressed by Broadbent, and unable to understand +their levity concerning him]. Did you mind what he said about +rethrenchment? That was very good, I thought. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +FATHER DEMPSEY. You might find out from Larry, Corny, what his +means are. God forgive us all! it's poor work spoiling the +Egyptians, though we have good warrant for it; so I'd like to +know how much spoil there is before I commit meself. [He rises. +They all rise respectfully]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS [ruefully]. I'd set me mind on Larry himself for the +seat; but I suppose it can't be helped. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +FATHER DEMPSEY [consoling him]. Well, the boy's young yet; an he +has a head on him. Goodbye, all. [He goes out through the gate]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN. I must be goin, too. [He directs Cornelius's attention to +what is passing in the road]. Look at me bould Englishman shakin +hans wid Fadher Dempsey for all the world like a candidate on +election day. And look at Fadher Dempsey givin him a squeeze an a +wink as much as to say It's all right, me boy. You watch him +shakin hans with me too: he's waitn for me. I'll tell him he's as +good as elected. [He goes, chuckling mischievously]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS. Come in with me, Mat. I think I'll sell you the pig +after all. Come in an wet the bargain. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW [instantly dropping into the old whine of the tenant]. +I'm afeerd I can't afford the price, sir. [He follows Cornelius +into the house]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +Larry, newspaper still in hand, comes back through the shrubbery. +Broadbent returns through the gate. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Well? What has happened. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [hugely self-satisfied]. I think I've done the trick +this time. I just gave them a bit of straight talk; and it went +home. They were greatly impressed: everyone of those men believes +in me and will vote for me when the question of selecting a +candidate comes up. After all, whatever you say, Larry, they like +an Englishman. They feel they can trust him, I suppose. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Oh! they've transferred the honor to you, have they? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [complacently]. Well, it was a pretty obvious move, I +should think. You know, these fellows have plenty of shrewdness +in spite of their Irish oddity. [Hodson comes from the house. +Larry sits in Doran's chair and reads]. Oh, by the way, Hodson— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON [coming between Broadbent and Larry]. Yes, sir? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. I want you to be rather particular as to how you treat +the people here. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON. I haven't treated any of em yet, sir. If I was to accept +all the treats they offer me I shouldn't be able to stand at this +present moment, sir. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Oh well, don't be too stand-offish, you know, Hodson. +I should like you to be popular. If it costs anything I'll make +it up to you. It doesn't matter if you get a bit upset at first: +they'll like you all the better for it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON. I'm sure you're very kind, sir; but it don't seem to +matter to me whether they like me or not. I'm not going to stand +for parliament here, sir. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Well, I am. Now do you understand? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON [waking up at once]. Oh, I beg your pardon, sir, I'm sure. +I understand, sir. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS [appearing at the house door with Mat]. Patsy'll drive +the pig over this evenin, Mat. Goodbye. [He goes back into the +house. Mat makes for the gate. Broadbent stops him. Hodson, +pained by the derelict basket, picks it up and carries it away +behind the house]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [beaming candidatorially]. I must thank you very +particularly, Mr Haffigan, for your support this morning. I value +it because I know that the real heart of a nation is the class +you represent, the yeomanry. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW [aghast] The yeomanry!!! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY [looking up from his paper]. Take care, Tom! In Rosscullen +a yeoman means a sort of Orange Bashi-Bazouk. In England, Mat, +they call a freehold farmer a yeoman. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW [huffily]. I don't need to be insthructed be you, Larry +Doyle. Some people think no one knows anythin but dhemselves. [To +Broadbent, deferentially] Of course I know a gentleman like you +would not compare me to the yeomanry. Me own granfather was +flogged in the sthreets of Athenmullet be them when they put a +gun in the thatch of his house an then went and found it there, +bad cess to them! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [with sympathetic interest]. Then you are not the first +martyr of your family, Mr Haffigan? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW. They turned me out o the farm I made out of the stones o +Little Rosscullen hill wid me own hans. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. I have heard about it; and my blood still boils at the +thought. [Calling] Hodson— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON [behind the corner of the house] Yes, sir. [He hurries +forward]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Hodson: this gentleman's sufferings should make every +Englishman think. It is want of thought rather than want of heart +that allows such iniquities to disgrace society. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON [prosaically]. Yes sir. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW. Well, I'll be goin. Good mornin to you kindly, sir. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. You have some distance to go, Mr Haffigan: will you +allow me to drive you home? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW. Oh sure it'd be throublin your honor. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. I insist: it will give me the greatest pleasure, I +assure you. My car is in the stable: I can get it round in five +minutes. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW. Well, sir, if you wouldn't mind, we could bring the pig +I've just bought from Corny. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [with enthusiasm]. Certainly, Mr Haffigan: it will be +quite delightful to drive with a pig in the car: I shall feel +quite like an Irishman. Hodson: stay with Mr Haffigan; and give +him a hand with the pig if necessary. Come, Larry; and help me. +[He rushes away through the shrubbery]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY [throwing the paper ill-humoredly on the chair]. Look here, +Tom! here, I say! confound it! [he runs after him]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW [glowering disdainfully at Hodson, and sitting down on +Cornelius's chair as an act of social self-assertion] N are you +the valley? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON. The valley? Oh, I follow you: yes: I'm Mr Broadbent's +valet. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW. Ye have an aisy time of it: you look purty sleek. [With +suppressed ferocity] Look at me! Do I look sleek? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON [sadly]. I wish I ad your ealth: you look as hard as +nails. I suffer from an excess of uric acid. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW. Musha what sort o disease is zhouragassid? Didjever +suffer from injustice and starvation? Dhat's the Irish disease. +It's aisy for you to talk o sufferin, an you livin on the fat o +the land wid money wrung from us. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON [Coolly]. Wots wrong with you, old chap? Has ennybody been +doin ennything to you? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW. Anythin timme! Didn't your English masther say that the +blood biled in him to hear the way they put a rint on me for the +farm I made wid me own hans, and turned me out of it to give it +to Billy Byrne? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON. Ow, Tom Broadbent's blood boils pretty easy over +ennything that appens out of his own country. Don't you be taken +in by my ole man, Paddy. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW [indignantly]. Paddy yourself! How dar you call me Paddy? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON [unmoved]. You just keep your hair on and listen to me. +You Irish people are too well off: that's what's the matter with +you. [With sudden passion] You talk of your rotten little farm +because you made it by chuckin a few stownes dahn a hill! Well, +wot price my grenfawther, I should like to know, that fitted up a +fuss clawss shop and built up a fuss clawss drapery business in +London by sixty years work, and then was chucked aht of it on is +ed at the end of is lease withaht a penny for his goodwill. You +talk of evictions! you that cawn't be moved until you've +run up eighteen months rent. I once ran up four weeks in Lambeth +when I was aht of a job in winter. They took the door off its +inges and the winder aht of its sashes on me, and gave my wife +pnoomownia. I'm a widower now. [Between his teeth] Gawd! when I +think of the things we Englishmen av to put up with, and hear you +Irish hahlin abaht your silly little grievances, and see the way +you makes it worse for us by the rotten wages you'll come over +and take and the rotten places you'll sleep in, I jast feel that +I could take the oul bloomin British awland and make you a +present of it, jast to let you find out wot real ardship's like. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW [starting up, more in scandalized incredulity than in +anger]. D'ye have the face to set up England agen Ireland for +injustices an wrongs an disthress an sufferin? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON [with intense disgust and contempt, but with Cockney +coolness]. Ow, chuck it, Paddy. Cheese it. You danno wot ardship +is over ere: all you know is ah to ahl abaht it. You take the +biscuit at that, you do. I'm a Owm Ruler, I am. Do you know why? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW [equally contemptuous]. D'ye know, yourself? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON. Yes I do. It's because I want a little attention paid to +my own country; and thet'll never be as long as your chaps are +ollerin at Wesminister as if nowbody mettered but your own +bloomin selves. Send em back to hell or C'naught, as good oul +English Cromwell said. I'm jast sick of Ireland. Let it gow. Cut +the cable. Make it a present to Germany to keep the oul Kyzer +busy for a while; and give poor owld England a chawnce: thets wot +I say. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW [full of scorn for a man so ignorant as to be unable to +pronounce the word Connaught, which practically rhymes with +bonnet in Ireland, though in Hodson's dialect it rhymes with +untaught]. Take care we don't cut the cable ourselves some day, +bad scran to you! An tell me dhis: have yanny Coercion Acs in +England? Have yanny removables? Have you Dublin Castle to +suppress every newspaper dhat takes the part o your own counthry? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON. We can beyave ahrselves withaht sich things. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW. Bedad you're right. It'd only be waste o time to muzzle +a sheep. Here! where's me pig? God forgimme for talkin to a poor +ignorant craycher like you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON [grinning with good-humored malice, too convinced of his +own superiority to feel his withers wrung]. Your pig'll ave a +rare doin in that car, Paddy. Forty miles an ahr dahn that rocky +lane will strike it pretty pink, you bet. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW [scornfully]. Hwy can't you tell a raisonable lie when +you're about it? What horse can go forty mile an hour? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON. Orse! Wy, you silly oul rotten it's not a orse it's a +mowtor. Do you suppose Tom Broadbent would gow off himself to +arness a orse? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW [in consternation]. Holy Moses! Don't tell me it's the +ingine he wants to take me on. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON. Wot else? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +MATTHEW. Your sowl to Morris Kelly! why didn't you tell me that +before? The divil an ingine he'll get me on this day. [His ear +catches an approaching teuf-teuf] Oh murdher! it's comin afther +me: I hear the puff puff of it. [He runs away through the gate, +much to Hodson's amusement. The noise of the motor ceases; and +Hodson, anticipating Broadbent's return, throws off the +politician and recomposes himself as a valet. Broadbent and Larry +come through the shrubbery. Hodson moves aside to the gate]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Where is Mr Haffigan? Has he gone for the pig? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON. Bolted, sir! Afraid of the motor, sir. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [much disappointed]. Oh, that's very tiresome. Did he +leave any message? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON. He was in too great a hurry, sir. Started to run home, +sir, and left his pig behind him. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [eagerly]. Left the pig! Then it's all right. The pig's +the thing: the pig will win over every Irish heart to me. We'll +take the pig home to Haffigan's farm in the motor: it will have a +tremendous effect. Hodson! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON. Yes sir? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Do you think you could collect a crowd to see the +motor? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +HODSON. Well, I'll try, sir. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Thank you, Hodson: do. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +Hodson goes out through the gate. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY [desperately]. Once more, Tom, will you listen to me? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Rubbish! I tell you it will be all right. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Only this morning you confessed how surprised you were to +find that the people here showed no sense of humor. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [suddenly very solemn]. Yes: their sense of humor is in +abeyance: I noticed it the moment we landed. Think of that in a +country where every man is a born humorist! Think of what it +means! [Impressively] Larry we are in the presence of a great +national grief. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. What's to grieve them? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. I divined it, Larry: I saw it in their faces. Ireland +has never smiled since her hopes were buried in the grave of +Gladstone. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Oh, what's the use of talking to such a man? Now look +here, Tom. Be serious for a moment if you can. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [stupent] Serious! I!!! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Yes, you. You say the Irish sense of humor is in abeyance. +Well, if you drive through Rosscullen in a motor car with +Haffigan's pig, it won't stay in abeyance. Now I warn you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [breezily]. Why, so much the better! I shall enjoy the +joke myself more than any of them. [Shouting] Hallo, Patsy +Farrell, where are you? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PATSY [appearing in the shrubbery]. Here I am, your honor. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Go and catch the pig and put it into the car—we're +going to take it to Mr Haffigan's. [He gives Larry a slap on the +shoulders that sends him staggering off through the gate, and +follows him buoyantly, exclaiming] Come on, you old croaker! I'll +show you how to win an Irish seat. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +PATSY [meditatively]. Bedad, if dhat pig gets a howlt o the +handle o the machine— [He shakes his head ominously and drifts +away to the pigsty]. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="act4"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +ACT IV +</H3> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +The parlor in Cornelius Doyle's house. It communicates with the +garden by a half glazed door. The fireplace is at the other side +of the room, opposite the door and windows, the architect not +having been sensitive to draughts. The table, rescued from the +garden, is in the middle; and at it sits Keegan, the central +figure in a rather crowded apartment. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +Nora, sitting with her back to the fire at the end of the table, +is playing backgammon across its corner with him, on his left +hand. Aunt Judy, a little further back, sits facing the fire +knitting, with her feet on the fender. A little to Keegan's +right, in front of the table, and almost sitting on it, is Barney +Doran. Half a dozen friends of his, all men, are between him and +the open door, supported by others outside. In the corner behind +them is the sofa, of mahogany and horsehair, made up as a bed for +Broadbent. Against the wall behind Keegan stands a mahogany +sideboard. A door leading to the interior of the house is near +the fireplace, behind Aunt Judy. There are chairs against the +wall, one at each end of the sideboard. Keegan's hat is on the +one nearest the inner door; and his stick is leaning against it. +A third chair, also against the wall, is near the garden door. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +There is a strong contrast of emotional atmosphere between the +two sides of the room. Keegan is extraordinarily stern: no game +of backgammon could possibly make a man's face so grim. Aunt Judy +is quietly busy. Nora it trying to ignore Doran and attend to her +game. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +On the other hand Doran is reeling in an ecstasy of mischievous +mirth which has infected all his friends. They are screaming with +laughter, doubled up, leaning on the furniture and against the +walls, shouting, screeching, crying. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY [as the noise lulls for a moment]. Arra hold your +noise, Barney. What is there to laugh at? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN. It got its fut into the little hweel—[he is overcome +afresh; and the rest collapse again]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. Ah, have some sense: you're like a parcel o childher. +Nora, hit him a thump on the back: he'll have a fit. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN [with squeezed eyes, exsuflicate with cachinnation] Frens, +he sez to dhem outside Doolan's: I'm takin the gintleman that +pays the rint for a dhrive. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. Who did he mean be that? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN. They call a pig that in England. That's their notion of a +joke. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. Musha God help them if they can joke no better than +that! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN [with renewed symptoms]. Thin— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. Ah now don't be tellin it all over and settin yourself +off again, Barney. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. You've told us three times, Mr Doran. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN. Well but whin I think of it—! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. Then don't think of it, alanna. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN. There was Patsy Farrll in the back sate wi dhe pig between +his knees, n me bould English boyoh in front at the machinery, n +Larry Doyle in the road startin the injine wid a bed winch. At +the first puff of it the pig lep out of its skin and bled Patsy's +nose wi dhe ring in its snout. [Roars of laughter: Keegan glares +at them]. Before Broadbint knew hwere he was, the pig was up his +back and over into his lap; and bedad the poor baste did credit +to Corny's thrainin of it; for it put in the fourth speed wid its +right crubeen as if it was enthered for the Gordn Bennett. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [reproachfully]. And Larry in front of it and all! It's +nothn to laugh at, Mr Doran. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN. Bedad, Miss Reilly, Larry cleared six yards backwards at +wan jump if he cleared an inch; and he'd a cleared seven if +Doolan's granmother hadn't cotch him in her apern widhout +intindin to. [Immense merriment]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY, Ah, for shame, Barney! the poor old woman! An she was +hurt before, too, when she slipped on the stairs. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN. Bedad, ma'am, she's hurt behind now; for Larry bouled her +over like a skittle. [General delight at this typical stroke of +Irish Rabelaisianism]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. It's well the lad wasn't killed. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN. Faith it wasn't o Larry we were thinkin jus dhen, wi dhe +pig takin the main sthreet o Rosscullen on market day at a mile a +minnit. Dh ony thing Broadbint could get at wi dhe pig in front +of him was a fut brake; n the pig's tail was undher dhat; so that +whin he thought he was putn non the brake he was ony squeezin the +life out o the pig's tail. The more he put the brake on the more +the pig squealed n the fasther he dhruv. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. Why couldn't he throw the pig out into the road? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN. Sure he couldn't stand up to it, because he was +spanchelled-like between his seat and dhat thing like a wheel on +top of a stick between his knees. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. Lord have mercy on us! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. I don't know how you can laugh. Do you, Mr Keegan? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN [grimly]. Why not? There is danger, destruction, torment! +What more do we want to make us merry? Go on, Barney: the last +drops of joy are not squeezed from the story yet. Tell us again +how our brother was torn asunder. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN [puzzled]. Whose bruddher? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. Mine. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. He means the pig, Mr Doran. You know his way. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN [rising gallantly to the occasion]. Bedad I'm sorry for +your poor bruddher, Misther Keegan; but I recommend you to thry +him wid a couple o fried eggs for your breakfast tomorrow. It was +a case of Excelsior wi dhat ambitious baste; for not content wid +jumpin from the back seat into the front wan, he jumped from the +front wan into the road in front of the car. And— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. And everybody laughed! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. Don't go over that again, please, Mr Doran. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN. Faith be the time the car went over the poor pig dhere was +little left for me or anywan else to go over except wid a knife +an fork. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. Why didn't Mr Broadbent stop the car when the pig was +gone? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN. Stop the car! He might as well ha thried to stop a mad +bull. First it went wan way an made fireworks o Molly Ryan's +crockery stall; an dhen it slewed round an ripped ten fut o wall +out o the corner o the pound. [With enormous enjoyment] Begob, it +just tore the town in two and sent the whole dam market to +blazes. [Nora offended, rises]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN [indignantly]. Sir! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN [quickly]. Savin your presence, Miss Reilly, and Misther +Keegan's. Dhere! I won't say anuddher word. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. I'm surprised at you, Mr Doran. [She sits down again]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN [refectively]. He has the divil's own luck, that +Englishman, annyway; for when they picked him up he hadn't a +scratch on him, barrn hwat the pig did to his cloes. Patsy had +two fingers out o jynt; but the smith pulled them sthraight for +him. Oh, you never heard such a hullaballoo as there was. There +was Molly, cryin Me chaney, me beautyful chaney! n oul Mat +shoutin Me pig, me pig! n the polus takin the number o the car, n +not a man in the town able to speak for laughin— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN [with intense emphasis]. It is hell: it is hell. Nowhere +else could such a scene be a burst of happiness for the people. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +Cornelius comes in hastily from the garden, pushing his way +through the little crowd. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS. Whisht your laughin, boys! Here he is. [He puts his +hat on the sideboard, and goes to the fireplace, where he posts +himself with his back to the chimneypiece]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. Remember your behavior, now. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +Everybody becomes silent, solemn, concerned, sympathetic. +Broadbent enters, roiled and disordered as to his motoring coat: +immensely important and serious as to himself. He makes his way +to the end of the table nearest the garden door, whilst Larry, +who accompanies him, throws his motoring coat on the sofa bed, +and sits down, watching the proceedings. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [taking off his leather cap with dignity and placing it +on the table]. I hope you have not been anxious about me. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. Deedn we have, Mr Broadbent. It's a mercy you weren't +killed. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN. Kilt! It's a mercy dheres two bones of you left houldin +together. How dijjescape at all at all? Well, I never thought I'd +be so glad to see you safe and sound again. Not a man in the town +would say less [murmurs of kindly assent]. Won't you come down to +Doolan's and have a dhrop o brandy to take the shock off? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. You're all really too kind; but the shock has quite +passed off. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN [jovially]. Never mind. Come along all the same and tell us +about it over a frenly glass. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. May I say how deeply I feel the kindness with which I +have been overwhelmed since my accident? I can truthfully declare +that I am glad it happened, because it has brought out the +kindness and sympathy of the Irish character to an extent I had +no conception of. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> + SEVERAL {Oh, sure you're welcome!<BR> + PRESENT. {Sure it's only natural.<BR> + {Sure you might have been kilt.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +A young man, on the point of bursting, hurries out. Barney puts +an iron constraint on his features. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. All I can say is that I wish I could drink the health +of everyone of you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN. Dhen come an do it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [very solemnly]. No: I am a teetotaller. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY [incredulously]. Arra since when? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Since this morning, Miss Doyle. I have had a lesson +[he looks at Nora significantly] that I shall not forget. It may +be that total abstinence has already saved my life; for I was +astonished at the steadiness of my nerves when death stared me in +the face today. So I will ask you to excuse me. [He collects +himself for a speech]. Gentlemen: I hope the gravity of the peril +through which we have all passed—for I know that the danger to +the bystanders was as great as to the occupants of the car—will +prove an earnest of closer and more serious relations between us +in the future. We have had a somewhat agitating day: a valuable +and innocent animal has lost its life: a public building has been +wrecked: an aged and infirm lady has suffered an impact for which +I feel personally responsible, though my old friend Mr Laurence +Doyle unfortunately incurred the first effects of her very +natural resentment. I greatly regret the damage to Mr Patrick +Farrell's fingers; and I have of course taken care that he shall +not suffer pecuniarily by his mishap. [Murmurs of admiration at +his magnanimity, and A Voice "You're a gentleman, sir"]. I am +glad to say that Patsy took it like an Irishman, and, far from +expressing any vindictive feeling, declared his willingness to +break all his fingers and toes for me on the same terms [subdued +applause, and "More power to Patsy!"]. Gentlemen: I felt at home +in Ireland from the first [rising excitement among his hearers]. +In every Irish breast I have found that spirit of liberty [A +cheery voice "Hear Hear"], that instinctive mistrust of the +Government [A small pious voice, with intense expression, "God +bless you, sir!"], that love of independence [A defiant voice, +"That's it! Independence!"], that indignant sympathy with the +cause of oppressed nationalities abroad [A threatening growl from +all: the ground-swell of patriotic passion], and with the +resolute assertion of personal rights at home, which is all but +extinct in my own country. If it were legally possible I should +become a naturalized Irishman; and if ever it be my good fortune +to represent an Irish constituency in parliament, it shall be my +first care to introduce a Bill legalizing such an operation. I +believe a large section of the Liberal party would avail +themselves of it. [Momentary scepticism]. I do. [Convulsive +cheering]. Gentlemen: I have said enough. [Cries of "Go on"]. No: +I have as yet no right to address you at all on political +subjects; and we must not abuse the warmhearted Irish hospitality +of Miss Doyle by turning her sittingroom into a public meeting. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN [energetically]. Three cheers for Tom Broadbent, the future +member for Rosscullen! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY [waving a half knitted sock]. Hip hip hurray! +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +The cheers are given with great heartiness, as it is by this +time, for the more humorous spirits present, a question of +vociferation or internal rupture. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, friends. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [whispering to Doran]. Take them away, Mr Doran [Doran +nods]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +DORAN. Well, good evenin, Mr Broadbent; an may you never regret +the day you wint dhrivin wid Halligan's pig! [They shake hands]. +Good evenin, Miss Doyle. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +General handshaking, Broadbent shaking hands with everybody +effusively. He accompanies them to the garden and can be heard +outside saying Goodnight in every inflexion known to parliamentary +candidates. Nora, Aunt Judy, Keegan, Larry, and Cornelius are left +in the parlor. Larry goes to the threshold and watches the scene +in the garden. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. It's a shame to make game of him like that. He's a gradle +more good in him than Barney Doran. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS. It's all up with his candidature. He'll be laughed out +o the town. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY [turning quickly from the doorway]. Oh no he won't: he's +not an Irishman. He'll never know they're laughing at him; and +while they're laughing he'll win the seat. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS. But he can't prevent the story getting about. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. He won't want to. He'll tell it himself as one of the most +providential episodes in the history of England and Ireland. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. Sure he wouldn't make a fool of himself like that. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Are you sure he's such a fool after all, Aunt Judy? +Suppose you had a vote! which would you rather give it to? the +man that told the story of Haffigan's pig Barney Doran's way or +Broadbent's way? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. Faith I wouldn't give it to a man at all. It's a few +women they want in parliament to stop their foolish blather. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [bustling into the room, and taking off his damaged +motoring overcoat, which he put down on the sofa]. Well, that's +over. I must apologize for making that speech, Miss Doyle; but +they like it, you know. Everything helps in electioneering. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +Larry takes the chair near the door; draws it near the table; and +sits astride it, with his elbows folded on the back. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. I'd no notion you were such an orator, Mr Broadbent. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Oh, it's only a knack. One picks it up on the +platform. It stokes up their enthusiasm. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. Oh, I forgot. You've not met Mr Keegan. Let me +introjooce you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [shaking hands effusively]. Most happy to meet you, Mr +Keegan. I have heard of you, though I have not had the pleasure +of shaking your hand before. And now may I ask you—for I value +no man's opinion more—what you think of my chances here. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN [coldly]. Your chances, sir, are excellent. You will get +into parliament. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [delighted]. I hope so. I think so. [Fluctuating] You +really think so? You are sure you are not allowing your +enthusiasm for our principles to get the better of your judgment? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. I have no enthusiasm for your principles, sir. You will +get into parliament because you want to get into it badly enough +to be prepared to take the necessary steps to induce the people +to vote for you. That is how people usually get into that +fantastic assembly. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [puzzled]. Of course. [Pause]. Quite so. [Pause]. Er—yes. +[Buoyant again] I think they will vote for me. Eh? Yes? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. Arra why shouldn't they? Look at the people they DO +vote for! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [encouraged]. That's true: that's very true. When I see +the windbags, the carpet-baggers, the charlatans, the—the—the +fools and ignoramuses who corrupt the multitude by their wealth, +or seduce them by spouting balderdash to them, I cannot help +thinking that an honest man with no humbug about him, who will +talk straight common sense and take his stand on the solid ground +of principle and public duty, must win his way with men of all +classes. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN [quietly]. Sir: there was a time, in my ignorant youth, +when I should have called you a hypocrite. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [reddening]. A hypocrite! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [hastily]. Oh I'm sure you don't think anything of the sort, +Mr Keegan. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [emphatically]. Thank you, Miss Reilly: thank you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS [gloomily]. We all have to stretch it a bit in +politics: hwat's the use o pretendin we don't? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [stiffly]. I hope I have said or done nothing that +calls for any such observation, Mr Doyle. If there is a vice I +detest—or against which my whole public life has been a +protest—it is the vice of hypocrisy. I would almost rather be +inconsistent than insincere. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. Do not be offended, sir: I know that you are quite +sincere. There is a saying in the Scripture which runs—so far as +the memory of an oldish man can carry the words—Let not the +right side of your brain know what the left side doeth. I learnt +at Oxford that this is the secret of the Englishman's strange +power of making the best of both worlds. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Surely the text refers to our right and left hands. I +am somewhat surprised to hear a member of your Church quote so +essentially Protestant a document as the Bible; but at least you +might quote it accurately. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Tom: with the best intentions you're making an ass of +yourself. You don't understand Mr Keegan's peculiar vein of +humor. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [instantly recovering his confidence]. Ah! it was +only your delightful Irish humor, Mr Keegan. Of course, of +course. How stupid of me! I'm so sorry. [He pats Keegan +consolingly on the back]. John Bull's wits are still slow, you +see. Besides, calling me a hypocrite was too big a joke to +swallow all at once, you know. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. You must also allow for the fact that I am mad. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. Ah, don't talk like that, Mr Keegan. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [encouragingly]. Not at all, not at all. Only a +whimsical Irishman, eh? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Are you really mad, Mr Keegan? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY [shocked]. Oh, Larry, how could you ask him such a +thing? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. I don't think Mr Keegan minds. [To Keegan] What's the true +version of the story of that black man you confessed on his +deathbed? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. What story have you heard about that? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. I am informed that when the devil came for the black +heathen, he took off your head and turned it three times round +before putting it on again; and that your head's been turned ever +since. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [reproachfully]. Larry! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN [blandly]. That is not quite what occurred. [He collects +himself for a serious utterance: they attend involuntarily]. I +heard that a black man was dying, and that the people were afraid +to go near him. When I went to the place I found an elderly +Hindoo, who told me one of those tales of unmerited misfortune, +of cruel ill luck, of relentless persecution by destiny, which +sometimes wither the commonplaces of consolation on the lips of a +priest. But this man did not complain of his misfortunes. They +were brought upon him, he said, by sins committed in a former +existence. Then, without a word of comfort from me, he died with +a clear-eyed resignation that my most earnest exhortations have +rarely produced in a Christian, and left me sitting there by his +bedside with the mystery of this world suddenly revealed to me. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. That is a remarkable tribute to the liberty of +conscience enjoyed by the subjects of our Indian Empire. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. No doubt; but may we venture to ask what is the mystery of +this world? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. This world, sir, is very clearly a place of torment and +penance, a place where the fool flourishes and the good and wise +are hated and persecuted, a place where men and women torture one +another in the name of love; where children are scourged and +enslaved in the name of parental duty and education; where the +weak in body are poisoned and mutilated in the name of healing, +and the weak in character are put to the horrible torture of +imprisonment, not for hours but for years, in the name of +justice. It is a place where the hardest toil is a welcome refuge +from the horror and tedium of pleasure, and where charity and +good works are done only for hire to ransom the souls of the +spoiler and the sybarite. Now, sir, there is only one place of +horror and torment known to my religion; and that place is hell. +Therefore it is plain to me that this earth of ours must be hell, +and that we are all here, as the Indian revealed to me—perhaps +he was sent to reveal it to me to expiate crimes committed by us +in a former existence. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY [awestruck]. Heaven save us, what a thing to say! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS [sighing]. It's a queer world: that's certain. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Your idea is a very clever one, Mr Keegan: really most +brilliant: I should never have thought of it. But it seems to +me—if I may say so—that you are overlooking the fact that, of +the evils you describe, some are absolutely necessary for the +preservation of society, and others are encouraged only when the +Tories are in office. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. I expect you were a Tory in a former existence; and that +is why you are here. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [with conviction]. Never, Larry, never. But leaving +politics out of the question, I find the world quite good enough +for me: rather a jolly place, in fact. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN [looking at him with quiet wonder]. You are satisfied? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. As a reasonable man, yes. I see no evils in the +world—except, of course, natural evils—that cannot be remedied +by freedom, self-government, and English institutions. I think +so, not because I am an Englishman, but as a matter of common +sense. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. You feel at home in the world, then? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Of course. Don't you? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN [from the very depths of his nature]. No. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [breezily]. Try phosphorus pills. I always take them +when my brain is overworked. I'll give you the address in Oxford +Street. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN [enigmatically: rising]. Miss Doyle: my wandering fit has +come on me: will you excuse me? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. To be sure: you know you can come in n nout as you +like. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. We can finish the game some other time, Miss Reilly. [He +goes for his hat and stick. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. No: I'm out with you [she disarranges the pieces and +rises]. I was too wicked in a former existence to play backgammon +with a good man like you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY [whispering to her]. Whisht, whisht, child! Don't set +him back on that again. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN [to Nora]. When I look at you, I think that perhaps +Ireland is only purgatory, after all. [He passes on to the garden +door]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. Galong with you! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [whispering to Cornelius]. Has he a vote? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS [nodding]. Yes. An there's lots'll vote the way he +tells them. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN [at the garden door, with gentle gravity]. Good evening, +Mr Broadbent. You have set me thinking. Thank you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [delighted, hurrying across to him to shake hands]. No, +really? You find that contact with English ideas is stimulating, +eh? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. I am never tired of hearing you talk, Mr Broadbent. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [modestly remonstrating]. Oh come! come! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. Yes, I assure you. You are an extremely interesting man. +[He goes out]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [enthusiastically]. What a nice chap! What an +intelligent, interesting fellow! By the way, I'd better have a +wash. [He takes up his coat and cap, and leaves the room through +the inner door]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +Nora returns to her chair and shuts up the backgammon board. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY. Keegan's very queer to-day. He has his mad fit on him. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS [worried and bitter]. I wouldn't say but he's right +after all. It's a contrairy world. [To Larry]. Why would you be +such a fool as to let him take the seat in parliament from you? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY [glancing at Nora]. He will take more than that from me +before he's done here. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS. I wish he'd never set foot in my house, bad luck to +his fat face! D'ye think he'd lend me 300 pounds on the farm, +Larry? When I'm so hard up, it seems a waste o money not to +mortgage it now it's me own. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. I can lend you 300 pounds on it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS. No, no: I wasn't putn in for that. When I die and +leave you the farm I should like to be able to feel that it was +all me own, and not half yours to start with. Now I'll take me +oath Barney Doarn's goin to ask Broadbent to lend him 500 pounds +on the mill to put in a new hweel; for the old one'll harly hol +together. An Haffigan can't sleep with covetn that corner o land +at the foot of his medda that belongs to Doolan. He'll have to +mortgage to buy it. I may as well be first as last. D'ye think +Broadbent'd len me a little? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. I'm quite sure he will. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS. Is he as ready as that? Would he len me five hunderd, +d'ye think? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. He'll lend you more than the land'll ever be worth to +you; so for Heaven's sake be prudent. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +CORNELIUS [judicially]. All right, all right, me son: I'll be +careful. I'm goin into the office for a bit. [He withdraws +through the inner door, obviously to prepare his application to +Broadbent]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +AUNT JUDY [indignantly]. As if he hadn't seen enough o borryin +when he was an agent without beginnin borryin himself! [She +rises]. I'll bory him, so I will. [She puts her knitting on the +table and follows him out, with a resolute air that bodes trouble +for Cornelius]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +Larry and Nora are left together for the first time since his +arrival. She looks at him with a smile that perishes as she sees +him aimlessly rocking his chair, and reflecting, evidently not +about her, with his lips pursed as if he were whistling. With a +catch in her throat she takes up Aunt Judy's knitting, and makes +a pretence of going on with it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. I suppose it didn't seem very long to you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY [starting]. Eh? What didn't? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. The eighteen years you've been away. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Oh, that! No: it seems hardly more than a week. I've been +so busy—had so little time to think. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. I've had nothin else to do but think. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. That was very bad for you. Why didn't you give it up? Why +did you stay here? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. Because nobody sent for me to go anywhere else, I suppose. +That's why. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Yes: one does stick frightfully in the same place, unless +some external force comes and routs one out. [He yawns slightly; +but as she looks up quickly at him, he pulls himself together and +rises with an air of waking up and getting to work cheerfully to +make himself agreeable]. And how have you been all this time? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. Quite well, thank you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. That's right. [Suddenly finding that he has nothing else +to say, and being ill at ease in consequence, he strolls about +the room humming a certain tune from Offenbach's Whittington]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [struggling with her tears]. Is that all you have to say to +me, Larry? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Well, what is there to say? You see, we know each other so +well. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [a little consoled]. Yes: of course we do. [He does not +reply]. I wonder you came back at all. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. I couldn't help it. [She looks up affectionately]. Tom +made me. [She looks down again quickly to conceal the effect of +this blow. He whistles another stave; then resumes]. I had a sort +of dread of returning to Ireland. I felt somehow that my luck +would turn if I came back. And now here I am, none the worse. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. Praps it's a little dull for you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. No: I haven't exhausted the interest of strolling about +the old places and remembering and romancing about them. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [hopefully]. Oh! You DO remember the places, then? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Of course. They have associations. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [not doubting that the associations are with her]. I suppose +so. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. M'yes. I can remember particular spots where I had long +fits of thinking about the countries I meant to get to when I +escaped from Ireland. America and London, and sometimes Rome and +the east. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [deeply mortified]. Was that all you used to be thinking +about? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Well, there was precious little else to think about here, +my dear Nora, except sometimes at sunset, when one got maudlin +and called Ireland Erin, and imagined one was remembering the +days of old, and so forth. [He whistles Let Erin Remember]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. Did jever get a letter I wrote you last February? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Oh yes; and I really intended to answer it. But I haven't +had a moment; and I knew you wouldn't mind. You see, I am so +afraid of boring you by writing about affairs you don't +understand and people you don't know! And yet what else have I to +write about? I begin a letter; and then I tear it up again. The +fact is, fond as we are of one another, Nora, we have so little +in common—I mean of course the things one can put in a letter—that +correspondence is apt to become the hardest of hard work. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. Yes: it's hard for me to know anything about you if you +never tell me anything. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY [pettishly]. Nora: a man can't sit down and write his life +day by day when he's tired enough with having lived it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. I'm not blaming you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY [looking at her with some concern]. You seem rather out of +spirits. [Going closer to her, anxiously and tenderly] You +haven't got neuralgia, have you? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. No. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY [reassured]. I get a touch of it sometimes when I am below +par. [absently, again strolling about] Yes, yes. [He begins to +hum again, and soon breaks into articulate melody]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + Though summer smiles on here for ever,<BR> + Though not a leaf falls from the tree,<BR> + Tell England I'll forget her never,<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +[Nora puts down the knitting and stares at him]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + O wind that blows across the sea.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +[With much expression] +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + Tell England I'll forget her ne-e-e-e-ver<BR> + O wind that blows acro-oss—<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +[Here the melody soars out of his range. He continues falsetto, +but changes the tune to Let Erin Remember]. I'm afraid I'm boring +you, Nora, though you're too kind to say so. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. Are you wanting to get back to England already? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Not at all. Not at all. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. That's a queer song to sing to me if you're not. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. The song! Oh, it doesn't mean anything: it's by a German +Jew, like most English patriotic sentiment. Never mind me, my +dear: go on with your work; and don't let me bore you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [bitterly]. Rosscullen isn't such a lively place that I am +likely to be bored by you at our first talk together after +eighteen years, though you don't seem to have much to say to me +after all. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Eighteen years is a devilish long time, Nora. Now if it +had been eighteen minutes, or even eighteen months, we should be +able to pick up the interrupted thread, and chatter like two +magpies. But as it is, I have simply nothing to say; and you seem +to have less. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. I—[her tears choke her; but the keeps up appearances +desperately]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY [quite unconscious of his cruelty]. In a week or so we +shall be quite old friends again. Meanwhile, as I feel that I am +not making myself particularly entertaining, I'll take myself +off. Tell Tom I've gone for a stroll over the hill. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. You seem very fond of Tom, as you call him. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY [the triviality going suddenly out of his voice]. Yes I'm +fond of Tom. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. Oh, well, don't let me keep you from him. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. I know quite well that my departure will be a relief. +Rather a failure, this first meeting after eighteen years, eh? +Well, never mind: these great sentimental events always are +failures; and now the worst of it's over anyhow. [He goes out +through the garden door]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +Nora, left alone, struggles wildly to save herself from +breaking down, and then drops her face on the table and gives way +to a convulsion of crying. Her sobs shake her so that she can +hear nothing; and she has no suspicion that she is no longer +alone until her head and breast are raised by Broadbent, who, +returning newly washed and combed through the inner door, has +seen her condition, first with surprise and concern, and then +with an emotional disturbance that quite upsets him. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Miss Reilly. Miss Reilly. What's the matter? Don't +cry: I can't stand it: you mustn't cry. [She makes a choked +effort to speak, so painful that he continues with impulsive +sympathy] No: don't try to speak: it's all right now. Have your +cry out: never mind me: trust me. [Gathering her to him, and +babbling consolatorily] Cry on my chest: the only really +comfortable place for a woman to cry is a man's chest: a real +man, a real friend. A good broad chest, eh? not less than +forty-two inches—no: don't fuss: never mind the conventions: +we're two friends, aren't we? Come now, come, come! It's all +right and comfortable and happy now, isn't it? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [through her tears]. Let me go. I want me hankerchief. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [holding her with one arm and producing a large silk +handkerchief from his breast pocket]. Here's a handkerchief. Let +me [he dabs her tears dry with it]. Never mind your own: it's too +small: it's one of those wretched little cambric handkerchiefs— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [sobbing]. Indeed it's a common cotton one. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Of course it's a common cotton one—silly little +cotton one—not good enough for the dear eyes of Nora Cryna— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [spluttering into a hysterical laugh and clutching him +convulsively with her fingers while she tries to stifle her +laughter against his collar bone]. Oh don't make me laugh: please +don't make me laugh. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [terrified]. I didn't mean to, on my soul. What is it? +What is it? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. Nora Creena, Nora Creena. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [patting her]. Yes, yes, of course, Nora Creena, Nora +acushla [he makes cush rhyme to plush]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. Acushla [she makes cush rhyme to bush]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Oh, confound the language! Nora darling—my Nora—the +Nora I love— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [shocked into propriety]. You mustn't talk like that to me. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [suddenly becoming prodigiously solemn and letting her +go]. No, of course not. I don't mean it—at least I do mean it; +but I know it's premature. I had no right to take advantage of +your being a little upset; but I lost my self-control for a +moment. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [wondering at him]. I think you're a very kindhearted man, +Mr Broadbent; but you seem to me to have no self-control at all +[she turns her face away with a keen pang of shame and adds] no +more than myself. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [resolutely]. Oh yes, I have: you should see me when I +am really roused: then I have TREMENDOUS self-control. Remember: +we have been alone together only once before; and then, I regret +to say, I was in a disgusting state. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. Ah no, Mr Broadbent: you weren't disgusting. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [mercilessly]. Yes I was: nothing can excuse it: +perfectly beastly. It must have made a most unfavorable +impression on you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. Oh, sure it's all right. Say no more about that. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. I must, Miss Reilly: it is my duty. I shall not detain +you long. May I ask you to sit down. [He indicates her chair with +oppressive solemnity. She sits down wondering. He then, with the +same portentous gravity, places a chair for himself near her; +sits down; and proceeds to explain]. First, Miss Reilly, may I +say that I have tasted nothing of an alcoholic nature today. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. It doesn't seem to make as much difference in you as it +would in an Irishman, somehow. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Perhaps not. Perhaps not. I never quite lose myself. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [consolingly]. Well, anyhow, you're all right now. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [fervently]. Thank you, Miss Reilly: I am. Now we shall +get along. [Tenderly, lowering his voice] Nora: I was in earnest +last night. [Nora moves as if to rise]. No: one moment. You must +not think I am going to press you for an answer before you have +known me for 24 hours. I am a reasonable man, I hope; and I am +prepared to wait as long as you like, provided you will give me +some small assurance that the answer will not be unfavorable. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. How could I go back from it if I did? I sometimes think +you're not quite right in your head, Mr Broadbent, you say such +funny things. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Yes: I know I have a strong sense of humor which +sometimes makes people doubt whether I am quite serious. That is +why I have always thought I should like to marry an Irishwoman. +She would always understand my jokes. For instance, you would +understand them, eh? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [uneasily]. Mr Broadbent, I couldn't. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [soothingly]. Wait: let me break this to you gently, +Miss Reilly: hear me out. I daresay you have noticed that in +speaking to you I have been putting a very strong constraint on +myself, so as to avoid wounding your delicacy by too abrupt an +avowal of my feelings. Well, I feel now that the time has come to +be open, to be frank, to be explicit. Miss Reilly: you have +inspired in me a very strong attachment. Perhaps, with a woman's +intuition, you have already guessed that. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [rising distractedly]. Why do you talk to me in that +unfeeling nonsensical way? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [rising also, much astonished]. Unfeeling! Nonsensical! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. Don't you know that you have said things to me that no man +ought to say unless—unless—[she suddenly breaks down again and +hides her face on the table as before] Oh, go away from me: I +won't get married at all: what is it but heartbreak and +disappointment? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [developing the most formidable symptoms of rage and +grief]. Do you mean to say that you are going to refuse me? that +you don't care for me? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [looking at him in consternation]. Oh, don't take it to +heart, Mr Br— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [flushed and almost choking]. I don't want to be petted +and blarneyed. [With childish rage] I love you. I want you for my +wife. [In despair] I can't help your refusing. I'm helpless: I +can do nothing. You have no right to ruin my whole life. You—[a +hysterical convulsion stops him]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [almost awestruck]. You're not going to cry, are you? I +never thought a man COULD cry. Don't. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. I'm not crying. I—I—I leave that sort of thing to +your damned sentimental Irishmen. You think I have no feeling +because I am a plain unemotional Englishman, with no powers of +expression. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. I don't think you know the sort of man you are at all. +Whatever may be the matter with you, it's not want of feeling. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [hurt and petulant]. It's you who have no feeling. +You're as heartless as Larry. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. What do you expect me to do? Is it to throw meself at your +head the minute the word is out o your mouth? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [striking his silly head with his fists]. Oh, what a +fool! what a brute I am! It's only your Irish delicacy: of +course, of course. You mean Yes. Eh? What? Yes, yes, yes? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. I think you might understand that though I might choose to +be an old maid, I could never marry anybody but you now. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [clasping her violently to his breast, with a crow of +immense relief and triumph]. Ah, that's right, that's right: +That's magnificent. I knew you would see what a first-rate thing +this will be for both of us. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [incommoded and not at all enraptured by his ardor]. You're +dreadfully strong, an a gradle too free with your strength. An I +never thought o whether it'd be a good thing for us or not. But +when you found me here that time, I let you be kind to me, and +cried in your arms, because I was too wretched to think of +anything but the comfort of it. An how could I let any other man +touch me after that? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [touched]. Now that's very nice of you, Nora, that's +really most delicately womanly [he kisses her hand chivalrously]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [looking earnestly and a little doubtfully at him]. Surely +if you let one woman cry on you like that you'd never let another +touch you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [conscientiously]. One should not. One OUGHT not, my +dear girl. But the honest truth is, if a chap is at all a +pleasant sort of chap, his chest becomes a fortification that has +to stand many assaults: at least it is so in England. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [curtly, much disgusted]. Then you'd better marry an +Englishwoman. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [making a wry face]. No, no: the Englishwoman is too +prosaic for my taste, too material, too much of the animated +beefsteak about her. The ideal is what I like. Now Larry's taste +is just the opposite: he likes em solid and bouncing and rather +keen about him. It's a very convenient difference; for we've +never been in love with the same woman. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. An d'ye mean to tell me to me face that you've ever been in +love before? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Lord! yes. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. I'm not your first love? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. First love is only a little foolishness and a lot of +curiosity: no really self-respecting woman would take advantage +of it. No, my dear Nora: I've done with all that long ago. Love +affairs always end in rows. We're not going to have any rows: +we're going to have a solid four-square home: man and wife: +comfort and common sense—and plenty of affection, eh [he puts +his arm round her with confident proprietorship]? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [coldly, trying to get away]. I don't want any other woman's +leavings. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [holding her]. Nobody asked you to, ma'am. I never +asked any woman to marry me before. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [severely]. Then why didn't you if you're an honorable man? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Well, to tell you the truth, they were mostly married +already. But never mind! there was nothing wrong. Come! Don't +take a mean advantage of me. After all, you must have had a fancy +or two yourself, eh? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [conscience-stricken]. Yes. I suppose I've no right to be +particular. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [humbly]. I know I'm not good enough for you, Nora. But +no man is, you know, when the woman is a really nice woman. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. Oh, I'm no better than yourself. I may as well tell you +about it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. No, no: let's have no telling: much better not. I +shan't tell you anything: don't you tell ME anything. Perfect +confidence in one another and no tellings: that's the way to +avoid rows. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. Don't think it was anything I need be ashamed of. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. I don't. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. It was only that I'd never known anybody else that I could +care for; and I was foolish enough once to think that Larry— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [disposing of the idea at once]. Larry! Oh, that +wouldn't have done at all, not at all. You don't know Larry as I +do, my dear. He has absolutely no capacity for enjoyment: he +couldn't make any woman happy. He's as clever as be-blowed; but +life's too earthly for him: he doesn't really care for anything +or anybody. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. I've found that out. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Of course you have. No, my dear: take my word for it, +you're jolly well out of that. There! [swinging her round against +his breast] that's much more comfortable for you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [with Irish peevishness]. Ah, you mustn't go on like that. I +don't like it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [unabashed]. You'll acquire the taste by degrees. You +mustn't mind me: it's an absolute necessity of my nature that I +should have somebody to hug occasionally. Besides, it's good for +you: it'll plump out your muscles and make em elastic and set up +your figure. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. Well, I'm sure! if this is English manners! Aren't you +ashamed to talk about such things? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [in the highest feather]. Not a bit. By George, Nora, +it's a tremendous thing to be able to enjoy oneself. Let's go off +for a walk out of this stuffy little room. I want the open air to +expand in. Come along. Co-o-o-me along. [He puts her arm into his +and sweeps her out into the garden as an equinoctial gale might +sweep a dry leaf]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +Later in the evening, the grasshopper is again enjoying the +sunset by the great stone on the hill; but this time he enjoys +neither the stimulus of Keegan's conversation nor the pleasure +of terrifying Patsy Farrell. He is alone until Nora and +Broadbent come up the hill arm in arm. Broadbent is still +breezy and confident; but she has her head averted from him +and is almost in tears]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [stopping to snuff up the hillside air]. Ah! I like +this spot. I like this view. This would be a jolly good place for +a hotel and a golf links. Friday to Tuesday, railway ticket and +hotel all inclusive. I tell you, Nora, I'm going to develop this +place. [Looking at her] Hallo! What's the matter? Tired? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [unable to restrain her tears]. I'm ashamed out o me life. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [astonished]. Ashamed! What of? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. Oh, how could you drag me all round the place like that, +telling everybody that we're going to be married, and introjoocing +me to the lowest of the low, and letting them shake hans with me, +and encouraging them to make free with us? I little thought I should +live to be shaken hans with be Doolan in broad daylight in the public +street of Rosscullen. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. But, my dear, Doolan's a publican: a most influential +man. By the way, I asked him if his wife would be at home +tomorrow. He said she would; so you must take the motor car round +and call on her. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [aghast]. Is it me call on Doolan's wife! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Yes, of course: call on all their wives. We must get a +copy of the register and a supply of canvassing cards. No use +calling on people who haven't votes. You'll be a great success as +a canvasser, Nora: they call you the heiress; and they'll be +flattered no end by your calling, especially as you've never +cheapened yourself by speaking to them before—have you? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [indignantly]. Not likely, indeed. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Well, we mustn't be stiff and stand-off, you know. We +must be thoroughly democratic, and patronize everybody without +distinction of class. I tell you I'm a jolly lucky man, Nora +Cryna. I get engaged to the most delightful woman in Ireland; and +it turns out that I couldn't have done a smarter stroke of +electioneering. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. An would you let me demean meself like that, just to get +yourself into parliament? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [buoyantly]. Aha! Wait till you find out what an +exciting game electioneering is: you'll be mad to get me in. +Besides, you'd like people to say that Tom Broadbent's wife had +been the making of him—that she got him into parliament—into +the Cabinet, perhaps, eh? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. God knows I don't grudge you me money! But to lower meself +to the level of common people. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. To a member's wife, Nora, nobody is common provided +he's on the register. Come, my dear! it's all right: do you think +I'd let you do it if it wasn't? The best people do it. Everybody +does it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [who has been biting her lip and looking over the hill, +disconsolate and unconvinced]. Well, praps you know best what +they do in England. They must have very little respect for +themselves. I think I'll go in now. I see Larry and Mr Keegan +coming up the hill; and I'm not fit to talk to them. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Just wait and say something nice to Keegan. They tell +me he controls nearly as many votes as Father Dempsey himself. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. You little know Peter Keegan. He'd see through me as if I +was a pane o glass. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Oh, he won't like it any the less for that. What +really flatters a man is that you think him worth flattering. Not +that I would flatter any man: don't think that. I'll just go and +meet him. [He goes down the hill with the eager forward look of a +man about to greet a valued acquaintance. Nora dries her eyes, +and turns to go as Larry strolls up the hill to her]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Nora. [She turns and looks at him hardly, without a word. +He continues anxiously, in his most conciliatory tone]. When I +left you that time, I was just as wretched as you. I didn't +rightly know what I wanted to say; and my tongue kept clacking to +cover the loss I was at. Well, I've been thinking ever since; and +now I know what I ought to have said. I've come back to say it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. You've come too late, then. You thought eighteen years was +not long enough, and that you might keep me waiting a day longer. +Well, you were mistaken. I'm engaged to your friend Mr Broadbent; +and I'm done with you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY [naively]. But that was the very thing I was going to +advise you to do. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [involuntarily]. Oh you brute! to tell me that to me face. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY [nervously relapsing into his most Irish manner]. Nora, +dear, don't you understand that I'm an Irishman, and he's an +Englishman. He wants you; and he grabs you. I want you; and I +quarrel with you and have to go on wanting you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. So you may. You'd better go back to England to the animated +beefsteaks you're so fond of. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY [amazed]. Nora! [Guessing where she got the metaphor] He's +been talking about me, I see. Well, never mind: we must be +friends, you and I. I don't want his marriage to you to be his +divorce from me. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. You care more for him than you ever did for me. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY [with curt sincerity]. Yes of course I do: why should I +tell you lies about it? Nora Reilly was a person of very little +consequence to me or anyone else outside this miserable little +hole. But Mrs Tom Broadbent will be a person of very considerable +consequence indeed. Play your new part well, and there will be no +more neglect, no more loneliness, no more idle regrettings and +vain-hopings in the evenings by the Round Tower, but real life +and real work and real cares and real joys among real people: +solid English life in London, the very centre of the world. You +will find your work cut out for you keeping Tom's house and +entertaining Tom's friends and getting Tom into parliament; but +it will be worth the effort. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. You talk as if I were under an obligation to him for +marrying me. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. I talk as I think. You've made a very good match, let me +tell you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. Indeed! Well, some people might say he's not done so badly +himself. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. If you mean that you will be a treasure to him, he thinks +so now; and you can keep him thinking so if you like. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. I wasn't thinking o meself at all. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Were you thinking of your money, Nora? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA. I didn't say so. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Your money will not pay your cook's wages in London. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +NORA [flaming up]. If that's true—and the more shame for you to +throw it in my face if it IS true—at all events it'll make us +independent; for if the worst comes to the worst, we can always +come back here an live on it. An if I have to keep his house for +him, at all events I can keep you out of it; for I've done with +you; and I wish I'd never seen you. So goodbye to you, Mister +Larry Doyle. [She turns her back on him and goes home]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY [watching her as she goes]. Goodbye. Goodbye. Oh, that's so +Irish! Irish both of us to the backbone: Irish, Irish, Irish— +</P> + +<P CLASS="stage"> +Broadbent arrives, conversing energetically with Keegan. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Nothing pays like a golfing hotel, if you hold the +land instead of the shares, and if the furniture people stand in +with you, and if you are a good man of business. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Nora's gone home. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [with conviction]. You were right this morning, Larry. +I must feed up Nora. She's weak; and it makes her fanciful. Oh, +by the way, did I tell you that we're engaged? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. She told me herself. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [complacently]. She's rather full of it, as you may +imagine. Poor Nora! Well, Mr Keegan, as I said, I begin to see my +way here. I begin to see my way. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN [with a courteous inclination]. The conquering Englishman, +sir. Within 24 hours of your arrival you have carried off our +only heiress, and practically secured the parliamentary seat. And +you have promised me that when I come here in the evenings to +meditate on my madness; to watch the shadow of the Round Tower +lengthening in the sunset; to break my heart uselessly in the +curtained gloaming over the dead heart and blinded soul of the +island of the saints, you will comfort me with the bustle of a +great hotel, and the sight of the little children carrying the +golf clubs of your tourists as a preparation for the life to +come. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [quite touched, mutely offering him a cigar to console +him, at which he smiles and shakes his head]. Yes, Mr Keegan: +you're quite right. There's poetry in everything, even [looking +absently into the cigar case] in the most modern prosaic things, +if you know how to extract it [he extracts a cigar for himself +and offers one to Larry, who takes it]. If I was to be shot for +it I couldn't extract it myself; but that's where you come in, +you see [roguishly, waking up from his reverie and bustling +Keegan goodhumoredly]. And then I shall wake you up a bit. That's +where I come in: eh? d'ye see? Eh? eh? [He pats him very +pleasantly on the shoulder, half admiringly, half pityingly]. +Just so, just so. [Coming back to business] By the way, I believe +I can do better than a light railway here. There seems to be no +question now that the motor boat has come to stay. Well, look at +your magnificent river there, going to waste. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN [closing his eyes]. "Silent, O Moyle, be the roar of thy +waters." +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. You know, the roar of a motor boat is quite pretty. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. Provided it does not drown the Angelus. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [reassuringly]. Oh no: it won't do that: not the least +danger. You know, a church bell can make a devil of a noise when +it likes. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. You have an answer for everything, sir. But your plans +leave one question still unanswered: how to get butter out of a +dog's throat. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Eh? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. You cannot build your golf links and hotels in the air. +For that you must own our land. And how will you drag our acres +from the ferret's grip of Matthew Haffigan? How will you persuade +Cornelius Doyle to forego the pride of being a small landowner? +How will Barney Doran's millrace agree with your motor boats? +Will Doolan help you to get a license for your hotel? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. My dear sir: to all intents and purposes the syndicate +I represent already owns half Rosscullen. Doolan's is a tied +house; and the brewers are in the syndicate. As to Haffigan's +farm and Doran's mill and Mr Doyle's place and half a dozen +others, they will be mortgaged to me before a month is out. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. But pardon me, you will not lend them more on their land +than the land is worth; so they will be able to pay you the +interest. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Ah, you are a poet, Mr Keegan, not a man of business. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. We will lend everyone of these men half as much again on +their land as it is worth, or ever can be worth, to them. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. You forget, sir, that we, with our capital, our +knowledge, our organization, and may I say our English business +habits, can make or lose ten pounds out of land that Haffigan, +with all his industry, could not make or lose ten shillings out +of. Doran's mill is a superannuated folly: I shall want it for +electric lighting. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. What is the use of giving land to such men? they are too +small, too poor, too ignorant, too simpleminded to hold it +against us: you might as well give a dukedom to a crossing +sweeper. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Yes, Mr Keegan: this place may have an industrial +future, or it may have a residential future: I can't tell yet; +but it's not going to be a future in the hands of your Dorans and +Haffigans, poor devils! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. It may have no future at all. Have you thought of that? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Oh, I'm not afraid of that. I have faith in Ireland, +great faith, Mr Keegan. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. And we have none: only empty enthusiasms and patriotisms, +and emptier memories and regrets. Ah yes: you have some excuse +for believing that if there be any future, it will be yours; for +our faith seems dead, and our hearts cold and cowed. An island of +dreamers who wake up in your jails, of critics and cowards whom +you buy and tame for your own service, of bold rogues who help +you to plunder us that they may plunder you afterwards. Eh? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [a little impatient of this unbusinesslike view]. Yes, +yes; but you know you might say that of any country. The fact is, +there are only two qualities in the world: efficiency and +inefficiency, and only two sorts of people: the efficient and the +inefficient. It don't matter whether they're English or Irish. I +shall collar this place, not because I'm an Englishman and +Haffigan and Co are Irishmen, but because they're duffers and I +know my way about. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. Have you considered what is to become of Haffigan? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Oh, we'll employ him in some capacity or other, and +probably pay him more than he makes for himself now. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [dubiously]. Do you think so? No no: Haffigan's too +old. It really doesn't pay now to take on men over forty even for +unskilled labor, which I suppose is all Haffigan would be good +for. No: Haffigan had better go to America, or into the Union, +poor old chap! He's worked out, you know: you can see it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. Poor lost soul, so cunningly fenced in with invisible +bars! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Haffigan doesn't matter much. He'll die presently. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [shocked]. Oh come, Larry! Don't be unfeeling. It's +hard on Haffigan. It's always hard on the inefficient. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Pah! what does it matter where an old and broken man +spends his last days, or whether he has a million at the bank or +only the workhouse dole? It's the young men, the able men, that +matter. The real tragedy of Haffigan is the tragedy of his wasted +youth, his stunted mind, his drudging over his clods and pigs +until he has become a clod and a pig himself—until the soul +within him has smouldered into nothing but a dull temper that +hurts himself and all around him. I say let him die, and let us +have no more of his like. And let young Ireland take care that it +doesn't share his fate, instead of making another empty grievance +of it. Let your syndicate come— +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Your syndicate too, old chap. You have your bit of the +stock. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Yes, mine if you like. Well, our syndicate has no +conscience: it has no more regard for your Haffigans and Doolans +and Dorans than it has for a gang of Chinese coolies. It will use +your patriotic blatherskite and balderdash to get parliamentary +powers over you as cynically as it would bait a mousetrap with +toasted cheese. It will plan, and organize, and find capital +while you slave like bees for it and revenge yourselves by paying +politicians and penny newspapers out of your small wages to write +articles and report speeches against its wickedness and tyranny, +and to crack up your own Irish heroism, just as Haffigan once +paid a witch a penny to put a spell on Billy Byrne's cow. In the +end it will grind the nonsense out of you, and grind strength and +sense into you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [out of patience]. Why can't you say a simple thing +simply, Larry, without all that Irish exaggeration and talky-talky? +The syndicate is a perfectly respectable body of responsible men of +good position. We'll take Ireland in hand, and by straightforward +business habits teach it efficiency and self-help on sound Liberal +principles. You agree with me, Mr Keegan, don't you? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. Sir: I may even vote for you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [sincerely moved, shaking his hand warmly]. You shall +never regret it, Mr Keegan: I give you my word for that. I shall +bring money here: I shall raise wages: I shall found public +institutions, a library, a Polytechnic [undenominational, of +course], a gymnasium, a cricket club, perhaps an art school. I +shall make a Garden city of Rosscullen: the round tower shall be +thoroughly repaired and restored. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. And our place of torment shall be as clean and orderly as +the cleanest and most orderly place I know in Ireland, which is +our poetically named Mountjoy prison. Well, perhaps I had better +vote for an efficient devil that knows his own mind and his own +business than for a foolish patriot who has no mind and no +business. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [stiffly]. Devil is rather a strong expression in that +connexion, Mr Keegan. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. Not from a man who knows that this world is hell. But +since the word offends you, let me soften it, and compare you +simply to an ass. [Larry whitens with anger]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [reddening]. An ass! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN [gently]. You may take it without offence from a madman +who calls the ass his brother—and a very honest, useful and +faithful brother too. The ass, sir, is the most efficient of +beasts, matter-of-fact, hardy, friendly when you treat him as a +fellow-creature, stubborn when you abuse him, ridiculous only in +love, which sets him braying, and in politics, which move him to +roll about in the public road and raise a dust about nothing. Can +you deny these qualities and habits in yourself, sir? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [goodhumoredly]. Well, yes, I'm afraid I do, you know. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. Then perhaps you will confess to the ass's one fault. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Perhaps so: what is it? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. That he wastes all his virtues—his efficiency, as you +call it—in doing the will of his greedy masters instead of doing +the will of Heaven that is in himself. He is efficient in the +service of Mammon, mighty in mischief, skilful in ruin, heroic in +destruction. But he comes to browse here without knowing that the +soil his hoof touches is holy ground. Ireland, sir, for good or +evil, is like no other place under heaven; and no man can touch +its sod or breathe its air without becoming better or worse. It +produces two kinds of men in strange perfection: saints and +traitors. It is called the island of the saints; but indeed in +these later years it might be more fitly called the island of the +traitors; for our harvest of these is the fine flower of the +world's crop of infamy. But the day may come when these islands +shall live by the quality of their men rather than by the +abundance of their minerals; and then we shall see. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Mr Keegan: if you are going to be sentimental about +Ireland, I shall bid you good evening. We have had enough of +that, and more than enough of cleverly proving that everybody who +is not an Irishman is an ass. It is neither good sense nor good +manners. It will not stop the syndicate; and it will not interest +young Ireland so much as my friend's gospel of efficiency. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Ah, yes, yes: efficiency is the thing. I don't in the +least mind your chaff, Mr Keegan; but Larry's right on the main +point. The world belongs to the efficient. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN [with polished irony]. I stand rebuked, gentlemen. But +believe me, I do every justice to the efficiency of you and your +syndicate. You are both, I am told, thoroughly efficient civil +engineers; and I have no doubt the golf links will be a triumph +of your art. Mr Broadbent will get into parliament most +efficiently, which is more than St Patrick could do if he were +alive now. You may even build the hotel efficiently if you can +find enough efficient masons, carpenters, and plumbers, which I +rather doubt. [Dropping his irony, and beginning to fall into the +attitude of the priest rebuking sin] When the hotel becomes +insolvent [Broadbent takes his cigar out of his mouth, a little +taken aback], your English business habits will secure the +thorough efficiency of the liquidation. You will reorganize the +scheme efficiently; you will liquidate its second bankruptcy +efficiently [Broadbent and Larry look quickly at one another; for +this, unless the priest is an old financial hand, must be +inspiration]; you will get rid of its original shareholders +efficiently after efficiently ruining them; and you will finally +profit very efficiently by getting that hotel for a few shillings +in the pound. [More and more sternly] Besides those efficient +operations, you will foreclose your mortgages most efficiently +[his rebuking forefinger goes up in spite of himself]; you will +drive Haffigan to America very efficiently; you will find a use +for Barney Doran's foul mouth and bullying temper by employing +him to slave-drive your laborers very efficiently; and [low and +bitter] when at last this poor desolate countryside becomes a +busy mint in which we shall all slave to make money for you, with +our Polytechnic to teach us how to do it efficiently, and our +library to fuddle the few imaginations your distilleries will +spare, and our repaired Round Tower with admission sixpence, and +refreshments and penny-in-the-slot mutoscopes to make it +interesting, then no doubt your English and American shareholders +will spend all the money we make for them very efficiently in +shooting and hunting, in operations for cancer and appendicitis, +in gluttony and gambling; and you will devote what they save to +fresh land development schemes. For four wicked centuries the +world has dreamed this foolish dream of efficiency; and the end +is not yet. But the end will come. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [seriously]. Too true, Mr Keegan, only too true. And +most eloquently put. It reminds me of poor Ruskin—a great man, +you know. I sympathize. Believe me, I'm on your side. Don't +sneer, Larry: I used to read a lot of Shelley years ago. Let us +be faithful to the dreams of our youth [he wafts a wreath of +cigar smoke at large across the hill]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. Come, Mr Doyle! is this English sentiment so much more +efficient than our Irish sentiment, after all? Mr Broadbent +spends his life inefficiently admiring the thoughts of great men, +and efficiently serving the cupidity of base money hunters. We +spend our lives efficiently sneering at him and doing nothing. +Which of us has any right to reproach the other? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [coming down the hill again to Keegan's right hand]. +But you know, something must be done. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. Yes: when we cease to do, we cease to live. Well, what +shall we do? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Why, what lies to our hand. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. Which is the making of golf links and hotels to bring +idlers to a country which workers have left in millions because +it is a hungry land, a naked land, an ignorant and oppressed +land. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. But, hang it all, the idlers will bring money from +England to Ireland! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. Just as our idlers have for so many generations taken +money from Ireland to England. Has that saved England from +poverty and degradation more horrible than we have ever dreamed +of? When I went to England, sir, I hated England. Now I pity it. +[Broadbent can hardly conceive an Irishman pitying England; but +as Larry intervenes angrily, he gives it up and takes to the bill +and his cigar again] +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Much good your pity will do it! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. In the accounts kept in heaven, Mr Doyle, a heart +purified of hatred may be worth more even than a Land Development +Syndicate of Anglicized Irishmen and Gladstonized Englishmen. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Oh, in heaven, no doubt! I have never been there. Can you +tell me where it is? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. Could you have told me this morning where hell is? Yet +you know now that it is here. Do not despair of finding heaven: +it may be no farther off. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY [ironically]. On this holy ground, as you call it, eh? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN [with fierce intensity]. Yes, perhaps, even on this holy +ground which such Irishmen as you have turned into a Land of +Derision. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [coming between them]. Take care! you will be +quarrelling presently. Oh, you Irishmen, you Irishmen! Toujours +Ballyhooly, eh? [Larry, with a shrug, half comic, half impatient, +turn away up the hill, but presently strolls back on Keegan's +right. Broadbent adds, confidentially to Keegan] Stick to the +Englishman, Mr Keegan: he has a bad name here; but at least he +can forgive you for being an Irishman. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. Sir: when you speak to me of English and Irish you forget +that I am a Catholic. My country is not Ireland nor England, but +the whole mighty realm of my Church. For me there are but two +countries: heaven and hell; but two conditions of men: salvation +and damnation. Standing here between you the Englishman, so +clever in your foolishness, and this Irishman, so foolish in his +cleverness, I cannot in my ignorance be sure which of you is the +more deeply damned; but I should be unfaithful to my calling if I +opened the gates of my heart less widely to one than to the +other. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. In either case it would be an impertinence, Mr Keegan, as +your approval is not of the slightest consequence to us. What use +do you suppose all this drivel is to men with serious practical +business in hand? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. I don't agree with that, Larry. I think these things +cannot be said too often: they keep up the moral tone of the +community. As you know, I claim the right to think for myself in +religious matters: in fact, I am ready to avow myself a bit of +a—of a—well, I don't care who knows it—a bit of a Unitarian; +but if the Church of England contained a few men like Mr Keegan, +I should certainly join it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. You do me too much honor, sir. [With priestly humility to +Larry] Mr Doyle: I am to blame for having unintentionally set +your mind somewhat on edge against me. I beg your pardon. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY [unimpressed and hostile]. I didn't stand on ceremony with +you: you needn't stand on it with me. Fine manners and fine words +are cheap in Ireland: you can keep both for my friend here, who +is still imposed on by them. I know their value. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. You mean you don't know their value. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY [angrily]. I mean what I say. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN [turning quietly to the Englishman] You see, Mr Broadbent, +I only make the hearts of my countrymen harder when I preach to +them: the gates of hell still prevail against me. I shall wish +you good evening. I am better alone, at the Round Tower, dreaming +of heaven. [He goes up the hill]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Aye, that's it! there you are! dreaming, dreaming, +dreaming, dreaming! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN [halting and turning to them for the last time]. Every +dream is a prophecy: every jest is an earnest in the womb of +Time. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [reflectively]. Once, when I was a small kid, I dreamt +I was in heaven. [They both stare at him]. It was a sort of pale +blue satin place, with all the pious old ladies in our congregation +sitting as if they were at a service; and there was some awful person +in the study at the other side of the hall. I didn't enjoy it, you +know. What is it like in your dreams? +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +KEEGAN. In my dreams it is a country where the State is the +Church and the Church the people: three in one and one in three. +It is a commonwealth in which work is play and play is life: +three in one and one in three. It is a temple in which the priest +is the worshipper and the worshipper the worshipped: three in one +and one in three. It is a godhead in which all life is human and +all humanity divine: three in one and one in three. It is, in +short, the dream of a madman. [He goes away across the hill]. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT [looking after him affectionately]. What a regular old +Church and State Tory he is! He's a character: he'll be an +attraction here. Really almost equal to Ruskin and Carlyle. +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +LARRY. Yes; and much good they did with all their talk! +</P> + +<P CLASS="dialog"> +BROADBENT. Oh tut, tut, Larry! They improved my mind: they raised +my tone enormously. I feel sincerely obliged to Keegan: he has +made me feel a better man: distinctly better. [With sincere +elevation] I feel now as I never did before that I am right in +devoting my life to the cause of Ireland. Come along and help me +to choose the site for the hotel. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's John Bull's Other Island, by George Bernard Shaw + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JOHN BULL'S OTHER ISLAND *** + +***** This file should be named 3612-h.htm or 3612-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/1/3612/ + +Produced by Eve Sobol + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions 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. 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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 + + +Title: John Bull's Other Island + +Author: George Bernard Shaw + +Posting Date: April 22, 2009 [EBook #3612] +Release Date: January, 2003 +First Posted: June 13, 2001 +Last Updated: April 12, 2006 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JOHN BULL'S OTHER ISLAND *** + + + + +Produced by Eve Sobol + + + + + + + + + +JOHN BULL'S OTHER ISLAND + + +by + +BERNARD SHAW + + + + +ACT I + +Great George Street, Westminster, is the address of Doyle and +Broadbent, civil engineers. On the threshold one reads that the +firm consists of Mr Lawrence Doyle and Mr Thomas Broadbent, and +that their rooms are on the first floor. Most of their rooms are +private; for the partners, being bachelors and bosom friends, +live there; and the door marked Private, next the clerks' office, +is their domestic sitting room as well as their reception room +for clients. Let me describe it briefly from the point of view of +a sparrow on the window sill. The outer door is in the opposite +wall, close to the right hand corner. Between this door and the +left hand corner is a hatstand and a table consisting of large +drawing boards on trestles, with plans, rolls of tracing paper, +mathematical instruments and other draughtsman's accessories on +it. In the left hand wall is the fireplace, and the door of an +inner room between the fireplace and our observant sparrow. +Against the right hand wall is a filing cabinet, with a cupboard +on it, and, nearer, a tall office desk and stool for one person. +In the middle of the room a large double writing table is set +across, with a chair at each end for the two partners. It is a +room which no woman would tolerate, smelling of tobacco, and much +in need of repapering, repainting, and recarpeting; but this is +the effect of bachelor untidiness and indifference, not want of +means; for nothing that Doyle and Broadbent themselves have +purchased is cheap; nor is anything they want lacking. On the +walls hang a large map of South America, a pictorial advertisement +of a steamship company, an impressive portrait of Gladstone, and +several caricatures of Mr Balfour as a rabbit and Mr Chamberlain +as a fox by Francis Carruthers Gould. + +At twenty minutes to five o'clock on a summer afternoon in 1904, +the room is empty. Presently the outer door is opened, and a +valet comes in laden with a large Gladstone bag, and a strap of +rugs. He carries them into the inner room. He is a respectable +valet, old enough to have lost all alacrity, and acquired an air +of putting up patiently with a great deal of trouble and +indifferent health. The luggage belongs to Broadbent, who enters +after the valet. He pulls off his overcoat and hangs it with his +hat on the stand. Then he comes to the writing table and looks +through the letters which are waiting for him. He is a robust, +full-blooded, energetic man in the prime of life, sometimes eager +and credulous, sometimes shrewd and roguish, sometimes portentously +solemn, sometimes jolly and impetuous, always buoyant and irresistible, +mostly likeable, and enormously absurd in his most earnest moments. +He bursts open his letters with his thumb, and glances through them, +flinging the envelopes about the floor with reckless untidiness +whilst he talks to the valet. + +BROADBENT [calling] Hodson. + +HODSON [in the bedroom] Yes sir. + +BROADBENT. Don't unpack. Just take out the things I've worn; and +put in clean things. + +HODSON [appearing at the bedroom door] Yes sir. [He turns to go +back into the bedroom. + +BROADBENT. And look here! [Hodson turns again]. Do you remember +where I put my revolver? + +HODSON. Revolver, sir? Yes sir. Mr Doyle uses it as a +paper-weight, sir, when he's drawing. + +BROADBENT. Well, I want it packed. There's a packet of cartridges +somewhere, I think. Find it and pack it as well. + +HODSON. Yes sir. + +BROADBENT. By the way, pack your own traps too. I shall take you +with me this time. + +HODSON [hesitant]. Is it a dangerous part you're going to, sir? +Should I be expected to carry a revolver, sir? + +BROADBENT. Perhaps it might be as well. I'm going to Ireland. + +HODSON [reassured]. Yes sir. + +BROADBENT. You don't feel nervous about it, I suppose? + +HODSON. Not at all, sir. I'll risk it, sir. + +BROADBENT. Have you ever been in Ireland? + +HODSON. No sir. I understand it's a very wet climate, sir. I'd +better pack your india-rubber overalls. + +BROADBENT. Do. Where's Mr Doyle? + +HODSON. I'm expecting him at five, sir. He went out after lunch. + +BROADBENT. Anybody been looking for me? + +HODSON. A person giving the name of Haffigan has called twice to-day, sir. + +BROADBENT. Oh, I'm sorry. Why didn't he wait? I told him to wait +if I wasn't in. + +HODSON. Well Sir, I didn't know you expected him; so I thought it +best to--to--not to encourage him, sir. + +BROADBENT. Oh, he's all right. He's an Irishman, and not very +particular about his appearance. + +HODSON. Yes sir, I noticed that he was rather Irish.... + +BROADBENT. If he calls again let him come up. + +HODSON. I think I saw him waiting about, sir, when you drove up. +Shall I fetch him, sir? + +BROADBENT. Do, Hodson. + +HODSON. Yes sir [He makes for the outer door]. + +BROADBENT. He'll want tea. Let us have some. + +HODSON [stopping]. I shouldn't think he drank tea, sir. + +BROADBENT. Well, bring whatever you think he'd like. + +HODSON. Yes sir [An electric bell rings]. Here he is, sir. Saw +you arrive, sir. + +BROADBENT. Right. Show him in. [Hodson goes out. Broadbent gets +through the rest of his letters before Hodson returns with the +visitor]. + +HODSON. Mr Affigan. + +Haffigan is a stunted, shortnecked, smallheaded, redhaired man of +about 30, with reddened nose and furtive eyes. He is dressed in +seedy black, almost clerically, and might be a tenth-rate +schoolmaster ruined by drink. He hastens to shake Broadbent's +hand with a show of reckless geniality and high spirits, helped +out by a rollicking stage brogue. This is perhaps a comfort to +himself, as he is secretly pursued by the horrors of incipient +delirium tremens. + +HAFFIGAN. Tim Haffigan, sir, at your service. The top o the +mornin to you, Misther Broadbent. + +BROADBENT [delighted with his Irish visitor]. Good afternoon, Mr +Haffigan. + +TIM. An is it the afthernoon it is already? Begorra, what I call +the mornin is all the time a man fasts afther breakfast. + +BROADBENT. Haven't you lunched? + +TIM. Divil a lunch! + +BROADBENT. I'm sorry I couldn't get back from Brighton in time to +offer you some; but-- + +TIM. Not a word, sir, not a word. Sure it'll do tomorrow. +Besides, I'm Irish, sir: a poor ather, but a powerful dhrinker. + +BROADBENT. I was just about to ring for tea when you came. Sit +down, Mr Haffigan. + +TIM. Tay is a good dhrink if your nerves can stand it. Mine +can't. + +Haffigan sits down at the writing table, with his back to the +filing cabinet. Broadbent sits opposite him. Hodson enters +emptyhanded; takes two glasses, a siphon, and a tantalus from the +cupboard; places them before Broadbent on the writing table; +looks ruthlessly at Haffigan, who cannot meet his eye; and +retires. + +BROADBENT. Try a whisky and soda. + +TIM [sobered]. There you touch the national wakeness, sir. +[Piously] Not that I share it meself. I've seen too much of the +mischief of it. + +BROADBENT [pouring the whisky]. Say when. + +TIM. Not too sthrong. [Broadbent stops and looks enquiringly at +him]. Say half-an-half. [Broadbent, somewhat startled by this +demand, pours a little more, and again stops and looks]. Just a +dhrain more: the lower half o the tumbler doesn't hold a fair +half. Thankya. + +BROADBENT [laughing]. You Irishmen certainly do know how to +drink. [Pouring some whisky for himself] Now that's my poor +English idea of a whisky and soda. + +TIM. An a very good idea it is too. Dhrink is the curse o me +unhappy counthry. I take it meself because I've a wake heart and +a poor digestion; but in principle I'm a teetoatler. + +BROADBENT [suddenly solemn and strenuous]. So am I, of course. +I'm a Local Optionist to the backbone. You have no idea, Mr +Haffigan, of the ruin that is wrought in this country by the +unholy alliance of the publicans, the bishops, the Tories, and +The Times. We must close the public-houses at all costs [he +drinks]. + +TIM. Sure I know. It's awful [he drinks]. I see you're a good +Liberal like meself, sir. + +BROADBENT. I am a lover of liberty, like every true Englishman, +Mr Haffigan. My name is Broadbent. If my name were Breitstein, +and I had a hooked nose and a house in Park Lane, I should carry +a Union Jack handkerchief and a penny trumpet, and tax the food +of the people to support the Navy League, and clamor for the +destruction of the last remnants of national liberty-- + +TIM. Not another word. Shake hands. + +BROADBENT. But I should like to explain-- + +TIM. Sure I know every word you're goin to say before yev said +it. I know the sort o man yar. An so you're thinkin o comin to +Ireland for a bit? + +BROADBENT. Where else can I go? I am an Englishman and a Liberal; +and now that South Africa has been enslaved and destroyed, there +is no country left to me to take an interest in but Ireland. +Mind: I don't say that an Englishman has not other duties. He has +a duty to Finland and a duty to Macedonia. But what sane man can +deny that an Englishman's first duty is his duty to Ireland? +Unfortunately, we have politicians here more unscrupulous than +Bobrikoff, more bloodthirsty than Abdul the Damned; and it is +under their heel that Ireland is now writhing. + +TIM. Faith, they've reckoned up with poor oul Bobrikoff anyhow. + +BROADBENT. Not that I defend assassination: God forbid! However +strongly we may feel that the unfortunate and patriotic young man +who avenged the wrongs of Finland on the Russian tyrant was +perfectly right from his own point of view, yet every civilized +man must regard murder with abhorrence. Not even in defence of +Free Trade would I lift my hand against a political opponent, +however richly he might deserve it. + +TIM. I'm sure you wouldn't; and I honor you for it. You're goin +to Ireland, then, out o sympithy: is it? + +BROADBENT. I'm going to develop an estate there for the Land +Development Syndicate, in which I am interested. I am convinced +that all it needs to make it pay is to handle it properly, as +estates are handled in England. You know the English plan, Mr +Haffigan, don't you? + +TIM. Bedad I do, sir. Take all you can out of Ireland and spend +it in England: that's it. + +BROADBENT [not quite liking this]. My plan, sir, will be to take +a little money out of England and spend it in Ireland. + +TIM. More power to your elbow! an may your shadda never be less! +for you're the broth of a boy intirely. An how can I help you? +Command me to the last dhrop o me blood. + +BROADBENT. Have you ever heard of Garden City? + +TIM [doubtfully]. D'ye mane Heavn? + +BROADBENT. Heaven! No: it's near Hitchin. If you can spare half +an hour I'll go into it with you. + +TIM. I tell you hwat. Gimme a prospectus. Lemme take it home and +reflect on it. + +BROADBENT. You're quite right: I will. [He gives him a copy of Mr +Ebenezer Howard's book, and several pamphlets]. You understand +that the map of the city--the circular construction--is only a +suggestion. + +TIM. I'll make a careful note o that [looking dazedly at the +map]. + +BROADBENT. What I say is, why not start a Garden City in Ireland? + +TIM [with enthusiasm]. That's just what was on the tip o me +tongue to ask you. Why not? [Defiantly] Tell me why not. + +BROADBENT. There are difficulties. I shall overcome them; but +there are difficulties. When I first arrive in Ireland I shall be +hated as an Englishman. As a Protestant, I shall be denounced +from every altar. My life may be in danger. Well, I am prepared +to face that. + +TIM. Never fear, sir. We know how to respict a brave innimy. + +BROADBENT. What I really dread is misunderstanding. I think you +could help me to avoid that. When I heard you speak the other +evening in Bermondsey at the meeting of the National League, I +saw at once that you were--You won't mind my speaking frankly? + +TIM. Tell me all me faults as man to man. I can stand anything +but flatthery. + +BROADBENT. May I put it in this way?--that I saw at once that you +were a thorough Irishman, with all the faults and all, the +qualities of your race: rash and improvident but brave and +goodnatured; not likely to succeed in business on your own +account perhaps, but eloquent, humorous, a lover of freedom, and +a true follower of that great Englishman Gladstone. + +TIM. Spare me blushes. I mustn't sit here to be praised to me +face. But I confess to the goodnature: it's an Irish wakeness. +I'd share me last shillin with a friend. + +BROADBENT. I feel sure you would, Mr Haffigan. + +TIM [impulsively]. Damn it! call me Tim. A man that talks about +Ireland as you do may call me anything. Gimme a howlt o that +whisky bottle [he replenishes]. + +BROADBENT [smiling indulgently]. Well, Tim, will you come with me +and help to break the ice between me and your warmhearted, +impulsive countrymen? + +TIM. Will I come to Madagascar or Cochin China wid you? Bedad +I'll come to the North Pole wid you if yll pay me fare; for the +divil a shillin I have to buy a third class ticket. + +BROADBENT. I've not forgotten that, Tim. We must put that little +matter on a solid English footing, though the rest can be as +Irish as you please. You must come as my--my--well, I hardly know +what to call it. If we call you my agent, they'll shoot you. If +we call you a bailiff, they'll duck you in the horsepond. I have +a secretary already; and-- + +TIM. Then we'll call him the Home Secretary and me the Irish +Secretary. Eh? + +BROADBENT [laughing industriously]. Capital. Your Irish wit has +settled the first difficulty. Now about your salary-- + +TIM. A salary, is it? Sure I'd do it for nothin, only me cloes ud +disgrace you; and I'd be dhriven to borra money from your +friends: a thing that's agin me nacher. But I won't take a penny +more than a hundherd a year. [He looks with restless cunning at +Broadbent, trying to guess how far he may go]. + +BROADBENT. If that will satisfy you-- + +TIM [more than reassured]. Why shouldn't it satisfy me? A +hundherd a year is twelve-pound a month, isn't it? + +BROADBENT. No. Eight pound six and eightpence. + +TIM. Oh murdher! An I'll have to sind five timme poor oul mother +in Ireland. But no matther: I said a hundherd; and what I said +I'll stick to, if I have to starve for it. + +BROADBENT [with business caution]. Well, let us say twelve pounds +for the first month. Afterwards, we shall see how we get on. + +TIM. You're a gentleman, sir. Whin me mother turns up her toes, +you shall take the five pounds off; for your expinses must be kep +down wid a sthrong hand; an--[He is interrupted by the arrival of +Broadbent's partner.] + +Mr Laurence Doyle is a man of 36, with cold grey eyes, strained +nose, fine fastidious lips, critical brown, clever head, rather +refined and goodlooking on the whole, but with a suggestion of +thinskinedness and dissatisfaction that contrasts strongly with +Broadbent's eupeptic jollity. + +He comes in as a man at home there, but on seeing the stranger +shrinks at once, and is about to withdraw when Broadbent +reassures him. He then comes forward to the table, between the +two others. + +DOYLE [retreating]. You're engaged. + +BROADBENT. Not at all, not at all. Come in. [To Tim] This +gentleman is a friend who lives with me here: my partner, Mr +Doyle. [To Doyle] This is a new Irish friend of mine, Mr Tim +Haffigan. + +TIM [rising with effusion]. Sure it's meself that's proud to meet +any friend o Misther Broadbent's. The top o the mornin to you, +sir! Me heart goes out teeye both. It's not often I meet two such +splendid speciments iv the Anglo-Saxon race. + +BROADBENT [chuckling] Wrong for once, Tim. My friend Mr Doyle is +a countryman of yours. + +Tim is noticeably dashed by this announcement. He draws in his +horns at once, and scowls suspiciously at Doyle under a vanishing +mark of goodfellowship: cringing a little, too, in mere nerveless +fear of him. + +DOYLE [with cool disgust]. Good evening. [He retires to the +fireplace, and says to Broadbent in a tone which conveys the +strongest possible hint to Haffigan that he is unwelcome] Will +you soon be disengaged? + +TIM [his brogue decaying into a common would-be genteel accent +with an unexpected strain of Glasgow in it]. I must be going. +Ivnmportnt engeegement in the west end. + +BROADBENT [rising]. It's settled, then, that you come with me. + +TIM. Ish'll be verra pleased to accompany ye, sir. + +BROADBENT. But how soon? Can you start tonight--from Paddington? +We go by Milford Haven. + +TIM [hesitating]. Well--I'm afreed--I [Doyle goes abruptly into +the bedroom, slamming the door and shattering the last remnant of +Tim's nerve. The poor wretch saves himself from bursting into +tears by plunging again into his role of daredevil Irishman. He +rushes to Broadbent; plucks at his sleeve with trembling fingers; +and pours forth his entreaty with all the brogue be can muster, +subduing his voice lest Doyle should hear and return]. Misther +Broadbent: don't humiliate me before a fella counthryman. Look +here: me cloes is up the spout. Gimme a fypounnote--I'll pay ya +nex choosda whin me ship comes home--or you can stop it out o me +month's sallery. I'll be on the platform at Paddnton punctial an +ready. Gimme it quick, before he comes back. You won't mind me +axin, will ye? + +BROADBENT. Not at all. I was about to offer you an advance for +travelling expenses. [He gives him a bank note]. + +TIM [pocketing it]. Thank you. I'll be there half an hour before +the thrain starts. [Larry is heard at the bedroom door, +returning]. Whisht: he's comin back. Goodbye an God bless ye. [He +hurries out almost crying, the 5 pound note and all the drink it +means to him being too much for his empty stomach and overstrained +nerves]. + +DOYLE [returning]. Where the devil did you pick up that seedy +swindler? What was he doing here? [He goes up to the table where +the plans are, and makes a note on one of them, referring to his +pocket book as he does so]. + +BROADBENT. There you go! Why are you so down on every Irishman +you meet, especially if he's a bit shabby? poor devil! Surely a +fellow-countryman may pass you the top of the morning without +offence, even if his coat is a bit shiny at the seams. + +DOYLE [contemptuously]. The top of the morning! Did he call you +the broth of a boy? [He comes to the writing table]. + +BROADBENT [triumphantly]. Yes. + +DOYLE. And wished you more power to your elbow? + +BROADBENT. He did. + +DOYLE. And that your shadow might never be less? + +BROADBENT. Certainly. + +DOYLE [taking up the depleted whisky bottle and shaking his head +at it]. And he got about half a pint of whisky out of you. + +BROADBENT. It did him no harm. He never turned a hair. + +DOYLE. How much money did he borrow? + +BROADBENT. It was not borrowing exactly. He showed a very +honorable spirit about money. I believe he would share his last +shilling with a friend. + +DOYLE. No doubt he would share his friend's last shilling if his +friend was fool enough to let him. How much did he touch you for? + +BROADBENT. Oh, nothing. An advance on his salary--for travelling +expenses. + +DOYLE. Salary! In Heaven's name, what for? + +BROADBENT. For being my Home Secretary, as he very wittily called +it. + +DOYLE. I don't see the joke. + +BROADBENT. You can spoil any joke by being cold blooded about it. +I saw it all right when he said it. It was something--something +really very amusing--about the Home Secretary and the Irish +Secretary. At all events, he's evidently the very man to take +with me to Ireland to break the ice for me. He can gain the +confidence of the people there, and make them friendly to me. Eh? +[He seats himself on the office stool, and tilts it back so that +the edge of the standing desk supports his back and prevents his +toppling over]. + +DOYLE. A nice introduction, by George! Do you suppose the whole +population of Ireland consists of drunken begging letter writers, +or that even if it did, they would accept one another as +references? + +BROADBENT. Pooh! nonsense! He's only an Irishman. Besides, you +don't seriously suppose that Haffigan can humbug me, do you? + +DOYLE. No: he's too lazy to take the trouble. All he has to do is +to sit there and drink your whisky while you humbug yourself. +However, we needn't argue about Haffigan, for two reasons. First, +with your money in his pocket he will never reach Paddington: +there are too many public houses on the way. Second, he's not an +Irishman at all. + +BROADBENT. Not an Irishman! [He is so amazed by the statement +that he straightens himself and brings the stool bolt upright]. + +DOYLE. Born in Glasgow. Never was in Ireland in his life. I know +all about him. + +BROADBENT. But he spoke--he behaved just like an Irishman. + +DOYLE. Like an Irishman!! Is it possible that you don't know that +all this top-o-the-morning and broth-of-a-boy and more-power-to-your-elbow +business is as peculiar to England as the Albert Hall concerts of +Irish music are? No Irishman ever talks like that in Ireland, or +ever did, or ever will. But when a thoroughly worthless Irishman +comes to England, and finds the whole place full of romantic duffers +like you, who will let him loaf and drink and sponge and brag as +long as he flatters your sense of moral superiority by playing the +fool and degrading himself and his country, he soon learns the antics +that take you in. He picks them up at the theatre or the music hall. +Haffigan learnt the rudiments from his father, who came from my part +of Ireland. I knew his uncles, Matt and Andy Haffigan of Rosscullen. + +BROADBENT [still incredulous]. But his brogue! + +DOYLE. His brogue! A fat lot you know about brogues! I've heard +you call a Dublin accent that you could hang your hat on, a +brogue. Heaven help you! you don't know the difference between +Connemara and Rathmines. [With violent irritation] Oh, damn Tim +Haffigan! Let's drop the subject: he's not worth wrangling about. + +BROADBENT. What's wrong with you today, Larry? Why are you so +bitter? + +Doyle looks at him perplexedly; comes slowly to the writing +table; and sits down at the end next the fireplace before +replying. + +DOYLE. Well: your letter completely upset me, for one thing. + +BROADBENT. Why? + +LARRY. Your foreclosing this Rosscullen mortgage and turning poor +Nick Lestrange out of house and home has rather taken me aback; +for I liked the old rascal when I was a boy and had the run of +his park to play in. I was brought up on the property. + +BROADBENT. But he wouldn't pay the interest. I had to foreclose +on behalf of the Syndicate. So now I'm off to Rosscullen to look +after the property myself. [He sits down at the writing table +opposite Larry, and adds, casually, but with an anxious glance at +his partner] You're coming with me, of course? + +DOYLE [rising nervously and recommencing his restless movements]. +That's it. That's what I dread. That's what has upset me. + +BROADBENT. But don't you want to see your country again after 18 +years absence? to see your people, to be in the old home again? +To-- + +DOYLE [interrupting him very impatiently]. Yes, yes: I know all +that as well as you do. + +BROADBENT. Oh well, of course [with a shrug] if you take it in +that way, I'm sorry. + +DOYLE. Never you mind my temper: it's not meant for you, as you +ought to know by this time. [He sits down again, a little ashamed +of his petulance; reflects a moment bitterly; then bursts out] I +have an instinct against going back to Ireland: an instinct so +strong that I'd rather go with you to the South Pole than to +Rosscullen. + +BROADBENT. What! Here you are, belonging to a nation with the +strongest patriotism! the most inveterate homing instinct in the +world! and you pretend you'd rather go anywhere than back to +Ireland. You don't suppose I believe you, do you? In your heart-- + +DOYLE. Never mind my heart: an Irishman's heart is nothing but +his imagination. How many of all those millions that have left +Ireland have ever come back or wanted to come back? But what's +the use of talking to you? Three verses of twaddle about the +Irish emigrant "sitting on the stile, Mary," or three hours of +Irish patriotism in Bermondsey or the Scotland Division of +Liverpool, go further with you than all the facts that stare you +in the face. Why, man alive, look at me! You know the way I nag, +and worry, and carp, and cavil, and disparage, and am never +satisfied and never quiet, and try the patience of my best +friends. + +BROADBENT. Oh, come, Larry! do yourself justice. You're very +amusing and agreeable to strangers. + +DOYLE. Yes, to strangers. Perhaps if I was a bit stiffer to +strangers, and a bit easier at home, like an Englishman, I'd be +better company for you. + +BROADBENT. We get on well enough. Of course you have the +melancholy of the Celtic race-- + +DOYLE [bounding out of his chair] Good God!!! + +BROADBENT [slyly]--and also its habit of using strong language +when there's nothing the matter. + +DOYLE. Nothing the matter! When people talk about the Celtic +race, I feel as if I could burn down London. That sort of rot +does more harm than ten Coercion Acts. Do you suppose a man need +be a Celt to feel melancholy in Rosscullen? Why, man, Ireland was +peopled just as England was; and its breed was crossed by just +the same invaders. + +BROADBENT. True. All the capable people in Ireland are of English +extraction. It has often struck me as a most remarkable +circumstance that the only party in parliament which shows the +genuine old English character and spirit is the Irish party. Look +at its independence, its determination, its defiance of bad +Governments, its sympathy with oppressed nationalities all the +world over! How English! + +DOYLE. Not to mention the solemnity with which it talks +old-fashioned nonsense which it knows perfectly well to be a century +behind the times. That's English, if you like. + +BROADBENT. No, Larry, no. You are thinking of the modern hybrids +that now monopolize England. Hypocrites, humbugs, Germans, Jews, +Yankees, foreigners, Park Laners, cosmopolitan riffraff. Don't +call them English. They don't belong to the dear old island, but +to their confounded new empire; and by George! they're worthy of +it; and I wish them joy of it. + +DOYLE [unmoved by this outburst]. There! You feel better now, +don't you? + +BROADBENT [defiantly]. I do. Much better. + +DOYLE. My dear Tom, you only need a touch of the Irish climate to +be as big a fool as I am myself. If all my Irish blood were +poured into your veins, you wouldn't turn a hair of your +constitution and character. Go and marry the most English +Englishwoman you can find, and then bring up your son in +Rosscullen; and that son's character will be so like mine and so +unlike yours that everybody will accuse me of being his father. +[With sudden anguish] Rosscullen! oh, good Lord, Rosscullen! The +dullness! the hopelessness! the ignorance! the bigotry! + +BROADBENT [matter-of-factly]. The usual thing in the country, +Larry. Just the same here. + +DOYLE [hastily]. No, no: the climate is different. Here, if the +life is dull, you can be dull too, and no great harm done. [Going +off into a passionate dream] But your wits can't thicken in that +soft moist air, on those white springy roads, in those misty +rushes and brown bogs, on those hillsides of granite rocks and +magenta heather. You've no such colors in the sky, no such lure +in the distances, no such sadness in the evenings. Oh, the +dreaming! the dreaming! the torturing, heartscalding, never +satisfying dreaming, dreaming, dreaming, dreaming! [Savagely] No +debauchery that ever coarsened and brutalized an Englishman can +take the worth and usefulness out of him like that dreaming. An +Irishman's imagination never lets him alone, never convinces him, +never satisfies him; but it makes him that he can't face reality +nor deal with it nor handle it nor conquer it: he can only sneer +at them that do, and [bitterly, at Broadbent] be "agreeable to +strangers," like a good-for-nothing woman on the streets. +[Gabbling at Broadbent across the table] It's all dreaming, all +imagination. He can't be religious. The inspired Churchman that +teaches him the sanctity of life and the importance of conduct is +sent away empty; while the poor village priest that gives him a +miracle or a sentimental story of a saint, has cathedrals built +for him out of the pennies of the poor. He can't be intelligently +political, he dreams of what the Shan Van Vocht said in +ninety-eight. If you want to interest him in Ireland you've got to call +the unfortunate island Kathleen ni Hoolihan and pretend she's a +little old woman. It saves thinking. It saves working. It saves +everything except imagination, imagination, imagination; and +imagination's such a torture that you can't bear it without +whisky. [With fierce shivering self-contempt] At last you get +that you can bear nothing real at all: you'd rather starve than +cook a meal; you'd rather go shabby and dirty than set your mind +to take care of your clothes and wash yourself; you nag and +squabble at home because your wife isn't an angel, and she +despises you because you're not a hero; and you hate the whole +lot round you because they're only poor slovenly useless devils +like yourself. [Dropping his voice like a man making some +shameful confidence] And all the while there goes on a horrible, +senseless, mischievous laughter. When you're young, you exchange +drinks with other young men; and you exchange vile stories with +them; and as you're too futile to be able to help or cheer them, +you chaff and sneer and taunt them for not doing the things you +daren't do yourself. And all the time you laugh, laugh, laugh! +eternal derision, eternal envy, eternal folly, eternal fouling +and staining and degrading, until, when you come at last to a +country where men take a question seriously and give a serious +answer to it, you deride them for having no sense of humor, and +plume yourself on your own worthlessness as if it made you better +than them. + +BROADBENT [roused to intense earnestness by Doyle's eloquence]. +Never despair, Larry. There are great possibilities for Ireland. +Home Rule will work wonders under English guidance. + +DOYLE [pulled up short, his face twitching with a reluctant +smile]. Tom: why do you select my most tragic moments for your +most irresistible strokes of humor? + +BROADBENT. Humor! I was perfectly serious. What do you mean? Do +you doubt my seriousness about Home Rule? + +DOYLE. I am sure you are serious, Tom, about the English guidance. + +BROADBENT [quite reassured]. Of course I am. Our guidance is the +important thing. We English must place our capacity for government +without stint at the service of nations who are less fortunately +endowed in that respect; so as to allow them to develop in perfect +freedom to the English level of self-government, you know. You +understand me? + +DOYLE. Perfectly. And Rosscullen will understand you too. + +BROADBENT [cheerfully]. Of course it will. So that's all right. +[He pulls up his chair and settles himself comfortably to lecture +Doyle]. Now, Larry, I've listened carefully to all you've said +about Ireland; and I can see nothing whatever to prevent your +coming with me. What does it all come to? Simply that you were +only a young fellow when you were in Ireland. You'll find all +that chaffing and drinking and not knowing what to be at in +Peckham just the same as in Donnybrook. You looked at Ireland +with a boy's eyes and saw only boyish things. Come back with me +and look at it with a man's, and get a better opinion of your +country. + +DOYLE. I daresay you're partly right in that: at all events I +know very well that if I had been the son of a laborer instead of +the son of a country landagent, I should have struck more grit +than I did. Unfortunately I'm not going back to visit the Irish +nation, but to visit my father and Aunt Judy and Nora Reilly and +Father Dempsey and the rest of them. + +BROADBENT. Well, why not? They'll be delighted to see you, now +that England has made a man of you. + +DOYLE [struck by this]. Ah! you hit the mark there, Tom, with +true British inspiration. + +BROADBENT. Common sense, you mean. + +DOYLE [quickly]. No I don't: you've no more common sense than a +gander. No Englishman has any common sense, or ever had, or ever +will have. You're going on a sentimental expedition for perfectly +ridiculous reasons, with your head full of political nonsense +that would not take in any ordinarily intelligent donkey; but you +can hit me in the eye with the simple truth about myself and my +father. + +BROADBENT [amazed]. I never mentioned your father. + +DOYLE [not heeding the interruption]. There he is in Rosscullen, +a landagent who's always been in a small way because he's a +Catholic, and the landlords are mostly Protestants. What with +land courts reducing rents and Land Acts turning big estates into +little holdings, he'd be a beggar this day if he hadn't bought +his own little farm under the Land Purchase Act. I doubt if he's +been further from home than Athenmullet for the last twenty +years. And here am I, made a man of, as you say, by England. + +BROADBENT [apologetically]. I assure you I never meant-- + +DOYLE. Oh, don't apologize: it's quite true. I daresay I've +learnt something in America and a few other remote and inferior +spots; but in the main it is by living with you and working in +double harness with you that I have learnt to live in a real +world and not in an imaginary one. I owe more to you than to any +Irishman. + +BROADBENT [shaking his head with a twinkle in his eye]. Very +friendly of you, Larry, old man, but all blarney. I like blarney; +but it's rot, all the same. + +DOYLE. No it's not. I should never have done anything without +you; although I never stop wondering at that blessed old head of +yours with all its ideas in watertight compartments, and all the +compartments warranted impervious to anything that it doesn't +suit you to understand. + +BROADBENT [invincible]. Unmitigated rot, Larry, I assure you. + +DOYLE. Well, at any rate you will admit that all my friends are +either Englishmen or men of the big world that belongs to the big +Powers. All the serious part of my life has been lived in that +atmosphere: all the serious part of my work has been done with +men of that sort. Just think of me as I am now going back to +Rosscullen! to that hell of littleness and monotony! How am I to +get on with a little country landagent that ekes out his 5 per +cent with a little farming and a scrap of house property in the +nearest country town? What am I to say to him? What is he to say +to me? + +BROADBFNT [scandalized]. But you're father and son, man! + +DOYLE. What difference does that make? What would you say if I +proposed a visit to YOUR father? + +BROADBENT [with filial rectitude]. I always made a point of going +to see my father regularly until his mind gave way. + +DOYLE [concerned]. Has he gone mad? You never told me. + +BROADBENT. He has joined the Tariff Reform League. He would never +have done that if his mind had not been weakened. [Beginning to +declaim] He has fallen a victim to the arts of a political +charlatan who-- + +DOYLE [interrupting him]. You mean that you keep clear of your +father because he differs from you about Free Trade, and you +don't want to quarrel with him. Well, think of me and my father! +He's a Nationalist and a Separatist. I'm a metallurgical chemist +turned civil engineer. Now whatever else metallurgical chemistry +may be, it's not national. It's international. And my business +and yours as civil engineers is to join countries, not to +separate them. The one real political conviction that our +business has rubbed into us is that frontiers are hindrances and +flags confounded nuisances. + +BROADBENT [still smarting under Mr Chamberlain's economic +heresy]. Only when there is a protective tariff-- + +DOYLE [firmly] Now look here, Tom: you want to get in a speech on +Free Trade; and you're not going to do it: I won't stand it. My +father wants to make St George's Channel a frontier and hoist a +green flag on College Green; and I want to bring Galway within 3 +hours of Colchester and 24 of New York. I want Ireland to be the +brains and imagination of a big Commonwealth, not a Robinson +Crusoe island. Then there's the religious difficulty. My +Catholicism is the Catholicism of Charlemagne or Dante, qualified +by a great deal of modern science and folklore which Father +Dempsey would call the ravings of an Atheist. Well, my father's +Catholicism is the Catholicism of Father Dempsey. + +BROADBENT [shrewdly]. I don't want to interrupt you, Larry; but +you know this is all gammon. These differences exist in all +families; but the members rub on together all right. [Suddenly +relapsing into portentousness] Of course there are some questions +which touch the very foundations of morals; and on these I grant +you even the closest relationships cannot excuse any compromise +or laxity. For instance-- + +DOYLE [impatiently springing up and walking about]. For instance, +Home Rule, South Africa, Free Trade, and the Education Rate. +Well, I should differ from my father on every one of them, +probably, just as I differ from you about them. + +BROADBENT. Yes; but you are an Irishman; and these things are not +serious to you as they are to an Englishman. + +DOYLE. What! not even Home Rule! + +BROADBENT [steadfastly]. Not even Home Rule. We owe Home Rule not +to the Irish, but to our English Gladstone. No, Larry: I can't +help thinking that there's something behind all this. + +DOYLE [hotly]. What is there behind it? Do you think I'm +humbugging you? + +BROADBENT. Don't fly out at me, old chap. I only thought-- + +DOYLE. What did you think? + +BROADBENT. Well, a moment ago I caught a name which is new to me: +a Miss Nora Reilly, I think. [Doyle stops dead and stares at him +with something like awe]. I don't wish to be impertinent, as you +know, Larry; but are you sure she has nothing to do with your +reluctance to come to Ireland with me? + +DOYLE [sitting down again, vanquished]. Thomas Broadbent: I +surrender. The poor silly-clever Irishman takes off his hat to +God's Englishman. The man who could in all seriousness make that +recent remark of yours about Home Rule and Gladstone must be +simply the champion idiot of all the world. Yet the man who could +in the very next sentence sweep away all my special pleading and +go straight to the heart of my motives must be a man of genius. +But that the idiot and the genius should be the same man! how is +that possible? [Springing to his feet] By Jove, I see it all now. +I'll write an article about it, and send it to Nature. + +BROADBENT [staring at him]. What on earth-- + +DOYLE. It's quite simple. You know that a +caterpillar-- + +BROADBENT. A caterpillar!!! + +DOYLE. Yes, a caterpillar. Now give your mind to what I am going +to say; for it's a new and important scientific theory of the +English national character. A caterpillar-- + +BROADBENT. Look here, Larry: don't be an ass. + +DOYLE [insisting]. I say a caterpillar and I mean a caterpillar. +You'll understand presently. A caterpillar [Broadbent mutters a +slight protest, but does not press it] when it gets into a tree, +instinctively makes itself look exactly like a leaf; so that both +its enemies and its prey may mistake it for one and think it not +worth bothering about. + +BROADBENT. What's that got to do with our English national +character? + +DOYLE. I'll tell you. The world is as full of fools as a tree is +full of leaves. Well, the Englishman does what the caterpillar +does. He instinctively makes himself look like a fool, and eats +up all the real fools at his ease while his enemies let him alone +and laugh at him for being a fool like the rest. Oh, nature is +cunning, cunning! [He sits down, lost in contemplation of his +word-picture]. + +BROADBENT [with hearty admiration]. Now you know, Larry, that +would never have occurred to me. You Irish people are amazingly +clever. Of course it's all tommy rot; but it's so brilliant, you +know! How the dickens do you think of such things! You really +must write an article about it: they'll pay you something for it. +If Nature won't have it, I can get it into Engineering for you: I +know the editor. + +DOYLE. Let's get back to business. I'd better tell you about Nora +Reilly. + +BROADBENT. No: never mind. I shouldn't have alluded to her. + +DOYLE. I'd rather. Nora has a fortune. + +BROADBENT [keenly interested]. Eh? How much? + +DOYLE. Forty per annum. + +BROADBENT. Forty thousand? + +DOYLE. No, forty. Forty pounds. + +BROADBENT [much dashed.] That's what you call a fortune in +Rosscullen, is it? + +DOYLE. A girl with a dowry of five pounds calls it a fortune in +Rosscullen. What's more 40 pounds a year IS a fortune there; and +Nora Reilly enjoys a good deal of social consideration as an +heiress on the strength of it. It has helped my father's +household through many a tight place. My father was her father's +agent. She came on a visit to us when he died, and has lived with +us ever since. + +BROADBENT [attentively, beginning to suspect Larry of misconduct +with Nora, and resolving to get to the bottom of it]. Since when? +I mean how old were you when she came? + +DOYLE. I was seventeen. So was she: if she'd been older she'd +have had more sense than to stay with us. We were together for 18 +months before I went up to Dublin to study. When I went home for +Christmas and Easter, she was there: I suppose it used to be +something of an event for her, though of course I never thought +of that then. + +BROADBENT. Were you at all hard hit? + +DOYLE. Not really. I had only two ideas at that time, first, to +learn to do something; and then to get out of Ireland and have a +chance of doing it. She didn't count. I was romantic about her, +just as I was romantic about Byron's heroines or the old Round +Tower of Rosscullen; but she didn't count any more than they did. +I've never crossed St George's Channel since for her sake--never +even landed at Queenstown and come back to London through +Ireland. + +BROADBENT. But did you ever say anything that would justify her +in waiting for you? + +DOYLE. No, never. But she IS waiting for me. + +BROADBENT. How do you know? + +DOYLE. She writes to me--on her birthday. She used to write on +mine, and send me little things as presents; but I stopped that +by pretending that it was no use when I was travelling, as they +got lost in the foreign post-offices. [He pronounces post-offices +with the stress on offices, instead of on post]. + +BROADBENT. You answer the letters? + +DOYLE. Not very punctually. But they get acknowledged at one time +or another. + +BROADBENT. How do you feel when you see her handwriting? + +DOYLE. Uneasy. I'd give 50 pounds to escape a letter. + +BROADBENT [looking grave, and throwing himself back in his chair +to intimate that the cross-examination is over, and the result +very damaging to the witness] Hm! + +DOYLE. What d'ye mean by Hm!? + +BROADBENT. Of course I know that the moral code is different in +Ireland. But in England it's not considered fair to trifle with a +woman's affections. + +DOYLE. You mean that an Englishman would get engaged to another +woman and return Nora her letters and presents with a letter to +say he was unworthy of her and wished her every happiness? + +BROADBENT. Well, even that would set the poor girl's mind at +rest. + +DOYLE. Would it? I wonder! One thing I can tell you; and that is +that Nora would wait until she died of old age sooner than ask my +intentions or condescend to hint at the possibility of my having +any. You don't know what Irish pride is. England may have knocked +a good deal of it out of me; but she's never been in England; and +if I had to choose between wounding that delicacy in her and +hitting her in the face, I'd hit her in the face without a +moment's hesitation. + +BROADBENT [who has been nursing his knee and reflecting, +apparently rather agreeably]. You know, all this sounds rather +interesting. There's the Irish charm about it. That's the worst +of you: the Irish charm doesn't exist for you. + +DOYLE. Oh yes it does. But it's the charm of a dream. Live in +contact with dreams and you will get something of their charm: +live in contact with facts and you will get something of their +brutality. I wish I could find a country to live in where the +facts were not brutal and the dreams not unreal. + +BROADBENT [changing his attitude and responding to Doyle's +earnestness with deep conviction: his elbows on the table and his +hands clenched]. Don't despair, Larry, old boy: things may look +black; but there will be a great change after the next election. + +DOYLE [jumping up]. Oh get out, you idiot! + +BROADBENT [rising also, not a bit snubbed]. Ha! ha! you may +laugh; but we shall see. However, don't let us argue about that. +Come now! you ask my advice about Miss Reilly? + +DOYLE [reddening]. No I don't. Damn your advice! [Softening] +Let's have it, all the same. + +BROADBENT. Well, everything you tell me about her impresses me +favorably. She seems to have the feelings of a lady; and though +we must face the fact that in England her income would hardly +maintain her in the lower middle class-- + +DOYLE [interrupting]. Now look here, Tom. That reminds me. When +you go to Ireland, just drop talking about the middle class and +bragging of belonging to it. In Ireland you're either a gentleman +or you're not. If you want to be particularly offensive to Nora, +you can call her a Papist; but if you call her a middle-class +woman, Heaven help you! + +BROADBENT [irrepressible]. Never fear. You're all descended from +the ancient kings: I know that. [Complacently] I'm not so +tactless as you think, my boy. [Earnest again] I expect to find +Miss Reilly a perfect lady; and I strongly advise you to come and +have another look at her before you make up your mind about her. +By the way, have you a photograph of her? + +DOYLE. Her photographs stopped at twenty-five. + +BROADBENT [saddened]. Ah yes, I suppose so. [With feeling, +severely] Larry: you've treated that poor girl disgracefully. + +DOYLE. By George, if she only knew that two men were talking +about her like this--! + +BROADBENT. She wouldn't like it, would she? Of course not. We +ought to be ashamed of ourselves, Larry. [More and more carried +away by his new fancy]. You know, I have a sort of presentiment +that Miss Really is a very superior woman. + +DOYLE [staring hard at him]. Oh you have, have you? + +BROADBENT. Yes I have. There is something very touching about the +history of this beautiful girl. + +DOYLE. Beau--! Oho! Here's a chance for Nora! and for me! +[Calling] Hodson. + +HODSON [appearing at the bedroom door]. Did you call, sir? + +DOYLE. Pack for me too. I'm going to Ireland with Mr Broadbent. + +HODSON. Right, sir. [He retires into the bedroom.] + +BROADBENT [clapping Doyle on the shoulder]. Thank you, old chap. +Thank you. + + + +ACT II + +Rosscullen. Westward a hillside of granite rock and heather +slopes upward across the prospect from south to north, a huge +stone stands on it in a naturally impossible place, as if it had +been tossed up there by a giant. Over the brow, in the desolate +valley beyond, is a round tower. A lonely white high road +trending away westward past the tower loses itself at the foot of +the far mountains. It is evening; and there are great breadths of +silken green in the Irish sky. The sun is setting. + +A man with the face of a young saint, yet with white hair and +perhaps 50 years on his back, is standing near the stone in a +trance of intense melancholy, looking over the hills as if by +mere intensity of gaze he could pierce the glories of the sunset +and see into the streets of heaven. He is dressed in black, and +is rather more clerical in appearance than most English curates +are nowadays; but he does not wear the collar and waistcoat of a +parish priest. He is roused from his trance by the chirp of an +insect from a tuft of grass in a crevice of the stone. His face +relaxes: he turns quietly, and gravely takes off his hat to the +tuft, addressing the insect in a brogue which is the jocular +assumption of a gentleman and not the natural speech of a +peasant. + +THE MAN. An is that yourself, Misther Grasshopper? I hope I see +you well this fine evenin. + +THE GRASSHOPPER [prompt and shrill in answer]. X.X. + +THE MAN [encouragingly]. That's right. I suppose now you've come +out to make yourself miserable by admyerin the sunset? + +THE GRASSHOPPER [sadly]. X.X. + +THE MAN. Aye, you're a thrue Irish grasshopper. + +THE GRASSHOPPER [loudly]. X.X.X. + +THE MAN. Three cheers for ould Ireland, is it? That helps you to +face out the misery and the poverty and the torment, doesn't it? + +THE GRASSHOPPER [plaintively]. X.X. + +THE MAN. Ah, it's no use, me poor little friend. If you could +jump as far as a kangaroo you couldn't jump away from your own +heart an its punishment. You can only look at Heaven from here: +you can't reach it. There! [pointing with his stick to the +sunset] that's the gate o glory, isn't it? + +THE GRASSHOPPER [assenting]. X.X. + +THE MAN. Sure it's the wise grasshopper yar to know that! But +tell me this, Misther Unworldly Wiseman: why does the sight of +Heaven wring your heart an mine as the sight of holy wather +wrings the heart o the divil? What wickedness have you done to +bring that curse on you? Here! where are you jumpin to? Where's +your manners to go skyrocketin like that out o the box in the +middle o your confession [he threatens it with his stick]? + +THE GRASSHOPPER [penitently]. X. + +THE MAN [lowering the stick]. I accept your apology; but don't do +it again. And now tell me one thing before I let you go home to +bed. Which would you say this counthry was: hell or purgatory? + +THE GRASSHOPPER. X. + +THE MAN. Hell! Faith I'm afraid you're right. I wondher what you +and me did when we were alive to get sent here. + +THE GRASSHOPPER [shrilly]. X.X. + +THE MAN [nodding]. Well, as you say, it's a delicate subject; and +I won't press it on you. Now off widja. + +THE GRASSHOPPER. X.X. [It springs away]. + +THE MAN [waving his stick] God speed you! [He walks away past the +stone towards the brow of the hill. Immediately a young laborer, +his face distorted with terror, slips round from behind the +stone. + +THE LABORER [crossing himself repeatedly]. Oh glory be to God! +glory be to God! Oh Holy Mother an all the saints! Oh murdher! +murdher! [Beside himself, calling Fadher Keegan! Fadher Keegan]! + +THE MAN [turning]. Who's there? What's that? [He comes back and +finds the laborer, who clasps his knees] Patsy Farrell! What are +you doing here? + +PATSY. O for the love o God don't lave me here wi dhe +grasshopper. I hard it spakin to you. Don't let it do me any +harm, Father darlint. + +KEEGAN. Get up, you foolish man, get up. Are you afraid of a poor +insect because I pretended it was talking to me? + +PATSY. Oh, it was no pretending, Fadher dear. Didn't it give +three cheers n say it was a divil out o hell? Oh say you'll see +me safe home, Fadher; n put a blessin on me or somethin [he moans +with terror]. + +KEEGAN. What were you doin there, Patsy, listnin? Were you spyin +on me? + +PATSY. No, Fadher: on me oath an soul I wasn't: I was waitn to +meet Masther Larry n carry his luggage from the car; n I fell +asleep on the grass; n you woke me talkin to the grasshopper; n I +hard its wicked little voice. Oh, d'ye think I'll die before the +year's out, Fadher? + +KEEGAN. For shame, Patsy! Is that your religion, to be afraid of +a little deeshy grasshopper? Suppose it was a divil, what call +have you to fear it? If I could ketch it, I'd make you take it +home widja in your hat for a penance. + +PATSY. Sure, if you won't let it harm me, I'm not afraid, your +riverence. [He gets up, a little reassured. He is a callow, +flaxen polled, smoothfaced, downy chinned lad, fully grown but +not yet fully filled out, with blue eyes and an instinctively +acquired air of helplessness and silliness, indicating, not his +real character, but a cunning developed by his constant dread of +a hostile dominance, which he habitually tries to disarm and +tempt into unmasking by pretending to be a much greater fool than +he really is. Englishmen think him half-witted, which is exactly +what he intends them to think. He is clad in corduroy trousers, +unbuttoned waistcoat, and coarse blue striped shirt]. + +KEEGAN [admonitorily]. Patsy: what did I tell you about callin me +Father Keegan an your reverence? What did Father Dempsey tell you +about it? + +PATSY. Yis, Fadher. + +KEEGAN. Father! + +PATSY [desperately]. Arra, hwat am I to call you? Fadher Dempsey +sez you're not a priest; n we all know you're not a man; n how do +we know what ud happen to us if we showed any disrespect to you? +N sure they say wanse a priest always a priest. + +KEEGAN [sternly]. It's not for the like of you, Patsy, to go +behind the instruction of your parish priest and set yourself up +to judge whether your Church is right or wrong. + +PATSY. Sure I know that, sir. + +KEEGAN. The Church let me be its priest as long as it thought me +fit for its work. When it took away my papers it meant you to +know that I was only a poor madman, unfit and unworthy to take +charge of the souls of the people. + +PATSY. But wasn't it only because you knew more Latn than Father +Dempsey that he was jealous of you? + +KEEGAN [scolding him to keep himself from smiling]. How dar you, +Patsy Farrell, put your own wicked little spites and foolishnesses +into the heart of your priest? For two pins I'd tell him what you +just said. + +PATSY [coaxing] Sure you wouldn't-- + +KEEGAN. Wouldn't I? God forgive you! You're little better than a +heathen. + +PATSY. Deedn I am, Fadher: it's me bruddher the tinsmith in +Dublin you're thinkin of. Sure he had to be a freethinker when he +larnt a thrade and went to live in the town. + +KEEGAN. Well, he'll get to Heaven before you if you're not +careful, Patsy. And now you listen to me, once and for all. +You'll talk to me and pray for me by the name of Pether Keegan, +so you will. And when you're angry and tempted to lift your hand +agen the donkey or stamp your foot on the little grasshopper, +remember that the donkey's Pether Keegan's brother, and the +grasshopper Pether Keegan's friend. And when you're tempted to +throw a stone at a sinner or a curse at a beggar, remember that +Pether Keegan is a worse sinner and a worse beggar, and keep the +stone and the curse for him the next time you meet him. Now say +God bless you, Pether, to me before I go, just to practise you a +bit. + +PATSY. Sure it wouldn't be right, Fadher. I can't-- + +KEEGAN. Yes you can. Now out with it; or I'll put this stick into +your hand an make you hit me with it. + +PATSY [throwing himself on his knees in an ecstasy of adoration]. +Sure it's your blessin I want, Fadher Keegan. I'll have no luck +widhout it. + +KEEGAN [shocked]. Get up out o that, man. Don't kneel to me: I'm +not a saint. + +PATSY [with intense conviction]. Oh in throth yar, sir. [The +grasshopper chirps. Patsy, terrified, clutches at Keegan's hands] +Don't set it on me, Fadher: I'll do anythin you bid me. + +KEEGAN [pulling him up]. You bosthoon, you! Don't you see that it +only whistled to tell me Miss Reilly's comin? There! Look at her +and pull yourself together for shame. Off widja to the road: +you'll be late for the car if you don't make haste [bustling him +down the hill]. I can see the dust of it in the gap already. + +PATSY. The Lord save us! [He goes down the hill towards the road +like a haunted man]. + +Nora Reilly comes down the hill. A slight weak woman in a pretty +muslin print gown [her best], she is a figure commonplace enough +to Irish eyes; but on the inhabitants of fatter-fed, crowded, +hustling and bustling modern countries she makes a very +different impression. The absence of any symptoms of coarseness +or hardness or appetite in her, her comparative delicacy of +manner and sensibility of apprehension, her thin hands and +slender figure, her travel accent, with the caressing plaintive +Irish melody of her speech, give her a charm which is all the +more effective because, being untravelled, she is unconscious of +it, and never dreams of deliberately dramatizing and exploiting +it, as the Irishwoman in England does. For Tom Broadbent +therefore, an attractive woman, whom he would even call ethereal. +To Larry Doyle, an everyday woman fit only for the eighteenth +century, helpless, useless, almost sexless, an invalid without +the excuse of disease, an incarnation of everything in Ireland +that drove him out of it. These judgments have little value and +no finality; but they are the judgments on which her fate hangs +just at present. Keegan touches his hat to her: he does not take +it off. + +NORA. Mr Keegan: I want to speak to you a minute if you don't +mind. + +KEEGAN [dropping the broad Irish vernacular of his speech to +Patsy]. An hour if you like, Miss Reilly: you're always welcome. +Shall we sit down? + +NORA. Thank you. [They sit on the heather. She is shy and +anxious; but she comes to the point promptly because she can +think of nothing else]. They say you did a gradle o travelling at +one time. + +KEEGAN. Well you see I'm not a Mnooth man [he means that he was +not a student at Maynooth College]. When I was young I admired +the older generation of priests that had been educated in +Salamanca. So when I felt sure of my vocation I went to +Salamanca. Then I walked from Salamanca to Rome, an sted in a +monastery there for a year. My pilgrimage to Rome taught me that +walking is a better way of travelling than the train; so I walked +from Rome to the Sorbonne in Paris; and I wish I could have +walked from Paris to Oxford; for I was very sick on the sea. +After a year of Oxford I had to walk to Jerusalem to walk the +Oxford feeling off me. From Jerusalem I came back to Patmos, and +spent six months at the monastery of Mount Athos. From that I +came to Ireland and settled down as a parish priest until I went +mad. + +NORA [startled]. Oh dons say that. + +KEEGAN. Why not? Don't you know the story? how I confessed a +black man and gave him absolution; and how he put a spell on me +and drove me mad. + +NORA. How can you talk such nonsense about yourself? For shame! + +KEEGAN. It's not nonsense at all: it's true--in a way. But never +mind the black man. Now that you know what a travelled man I am, +what can I do for you? [She hesitates and plucks nervously at the +heather. He stays her hand gently]. Dear Miss Nora: don't pluck +the little flower. If it was a pretty baby you wouldn't want to +pull its head off and stick it in a vawse o water to look at. +[The grasshopper chirps: Keegan turns his head and addresses it +in the vernacular]. Be aisy, me son: she won't spoil the +swing-swong in your little three. [To Nora, resuming his urbane +style] You see I'm quite cracked; but never mind: I'm harmless. +Now what is it? + +NORA [embarrassed]. Oh, only idle curiosity. I wanted to know +whether you found Ireland--I mean the country part of Ireland, of +course--very small and backwardlike when you came back to it from +Rome and Oxford and all the great cities. + +KEEGAN. When I went to those great cities I saw wonders I had +never seen in Ireland. But when I came back to Ireland I found +all the wonders there waiting for me. You see they had been there +all the time; but my eyes had never been opened to them. I did +not know what my own house was like, because I had never been +outside it. + +NORA. D'ye think that's the same with everybody? + +KEEGAN. With everybody who has eyes in his soul as well as in his +head. + +NORA. But really and truly now, weren't the people rather +disappointing? I should think the girls must have seemed rather +coarse and dowdy after the foreign princesses and people? But I +suppose a priest wouldn't notice that. + +KEEGAN. It's a priest's business to notice everything. I won't +tell you all I noticed about women; but I'll tell you this. The +more a man knows, and the farther he travels, the more likely he +is to marry a country girl afterwards. + +NORA [blushing with delight]. You're joking, Mr Keegan: I'm sure +yar. + +KEEGAN. My way of joking is to tell the truth. It's the funniest +joke in the world. + +NORA [incredulous]. Galong with you! + +KEEGAN [springing up actively]. Shall we go down to the road and +meet the car? [She gives him her hand and he helps her up]. Patsy +Farrell told me you were expecting young Doyle. + +NORA [tossing her chin up at once]. Oh, I'm not expecting him +particularly. It's a wonder he's come back at all. After staying +away eighteen years he can harly expect us to be very anxious to +see him, can he now? + +KEEGAN. Well, not anxious perhaps; but you will be curious to see +how much he has changed in all these years. + +NORA [with a sudden bitter flush]. I suppose that's all that +brings him back to look at us, just to see how much WE'VE +changed. Well, he can wait and see me be candlelight: I didn't +come out to meet him: I'm going to walk to the Round Tower [going +west across the hill]. + +KEEGAN. You couldn't do better this fine evening. [Gravely] I'll +tell him where you've gone. [She turns as if to forbid him; but +the deep understanding in his eyes makes that impossible; and she +only looks at him earnestly and goes. He watches her disappear on +the other side of the hill; then says] Aye, he's come to torment +you; and you're driven already to torment him. [He shakes his +head, and goes slowly away across the hill in the opposite +direction, lost in thought]. + +By this time the car has arrived, and dropped three of its +passengers on the high road at the foot of the hill. It is a +monster jaunting car, black and dilapidated, one of the last +survivors of the public vehicles known to earlier generations as +Beeyankiny cars, the Irish having laid violent tongues on the +name of their projector, one Bianconi, an enterprising Italian. +The three passengers are the parish priest, Father Dempsey; +Cornelius Doyle, Larry's father; and Broadbent, all in overcoats +and as stiff as only an Irish car could make them. + +The priest, stout and fatherly, falls far short of that finest +type of countryside pastor which represents the genius of +priesthood; but he is equally far above the base type in which a +strongminded and unscrupulous peasant uses the Church to extort +money, power, and privilege. He is a priest neither by vocation +nor ambition, but because the life suits him. He has boundless +authority over his flock, and taxes them stiffly enough to be a +rich man. The old Protestant ascendency is now too broken to gall +him. On the whole, an easygoing, amiable, even modest man as long +as his dues are paid and his authority and dignity fully +admitted. + +Cornelius Doyle is an elder of the small wiry type, with a +hardskinned, rather worried face, clean shaven except for sandy +whiskers blanching into a lustreless pale yellow and quite white +at the roots. His dress is that of a country-town titan of +business: that is, an oldish shooting suit, and elastic sided +boots quite unconnected with shooting. Feeling shy with +Broadbent, he is hasty, which is his way of trying to appear +genial. + +Broadbent, for reasons which will appear later, has no luggage +except a field glass and a guide book. The other two have left +theirs to the unfortunate Patsy Farrell, who struggles up the +hill after them, loaded with a sack of potatoes, a hamper, a fat +goose, a colossal salmon, and several paper parcels. + +Cornelius leads the way up the hill, with Broadbent at his heels. +The priest follows; and Patsy lags laboriously behind. + +CORNELIUS. This is a bit of a climb, Mr. Broadbent; but it's +shorter than goin round be the road. + +BROADBENT [stopping to examine the great stone]. Just a moment, +Mr Doyle: I want to look at this stone. It must be Finian's +die-cast. + +CORNELIUS [in blank bewilderment]. Hwat? + +BROADBENT. Murray describes it. One of your great national +heroes--I can't pronounce the name--Finian Somebody, I think. + +FATHER DEMPSEY [also perplexed, and rather scandalized]. Is it +Fin McCool you mean? + +BROADBENT. I daresay it is. [Referring to the guide book]. +Murray says that a huge stone, probably of Druidic origin, is +still pointed out as the die cast by Fin in his celebrated match +with the devil. + +CORNELIUS [dubiously]. Jeuce a word I ever heard of it! + +FATHER DEMPSEY [very seriously indeed, and even a little +severely]. Don't believe any such nonsense, sir. There never was +any such thing. When people talk to you about Fin McCool and the +like, take no notice of them. It's all idle stories and +superstition. + +BROADBENT [somewhat indignantly; for to be rebuked by an Irish +priest for superstition is more than he can stand]. You don't +suppose I believe it, do you? + +FATHER DEMPSEY. Oh, I thought you did. D'ye see the top o the +Roun Tower there? That's an antiquity worth lookin at. + +BROADBENT [deeply interested]. Have you any theory as to what the +Round Towers were for? + +FATHER DEMPSEY [a little offended]. A theory? Me! [Theories are +connected in his mind with the late Professor Tyndall, and with +scientific scepticism generally: also perhaps with the view that +the Round Towers are phallic symbols]. + +CORNELIUS [remonstrating]. Father Dempsey is the priest of the +parish, Mr Broadbent. What would he be doing with a theory? + +FATHER DEMPSEY [with gentle emphasis]. I have a KNOWLEDGE of what +the Roun Towers were, if that's what you mean. They are the +forefingers of the early Church, pointing us all to God. + +Patsy, intolerably overburdened, loses his balance, and sits down +involuntarily. His burdens are scattered over the hillside. +Cornelius and Father Dempsey turn furiously on him, leaving +Broadbent beaming at the stone and the tower with fatuous +interest. + +CORNELIUS. Oh, be the hokey, the sammin's broke in two! You +schoopid ass, what d'ye mean? + +FATHER DEMPSEY. Are you drunk, Patsy Farrell? Did I tell you to +carry that hamper carefully or did I not? + +PATSY [rubbing the back of his head, which has almost dented a +slab of granite] Sure me fut slpt. Howkn I carry three men's +luggage at wanst? + +FATHER DEMPSEY. You were told to leave behind what you couldn't +carry, an go back for it. + +PATSY. An whose things was I to lave behind? Hwat would your +reverence think if I left your hamper behind in the wet grass; n +hwat would the masther say if I left the sammin and the goose be +the side o the road for annywan to pick up? + +CORNELIUS. Oh, you've a dale to say for yourself, you, +butther-fingered omadhaun. Wait'll Ant Judy sees the state o that +sammin: SHE'LL talk to you. Here! gimme that birdn that fish +there; an take Father Dempsey's hamper to his house for him; n +then come back for the rest. + +FATHER DEMPSEY. Do, Patsy. And mind you don't fall down again. + +PATSY. Sure I-- + +CORNELIUS [bustling him up the bill] Whisht! heres Ant Judy. +[Patsy goes grumbling in disgrace, with Father Dempsey's hamper]. + +Aunt Judy comes down the hill, a woman of 50, in no way +remarkable, lively and busy without energy or grip, placid +without tranquillity, kindly without concern for others: indeed +without much concern for herself: a contented product of a +narrow, strainless life. She wears her hair parted in the middle +and quite smooth, with a fattened bun at the back. Her dress is a +plain brown frock, with a woollen pelerine of black and aniline +mauve over her shoulders, all very trim in honor of the occasion. +She looks round for Larry; is puzzled; then stares incredulously +at Broadbent. + +AUNT JUDY. Surely to goodness that's not you, Larry! + +CORNELIUS. Arra how could he be Larry, woman alive? Larry's in +no hurry home, it seems. I haven't set eyes on him. This is his +friend, Mr Broadbent. Mr Broadbent, me sister Judy. + +AUNT JUDY [hospitably: going to Broadbent and shaking hands +heartily]. Mr. Broadbent! Fancy me takin you for Larry! Sure we +haven't seen a sight of him for eighteen years, n he only a lad +when he left us. + +BROADBENT. It's not Larry's fault: he was to have been here +before me. He started in our motor an hour before Mr Doyle +arrived, to meet us at Athenmullet, intending to get here long +before me. + +AUNT JUDY. Lord save us! do you think he's had n axidnt? + +BROADBENT. No: he's wired to say he's had a breakdown and will +come on as soon as he can. He expects to be here at about ten. + +AUNT JUDY. There now! Fancy him trustn himself in a motor and we +all expectn him! Just like him! he'd never do anything like +anybody else. Well, what can't be cured must be injoored. Come on +in, all of you. You must be dyin for your tea, Mr Broadbent. + +BROADBENT [with a slight start]. Oh, I'm afraid it's too late for +tea [he looks at his watch]. + +AUNT JUDY. Not a bit: we never have it airlier than this. I hope +they gave you a good dinner at Athenmullet. + +BROADBENT [trying to conceal his consternation as he realizes +that he is not going to get any dinner after his drive] Oh--er--excellent, +excellent. By the way, hadn't I better see about a room at the +hotel? [They stare at him]. + +CORNELIUS. The hotel! + +FATHER DEMPSEY. Hwat hotel? + +AUNT JUDY. Indeedn you'e not goin to a hotel. You'll stay with +us. I'd have put you into Larry's room, only the boy's pallyass +is too short for you; but we'll make a comfortable bed for you on +the sofa in the parlor. + +BROADBENT. You're very kind, Miss Doyle; but really I'm ashamed +to give you so much trouble unnecessarily. I shan't mind the +hotel in the least. + +FATHER DEMPSEY. Man alive! There's no hotel in Rosscullen. + +BROADBENT. No hotel! Why, the driver told me there was the finest +hotel in Ireland here. [They regard him joylessly]. + +AUNT JUDY. Arra would you mind what the like of him would tell +you? Sure he'd say hwatever was the least trouble to himself and +the pleasantest to you, thinkin you might give him a thruppeny +bit for himself or the like. + +BROADBENT. Perhaps there's a public house. + +FATHER DEMPSEY [grimly.] There's seventeen. + +AUNT JUDY. Ah then, how could you stay at a public house? They'd +have no place to put you even if it was a right place for you to +go. Come! is it the sofa you're afraid of? If it is, you can have +me own bed. I can sleep with Nora. + +BROADBENT. Not at all, not at all: I should be only too +delighted. But to upset your arrangements in this way-- + +CORNELIUS [anxious to cut short the discussion, which makes him +ashamed of his house; for he guesses Broadbent's standard of +comfort a little more accurately than his sister does] That's all +right: it'll be no trouble at all. Hweres Nora? + +AUNT JUDY. Oh, how do I know? She slipped out a little while ago: +I thought she was goin to meet the car. + +CORNELIUS [dissatisfied] It's a queer thing of her to run out o +the way at such a time. + +AUNT JUDY. Sure she's a queer girl altogether. Come. Come in, +come in. + +FATHER DEMPSEY. I'll say good-night, Mr Broadbent. If there's +anything I can do for you in this parish, let me know. [He shakes +hands with Broadbent]. + +BROADBENT [effusively cordial]. Thank you, Father Dempsey. +Delighted to have met you, sir. + +FATHER DEMPSEY [passing on to Aunt Judy]. Good-night, Miss Doyle. + +AUNT JUDY. Won't you stay to tea? + +FATHER DEMPSEY. Not to-night, thank you kindly: I have business +to do at home. [He turns to go, and meets Patsy Farrell returning +unloaded]. Have you left that hamper for me? + +PATSY. Yis, your reverence. + +FATHER DEMPSEY. That's a good lad [going]. + +PATSY [to Aunt Judy] Fadher Keegan sez-- + +FATHER DEMPSEY [turning sharply on him]. What's that you say? + +PATSY [frightened]. Fadher Keegan-- + +FATHER DEMPSEY. How often have you heard me bid you call Mister +Keegan in his proper name, the same as I do? Father Keegan +indeed! Can't you tell the difference between your priest and any +ole madman in a black coat? + +PATSY. Sure I'm afraid he might put a spell on me. + +FATHER DEMPSEY [wrathfully]. You mind what I tell you or I'll put +a spell on you that'll make you lep. D'ye mind that now? [He goes +home]. + +Patsy goes down the hill to retrieve the fish, the bird, and the +sack. + +AUNT JUDY. Ah, hwy can't you hold your tongue, Patsy, before +Father Dempsey? + +PATSY. Well, what was I to do? Father Keegan bid me tell you Miss +Nora was gone to the Roun Tower. + +AUNT JUDY. An hwy couldn't you wait to tell us until Father +Dempsey was gone? + +PATSY. I was afeerd o forgetn it; and then maybe he'd a sent the +grasshopper or the little dark looker into me at night to remind +me of it. [The dark looker is the common grey lizard, which is +supposed to walk down the throats of incautious sleepers and +cause them to perish in a slow decline]. + +CORNELIUS. Yah, you great gaum, you! Widjer grasshoppers and dark +lookers! Here: take up them things and let me hear no more o your +foolish lip. [Patsy obeys]. You can take the sammin under your +oxther. [He wedges the salmon into Patsy's axilla]. + +PATSY. I can take the goose too, sir. Put it on me back and gimme +the neck of it in me mouth. [Cornelius is about to comply +thoughtlessly]. + +AUNT JUDY [feeling that Broadbent's presence demands special +punctiliousness]. For shame, Patsy! to offer to take the goose in +your mouth that we have to eat after you! The master'll bring it +in for you. [Patsy, abashed, yet irritated by this ridiculous +fastidiousness, takes his load up the hill]. + +CORNELIUS. What the jeuce does Nora want to go to the Roun Tower +for? + +AUNT JUDY. Oh, the Lord knows! Romancin, I suppose. Props she +thinks Larry would go there to look for her and see her safe +home. + +BROADBENT. I'm afraid it's all the fault of my motor. Miss Reilly +must not be left to wait and walk home alone at night. Shall I go +for her? + +AUNT JUDY [contemptuously]. Arra hwat ud happen to her? Hurry in +now, Corny. Come, Mr Broadbent. I left the tea on the hob to +draw; and it'll be black if we don't go in an drink it. + +They go up the hill. It is dark by this time. + +Broadbent does not fare so badly after all at Aunt Judy's board. +He gets not only tea and bread-and-butter, but more mutton chops +than he has ever conceived it possible to eat at one sitting. +There is also a most filling substance called potato cake. Hardly +have his fears of being starved been replaced by his first +misgiving that he is eating too much and will be sorry for it +tomorrow, when his appetite is revived by the production of a +bottle of illicitly distilled whisky, called pocheen, which he +has read and dreamed of [he calls it pottine] and is now at last +to taste. His good humor rises almost to excitement before +Cornelius shows signs of sleepiness. The contrast between Aunt +Judy's table service and that of the south and east coast hotels +at which he spends his Fridays-to-Tuesdays when he is in London, +seems to him delightfully Irish. The almost total atrophy of any +sense of enjoyment in Cornelius, or even any desire for it or +toleration of the possibility of life being something better than +a round of sordid worries, relieved by tobacco, punch, fine +mornings, and petty successes in buying and selling, passes with +his guest as the whimsical affectation of a shrewd Irish humorist +and incorrigible spendthrift. Aunt Judy seems to him an incarnate +joke. The likelihood that the joke will pall after a month or so, +and is probably not apparent at any time to born Rossculleners, +or that he himself unconsciously entertains Aunt Judy by his +fantastic English personality and English mispronunciations, does +not occur to him for a moment. In the end he is so charmed, and +so loth to go to bed and perhaps dream of prosaic England, that +he insists on going out to smoke a cigar and look for Nora Reilly +at the Round Tower. Not that any special insistence is needed; +for the English inhibitive instinct does not seem to exist in +Rosscullen. Just as Nora's liking to miss a meal and stay out at +the Round Tower is accepted as a sufficient reason for her doing +it, and for the family going to bed and leaving the door open for +her, so Broadbent's whim to go out for a late stroll provokes +neither hospitable remonstrance nor surprise. Indeed Aunt Judy +wants to get rid of him whilst she makes a bed for him on the +sofa. So off he goes, full fed, happy and enthusiastic, to +explore the valley by moonlight. + +The Round Tower stands about half an Irish mile from Rosscullen, +some fifty yards south of the road on a knoll with a circle of +wild greensward on it. The road once ran over this knoll; but +modern engineering has tempered the level to the Beeyankiny car +by carrying the road partly round the knoll and partly through a +cutting; so that the way from the road to the tower is a footpath +up the embankment through furze and brambles. + +On the edge of this slope, at the top of the path, Nora is +straining her eyes in the moonlight, watching for Larry. At last +she gives it up with a sob of impatience, and retreats to the +hoary foot of the tower, where she sits down discouraged and +cries a little. Then she settles herself resignedly to wait, and +hums a song--not an Irish melody, but a hackneyed English +drawing-room ballad of the season before last--until some slight +noise suggests a footstep, when she springs up eagerly and runs +to the edge of the slope again. Some moments of silence and suspense +follow, broken by unmistakable footsteps. She gives a little gasp as +she sees a man approaching. + +NORA. Is that you, Larry? [Frightened a little] Who's that? + +[BROADBENT's voice from below on the path]. Don't be alarmed. + +NORA. Oh, what an English accent you've got! + +BROADBENT [rising into view] I must introduce myself-- + +NORA [violently startled, retreating]. It's not you! Who are you? +What do you want? + +BROADBENT [advancing]. I'm really so sorry to have alarmed you, +Miss Reilly. My name is Broadbent. Larry's friend, you know. + +NORA [chilled]. And has Mr Doyle not come with you? + +BROADBENT. No. I've come instead. I hope I am not unwelcome. + +NORA [deeply mortified]. I'm sorry Mr Doyle should have given you +the trouble, I'm sure. + +BROADBENT. You see, as a stranger and an Englishman, I thought it +would be interesting to see the Round Tower by moonlight. + +NORA. Oh, you came to see the tower. I thought--[confused, trying +to recover her manners] Oh, of course. I was so startled--It's a +beautiful night, isn't it? + +BROADBENT. Lovely. I must explain why Larry has not come himself. + +NORA. Why should he come? He's seen the tower often enough: it's +no attraction to him. [Genteelly] An what do you think of +Ireland, Mr Broadbent? Have you ever been here before? + +BROADBENT. Never. + +NORA. An how do you like it? + +BROADBENT [suddenly betraying a condition of extreme +sentimentality]. I can hardly trust myself to say how much I like +it. The magic of this Irish scene, and--I really don't want to be +personal, Miss Reilly; but the charm of your Irish voice-- + +NORA [quite accustomed to gallantry, and attaching no seriousness +whatever to it]. Oh, get along with you, Mr Broadbent! You're +breaking your heart about me already, I daresay, after seeing me +for two minutes in the dark. + +BROADBENT. The voice is just as beautiful in the dark, you know. +Besides, I've heard a great deal about you from Larry. + +NORA [with bitter indifference]. Have you now? Well, that's a +great honor, I'm sure. + +BROADBENT. I have looked forward to meeting you more than to +anything else in Ireland. + +NORA [ironically]. Dear me! did you now? + +BROADBENT. I did really. I wish you had taken half as much +interest in me. + +NORA. Oh, I was dying to see you, of course. I daresay you can +imagine the sensation an Englishman like you would make among us +poor Irish people. + +BROADBENT. Ah, now you're chaffing me, Miss Reilly: you know you +are. You mustn't chaff me. I'm very much in earnest about Ireland +and everything Irish. I'm very much in earnest about you and +about Larry. + +NORA. Larry has nothing to do with me, Mr Broadbent. + +BROADBENT. If I really thought that, Miss Reilly, I should--well, +I should let myself feel that charm of which I spoke just now +more deeply than I--than I-- + +NORA. Is it making love to me you are? + +BROADBENT [scared and much upset]. On my word I believe I am, +Miss Reilly. If you say that to me again I shan't answer for +myself: all the harps of Ireland are in your voice. [She laughs +at him. He suddenly loses his head and seizes her arms, to her +great indignation]. Stop laughing: do you hear? I am in earnest--in +English earnest. When I say a thing like that to a woman, I +mean it. [Releasing her and trying to recover his ordinary manner +in spite of his bewildering emotion] I beg your pardon. + +NORA. How dare you touch me? + +BROADBENT. There are not many things I would not dare for you. +That does not sound right perhaps; but I really--[he stops and +passes his hand over his forehead, rather lost]. + +NORA. I think you ought to be ashamed. I think if you were a +gentleman, and me alone with you in this place at night, you +would die rather than do such a thing. + +BROADBENT. You mean that it's an act of treachery to Larry? + +NORA. Deed I don't. What has Larry to do with it? It's an act of +disrespect and rudeness to me: it shows what you take me for. You +can go your way now; and I'll go mine. Goodnight, Mr Broadbent. + +BROADBENT. No, please, Miss Reilly. One moment. Listen to me. I'm +serious: I'm desperately serious. Tell me that I'm interfering +with Larry; and I'll go straight from this spot back to London +and never see you again. That's on my honor: I will. Am I +interfering with him? + +NORA [answering in spite of herself in a sudden spring of +bitterness]. I should think you ought to know better than me +whether you're interfering with him. You've seen him oftener than +I have. You know him better than I do, by this time. You've come +to me quicker than he has, haven't you? + +BROADBENT. I'm bound to tell you, Miss Reilly, that Larry has not +arrived in Rosscullen yet. He meant to get here before me; but +his car broke down; and he may not arrive until to-morrow. + +NORA [her face lighting up]. Is that the truth? + +BROADBENT. Yes: that's the truth. [She gives a sigh of relief]. +You're glad of that? + +NORA [up in arms at once]. Glad indeed! Why should I be glad? As +we've waited eighteen years for him we can afford to wait a day +longer, I should think. + +BROADBENT. If you really feel like that about him, there may be a +chance for another man yet. Eh? + +NORA [deeply offended]. I suppose people are different in +England, Mr Broadbent; so perhaps you don't mean any harm. In +Ireland nobody'd mind what a man'd say in fun, nor take advantage +of what a woman might say in answer to it. If a woman couldn't +talk to a man for two minutes at their first meeting without +being treated the way you're treating me, no decent woman would +ever talk to a man at all. + +BROADBENT. I don't understand that. I don't admit that. I am +sincere; and my intentions are perfectly honorable. I think you +will accept the fact that I'm an Englishman as a guarantee that I +am not a man to act hastily or romantically, though I confess +that your voice had such an extraordinary effect on me just now +when you asked me so quaintly whether I was making love to you-- + +NORA [flushing] I never thought-- + +BROADHHNT [quickly]. Of course you didn't. I'm not so stupid as +that. But I couldn't bear your laughing at the feeling it gave +me. You--[again struggling with a surge of emotion] you don't +know what I-- [he chokes for a moment and then blurts out with +unnatural steadiness] Will you be my wife? + +NORA [promptly]. Deed I won't. The idea! [Looking at him more +carefully] Arra, come home, Mr Broadbent; and get your senses +back again. I think you're not accustomed to potcheen punch in +the evening after your tea. + +BROADBENT [horrified]. Do you mean to say that I--I--I--my God! +that I appear drunk to you, Miss Reilly? + +NORA [compassionately]. How many tumblers had you? + +BROADBENT [helplessly]. Two. + +NORA. The flavor of the turf prevented you noticing the strength +of it. You'd better come home to bed. + +BROADBENT [fearfully agitated]. But this is such a horrible doubt +to put into my mind--to--to--For Heaven's sake, Miss Reilly, am I +really drunk? + +NORA [soothingly]. You'll be able to judge better in the morning. +Come on now back with me, an think no more about it. [She takes +his arm with motherly solicitude and urges him gently toward the +path]. + +BROADBENT [yielding in despair]. I must be drunk--frightfully +drunk; for your voice drove me out of my senses [he stumbles over +a stone]. No: on my word, on my most sacred word of honor, Miss +Reilly, I tripped over that stone. It was an accident; it was +indeed. + +NORA. Yes, of course it was. Just take my arm, Mr Broadbent, +while we're goin down the path to the road. You'll be all right +then. + +BROADBENT [submissively taking it]. I can't sufficiently +apologize, Miss Reilly, or express my sense of your kindness when +I am in such a disgusting state. How could I be such a bea-- [he +trips again] damn the heather! my foot caught in it. + +NORA. Steady now, steady. Come along: come. [He is led down to +the road in the character of a convicted drunkard. To him there +it something divine in the sympathetic indulgence she substitutes +for the angry disgust with which one of his own countrywomen +would resent his supposed condition. And he has no suspicion of +the fact, or of her ignorance of it, that when an Englishman is +sentimental he behaves very much as an Irishman does when he is +drunk]. + + + +ACT III + +Next morning Broadbent and Larry are sitting at the ends of a +breakfast table in the middle of a small grass plot before +Cornelius Doyle's house. They have finished their meal, and are +buried in newspapers. Most of the crockery is crowded upon a +large square black tray of japanned metal. The teapot is of brown +delft ware. There is no silver; and the butter, on a dinner +plate, is en bloc. The background to this breakfast is the house, +a small white slated building, accessible by a half-glazed door. +A person coming out into the garden by this door would find the +table straight in front of him, and a gate leading to the road +half way down the garden on his right; or, if he turned sharp to +his left, he could pass round the end of the house through an +unkempt shrubbery. The mutilated remnant of a huge planter +statue, nearly dissolved by the rains of a century, and vaguely +resembling a majestic female in Roman draperies, with a wreath in +her hand, stands neglected amid the laurels. Such statues, though +apparently works of art, grow naturally in Irish gardens. Their +germination is a mystery to the oldest inhabitants, to whose +means and taste they are totally foreign. + +There is a rustic bench, much roiled by the birds, and +decorticated and split by the weather, near the little gate. At +the opposite side, a basket lies unmolested because it might as +well be there as anywhere else. An empty chair at the table was +lately occupied by Cornelius, who has finished his breakfast and +gone in to the room in which he receives rents and keeps his +books and cash, known in the household as "the office." This +chair, like the two occupied by Larry and Broadbent, has a +mahogany frame and is upholstered in black horsehair. + +Larry rises and goes off through the shrubbery with his +newspaper. Hodson comes in through the garden gate, disconsolate. +Broadbent, who sits facing the gate, augurs the worst from his +expression. + +BROADBENT. Have you been to the village? + +HODSON. No use, sir. We'll have to get everything from London by +parcel post. + +BROADBENT. I hope they made you comfortable last night. + +HODSON. I was no worse than you were on that sofa, sir. One +expects to rough it here, sir. + +BROADBENT. We shall have to look out for some other arrangement. +[Cheering up irrepressibly] Still, it's no end of a joke. How do +you like the Irish, Hodson? + +HODSON. Well, sir, they're all right anywhere but in their own +country. I've known lots of em in England, and generally liked +em. But here, sir, I seem simply to hate em. The feeling come +over me the moment we landed at Cork, sir. It's no use my +pretendin, sir: I can't bear em. My mind rises up agin their +ways, somehow: they rub me the wrong way all over. + +BROADBENT. Oh, their faults are on the surface: at heart they are +one of the finest races on earth. [Hodson turns away, without +affecting to respond to his enthusiasm]. By the way, Hodson-- + +HODSON [turning]. Yes, sir. + +BROADBENT. Did you notice anything about me last night when I +came in with that lady? + +HODSON [surprised]. No, sir. + +BROADBENT. Not any--er--? You may speak frankly. + +HODSON. I didn't notice nothing, sir. What sort of thing ded you +mean, sir? + +BROADBENT. Well--er--er--well, to put it plainly, was I drunk? + +HODSON [amazed]. No, sir. + +BROADBENT. Quite sure? + +HODSON. Well, I should a said rather the opposite, sir. Usually +when you've been enjoying yourself, you're a bit hearty like. +Last night you seemed rather low, if anything. + +BROADBENT. I certainly have no headache. Did you try the pottine, +Hodson? + +HODSON. I just took a mouthful, sir. It tasted of peat: oh! +something horrid, sir. The people here call peat turf. Potcheen +and strong porter is what they like, sir. I'm sure I don't know +how they can stand it. Give me beer, I say. + +BROADBENT. By the way, you told me I couldn't have porridge for +breakfast; but Mr Doyle had some. + +HODSON. Yes, sir. Very sorry, sir. They call it stirabout, sir: +that's how it was. They know no better, sir. + +BROADBENT. All right: I'll have some tomorrow. + +Hodson goes to the house. When he opens the door he finds Nora +and Aunt Judy on the threshold. He stands aside to let them pass, +with the air of a well trained servant oppressed by heavy trials. +Then he goes in. Broadbent rises. Aunt Judy goes to the table and +collects the plates and cups on the tray. Nora goes to the back +of the rustic seat and looks out at the gate with the air of a +woman accustomed to have nothing to do. Larry returns from the +shrubbery. + +BROADBENT. Good morning, Miss Doyle. + +AUNT JUDY [thinking it absurdly late in the day for such a +salutation]. Oh, good morning. [Before moving his plate] Have you +done? + +BROADBENT. Quite, thank you. You must excuse us for not waiting +for you. The country air tempted us to get up early. + +AUNT JUDY. N d'ye call this airly, God help you? + +LARRY. Aunt Judy probably breakfasted about half past six. + +AUNT JUDY. Whisht, you!--draggin the parlor chairs out into the +gardn n givin Mr Broadbent his death over his meals out here in +the cold air. [To Broadbent] Why d'ye put up with his foolishness, +Mr Broadbent? + +BROADBENT. I assure you I like the open air. + +AUNT JUDY. Ah galong! How can you like what's not natural? I hope +you slept well. + +NORA. Did anything wake yup with a thump at three o'clock? I +thought the house was falling. But then I'm a very light sleeper. + +LARRY. I seem to recollect that one of the legs of the sofa in +the parlor had a way of coming out unexpectedly eighteen years +ago. Was that it, Tom? + +BROADBENT [hastily]. Oh, it doesn't matter: I was not hurt--at +least--er-- + +AUNT JUDY. Oh now what a shame! An I told Patsy Farrll to put a +nail in it. + +BROADBENT. He did, Miss Doyle. There was a nail, certainly. + +AUNT JUDY. Dear oh dear! + +An oldish peasant farmer, small, leathery, peat faced, with a +deep voice and a surliness that is meant to be aggressive, and is +in effect pathetic--the voice of a man of hard life and many +sorrows--comes in at the gate. He is old enough to have perhaps +worn a long tailed frieze coat and knee breeches in his time; but +now he is dressed respectably in a black frock coat, tall hat, +and pollard colored trousers; and his face is as clean as washing +can make it, though that is not saying much, as the habit is +recently acquired and not yet congenial. + +THE NEW-COMER [at the gate]. God save all here! [He comes a +little way into the garden]. + +LARRY [patronizingly, speaking across the garden to him]. Is that +yourself, Mat Haffigan? Do you remember me? + +MATTHEW [intentionally rude and blunt]. No. Who are you? + +NORA. Oh, I'm sure you remember him, Mr Haffigan. + +MATTHEW [grudgingly admitting it]. I suppose he'll be young Larry +Doyle that was. + +LARRY. Yes. + +MATTHEW [to Larry]. I hear you done well in America. + +LARRY. Fairly well. + +MATTHEW. I suppose you saw me brother Andy out dhere. + +LARRY. No. It's such a big place that looking for a man there is +like looking for a needle in a bundle of hay. They tell me he's a +great man out there. + +MATTHEW. So he is, God be praised. Where's your father? + +AUNT JUDY. He's inside, in the office, Mr Haffigan, with Barney +Doarn n Father Dempsey. + +Matthew, without wasting further words on the company, goes +curtly into the house. + +LARRY [staring after him]. Is anything wrong with old Mat? + +NORA. No. He's the same as ever. Why? + +LARRY. He's not the same to me. He used to be very civil to +Master Larry: a deal too civil, I used to think. Now he's as +surly and stand-off as a bear. + +AUNT JUDY. Oh sure he's bought his farm in the Land Purchase. +He's independent now. + +NORA. It's made a great change, Larry. You'd harly know the old +tenants now. You'd think it was a liberty to speak t'dhem--some o +dhem. [She goes to the table, and helps to take off the cloth, +which she and Aunt Judy fold up between them]. + +AUNT JUDY. I wonder what he wants to see Corny for. He hasn't +been here since he paid the last of his old rent; and then he as +good as threw it in Corny's face, I thought. + +LARRY. No wonder! Of course they all hated us like the devil. +Ugh! [Moodily] I've seen them in that office, telling my father +what a fine boy I was, and plastering him with compliments, with +your honor here and your honor there, when all the time their +fingers were itching to beat his throat. + +AUNT JUDY. Deedn why should they want to hurt poor Corny? It was +he that got Mat the lease of his farm, and stood up for him as an +industrious decent man. + +BROADBENT. Was he industrious? That's remarkable, you know, in an +Irishman. + +LARRY. Industrious! That man's industry used to make me sick, +even as a boy. I tell you, an Irish peasant's industry is not +human: it's worse than the industry of a coral insect. An +Englishman has some sense about working: he never does more than +he can help--and hard enough to get him to do that without +scamping it; but an Irishman will work as if he'd die the moment +he stopped. That man Matthew Haffigan and his brother Andy made a +farm out of a patch of stones on the hillside--cleared it and dug +it with their own naked hands and bought their first spade out of +their first crop of potatoes. Talk of making two blades of wheat +grow where one grew before! those two men made a whole field of +wheat grow where not even a furze bush had ever got its head up +between the stones. + +BROADBENT. That was magnificent, you know. Only a great race is +capable of producing such men. + +LARRY. Such fools, you mean! What good was it to them? The moment +they'd done it, the landlord put a rent of 5 pounds a year on +them, and turned them out because they couldn't pay it. + +AUNT JUDY. Why couldn't they pay as well as Billy Byrne that took +it after them? + +LARRY [angrily]. You know very well that Billy Byrne never paid +it. He only offered it to get possession. He never paid it. + +AUNT JUDY. That was because Andy Haffigan hurt him with a brick +so that he was never the same again. Andy had to run away to +America for it. + +BROADBENT [glowing with indignation]. Who can blame him, Miss +Doyle? Who can blame him? + +LARRY [impatiently]. Oh, rubbish! What's the good of the man +that's starved out of a farm murdering the man that's starved +into it? Would you have done such a thing? + +BROADBENT. Yes. I--I--I--I--[stammering with fury] I should have +shot the confounded landlord, and wrung the neck of the damned +agent, and blown the farm up with dynamite, and Dublin Castle +along with it. + +LARRY. Oh yes: you'd have done great things; and a fat lot of +good you'd have got out of it, too! That's an Englishman all +over! make bad laws and give away all the land, and then, when +your economic incompetence produces its natural and inevitable +results, get virtuously indignant and kill the people that carry +out your laws. + +AUNT JUDY. Sure never mind him, Mr Broadbent. It doesn't matter, +anyhow, because there's harly any landlords left; and ther'll +soon be none at all. + +LARRY. On the contrary, ther'll soon be nothing else; and the +Lord help Ireland then! + +AUNT JUDY. Ah, you're never satisfied, Larry. [To Nora] Come on, +alanna, an make the paste for the pie. We can leave them to their +talk. They don't want us [she takes up the tray and goes into the +house]. + +BROADBENT [rising and gallantly protesting] Oh, Miss Doyle! +Really, really-- + +Nora, following Aunt Judy with the rolled-up cloth in her hands, +looks at him and strikes him dumb. He watches her until she +disappears; then comes to Larry and addresses him with sudden +intensity. + +BROADBENT. Larry. + +LARRY. What is it? + +BROADBENT. I got drunk last night, and proposed to Miss Reilly. + +LARRY. You HWAT??? [He screams with laughter in the falsetto +Irish register unused for that purpose in England]. + +BROADBENT. What are you laughing at? + +LARRY [stopping dead]. I don't know. That's the sort of thing an +Irishman laughs at. Has she accepted you? + +BROADBENT. I shall never forget that with the chivalry of her +nation, though I was utterly at her mercy, she refused me. + +LARRY. That was extremely improvident of her. [Beginning to +reflect] But look here: when were you drunk? You were sober +enough when you came back from the Round Tower with her. + +BROADBENT. No, Larry, I was drunk, I am sorry to say. I had two +tumblers of punch. She had to lead me home. You must have noticed +it. + +LARRY. I did not. + +BROADBENT. She did. + +LARRY. May I ask how long it took you to come to business? You +can hardly have known her for more than a couple of hours. + +BROADBENT. I am afraid it was hardly a couple of minutes. She was +not here when I arrived; and I saw her for the first time at the +tower. + +LARRY. Well, you are a nice infant to be let loose in this +country! Fancy the potcheen going to your head like that! + +BROADBENT. Not to my head, I think. I have no headache; and I +could speak distinctly. No: potcheen goes to the heart, not to +the head. What ought I to do? + +LARRY. Nothing. What need you do? + +BROADBENT. There is rather a delicate moral question involved. +The point is, was I drunk enough not to be morally responsible +for my proposal? Or was I sober enough to be bound to repeat it +now that I am undoubtedly sober? + +LARRY. I should see a little more of her before deciding. + +BROADBENT. No, no. That would not be right. That would not be +fair. I am either under a moral obligation or I am not. I wish I +knew how drunk I was. + +LARRY. Well, you were evidently in a state of blithering +sentimentality, anyhow. + +BROADBENT. That is true, Larry: I admit it. Her voice has a most +extraordinary effect on me. That Irish voice! + +LARRY [sympathetically]. Yes, I know. When I first went to London +I very nearly proposed to walk out with a waitress in an Aerated +Bread shop because her Whitechapel accent was so distinguished, +so quaintly touching, so pretty-- + +BROADBENT [angrily]. Miss Reilly is not a waitress, is she? + +LARRY. Oh, come! The waitress was a very nice girl. + +BROADBENT. You think every Englishwoman an angel. You really have +coarse tastes in that way, Larry. Miss Reilly is one of the finer +types: a type rare in England, except perhaps in the best of the +aristocracy. + +LARRY. Aristocracy be blowed! Do you know what Nora eats? + +BROADBENT. Eats! what do you mean? + +LARRY. Breakfast: tea and bread-and-butter, with an occasional +rasher, and an egg on special occasions: say on her birthday. +Dinner in the middle of the day, one course and nothing else. In +the evening, tea and bread-and-butter again. You compare her with +your Englishwomen who wolf down from three to five meat meals a +day; and naturally you find her a sylph. The difference is not a +difference of type: it's the difference between the woman who +eats not wisely but too well, and the woman who eats not wisely +but too little. + +BROADBENT [furious]. Larry: you--you--you disgust me. You are a +damned fool. [He sits down angrily on the rustic seat, which +sustains the shock with difficulty]. + +LARRY. Steady! stead-eee! [He laughs and seats himself on the +table]. + +Cornelius Doyle, Father Dempsey, Barney Doran, and Matthew +Haffigan come from the house. Doran is a stout bodied, short +armed, roundheaded, red-haired man on the verge of middle age, of +sanguine temperament, with an enormous capacity for derisive, +obscene, blasphemous, or merely cruel and senseless fun, and a +violent and impetuous intolerance of other temperaments and other +opinions, all this representing energy and capacity wasted and +demoralized by want of sufficient training and social pressure to +force it into beneficent activity and build a character with it; +for Barney is by no means either stupid or weak. He is recklessly +untidy as to his person; but the worst effects of his neglect are +mitigated by a powdering of flour and mill dust; and his +unbrushed clothes, made of a fashionable tailor's sackcloth, were +evidently chosen regardless of expense for the sake of their +appearance. + +Matthew Haffigan, ill at ease, coasts the garden shyly on the +shrubbery side until he anchors near the basket, where he feels +least in the way. The priest comes to the table and slaps Larry +on the shoulder. Larry, turning quickly, and recognizing Father +Dempsey, alights from the table and shakes the priest's hand +warmly. Doran comes down the garden between Father Dempsey and +Matt; and Cornelius, on the other side of the table, turns to +Broadbent, who rises genially. + +CORNELIUS. I think we all met las night. + +DORAN. I hadn't that pleasure. + +CORNELIUS. To be sure, Barney: I forgot. [To Broadbent, +introducing Barney] Mr Doran. He owns that fine mill you noticed +from the car. + +BROADBENT [delighted with them all]. Most happy, Mr Doran. Very +pleased indeed. + +Doran, not quite sure whether he is being courted or patronized, +nods independently. + +DORAN. How's yourself, Larry? + +LARRY. Finely, thank you. No need to ask you. [Doran grins; and +they shake hands]. + +CORNELIUS. Give Father Dempsey a chair, Larry. + +Matthew Haffigan runs to the nearest end of the table and takes +the chair from it, placing it near the basket; but Larry has +already taken the chair from the other end and placed it in front +of the table. Father Dempsey accepts that more central position. + +CORNELIUS. Sit down, Barney, will you; and you, Mat. + +Doran takes the chair Mat is still offering to the priest; and +poor Matthew, outfaced by the miller, humbly turns the basket +upside down and sits on it. Cornelius brings his own breakfast +chair from the table and sits down on Father Dempsey's right. +Broadbent resumes his seat on the rustic bench. Larry crosses to +the bench and is about to sit down beside him when Broadbent +holds him off nervously. + +BROADBENT. Do you think it will bear two, Larry? + +LARRY. Perhaps not. Don't move. I'll stand. [He posts himself +behind the bench]. + +They are all now seated, except Larry; and the session assumes a +portentous air, as if something important were coming. + +CORNELIUS. Props you'll explain, Father Dempsey. + +FATHER DEMPSEY. No, no: go on, you: the Church has no politics. + +CORNELIUS. Were yever thinkin o goin into parliament at all, +Larry? + +LARRY. Me! + +FATHER DEMPSEY [encouragingly] Yes, you. Hwy not? + +LARRY. I'm afraid my ideas would not be popular enough. + +CORNELIUS. I don't know that. Do you, Barney? + +DORAN. There's too much blatherumskite in Irish politics a dale +too much. + +LARRY. But what about your present member? Is he going to retire? + +CORNELIUS. No: I don't know that he is. + +LARRY [interrogatively]. Well? then? + +MATTHEW [breaking out with surly bitterness]. We've had enough of +his foolish talk agen lanlords. Hwat call has he to talk about +the lan, that never was outside of a city office in his life? + +CORNELIUS. We're tired of him. He doesn't know hwere to stop. +Every man can't own land; and some men must own it to employ +them. It was all very well when solid men like Doran and me and +Mat were kep from ownin land. But hwat man in his senses ever +wanted to give land to Patsy Farrll an dhe like o him? + +BROADBENT. But surely Irish landlordism was accountable for what +Mr Haffigan suffered. + +MATTHEW. Never mind hwat I suffered. I know what I suffered +adhout you tellin me. But did I ever ask for more dhan the farm I +made wid me own hans: tell me that, Corny Doyle, and you that +knows. Was I fit for the responsibility or was I not? [Snarling +angrily at Cornelius] Am I to be compared to Patsy Farrll, that +doesn't harly know his right hand from his left? What did he ever +suffer, I'd like to know? + +CORNELIUS. That's just what I say. I wasn't comparin you to your +disadvantage. + +MATTHEW [implacable]. Then hwat did you mane be talkin about +givin him lan? + +DORAN. Aisy, Mat, aisy. You're like a bear with a sore back. + +MATTHEW [trembling with rage]. An who are you, to offer to taitch +me manners? + +FATHER DEMPSEY [admonitorily]. Now, now, now, Mat none o dhat. +How often have I told you you're too ready to take offence where +none is meant? You don't understand: Corny Doyle is saying just +what you want to have said. [To Cornelius] Go on, Mr Doyle; and +never mind him. + +MATTHEW [rising]. Well, if me lan is to be given to Patsy and his +like, I'm goin oura dhis. I-- + +DORAN [with violent impatience] Arra who's goin to give your lan +to Patsy, yowl fool ye? + +FATHER DEMPSEY. Aisy, Barney, aisy. [Sternly, to Mat] I told you, +Matthew Haffigan, that Corny Doyle was sayin nothin against you. +I'm sorry your priest's word is not good enough for you. I'll go, +sooner than stay to make you commit a sin against the Church. +Good morning, gentlemen. [He rises. They all rise, except +Broadbent]. + +DORAN [to Mat]. There! Sarve you dam well right, you cantankerous +oul noodle. + +MATTHEW [appalled]. Don't say dhat, Fadher Dempsey. I never had a +thought agen you or the Holy Church. I know I'm a bit hasty when +I think about the lan. I ax your pardn for it. + +FATHER DEMPSEY [resuming his seat with dignified reserve]. Very +well: I'll overlook it this time. [He sits down. The others sit +down, except Matthew. Father Dempsey, about to ask Corny to +proceed, remembers Matthew and turns to him, giving him just a +crumb of graciousness]. Sit down, Mat. [Matthew, crushed, sits +down in disgrace, and is silent, his eyes shifting piteously from +one speaker to another in an intensely mistrustful effort to +understand them]. Go on, Mr Doyle. We can make allowances. Go on. + +CORNELIUS. Well, you see how it is, Larry. Round about here, +we've got the land at last; and we want no more Goverment +meddlin. We want a new class o man in parliament: one dhat knows +dhat the farmer's the real backbone o the country, n doesn't care +a snap of his fingers for the shoutn o the riff-raff in the +towns, or for the foolishness of the laborers. + +DORAN. Aye; an dhat can afford to live in London and pay his own +way until Home Rule comes, instead o wantin subscriptions and the +like. + +FATHER DEMPSEY. Yes: that's a good point, Barney. When too much +money goes to politics, it's the Church that has to starve for +it. A member of parliament ought to be a help to the Church +instead of a burden on it. + +LARRY. Here's a chance for you, Tom. What do you say? + +BROADBENT [deprecatory, but important and smiling]. Oh, I have no +claim whatever to the seat. Besides, I'm a Saxon. + +DORAN. A hwat? + +BROADBENT. A Saxon. An Englishman. + +DORAN. An Englishman. Bedad I never heard it called dhat before. + +MATTHEW [cunningly]. If I might make so bould, Fadher, I wouldn't +say but an English Prodestn mightn't have a more indepindent mind +about the lan, an be less afeerd to spake out about it, dhan an +Irish Catholic. + +CORNELIUS. But sure Larry's as good as English: aren't you, +Larry? + +LARRY. You may put me out of your head, father, once for all. + +CORNELIUS. Arra why? + +LARRY. I have strong opinions which wouldn't suit you. + +DORAN [rallying him blatantly]. Is it still Larry the bould +Fenian? + +LARRY. No: the bold Fenian is now an older and possibly foolisher +man. + +CORNELIUS. Hwat does it matter to us hwat your opinions are? You +know that your father's bought his farm, just the same as Mat +here n Barney's mill. All we ask now is to be let alone. You've +nothin against that, have you? + +LARRY. Certainly I have. I don't believe in letting anybody or +anything alone. + +CORNELIUS [losing his temper]. Arra what d'ye mean, you young +fool? Here I've got you the offer of a good seat in parliament; n +you think yourself mighty smart to stand there and talk +foolishness to me. Will you take it or leave it? + +LARRY. Very well: I'll take it with pleasure if you'll give it to +me. + +CORNELIUS [subsiding sulkily]. Well, why couldn't you say so at +once? It's a good job you've made up your mind at last. + +DORAN [suspiciously]. Stop a bit, stop a bit. + +MATTHEW [writhing between his dissatisfaction and his fear of the +priest]. It's not because he's your son that he's to get the +sate. Fadher Dempsey: wouldn't you think well to ask him what he +manes about the lan? + +LARRY [coming down on Mat promptly]. I'll tell you, Mat. I always +thought it was a stupid, lazy, good-for-nothing sort of thing to +leave the land in the hands of the old landlords without calling +them to a strict account for the use they made of it, and the +condition of the people on it. I could see for myself that they +thought of nothing but what they could get out of it to spend in +England; and that they mortgaged and mortgaged until hardly one +of them owned his own property or could have afforded to keep it +up decently if he'd wanted to. But I tell you plump and plain, +Mat, that if anybody thinks things will be any better now that +the land is handed over to a lot of little men like you, without +calling you to account either, they're mistaken. + +MATTHEW [sullenly]. What call have you to look down on me? I +suppose you think you're everybody because your father was a land +agent. + +LARRY. What call have you to look down on Patsy Farrell? I +suppose you think you're everybody because you own a few fields. + +MATTHEW. Was Patsy Farrll ever ill used as I was ill used? tell +me dhat. + +LARRY. He will be, if ever he gets into your power as you were in +the power of your old landlord. Do you think, because you're poor +and ignorant and half-crazy with toiling and moiling morning noon +and night, that you'll be any less greedy and oppressive to them +that have no land at all than old Nick Lestrange, who was an +educated travelled gentleman that would not have been tempted as +hard by a hundred pounds as you'd be by five shillings? Nick was +too high above Patsy Farrell to be jealous of him; but you, that +are only one little step above him, would die sooner than let him +come up that step; and well you know it. + +MATTHEW [black with rage, in a low growl]. Lemme oura this. [He +tries to rise; but Doran catches his coat and drags him down +again] I'm goin, I say. [Raising his voice] Leggo me coat, Barney +Doran. + +DORAN. Sit down, yowl omadhaun, you. [Whispering] Don't you want +to stay an vote against him? + +FATHER DEMPSEY [holding up his finger] Mat! [Mat subsides]. Now, +now, now! come, come! Hwats all dhis about Patsy Farrll? Hwy need +you fall out about HIM? + +LARRY. Because it was by using Patsy's poverty to undersell +England in the markets of the world that we drove England to ruin +Ireland. And she'll ruin us again the moment we lift our heads +from the dust if we trade in cheap labor; and serve us right too! +If I get into parliament, I'll try to get an Act to prevent any +of you from giving Patsy less than a pound a week [they all +start, hardly able to believe their ears] or working him harder +than you'd work a horse that cost you fifty guineas. + +DORAN. Hwat!!! + +CORNELIUS [aghast]. A pound a--God save us! the boy's mad. + +Matthew, feeling that here is something quite beyond his powers, +turns openmouthed to the priest, as if looking for nothing less +than the summary excommunication of Larry. + +LARRY. How is the man to marry and live a decent life on less? + +FATHER DEMPSEY. Man alive, hwere have you been living all these +years? and hwat have you been dreaming of? Why, some o dhese +honest men here can't make that much out o the land for +themselves, much less give it to a laborer. + +LARRY [now thoroughly roused]. Then let them make room for those +who can. Is Ireland never to have a chance? First she was given +to the rich; and now that they have gorged on her flesh, her +bones are to be flung to the poor, that can do nothing but suck +the marrow out of her. If we can't have men of honor own the +land, lets have men of ability. If we can't have men with +ability, let us at least have men with capital. Anybody's better +than Mat, who has neither honor, nor ability, nor capital, nor +anything but mere brute labor and greed in him, Heaven help him! + +DORAN. Well, we're not all foostherin oul doddherers like Mat. +[Pleasantly, to the subject of this description] Are we, Mat? + +LARRY. For modern industrial purposes you might just as well be, +Barney. You're all children: the big world that I belong to has +gone past you and left you. Anyhow, we Irishmen were never made +to be farmers; and we'll never do any good at it. We're like the +Jews: the Almighty gave us brains, and bid us farm them, and +leave the clay and the worms alone. + +FATHER DEMPSEY [with gentle irony]. Oh! is it Jews you want to +make of us? I must catechize you a bit meself, I think. The next +thing you'll be proposing is to repeal the disestablishment of +the so-called Irish Church. + +LARRY. Yes: why not? [Sensation]. + +MATTHEW [rancorously]. He's a turncoat. + +LARRY. St Peter, the rock on which our Church was built, was +crucified head downwards for being a turncoat. + +FATHER DEMPSEY [with a quiet authoritative dignity which checks +Doran, who is on the point of breaking out]. That's true. You +hold your tongue as befits your ignorance, Matthew Haffigan; and +trust your priest to deal with this young man. Now, Larry Doyle, +whatever the blessed St Peter was crucified for, it was not for +being a Prodestan. Are you one? + +LARRY. No. I am a Catholic intelligent enough to see that the +Protestants are never more dangerous to us than when they are +free from all alliances with the State. The so-called Irish +Church is stronger today than ever it was. + +MATTHEW. Fadher Dempsey: will you tell him dhat me mother's ant +was shot and kilt dead in the sthreet o Rosscullen be a soljer in +the tithe war? [Frantically] He wants to put the tithes on us +again. He-- + +LARRY [interrupting him with overbearing contempt]. Put the +tithes on you again! Did the tithes ever come off you? Was your +land any dearer when you paid the tithe to the parson than it was +when you paid the same money to Nick Lestrange as rent, and he +handed it over to the Church Sustentation Fund? Will you always +be duped by Acts of Parliament that change nothing but the +necktie of the man that picks your pocket? I'll tell you what I'd +do with you, Mat Haffigan: I'd make you pay tithes to your own +Church. I want the Catholic Church established in Ireland: that's +what I want. Do you think that I, brought up to regard myself as +the son of a great and holy Church, can bear to see her begging +her bread from the ignorance and superstition of men like you? I +would have her as high above worldly want as I would have her +above worldly pride or ambition. Aye; and I would have Ireland +compete with Rome itself for the chair of St Peter and the +citadel of the Church; for Rome, in spite of all the blood of the +martyrs, is pagan at heart to this day, while in Ireland the +people is the Church and the Church the people. + +FATHER DEMPSEY [startled, but not at all displeased]. Whisht, +man! You're worse than mad Pether Keegan himself. + +BROADBENT [who has listened in the greatest astonishment]. You +amaze me, Larry. Who would have thought of your coming out like +this! [Solemnly] But much as I appreciate your really brilliant +eloquence, I implore you not to desert the great Liberal +principle of Disestablishment. + +LARRY. I am not a Liberal: Heaven forbid! A disestablished Church +is the worst tyranny a nation can groan under. + +BROADBENT [making a wry face]. DON'T be paradoxical, Larry. It +really gives me a pain in my stomach. + +LARRY. You'll soon find out the truth of it here. Look at Father +Dempsey! he is disestablished: he has nothing to hope or fear +from the State; and the result is that he's the most powerful man +in Rosscullen. The member for Rosscullen would shake in his shoes +if Father Dempsey looked crooked at him. [Father Dempsey smiles, +by no means averse to this acknowledgment of his authority]. Look +at yourself! you would defy the established Archbishop of +Canterbury ten times a day; but catch you daring to say a word +that would shock a Nonconformist! not you. The Conservative party +today is the only one that's not priestridden--excuse the +expression, Father [Father Dempsey nods tolerantly]--cause it's +the only one that has established its Church and can prevent a +clergyman becoming a bishop if he's not a Statesman as well as a +Churchman. + +He stops. They stare at him dumbfounded, and leave it to the +priest to answer him. + +FATHER DEMPSEY [judicially]. Young man: you'll not be the member +for Rosscullen; but there's more in your head than the comb will +take out. + +LARRY. I'm sorry to disappoint you, father; but I told you it +would be no use. And now I think the candidate had better retire +and leave you to discuss his successor. [He takes a newspaper +from the table and goes away through the shrubbery amid dead +silence, all turning to watch him until he passes out of sight +round the corner of the house]. + +DORAN [dazed]. Hwat sort of a fella is he at all at all? + +FATHER DEMPSEY. He's a clever lad: there's the making of a man in +him yet. + +MATTHEW [in consternation]. D'ye mane to say dhat yll put him +into parliament to bring back Nick Lesthrange on me, and to put +tithes on me, and to rob me for the like o Patsy Farrll, because +he's Corny Doyle's only son? + +DORAN [brutally]. Arra hould your whisht: who's goin to send him +into parliament? Maybe you'd like us to send you dhere to thrate +them to a little o your anxiety about dhat dirty little podato +patch o yours. + +MATTHEW [plaintively]. Am I to be towld dhis afther all me +sufferins? + +DORAN. Och, I'm tired o your sufferins. We've been hearin nothin +else ever since we was childher but sufferins. Haven it wasn't +yours it was somebody else's; and haven it was nobody else's it +was ould Irelan's. How the divil are we to live on wan anodher's +sufferins? + +FATHER DEMPSEY. That's a thrue word, Barney Doarn; only your +tongue's a little too familiar wi dhe devil. [To Mat] If you'd +think a little more o the sufferins of the blessed saints, Mat, +an a little less o your own, you'd find the way shorter from your +farm to heaven. [Mat is about to reply] Dhere now! Dhat's enough! +we know you mean well; an I'm not angry with you. + +BROADBENT. Surely, Mr Haffigan, you can see the simple +explanation of all this. My friend Larry Doyle is a most +brilliant speaker; but he's a Tory: an ingrained oldfashioned +Tory. + +CORNELIUS. N how d'ye make dhat out, if I might ask you, Mr +Broadbent? + +BROADBENT [collecting himself for a political deliverance]. Well, +you know, Mr Doyle, there's a strong dash of Toryism in the Irish +character. Larry himself says that the great Duke of Wellington +was the most typical Irishman that ever lived. Of course that's +an absurd paradox; but still there's a great deal of truth in it. +Now I am a Liberal. You know the great principles of the Liberal +party. Peace-- + +FATHER DEMPSEY [piously]. Hear! hear! + +BROADBENT [encouraged]. Thank you. Retrenchment--[he waits for +further applause]. + +MATTHEW [timidly]. What might rethrenchment mane now? + +BROADBENT. It means an immense reduction in the burden of the +rates and taxes. + +MATTHEW [respectfully approving]. Dhats right. Dhats right, sir. + +BROADBENT [perfunctorily]. And, of course, Reform. + + CORNELIUS } + FATHER DEMPSEY} [conventionally]. Of course. + DORAN } + +MATTHEW [still suspicious]. Hwat does Reform mane, sir? Does it +mane altherin annythin dhats as it is now? + +BROADBENT [impressively]. It means, Mr Haffigan, maintaining +those reforms which have already been conferred on humanity by +the Liberal Party, and trusting for future developments to the +free activity of a free people on the basis of those reforms. + +DORAN. Dhat's right. No more meddlin. We're all right now: all we +want is to be let alone. + +CORNELIUS. Hwat about Home Rule? + +BROADBENT [rising so as to address them more imposingly]. I +really cannot tell you what I feel about Home Rule without using +the language of hyperbole. + +DORAN. Savin Fadher Dempsey's presence, eh? + +BROADBENT [not understanding him] Quite so--er--oh yes. All I can +say is that as an Englishman I blush for the Union. It is the +blackest stain on our national history. I look forward to the +time-and it cannot be far distant, gentlemen, because Humanity is +looking forward to it too, and insisting on it with no uncertain +voice--I look forward to the time when an Irish legislature shall +arise once more on the emerald pasture of College Green, and the +Union Jack--that detestable symbol of a decadent Imperialism--be +replaced by a flag as green as the island over which it waves--a +flag on which we shall ask for England only a modest quartering +in memory of our great party and of the immortal name of our +grand old leader. + +DORAN [enthusiastically]. Dhat's the style, begob! [He smites his +knee, and winks at Mat]. + +MATTHEW. More power to you, Sir! + +BROADBENT. I shall leave you now, gentlemen, to your +deliberations. I should like to have enlarged on the services +rendered by the Liberal Party to the religious faith of the great +majority of the people of Ireland; but I shall content myself +with saying that in my opinion you should choose no representative +who--no matter what his personal creed may be--is not an ardent +supporter of freedom of conscience, and is not prepared to prove +it by contributions, as lavish as his means will allow, to the +great and beneficent work which you, Father Dempsey [Father +Dempsey bows], are doing for the people of Rosscullen. Nor should +the lighter, but still most important question of the sports of +the people be forgotten. The local cricket club-- + +CORNELIUS. The hwat! + +DORAN. Nobody plays bats ball here, if dhat's what you mean. + +BROADBENT. Well, let us say quoits. I saw two men, I think, last +night--but after all, these are questions of detail. The main +thing is that your candidate, whoever he may be, shall be a man +of some means, able to help the locality instead of burdening it. +And if he were a countryman of my own, the moral effect on the +House of Commons would be immense! tremendous! Pardon my saying +these few words: nobody feels their impertinence more than I do. +Good morning, gentlemen. + +He turns impressively to the gate, and trots away, congratulating +himself, with a little twist of his head and cock of his eye, on +having done a good stroke of political business. + +HAFFIGAN [awestruck]. Good morning, sir. + +THE REST. Good morning. [They watch him vacantly until he is out +of earshot]. + +CORNELIUS. Hwat d'ye think, Father Dempsey? + +FATHER DEMPSEY [indulgently] Well, he hasn't much sense, God help +him; but for the matter o that, neither has our present member. + +DORAN. Arra musha he's good enough for parliament what is there +to do there but gas a bit, an chivy the Goverment, an vote wi dh +Irish party? + +CORNELIUS [ruminatively]. He's the queerest Englishman I ever +met. When he opened the paper dhis mornin the first thing he saw +was that an English expedition had been bet in a battle in Inja +somewhere; an he was as pleased as Punch! Larry told him that if +he'd been alive when the news o Waterloo came, he'd a died o +grief over it. Bedad I don't think he's quite right in his head. + +DORAN. Divil a matther if he has plenty o money. He'll do for us +right enough. + +MATTHEW [deeply impressed by Broadbent, and unable to understand +their levity concerning him]. Did you mind what he said about +rethrenchment? That was very good, I thought. + +FATHER DEMPSEY. You might find out from Larry, Corny, what his +means are. God forgive us all! it's poor work spoiling the +Egyptians, though we have good warrant for it; so I'd like to +know how much spoil there is before I commit meself. [He rises. +They all rise respectfully]. + +CORNELIUS [ruefully]. I'd set me mind on Larry himself for the +seat; but I suppose it can't be helped. + +FATHER DEMPSEY [consoling him]. Well, the boy's young yet; an he +has a head on him. Goodbye, all. [He goes out through the gate]. + +DORAN. I must be goin, too. [He directs Cornelius's attention to +what is passing in the road]. Look at me bould Englishman shakin +hans wid Fadher Dempsey for all the world like a candidate on +election day. And look at Fadher Dempsey givin him a squeeze an a +wink as much as to say It's all right, me boy. You watch him +shakin hans with me too: he's waitn for me. I'll tell him he's as +good as elected. [He goes, chuckling mischievously]. + +CORNELIUS. Come in with me, Mat. I think I'll sell you the pig +after all. Come in an wet the bargain. + +MATTHEW [instantly dropping into the old whine of the tenant]. +I'm afeerd I can't afford the price, sir. [He follows Cornelius +into the house]. + +Larry, newspaper still in hand, comes back through the shrubbery. +Broadbent returns through the gate. + +LARRY. Well? What has happened. + +BROADBENT [hugely self-satisfied]. I think I've done the trick +this time. I just gave them a bit of straight talk; and it went +home. They were greatly impressed: everyone of those men believes +in me and will vote for me when the question of selecting a +candidate comes up. After all, whatever you say, Larry, they like +an Englishman. They feel they can trust him, I suppose. + +LARRY. Oh! they've transferred the honor to you, have they? + +BROADBENT [complacently]. Well, it was a pretty obvious move, I +should think. You know, these fellows have plenty of shrewdness +in spite of their Irish oddity. [Hodson comes from the house. +Larry sits in Doran's chair and reads]. Oh, by the way, Hodson-- + +HODSON [coming between Broadbent and Larry]. Yes, sir? + +BROADBENT. I want you to be rather particular as to how you treat +the people here. + +HODSON. I haven't treated any of em yet, sir. If I was to accept +all the treats they offer me I shouldn't be able to stand at this +present moment, sir. + +BROADBENT. Oh well, don't be too stand-offish, you know, Hodson. +I should like you to be popular. If it costs anything I'll make +it up to you. It doesn't matter if you get a bit upset at first: +they'll like you all the better for it. + +HODSON. I'm sure you're very kind, sir; but it don't seem to +matter to me whether they like me or not. I'm not going to stand +for parliament here, sir. + +BROADBENT. Well, I am. Now do you understand? + +HODSON [waking up at once]. Oh, I beg your pardon, sir, I'm sure. +I understand, sir. + +CORNELIUS [appearing at the house door with Mat]. Patsy'll drive +the pig over this evenin, Mat. Goodbye. [He goes back into the +house. Mat makes for the gate. Broadbent stops him. Hodson, +pained by the derelict basket, picks it up and carries it away +behind the house]. + +BROADBENT [beaming candidatorially]. I must thank you very +particularly, Mr Haffigan, for your support this morning. I value +it because I know that the real heart of a nation is the class +you represent, the yeomanry. + +MATTHEW [aghast] The yeomanry!!! + +LARRY [looking up from his paper]. Take care, Tom! In Rosscullen +a yeoman means a sort of Orange Bashi-Bazouk. In England, Mat, +they call a freehold farmer a yeoman. + +MATTHEW [huffily]. I don't need to be insthructed be you, Larry +Doyle. Some people think no one knows anythin but dhemselves. [To +Broadbent, deferentially] Of course I know a gentleman like you +would not compare me to the yeomanry. Me own granfather was +flogged in the sthreets of Athenmullet be them when they put a +gun in the thatch of his house an then went and found it there, +bad cess to them! + +BROADBENT [with sympathetic interest]. Then you are not the first +martyr of your family, Mr Haffigan? + +MATTHEW. They turned me out o the farm I made out of the stones o +Little Rosscullen hill wid me own hans. + +BROADBENT. I have heard about it; and my blood still boils at the +thought. [Calling] Hodson-- + +HODSON [behind the corner of the house] Yes, sir. [He hurries +forward]. + +BROADBENT. Hodson: this gentleman's sufferings should make every +Englishman think. It is want of thought rather than want of heart +that allows such iniquities to disgrace society. + +HODSON [prosaically]. Yes sir. + +MATTHEW. Well, I'll be goin. Good mornin to you kindly, sir. + +BROADBENT. You have some distance to go, Mr Haffigan: will you +allow me to drive you home? + +MATTHEW. Oh sure it'd be throublin your honor. + +BROADBENT. I insist: it will give me the greatest pleasure, I +assure you. My car is in the stable: I can get it round in five +minutes. + +MATTHEW. Well, sir, if you wouldn't mind, we could bring the pig +I've just bought from Corny. + +BROADBENT [with enthusiasm]. Certainly, Mr Haffigan: it will be +quite delightful to drive with a pig in the car: I shall feel +quite like an Irishman. Hodson: stay with Mr Haffigan; and give +him a hand with the pig if necessary. Come, Larry; and help me. +[He rushes away through the shrubbery]. + +LARRY [throwing the paper ill-humoredly on the chair]. Look here, +Tom! here, I say! confound it! [he runs after him]. + +MATTHEW [glowering disdainfully at Hodson, and sitting down on +Cornelius's chair as an act of social self-assertion] N are you +the valley? + +HODSON. The valley? Oh, I follow you: yes: I'm Mr Broadbent's +valet. + +MATTHEW. Ye have an aisy time of it: you look purty sleek. [With +suppressed ferocity] Look at me! Do I look sleek? + +HODSON [sadly]. I wish I ad your ealth: you look as hard as +nails. I suffer from an excess of uric acid. + +MATTHEW. Musha what sort o disease is zhouragassid? Didjever +suffer from injustice and starvation? Dhat's the Irish disease. +It's aisy for you to talk o sufferin, an you livin on the fat o +the land wid money wrung from us. + +HODSON [Coolly]. Wots wrong with you, old chap? Has ennybody been +doin ennything to you? + +MATTHEW. Anythin timme! Didn't your English masther say that the +blood biled in him to hear the way they put a rint on me for the +farm I made wid me own hans, and turned me out of it to give it +to Billy Byrne? + +HODSON. Ow, Tom Broadbent's blood boils pretty easy over +ennything that appens out of his own country. Don't you be taken +in by my ole man, Paddy. + +MATTHEW [indignantly]. Paddy yourself! How dar you call me Paddy? + +HODSON [unmoved]. You just keep your hair on and listen to me. +You Irish people are too well off: that's what's the matter with +you. [With sudden passion] You talk of your rotten little farm +because you made it by chuckin a few stownes dahn a hill! Well, +wot price my grenfawther, I should like to know, that fitted up a +fuss clawss shop and built up a fuss clawss drapery business in +London by sixty years work, and then was chucked aht of it on is +ed at the end of is lease withaht a penny for his goodwill. You +talk of evictions! you that cawn't be moved until you've +run up eighteen months rent. I once ran up four weeks in Lambeth +when I was aht of a job in winter. They took the door off its +inges and the winder aht of its sashes on me, and gave my wife +pnoomownia. I'm a widower now. [Between his teeth] Gawd! when I +think of the things we Englishmen av to put up with, and hear you +Irish hahlin abaht your silly little grievances, and see the way +you makes it worse for us by the rotten wages you'll come over +and take and the rotten places you'll sleep in, I jast feel that +I could take the oul bloomin British awland and make you a +present of it, jast to let you find out wot real ardship's like. + +MATTHEW [starting up, more in scandalized incredulity than in +anger]. D'ye have the face to set up England agen Ireland for +injustices an wrongs an disthress an sufferin? + +HODSON [with intense disgust and contempt, but with Cockney +coolness]. Ow, chuck it, Paddy. Cheese it. You danno wot ardship +is over ere: all you know is ah to ahl abaht it. You take the +biscuit at that, you do. I'm a Owm Ruler, I am. Do you know why? + +MATTHEW [equally contemptuous]. D'ye know, yourself? + +HODSON. Yes I do. It's because I want a little attention paid to +my own country; and thet'll never be as long as your chaps are +ollerin at Wesminister as if nowbody mettered but your own +bloomin selves. Send em back to hell or C'naught, as good oul +English Cromwell said. I'm jast sick of Ireland. Let it gow. Cut +the cable. Make it a present to Germany to keep the oul Kyzer +busy for a while; and give poor owld England a chawnce: thets wot +I say. + +MATTHEW [full of scorn for a man so ignorant as to be unable to +pronounce the word Connaught, which practically rhymes with +bonnet in Ireland, though in Hodson's dialect it rhymes with +untaught]. Take care we don't cut the cable ourselves some day, +bad scran to you! An tell me dhis: have yanny Coercion Acs in +England? Have yanny removables? Have you Dublin Castle to +suppress every newspaper dhat takes the part o your own counthry? + +HODSON. We can beyave ahrselves withaht sich things. + +MATTHEW. Bedad you're right. It'd only be waste o time to muzzle +a sheep. Here! where's me pig? God forgimme for talkin to a poor +ignorant craycher like you. + +HODSON [grinning with good-humored malice, too convinced of his +own superiority to feel his withers wrung]. Your pig'll ave a +rare doin in that car, Paddy. Forty miles an ahr dahn that rocky +lane will strike it pretty pink, you bet. + +MATTHEW [scornfully]. Hwy can't you tell a raisonable lie when +you're about it? What horse can go forty mile an hour? + +HODSON. Orse! Wy, you silly oul rotten it's not a orse it's a +mowtor. Do you suppose Tom Broadbent would gow off himself to +arness a orse? + +MATTHEW [in consternation]. Holy Moses! Don't tell me it's the +ingine he wants to take me on. + +HODSON. Wot else? + +MATTHEW. Your sowl to Morris Kelly! why didn't you tell me that +before? The divil an ingine he'll get me on this day. [His ear +catches an approaching teuf-teuf] Oh murdher! it's comin afther +me: I hear the puff puff of it. [He runs away through the gate, +much to Hodson's amusement. The noise of the motor ceases; and +Hodson, anticipating Broadbent's return, throws off the +politician and recomposes himself as a valet. Broadbent and Larry +come through the shrubbery. Hodson moves aside to the gate]. + +BROADBENT. Where is Mr Haffigan? Has he gone for the pig? + +HODSON. Bolted, sir! Afraid of the motor, sir. + +BROADBENT [much disappointed]. Oh, that's very tiresome. Did he +leave any message? + +HODSON. He was in too great a hurry, sir. Started to run home, +sir, and left his pig behind him. + +BROADBENT [eagerly]. Left the pig! Then it's all right. The pig's +the thing: the pig will win over every Irish heart to me. We'll +take the pig home to Haffigan's farm in the motor: it will have a +tremendous effect. Hodson! + +HODSON. Yes sir? + +BROADBENT. Do you think you could collect a crowd to see the +motor? + +HODSON. Well, I'll try, sir. + +BROADBENT. Thank you, Hodson: do. + +Hodson goes out through the gate. + +LARRY [desperately]. Once more, Tom, will you listen to me? + +BROADBENT. Rubbish! I tell you it will be all right. + +LARRY. Only this morning you confessed how surprised you were to +find that the people here showed no sense of humor. + +BROADBENT [suddenly very solemn]. Yes: their sense of humor is in +abeyance: I noticed it the moment we landed. Think of that in a +country where every man is a born humorist! Think of what it +means! [Impressively] Larry we are in the presence of a great +national grief. + +LARRY. What's to grieve them? + +BROADBENT. I divined it, Larry: I saw it in their faces. Ireland +has never smiled since her hopes were buried in the grave of +Gladstone. + +LARRY. Oh, what's the use of talking to such a man? Now look +here, Tom. Be serious for a moment if you can. + +BROADBENT [stupent] Serious! I!!! + +LARRY. Yes, you. You say the Irish sense of humor is in abeyance. +Well, if you drive through Rosscullen in a motor car with +Haffigan's pig, it won't stay in abeyance. Now I warn you. + +BROADBENT [breezily]. Why, so much the better! I shall enjoy the +joke myself more than any of them. [Shouting] Hallo, Patsy +Farrell, where are you? + +PATSY [appearing in the shrubbery]. Here I am, your honor. + +BROADBENT. Go and catch the pig and put it into the car--we're +going to take it to Mr Haffigan's. [He gives Larry a slap on the +shoulders that sends him staggering off through the gate, and +follows him buoyantly, exclaiming] Come on, you old croaker! I'll +show you how to win an Irish seat. + +PATSY [meditatively]. Bedad, if dhat pig gets a howlt o the +handle o the machine-- [He shakes his head ominously and drifts +away to the pigsty]. + + + +ACT IV + +The parlor in Cornelius Doyle's house. It communicates with the +garden by a half glazed door. The fireplace is at the other side +of the room, opposite the door and windows, the architect not +having been sensitive to draughts. The table, rescued from the +garden, is in the middle; and at it sits Keegan, the central +figure in a rather crowded apartment. + +Nora, sitting with her back to the fire at the end of the table, +is playing backgammon across its corner with him, on his left +hand. Aunt Judy, a little further back, sits facing the fire +knitting, with her feet on the fender. A little to Keegan's +right, in front of the table, and almost sitting on it, is Barney +Doran. Half a dozen friends of his, all men, are between him and +the open door, supported by others outside. In the corner behind +them is the sofa, of mahogany and horsehair, made up as a bed for +Broadbent. Against the wall behind Keegan stands a mahogany +sideboard. A door leading to the interior of the house is near +the fireplace, behind Aunt Judy. There are chairs against the +wall, one at each end of the sideboard. Keegan's hat is on the +one nearest the inner door; and his stick is leaning against it. +A third chair, also against the wall, is near the garden door. + +There is a strong contrast of emotional atmosphere between the +two sides of the room. Keegan is extraordinarily stern: no game +of backgammon could possibly make a man's face so grim. Aunt Judy +is quietly busy. Nora it trying to ignore Doran and attend to her +game. + +On the other hand Doran is reeling in an ecstasy of mischievous +mirth which has infected all his friends. They are screaming with +laughter, doubled up, leaning on the furniture and against the +walls, shouting, screeching, crying. + +AUNT JUDY [as the noise lulls for a moment]. Arra hold your +noise, Barney. What is there to laugh at? + +DORAN. It got its fut into the little hweel--[he is overcome +afresh; and the rest collapse again]. + +AUNT JUDY. Ah, have some sense: you're like a parcel o childher. +Nora, hit him a thump on the back: he'll have a fit. + +DORAN [with squeezed eyes, exsuflicate with cachinnation] Frens, +he sez to dhem outside Doolan's: I'm takin the gintleman that +pays the rint for a dhrive. + +AUNT JUDY. Who did he mean be that? + +DORAN. They call a pig that in England. That's their notion of a +joke. + +AUNT JUDY. Musha God help them if they can joke no better than +that! + +DORAN [with renewed symptoms]. Thin-- + +AUNT JUDY. Ah now don't be tellin it all over and settin yourself +off again, Barney. + +NORA. You've told us three times, Mr Doran. + +DORAN. Well but whin I think of it--! + +AUNT JUDY. Then don't think of it, alanna. + +DORAN. There was Patsy Farrll in the back sate wi dhe pig between +his knees, n me bould English boyoh in front at the machinery, n +Larry Doyle in the road startin the injine wid a bed winch. At +the first puff of it the pig lep out of its skin and bled Patsy's +nose wi dhe ring in its snout. [Roars of laughter: Keegan glares +at them]. Before Broadbint knew hwere he was, the pig was up his +back and over into his lap; and bedad the poor baste did credit +to Corny's thrainin of it; for it put in the fourth speed wid its +right crubeen as if it was enthered for the Gordn Bennett. + +NORA [reproachfully]. And Larry in front of it and all! It's +nothn to laugh at, Mr Doran. + +DORAN. Bedad, Miss Reilly, Larry cleared six yards backwards at +wan jump if he cleared an inch; and he'd a cleared seven if +Doolan's granmother hadn't cotch him in her apern widhout +intindin to. [Immense merriment]. + +AUNT JUDY, Ah, for shame, Barney! the poor old woman! An she was +hurt before, too, when she slipped on the stairs. + +DORAN. Bedad, ma'am, she's hurt behind now; for Larry bouled her +over like a skittle. [General delight at this typical stroke of +Irish Rabelaisianism]. + +NORA. It's well the lad wasn't killed. + +DORAN. Faith it wasn't o Larry we were thinkin jus dhen, wi dhe +pig takin the main sthreet o Rosscullen on market day at a mile a +minnit. Dh ony thing Broadbint could get at wi dhe pig in front +of him was a fut brake; n the pig's tail was undher dhat; so that +whin he thought he was putn non the brake he was ony squeezin the +life out o the pig's tail. The more he put the brake on the more +the pig squealed n the fasther he dhruv. + +AUNT JUDY. Why couldn't he throw the pig out into the road? + +DORAN. Sure he couldn't stand up to it, because he was +spanchelled-like between his seat and dhat thing like a wheel on +top of a stick between his knees. + +AUNT JUDY. Lord have mercy on us! + +NORA. I don't know how you can laugh. Do you, Mr Keegan? + +KEEGAN [grimly]. Why not? There is danger, destruction, torment! +What more do we want to make us merry? Go on, Barney: the last +drops of joy are not squeezed from the story yet. Tell us again +how our brother was torn asunder. + +DORAN [puzzled]. Whose bruddher? + +KEEGAN. Mine. + +NORA. He means the pig, Mr Doran. You know his way. + +DORAN [rising gallantly to the occasion]. Bedad I'm sorry for +your poor bruddher, Misther Keegan; but I recommend you to thry +him wid a couple o fried eggs for your breakfast tomorrow. It was +a case of Excelsior wi dhat ambitious baste; for not content wid +jumpin from the back seat into the front wan, he jumped from the +front wan into the road in front of the car. And-- + +KEEGAN. And everybody laughed! + +NORA. Don't go over that again, please, Mr Doran. + +DORAN. Faith be the time the car went over the poor pig dhere was +little left for me or anywan else to go over except wid a knife +an fork. + +AUNT JUDY. Why didn't Mr Broadbent stop the car when the pig was +gone? + +DORAN. Stop the car! He might as well ha thried to stop a mad +bull. First it went wan way an made fireworks o Molly Ryan's +crockery stall; an dhen it slewed round an ripped ten fut o wall +out o the corner o the pound. [With enormous enjoyment] Begob, it +just tore the town in two and sent the whole dam market to +blazes. [Nora offended, rises]. + +KEEGAN [indignantly]. Sir! + +DORAN [quickly]. Savin your presence, Miss Reilly, and Misther +Keegan's. Dhere! I won't say anuddher word. + +NORA. I'm surprised at you, Mr Doran. [She sits down again]. + +DORAN [refectively]. He has the divil's own luck, that +Englishman, annyway; for when they picked him up he hadn't a +scratch on him, barrn hwat the pig did to his cloes. Patsy had +two fingers out o jynt; but the smith pulled them sthraight for +him. Oh, you never heard such a hullaballoo as there was. There +was Molly, cryin Me chaney, me beautyful chaney! n oul Mat +shoutin Me pig, me pig! n the polus takin the number o the car, n +not a man in the town able to speak for laughin-- + +KEEGAN [with intense emphasis]. It is hell: it is hell. Nowhere +else could such a scene be a burst of happiness for the people. + +Cornelius comes in hastily from the garden, pushing his way +through the little crowd. + +CORNELIUS. Whisht your laughin, boys! Here he is. [He puts his +hat on the sideboard, and goes to the fireplace, where he posts +himself with his back to the chimneypiece]. + +AUNT JUDY. Remember your behavior, now. + +Everybody becomes silent, solemn, concerned, sympathetic. +Broadbent enters, roiled and disordered as to his motoring coat: +immensely important and serious as to himself. He makes his way +to the end of the table nearest the garden door, whilst Larry, +who accompanies him, throws his motoring coat on the sofa bed, +and sits down, watching the proceedings. + +BROADBENT [taking off his leather cap with dignity and placing it +on the table]. I hope you have not been anxious about me. + +AUNT JUDY. Deedn we have, Mr Broadbent. It's a mercy you weren't +killed. + +DORAN. Kilt! It's a mercy dheres two bones of you left houldin +together. How dijjescape at all at all? Well, I never thought I'd +be so glad to see you safe and sound again. Not a man in the town +would say less [murmurs of kindly assent]. Won't you come down to +Doolan's and have a dhrop o brandy to take the shock off? + +BROADBENT. You're all really too kind; but the shock has quite +passed off. + +DORAN [jovially]. Never mind. Come along all the same and tell us +about it over a frenly glass. + +BROADBENT. May I say how deeply I feel the kindness with which I +have been overwhelmed since my accident? I can truthfully declare +that I am glad it happened, because it has brought out the +kindness and sympathy of the Irish character to an extent I had +no conception of. + + SEVERAL {Oh, sure you're welcome! + PRESENT. {Sure it's only natural. + {Sure you might have been kilt. + +A young man, on the point of bursting, hurries out. Barney puts +an iron constraint on his features. + +BROADBENT. All I can say is that I wish I could drink the health +of everyone of you. + +DORAN. Dhen come an do it. + +BROADBENT [very solemnly]. No: I am a teetotaller. + +AUNT JUDY [incredulously]. Arra since when? + +BROADBENT. Since this morning, Miss Doyle. I have had a lesson +[he looks at Nora significantly] that I shall not forget. It may +be that total abstinence has already saved my life; for I was +astonished at the steadiness of my nerves when death stared me in +the face today. So I will ask you to excuse me. [He collects +himself for a speech]. Gentlemen: I hope the gravity of the peril +through which we have all passed--for I know that the danger to +the bystanders was as great as to the occupants of the car--will +prove an earnest of closer and more serious relations between us +in the future. We have had a somewhat agitating day: a valuable +and innocent animal has lost its life: a public building has been +wrecked: an aged and infirm lady has suffered an impact for which +I feel personally responsible, though my old friend Mr Laurence +Doyle unfortunately incurred the first effects of her very +natural resentment. I greatly regret the damage to Mr Patrick +Farrell's fingers; and I have of course taken care that he shall +not suffer pecuniarily by his mishap. [Murmurs of admiration at +his magnanimity, and A Voice "You're a gentleman, sir"]. I am +glad to say that Patsy took it like an Irishman, and, far from +expressing any vindictive feeling, declared his willingness to +break all his fingers and toes for me on the same terms [subdued +applause, and "More power to Patsy!"]. Gentlemen: I felt at home +in Ireland from the first [rising excitement among his hearers]. +In every Irish breast I have found that spirit of liberty [A +cheery voice "Hear Hear"], that instinctive mistrust of the +Government [A small pious voice, with intense expression, "God +bless you, sir!"], that love of independence [A defiant voice, +"That's it! Independence!"], that indignant sympathy with the +cause of oppressed nationalities abroad [A threatening growl from +all: the ground-swell of patriotic passion], and with the +resolute assertion of personal rights at home, which is all but +extinct in my own country. If it were legally possible I should +become a naturalized Irishman; and if ever it be my good fortune +to represent an Irish constituency in parliament, it shall be my +first care to introduce a Bill legalizing such an operation. I +believe a large section of the Liberal party would avail +themselves of it. [Momentary scepticism]. I do. [Convulsive +cheering]. Gentlemen: I have said enough. [Cries of "Go on"]. No: +I have as yet no right to address you at all on political +subjects; and we must not abuse the warmhearted Irish hospitality +of Miss Doyle by turning her sittingroom into a public meeting. + +DORAN [energetically]. Three cheers for Tom Broadbent, the future +member for Rosscullen! + +AUNT JUDY [waving a half knitted sock]. Hip hip hurray! + +The cheers are given with great heartiness, as it is by this +time, for the more humorous spirits present, a question of +vociferation or internal rupture. + +BROADBENT. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, friends. + +NORA [whispering to Doran]. Take them away, Mr Doran [Doran +nods]. + +DORAN. Well, good evenin, Mr Broadbent; an may you never regret +the day you wint dhrivin wid Halligan's pig! [They shake hands]. +Good evenin, Miss Doyle. + +General handshaking, Broadbent shaking hands with everybody +effusively. He accompanies them to the garden and can be heard +outside saying Goodnight in every inflexion known to parliamentary +candidates. Nora, Aunt Judy, Keegan, Larry, and Cornelius are left +in the parlor. Larry goes to the threshold and watches the scene +in the garden. + +NORA. It's a shame to make game of him like that. He's a gradle +more good in him than Barney Doran. + +CORNELIUS. It's all up with his candidature. He'll be laughed out +o the town. + +LARRY [turning quickly from the doorway]. Oh no he won't: he's +not an Irishman. He'll never know they're laughing at him; and +while they're laughing he'll win the seat. + +CORNELIUS. But he can't prevent the story getting about. + +LARRY. He won't want to. He'll tell it himself as one of the most +providential episodes in the history of England and Ireland. + +AUNT JUDY. Sure he wouldn't make a fool of himself like that. + +LARRY. Are you sure he's such a fool after all, Aunt Judy? +Suppose you had a vote! which would you rather give it to? the +man that told the story of Haffigan's pig Barney Doran's way or +Broadbent's way? + +AUNT JUDY. Faith I wouldn't give it to a man at all. It's a few +women they want in parliament to stop their foolish blather. + +BROADBENT [bustling into the room, and taking off his damaged +motoring overcoat, which he put down on the sofa]. Well, that's +over. I must apologize for making that speech, Miss Doyle; but +they like it, you know. Everything helps in electioneering. + +Larry takes the chair near the door; draws it near the table; and +sits astride it, with his elbows folded on the back. + +AUNT JUDY. I'd no notion you were such an orator, Mr Broadbent. + +BROADBENT. Oh, it's only a knack. One picks it up on the +platform. It stokes up their enthusiasm. + +AUNT JUDY. Oh, I forgot. You've not met Mr Keegan. Let me +introjooce you. + +BROADBENT [shaking hands effusively]. Most happy to meet you, Mr +Keegan. I have heard of you, though I have not had the pleasure +of shaking your hand before. And now may I ask you--for I value +no man's opinion more--what you think of my chances here. + +KEEGAN [coldly]. Your chances, sir, are excellent. You will get +into parliament. + +BROADBENT [delighted]. I hope so. I think so. [Fluctuating] You +really think so? You are sure you are not allowing your +enthusiasm for our principles to get the better of your judgment? + +KEEGAN. I have no enthusiasm for your principles, sir. You will +get into parliament because you want to get into it badly enough +to be prepared to take the necessary steps to induce the people +to vote for you. That is how people usually get into that +fantastic assembly. + +BROADBENT [puzzled]. Of course. [Pause]. Quite so. [Pause]. Er--yes. +[Buoyant again] I think they will vote for me. Eh? Yes? + +AUNT JUDY. Arra why shouldn't they? Look at the people they DO +vote for! + +BROADBENT [encouraged]. That's true: that's very true. When I see +the windbags, the carpet-baggers, the charlatans, the--the--the +fools and ignoramuses who corrupt the multitude by their wealth, +or seduce them by spouting balderdash to them, I cannot help +thinking that an honest man with no humbug about him, who will +talk straight common sense and take his stand on the solid ground +of principle and public duty, must win his way with men of all +classes. + +KEEGAN [quietly]. Sir: there was a time, in my ignorant youth, +when I should have called you a hypocrite. + +BROADBENT [reddening]. A hypocrite! + +NORA [hastily]. Oh I'm sure you don't think anything of the sort, +Mr Keegan. + +BROADBENT [emphatically]. Thank you, Miss Reilly: thank you. + +CORNELIUS [gloomily]. We all have to stretch it a bit in +politics: hwat's the use o pretendin we don't? + +BROADBENT [stiffly]. I hope I have said or done nothing that +calls for any such observation, Mr Doyle. If there is a vice I +detest--or against which my whole public life has been a +protest--it is the vice of hypocrisy. I would almost rather be +inconsistent than insincere. + +KEEGAN. Do not be offended, sir: I know that you are quite +sincere. There is a saying in the Scripture which runs--so far as +the memory of an oldish man can carry the words--Let not the +right side of your brain know what the left side doeth. I learnt +at Oxford that this is the secret of the Englishman's strange +power of making the best of both worlds. + +BROADBENT. Surely the text refers to our right and left hands. I +am somewhat surprised to hear a member of your Church quote so +essentially Protestant a document as the Bible; but at least you +might quote it accurately. + +LARRY. Tom: with the best intentions you're making an ass of +yourself. You don't understand Mr Keegan's peculiar vein of +humor. + +BROADBENT [instantly recovering his confidence]. Ah! it was +only your delightful Irish humor, Mr Keegan. Of course, of +course. How stupid of me! I'm so sorry. [He pats Keegan +consolingly on the back]. John Bull's wits are still slow, you +see. Besides, calling me a hypocrite was too big a joke to +swallow all at once, you know. + +KEEGAN. You must also allow for the fact that I am mad. + +NORA. Ah, don't talk like that, Mr Keegan. + +BROADBENT [encouragingly]. Not at all, not at all. Only a +whimsical Irishman, eh? + +LARRY. Are you really mad, Mr Keegan? + +AUNT JUDY [shocked]. Oh, Larry, how could you ask him such a +thing? + +LARRY. I don't think Mr Keegan minds. [To Keegan] What's the true +version of the story of that black man you confessed on his +deathbed? + +KEEGAN. What story have you heard about that? + +LARRY. I am informed that when the devil came for the black +heathen, he took off your head and turned it three times round +before putting it on again; and that your head's been turned ever +since. + +NORA [reproachfully]. Larry! + +KEEGAN [blandly]. That is not quite what occurred. [He collects +himself for a serious utterance: they attend involuntarily]. I +heard that a black man was dying, and that the people were afraid +to go near him. When I went to the place I found an elderly +Hindoo, who told me one of those tales of unmerited misfortune, +of cruel ill luck, of relentless persecution by destiny, which +sometimes wither the commonplaces of consolation on the lips of a +priest. But this man did not complain of his misfortunes. They +were brought upon him, he said, by sins committed in a former +existence. Then, without a word of comfort from me, he died with +a clear-eyed resignation that my most earnest exhortations have +rarely produced in a Christian, and left me sitting there by his +bedside with the mystery of this world suddenly revealed to me. + +BROADBENT. That is a remarkable tribute to the liberty of +conscience enjoyed by the subjects of our Indian Empire. + +LARRY. No doubt; but may we venture to ask what is the mystery of +this world? + +KEEGAN. This world, sir, is very clearly a place of torment and +penance, a place where the fool flourishes and the good and wise +are hated and persecuted, a place where men and women torture one +another in the name of love; where children are scourged and +enslaved in the name of parental duty and education; where the +weak in body are poisoned and mutilated in the name of healing, +and the weak in character are put to the horrible torture of +imprisonment, not for hours but for years, in the name of +justice. It is a place where the hardest toil is a welcome refuge +from the horror and tedium of pleasure, and where charity and +good works are done only for hire to ransom the souls of the +spoiler and the sybarite. Now, sir, there is only one place of +horror and torment known to my religion; and that place is hell. +Therefore it is plain to me that this earth of ours must be hell, +and that we are all here, as the Indian revealed to me--perhaps +he was sent to reveal it to me to expiate crimes committed by us +in a former existence. + +AUNT JUDY [awestruck]. Heaven save us, what a thing to say! + +CORNELIUS [sighing]. It's a queer world: that's certain. + +BROADBENT. Your idea is a very clever one, Mr Keegan: really most +brilliant: I should never have thought of it. But it seems to +me--if I may say so--that you are overlooking the fact that, of +the evils you describe, some are absolutely necessary for the +preservation of society, and others are encouraged only when the +Tories are in office. + +LARRY. I expect you were a Tory in a former existence; and that +is why you are here. + +BROADBENT [with conviction]. Never, Larry, never. But leaving +politics out of the question, I find the world quite good enough +for me: rather a jolly place, in fact. + +KEEGAN [looking at him with quiet wonder]. You are satisfied? + +BROADBENT. As a reasonable man, yes. I see no evils in the +world--except, of course, natural evils--that cannot be remedied +by freedom, self-government, and English institutions. I think +so, not because I am an Englishman, but as a matter of common +sense. + +KEEGAN. You feel at home in the world, then? + +BROADBENT. Of course. Don't you? + +KEEGAN [from the very depths of his nature]. No. + +BROADBENT [breezily]. Try phosphorus pills. I always take them +when my brain is overworked. I'll give you the address in Oxford +Street. + +KEEGAN [enigmatically: rising]. Miss Doyle: my wandering fit has +come on me: will you excuse me? + +AUNT JUDY. To be sure: you know you can come in n nout as you +like. + +KEEGAN. We can finish the game some other time, Miss Reilly. [He +goes for his hat and stick. + +NORA. No: I'm out with you [she disarranges the pieces and +rises]. I was too wicked in a former existence to play backgammon +with a good man like you. + +AUNT JUDY [whispering to her]. Whisht, whisht, child! Don't set +him back on that again. + +KEEGAN [to Nora]. When I look at you, I think that perhaps +Ireland is only purgatory, after all. [He passes on to the garden +door]. + +NORA. Galong with you! + +BROADBENT [whispering to Cornelius]. Has he a vote? + +CORNELIUS [nodding]. Yes. An there's lots'll vote the way he +tells them. + +KEEGAN [at the garden door, with gentle gravity]. Good evening, +Mr Broadbent. You have set me thinking. Thank you. + +BROADBENT [delighted, hurrying across to him to shake hands]. No, +really? You find that contact with English ideas is stimulating, +eh? + +KEEGAN. I am never tired of hearing you talk, Mr Broadbent. + +BROADBENT [modestly remonstrating]. Oh come! come! + +KEEGAN. Yes, I assure you. You are an extremely interesting man. +[He goes out]. + +BROADBENT [enthusiastically]. What a nice chap! What an +intelligent, interesting fellow! By the way, I'd better have a +wash. [He takes up his coat and cap, and leaves the room through +the inner door]. + +Nora returns to her chair and shuts up the backgammon board. + +AUNT JUDY. Keegan's very queer to-day. He has his mad fit on him. + +CORNELIUS [worried and bitter]. I wouldn't say but he's right +after all. It's a contrairy world. [To Larry]. Why would you be +such a fool as to let him take the seat in parliament from you? + +LARRY [glancing at Nora]. He will take more than that from me +before he's done here. + +CORNELIUS. I wish he'd never set foot in my house, bad luck to +his fat face! D'ye think he'd lend me 300 pounds on the farm, +Larry? When I'm so hard up, it seems a waste o money not to +mortgage it now it's me own. + +LARRY. I can lend you 300 pounds on it. + +CORNELIUS. No, no: I wasn't putn in for that. When I die and +leave you the farm I should like to be able to feel that it was +all me own, and not half yours to start with. Now I'll take me +oath Barney Doarn's goin to ask Broadbent to lend him 500 pounds +on the mill to put in a new hweel; for the old one'll harly hol +together. An Haffigan can't sleep with covetn that corner o land +at the foot of his medda that belongs to Doolan. He'll have to +mortgage to buy it. I may as well be first as last. D'ye think +Broadbent'd len me a little? + +LARRY. I'm quite sure he will. + +CORNELIUS. Is he as ready as that? Would he len me five hunderd, +d'ye think? + +LARRY. He'll lend you more than the land'll ever be worth to +you; so for Heaven's sake be prudent. + +CORNELIUS [judicially]. All right, all right, me son: I'll be +careful. I'm goin into the office for a bit. [He withdraws +through the inner door, obviously to prepare his application to +Broadbent]. + +AUNT JUDY [indignantly]. As if he hadn't seen enough o borryin +when he was an agent without beginnin borryin himself! [She +rises]. I'll bory him, so I will. [She puts her knitting on the +table and follows him out, with a resolute air that bodes trouble +for Cornelius]. + +Larry and Nora are left together for the first time since his +arrival. She looks at him with a smile that perishes as she sees +him aimlessly rocking his chair, and reflecting, evidently not +about her, with his lips pursed as if he were whistling. With a +catch in her throat she takes up Aunt Judy's knitting, and makes +a pretence of going on with it. + +NORA. I suppose it didn't seem very long to you. + +LARRY [starting]. Eh? What didn't? + +NORA. The eighteen years you've been away. + +LARRY. Oh, that! No: it seems hardly more than a week. I've been +so busy--had so little time to think. + +NORA. I've had nothin else to do but think. + +LARRY. That was very bad for you. Why didn't you give it up? Why +did you stay here? + +NORA. Because nobody sent for me to go anywhere else, I suppose. +That's why. + +LARRY. Yes: one does stick frightfully in the same place, unless +some external force comes and routs one out. [He yawns slightly; +but as she looks up quickly at him, he pulls himself together and +rises with an air of waking up and getting to work cheerfully to +make himself agreeable]. And how have you been all this time? + +NORA. Quite well, thank you. + +LARRY. That's right. [Suddenly finding that he has nothing else +to say, and being ill at ease in consequence, he strolls about +the room humming a certain tune from Offenbach's Whittington]. + +NORA [struggling with her tears]. Is that all you have to say to +me, Larry? + +LARRY. Well, what is there to say? You see, we know each other so +well. + +NORA [a little consoled]. Yes: of course we do. [He does not +reply]. I wonder you came back at all. + +LARRY. I couldn't help it. [She looks up affectionately]. Tom +made me. [She looks down again quickly to conceal the effect of +this blow. He whistles another stave; then resumes]. I had a sort +of dread of returning to Ireland. I felt somehow that my luck +would turn if I came back. And now here I am, none the worse. + +NORA. Praps it's a little dull for you. + +LARRY. No: I haven't exhausted the interest of strolling about +the old places and remembering and romancing about them. + +NORA [hopefully]. Oh! You DO remember the places, then? + +LARRY. Of course. They have associations. + +NORA [not doubting that the associations are with her]. I suppose +so. + +LARRY. M'yes. I can remember particular spots where I had long +fits of thinking about the countries I meant to get to when I +escaped from Ireland. America and London, and sometimes Rome and +the east. + +NORA [deeply mortified]. Was that all you used to be thinking +about? + +LARRY. Well, there was precious little else to think about here, +my dear Nora, except sometimes at sunset, when one got maudlin +and called Ireland Erin, and imagined one was remembering the +days of old, and so forth. [He whistles Let Erin Remember]. + +NORA. Did jever get a letter I wrote you last February? + +LARRY. Oh yes; and I really intended to answer it. But I haven't +had a moment; and I knew you wouldn't mind. You see, I am so +afraid of boring you by writing about affairs you don't +understand and people you don't know! And yet what else have I to +write about? I begin a letter; and then I tear it up again. The +fact is, fond as we are of one another, Nora, we have so little +in common--I mean of course the things one can put in a letter--that +correspondence is apt to become the hardest of hard work. + +NORA. Yes: it's hard for me to know anything about you if you +never tell me anything. + +LARRY [pettishly]. Nora: a man can't sit down and write his life +day by day when he's tired enough with having lived it. + +NORA. I'm not blaming you. + +LARRY [looking at her with some concern]. You seem rather out of +spirits. [Going closer to her, anxiously and tenderly] You +haven't got neuralgia, have you? + +NORA. No. + +LARRY [reassured]. I get a touch of it sometimes when I am below +par. [absently, again strolling about] Yes, yes. [He begins to +hum again, and soon breaks into articulate melody]. + + Though summer smiles on here for ever, + Though not a leaf falls from the tree, + Tell England I'll forget her never, + +[Nora puts down the knitting and stares at him]. + + O wind that blows across the sea. + +[With much expression] + + Tell England I'll forget her ne-e-e-e-ver + O wind that blows acro-oss-- + +[Here the melody soars out of his range. He continues falsetto, +but changes the tune to Let Erin Remember]. I'm afraid I'm boring +you, Nora, though you're too kind to say so. + +NORA. Are you wanting to get back to England already? + +LARRY. Not at all. Not at all. + +NORA. That's a queer song to sing to me if you're not. + +LARRY. The song! Oh, it doesn't mean anything: it's by a German +Jew, like most English patriotic sentiment. Never mind me, my +dear: go on with your work; and don't let me bore you. + +NORA [bitterly]. Rosscullen isn't such a lively place that I am +likely to be bored by you at our first talk together after +eighteen years, though you don't seem to have much to say to me +after all. + +LARRY. Eighteen years is a devilish long time, Nora. Now if it +had been eighteen minutes, or even eighteen months, we should be +able to pick up the interrupted thread, and chatter like two +magpies. But as it is, I have simply nothing to say; and you seem +to have less. + +NORA. I--[her tears choke her; but the keeps up appearances +desperately]. + +LARRY [quite unconscious of his cruelty]. In a week or so we +shall be quite old friends again. Meanwhile, as I feel that I am +not making myself particularly entertaining, I'll take myself +off. Tell Tom I've gone for a stroll over the hill. + +NORA. You seem very fond of Tom, as you call him. + +LARRY [the triviality going suddenly out of his voice]. Yes I'm +fond of Tom. + +NORA. Oh, well, don't let me keep you from him. + +LARRY. I know quite well that my departure will be a relief. +Rather a failure, this first meeting after eighteen years, eh? +Well, never mind: these great sentimental events always are +failures; and now the worst of it's over anyhow. [He goes out +through the garden door]. + +Nora, left alone, struggles wildly to save herself from +breaking down, and then drops her face on the table and gives way +to a convulsion of crying. Her sobs shake her so that she can +hear nothing; and she has no suspicion that she is no longer +alone until her head and breast are raised by Broadbent, who, +returning newly washed and combed through the inner door, has +seen her condition, first with surprise and concern, and then +with an emotional disturbance that quite upsets him. + +BROADBENT. Miss Reilly. Miss Reilly. What's the matter? Don't +cry: I can't stand it: you mustn't cry. [She makes a choked +effort to speak, so painful that he continues with impulsive +sympathy] No: don't try to speak: it's all right now. Have your +cry out: never mind me: trust me. [Gathering her to him, and +babbling consolatorily] Cry on my chest: the only really +comfortable place for a woman to cry is a man's chest: a real +man, a real friend. A good broad chest, eh? not less than +forty-two inches--no: don't fuss: never mind the conventions: +we're two friends, aren't we? Come now, come, come! It's all +right and comfortable and happy now, isn't it? + +NORA [through her tears]. Let me go. I want me hankerchief. + +BROADBENT [holding her with one arm and producing a large silk +handkerchief from his breast pocket]. Here's a handkerchief. Let +me [he dabs her tears dry with it]. Never mind your own: it's too +small: it's one of those wretched little cambric handkerchiefs-- + +NORA [sobbing]. Indeed it's a common cotton one. + +BROADBENT. Of course it's a common cotton one--silly little +cotton one--not good enough for the dear eyes of Nora Cryna-- + +NORA [spluttering into a hysterical laugh and clutching him +convulsively with her fingers while she tries to stifle her +laughter against his collar bone]. Oh don't make me laugh: please +don't make me laugh. + +BROADBENT [terrified]. I didn't mean to, on my soul. What is it? +What is it? + +NORA. Nora Creena, Nora Creena. + +BROADBENT [patting her]. Yes, yes, of course, Nora Creena, Nora +acushla [he makes cush rhyme to plush]. + +NORA. Acushla [she makes cush rhyme to bush]. + +BROADBENT. Oh, confound the language! Nora darling--my Nora--the +Nora I love-- + +NORA [shocked into propriety]. You mustn't talk like that to me. + +BROADBENT [suddenly becoming prodigiously solemn and letting her +go]. No, of course not. I don't mean it--at least I do mean it; +but I know it's premature. I had no right to take advantage of +your being a little upset; but I lost my self-control for a +moment. + +NORA [wondering at him]. I think you're a very kindhearted man, +Mr Broadbent; but you seem to me to have no self-control at all +[she turns her face away with a keen pang of shame and adds] no +more than myself. + +BROADBENT [resolutely]. Oh yes, I have: you should see me when I +am really roused: then I have TREMENDOUS self-control. Remember: +we have been alone together only once before; and then, I regret +to say, I was in a disgusting state. + +NORA. Ah no, Mr Broadbent: you weren't disgusting. + +BROADBENT [mercilessly]. Yes I was: nothing can excuse it: +perfectly beastly. It must have made a most unfavorable +impression on you. + +NORA. Oh, sure it's all right. Say no more about that. + +BROADBENT. I must, Miss Reilly: it is my duty. I shall not detain +you long. May I ask you to sit down. [He indicates her chair with +oppressive solemnity. She sits down wondering. He then, with the +same portentous gravity, places a chair for himself near her; +sits down; and proceeds to explain]. First, Miss Reilly, may I +say that I have tasted nothing of an alcoholic nature today. + +NORA. It doesn't seem to make as much difference in you as it +would in an Irishman, somehow. + +BROADBENT. Perhaps not. Perhaps not. I never quite lose myself. + +NORA [consolingly]. Well, anyhow, you're all right now. + +BROADBENT [fervently]. Thank you, Miss Reilly: I am. Now we shall +get along. [Tenderly, lowering his voice] Nora: I was in earnest +last night. [Nora moves as if to rise]. No: one moment. You must +not think I am going to press you for an answer before you have +known me for 24 hours. I am a reasonable man, I hope; and I am +prepared to wait as long as you like, provided you will give me +some small assurance that the answer will not be unfavorable. + +NORA. How could I go back from it if I did? I sometimes think +you're not quite right in your head, Mr Broadbent, you say such +funny things. + +BROADBENT. Yes: I know I have a strong sense of humor which +sometimes makes people doubt whether I am quite serious. That is +why I have always thought I should like to marry an Irishwoman. +She would always understand my jokes. For instance, you would +understand them, eh? + +NORA [uneasily]. Mr Broadbent, I couldn't. + +BROADBENT [soothingly]. Wait: let me break this to you gently, +Miss Reilly: hear me out. I daresay you have noticed that in +speaking to you I have been putting a very strong constraint on +myself, so as to avoid wounding your delicacy by too abrupt an +avowal of my feelings. Well, I feel now that the time has come to +be open, to be frank, to be explicit. Miss Reilly: you have +inspired in me a very strong attachment. Perhaps, with a woman's +intuition, you have already guessed that. + +NORA [rising distractedly]. Why do you talk to me in that +unfeeling nonsensical way? + +BROADBENT [rising also, much astonished]. Unfeeling! Nonsensical! + +NORA. Don't you know that you have said things to me that no man +ought to say unless--unless--[she suddenly breaks down again and +hides her face on the table as before] Oh, go away from me: I +won't get married at all: what is it but heartbreak and +disappointment? + +BROADBENT [developing the most formidable symptoms of rage and +grief]. Do you mean to say that you are going to refuse me? that +you don't care for me? + +NORA [looking at him in consternation]. Oh, don't take it to +heart, Mr Br-- + +BROADBENT [flushed and almost choking]. I don't want to be petted +and blarneyed. [With childish rage] I love you. I want you for my +wife. [In despair] I can't help your refusing. I'm helpless: I +can do nothing. You have no right to ruin my whole life. You--[a +hysterical convulsion stops him]. + +NORA [almost awestruck]. You're not going to cry, are you? I +never thought a man COULD cry. Don't. + +BROADBENT. I'm not crying. I--I--I leave that sort of thing to +your damned sentimental Irishmen. You think I have no feeling +because I am a plain unemotional Englishman, with no powers of +expression. + +NORA. I don't think you know the sort of man you are at all. +Whatever may be the matter with you, it's not want of feeling. + +BROADBENT [hurt and petulant]. It's you who have no feeling. +You're as heartless as Larry. + +NORA. What do you expect me to do? Is it to throw meself at your +head the minute the word is out o your mouth? + +BROADBENT [striking his silly head with his fists]. Oh, what a +fool! what a brute I am! It's only your Irish delicacy: of +course, of course. You mean Yes. Eh? What? Yes, yes, yes? + +NORA. I think you might understand that though I might choose to +be an old maid, I could never marry anybody but you now. + +BROADBENT [clasping her violently to his breast, with a crow of +immense relief and triumph]. Ah, that's right, that's right: +That's magnificent. I knew you would see what a first-rate thing +this will be for both of us. + +NORA [incommoded and not at all enraptured by his ardor]. You're +dreadfully strong, an a gradle too free with your strength. An I +never thought o whether it'd be a good thing for us or not. But +when you found me here that time, I let you be kind to me, and +cried in your arms, because I was too wretched to think of +anything but the comfort of it. An how could I let any other man +touch me after that? + +BROADBENT [touched]. Now that's very nice of you, Nora, that's +really most delicately womanly [he kisses her hand chivalrously]. + +NORA [looking earnestly and a little doubtfully at him]. Surely +if you let one woman cry on you like that you'd never let another +touch you. + +BROADBENT [conscientiously]. One should not. One OUGHT not, my +dear girl. But the honest truth is, if a chap is at all a +pleasant sort of chap, his chest becomes a fortification that has +to stand many assaults: at least it is so in England. + +NORA [curtly, much disgusted]. Then you'd better marry an +Englishwoman. + +BROADBENT [making a wry face]. No, no: the Englishwoman is too +prosaic for my taste, too material, too much of the animated +beefsteak about her. The ideal is what I like. Now Larry's taste +is just the opposite: he likes em solid and bouncing and rather +keen about him. It's a very convenient difference; for we've +never been in love with the same woman. + +NORA. An d'ye mean to tell me to me face that you've ever been in +love before? + +BROADBENT. Lord! yes. + +NORA. I'm not your first love? + +BROADBENT. First love is only a little foolishness and a lot of +curiosity: no really self-respecting woman would take advantage +of it. No, my dear Nora: I've done with all that long ago. Love +affairs always end in rows. We're not going to have any rows: +we're going to have a solid four-square home: man and wife: +comfort and common sense--and plenty of affection, eh [he puts +his arm round her with confident proprietorship]? + +NORA [coldly, trying to get away]. I don't want any other woman's +leavings. + +BROADBENT [holding her]. Nobody asked you to, ma'am. I never +asked any woman to marry me before. + +NORA [severely]. Then why didn't you if you're an honorable man? + +BROADBENT. Well, to tell you the truth, they were mostly married +already. But never mind! there was nothing wrong. Come! Don't +take a mean advantage of me. After all, you must have had a fancy +or two yourself, eh? + +NORA [conscience-stricken]. Yes. I suppose I've no right to be +particular. + +BROADBENT [humbly]. I know I'm not good enough for you, Nora. But +no man is, you know, when the woman is a really nice woman. + +NORA. Oh, I'm no better than yourself. I may as well tell you +about it. + +BROADBENT. No, no: let's have no telling: much better not. I +shan't tell you anything: don't you tell ME anything. Perfect +confidence in one another and no tellings: that's the way to +avoid rows. + +NORA. Don't think it was anything I need be ashamed of. + +BROADBENT. I don't. + +NORA. It was only that I'd never known anybody else that I could +care for; and I was foolish enough once to think that Larry-- + +BROADBENT [disposing of the idea at once]. Larry! Oh, that +wouldn't have done at all, not at all. You don't know Larry as I +do, my dear. He has absolutely no capacity for enjoyment: he +couldn't make any woman happy. He's as clever as be-blowed; but +life's too earthly for him: he doesn't really care for anything +or anybody. + +NORA. I've found that out. + +BROADBENT. Of course you have. No, my dear: take my word for it, +you're jolly well out of that. There! [swinging her round against +his breast] that's much more comfortable for you. + +NORA [with Irish peevishness]. Ah, you mustn't go on like that. I +don't like it. + +BROADBENT [unabashed]. You'll acquire the taste by degrees. You +mustn't mind me: it's an absolute necessity of my nature that I +should have somebody to hug occasionally. Besides, it's good for +you: it'll plump out your muscles and make em elastic and set up +your figure. + +NORA. Well, I'm sure! if this is English manners! Aren't you +ashamed to talk about such things? + +BROADBENT [in the highest feather]. Not a bit. By George, Nora, +it's a tremendous thing to be able to enjoy oneself. Let's go off +for a walk out of this stuffy little room. I want the open air to +expand in. Come along. Co-o-o-me along. [He puts her arm into his +and sweeps her out into the garden as an equinoctial gale might +sweep a dry leaf]. + +Later in the evening, the grasshopper is again enjoying the +sunset by the great stone on the hill; but this time he enjoys +neither the stimulus of Keegan's conversation nor the pleasure +of terrifying Patsy Farrell. He is alone until Nora and +Broadbent come up the hill arm in arm. Broadbent is still +breezy and confident; but she has her head averted from him +and is almost in tears]. + +BROADBENT [stopping to snuff up the hillside air]. Ah! I like +this spot. I like this view. This would be a jolly good place for +a hotel and a golf links. Friday to Tuesday, railway ticket and +hotel all inclusive. I tell you, Nora, I'm going to develop this +place. [Looking at her] Hallo! What's the matter? Tired? + +NORA [unable to restrain her tears]. I'm ashamed out o me life. + +BROADBENT [astonished]. Ashamed! What of? + +NORA. Oh, how could you drag me all round the place like that, +telling everybody that we're going to be married, and introjoocing +me to the lowest of the low, and letting them shake hans with me, +and encouraging them to make free with us? I little thought I should +live to be shaken hans with be Doolan in broad daylight in the public +street of Rosscullen. + +BROADBENT. But, my dear, Doolan's a publican: a most influential +man. By the way, I asked him if his wife would be at home +tomorrow. He said she would; so you must take the motor car round +and call on her. + +NORA [aghast]. Is it me call on Doolan's wife! + +BROADBENT. Yes, of course: call on all their wives. We must get a +copy of the register and a supply of canvassing cards. No use +calling on people who haven't votes. You'll be a great success as +a canvasser, Nora: they call you the heiress; and they'll be +flattered no end by your calling, especially as you've never +cheapened yourself by speaking to them before--have you? + +NORA [indignantly]. Not likely, indeed. + +BROADBENT. Well, we mustn't be stiff and stand-off, you know. We +must be thoroughly democratic, and patronize everybody without +distinction of class. I tell you I'm a jolly lucky man, Nora +Cryna. I get engaged to the most delightful woman in Ireland; and +it turns out that I couldn't have done a smarter stroke of +electioneering. + +NORA. An would you let me demean meself like that, just to get +yourself into parliament? + +BROADBENT [buoyantly]. Aha! Wait till you find out what an +exciting game electioneering is: you'll be mad to get me in. +Besides, you'd like people to say that Tom Broadbent's wife had +been the making of him--that she got him into parliament--into +the Cabinet, perhaps, eh? + +NORA. God knows I don't grudge you me money! But to lower meself +to the level of common people. + +BROADBENT. To a member's wife, Nora, nobody is common provided +he's on the register. Come, my dear! it's all right: do you think +I'd let you do it if it wasn't? The best people do it. Everybody +does it. + +NORA [who has been biting her lip and looking over the hill, +disconsolate and unconvinced]. Well, praps you know best what +they do in England. They must have very little respect for +themselves. I think I'll go in now. I see Larry and Mr Keegan +coming up the hill; and I'm not fit to talk to them. + +BROADBENT. Just wait and say something nice to Keegan. They tell +me he controls nearly as many votes as Father Dempsey himself. + +NORA. You little know Peter Keegan. He'd see through me as if I +was a pane o glass. + +BROADBENT. Oh, he won't like it any the less for that. What +really flatters a man is that you think him worth flattering. Not +that I would flatter any man: don't think that. I'll just go and +meet him. [He goes down the hill with the eager forward look of a +man about to greet a valued acquaintance. Nora dries her eyes, +and turns to go as Larry strolls up the hill to her]. + +LARRY. Nora. [She turns and looks at him hardly, without a word. +He continues anxiously, in his most conciliatory tone]. When I +left you that time, I was just as wretched as you. I didn't +rightly know what I wanted to say; and my tongue kept clacking to +cover the loss I was at. Well, I've been thinking ever since; and +now I know what I ought to have said. I've come back to say it. + +NORA. You've come too late, then. You thought eighteen years was +not long enough, and that you might keep me waiting a day longer. +Well, you were mistaken. I'm engaged to your friend Mr Broadbent; +and I'm done with you. + +LARRY [naively]. But that was the very thing I was going to +advise you to do. + +NORA [involuntarily]. Oh you brute! to tell me that to me face. + +LARRY [nervously relapsing into his most Irish manner]. Nora, +dear, don't you understand that I'm an Irishman, and he's an +Englishman. He wants you; and he grabs you. I want you; and I +quarrel with you and have to go on wanting you. + +NORA. So you may. You'd better go back to England to the animated +beefsteaks you're so fond of. + +LARRY [amazed]. Nora! [Guessing where she got the metaphor] He's +been talking about me, I see. Well, never mind: we must be +friends, you and I. I don't want his marriage to you to be his +divorce from me. + +NORA. You care more for him than you ever did for me. + +LARRY [with curt sincerity]. Yes of course I do: why should I +tell you lies about it? Nora Reilly was a person of very little +consequence to me or anyone else outside this miserable little +hole. But Mrs Tom Broadbent will be a person of very considerable +consequence indeed. Play your new part well, and there will be no +more neglect, no more loneliness, no more idle regrettings and +vain-hopings in the evenings by the Round Tower, but real life +and real work and real cares and real joys among real people: +solid English life in London, the very centre of the world. You +will find your work cut out for you keeping Tom's house and +entertaining Tom's friends and getting Tom into parliament; but +it will be worth the effort. + +NORA. You talk as if I were under an obligation to him for +marrying me. + +LARRY. I talk as I think. You've made a very good match, let me +tell you. + +NORA. Indeed! Well, some people might say he's not done so badly +himself. + +LARRY. If you mean that you will be a treasure to him, he thinks +so now; and you can keep him thinking so if you like. + +NORA. I wasn't thinking o meself at all. + +LARRY. Were you thinking of your money, Nora? + +NORA. I didn't say so. + +LARRY. Your money will not pay your cook's wages in London. + +NORA [flaming up]. If that's true--and the more shame for you to +throw it in my face if it IS true--at all events it'll make us +independent; for if the worst comes to the worst, we can always +come back here an live on it. An if I have to keep his house for +him, at all events I can keep you out of it; for I've done with +you; and I wish I'd never seen you. So goodbye to you, Mister +Larry Doyle. [She turns her back on him and goes home]. + +LARRY [watching her as she goes]. Goodbye. Goodbye. Oh, that's so +Irish! Irish both of us to the backbone: Irish, Irish, Irish-- + +Broadbent arrives, conversing energetically with Keegan. + +BROADBENT. Nothing pays like a golfing hotel, if you hold the +land instead of the shares, and if the furniture people stand in +with you, and if you are a good man of business. + +LARRY. Nora's gone home. + +BROADBENT [with conviction]. You were right this morning, Larry. +I must feed up Nora. She's weak; and it makes her fanciful. Oh, +by the way, did I tell you that we're engaged? + +LARRY. She told me herself. + +BROADBENT [complacently]. She's rather full of it, as you may +imagine. Poor Nora! Well, Mr Keegan, as I said, I begin to see my +way here. I begin to see my way. + +KEEGAN [with a courteous inclination]. The conquering Englishman, +sir. Within 24 hours of your arrival you have carried off our +only heiress, and practically secured the parliamentary seat. And +you have promised me that when I come here in the evenings to +meditate on my madness; to watch the shadow of the Round Tower +lengthening in the sunset; to break my heart uselessly in the +curtained gloaming over the dead heart and blinded soul of the +island of the saints, you will comfort me with the bustle of a +great hotel, and the sight of the little children carrying the +golf clubs of your tourists as a preparation for the life to +come. + +BROADBENT [quite touched, mutely offering him a cigar to console +him, at which he smiles and shakes his head]. Yes, Mr Keegan: +you're quite right. There's poetry in everything, even [looking +absently into the cigar case] in the most modern prosaic things, +if you know how to extract it [he extracts a cigar for himself +and offers one to Larry, who takes it]. If I was to be shot for +it I couldn't extract it myself; but that's where you come in, +you see [roguishly, waking up from his reverie and bustling +Keegan goodhumoredly]. And then I shall wake you up a bit. That's +where I come in: eh? d'ye see? Eh? eh? [He pats him very +pleasantly on the shoulder, half admiringly, half pityingly]. +Just so, just so. [Coming back to business] By the way, I believe +I can do better than a light railway here. There seems to be no +question now that the motor boat has come to stay. Well, look at +your magnificent river there, going to waste. + +KEEGAN [closing his eyes]. "Silent, O Moyle, be the roar of thy +waters." + +BROADBENT. You know, the roar of a motor boat is quite pretty. + +KEEGAN. Provided it does not drown the Angelus. + +BROADBENT [reassuringly]. Oh no: it won't do that: not the least +danger. You know, a church bell can make a devil of a noise when +it likes. + +KEEGAN. You have an answer for everything, sir. But your plans +leave one question still unanswered: how to get butter out of a +dog's throat. + +BROADBENT. Eh? + +KEEGAN. You cannot build your golf links and hotels in the air. +For that you must own our land. And how will you drag our acres +from the ferret's grip of Matthew Haffigan? How will you persuade +Cornelius Doyle to forego the pride of being a small landowner? +How will Barney Doran's millrace agree with your motor boats? +Will Doolan help you to get a license for your hotel? + +BROADBENT. My dear sir: to all intents and purposes the syndicate +I represent already owns half Rosscullen. Doolan's is a tied +house; and the brewers are in the syndicate. As to Haffigan's +farm and Doran's mill and Mr Doyle's place and half a dozen +others, they will be mortgaged to me before a month is out. + +KEEGAN. But pardon me, you will not lend them more on their land +than the land is worth; so they will be able to pay you the +interest. + +BROADBENT. Ah, you are a poet, Mr Keegan, not a man of business. + +LARRY. We will lend everyone of these men half as much again on +their land as it is worth, or ever can be worth, to them. + +BROADBENT. You forget, sir, that we, with our capital, our +knowledge, our organization, and may I say our English business +habits, can make or lose ten pounds out of land that Haffigan, +with all his industry, could not make or lose ten shillings out +of. Doran's mill is a superannuated folly: I shall want it for +electric lighting. + +LARRY. What is the use of giving land to such men? they are too +small, too poor, too ignorant, too simpleminded to hold it +against us: you might as well give a dukedom to a crossing +sweeper. + +BROADBENT. Yes, Mr Keegan: this place may have an industrial +future, or it may have a residential future: I can't tell yet; +but it's not going to be a future in the hands of your Dorans and +Haffigans, poor devils! + +KEEGAN. It may have no future at all. Have you thought of that? + +BROADBENT. Oh, I'm not afraid of that. I have faith in Ireland, +great faith, Mr Keegan. + +KEEGAN. And we have none: only empty enthusiasms and patriotisms, +and emptier memories and regrets. Ah yes: you have some excuse +for believing that if there be any future, it will be yours; for +our faith seems dead, and our hearts cold and cowed. An island of +dreamers who wake up in your jails, of critics and cowards whom +you buy and tame for your own service, of bold rogues who help +you to plunder us that they may plunder you afterwards. Eh? + +BROADBENT [a little impatient of this unbusinesslike view]. Yes, +yes; but you know you might say that of any country. The fact is, +there are only two qualities in the world: efficiency and +inefficiency, and only two sorts of people: the efficient and the +inefficient. It don't matter whether they're English or Irish. I +shall collar this place, not because I'm an Englishman and +Haffigan and Co are Irishmen, but because they're duffers and I +know my way about. + +KEEGAN. Have you considered what is to become of Haffigan? + +LARRY. Oh, we'll employ him in some capacity or other, and +probably pay him more than he makes for himself now. + +BROADBENT [dubiously]. Do you think so? No no: Haffigan's too +old. It really doesn't pay now to take on men over forty even for +unskilled labor, which I suppose is all Haffigan would be good +for. No: Haffigan had better go to America, or into the Union, +poor old chap! He's worked out, you know: you can see it. + +KEEGAN. Poor lost soul, so cunningly fenced in with invisible +bars! + +LARRY. Haffigan doesn't matter much. He'll die presently. + +BROADBENT [shocked]. Oh come, Larry! Don't be unfeeling. It's +hard on Haffigan. It's always hard on the inefficient. + +LARRY. Pah! what does it matter where an old and broken man +spends his last days, or whether he has a million at the bank or +only the workhouse dole? It's the young men, the able men, that +matter. The real tragedy of Haffigan is the tragedy of his wasted +youth, his stunted mind, his drudging over his clods and pigs +until he has become a clod and a pig himself--until the soul +within him has smouldered into nothing but a dull temper that +hurts himself and all around him. I say let him die, and let us +have no more of his like. And let young Ireland take care that it +doesn't share his fate, instead of making another empty grievance +of it. Let your syndicate come-- + +BROADBENT. Your syndicate too, old chap. You have your bit of the +stock. + +LARRY. Yes, mine if you like. Well, our syndicate has no +conscience: it has no more regard for your Haffigans and Doolans +and Dorans than it has for a gang of Chinese coolies. It will use +your patriotic blatherskite and balderdash to get parliamentary +powers over you as cynically as it would bait a mousetrap with +toasted cheese. It will plan, and organize, and find capital +while you slave like bees for it and revenge yourselves by paying +politicians and penny newspapers out of your small wages to write +articles and report speeches against its wickedness and tyranny, +and to crack up your own Irish heroism, just as Haffigan once +paid a witch a penny to put a spell on Billy Byrne's cow. In the +end it will grind the nonsense out of you, and grind strength and +sense into you. + +BROADBENT [out of patience]. Why can't you say a simple thing +simply, Larry, without all that Irish exaggeration and talky-talky? +The syndicate is a perfectly respectable body of responsible men of +good position. We'll take Ireland in hand, and by straightforward +business habits teach it efficiency and self-help on sound Liberal +principles. You agree with me, Mr Keegan, don't you? + +KEEGAN. Sir: I may even vote for you. + +BROADBENT [sincerely moved, shaking his hand warmly]. You shall +never regret it, Mr Keegan: I give you my word for that. I shall +bring money here: I shall raise wages: I shall found public +institutions, a library, a Polytechnic [undenominational, of +course], a gymnasium, a cricket club, perhaps an art school. I +shall make a Garden city of Rosscullen: the round tower shall be +thoroughly repaired and restored. + +KEEGAN. And our place of torment shall be as clean and orderly as +the cleanest and most orderly place I know in Ireland, which is +our poetically named Mountjoy prison. Well, perhaps I had better +vote for an efficient devil that knows his own mind and his own +business than for a foolish patriot who has no mind and no +business. + +BROADBENT [stiffly]. Devil is rather a strong expression in that +connexion, Mr Keegan. + +KEEGAN. Not from a man who knows that this world is hell. But +since the word offends you, let me soften it, and compare you +simply to an ass. [Larry whitens with anger]. + +BROADBENT [reddening]. An ass! + +KEEGAN [gently]. You may take it without offence from a madman +who calls the ass his brother--and a very honest, useful and +faithful brother too. The ass, sir, is the most efficient of +beasts, matter-of-fact, hardy, friendly when you treat him as a +fellow-creature, stubborn when you abuse him, ridiculous only in +love, which sets him braying, and in politics, which move him to +roll about in the public road and raise a dust about nothing. Can +you deny these qualities and habits in yourself, sir? + +BROADBENT [goodhumoredly]. Well, yes, I'm afraid I do, you know. + +KEEGAN. Then perhaps you will confess to the ass's one fault. + +BROADBENT. Perhaps so: what is it? + +KEEGAN. That he wastes all his virtues--his efficiency, as you +call it--in doing the will of his greedy masters instead of doing +the will of Heaven that is in himself. He is efficient in the +service of Mammon, mighty in mischief, skilful in ruin, heroic in +destruction. But he comes to browse here without knowing that the +soil his hoof touches is holy ground. Ireland, sir, for good or +evil, is like no other place under heaven; and no man can touch +its sod or breathe its air without becoming better or worse. It +produces two kinds of men in strange perfection: saints and +traitors. It is called the island of the saints; but indeed in +these later years it might be more fitly called the island of the +traitors; for our harvest of these is the fine flower of the +world's crop of infamy. But the day may come when these islands +shall live by the quality of their men rather than by the +abundance of their minerals; and then we shall see. + +LARRY. Mr Keegan: if you are going to be sentimental about +Ireland, I shall bid you good evening. We have had enough of +that, and more than enough of cleverly proving that everybody who +is not an Irishman is an ass. It is neither good sense nor good +manners. It will not stop the syndicate; and it will not interest +young Ireland so much as my friend's gospel of efficiency. + +BROADBENT. Ah, yes, yes: efficiency is the thing. I don't in the +least mind your chaff, Mr Keegan; but Larry's right on the main +point. The world belongs to the efficient. + +KEEGAN [with polished irony]. I stand rebuked, gentlemen. But +believe me, I do every justice to the efficiency of you and your +syndicate. You are both, I am told, thoroughly efficient civil +engineers; and I have no doubt the golf links will be a triumph +of your art. Mr Broadbent will get into parliament most +efficiently, which is more than St Patrick could do if he were +alive now. You may even build the hotel efficiently if you can +find enough efficient masons, carpenters, and plumbers, which I +rather doubt. [Dropping his irony, and beginning to fall into the +attitude of the priest rebuking sin] When the hotel becomes +insolvent [Broadbent takes his cigar out of his mouth, a little +taken aback], your English business habits will secure the +thorough efficiency of the liquidation. You will reorganize the +scheme efficiently; you will liquidate its second bankruptcy +efficiently [Broadbent and Larry look quickly at one another; for +this, unless the priest is an old financial hand, must be +inspiration]; you will get rid of its original shareholders +efficiently after efficiently ruining them; and you will finally +profit very efficiently by getting that hotel for a few shillings +in the pound. [More and more sternly] Besides those efficient +operations, you will foreclose your mortgages most efficiently +[his rebuking forefinger goes up in spite of himself]; you will +drive Haffigan to America very efficiently; you will find a use +for Barney Doran's foul mouth and bullying temper by employing +him to slave-drive your laborers very efficiently; and [low and +bitter] when at last this poor desolate countryside becomes a +busy mint in which we shall all slave to make money for you, with +our Polytechnic to teach us how to do it efficiently, and our +library to fuddle the few imaginations your distilleries will +spare, and our repaired Round Tower with admission sixpence, and +refreshments and penny-in-the-slot mutoscopes to make it +interesting, then no doubt your English and American shareholders +will spend all the money we make for them very efficiently in +shooting and hunting, in operations for cancer and appendicitis, +in gluttony and gambling; and you will devote what they save to +fresh land development schemes. For four wicked centuries the +world has dreamed this foolish dream of efficiency; and the end +is not yet. But the end will come. + +BROADBENT [seriously]. Too true, Mr Keegan, only too true. And +most eloquently put. It reminds me of poor Ruskin--a great man, +you know. I sympathize. Believe me, I'm on your side. Don't +sneer, Larry: I used to read a lot of Shelley years ago. Let us +be faithful to the dreams of our youth [he wafts a wreath of +cigar smoke at large across the hill]. + +KEEGAN. Come, Mr Doyle! is this English sentiment so much more +efficient than our Irish sentiment, after all? Mr Broadbent +spends his life inefficiently admiring the thoughts of great men, +and efficiently serving the cupidity of base money hunters. We +spend our lives efficiently sneering at him and doing nothing. +Which of us has any right to reproach the other? + +BROADBENT [coming down the hill again to Keegan's right hand]. +But you know, something must be done. + +KEEGAN. Yes: when we cease to do, we cease to live. Well, what +shall we do? + +BROADBENT. Why, what lies to our hand. + +KEEGAN. Which is the making of golf links and hotels to bring +idlers to a country which workers have left in millions because +it is a hungry land, a naked land, an ignorant and oppressed +land. + +BROADBENT. But, hang it all, the idlers will bring money from +England to Ireland! + +KEEGAN. Just as our idlers have for so many generations taken +money from Ireland to England. Has that saved England from +poverty and degradation more horrible than we have ever dreamed +of? When I went to England, sir, I hated England. Now I pity it. +[Broadbent can hardly conceive an Irishman pitying England; but +as Larry intervenes angrily, he gives it up and takes to the bill +and his cigar again] + +LARRY. Much good your pity will do it! + +KEEGAN. In the accounts kept in heaven, Mr Doyle, a heart +purified of hatred may be worth more even than a Land Development +Syndicate of Anglicized Irishmen and Gladstonized Englishmen. + +LARRY. Oh, in heaven, no doubt! I have never been there. Can you +tell me where it is? + +KEEGAN. Could you have told me this morning where hell is? Yet +you know now that it is here. Do not despair of finding heaven: +it may be no farther off. + +LARRY [ironically]. On this holy ground, as you call it, eh? + +KEEGAN [with fierce intensity]. Yes, perhaps, even on this holy +ground which such Irishmen as you have turned into a Land of +Derision. + +BROADBENT [coming between them]. Take care! you will be +quarrelling presently. Oh, you Irishmen, you Irishmen! Toujours +Ballyhooly, eh? [Larry, with a shrug, half comic, half impatient, +turn away up the hill, but presently strolls back on Keegan's +right. Broadbent adds, confidentially to Keegan] Stick to the +Englishman, Mr Keegan: he has a bad name here; but at least he +can forgive you for being an Irishman. + +KEEGAN. Sir: when you speak to me of English and Irish you forget +that I am a Catholic. My country is not Ireland nor England, but +the whole mighty realm of my Church. For me there are but two +countries: heaven and hell; but two conditions of men: salvation +and damnation. Standing here between you the Englishman, so +clever in your foolishness, and this Irishman, so foolish in his +cleverness, I cannot in my ignorance be sure which of you is the +more deeply damned; but I should be unfaithful to my calling if I +opened the gates of my heart less widely to one than to the +other. + +LARRY. In either case it would be an impertinence, Mr Keegan, as +your approval is not of the slightest consequence to us. What use +do you suppose all this drivel is to men with serious practical +business in hand? + +BROADBENT. I don't agree with that, Larry. I think these things +cannot be said too often: they keep up the moral tone of the +community. As you know, I claim the right to think for myself in +religious matters: in fact, I am ready to avow myself a bit of +a--of a--well, I don't care who knows it--a bit of a Unitarian; +but if the Church of England contained a few men like Mr Keegan, +I should certainly join it. + +KEEGAN. You do me too much honor, sir. [With priestly humility to +Larry] Mr Doyle: I am to blame for having unintentionally set +your mind somewhat on edge against me. I beg your pardon. + +LARRY [unimpressed and hostile]. I didn't stand on ceremony with +you: you needn't stand on it with me. Fine manners and fine words +are cheap in Ireland: you can keep both for my friend here, who +is still imposed on by them. I know their value. + +KEEGAN. You mean you don't know their value. + +LARRY [angrily]. I mean what I say. + +KEEGAN [turning quietly to the Englishman] You see, Mr Broadbent, +I only make the hearts of my countrymen harder when I preach to +them: the gates of hell still prevail against me. I shall wish +you good evening. I am better alone, at the Round Tower, dreaming +of heaven. [He goes up the hill]. + +LARRY. Aye, that's it! there you are! dreaming, dreaming, +dreaming, dreaming! + +KEEGAN [halting and turning to them for the last time]. Every +dream is a prophecy: every jest is an earnest in the womb of +Time. + +BROADBENT [reflectively]. Once, when I was a small kid, I dreamt +I was in heaven. [They both stare at him]. It was a sort of pale +blue satin place, with all the pious old ladies in our congregation +sitting as if they were at a service; and there was some awful person +in the study at the other side of the hall. I didn't enjoy it, you +know. What is it like in your dreams? + +KEEGAN. In my dreams it is a country where the State is the +Church and the Church the people: three in one and one in three. +It is a commonwealth in which work is play and play is life: +three in one and one in three. It is a temple in which the priest +is the worshipper and the worshipper the worshipped: three in one +and one in three. It is a godhead in which all life is human and +all humanity divine: three in one and one in three. It is, in +short, the dream of a madman. [He goes away across the hill]. + +BROADBENT [looking after him affectionately]. What a regular old +Church and State Tory he is! He's a character: he'll be an +attraction here. Really almost equal to Ruskin and Carlyle. + +LARRY. Yes; and much good they did with all their talk! + +BROADBENT. Oh tut, tut, Larry! They improved my mind: they raised +my tone enormously. I feel sincerely obliged to Keegan: he has +made me feel a better man: distinctly better. [With sincere +elevation] I feel now as I never did before that I am right in +devoting my life to the cause of Ireland. Come along and help me +to choose the site for the hotel. + + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's John Bull's Other Island, by George Bernard Shaw + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JOHN BULL'S OTHER ISLAND *** + +***** This file should be named 3612.txt or 3612.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/1/3612/ + +Produced by Eve Sobol + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions 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. 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On the threshold one reads that the +firm consists of Mr Lawrence Doyle and Mr Thomas Broadbent, and +that their rooms are on the first floor. Most of their rooms are +private; for the partners, being bachelors and bosom friends, +live there; and the door marked Private, next the clerks' office, +is their domestic sitting room as well as their reception room +for clients. Let me describe it briefly from the point of view of +a sparrow on the window sill. The outer door is in the opposite +wall, close to the right hand corner. Between this door and the +left hand corner is a hatstand and a table consisting of large +drawing boards on trestles, with plans, rolls of tracing paper, +mathematical instruments and other draughtsman's accessories on +it. In the left hand wall is the fireplace, and the door of an +inner room between the fireplace and our observant sparrow. +Against the right hand wall is a filing cabinet, with a cupboard +on it, and, nearer, a tall office desk and stool for one person. +In the middle of the room a large double writing table is set +across, with a chair at each end for the two partners. It is a +room which no woman would tolerate, smelling of tobacco, and much +in need of repapering, repainting, and recarpeting; but this is +the effect of bachelor untidiness and indifference, not want of +means; for nothing that Doyle and Broadbent themselves have +purchased is cheap; nor is anything they want lacking. On the +walls hang a large map of South America, a pictorial +advertisement of a steamship company, an impressive portrait of +Gladstone, and several caricatures of Mr Balfour as a rabbit and +Mr Chamberlain as a fox by Francis Carruthers Gould. + +At twenty minutes to five o'clock on a summer afternoon in 1904, +the room is empty. Presently the outer door is opened, and a +valet comes in laden with a large Gladstone bag, and a strap of +rugs. He carries them into the inner room. He is a respectable +valet, old enough to have lost all alacrity, and acquired an air +of putting up patiently with a great deal of trouble and +indifferent health. The luggage belongs to Broadbent, who enters +after the valet. He pulls off his overcoat and hangs it with his +hat on the stand. Then he comes to the writing table and looks +through the letters which are waiting for him. He is a robust, +full-blooded, energetic man in the prime of life, sometimes eager +and credulous, sometimes shrewd and roguish, sometimes +portentously solemn, sometimes jolly and impetuous, always +buoyant and irresistible, mostly likeable, and enormously absurd +in his most earnest moments. He bursts open his letters with his +thumb, and glances through them, flinging the envelopes about the +floor with reckless untidiness whilst he talks to the valet. + +BROADBENT [calling] Hodson. + +HODSON [in the bedroom] Yes sir. + +BROADBENT. Don't unpack. Just take out the things I've worn; and +put in clean things. + +HODSON [appearing at the bedroom door] Yes sir. [He turns to go +back into the bedroom. + +BROADBENT. And look here! [Hodson turns again]. Do you remember +where I put my revolver? + +HODSON. Revolver, sir? Yes sir. Mr Doyle uses it as a +paper-weight, sir, when he's drawing. + +BROADBENT. Well, I want it packed. There's a packet of cartridges +somewhere, I think. Find it and pack it as well. + +HODSON. Yes sir. + +BROADBENT. By the way, pack your own traps too. I shall take you +with me this time. + +HODSON [hesitant]. Is it a dangerous part you're going to, sir? +Should I be expected to carry a revolver, sir? + +BROADBENT. Perhaps it might be as well. I'm going to Ireland. + +HODSON [reassured]. Yes sir. + +BROADBENT. You don't feel nervous about it, I suppose? + +HODSON. Not at all, sir. I'll risk it, sir. + +BROADBENT. Have you ever been in Ireland? + +HODSON. No sir. I understand it's a very wet climate, sir. I'd +better pack your india-rubber overalls. + +BROADBENT. Do. Where's Mr Doyle? + +HODSON. I'm expecting him at five, sir. He went out after lunch. + +BROADBENT. Anybody been looking for me? + +HODSON. A person giving the name of Haffigan has called twice to- +day, sir. + +BROADBENT. Oh, I'm sorry. Why didn't he wait? I told him to wait +if I wasn't in. + +HODSON. Well Sir, I didn't know you expected him; so I thought it +best to--to--not to encourage him, sir. + +BROADBENT. Oh, he's all right. He's an Irishman, and not very +particular about his appearance. + +HODSON. Yes sir, I noticed that he was rather Irish.... + +BROADBENT. If he calls again let him come up. + +HODSON. I think I saw him waiting about, sir, when you drove up. +Shall I fetch him, sir? + +BROADBENT. Do, Hodson. + +HODSON. Yes sir [He makes for the outer door]. + +BROADBENT. He'll want tea. Let us have some. + +HODSON [stopping]. I shouldn't think he drank tea, sir. + +BROADBENT. Well, bring whatever you think he'd like. + +HODSON. Yes sir [An electric bell rings]. Here he is, sir. Saw +you arrive, sir. + +BROADBENT. Right. Show him in. [Hodson goes out. Broadbent gets +through the rest of his letters before Hodson returns with the +visitor]. + +HODSON. Mr Affigan. + +Haffigan is a stunted, shortnecked, smallheaded, redhaired man of +about 30, with reddened nose and furtive eyes. He is dressed in +seedy black, almost clerically, and might be a tenth-rate +schoolmaster ruined by drink. He hastens to shake Broadbent's +hand with a show of reckless geniality and high spirits, helped +out by a rollicking stage brogue. This is perhaps a comfort to +himself, as he is secretly pursued by the horrors of incipient +delirium tremens. + +HAFFIGAN. Tim Haffigan, sir, at your service. The top o the +mornin to you, Misther Broadbent. + +BROADBENT [delighted with his Irish visitor]. Good afternoon, Mr +Haffigan. + +TIM. An is it the afthernoon it is already? Begorra, what I call +the mornin is all the time a man fasts afther breakfast. + +BROADBENT. Haven't you lunched? + +TIM. Divil a lunch! + +BROADBENT. I'm sorry I couldn't get back from Brighton in time to +offer you some; but-- + +TIM. Not a word, sir, not a word. Sure it'll do tomorrow. +Besides, I'm Irish, sir: a poor ather, but a powerful dhrinker. + +BROADBENT. I was just about to ring for tea when you came. Sit +down, Mr Haffigan. + +TIM. Tay is a good dhrink if your nerves can stand it. Mine +can't. + +Haffigan sits down at the writing table, with his back to the +filing cabinet. Broadbent sits opposite him. Hodson enters +emptyhanded; takes two glasses, a siphon, and a tantalus from the +cupboard; places them before Broadbent on the writing table; +looks ruthlessly at Haffigan, who cannot meet his eye; and +retires. + +BROADBENT. Try a whisky and soda. + +TIM [sobered]. There you touch the national wakeness, sir. +[Piously] Not that I share it meself. I've seen too much of the +mischief of it. + +BROADBENT [pouring the whisky]. Say when. + +TIM. Not too sthrong. [Broadbent stops and looks enquiringly at +him]. Say half-an-half. [Broadbent, somewhat startled by this +demand, pours a little more, and again stops and looks]. Just a +dhrain more: the lower half o the tumbler doesn't hold a fair +half. Thankya. + +BROADBENT [laughing]. You Irishmen certainly do know how to +drink. [Pouring some whisky for himself] Now that's my poor +English idea of a whisky and soda. + +TIM. An a very good idea it is too. Dhrink is the curse o me +unhappy counthry. I take it meself because I've a wake heart and +a poor digestion; but in principle I'm a teetoatler. + +BROADBENT [suddenly solemn and strenuous]. So am I, of course. +I'm a Local Optionist to the backbone. You have no idea, Mr +Haffigan, of the ruin that is wrought in this country by the +unholy alliance of the publicans, the bishops, the Tories, and +The Times. We must close the public-houses at all costs [he +drinks]. + +TIM. Sure I know. It's awful [he drinks]. I see you're a good +Liberal like meself, sir. + +BROADBENT. I am a lover of liberty, like every true Englishman, +Mr Haffigan. My name is Broadbent. If my name were Breitstein, +and I had a hooked nose and a house in Park Lane, I should carry +a Union Jack handkerchief and a penny trumpet, and tax the food +of the people to support the Navy League, and clamor for the +destruction of the last remnants of national liberty-- + +TIM. Not another word. Shake hands. + +BROADBENT. But I should like to explain-- + +TIM. Sure I know every word you're goin to say before yev said +it. I know the sort o man yar. An so you're thinkin o comin to +Ireland for a bit? + +BROADBENT. Where else can I go? I am an Englishman and a Liberal; +and now that South Africa has been enslaved and destroyed, there +is no country left to me to take an interest in but Ireland. +Mind: I don't say that an Englishman has not other duties. He has +a duty to Finland and a duty to Macedonia. But what sane man can +deny that an Englishman's first duty is his duty to Ireland? +Unfortunately, we have politicians here more unscrupulous than +Bobrikoff, more bloodthirsty than Abdul the Damned; and it is +under their heel that Ireland is now writhing. + +TIM. Faith, they've reckoned up with poor oul Bobrikoff anyhow. + +BROADBENT. Not that I defend assassination: God forbid! However +strongly we may feel that the unfortunate and patriotic young man +who avenged the wrongs of Finland on the Russian tyrant was +perfectly right from his own point of view, yet every civilized +man must regard murder with abhorrence. Not even in defence of +Free Trade would I lift my hand against a political opponent, +however richly he might deserve it. + +TIM. I'm sure you wouldn't; and I honor you for it. You're goin +to Ireland, then, out o sympithy: is it? + +BROADBENT. I'm going to develop an estate there for the Land +Development Syndicate, in which I am interested. I am convinced +that all it needs to make it pay is to handle it properly, as +estates are handled in England. You know the English plan, Mr +Haffigan, don't you? + +TIM. Bedad I do, sir. Take all you can out of Ireland and spend +it in England: that's it. + +BROADBENT [not quite liking this]. My plan, sir, will be to take +a little money out of England and spend it in Ireland. + +TIM. More power to your elbow! an may your shadda never be less! +for you're the broth of a boy intirely. An how can I help you? +Command me to the last dhrop o me blood. + +BROADBENT. Have you ever heard of Garden City? + +TIM [doubtfully]. D'ye mane Heavn? + +BROADBENT. Heaven! No: it's near Hitchin. If you can spare half +an hour I'll go into it with you. + +TIM. I tell you hwat. Gimme a prospectus. Lemme take it home and +reflect on it. + +BROADBENT. You're quite right: I will. [He gives him a copy of Mr +Ebenezer Howard's book, and several pamphlets]. You understand +that the map of the city--the circular construction--is only a +suggestion. + +TIM. I'll make a careful note o that [looking dazedly at the +map]. + +BROADBENT. What I say is, why not start a Garden City in Ireland? + +TIM [with enthusiasm]. That's just what was on the tip o me +tongue to ask you. Why not? [Defiantly] Tell me why not. + +BROADBENT. There are difficulties. I shall overcome them; but +there are difficulties. When I first arrive in Ireland I shall be +hated as an Englishman. As a Protestant, I shall be denounced +from every altar. My life may be in danger. Well, I am prepared +to face that. + +TIM. Never fear, sir. We know how to respict a brave innimy. + +BROADBENT. What I really dread is misunderstanding. I think you +could help me to avoid that. When I heard you speak the other +evening in Bermondsey at the meeting of the National League, I +saw at once that you were--You won't mind my speaking frankly? + +TIM. Tell me all me faults as man to man. I can stand anything +but flatthery. + +BROADBENT. May I put it in this way?--that I saw at once that you +were a thorough Irishman, with all the faults and all, the +qualities of your race: rash and improvident but brave and +goodnatured; not likely to succeed in business on your own +account perhaps, but eloquent, humorous, a lover of freedom, and +a true follower of that great Englishman Gladstone. + +TIM. Spare me blushes. I mustn't sit here to be praised to me +face. But I confess to the goodnature: it's an Irish wakeness. +I'd share me last shillin with a friend. + +BROADBENT. I feel sure you would, Mr Haffigan. + +TIM [impulsively]. Damn it! call me Tim. A man that talks about +Ireland as you do may call me anything. Gimme a howlt o that +whisky bottle [he replenishes]. + +BROADBENT [smiling indulgently]. Well, Tim, will you come with me +and help to break the ice between me and your warmhearted, +impulsive countrymen? + +TIM. Will I come to Madagascar or Cochin China wid you? Bedad +I'll come to the North Pole wid you if yll pay me fare; for the +divil a shillin I have to buy a third class ticket. + +BROADBENT. I've not forgotten that, Tim. We must put that little +matter on a solid English footing, though the rest can be as +Irish as you please. You must come as my--my--well, I hardly know +what to call it. If we call you my agent, they'll shoot you. If +we call you a bailiff, they'll duck you in the horsepond. I have +a secretary already; and-- + +TIM. Then we'll call him the Home Secretary and me the Irish +Secretary. Eh? + +BROADBENT [laughing industriously]. Capital. Your Irish wit has +settled the first difficulty. Now about your salary-- + +TIM. A salary, is it? Sure I'd do it for nothin, only me cloes ud +disgrace you; and I'd be dhriven to borra money from your +friends: a thing that's agin me nacher. But I won't take a penny +more than a hundherd a year. [He looks with restless cunning at +Broadbent, trying to guess how far he may go]. + +BROADBENT. If that will satisfy you-- + +TIM [more than reassured]. Why shouldn't it satisfy me? A +hundherd a year is twelve-pound a month, isn't it? + +BROADBENT. No. Eight pound six and eightpence. + +TIM. Oh murdher! An I'll have to sind five timme poor oul mother +in Ireland. But no matther: I said a hundherd; and what I said +I'll stick to, if I have to starve for it. + +BROADBENT [with business caution]. Well, let us say twelve pounds +for the first month. Afterwards, we shall see how we get on. + +TIM. You're a gentleman, sir. Whin me mother turns up her toes, +you shall take the five pounds off; for your expinses must be kep +down wid a sthrong hand; an--[He is interrupted by the arrival of +Broadbent's partner.] + +Mr Laurence Doyle is a man of 36, with cold grey eyes, strained +nose, fine fastidious lips, critical brown, clever head, rather +refined and goodlooking on the whole, but with a suggestion of +thinskinedness and dissatisfaction that contrasts strongly with +Broadbent's eupeptic jollity. + +He comes in as a man at home there, but on seeing the stranger +shrinks at once, and is about to withdraw when Broadbent +reassures him. He then comes forward to the table, between the +two others. + +DOYLE [retreating]. You're engaged. + +BROADBENT. Not at all, not at all. Come in. [To Tim] This +gentleman is a friend who lives with me here: my partner, Mr +Doyle. [To Doyle] This is a new Irish friend of mine, Mr Tim +Haffigan. + +TIM [rising with effusion]. Sure it's meself that's proud to meet +any friend o Misther Broadbent's. The top o the mornin to you, +sir! Me heart goes out teeye both. It's not often I meet two such +splendid speciments iv the Anglo-Saxon race. + +BROADBENT [chuckling] Wrong for once, Tim. My friend Mr Doyle is +a countryman of yours. + +Tim is noticeably dashed by this announcement. He draws in his +horns at once, and scowls suspiciously at Doyle under a vanishing +mark of goodfellowship: cringing a little, too, in mere nerveless +fear of him. + +DOYLE [with cool disgust]. Good evening. [He retires to the +fireplace, and says to Broadbent in a tone which conveys the +strongest possible hint to Haffigan that he is unwelcome] Will +you soon be disengaged? + +TIM [his brogue decaying into a common would-be genteel accent +with an unexpected strain of Glasgow in it]. I must be going. +Ivnmportnt engeegement in the west end. + +BROADBENT [rising]. It's settled, then, that you come with me. + +TIM. Ish'll be verra pleased to accompany ye, sir. + +BROADBENT. But how soon? Can you start tonight--from Paddington? +We go by Milford Haven. + +TIM [hesitating]. Well--I'm afreed--I [Doyle goes abruptly into +the bedroom, slamming the door and shattering the last remnant of +Tim's nerve. The poor wretch saves himself from bursting into +tears by plunging again into his role of daredevil Irishman. He +rushes to Broadbent; plucks at his sleeve with trembling fingers; +and pours forth his entreaty with all the brogue be can muster, +subduing his voice lest Doyle should hear and return]. Misther +Broadbent: don't humiliate me before a fella counthryman. Look +here: me cloes is up the spout. Gimme a fypounnote--I'll pay ya +nex choosda whin me ship comes home--or you can stop it out o me +month's sallery. I'll be on the platform at Paddnton punctial an +ready. Gimme it quick, before he comes back. You won't mind me +axin, will ye? + +BROADBENT. Not at all. I was about to offer you an advance for +travelling expenses. [He gives him a bank note]. + +TIM [pocketing it]. Thank you. I'll be there half an hour before +the thrain starts. [Larry is heard at the bedroom door, +returning]. Whisht: he's comin back. Goodbye an God bless ye. [He +hurries out almost crying, the 5 pound note and all the drink it +means to him being too much for his empty stomach and +overstrained nerves]. + +DOYLE [returning]. Where the devil did you pick up that seedy +swindler? What was he doing here? [He goes up to the table where +the plans are, and makes a note on one of them, referring to his +pocket book as he does so]. + +BROADBENT. There you go! Why are you so down on every Irishman +you meet, especially if he's a bit shabby? poor devil! Surely a +fellow-countryman may pass you the top of the morning without +offence, even if his coat is a bit shiny at the seams. + +DOYLE [contemptuously]. The top of the morning! Did he call you +the broth of a boy? [He comes to the writing table]. + +BROADBENT [triumphantly]. Yes. + +DOYLE. And wished you more power to your elbow? + +BROADBENT. He did. + +DOYLE. And that your shadow might never be less? + +BROADBENT. Certainly. + +DOYLE [taking up the depleted whisky bottle and shaking his head +at it]. And he got about half a pint of whisky out of you. + +BROADBENT. It did him no harm. He never turned a hair. + +DOYLE. How much money did he borrow? + +BROADBENT. It was not borrowing exactly. He showed a very +honorable spirit about money. I believe he would share his last +shilling with a friend. + +DOYLE. No doubt he would share his friend's last shilling if his +friend was fool enough to let him. How much did he touch you for? + +BROADBENT. Oh, nothing. An advance on his salary--for travelling +expenses. + +DOYLE. Salary! In Heaven's name, what for? + +BROADBENT. For being my Home Secretary, as he very wittily called +it. + +DOYLE. I don't see the joke. + +BROADBENT. You can spoil any joke by being cold blooded about it. +I saw it all right when he said it. It was something--something +really very amusing--about the Home Secretary and the Irish +Secretary. At all events, he's evidently the very man to take +with me to Ireland to break the ice for me. He can gain the +confidence of the people there, and make them friendly to me. Eh? +[He seats himself on the office stool, and tilts it back so that +the edge of the standing desk supports his back and prevents his +toppling over]. + +DOYLE. A nice introduction, by George! Do you suppose the whole +population of Ireland consists of drunken begging letter writers, +or that even if it did, they would accept one another as +references? + +BROADBENT. Pooh! nonsense! He's only an Irishman. Besides, you +don't seriously suppose that Haffigan can humbug me, do you? + +DOYLE. No: he's too lazy to take the trouble. All he has to do is +to sit there and drink your whisky while you humbug yourself. +However, we needn't argue about Haffigan, for two reasons. First, +with your money in his pocket he will never reach Paddington: +there are too many public houses on the way. Second, he's not an +Irishman at all. + +BROADBENT. Not an Irishman! [He is so amazed by the statement +that he straightens himself and brings the stool bolt upright]. + +DOYLE. Born in Glasgow. Never was in Ireland in his life. I know +all about him. + +BROADBENT. But he spoke--he behaved just like an Irishman. + +DOYLE. Like an Irishman!! Is it possible that you don't know that +all this top-o-the-morning and broth-of-a-boy and more-power-to- +your-elbow business is as peculiar to England as the Albert Hall +concerts of Irish music are? No Irishman ever talks like that in +Ireland, or ever did, or ever will. But when a thoroughly +worthless Irishman comes to England, and finds the whole place +full of romantic duffers like you, who will let him loaf and +drink and sponge and brag as long as he flatters your sense of +moral superiority by playing the fool and degrading himself and +his country, he soon learns the antics that take you in. He picks +them up at the theatre or the music hall. Haffigan learnt the +rudiments from his father, who came from my part of Ireland. I +knew his uncles, Matt and Andy Haffigan of Rosscullen. + +BROADBENT [still incredulous]. But his brogue! + +DOYLE. His brogue! A fat lot you know about brogues! I've heard +you call a Dublin accent that you could hang your hat on, a +brogue. Heaven help you! you don't know the difference between +Connemara and Rathmines. [With violent irritation] Oh, damn Tim +Haffigan! Let's drop the subject: he's not worth wrangling about. + +BROADBENT. What's wrong with you today, Larry? Why are you so +bitter? + +Doyle looks at him perplexedly; comes slowly to the writing +table; and sits down at the end next the fireplace before +replying. + +DOYLE. Well: your letter completely upset me, for one thing. + +BROADBENT. Why? + +LARRY. Your foreclosing this Rosscullen mortgage and turning poor +Nick Lestrange out of house and home has rather taken me aback; +for I liked the old rascal when I was a boy and had the run of +his park to play in. I was brought up on the property. + +BROADBENT. But he wouldn't pay the interest. I had to foreclose +on behalf of the Syndicate. So now I'm off to Rosscullen to look +after the property myself. [He sits down at the writing table +opposite Larry, and adds, casually, but with an anxious glance at +his partner] You're coming with me, of course? + +DOYLE [rising nervously and recommencing his restless movements]. +That's it. That's what I dread. That's what has upset me. + +BROADBENT. But don't you want to see your country again after 18 +years absence? to see your people, to be in the old home again? +To-- + +DOYLE [interrupting him very impatiently]. Yes, yes: I know all +that as well as you do. + +BROADBENT. Oh well, of course [with a shrug] if you take it in +that way, I'm sorry. + +DOYLE. Never you mind my temper: it's not meant for you, as you +ought to know by this time. [He sits down again, a little ashamed +of his petulance; reflects a moment bitterly; then bursts out] I +have an instinct against going back to Ireland: an instinct so +strong that I'd rather go with you to the South Pole than to +Rosscullen. + +BROADBENT. What! Here you are, belonging to a nation with the +strongest patriotism! the most inveterate homing instinct in the +world! and you pretend you'd rather go anywhere than back to +Ireland. You don't suppose I believe you, do you? In your heart-- + +DOYLE. Never mind my heart: an Irishman's heart is nothing but +his imagination. How many of all those millions that have left +Ireland have ever come back or wanted to come back? But what's +the use of talking to you? Three verses of twaddle about the +Irish emigrant "sitting on the stile, Mary," or three hours of +Irish patriotism in Bermondsey or the Scotland Division of +Liverpool, go further with you than all the facts that stare you +in the face. Why, man alive, look at me! You know the way I nag, +and worry, and carp, and cavil, and disparage, and am never +satisfied and never quiet, and try the patience of my best +friends. + +BROADBENT. Oh, come, Larry! do yourself justice. You're very +amusing and agreeable to strangers. + +DOYLE. Yes, to strangers. Perhaps if I was a bit stiffer to +strangers, and a bit easier at home, like an Englishman, I'd be +better company for you. + +BROADBENT. We get on well enough. Of course you have the +melancholy of the Celtic race-- + +DOYLE [bounding out of his chair] Good God!!! + +BROADBENT [slyly]--and also its habit of using strong language +when there's nothing the matter. + +DOYLE. Nothing the matter! When people talk about the Celtic +race, I feel as if I could burn down London. That sort of rot +does more harm than ten Coercion Acts. Do you suppose a man need +be a Celt to feel melancholy in Rosscullen? Why, man, Ireland was +peopled just as England was; and its breed was crossed by just +the same invaders. + +BROADBENT. True. All the capable people in Ireland are of English +extraction. It has often struck me as a most remarkable +circumstance that the only party in parliament which shows the +genuine old English character and spirit is the Irish party. Look +at its independence, its determination, its defiance of bad +Governments, its sympathy with oppressed nationalities all the +world over! How English! + +DOYLE. Not to mention the solemnity with which it talks old- +fashioned nonsense which it knows perfectly well to be a century +behind the times. That's English, if you like. + +BROADBENT. No, Larry, no. You are thinking of the modern hybrids +that now monopolize England. Hypocrites, humbugs, Germans, Jews, +Yankees, foreigners, Park Laners, cosmopolitan riffraff. Don't +call them English. They don't belong to the dear old island, but +to their confounded new empire; and by George! they're worthy of +it; and I wish them joy of it. + +DOYLE [unmoved by this outburst]. There! You feel better now, +don't you? + +BROADBENT [defiantly]. I do. Much better. + +DOYLE. My dear Tom, you only need a touch of the Irish climate to +be as big a fool as I am myself. If all my Irish blood were +poured into your veins, you wouldn't turn a hair of your +constitution and character. Go and marry the most English +Englishwoman you can find, and then bring up your son in +Rosscullen; and that son's character will be so like mine and so +unlike yours that everybody will accuse me of being his father. +[With sudden anguish] Rosscullen! oh, good Lord, Rosscullen! The +dullness! the hopelessness! the ignorance! the bigotry! + +BROADBENT [matter-of-factly]. The usual thing in the country, +Larry. Just the same here. + +DOYLE [hastily]. No, no: the climate is different. Here, if the +life is dull, you can be dull too, and no great harm done. [Going +off into a passionate dream] But your wits can't thicken in that +soft moist air, on those white springy roads, in those misty +rushes and brown bogs, on those hillsides of granite rocks and +magenta heather. You've no such colors in the sky, no such lure +in the distances, no such sadness in the evenings. Oh, the +dreaming! the dreaming! the torturing, heartscalding, never +satisfying dreaming, dreaming, dreaming, dreaming! [Savagely] No +debauchery that ever coarsened and brutalized an Englishman can +take the worth and usefulness out of him like that dreaming. An +Irishman's imagination never lets him alone, never convinces him, +never satisfies him; but it makes him that he can't face reality +nor deal with it nor handle it nor conquer it: he can only sneer +at them that do, and [bitterly, at Broadbent] be "agreeable to +strangers," like a good-for-nothing woman on the streets. +[Gabbling at Broadbent across the table] It's all dreaming, all +imagination. He can't be religious. The inspired Churchman that +teaches him the sanctity of life and the importance of conduct is +sent away empty; while the poor village priest that gives him a +miracle or a sentimental story of a saint, has cathedrals built +for him out of the pennies of the poor. He can't be intelligently +political, he dreams of what the Shan Van Vocht said in ninety- +eight. If you want to interest him in Ireland you've got to call +the unfortunate island Kathleen ni Hoolihan and pretend she's a +little old woman. It saves thinking. It saves working. It saves +everything except imagination, imagination, imagination; and +imagination's such a torture that you can't bear it without +whisky. [With fierce shivering self-contempt] At last you get +that you can bear nothing real at all: you'd rather starve than +cook a meal; you'd rather go shabby and dirty than set your mind +to take care of your clothes and wash yourself; you nag and +squabble at home because your wife isn't an angel, and she +despises you because you're not a hero; and you hate the whole +lot round you because they're only poor slovenly useless devils +like yourself. [Dropping his voice like a man making some +shameful confidence] And all the while there goes on a horrible, +senseless, mischievous laughter. When you're young, you exchange +drinks with other young men; and you exchange vile stories with +them; and as you're too futile to be able to help or cheer them, +you chaff and sneer and taunt them for not doing the things you +daren't do yourself. And all the time you laugh, laugh, laugh! +eternal derision, eternal envy, eternal folly, eternal fouling +and staining and degrading, until, when you come at last to a +country where men take a question seriously and give a serious +answer to it, you deride them for having no sense of humor, and +plume yourself on your own worthlessness as if it made you better +than them. + +BROADBENT [roused to intense earnestness by Doyle's eloquence]. +Never despair, Larry. There are great possibilities for Ireland. +Home Rule will work wonders under English guidance. + +DOYLE [pulled up short, his face twitching with a reluctant +smile]. Tom: why do you select my most tragic moments for your +most irresistible strokes of humor? + +BROADBENT. Humor! I was perfectly serious. What do you mean? Do +you doubt my seriousness about Home Rule? + +DOYLE. I am sure you are serious, Tom, about the English +guidance. + +BROADBENT [quite reassured]. Of course I am. Our guidance is the +important thing. We English must place our capacity for +government without stint at the service of nations who are less +fortunately endowed in that respect; so as to allow them to +develop in perfect freedom to the English level of +self-government, you know. You understand me? + +DOYLE. Perfectly. And Rosscullen will understand you too. + +BROADBENT [cheerfully]. Of course it will. So that's all right. +[He pulls up his chair and settles himself comfortably to lecture +Doyle]. Now, Larry, I've listened carefully to all you've said +about Ireland; and I can see nothing whatever to prevent your +coming with me. What does it all come to? Simply that you were +only a young fellow when you were in Ireland. You'll find all +that chaffing and drinking and not knowing what to be at in +Peckham just the same as in Donnybrook. You looked at Ireland +with a boy's eyes and saw only boyish things. Come back with me +and look at it with a man's, and get a better opinion of your +country. + +DOYLE. I daresay you're partly right in that: at all events I +know very well that if I had been the son of a laborer instead of +the son of a country landagent, I should have struck more grit +than I did. Unfortunately I'm not going back to visit the Irish +nation, but to visit my father and Aunt Judy and Nora Reilly and +Father Dempsey and the rest of them. + +BROADBENT. Well, why not? They'll be delighted to see you, now +that England has made a man of you. + +DOYLE [struck by this]. Ah! you hit the mark there, Tom, with +true British inspiration. + +BROADBENT. Common sense, you mean. + +DOYLE [quickly]. No I don't: you've no more common sense than a +gander. No Englishman has any common sense, or ever had, or ever +will have. You're going on a sentimental expedition for perfectly +ridiculous reasons, with your head full of political nonsense +that would not take in any ordinarily intelligent donkey; but you +can hit me in the eye with the simple truth about myself and my +father. + +BROADBENT [amazed]. I never mentioned your father. + +DOYLE [not heeding the interruption]. There he is in Rosscullen, +a landagent who's always been in a small way because he's a +Catholic, and the landlords are mostly Protestants. What with +land courts reducing rents and Land Acts turning big estates into +little holdings, he'd be a beggar this day if he hadn't bought +his own little farm under the Land Purchase Act. I doubt if he's +been further from home than Athenmullet for the last twenty +years. And here am I, made a man of, as you say, by England. + +BROADBENT [apologetically]. I assure you I never meant-- + +DOYLE. Oh, don't apologize: it's quite true. I daresay I've +learnt something in America and a few other remote and inferior +spots; but in the main it is by living with you and working in +double harness with you that I have learnt to live in a real +world and not in an imaginary one. I owe more to you than to any +Irishman. + +BROADBENT [shaking his head with a twinkle in his eye]. Very +friendly of you, Larry, old man, but all blarney. I like blarney; +but it's rot, all the same. + +DOYLE. No it's not. I should never have done anything without +you; although I never stop wondering at that blessed old head of +yours with all its ideas in watertight compartments, and all the +compartments warranted impervious to anything that it doesn't +suit you to understand. + +BROADBENT [invincible]. Unmitigated rot, Larry, I assure you. + +DOYLE. Well, at any rate you will admit that all my friends are +either Englishmen or men of the big world that belongs to the big +Powers. All the serious part of my life has been lived in that +atmosphere: all the serious part of my work has been done with +men of that sort. Just think of me as I am now going back to +Rosscullen! to that hell of littleness and monotony! How am I to +get on with a little country landagent that ekes out his 5 per +cent with a little farming and a scrap of house property in the +nearest country town? What am I to say to him? What is he to say +to me? + +BROADBFNT [scandalized]. But you're father and son, man! + +DOYLE. What difference does that make? What would you say if I +proposed a visit to YOUR father? + +BROADBENT [with filial rectitude]. I always made a point of going +to see my father regularly until his mind gave way. + +DOYLE [concerned]. Has he gone mad? You never told me. + +BROADBENT. He has joined the Tariff Reform League. He would never +have done that if his mind had not been weakened. [Beginning to +declaim] He has fallen a victim to the arts of a political +charlatan who-- + +DOYLE [interrupting him]. You mean that you keep clear of your +father because he differs from you about Free Trade, and you +don't want to quarrel with him. Well, think of me and my father! +He's a Nationalist and a Separatist. I'm a metallurgical chemist +turned civil engineer. Now whatever else metallurgical chemistry +may be, it's not national. It's international. And my business +and yours as civil engineers is to join countries, not to +separate them. The one real political conviction that our +business has rubbed into us is that frontiers are hindrances and +flags confounded nuisances. + +BROADBENT [still smarting under Mr Chamberlain's economic +heresy]. Only when there is a protective tariff-- + +DOYLE [firmly] Now look here, Tom: you want to get in a speech on +Free Trade; and you're not going to do it: I won't stand it. My +father wants to make St George's Channel a frontier and hoist a +green flag on College Green; and I want to bring Galway within 3 +hours of Colchester and 24 of New York. I want Ireland to be the +brains and imagination of a big Commonwealth, not a Robinson +Crusoe island. Then there's the religious difficulty. My +Catholicism is the Catholicism of Charlemagne or Dante, qualified +by a great deal of modern science and folklore which Father +Dempsey would call the ravings of an Atheist. Well, my father's +Catholicism is the Catholicism of Father Dempsey. + +BROADBENT [shrewdly]. I don't want to interrupt you, Larry; but +you know this is all gammon. These differences exist in all +families; but the members rub on together all right. [Suddenly +relapsing into portentousness] Of course there are some questions +which touch the very foundations of morals; and on these I grant +you even the closest relationships cannot excuse any compromise +or laxity. For instance-- + +DOYLE [impatiently springing up and walking about]. For instance, +Home Rule, South Africa, Free Trade, and the Education Rate. +Well, I should differ from my father on every one of them, +probably, just as I differ from you about them. + +BROADBENT. Yes; but you are an Irishman; and these things are not +serious to you as they are to an Englishman. + +DOYLE. What! not even Home Rule! + +BROADBENT [steadfastly]. Not even Home Rule. We owe Home Rule not +to the Irish, but to our English Gladstone. No, Larry: I can't +help thinking that there's something behind all this. + +DOYLE [hotly]. What is there behind it? Do you think I'm +humbugging you? + +BROADBENT. Don't fly out at me, old chap. I only thought-- + +DOYLE. What did you think? + +BROADBENT. Well, a moment ago I caught a name which is new to me: +a Miss Nora Reilly, I think. [Doyle stops dead and stares at him +with something like awe]. I don't wish to be impertinent, as you +know, Larry; but are you sure she has nothing to do with your +reluctance to come to Ireland with me? + +DOYLE [sitting down again, vanquished]. Thomas Broadbent: I +surrender. The poor silly-clever Irishman takes off his hat to +God's Englishman. The man who could in all seriousness make that +recent remark of yours about Home Rule and Gladstone must be +simply the champion idiot of all the world. Yet the man who could +in the very next sentence sweep away all my special pleading and +go straight to the heart of my motives must be a man of genius. +But that the idiot and the genius should be the same man! how is +that possible? [Springing to his feet] By Jove, I see it all now. +I'll write an article about it, and send it to Nature. + +BROADBENT [staring at him]. What on earth-- + +DOYLE. It's quite simple. You know that a +caterpillar-- + +BROADBENT. A caterpillar!!! + +DOYLE. Yes, a caterpillar. Now give your mind to what I am going +to say; for it's a new and important scientific theory of the +English national character. A caterpillar-- + +BROADBENT. Look here, Larry: don't be an ass. + +DOYLE [insisting]. I say a caterpillar and I mean a caterpillar. +You'll understand presently. A caterpillar [Broadbent mutters a +slight protest, but does not press it] when it gets into a tree, +instinctively makes itself look exactly like a leaf; so that both +its enemies and its prey may mistake it for one and think it not +worth bothering about. + +BROADBENT. What's that got to do with our English national +character? + +DOYLE. I'll tell you. The world is as full of fools as a tree is +full of leaves. Well, the Englishman does what the caterpillar +does. He instinctively makes himself look like a fool, and eats +up all the real fools at his ease while his enemies let him alone +and laugh at him for being a fool like the rest. Oh, nature is +cunning, cunning! [He sits down, lost in contemplation of his +word-picture]. + +BROADBENT [with hearty admiration]. Now you know, Larry, that +would never have occurred to me. You Irish people are amazingly +clever. Of course it's all tommy rot; but it's so brilliant, you +know! How the dickens do you think of such things! You really +must write an article about it: they'll pay you something for it. +If Nature won't have it, I can get it into Engineering for you: I +know the editor. + +DOYLE. Let's get back to business. I'd better tell you about Nora +Reilly. + +BROADBENT. No: never mind. I shouldn't have alluded to her. + +DOYLE. I'd rather. Nora has a fortune. + +BROADBENT [keenly interested]. Eh? How much? + +DOYLE. Forty per annum. + +BROADBENT. Forty thousand? + +DOYLE. No, forty. Forty pounds. + +BROADBENT [much dashed.] That's what you call a fortune in +Rosscullen, is it? + +DOYLE. A girl with a dowry of five pounds calls it a fortune in +Rosscullen. What's more 40 pounds a year IS a fortune there; and +Nora Reilly enjoys a good deal of social consideration as an +heiress on the strength of it. It has helped my father's +household through many a tight place. My father was her father's +agent. She came on a visit to us when he died, and has lived with +us ever since. + +BROADBENT [attentively, beginning to suspect Larry of misconduct +with Nora, and resolving to get to the bottom of it]. Since when? +I mean how old were you when she came? + +DOYLE. I was seventeen. So was she: if she'd been older she'd +have had more sense than to stay with us. We were together for 18 +months before I went up to Dublin to study. When I went home for +Christmas and Easter, she was there: I suppose it used to be +something of an event for her, though of course I never thought +of that then. + +BROADBENT. Were you at all hard hit? + +DOYLE. Not really. I had only two ideas at that time, first, to +learn to do something; and then to get out of Ireland and have a +chance of doing it. She didn't count. I was romantic about her, +just as I was romantic about Byron's heroines or the old Round +Tower of Rosscullen; but she didn't count any more than they did. +I've never crossed St George's Channel since for her sake--never +even landed at Queenstown and come back to London through +Ireland. + +BROADBENT. But did you ever say anything that would justify her +in waiting for you? + +DOYLE. No, never. But she IS waiting for me. + +BROADBENT. How do you know? + +DOYLE. She writes to me--on her birthday. She used to write on +mine, and send me little things as presents; but I stopped that +by pretending that it was no use when I was travelling, as they +got lost in the foreign post-offices. [He pronounces post-offices +with the stress on offices, instead of on post]. + +BROADBENT. You answer the letters? + +DOYLE. Not very punctually. But they get acknowledged at one time +or another. + +BROADBENT. How do you feel when you see her handwriting? + +DOYLE. Uneasy. I'd give 50 pounds to escape a letter. + +BROADBENT [looking grave, and throwing himself back in his chair +to intimate that the cross-examination is over, and the result +very damaging to the witness] Hm! + +DOYLE. What d'ye mean by Hm!? + +BROADBENT. Of course I know that the moral code is different in +Ireland. But in England it's not considered fair to trifle with a +woman's affections. + +DOYLE. You mean that an Englishman would get engaged to another +woman and return Nora her letters and presents with a letter to +say he was unworthy of her and wished her every happiness? + +BROADBENT. Well, even that would set the poor girl's mind at +rest. + +DOYLE. Would it? I wonder! One thing I can tell you; and that is +that Nora would wait until she died of old age sooner than ask my +intentions or condescend to hint at the possibility of my having +any. You don't know what Irish pride is. England may have knocked +a good deal of it out of me; but she's never been in England; and +if I had to choose between wounding that delicacy in her and +hitting her in the face, I'd hit her in the face without a +moment's hesitation. + +BROADBENT [who has been nursing his knee and reflecting, +apparently rather agreeably]. You know, all this sounds rather +interesting. There's the Irish charm about it. That's the worst +of you: the Irish charm doesn't exist for you. + +DOYLE. Oh yes it does. But it's the charm of a dream. Live in +contact with dreams and you will get something of their charm: +live in contact with facts and you will get something of their +brutality. I wish I could find a country to live in where the +facts were not brutal and the dreams not unreal. + +BROADBENT [changing his attitude and responding to Doyle's +earnestness with deep conviction: his elbows on the table and his +hands clenched]. Don't despair, Larry, old boy: things may look +black; but there will be a great change after the next election. + +DOYLE [jumping up]. Oh get out, you idiot! + +BROADBENT [rising also, not a bit snubbed]. Ha! ha! you may +laugh; but we shall see. However, don't let us argue about that. +Come now! you ask my advice about Miss Reilly? + +DOYLE [reddening]. No I don't. Damn your advice! [Softening] +Let's have it, all the same. + +BROADBENT. Well, everything you tell me about her impresses me +favorably. She seems to have the feelings of a lady; and though +we must face the fact that in England her income would hardly +maintain her in the lower middle class-- + +DOYLE [interrupting]. Now look here, Tom. That reminds me. When +you go to Ireland, just drop talking about the middle class and +bragging of belonging to it. In Ireland you're either a gentleman +or you're not. If you want to be particularly offensive to Nora, +you can call her a Papist; but if you call her a middle-class +woman, Heaven help you! + +BROADBENT [irrepressible]. Never fear. You're all descended from +the ancient kings: I know that. [Complacently] I'm not so +tactless as you think, my boy. [Earnest again] I expect to find +Miss Reilly a perfect lady; and I strongly advise you to come and +have another look at her before you make up your mind about her. +By the way, have you a photograph of her? + +DOYLE. Her photographs stopped at twenty-five. + +BROADBENT [saddened]. Ah yes, I suppose so. [With feeling, +severely] Larry: you've treated that poor girl disgracefully. + +DOYLE. By George, if she only knew that two men were talking +about her like this--! + +BROADBENT. She wouldn't like it, would she? Of course not. We +ought to be ashamed of ourselves, Larry. [More and more carried +away by his new fancy]. You know, I have a sort of presentiment +that Miss Really is a very superior woman. + +DOYLE [staring hard at him]. Oh you have, have you? + +BROADBENT. Yes I have. There is something very touching about the +history of this beautiful girl. + +DOYLE. Beau--! Oho! Here's a chance for Nora! and for me! +[Calling] Hodson. + +HODSON [appearing at the bedroom door]. Did you call, sir? + +DOYLE. Pack for me too. I'm going to Ireland with Mr Broadbent. + +HODSON. Right, sir. [He retires into the bedroom.] + +BROADBENT [clapping Doyle on the shoulder]. Thank you, old chap. +Thank you. + + + +ACT II + +Rosscullen. Westward a hillside of granite rock and heather +slopes upward across the prospect from south to north, a huge +stone stands on it in a naturally impossible place, as if it had +been tossed up there by a giant. Over the brow, in the desolate +valley beyond, is a round tower. A lonely white high road +trending away westward past the tower loses itself at the foot of +the far mountains. It is evening; and there are great breadths of +silken green in the Irish sky. The sun is setting. + +A man with the face of a young saint, yet with white hair and +perhaps 50 years on his back, is standing near the stone in a +trance of intense melancholy, looking over the hills as if by +mere intensity of gaze he could pierce the glories of the sunset +and see into the streets of heaven. He is dressed in black, and +is rather more clerical in appearance than most English curates +are nowadays; but he does not wear the collar and waistcoat of a +parish priest. He is roused from his trance by the chirp of an +insect from a tuft of grass in a crevice of the stone. His face +relaxes: he turns quietly, and gravely takes off his hat to the +tuft, addressing the insect in a brogue which is the jocular +assumption of a gentleman and not the natural speech of a +peasant. + +THE MAN. An is that yourself, Misther Grasshopper? I hope I see +you well this fine evenin. + +THE GRASSHOPPER [prompt and shrill in answer]. X.X. + +THE MAN [encouragingly]. That's right. I suppose now you've come +out to make yourself miserable by admyerin the sunset? + +THE GRASSHOPPER [sadly]. X.X. + +THE MAN. Aye, you're a thrue Irish grasshopper. + +THE GRASSHOPPER [loudly]. X.X.X. + +THE MAN. Three cheers for ould Ireland, is it? That helps you to +face out the misery and the poverty and the torment, doesn't it? + +THE GRASSHOPPER [plaintively]. X.X. + +THE MAN. Ah, it's no use, me poor little friend. If you could +jump as far as a kangaroo you couldn't jump away from your own +heart an its punishment. You can only look at Heaven from here: +you can't reach it. There! [pointing with his stick to the +sunset] that's the gate o glory, isn't it? + +THE GRASSHOPPER [assenting]. X.X. + +THE MAN. Sure it's the wise grasshopper yar to know that! But +tell me this, Misther Unworldly Wiseman: why does the sight of +Heaven wring your heart an mine as the sight of holy wather +wrings the heart o the divil? What wickedness have you done to +bring that curse on you? Here! where are you jumpin to? Where's +your manners to go skyrocketin like that out o the box in the +middle o your confession [he threatens it with his stick]? + +THE GRASSHOPPER [penitently]. X. + +THE MAN [lowering the stick]. I accept your apology; but don't do +it again. And now tell me one thing before I let you go home to +bed. Which would you say this counthry was: hell or purgatory? + +THE GRASSHOPPER. X. + +THE MAN. Hell! Faith I'm afraid you're right. I wondher what you +and me did when we were alive to get sent here. + +THE GRASSHOPPER [shrilly]. X.X. + +THE MAN [nodding]. Well, as you say, it's a delicate subject; and +I won't press it on you. Now off widja. + +THE GRASSHOPPER. X.X. [It springs away]. + +THE MAN [waving his stick] God speed you! [He walks away past the +stone towards the brow of the hill. Immediately a young laborer, +his face distorted with terror, slips round from behind the +stone. + +THE LABORER [crossing himself repeatedly]. Oh glory be to God! +glory be to God! Oh Holy Mother an all the saints! Oh murdher! +murdher! [Beside himself, calling Fadher Keegan! Fadher Keegan]! + +THE MAN [turning]. Who's there? What's that? [He comes back and +finds the laborer, who clasps his knees] Patsy Farrell! What are +you doing here? + +PATSY. O for the love o God don't lave me here wi dhe +grasshopper. I hard it spakin to you. Don't let it do me any +harm, Father darlint. + +KEEGAN. Get up, you foolish man, get up. Are you afraid of a poor +insect because I pretended it was talking to me? + +PATSY. Oh, it was no pretending, Fadher dear. Didn't it give +three cheers n say it was a divil out o hell? Oh say you'll see +me safe home, Fadher; n put a blessin on me or somethin [he moans +with terror]. + +KEEGAN. What were you doin there, Patsy, listnin? Were you spyin +on me? + +PATSY. No, Fadher: on me oath an soul I wasn't: I was waitn to +meet Masther Larry n carry his luggage from the car; n I fell +asleep on the grass; n you woke me talkin to the grasshopper; n I +hard its wicked little voice. Oh, d'ye think I'll die before the +year's out, Fadher? + +KEEGAN. For shame, Patsy! Is that your religion, to be afraid of +a little deeshy grasshopper? Suppose it was a divil, what call +have you to fear it? If I could ketch it, I'd make you take it +home widja in your hat for a penance. + +PATSY. Sure, if you won't let it harm me, I'm not afraid, your +riverence. [He gets up, a little reassured. He is a callow, +flaxen polled, smoothfaced, downy chinned lad, fully grown but +not yet fully filled out, with blue eyes and an instinctively +acquired air of helplessness and silliness, indicating, not his +real character, but a cunning developed by his constant dread of +a hostile dominance, which he habitually tries to disarm and +tempt into unmasking by pretending to be a much greater fool than +he really is. Englishmen think him half-witted, which is exactly +what he intends them to think. He is clad in corduroy trousers, +unbuttoned waistcoat, and coarse blue striped shirt]. + +KEEGAN [admonitorily]. Patsy: what did I tell you about callin me +Father Keegan an your reverence? What did Father Dempsey tell you +about it? + +PATSY. Yis, Fadher. + +KEEGAN. Father! + +PATSY [desperately]. Arra, hwat am I to call you? Fadher Dempsey +sez you're not a priest; n we all know you're not a man; n how do +we know what ud happen to us if we showed any disrespect to you? +N sure they say wanse a priest always a priest. + +KEEGAN [sternly]. It's not for the like of you, Patsy, to go +behind the instruction of your parish priest and set yourself up +to judge whether your Church is right or wrong. + +PATSY. Sure I know that, sir. + +KEEGAN. The Church let me be its priest as long as it thought me +fit for its work. When it took away my papers it meant you to +know that I was only a poor madman, unfit and unworthy to take +charge of the souls of the people. + +PATSY. But wasn't it only because you knew more Latn than Father +Dempsey that he was jealous of you? + +KEEGAN [scolding him to keep himself from smiling]. How dar you, +Patsy Farrell, put your own wicked little spites and +foolishnesses into the heart of your priest? For two pins I'd +tell him what you just said. + +PATSY [coaxing] Sure you wouldn't-- + +KEEGAN. Wouldn't I? God forgive you! You're little better than a +heathen. + +PATSY. Deedn I am, Fadher: it's me bruddher the tinsmith in +Dublin you're thinkin of. Sure he had to be a freethinker when he +larnt a thrade and went to live in the town. + +KEEGAN. Well, he'll get to Heaven before you if you're not +careful, Patsy. And now you listen to me, once and for all. +You'll talk to me and pray for me by the name of Pether Keegan, +so you will. And when you're angry and tempted to lift your hand +agen the donkey or stamp your foot on the little grasshopper, +remember that the donkey's Pether Keegan's brother, and the +grasshopper Pether Keegan's friend. And when you're tempted to +throw a stone at a sinner or a curse at a beggar, remember that +Pether Keegan is a worse sinner and a worse beggar, and keep the +stone and the curse for him the next time you meet him. Now say +God bless you, Pether, to me before I go, just to practise you a +bit. + +PATSY. Sure it wouldn't be right, Fadher. I can't-- + +KEEGAN. Yes you can. Now out with it; or I'll put this stick into +your hand an make you hit me with it. + +PATSY [throwing himself on his knees in an ecstasy of adoration]. +Sure it's your blessin I want, Fadher Keegan. I'll have no luck +widhout it. + +KEEGAN [shocked]. Get up out o that, man. Don't kneel to me: I'm +not a saint. + +PATSY [with intense conviction]. Oh in throth yar, sir. [The +grasshopper chirps. Patsy, terrified, clutches at Keegan's hands] +Don't set it on me, Fadher: I'll do anythin you bid me. + +KEEGAN [pulling him up]. You bosthoon, you! Don't you see that it +only whistled to tell me Miss Reilly's comin? There! Look at her +and pull yourself together for shame. Off widja to the road: +you'll be late for the car if you don't make haste [bustling him +down the hill]. I can see the dust of it in the gap already. + +PATSY. The Lord save us! [He goes down the hill towards the road +like a haunted man]. + +Nora Reilly comes down the hill. A slight weak woman in a pretty +muslin print gown [her best], she is a figure commonplace enough +to Irish eyes; but on the inhabitants of fatter-fed, crowded, +hustling and bustling modern countries she makes a very +different impression. The absence of any symptoms of coarseness +or hardness or appetite in her, her comparative delicacy of +manner and sensibility of apprehension, her thin hands and +slender figure, her travel accent, with the caressing plaintive +Irish melody of her speech, give her a charm which is all the +more effective because, being untravelled, she is unconscious of +it, and never dreams of deliberately dramatizing and exploiting +it, as the Irishwoman in England does. For Tom Broadbent +therefore, an attractive woman, whom he would even call ethereal. +To Larry Doyle, an everyday woman fit only for the eighteenth +century, helpless, useless, almost sexless, an invalid without +the excuse of disease, an incarnation of everything in Ireland +that drove him out of it. These judgments have little value and +no finality; but they are the judgments on which her fate hangs +just at present. Keegan touches his hat to her: he does not take +it off. + +NORA. Mr Keegan: I want to speak to you a minute if you don't +mind. + +KEEGAN [dropping the broad Irish vernacular of his speech to +Patsy]. An hour if you like, Miss Reilly: you're always welcome. +Shall we sit down? + +NORA. Thank you. [They sit on the heather. She is shy and +anxious; but she comes to the point promptly because she can +think of nothing else]. They say you did a gradle o travelling at +one time. + +KEEGAN. Well you see I'm not a Mnooth man [he means that he was +not a student at Maynooth College]. When I was young I admired +the older generation of priests that had been educated in +Salamanca. So when I felt sure of my vocation I went to +Salamanca. Then I walked from Salamanca to Rome, an sted in a +monastery there for a year. My pilgrimage to Rome taught me that +walking is a better way of travelling than the train; so I walked +from Rome to the Sorbonne in Paris; and I wish I could have +walked from Paris to Oxford; for I was very sick on the sea. +After a year of Oxford I had to walk to Jerusalem to walk the +Oxford feeling off me. From Jerusalem I came back to Patmos, and +spent six months at the monastery of Mount Athos. From that I +came to Ireland and settled down as a parish priest until I went +mad. + +NORA [startled]. Oh dons say that. + +KEEGAN. Why not? Don't you know the story? how I confessed a +black man and gave him absolution; and how he put a spell on me +and drove me mad. + +NORA. How can you talk such nonsense about yourself? For shame! + +KEEGAN. It's not nonsense at all: it's true--in a way. But never +mind the black man. Now that you know what a travelled man I am, +what can I do for you? [She hesitates and plucks nervously at the +heather. He stays her hand gently]. Dear Miss Nora: don't pluck +the little flower. If it was a pretty baby you wouldn't want to +pull its head off and stick it in a vawse o water to look at. +[The grasshopper chirps: Keegan turns his head and addresses it +in the vernacular]. Be aisy, me son: she won't spoil the +swing-swong in your little three. [To Nora, resuming his urbane +style] You see I'm quite cracked; but never mind: I'm harmless. +Now what is it? + +NORA [embarrassed]. Oh, only idle curiosity. I wanted to know +whether you found Ireland--I mean the country part of Ireland, of +course--very small and backwardlike when you came back to it from +Rome and Oxford and all the great cities. + +KEEGAN. When I went to those great cities I saw wonders I had +never seen in Ireland. But when I came back to Ireland I found +all the wonders there waiting for me. You see they had been there +all the time; but my eyes had never been opened to them. I did +not know what my own house was like, because I had never been +outside it. + +NORA. D'ye think that's the same with everybody? + +KEEGAN. With everybody who has eyes in his soul as well as in his +head. + +NORA. But really and truly now, weren't the people rather +disappointing? I should think the girls must have seemed rather +coarse and dowdy after the foreign princesses and people? But I +suppose a priest wouldn't notice that. + +KEEGAN. It's a priest's business to notice everything. I won't +tell you all I noticed about women; but I'll tell you this. The +more a man knows, and the farther he travels, the more likely he +is to marry a country girl afterwards. + +NORA [blushing with delight]. You're joking, Mr Keegan: I'm sure +yar. + +KEEGAN. My way of joking is to tell the truth. It's the funniest +joke in the world. + +NORA [incredulous]. Galong with you! + +KEEGAN [springing up actively]. Shall we go down to the road and +meet the car? [She gives him her hand and he helps her up]. Patsy +Farrell told me you were expecting young Doyle. + +NORA [tossing her chin up at once]. Oh, I'm not expecting him +particularly. It's a wonder he's come back at all. After staying +away eighteen years he can harly expect us to be very anxious to +see him, can he now? + +KEEGAN. Well, not anxious perhaps; but you will be curious to see +how much he has changed in all these years. + +NORA [with a sudden bitter flush]. I suppose that's all that +brings him back to look at us, just to see how much WE'VE +changed. Well, he can wait and see me be candlelight: I didn't +come out to meet him: I'm going to walk to the Round Tower [going +west across the hill]. + +KEEGAN. You couldn't do better this fine evening. [Gravely] I'll +tell him where you've gone. [She turns as if to forbid him; but +the deep understanding in his eyes makes that impossible; and she +only looks at him earnestly and goes. He watches her disappear on +the other side of the hill; then says] Aye, he's come to torment +you; and you're driven already to torment him. [He shakes his +head, and goes slowly away across the hill in the opposite +direction, lost in thought]. + +By this time the car has arrived, and dropped three of its +passengers on the high road at the foot of the hill. It is a +monster jaunting car, black and dilapidated, one of the last +survivors of the public vehicles known to earlier generations as +Beeyankiny cars, the Irish having laid violent tongues on the +name of their projector, one Bianconi, an enterprising Italian. +The three passengers are the parish priest, Father Dempsey; +Cornelius Doyle, Larry's father; and Broadbent, all in overcoats +and as stiff as only an Irish car could make them. + +The priest, stout and fatherly, falls far short of that finest +type of countryside pastor which represents the genius of +priesthood; but he is equally far above the base type in which a +strongminded and unscrupulous peasant uses the Church to extort +money, power, and privilege. He is a priest neither by vocation +nor ambition, but because the life suits him. He has boundless +authority over his flock, and taxes them stiffly enough to be a +rich man. The old Protestant ascendency is now too broken to gall +him. On the whole, an easygoing, amiable, even modest man as long +as his dues are paid and his authority and dignity fully +admitted. + +Cornelius Doyle is an elder of the small wiry type, with a +hardskinned, rather worried face, clean shaven except for sandy +whiskers blanching into a lustreless pale yellow and quite white +at the roots. His dress is that of a country-town titan of +business: that is, an oldish shooting suit, and elastic sided +boots quite unconnected with shooting. Feeling shy with +Broadbent, he is hasty, which is his way of trying to appear +genial. + +Broadbent, for reasons which will appear later, has no luggage +except a field glass and a guide book. The other two have left +theirs to the unfortunate Patsy Farrell, who struggles up the +hill after them, loaded with a sack of potatoes, a hamper, a fat +goose, a colossal salmon, and several paper parcels. + +Cornelius leads the way up the hill, with Broadbent at his heels. +The priest follows; and Patsy lags laboriously behind. + +CORNELIUS. This is a bit of a climb, Mr. Broadbent; but it's +shorter than goin round be the road. + +BROADBENT [stopping to examine the great stone]. Just a moment, +Mr Doyle: I want to look at this stone. It must be Finian's +die-cast. + +CORNELIUS [in blank bewilderment]. Hwat? + +BROADBENT. Murray describes it. One of your great national +heroes--I can't pronounce the name--Finian Somebody, I think. + +FATHER DEMPSEY [also perplexed, and rather scandalized]. Is it +Fin McCool you mean? + +BROADBENT. I daresay it is. [Referring to the guide book]. +Murray says that a huge stone, probably of Druidic origin, is +still pointed out as the die cast by Fin in his celebrated match +with the devil. + +CORNELIUS [dubiously]. Jeuce a word I ever heard of it! + +FATHER DEMPSEY [very seriously indeed, and even a little +severely]. Don't believe any such nonsense, sir. There never was +any such thing. When people talk to you about Fin McCool and the +like, take no notice of them. It's all idle stories and +superstition. + +BROADBENT [somewhat indignantly; for to be rebuked by an Irish +priest for superstition is more than he can stand]. You don't +suppose I believe it, do you? + +FATHER DEMPSEY. Oh, I thought you did. D'ye see the top o the +Roun Tower there? That's an antiquity worth lookin at. + +BROADBENT [deeply interested]. Have you any theory as to what the +Round Towers were for? + +FATHER DEMPSEY [a little offended]. A theory? Me! [Theories are +connected in his mind with the late Professor Tyndall, and with +scientific scepticism generally: also perhaps with the view that +the Round Towers are phallic symbols]. + +CORNELIUS [remonstrating]. Father Dempsey is the priest of the +parish, Mr Broadbent. What would he be doing with a theory? + +FATHER DEMPSEY [with gentle emphasis]. I have a KNOWLEDGE of what +the Roun Towers were, if that's what you mean. They are the +forefingers of the early Church, pointing us all to God. + +Patsy, intolerably overburdened, loses his balance, and sits down +involuntarily. His burdens are scattered over the hillside. +Cornelius and Father Dempsey turn furiously on him, leaving +Broadbent beaming at the stone and the tower with fatuous +interest. + +CORNELIUS. Oh, be the hokey, the sammin's broke in two! You +schoopid ass, what d'ye mean? + +FATHER DEMPSEY. Are you drunk, Patsy Farrell? Did I tell you to +carry that hamper carefully or did I not? + +PATSY [rubbing the back of his head, which has almost dented a +slab of granite] Sure me fut slpt. Howkn I carry three men's +luggage at wanst? + +FATHER DEMPSEY. You were told to leave behind what you couldn't +carry, an go back for it. + +PATSY. An whose things was I to lave behind? Hwat would your +reverence think if I left your hamper behind in the wet grass; n +hwat would the masther say if I left the sammin and the goose be +the side o the road for annywan to pick up? + +CORNELIUS. Oh, you've a dale to say for yourself, you, +butther-fingered omadhaun. Wait'll Ant Judy sees the state o that +sammin: SHE'LL talk to you. Here! gimme that birdn that fish +there; an take Father Dempsey's hamper to his house for him; n +then come back for the rest. + +FATHER DEMPSEY. Do, Patsy. And mind you don't fall down again. + +PATSY. Sure I-- + +CORNELIUS [bustling him up the bill] Whisht! heres Ant Judy. +[Patsy goes grumbling in disgrace, with Father Dempsey's hamper]. + +Aunt Judy comes down the hill, a woman of 50, in no way +remarkable, lively and busy without energy or grip, placid +without tranquillity, kindly without concern for others: indeed +without much concern for herself: a contented product of a +narrow, strainless life. She wears her hair parted in the middle +and quite smooth, with a fattened bun at the back. Her dress is a +plain brown frock, with a woollen pelerine of black and aniline +mauve over her shoulders, all very trim in honor of the occasion. +She looks round for Larry; is puzzled; then stares incredulously +at Broadbent. + +AUNT JUDY. Surely to goodness that's not you, Larry! + +CORNELIUS. Arra how could he be Larry, woman alive? Larry's in +no hurry home, it seems. I haven't set eyes on him. This is his +friend, Mr Broadbent. Mr Broadbent, me sister Judy. + +AUNT JUDY [hospitably: going to Broadbent and shaking hands +heartily]. Mr. Broadbent! Fancy me takin you for Larry! Sure we +haven't seen a sight of him for eighteen years, n he only a lad +when he left us. + +BROADBENT. It's not Larry's fault: he was to have been here +before me. He started in our motor an hour before Mr Doyle +arrived, to meet us at Athenmullet, intending to get here long +before me. + +AUNT JUDY. Lord save us! do you think he's had n axidnt? + +BROADBENT. No: he's wired to say he's had a breakdown and will +come on as soon as he can. He expects to be here at about ten. + +AUNT JUDY. There now! Fancy him trustn himself in a motor and we +all expectn him! Just like him! he'd never do anything like +anybody else. Well, what can't be cured must be injoored. Come on +in, all of you. You must be dyin for your tea, Mr Broadbent. + +BROADBENT [with a slight start]. Oh, I'm afraid it's too late for +tea [he looks at his watch]. + +AUNT JUDY. Not a bit: we never have it airlier than this. I hope +they gave you a good dinner at Athenmullet. + +BROADBENT [trying to conceal his consternation as he realizes +that he is not going to get any dinner after his drive] Oh--er-- +excellent, excellent. By the way, hadn't I better see about a +room at the hotel? [They stare at him]. + +CORNELIUS. The hotel! + +FATHER DEMPSEY. Hwat hotel? + +AUNT JUDY. Indeedn you'e not goin to a hotel. You'll stay with +us. I'd have put you into Larry's room, only the boy's pallyass +is too short for you; but we'll make a comfortable bed for you on +the sofa in the parlor. + +BROADBENT. You're very kind, Miss Doyle; but really I'm ashamed +to give you so much trouble unnecessarily. I shan't mind the +hotel in the least. + +FATHER DEMPSEY. Man alive! There's no hotel in Rosscullen. + +BROADBENT. No hotel! Why, the driver told me there was the finest +hotel in Ireland here. [They regard him joylessly]. + +AUNT JUDY. Arra would you mind what the like of him would tell +you? Sure he'd say hwatever was the least trouble to himself and +the pleasantest to you, thinkin you might give him a thruppeny +bit for himself or the like. + +BROADBENT. Perhaps there's a public house. + +FATHER DEMPSEY [grimly.] There's seventeen. + +AUNT JUDY. Ah then, how could you stay at a public house? They'd +have no place to put you even if it was a right place for you to +go. Come! is it the sofa you're afraid of? If it is, you can have +me own bed. I can sleep with Nora. + +BROADBENT. Not at all, not at all: I should be only too +delighted. But to upset your arrangements in this way-- + +CORNELIUS [anxious to cut short the discussion, which makes him +ashamed of his house; for he guesses Broadbent's standard of +comfort a little more accurately than his sister does] That's all +right: it'll be no trouble at all. Hweres Nora? + +AUNT JUDY. Oh, how do I know? She slipped out a little while ago: +I thought she was goin to meet the car. + +CORNELIUS [dissatisfied] It's a queer thing of her to run out o +the way at such a time. + +AUNT JUDY. Sure she's a queer girl altogether. Come. Come in, +come in. + +FATHER DEMPSEY. I'll say good-night, Mr Broadbent. If there's +anything I can do for you in this parish, let me know. [He shakes +hands with Broadbent]. + +BROADBENT [effusively cordial]. Thank you, Father Dempsey. +Delighted to have met you, sir. + +FATHER DEMPSEY [passing on to Aunt Judy]. Good-night, Miss Doyle. + +AUNT JUDY. Won't you stay to tea? + +FATHER DEMPSEY. Not to-night, thank you kindly: I have business +to do at home. [He turns to go, and meets Patsy Farrell returning +unloaded]. Have you left that hamper for me? + +PATSY. Yis, your reverence. + +FATHER DEMPSEY. That's a good lad [going]. + +PATSY [to Aunt Judy] Fadher Keegan sez-- + +FATHER DEMPSEY [turning sharply on him]. What's that you say? + +PATSY [frightened]. Fadher Keegan-- + +FATHER DEMPSEY. How often have you heard me bid you call Mister +Keegan in his proper name, the same as I do? Father Keegan +indeed! Can't you tell the difference between your priest and any +ole madman in a black coat? + +PATSY. Sure I'm afraid he might put a spell on me. + +FATHER DEMPSEY [wrathfully]. You mind what I tell you or I'll put +a spell on you that'll make you lep. D'ye mind that now? [He goes +home]. + +Patsy goes down the hill to retrieve the fish, the bird, and the +sack. + +AUNT JUDY. Ah, hwy can't you hold your tongue, Patsy, before +Father Dempsey? + +PATSY. Well, what was I to do? Father Keegan bid me tell you Miss +Nora was gone to the Roun Tower. + +AUNT JUDY. An hwy couldn't you wait to tell us until Father +Dempsey was gone? + +PATSY. I was afeerd o forgetn it; and then maybe he'd a sent the +grasshopper or the little dark looker into me at night to remind +me of it. [The dark looker is the common grey lizard, which is +supposed to walk down the throats of incautious sleepers and +cause them to perish in a slow decline]. + +CORNELIUS. Yah, you great gaum, you! Widjer grasshoppers and dark +lookers! Here: take up them things and let me hear no more o your +foolish lip. [Patsy obeys]. You can take the sammin under your +oxther. [He wedges the salmon into Patsy's axilla]. + +PATSY. I can take the goose too, sir. Put it on me back and gimme +the neck of it in me mouth. [Cornelius is about to comply +thoughtlessly]. + +AUNT JUDY [feeling that Broadbent's presence demands special +punctiliousness]. For shame, Patsy! to offer to take the goose in +your mouth that we have to eat after you! The master'll bring it +in for you. [Patsy, abashed, yet irritated by this ridiculous +fastidiousness, takes his load up the hill]. + +CORNELIUS. What the jeuce does Nora want to go to the Roun Tower +for? + +AUNT JUDY. Oh, the Lord knows! Romancin, I suppose. Props she +thinks Larry would go there to look for her and see her safe +home. + +BROADBENT. I'm afraid it's all the fault of my motor. Miss Reilly +must not be left to wait and walk home alone at night. Shall I go +for her? + +AUNT JUDY [contemptuously]. Arra hwat ud happen to her? Hurry in +now, Corny. Come, Mr Broadbent. I left the tea on the hob to +draw; and it'll be black if we don't go in an drink it. + +They go up the hill. It is dark by this time. + +Broadbent does not fare so badly after all at Aunt Judy's board. +He gets not only tea and bread-and-butter, but more mutton chops +than he has ever conceived it possible to eat at one sitting. +There is also a most filling substance called potato cake. Hardly +have his fears of being starved been replaced by his first +misgiving that he is eating too much and will be sorry for it +tomorrow, when his appetite is revived by the production of a +bottle of illicitly distilled whisky, called pocheen, which he +has read and dreamed of [he calls it pottine] and is now at last +to taste. His good humor rises almost to excitement before +Cornelius shows signs of sleepiness. The contrast between Aunt +Judy's table service and that of the south and east coast hotels +at which he spends his Fridays-to-Tuesdays when he is in London, +seems to him delightfully Irish. The almost total atrophy of any +sense of enjoyment in Cornelius, or even any desire for it or +toleration of the possibility of life being something better than +a round of sordid worries, relieved by tobacco, punch, fine +mornings, and petty successes in buying and selling, passes with +his guest as the whimsical affectation of a shrewd Irish humorist +and incorrigible spendthrift. Aunt Judy seems to him an incarnate +joke. The likelihood that the joke will pall after a month or so, +and is probably not apparent at any time to born Rossculleners, +or that he himself unconsciously entertains Aunt Judy by his +fantastic English personality and English mispronunciations, does +not occur to him for a moment. In the end he is so charmed, and +so loth to go to bed and perhaps dream of prosaic England, that +he insists on going out to smoke a cigar and look for Nora Reilly +at the Round Tower. Not that any special insistence is needed; +for the English inhibitive instinct does not seem to exist in +Rosscullen. Just as Nora's liking to miss a meal and stay out at +the Round Tower is accepted as a sufficient reason for her doing +it, and for the family going to bed and leaving the door open for +her, so Broadbent's whim to go out for a late stroll provokes +neither hospitable remonstrance nor surprise. Indeed Aunt Judy +wants to get rid of him whilst she makes a bed for him on the +sofa. So off he goes, full fed, happy and enthusiastic, to +explore the valley by moonlight. + +The Round Tower stands about half an Irish mile from Rosscullen, +some fifty yards south of the road on a knoll with a circle of +wild greensward on it. The road once ran over this knoll; but +modern engineering has tempered the level to the Beeyankiny car +by carrying the road partly round the knoll and partly through a +cutting; so that the way from the road to the tower is a footpath +up the embankment through furze and brambles. + +On the edge of this slope, at the top of the path, Nora is +straining her eyes in the moonlight, watching for Larry. At last +she gives it up with a sob of impatience, and retreats to the +hoary foot of the tower, where she sits down discouraged and +cries a little. Then she settles herself resignedly to wait, and +hums a song--not an Irish melody, but a hackneyed English +drawing-room ballad of the season before +last--until some slight noise suggests a footstep, when she +springs up eagerly and runs to the edge of the slope again. Some +moments of silence and suspense follow, broken by unmistakable +footsteps. She gives a little gasp as she sees a man approaching. + +NORA. Is that you, Larry? [Frightened a little] Who's that? + +[BROADBENT's voice from below on the path]. Don't be alarmed. + +NORA. Oh, what an English accent you've got! + +BROADBENT [rising into view] I must introduce myself-- + +NORA [violently startled, retreating]. It's not you! Who are you? +What do you want? + +BROADBENT [advancing]. I'm really so sorry to have alarmed you, +Miss Reilly. My name is Broadbent. Larry's friend, you know. + +NORA [chilled]. And has Mr Doyle not come with you? + +BROADBENT. No. I've come instead. I hope I am not unwelcome. + +NORA [deeply mortified]. I'm sorry Mr Doyle should have given you +the trouble, I'm sure. + +BROADBENT. You see, as a stranger and an Englishman, I thought it +would be interesting to see the Round Tower by moonlight. + +NORA. Oh, you came to see the tower. I thought--[confused, trying +to recover her manners] Oh, of course. I was so startled--It's a +beautiful night, isn't it? + +BROADBENT. Lovely. I must explain why Larry has not come himself. + +NORA. Why should he come? He's seen the tower often enough: it's +no attraction to him. [Genteelly] An what do you think of +Ireland, Mr Broadbent? Have you ever been here before? + +BROADBENT. Never. + +NORA. An how do you like it? + +BROADBENT [suddenly betraying a condition of extreme +sentimentality]. I can hardly trust myself to say how much I like +it. The magic of this Irish scene, and--I really don't want to be +personal, Miss Reilly; but the charm of your Irish voice-- + +NORA [quite accustomed to gallantry, and attaching no seriousness +whatever to it]. Oh, get along with you, Mr Broadbent! You're +breaking your heart about me already, I daresay, after seeing me +for two minutes in the dark. + +BROADBENT. The voice is just as beautiful in the dark, you know. +Besides, I've heard a great deal about you from Larry. + +NORA [with bitter indifference]. Have you now? Well, that's a +great honor, I'm sure. + +BROADBENT. I have looked forward to meeting you more than to +anything else in Ireland. + +NORA [ironically]. Dear me! did you now? + +BROADBENT. I did really. I wish you had taken half as much +interest in me. + +NORA. Oh, I was dying to see you, of course. I daresay you can +imagine the sensation an Englishman like you would make among us +poor Irish people. + +BROADBENT. Ah, now you're chaffing me, Miss Reilly: you know you +are. You mustn't chaff me. I'm very much in earnest about Ireland +and everything Irish. I'm very much in earnest about you and +about Larry. + +NORA. Larry has nothing to do with me, Mr Broadbent. + +BROADBENT. If I really thought that, Miss Reilly, I should--well, +I should let myself feel that charm of which I spoke just now +more deeply than I--than I-- + +NORA. Is it making love to me you are? + +BROADBENT [scared and much upset]. On my word I believe I am, +Miss Reilly. If you say that to me again I shan't answer for +myself: all the harps of Ireland are in your voice. [She laughs +at him. He suddenly loses his head and seizes her arms, to her +great indignation]. Stop laughing: do you hear? I am in earnest-- +in English earnest. When I say a thing like that to a woman, I +mean it. [Releasing her and trying to recover his ordinary manner +in spite of his bewildering emotion] I beg your pardon. + +NORA. How dare you touch me? + +BROADBENT. There are not many things I would not dare for you. +That does not sound right perhaps; but I really--[he stops and +passes his hand over his forehead, rather lost]. + +NORA. I think you ought to be ashamed. I think if you were a +gentleman, and me alone with you in this place at night, you +would die rather than do such a thing. + +BROADBENT. You mean that it's an act of treachery to Larry? + +NORA. Deed I don't. What has Larry to do with it? It's an act of +disrespect and rudeness to me: it shows what you take me for. You +can go your way now; and I'll go mine. Goodnight, Mr Broadbent. + +BROADBENT. No, please, Miss Reilly. One moment. Listen to me. I'm +serious: I'm desperately serious. Tell me that I'm interfering +with Larry; and I'll go straight from this spot back to London +and never see you again. That's on my honor: I will. Am I +interfering with him? + +NORA [answering in spite of herself in a sudden spring of +bitterness]. I should think you ought to know better than me +whether you're interfering with him. You've seen him oftener than +I have. You know him better than I do, by this time. You've come +to me quicker than he has, haven't you? + +BROADBENT. I'm bound to tell you, Miss Reilly, that Larry has not +arrived in Rosscullen yet. He meant to get here before me; but +his car broke down; and he may not arrive until to-morrow. + +NORA [her face lighting up]. Is that the truth? + +BROADBENT. Yes: that's the truth. [She gives a sigh of relief]. +You're glad of that? + +NORA [up in arms at once]. Glad indeed! Why should I be glad? As +we've waited eighteen years for him we can afford to wait a day +longer, I should think. + +BROADBENT. If you really feel like that about him, there may be a +chance for another man yet. Eh? + +NORA [deeply offended]. I suppose people are different in +England, Mr Broadbent; so perhaps you don't mean any harm. In +Ireland nobody'd mind what a man'd say in fun, nor take advantage +of what a woman might say in answer to it. If a woman couldn't +talk to a man for two minutes at their first meeting without +being treated the way you're treating me, no decent woman would +ever talk to a man at all. + +BROADBENT. I don't understand that. I don't admit that. I am +sincere; and my intentions are perfectly honorable. I think you +will accept the fact that I'm an Englishman as a guarantee that I +am not a man to act hastily or romantically, though I confess +that your voice had such an extraordinary effect on me just now +when you asked me so quaintly whether I was making love to you-- + +NORA [flushing] I never thought-- + +BROADHHNT [quickly]. Of course you didn't. I'm not so stupid as +that. But I couldn't bear your laughing at the feeling it gave +me. You--[again struggling with a surge of emotion] you don't +know what I-- [he chokes for a moment and then blurts out with +unnatural steadiness] Will you be my wife? + +NORA [promptly]. Deed I won't. The idea! [Looking at him more +carefully] Arra, come home, Mr Broadbent; and get your senses +back again. I think you're not accustomed to potcheen punch in +the evening after your tea. + +BROADBENT [horrified]. Do you mean to say that I--I--I--my God! +that I appear drunk to you, Miss Reilly? + +NORA [compassionately]. How many tumblers had you? + +BROADBENT [helplessly]. Two. + +NORA. The flavor of the turf prevented you noticing the strength +of it. You'd better come home to bed. + +BROADBENT [fearfully agitated]. But this is such a horrible doubt +to put into my mind--to--to--For Heaven's sake, Miss Reilly, am I +really drunk? + +NORA [soothingly]. You'll be able to judge better in the morning. +Come on now back with me, an think no more about it. [She takes +his arm with motherly solicitude and urges him gently toward the +path]. + +BROADBENT [yielding in despair]. I must be drunk--frightfully +drunk; for your voice drove me out of my senses [he stumbles over +a stone]. No: on my word, on my most sacred word of honor, Miss +Reilly, I tripped over that stone. It was an accident; it was +indeed. + +NORA. Yes, of course it was. Just take my arm, Mr Broadbent, +while we're goin down the path to the road. You'll be all right +then. + +BROADBENT [submissively taking it]. I can't sufficiently +apologize, Miss Reilly, or express my sense of your kindness when +I am in such a disgusting state. How could I be such a bea-- [he +trips again] damn the heather! my foot caught in it. + +NORA. Steady now, steady. Come along: come. [He is led down to +the road in the character of a convicted drunkard. To him there +it something divine in the sympathetic indulgence she substitutes +for the angry disgust with which one of his own countrywomen +would resent his supposed condition. And he has no suspicion of +the fact, or of her ignorance of it, that when an Englishman is +sentimental he behaves very much as an Irishman does when he is +drunk]. + + + +ACT III + +Next morning Broadbent and Larry are sitting at the ends of a +breakfast table in the middle of a small grass plot before +Cornelius Doyle's house. They have finished their meal, and are +buried in newspapers. Most of the crockery is crowded upon a +large square black tray of japanned metal. The teapot is of brown +delft ware. There is no silver; and the butter, on a dinner +plate, is en bloc. The background to this breakfast is the house, +a small white slated building, accessible by a half-glazed door. +A person coming out into the garden by this door would find the +table straight in front of him, and a gate leading to the road +half way down the garden on his right; or, if he turned sharp to +his left, he could pass round the end of the house through an +unkempt shrubbery. The mutilated remnant of a huge planter +statue, nearly dissolved by the rains of a century, and vaguely +resembling a majestic female in Roman draperies, with a wreath in +her hand, stands neglected amid the laurels. Such statues, though +apparently works of art, grow naturally in Irish gardens. Their +germination is a mystery to the oldest inhabitants, to whose +means and taste they are totally foreign. + +There is a rustic bench, much roiled by the birds, and +decorticated and split by the weather, near the little gate. At +the opposite side, a basket lies unmolested because it might as +well be there as anywhere else. An empty chair at the table was +lately occupied by Cornelius, who has finished his breakfast and +gone in to the room in which he receives rents and keeps his +books and cash, known in the household as "the office." This +chair, like the two occupied by Larry and Broadbent, has a +mahogany frame and is upholstered in black horsehair. + +Larry rises and goes off through the shrubbery with his +newspaper. Hodson comes in through the garden gate, disconsolate. +Broadbent, who sits facing the gate, augurs the worst from his +expression. + +BROADBENT. Have you been to the village? + +HODSON. No use, sir. We'll have to get everything from London by +parcel post. + +BROADBENT. I hope they made you comfortable last night. + +HODSON. I was no worse than you were on that sofa, sir. One +expects to rough it here, sir. + +BROADBENT. We shall have to look out for some other arrangement. +[Cheering up irrepressibly] Still, it's no end of a joke. How do +you like the Irish, Hodson? + +HODSON. Well, sir, they're all right anywhere but in their own +country. I've known lots of em in England, and generally liked +em. But here, sir, I seem simply to hate em. The feeling come +over me the moment we landed at Cork, sir. It's no use my +pretendin, sir: I can't bear em. My mind rises up agin their +ways, somehow: they rub me the wrong way all over. + +BROADBENT. Oh, their faults are on the surface: at heart they are +one of the finest races on earth. [Hodson turns away, without +affecting to respond to his enthusiasm]. By the way, Hodson-- + +HODSON [turning]. Yes, sir. + +BROADBENT. Did you notice anything about me last night when I +came in with that lady? + +HODSON [surprised]. No, sir. + +BROADBENT. Not any--er--? You may speak frankly. + +HODSON. I didn't notice nothing, sir. What sort of thing ded you +mean, sir? + +BROADBENT. Well--er--er--well, to put it plainly, was I drunk? + +HODSON [amazed]. No, sir. + +BROADBENT. Quite sure? + +HODSON. Well, I should a said rather the opposite, sir. Usually +when you've been enjoying yourself, you're a bit hearty like. +Last night you seemed rather low, if anything. + +BROADBENT. I certainly have no headache. Did you try the pottine, +Hodson? + +HODSON. I just took a mouthful, sir. It tasted of peat: oh! +something horrid, sir. The people here call peat turf. Potcheen +and strong porter is what they like, sir. I'm sure I don't know +how they can stand it. Give me beer, I say. + +BROADBENT. By the way, you told me I couldn't have porridge for +breakfast; but Mr Doyle had some. + +HODSON. Yes, sir. Very sorry, sir. They call it stirabout, sir: +that's how it was. They know no better, sir. + +BROADBENT. All right: I'll have some tomorrow. + +Hodson goes to the house. When he opens the door he finds Nora +and Aunt Judy on the threshold. He stands aside to let them pass, +with the air of a well trained servant oppressed by heavy trials. +Then he goes in. Broadbent rises. Aunt Judy goes to the table and +collects the plates and cups on the tray. Nora goes to the back +of the rustic seat and looks out at the gate with the air of a +woman accustomed to have nothing to do. Larry returns from the +shrubbery. + +BROADBENT. Good morning, Miss Doyle. + +AUNT JUDY [thinking it absurdly late in the day for such a +salutation]. Oh, good morning. [Before moving his plate] Have you +done? + +BROADBENT. Quite, thank you. You must excuse us for not waiting +for you. The country air tempted us to get up early. + +AUNT JUDY. N d'ye call this airly, God help you? + +LARRY. Aunt Judy probably breakfasted about half past six. + +AUNT JUDY. Whisht, you!--draggin the parlor chairs out into the +gardn n givin Mr Broadbent his death over his meals out here in +the cold air. [To Broadbent] Why d'ye put up with his +foolishness, Mr Broadbent? + +BROADBENT. I assure you I like the open air. + +AUNT JUDY. Ah galong! How can you like what's not natural? I hope +you slept well. + +NORA. Did anything wake yup with a thump at three o'clock? I +thought the house was falling. But then I'm a very light sleeper. + +LARRY. I seem to recollect that one of the legs of the sofa in +the parlor had a way of coming out unexpectedly eighteen years +ago. Was that it, Tom? + +BROADBENT [hastily]. Oh, it doesn't matter: I was not hurt--at +least--er-- + +AUNT JUDY. Oh now what a shame! An I told Patsy Farrll to put a +nail in it. + +BROADBENT. He did, Miss Doyle. There was a nail, certainly. + +AUNT JUDY. Dear oh dear! + +An oldish peasant farmer, small, leathery, peat faced, with a +deep voice and a surliness that is meant to be aggressive, and is +in effect pathetic--the voice of a man of hard life and many +sorrows--comes in at the gate. He is old enough to have perhaps +worn a long tailed frieze coat and knee breeches in his time; but +now he is dressed respectably in a black frock coat, tall hat, +and pollard colored trousers; and his face is as clean as washing +can make it, though that is not saying much, as the habit is +recently acquired and not yet congenial. + +THE NEW-COMER [at the gate]. God save all here! [He comes a +little way into the garden]. + +LARRY [patronizingly, speaking across the garden to him]. Is that +yourself, Mat Haffigan? Do you remember me? + +MATTHEW [intentionally rude and blunt]. No. Who are you? + +NORA. Oh, I'm sure you remember him, Mr Haffigan. + +MATTHEW [grudgingly admitting it]. I suppose he'll be young Larry +Doyle that was. + +LARRY. Yes. + +MATTHEW [to Larry]. I hear you done well in America. + +LARRY. Fairly well. + +MATTHEW. I suppose you saw me brother Andy out dhere. + +LARRY. No. It's such a big place that looking for a man there is +like looking for a needle in a bundle of hay. They tell me he's a +great man out there. + +MATTHEW. So he is, God be praised. Where's your father? + +AUNT JUDY. He's inside, in the office, Mr Haffigan, with Barney +Doarn n Father Dempsey. + +Matthew, without wasting further words on the company, goes +curtly into the house. + +LARRY [staring after him]. Is anything wrong with old Mat? + +NORA. No. He's the same as ever. Why? + +LARRY. He's not the same to me. He used to be very civil to +Master Larry: a deal too civil, I used to think. Now he's as +surly and stand-off as a bear. + +AUNT JUDY. Oh sure he's bought his farm in the Land Purchase. +He's independent now. + +NORA. It's made a great change, Larry. You'd harly know the old +tenants now. You'd think it was a liberty to speak t'dhem--some o +dhem. [She goes to the table, and helps to take off the cloth, +which she and Aunt Judy fold up between them]. + +AUNT JUDY. I wonder what he wants to see Corny for. He hasn't +been here since he paid the last of his old rent; and then he as +good as threw it in Corny's face, I thought. + +LARRY. No wonder! Of course they all hated us like the devil. +Ugh! [Moodily] I've seen them in that office, telling my father +what a fine boy I was, and plastering him with compliments, with +your honor here and your honor there, when all the time their +fingers were itching to beat his throat. + +AUNT JUDY. Deedn why should they want to hurt poor Corny? It was +he that got Mat the lease of his farm, and stood up for him as an +industrious decent man. + +BROADBENT. Was he industrious? That's remarkable, you know, in an +Irishman. + +LARRY. Industrious! That man's industry used to make me sick, +even as a boy. I tell you, an Irish peasant's industry is not +human: it's worse than the industry of a coral insect. An +Englishman has some sense about working: he never does more than +he can help--and hard enough to get him to do that without +scamping it; but an Irishman will work as if he'd die the moment +he stopped. That man Matthew Haffigan and his brother Andy made a +farm out of a patch of stones on the hillside--cleared it and dug +it with their own naked hands and bought their first spade out of +their first crop of potatoes. Talk of making two blades of wheat +grow where one grew before! those two men made a whole field of +wheat grow where not even a furze bush had ever got its head up +between the stones. + +BROADBENT. That was magnificent, you know. Only a great race is +capable of producing such men. + +LARRY. Such fools, you mean! What good was it to them? The moment +they'd done it, the landlord put a rent of 5 pounds a year on +them, and turned them out because they couldn't pay it. + +AUNT JUDY. Why couldn't they pay as well as Billy Byrne that took +it after them? + +LARRY [angrily]. You know very well that Billy Byrne never paid +it. He only offered it to get possession. He never paid it. + +AUNT JUDY. That was because Andy Haffigan hurt him with a brick +so that he was never the same again. Andy had to run away to +America for it. + +BROADBENT [glowing with indignation]. Who can blame him, Miss +Doyle? Who can blame him? + +LARRY [impatiently]. Oh, rubbish! What's the good of the man +that's starved out of a farm murdering the man that's starved +into it? Would you have done such a thing? + +BROADBENT. Yes. I--I--I--I--[stammering with fury] I should have +shot the confounded landlord, and wrung the neck of the damned +agent, and blown the farm up with dynamite, and Dublin Castle +along with it. + +LARRY. Oh yes: you'd have done great things; and a fat lot of +good you'd have got out of it, too! That's an Englishman all +over! make bad laws and give away all the land, and then, when +your economic incompetence produces its natural and inevitable +results, get virtuously indignant and kill the people that carry +out your laws. + +AUNT JUDY. Sure never mind him, Mr Broadbent. It doesn't matter, +anyhow, because there's harly any landlords left; and ther'll +soon be none at all. + +LARRY. On the contrary, ther'll soon be nothing else; and the +Lord help Ireland then! + +AUNT JUDY. Ah, you're never satisfied, Larry. [To Nora] Come on, +alanna, an make the paste for the pie. We can leave them to their +talk. They don't want us [she takes up the tray and goes into the +house]. + +BROADBENT [rising and gallantly protesting] Oh, Miss Doyle! +Really, really-- + +Nora, following Aunt Judy with the rolled-up cloth in her hands, +looks at him and strikes him dumb. He watches her until she +disappears; then comes to Larry and addresses him with sudden +intensity. + +BROADBENT. Larry. + +LARRY. What is it? + +BROADBENT. I got drunk last night, and proposed to Miss Reilly. + +LARRY. You HWAT??? [He screams with laughter in the falsetto +Irish register unused for that purpose in England]. + +BROADBENT. What are you laughing at? + +LARRY [stopping dead]. I don't know. That's the sort of thing an +Irishman laughs at. Has she accepted you? + +BROADBENT. I shall never forget that with the chivalry of her +nation, though I was utterly at her mercy, she refused me. + +LARRY. That was extremely improvident of her. [Beginning to +reflect] But look here: when were you drunk? You were sober +enough when you came back from the Round Tower with her. + +BROADBENT. No, Larry, I was drunk, I am sorry to say. I had two +tumblers of punch. She had to lead me home. You must have noticed +it. + +LARRY. I did not. + +BROADBENT. She did. + +LARRY. May I ask how long it took you to come to business? You +can hardly have known her for more than a couple of hours. + +BROADBENT. I am afraid it was hardly a couple of minutes. She was +not here when I arrived; and I saw her for the first time at the +tower. + +LARRY. Well, you are a nice infant to be let loose in this +country! Fancy the potcheen going to your head like that! + +BROADBENT. Not to my head, I think. I have no headache; and I +could speak distinctly. No: potcheen goes to the heart, not to +the head. What ought I to do? + +LARRY. Nothing. What need you do? + +BROADBENT. There is rather a delicate moral question involved. +The point is, was I drunk enough not to be morally responsible +for my proposal? Or was I sober enough to be bound to repeat it +now that I am undoubtedly sober? + +LARRY. I should see a little more of her before deciding. + +BROADBENT. No, no. That would not be right. That would not be +fair. I am either under a moral obligation or I am not. I wish I +knew how drunk I was. + +LARRY. Well, you were evidently in a state of blithering +sentimentality, anyhow. + +BROADBENT. That is true, Larry: I admit it. Her voice has a most +extraordinary effect on me. That Irish voice! + +LARRY [sympathetically]. Yes, I know. When I first went to London +I very nearly proposed to walk out with a waitress in an Aerated +Bread shop because her Whitechapel accent was so distinguished, +so quaintly touching, so pretty-- + +BROADBENT [angrily]. Miss Reilly is not a waitress, is she? + +LARRY. Oh, come! The waitress was a very nice girl. + +BROADBENT. You think every Englishwoman an angel. You really have +coarse tastes in that way, Larry. Miss Reilly is one of the finer +types: a type rare in England, except perhaps in the best of the +aristocracy. + +LARRY. Aristocracy be blowed! Do you know what Nora eats? + +BROADBENT. Eats! what do you mean? + +LARRY. Breakfast: tea and bread-and-butter, with an occasional +rasher, and an egg on special occasions: say on her birthday. +Dinner in the middle of the day, one course and nothing else. In +the evening, tea and bread-and-butter again. You compare her with +your Englishwomen who wolf down from three to five meat meals a +day; and naturally you find her a sylph. The difference is not a +difference of type: it's the difference between the woman who +eats not wisely but too well, and the woman who eats not wisely +but too little. + +BROADBENT [furious]. Larry: you--you--you disgust me. You are a +damned fool. [He sits down angrily on the rustic seat, which +sustains the shock with difficulty]. + +LARRY. Steady! stead-eee! [He laughs and seats himself on the +table]. + +Cornelius Doyle, Father Dempsey, Barney Doran, and Matthew +Haffigan come from the house. Doran is a stout bodied, short +armed, roundheaded, red-haired man on the verge of middle age, of +sanguine temperament, with an enormous capacity for derisive, +obscene, blasphemous, or merely cruel and senseless fun, and a +violent and impetuous intolerance of other temperaments and other +opinions, all this representing energy and capacity wasted and +demoralized by want of sufficient training and social pressure to +force it into beneficent activity and build a character with it; +for Barney is by no means either stupid or weak. He is recklessly +untidy as to his person; but the worst effects of his neglect are +mitigated by a powdering of flour and mill dust; and his +unbrushed clothes, made of a fashionable tailor's sackcloth, were +evidently chosen regardless of expense for the sake of their +appearance. + +Matthew Haffigan, ill at ease, coasts the garden shyly on the +shrubbery side until he anchors near the basket, where he feels +least in the way. The priest comes to the table and slaps Larry +on the shoulder. Larry, turning quickly, and recognizing Father +Dempsey, alights from the table and shakes the priest's hand +warmly. Doran comes down the garden between Father Dempsey and +Matt; and Cornelius, on the other side of the table, turns to +Broadbent, who rises genially. + +CORNELIUS. I think we all met las night. + +DORAN. I hadn't that pleasure. + +CORNELIUS. To be sure, Barney: I forgot. [To Broadbent, +introducing Barney] Mr Doran. He owns that fine mill you noticed +from the car. + +BROADBENT [delighted with them all]. Most happy, Mr Doran. Very +pleased indeed. + +Doran, not quite sure whether he is being courted or patronized, +nods independently. + +DORAN. How's yourself, Larry? + +LARRY. Finely, thank you. No need to ask you. [Doran grins; and +they shake hands]. + +CORNELIUS. Give Father Dempsey a chair, Larry. + +Matthew Haffigan runs to the nearest end of the table and takes +the chair from it, placing it near the basket; but Larry has +already taken the chair from the other end and placed it in front +of the table. Father Dempsey accepts that more central position. + +CORNELIUS. Sit down, Barney, will you; and you, Mat. + +Doran takes the chair Mat is still offering to the priest; and +poor Matthew, outfaced by the miller, humbly turns the basket +upside down and sits on it. Cornelius brings his own breakfast +chair from the table and sits down on Father Dempsey's right. +Broadbent resumes his seat on the rustic bench. Larry crosses to +the bench and is about to sit down beside him when Broadbent +holds him off nervously. + +BROADBENT. Do you think it will bear two, Larry? + +LARRY. Perhaps not. Don't move. I'll stand. [He posts himself +behind the bench]. + +They are all now seated, except Larry; and the session assumes a +portentous air, as if something important were coming. + +CORNELIUS. Props you'll explain, Father Dempsey. + +FATHER DEMPSEY. No, no: go on, you: the Church has no politics. + +CORNELIUS. Were yever thinkin o goin into parliament at all, +Larry? + +LARRY. Me! + +FATHER DEMPSEY [encouragingly] Yes, you. Hwy not? + +LARRY. I'm afraid my ideas would not be popular enough. + +CORNELIUS. I don't know that. Do you, Barney? + +DORAN. There's too much blatherumskite in Irish politics a dale +too much. + +LARRY. But what about your present member? Is he going to retire? + +CORNELIUS. No: I don't know that he is. + +LARRY [interrogatively]. Well? then? + +MATTHEW [breaking out with surly bitterness]. We've had enough of +his foolish talk agen lanlords. Hwat call has he to talk about +the lan, that never was outside of a city office in his life? + +CORNELIUS. We're tired of him. He doesn't know hwere to stop. +Every man can't own land; and some men must own it to employ +them. It was all very well when solid men like Doran and me and +Mat were kep from ownin land. But hwat man in his senses ever +wanted to give land to Patsy Farrll an dhe like o him? + +BROADBENT. But surely Irish landlordism was accountable for what +Mr Haffigan suffered. + +MATTHEW. Never mind hwat I suffered. I know what I suffered +adhout you tellin me. But did I ever ask for more dhan the farm I +made wid me own hans: tell me that, Corny Doyle, and you that +knows. Was I fit for the responsibility or was I not? [Snarling +angrily at Cornelius] Am I to be compared to Patsy Farrll, that +doesn't harly know his right hand from his left? What did he ever +suffer, I'd like to know? + +CORNELIUS. That's just what I say. I wasn't comparin you to your +disadvantage. + +MATTHEW [implacable]. Then hwat did you mane be talkin about +givin him lan? + +DORAN. Aisy, Mat, aisy. You're like a bear with a sore back. + +MATTHEW [trembling with rage]. An who are you, to offer to taitch +me manners? + +FATHER DEMPSEY [admonitorily]. Now, now, now, Mat none o dhat. +How often have I told you you're too ready to take offence where +none is meant? You don't understand: Corny Doyle is saying just +what you want to have said. [To Cornelius] Go on, Mr Doyle; and +never mind him. + +MATTHEW [rising]. Well, if me lan is to be given to Patsy and his +like, I'm goin oura dhis. I-- + +DORAN [with violent impatience] Arra who's goin to give your lan +to Patsy, yowl fool ye? + +FATHER DEMPSEY. Aisy, Barney, aisy. [Sternly, to Mat] I told you, +Matthew Haffigan, that Corny Doyle was sayin nothin against you. +I'm sorry your priest's word is not good enough for you. I'll go, +sooner than stay to make you commit a sin against the Church. +Good morning, gentlemen. [He rises. They all rise, except +Broadbent]. + +DORAN [to Mat]. There! Sarve you dam well right, you cantankerous +oul noodle. + +MATTHEW [appalled]. Don't say dhat, Fadher Dempsey. I never had a +thought agen you or the Holy Church. I know I'm a bit hasty when +I think about the lan. I ax your pardn for it. + +FATHER DEMPSEY [resuming his seat with dignified reserve]. Very +well: I'll overlook it this time. [He sits down. The others sit +down, except Matthew. Father Dempsey, about to ask Corny to +proceed, remembers Matthew and turns to him, giving him just a +crumb of graciousness]. Sit down, Mat. [Matthew, crushed, sits +down in disgrace, and is silent, his eyes shifting piteously from +one speaker to another in an intensely mistrustful effort to +understand them]. Go on, Mr Doyle. We can make allowances. Go on. + +CORNELIUS. Well, you see how it is, Larry. Round about here, +we've got the land at last; and we want no more Goverment +meddlin. We want a new class o man in parliament: one dhat knows +dhat the farmer's the real backbone o the country, n doesn't care +a snap of his fingers for the shoutn o the riff-raff in the +towns, or for the foolishness of the laborers. + +DORAN. Aye; an dhat can afford to live in London and pay his own +way until Home Rule comes, instead o wantin subscriptions and the +like. + +FATHER DEMPSEY. Yes: that's a good point, Barney. When too much +money goes to politics, it's the Church that has to starve for +it. A member of parliament ought to be a help to the Church +instead of a burden on it. + +LARRY. Here's a chance for you, Tom. What do you say? + +BROADBENT [deprecatory, but important and smiling]. Oh, I have no +claim whatever to the seat. Besides, I'm a Saxon. + +DORAN. A hwat? + +BROADBENT. A Saxon. An Englishman. + +DORAN. An Englishman. Bedad I never heard it called dhat before. + +MATTHEW [cunningly]. If I might make so bould, Fadher, I wouldn't +say but an English Prodestn mightn't have a more indepindent mind +about the lan, an be less afeerd to spake out about it, dhan an +Irish Catholic. + +CORNELIUS. But sure Larry's as good as English: aren't you, +Larry? + +LARRY. You may put me out of your head, father, once for all. + +CORNELIUS. Arra why? + +LARRY. I have strong opinions which wouldn't suit you. + +DORAN [rallying him blatantly]. Is it still Larry the bould +Fenian? + +LARRY. No: the bold Fenian is now an older and possibly foolisher +man. + +CORNELIUS. Hwat does it matter to us hwat your opinions are? You +know that your father's bought his farm, just the same as Mat +here n Barney's mill. All we ask now is to be let alone. You've +nothin against that, have you? + +LARRY. Certainly I have. I don't believe in letting anybody or +anything alone. + +CORNELIUS [losing his temper]. Arra what d'ye mean, you young +fool? Here I've got you the offer of a good seat in parliament; n +you think yourself mighty smart to stand there and talk +foolishness to me. Will you take it or leave it? + +LARRY. Very well: I'll take it with pleasure if you'll give it to +me. + +CORNELIUS [subsiding sulkily]. Well, why couldn't you say so at +once? It's a good job you've made up your mind at last. + +DORAN [suspiciously]. Stop a bit, stop a bit. + +MATTHEW [writhing between his dissatisfaction and his fear of the +priest]. It's not because he's your son that he's to get the +sate. Fadher Dempsey: wouldn't you think well to ask him what he +manes about the lan? + +LARRY [coming down on Mat promptly]. I'll tell you, Mat. I always +thought it was a stupid, lazy, good-for-nothing sort of thing to +leave the land in the hands of the old landlords without calling +them to a strict account for the use they made of it, and the +condition of the people on it. I could see for myself that they +thought of nothing but what they could get out of it to spend in +England; and that they mortgaged and mortgaged until hardly one +of them owned his own property or could have afforded to keep it +up decently if he'd wanted to. But I tell you plump and plain, +Mat, that if anybody thinks things will be any better now that +the land is handed over to a lot of little men like you, without +calling you to account either, they're mistaken. + +MATTHEW [sullenly]. What call have you to look down on me? I +suppose you think you're everybody because your father was a land +agent. + +LARRY. What call have you to look down on Patsy Farrell? I +suppose you think you're everybody because you own a few fields. + +MATTHEW. Was Patsy Farrll ever ill used as I was ill used? tell +me dhat. + +LARRY. He will be, if ever he gets into your power as you were in +the power of your old landlord. Do you think, because you're poor +and ignorant and half-crazy with toiling and moiling morning noon +and night, that you'll be any less greedy and oppressive to them +that have no land at all than old Nick Lestrange, who was an +educated travelled gentleman that would not have been tempted as +hard by a hundred pounds as you'd be by five shillings? Nick was +too high above Patsy Farrell to be jealous of him; but you, that +are only one little step above him, would die sooner than let him +come up that step; and well you know it. + +MATTHEW [black with rage, in a low growl]. Lemme oura this. [He +tries to rise; but Doran catches his coat and drags him down +again] I'm goin, I say. [Raising his voice] Leggo me coat, Barney +Doran. + +DORAN. Sit down, yowl omadhaun, you. [Whispering] Don't you want +to stay an vote against him? + +FATHER DEMPSEY [holding up his finger] Mat! [Mat subsides]. Now, +now, now! come, come! Hwats all dhis about Patsy Farrll? Hwy need +you fall out about HIM? + +LARRY. Because it was by using Patsy's poverty to undersell +England in the markets of the world that we drove England to ruin +Ireland. And she'll ruin us again the moment we lift our heads +from the dust if we trade in cheap labor; and serve us right too! +If I get into parliament, I'll try to get an Act to prevent any +of you from giving Patsy less than a pound a week [they all +start, hardly able to believe their ears] or working him harder +than you'd work a horse that cost you fifty guineas. + +DORAN. Hwat!!! + +CORNELIUS [aghast]. A pound a--God save us! the boy's mad. + +Matthew, feeling that here is something quite beyond his powers, +turns openmouthed to the priest, as if looking for nothing less +than the summary excommunication of Larry. + +LARRY. How is the man to marry and live a decent life on less? + +FATHER DEMPSEY. Man alive, hwere have you been living all these +years? and hwat have you been dreaming of? Why, some o dhese +honest men here can't make that much out o the land for +themselves, much less give it to a laborer. + +LARRY [now thoroughly roused]. Then let them make room for those +who can. Is Ireland never to have a chance? First she was given +to the rich; and now that they have gorged on her flesh, her +bones are to be flung to the poor, that can do nothing but suck +the marrow out of her. If we can't have men of honor own the +land, lets have men of ability. If we can't have men with +ability, let us at least have men with capital. Anybody's better +than Mat, who has neither honor, nor ability, nor capital, nor +anything but mere brute labor and greed in him, Heaven help him! + +DORAN. Well, we're not all foostherin oul doddherers like Mat. +[Pleasantly, to the subject of this description] Are we, Mat? + +LARRY. For modern industrial purposes you might just as well be, +Barney. You're all children: the big world that I belong to has +gone past you and left you. Anyhow, we Irishmen were never made +to be farmers; and we'll never do any good at it. We're like the +Jews: the Almighty gave us brains, and bid us farm them, and +leave the clay and the worms alone. + +FATHER DEMPSEY [with gentle irony]. Oh! is it Jews you want to +make of us? I must catechize you a bit meself, I think. The next +thing you'll be proposing is to repeal the disestablishment of +the so-called Irish Church. + +LARRY. Yes: why not? [Sensation]. + +MATTHEW [rancorously]. He's a turncoat. + +LARRY. St Peter, the rock on which our Church was built, was +crucified head downwards for being a turncoat. + +FATHER DEMPSEY [with a quiet authoritative dignity which checks +Doran, who is on the point of breaking out]. That's true. You +hold your tongue as befits your ignorance, Matthew Haffigan; and +trust your priest to deal with this young man. Now, Larry Doyle, +whatever the blessed St Peter was crucified for, it was not for +being a Prodestan. Are you one? + +LARRY. No. I am a Catholic intelligent enough to see that the +Protestants are never more dangerous to us than when they are +free from all alliances with the State. The so-called Irish +Church is stronger today than ever it was. + +MATTHEW. Fadher Dempsey: will you tell him dhat me mother's ant +was shot and kilt dead in the sthreet o Rosscullen be a soljer in +the tithe war? [Frantically] He wants to put the tithes on us +again. He-- + +LARRY [interrupting him with overbearing contempt]. Put the +tithes on you again! Did the tithes ever come off you? Was your +land any dearer when you paid the tithe to the parson than it was +when you paid the same money to Nick Lestrange as rent, and he +handed it over to the Church Sustentation Fund? Will you always +be duped by Acts of Parliament that change nothing but the +necktie of the man that picks your pocket? I'll tell you what I'd +do with you, Mat Haffigan: I'd make you pay tithes to your own +Church. I want the Catholic Church established in Ireland: that's +what I want. Do you think that I, brought up to regard myself as +the son of a great and holy Church, can bear to see her begging +her bread from the ignorance and superstition of men like you? I +would have her as high above worldly want as I would have her +above worldly pride or ambition. Aye; and I would have Ireland +compete with Rome itself for the chair of St Peter and the +citadel of the Church; for Rome, in spite of all the blood of the +martyrs, is pagan at heart to this day, while in Ireland the +people is the Church and the Church the people. + +FATHER DEMPSEY [startled, but not at all displeased]. Whisht, +man! You're worse than mad Pether Keegan himself. + +BROADBENT [who has listened in the greatest astonishment]. You +amaze me, Larry. Who would have thought of your coming out like +this! [Solemnly] But much as I appreciate your really brilliant +eloquence, I implore you not to desert the great Liberal +principle of Disestablishment. + +LARRY. I am not a Liberal: Heaven forbid! A disestablished Church +is the worst tyranny a nation can groan under. + +BROADBENT [making a wry face]. DON'T be paradoxical, Larry. It +really gives me a pain in my stomach. + +LARRY. You'll soon find out the truth of it here. Look at Father +Dempsey! he is disestablished: he has nothing to hope or fear +from the State; and the result is that he's the most powerful man +in Rosscullen. The member for Rosscullen would shake in his shoes +if Father Dempsey looked crooked at him. [Father Dempsey smiles, +by no means averse to this acknowledgment of his authority]. Look +at yourself! you would defy the established Archbishop of +Canterbury ten times a day; but catch you daring to say a word +that would shock a Nonconformist! not you. The Conservative party +today is the only one that's not priestridden--excuse the +expression, Father [Father Dempsey nods tolerantly]--cause it's +the only one that has established its Church and can prevent a +clergyman becoming a bishop if he's not a Statesman as well as a +Churchman. + +He stops. They stare at him dumbfounded, and leave it to the +priest to answer him. + +FATHER DEMPSEY [judicially]. Young man: you'll not be the member +for Rosscullen; but there's more in your head than the comb will +take out. + +LARRY. I'm sorry to disappoint you, father; but I told you it +would be no use. And now I think the candidate had better retire +and leave you to discuss his successor. [He takes a newspaper +from the table and goes away through the shrubbery amid dead +silence, all turning to watch him until he passes out of sight +round the corner of the house]. + +DORAN [dazed]. Hwat sort of a fella is he at all at all? + +FATHER DEMPSEY. He's a clever lad: there's the making of a man in +him yet. + +MATTHEW [in consternation]. D'ye mane to say dhat yll put him +into parliament to bring back Nick Lesthrange on me, and to put +tithes on me, and to rob me for the like o Patsy Farrll, because +he's Corny Doyle's only son? + +DORAN [brutally]. Arra hould your whisht: who's goin to send him +into parliament? Maybe you'd like us to send you dhere to thrate +them to a little o your anxiety about dhat dirty little podato +patch o yours. + +MATTHEW [plaintively]. Am I to be towld dhis afther all me +sufferins? + +DORAN. Och, I'm tired o your sufferins. We've been hearin nothin +else ever since we was childher but sufferins. Haven it wasn't +yours it was somebody else's; and haven it was nobody else's it +was ould Irelan's. How the divil are we to live on wan anodher's +sufferins? + +FATHER DEMPSEY. That's a thrue word, Barney Doarn; only your +tongue's a little too familiar wi dhe devil. [To Mat] If you'd +think a little more o the sufferins of the blessed saints, Mat, +an a little less o your own, you'd find the way shorter from your +farm to heaven. [Mat is about to reply] Dhere now! Dhat's enough! +we know you mean well; an I'm not angry with you. + +BROADBENT. Surely, Mr Haffigan, you can see the simple +explanation of all this. My friend Larry Doyle is a most +brilliant speaker; but he's a Tory: an ingrained oldfashioned +Tory. + +CORNELIUS. N how d'ye make dhat out, if I might ask you, Mr +Broadbent? + +BROADBENT [collecting himself for a political deliverance]. Well, +you know, Mr Doyle, there's a strong dash of Toryism in the Irish +character. Larry himself says that the great Duke of Wellington +was the most typical Irishman that ever lived. Of course that's +an absurd paradox; but still there's a great deal of truth in it. +Now I am a Liberal. You know the great principles of the Liberal +party. Peace-- + +FATHER DEMPSEY [piously]. Hear! hear! + +BROADBENT [encouraged]. Thank you. Retrenchment--[he waits for +further applause]. + +MATTHEW [timidly]. What might rethrenchment mane now? + +BROADBENT. It means an immense reduction in the burden of the +rates and taxes. + +MATTHEW [respectfully approving]. Dhats right. Dhats right, sir. + +BROADBENT [perfunctorily]. And, of course, Reform. + +CORNELIUS } +FATHER DEMPSEY} [conventionally]. Of course. +DORAN } + +MATTHEW [still suspicious]. Hwat does Reform mane, sir? Does it +mane altherin annythin dhats as it is now? + +BROADBENT [impressively]. It means, Mr Haffigan, maintaining +those reforms which have already been conferred on humanity by +the Liberal Party, and trusting for future developments to the +free activity of a free people on the basis of those reforms. + +DORAN. Dhat's right. No more meddlin. We're all right now: all we +want is to be let alone. + +CORNELIUS. Hwat about Home Rule? + +BROADBENT [rising so as to address them more imposingly]. I +really cannot tell you what I feel about Home Rule without using +the language of hyperbole. + +DORAN. Savin Fadher Dempsey's presence, eh? + +BROADBENT [not understanding him] Quite so--er--oh yes. All I can +say is that as an Englishman I blush for the Union. It is the +blackest stain on our national history. I look forward to the +time-and it cannot be far distant, gentlemen, because Humanity is +looking forward to it too, and insisting on it with no uncertain +voice--I look forward to the time when an Irish legislature shall +arise once more on the emerald pasture of College Green, and the +Union Jack--that detestable symbol of a decadent Imperialism--be +replaced by a flag as green as the island over which it waves--a +flag on which we shall ask for England only a modest quartering +in memory of our great party and of the immortal name of our +grand old leader. + +DORAN [enthusiastically]. Dhat's the style, begob! [He smites his +knee, and winks at Mat]. + +MATTHEW. More power to you, Sir! + +BROADBENT. I shall leave you now, gentlemen, to your +deliberations. I should like to have enlarged on the services +rendered by the Liberal Party to the religious faith of the great +majority of the people of Ireland; but I shall content myself +with saying that in my opinion you should choose no +representative +who--no matter what his personal creed may be--is not an ardent +supporter of freedom of conscience, and is not prepared to prove +it by contributions, as lavish as his means will allow, to the +great and beneficent work which you, Father Dempsey [Father +Dempsey bows], are doing for the people of Rosscullen. Nor should +the lighter, but still most important question of the sports of +the people be forgotten. The local cricket club-- + +CORNELIUS. The hwat! + +DORAN. Nobody plays bats ball here, if dhat's what you mean. + +BROADBENT. Well, let us say quoits. I saw two men, I think, last +night--but after all, these are questions of detail. The main +thing is that your candidate, whoever he may be, shall be a man +of some means, able to help the locality instead of burdening it. +And if he were a countryman of my own, the moral effect on the +House of Commons would be immense! tremendous! Pardon my saying +these few words: nobody feels their impertinence more than I do. +Good morning, gentlemen. + +He turns impressively to the gate, and trots away, congratulating +himself,, with a little twist of his head and cock of his eye, on +having done a good stroke of political business. + +HAFFIGAN [awestruck]. Good morning, sir. + +THE REST. Good morning. [They watch him vacantly until he is out +of earshot]. + +CORNELIUS. Hwat d'ye think, Father Dempsey? + +FATHER DEMPSEY [indulgently] Well, he hasn't much sense, God help +him; but for the matter o that, neither has our present member. + +DORAN. Arra musha he's good enough for parliament what is there +to do there but gas a bit, an chivy the Goverment, an vote wi dh +Irish party? + +CORNELIUS [ruminatively]. He's the queerest Englishman I ever +met. When he opened the paper dhis mornin the first thing he saw +was that an English expedition had been bet in a battle in Inja +somewhere; an he was as pleased as Punch! Larry told him that if +he'd been alive when the news o Waterloo came, he'd a died o +grief over it. Bedad I don't think he's quite right in his head. + +DORAN. Divil a matther if he has plenty o money. He'll do for us +right enough. + +MATTHEW [deeply impressed by Broadbent, and unable to understand +their levity concerning him]. Did you mind what he said about +rethrenchment? That was very good, I thought. + +FATHER DEMPSEY. You might find out from Larry, Corny, what his +means are. God forgive us all! it's poor work spoiling the +Egyptians, though we have good warrant for it; so I'd like to +know how much spoil there is before I commit meself. [He rises. +They all rise respectfully]. + +CORNELIUS [ruefully]. I'd set me mind on Larry himself for the +seat; but I suppose it can't be helped. + +FATHER DEMPSEY [consoling him]. Well, the boy's young yet; an he +has a head on him. Goodbye, all. [He goes out through the gate]. + +DORAN. I must be goin, too. [He directs Cornelius's attention to +what is passing in the road]. Look at me bould Englishman shakin +hans wid Fadher Dempsey for all the world like a candidate on +election day. And look at Fadher Dempsey givin him a squeeze an a +wink as much as to say It's all right, me boy. You watch him +shakin hans with me too: he's waitn for me. I'll tell him he's as +good as elected. [He goes, chuckling mischievously]. + +CORNELIUS. Come in with me, Mat. I think I'll sell you the pig +after all. Come in an wet the bargain. + +MATTHEW [instantly dropping into the old whine of the tenant]. +I'm afeerd I can't afford the price, sir. [He follows Cornelius +into the house]. + +Larry, newspaper still in hand, comes back through the shrubbery. +Broadbent returns through the gate. + +LARRY. Well? What has happened. + +BROADBENT [hugely self-satisfied]. I think I've done the trick +this time. I just gave them a bit of straight talk; and it went +home. They were greatly impressed: everyone of those men believes +in me and will vote for me when the question of selecting a +candidate comes up. After all, whatever you say, Larry, they like +an Englishman. They feel they can trust him, I suppose. + +LARRY. Oh ! they've transferred the honor to you, have they? + +BROADBENT [complacently]. Well, it was a pretty obvious move, I +should think. You know, these fellows have plenty of shrewdness +in spite of their Irish oddity. [Hodson comes from the house. +Larry sits in Doran's chair and reads]. Oh, by the way, Hodson-- + +HODSON [coming between Broadbent and Larry]. Yes, sir? + +BROADBENT. I want you to be rather particular as to how you treat +the people here. + +HODSON. I haven't treated any of em yet, sir. If I was to accept +all the treats they offer me I shouldn't be able to stand at this +present moment, sir. + +BROADBENT. Oh well, don't be too stand-offish, you know, Hodson. +I should like you to be popular. If it costs anything I'll make +it up to you. It doesn't matter if you get a bit upset at first: +they'll like you all the better for it. + +HODSON. I'm sure you're very kind, sir; but it don't seem to +matter to me whether they like me or not. I'm not going to stand +for parliament here, sir. + +BROADBENT. Well, I am. Now do you understand? + +HODSON [waking up at once]. Oh, I beg your pardon, sir, I'm sure. +I understand, sir. + +CORNELIUS [appearing at the house door with Mat]. Patsy'll drive +the pig over this evenin, Mat. Goodbye. [He goes back into the +house. Mat makes for the gate. Broadbent stops him. Hodson, +pained by the derelict basket, picks it up and carries it away +behind the house]. + +BROADBENT [beaming candidatorially]. I must thank you very +particularly, Mr Haffigan, for your support this morning. I value +it because I know that the real heart of a nation is the class +you represent, the yeomanry. + +MATTHEW [aghast] The yeomanry!!! + +LARRY [looking up from his paper]. Take care, Tom! In Rosscullen +a yeoman means a sort of Orange Bashi-Bazouk. In England, Mat, +they call a freehold farmer a yeoman. + +MATTHEW [huffily]. I don't need to be insthructed be you, Larry +Doyle. Some people think no one knows anythin but dhemselves. [To +Broadbent, deferentially] Of course I know a gentleman like you +would not compare me to the yeomanry. Me own granfather was +flogged in the sthreets of Athenmullet be them when they put a +gun in the thatch of his house an then went and found it there, +bad cess to them! + +BROADBENT [with sympathetic interest]. Then you are not the first +martyr of your family, Mr Haffigan? + +MATTHEW. They turned me out o the farm I made out of the stones o +Little Rosscullen hill wid me own hans. + +BROADBENT. I have heard about it; and my blood still boils at the +thought. [Calling] Hodson-- + +HODSON [behind the corner of the house] Yes, sir. [He hurries +forward]. + +BROADBENT. Hodson: this gentleman's sufferings should make every +Englishman think. It is want of thought rather than want of heart +that allows such iniquities to disgrace society. + +HODSON [prosaically]. Yes sir. + +MATTHEW. Well, I'll be goin. Good mornin to you kindly, sir. + +BROADBENT. You have some distance to go, Mr Haffigan: will you +allow me to drive you home? + +MATTHEW. Oh sure it'd be throublin your honor. + +BROADBENT. I insist: it will give me the greatest pleasure, I +assure you. My car is in the stable: I can get it round in five +minutes. + +MATTHEW. Well, sir, if you wouldn't mind, we could bring the pig +I've just bought from Corny. + +BROADBENT [with enthusiasm]. Certainly, Mr Haffigan: it will be +quite delightful to drive with a pig in the car: I shall feel +quite like an Irishman. Hodson: stay with Mr Haffigan; and give +him a hand with the pig if necessary. Come, Larry; and help me. +[He rushes away through the shrubbery]. + +LARRY [throwing the paper ill-humoredly on the chair]. Look here, +Tom! here, I say! confound it! [he runs after him]. + +MATTHEW [glowering disdainfully at Hodson, and sitting down on +Cornelius's chair as an act of social self-assertion] N are you +the valley? + +HODSON. The valley? Oh, I follow you: yes: I'm Mr Broadbent's +valet. + +MATTHEW. Ye have an aisy time of it: you look purty sleek. [With +suppressed ferocity] Look at me! Do I look sleek? + +HODSON [sadly]. I wish I ad your ealth: you look as hard as +nails. I suffer from an excess of uric acid. + +MATTHEW. Musha what sort o disease is zhouragassid? Didjever +suffer from injustice and starvation? Dhat's the Irish disease. +It's aisy for you to talk o sufferin, an you livin on the fat o +the land wid money wrung from us. + +HODSON [Coolly]. Wots wrong with you, old chap? Has ennybody been +doin ennything to you? + +MATTHEW. Anythin timme! Didn't your English masther say that the +blood biled in him to hear the way they put a rint on me for the +farm I made wid me own hans, and turned me out of it to give it +to Billy Byrne? + +HODSON. Ow, Tom Broadbent's blood boils pretty easy over +ennything that appens out of his own country. Don't you be taken +in by my ole man, Paddy. + +MATTHEW [indignantly]. Paddy yourself! How dar you call me Paddy? + +HODSON [unmoved]. You just keep your hair on and listen to me. +You Irish people are too well off: that's what's the matter with +you. [With sudden passion] You talk of your rotten little farm +because you made it by chuckin a few stownes dahn a hill! Well, +wot price my grenfawther, I should like to know, that fitted up a +fuss clawss shop and built up a fuss clawss drapery business in +London by sixty years work, and then was chucked aht of it on is +ed at the end of is lease withaht a penny for his goodwill. You +talk of evictions! you that cawn't be moved until you've +run up eighteen months rent. I once ran up four weeks in Lambeth +when I was aht of a job in winter. They took the door off its +inges and the winder aht of its sashes on me, and gave my wife +pnoomownia. I'm a widower now. [Between his teeth] Gawd! when I +think of the things we Englishmen av to put up with, and hear you +Irish hahlin abaht your silly little grievances, and see the way +you makes it worse for us by the rotten wages you'll come over +and take and the rotten places you'll sleep in, I jast feel that +I could take the oul bloomin British awland and make you a +present of it, jast to let you find out wot real ardship's like. + +MATTHEW [starting up, more in scandalized incredulity than in +anger]. D'ye have the face to set up England agen Ireland for +injustices an wrongs an disthress an sufferin? + +HODSON [with intense disgust and contempt, but with Cockney +coolness]. Ow, chuck it, Paddy. Cheese it. You danno wot ardship +is over ere: all you know is ah to ahl abaht it. You take the +biscuit at that, you do. I'm a Owm Ruler, I am. Do you know why? + +MATTHEW [equally contemptuous]. D'ye know, yourself? + +HODSON. Yes I do. It's because I want a little attention paid to +my own country; and thet'll never be as long as your chaps are +ollerin at Wesminister as if nowbody mettered but your own +bloomin selves. Send em back to hell or C'naught, as good oul +English Cromwell said. I'm jast sick of Ireland. Let it gow. Cut +the cable. Make it a present to Germany to keep the oul Kyzer +busy for a while; and give poor owld England a chawnce: thets wot +I say. + +MATTHEW [full of scorn for a man so ignorant as to be unable to +pronounce the word Connaught, which practically rhymes with +bonnet in Ireland, though in Hodson's dialect it rhymes with +untaught]. Take care we don't cut the cable ourselves some day, +bad scran to you! An tell me dhis: have yanny Coercion Acs in +England? Have yanny removables? Have you Dublin Castle to +suppress every newspaper dhat takes the part o your own counthry? + +HODSON. We can beyave ahrselves withaht sich things. + +MATTHEW. Bedad you're right. It'd only be waste o time to muzzle +a sheep. Here! where's me pig? God forgimme for talkin to a poor +ignorant craycher like you. + +HODSON [grinning with good-humored malice, too convinced of his +own superiority to feel his withers wrung]. Your pig'll ave a +rare doin in that car, Paddy. Forty miles an ahr dahn that rocky +lane will strike it pretty pink, you bet. + +MATTHEW [scornfully]. Hwy can't you tell a raisonable lie when +you're about it? What horse can go forty mile an hour? + +HODSON. Orse! Wy, you silly oul rotten it's not a orse it's a +mowtor. Do you suppose Tom Broadbent would gow off himself to +arness a orse? + +MATTHEW [in consternation]. Holy Moses! Don't tell me it's the +ingine he wants to take me on. + +HODSON. Wot else? + +MATTHEW. Your sowl to Morris Kelly! why didn't you tell me that +before? The divil an ingine he'll get me on this day. [His ear +catches an approaching teuf-teuf] Oh murdher! it's comin afther +me: I hear the puff puff of it. [He runs away through the gate, +much to Hodson's amusement. The noise of the motor ceases; and +Hodson, anticipating Broadbent's return, throws off the +politician and recomposes himself as a valet. Broadbent and Larry +come through the shrubbery. Hodson moves aside to the gate]. + +BROADBENT. Where is Mr Haffigan? Has he gone for the pig? + +HODSON. Bolted, sir! Afraid of the motor, sir. + +BROADBENT [much disappointed]. Oh, that's very tiresome. Did he +leave any message? + +HODSON. He was in too great a hurry, sir. Started to run home, +sir, and left his pig behind him. + +BROADBENT [eagerly]. Left the pig! Then it's all right. The pig's +the thing: the pig will win over every Irish heart to me. We'll +take the pig home to Haffigan's farm in the motor: it will have a +tremendous effect. Hodson! + +HODSON. Yes sir? + +BROADBENT. Do you think you could collect a crowd to see the +motor? + +HODSON. Well, I'll try, sir. + +BROADBENT. Thank you, Hodson: do. + +Hodson goes out through the gate. + +LARRY [desperately]. Once more, Tom, will you listen to me? + +BROADBENT. Rubbish! I tell you it will be all right. + +LARRY. Only this morning you confessed how surprised you were to +find that the people here showed no sense of humor. + +BROADBENT [suddenly very solemn]. Yes: their sense of humor is in +abeyance: I noticed it the moment we landed. Think of that in a +country where every man is a born humorist! Think of what it +means! [Impressively] Larry we are in the presence of a great +national grief. + +LARRY. What's to grieve them? + +BROADBENT. I divined it, Larry: I saw it in their faces. Ireland +has never smiled since her hopes were buried in the grave of +Gladstone. + +LARRY. Oh, what's the use of talking to such a man? Now look +here, Tom. Be serious for a moment if you can. + +BROADBENT [stupent] Serious! I!!! + +LARRY. Yes, you. You say the Irish sense of humor is in abeyance. +Well, if you drive through Rosscullen in a motor car with +Haffigan's pig, it won't stay in abeyance. Now I warn you. + +BROADBENT [breezily]. Why, so much the better! I shall enjoy the +joke myself more than any of them. [Shouting] Hallo, Patsy +Farrell, where are you? + +PATSY [appearing in the shrubbery]. Here I am, your honor. + +BROADBENT. Go and catch the pig and put it into the car--we're +going to take it to Mr Haffigan's. [He gives Larry a slap on the +shoulders that sends him staggering off through the gate, and +follows him buoyantly, exclaiming] Come on, you old croaker! I'll +show you how to win an Irish seat. + +PATSY [meditatively]. Bedad, if dhat pig gets a howlt o the +handle o the machine-- [He shakes his head ominously and drifts +away to the pigsty]. + + + +ACT IV + +The parlor in Cornelius Doyle's house. It communicates with the +garden by a half glazed door. The fireplace is at the other side +of the room, opposite the door and windows, the architect not +having been sensitive to draughts. The table, rescued from the +garden, is in the middle; and at it sits Keegan, the central +figure in a rather crowded apartment. + +Nora, sitting with her back to the fire at the end of the table, +is playing backgammon across its corner with him, on his left +hand. Aunt Judy, a little further back, sits facing the fire +knitting, with her feet on the fender. A little to Keegan's +right, in front of the table, and almost sitting on it, is Barney +Doran. Half a dozen friends of his, all men, are between him and +the open door, supported by others outside. In the corner behind +them is the sofa, of mahogany and horsehair, made up as a bed for +Broadbent. Against the wall behind Keegan stands a mahogany +sideboard. A door leading to the interior of the house is near +the fireplace, behind Aunt Judy. There are chairs against the +wall, one at each end of the sideboard. Keegan's hat is on the +one nearest the inner door; and his stick is leaning against it. +A third chair, also against the wall, is near the garden door. + +There is a strong contrast of emotional atmosphere between the +two sides of the room. Keegan is extraordinarily stern: no game +of backgammon could possibly make a man's face so grim. Aunt Judy +is quietly busy. Nora it trying to ignore Doran and attend to her +game. + +On the other hand Doran is reeling in an ecstasy of mischievous +mirth which has infected all his friends. They are screaming with +laughter, doubled up, leaning on the furniture and against the +walls, shouting, screeching, crying. + +AUNT JUDY [as the noise lulls for a moment]. Arra hold your +noise, Barney. What is there to laugh at? + +DORAN. It got its fut into the little hweel--[he is overcome +afresh; and the rest collapse again]. + +AUNT JUDY. Ah, have some sense: you're like a parcel o childher. +Nora, hit him a thump on the back: he'll have a fit. + +DORAN [with squeezed eyes, exsuflicate with cachinnation] Frens, +he sez to dhem outside Doolan's: I'm takin the gintleman that +pays the rint for a dhrive. + +AUNT JUDY. Who did he mean be that? + +DORAN. They call a pig that in England. That's their notion of a +joke. + +AUNT JUDY. Musha God help them if they can joke no better than +that! + +DORAN [with renewed symptoms]. Thin-- + +AUNT JUDY. Ah now don't be tellin it all over and settin yourself +off again, Barney. + +NORA. You've told us three times, Mr Doran. + +DORAN. Well but whin I think of it--! + +AUNT JUDY. Then don't think of it, alanna. + +DORAN. There was Patsy Farrll in the back sate wi dhe pig between +his knees, n me bould English boyoh in front at the machinery, n +Larry Doyle in the road startin the injine wid a bed winch. At +the first puff of it the pig lep out of its skin and bled Patsy's +nose wi dhe ring in its snout. [Roars of laughter: Keegan glares +at them]. Before Broadbint knew hwere he was, the pig was up his +back and over into his lap; and bedad the poor baste did credit +to Corny's thrainin of it; for it put in the fourth speed wid its +right crubeen as if it was enthered for the Gordn Bennett. + +NORA [reproachfully]. And Larry in front of it and all! It's +nothn to laugh at, Mr Doran. + +DORAN. Bedad, Miss Reilly, Larry cleared six yards backwards at +wan jump if he cleared an inch; and he'd a cleared seven if +Doolan's granmother hadn't cotch him in her apern widhout +intindin to. [Immense merriment]. + +AUNT JUDY, Ah, for shame, Barney! the poor old woman! An she was +hurt before, too, when she slipped on the stairs. + +DORAN. Bedad, ma'am, she's hurt behind now; for Larry bouled her +over like a skittle. [General delight at this typical stroke of +Irish Rabelaisianism]. + +NORA. It's well the lad wasn't killed. + +DORAN. Faith it wasn't o Larry we were thinkin jus dhen, wi dhe +pig takin the main sthreet o Rosscullen on market day at a mile a +minnit. Dh ony thing Broadbint could get at wi dhe pig in front +of him was a fut brake; n the pig's tail was undher dhat; so that +whin he thought he was putn non the brake he was ony squeezin the +life out o the pig's tail. The more he put the brake on the more +the pig squealed n the fasther he dhruv. + +AUNT JUDY. Why couldn't he throw the pig out into the road? + +DORAN. Sure he couldn't stand up to it, because he was +spanchelled-like between his seat and dhat thing like a wheel on +top of a stick between his knees. + +AUNT JUDY. Lord have mercy on us! + +NORA. I don't know how you can laugh. Do you, Mr Keegan? + +KEEGAN [grimly]. Why not? There is danger, destruction, torment! +What more do we want to make us merry? Go on, Barney: the last +drops of joy are not squeezed from the story yet. Tell us again +how our brother was torn asunder. + +DORAN [puzzled]. Whose bruddher? + +KEEGAN. Mine. + +NORA. He means the pig, Mr Doran. You know his way. + +DORAN [rising gallantly to the occasion]. Bedad I'm sorry for +your poor bruddher, Misther Keegan; but I recommend you to thry +him wid a couple o fried eggs for your breakfast tomorrow. It was +a case of Excelsior wi dhat ambitious baste; for not content wid +jumpin from the back seat into the front wan, he jumped from the +front wan into the road in front of the car. And-- + +KEEGAN. And everybody laughed! + +NORA. Don't go over that again, please, Mr Doran. + +DORAN. Faith be the time the car went over the poor pig dhere was +little left for me or anywan else to go over except wid a knife +an fork. + +AUNT JUDY. Why didn't Mr Broadbent stop the car when the pig was +gone? + +DORAN. Stop the car! He might as well ha thried to stop a mad +bull. First it went wan way an made fireworks o Molly Ryan's +crockery stall; an dhen it slewed round an ripped ten fut o wall +out o the corner o the pound. [With enormous enjoyment] Begob, it +just tore the town in two and sent the whole dam market to +blazes. [Nora offended, rises]. + +KEEGAN [indignantly]. Sir! + +DORAN [quickly]. Savin your presence, Miss Reilly, and Misther +Keegan's. Dhere! I won't say anuddher word. + +NORA. I'm surprised at you, Mr Doran. [She sits down again]. + +DORAN [refectively]. He has the divil's own luck, that +Englishman, annyway; for when they picked him up he hadn't a +scratch on him, barrn hwat the pig did to his cloes. Patsy had +two fingers out o jynt; but the smith pulled them sthraight for +him. Oh, you never heard such a hullaballoo as there was. There +was Molly, cryin Me chaney, me beautyful chaney! n oul Mat +shoutin Me pig, me pig! n the polus takin the number o the car, n +not a man in the town able to speak for laughin-- + +KEEGAN [with intense emphasis]. It is hell: it is hell. Nowhere +else could such a scene be a burst of happiness for the people. + +Cornelius comes in hastily from the garden, pushing his way +through the little crowd. + +CORNELIUS. Whisht your laughin, boys! Here he is. [He puts his +hat on the sideboard, and goes to the fireplace, where he posts +himself with his back to the chimneypiece]. + +AUNT JUDY. Remember your behavior, now. + +Everybody becomes silent, solemn, concerned, sympathetic. +Broadbent enters, roiled and disordered as to his motoring coat: +immensely important and serious as to himself. He makes his way +to the end of the table nearest the garden door, whilst Larry, +who accompanies him, throws his motoring coat on the sofa bed, +and sits down, watching the proceedings. + +BROADBENT [taking off his leather cap with dignity and placing it +on the table]. I hope you have not been anxious about me. + +AUNT JUDY. Deedn we have, Mr Broadbent. It's a mercy you weren't +killed. + +DORAN. Kilt! It's a mercy dheres two bones of you left houldin +together. How dijjescape at all at all? Well, I never thought I'd +be so glad to see you safe and sound again. Not a man in the town +would say less [murmurs of kindly assent]. Won't you come down to +Doolan's and have a dhrop o brandy to take the shock off? + +BROADBENT. You're all really too kind; but the shock has quite +passed off. + +DORAN [jovially]. Never mind. Come along all the same and tell us +about it over a frenly glass. + +BROADBENT. May I say how deeply I feel the kindness with which I +have been overwhelmed since my accident? I can truthfully declare +that I am glad it happened, because it has brought out the +kindness and sympathy of the Irish character to an extent I had +no conception of. + + SEVERAL {Oh, sure you're welcome! + PRESENT. {Sure it's only natural. + {Sure you might have been kilt. + +A young man, on the point of bursting, hurries out. Barney puts +an iron constraint on his features. + +BROADBENT. All I can say is that I wish I could drink the health +of everyone of you. + +DORAN. Dhen come an do it. + +BROADBENT [very solemnly]. No: I am a teetotaller. + +AUNT JUDY [incredulously]. Arra since when? + +BROADBENT. Since this morning, Miss Doyle. I have had a lesson +[he looks at Nora significantly] that I shall not forget. It may +be that total abstinence has already saved my life; for I was +astonished at the steadiness of my nerves when death stared me in +the face today. So I will ask you to excuse me. [He collects +himself for a speech]. Gentlemen: I hope the gravity of the peril +through which we have all passed--for I know that the danger to +the bystanders was as great as to the occupants of the car--will +prove an earnest of closer and more serious relations between us +in the future. We have had a somewhat agitating day: a valuable +and innocent animal has lost its life: a public building has been +wrecked: an aged and infirm lady has suffered an impact for which +I feel personally responsible, though my old friend Mr Laurence +Doyle unfortunately incurred the first effects of her very +natural resentment. I greatly regret the damage to Mr Patrick +Farrell's fingers; and I have of course taken care that he shall +not suffer pecuniarily by his mishap. [Murmurs of admiration at +his magnanimity, and A Voice "You're a gentleman, sir"]. I am +glad to say that Patsy took it like an Irishman, and, far from +expressing any vindictive feeling, declared his willingness to +break all his fingers and toes for me on the same terms [subdued +applause, and "More power to Patsy!"]. Gentlemen: I felt at home +in Ireland from the first [rising excitement among his hearers]. +In every Irish breast I have found that spirit of liberty [A +cheery voice "Hear Hear"], that instinctive mistrust of the +Government [A small pious voice, with intense expression, "God +bless you, sir!"], that love of independence [A defiant voice, +"That's it! Independence!"], that indignant sympathy with the +cause of oppressed nationalities abroad [A threatening growl from +all: the ground-swell of patriotic passion], and with the +resolute assertion of personal rights at home, which is all but +extinct in my own country. If it were legally possible I should +become a naturalized Irishman; and if ever it be my good fortune +to represent an Irish constituency in parliament, it shall be my +first care to introduce a Bill legalizing such an operation. I +believe a large section of the Liberal party would avail +themselves of it. [Momentary scepticism]. I do. [Convulsive +cheering]. Gentlemen: I have said enough. [Cries of "Go on"]. No: +I have as yet no right to address you at all on political +subjects; and we must not abuse the warmhearted Irish hospitality +of Miss Doyle by turning her sittingroom into a public meeting. + +DORAN [energetically]. Three cheers for Tom Broadbent, the future +member for Rosscullen! + +AUNT JUDY [waving a half knitted sock]. Hip hip hurray! + +The cheers are given with great heartiness, as it is by this +time, for the more humorous spirits present, a question of +vociferation or internal rupture. + +BROADBENT. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, friends. + +NORA [whispering to Doran]. Take them away, Mr Doran [Doran +nods]. + +DORAN. Well, good evenin, Mr Broadbent; an may you never regret +the day you wint dhrivin wid Halligan's pig! [They shake hands]. +Good evenin, Miss Doyle. + +General handshaking, Broadbent shaking hands with everybody +effusively. He accompanies them to the garden and can be heard +outside saying Goodnight in every inflexion known to +parliamentary candidates. Nora, Aunt Judy, Keegan, Larry, and +Cornelius are left in the parlor. Larry goes to the threshold and +watches the scene in the garden. + +NORA. It's a shame to make game of him like that. He's a gradle +more good in him than Barney Doran. + +CORNELIUS. It's all up with his candidature. He'll be laughed out +o the town. + +LARRY [turning quickly from the doorway]. Oh no he won't: he's +not an Irishman. He'll never know they're laughing at him; and +while they're laughing he'll win the seat. + +CORNELIUS. But he can't prevent the story getting about. + +LARRY. He won't want to. He'll tell it himself as one of the most +providential episodes in the history of England and Ireland. + +AUNT JUDY. Sure he wouldn't make a fool of himself like that. + +LARRY. Are you sure he's such a fool after all, Aunt Judy? +Suppose you had a vote! which would you rather give it to? the +man that told the story of Haffigan's pig Barney Doran's way or +Broadbent's way? + +AUNT JUDY. Faith I wouldn't give it to a man at all. It's a few +women they want in parliament to stop their foolish blather. + +BROADBENT [bustling into the room, and taking off his damaged +motoring overcoat, which he put down on the sofa]. Well, that's +over. I must apologize for making that speech, Miss Doyle; but +they like it, you know. Everything helps in electioneering. + +Larry takes the chair near the door; draws it near the table; and +sits astride it, with his elbows folded on the back. + +AUNT JUDY. I'd no notion you were such an orator, Mr Broadbent. + +BROADBENT. Oh, it's only a knack. One picks it up on the +platform. It stokes up their enthusiasm. + +AUNT JUDY. Oh, I forgot. You've not met Mr Keegan. Let me +introjooce you. + +BROADBENT [shaking hands effusively]. Most happy to meet you, Mr +Keegan. I have heard of you, though I have not had the pleasure +of shaking your hand before. And now may I ask you--for I value +no man's opinion more--what you think of my chances here. + +KEEGAN [coldly]. Your chances, sir, are excellent. You will get +into parliament. + +BROADBENT [delighted]. I hope so. I think so. [Fluctuating] You +really think so? You are sure you are not allowing your +enthusiasm for our principles to get the better of your judgment? + +KEEGAN. I have no enthusiasm for your principles, sir. You will +get into parliament because you want to get into it badly enough +to be prepared to take the necessary steps to induce the people +to vote for you. That is how people usually get into that +fantastic assembly. + +BROADBENT [puzzled]. Of course. [Pause]. Quite so. [Pause]. Er-- +yes. [Buoyant again] I think they will vote for me. Eh? Yes? + +AUNT JUDY. Arra why shouldn't they? Look at the people they DO +vote for! + +BROADBENT [encouraged]. That's true: that's very true. When I see +the windbags, the carpet-baggers, the charlatans, the--the--the +fools and ignoramuses who corrupt the multitude by their wealth, +or seduce them by spouting balderdash to them, I cannot help +thinking that an honest man with no humbug about him, who will +talk straight common sense and take his stand on the solid ground +of principle and public duty, must win his way with men of all +classes. + +KEEGAN [quietly]. Sir: there was a time, in my ignorant youth, +when I should have called you a hypocrite. + +BROADBENT [reddening]. A hypocrite! + +NORA [hastily]. Oh I'm sure you don't think anything of the sort, +Mr Keegan. + +BROADBENT [emphatically]. Thank you, Miss Reilly: thank you. + +CORNELIUS [gloomily]. We all have to stretch it a bit in +politics: hwat's the use o pretendin we don't? + +BROADBENT [stiffly]. I hope I have said or done nothing that +calls for any such observation, Mr Doyle. If there is a vice I +detest--or against which my whole public life has been a +protest--it is the vice of hypocrisy. I would almost rather be +inconsistent than insincere. + +KEEGAN. Do not be offended, sir: I know that you are quite +sincere. There is a saying in the Scripture which runs--so far as +the memory of an oldish man can carry the words--Let not the +right side of your brain know what the left side doeth. I learnt +at Oxford that this is the secret of the Englishman's strange +power of making the best of both worlds. + +BROADBENT. Surely the text refers to our right and left hands. I +am somewhat surprised to hear a member of your Church quote so +essentially Protestant a document as the Bible; but at least you +might quote it accurately. + +LARRY. Tom: with the best intentions you're making an ass of +yourself. You don't understand Mr Keegan's peculiar vein of +humor. + +BROADBENT [instantly recovering his confidence]. Ah! it was +only your delightful Irish humor, Mr Keegan. Of course, of +course. How stupid of me! I'm so sorry. [He pats Keegan +consolingly on the back]. John Bull's wits are still slow, you +see. Besides, calling me a hypocrite was too big a joke to +swallow all at once, you know. + +KEEGAN. You must also allow for the fact that I am mad. + +NORA. Ah, don't talk like that, Mr Keegan. + +BROADBENT [encouragingly]. Not at all, not at all. Only a +whimsical Irishman, eh? + +LARRY. Are you really mad, Mr Keegan? + +AUNT JUDY [shocked]. Oh, Larry, how could you ask him such a +thing? + +LARRY. I don't think Mr Keegan minds. [To Keegan] What's the true +version of the story of that black man you confessed on his +deathbed? + +KEEGAN. What story have you heard about that? + +LARRY. I am informed that when the devil came for the black +heathen, he took off your head and turned it three times round +before putting it on again; and that your head's been turned ever +since. + +NORA [reproachfully]. Larry! + +KEEGAN [blandly]. That is not quite what occurred. [He collects +himself for a serious utterance: they attend involuntarily]. I +heard that a black man was dying, and that the people were afraid +to go near him. When I went to the place I found an elderly +Hindoo, who told me one of those tales of unmerited misfortune, +of cruel ill luck, of relentless persecution by destiny, which +sometimes wither the commonplaces of consolation on the lips of a +priest. But this man did not complain of his misfortunes. They +were brought upon him, he said, by sins committed in a former +existence. Then, without a word of comfort from me, he died with +a clear-eyed resignation that my most earnest exhortations have +rarely produced in a Christian, and left me sitting there by his +bedside with the mystery of this world suddenly revealed to me. + +BROADBENT. That is a remarkable tribute to the liberty of +conscience enjoyed by the subjects of our Indian Empire. + +LARRY. No doubt; but may we venture to ask what is the mystery of +this world? + +KEEGAN. This world, sir, is very clearly a place of torment and +penance, a place where the fool flourishes and the good and wise +are hated and persecuted, a place where men and women torture one +another in the name of love; where children are scourged and +enslaved in the name of parental duty and education; where the +weak in body are poisoned and mutilated in the name of healing, +and the weak in character are put to the horrible torture of +imprisonment, not for hours but for years, in the name of +justice. It is a place where the hardest toil is a welcome refuge +from the horror and tedium of pleasure, and where charity and +good works are done only for hire to ransom the souls of the +spoiler and the sybarite. Now, sir, there is only one place of +horror and torment known to my religion; and that place is hell. +Therefore it is plain to me that this earth of ours must be hell, +and that we are all here, as the Indian revealed to me--perhaps +he was sent to reveal it to me to expiate crimes committed by us +in a former existence. + +AUNT JUDY [awestruck]. Heaven save us, what a thing to say! + +CORNELIUS [sighing]. It's a queer world: that's certain. + +BROADBENT. Your idea is a very clever one, Mr Keegan: really most +brilliant: I should never have thought of it. But it seems to +me--if I may say so--that you are overlooking the fact that, of +the evils you describe, some are absolutely necessary for the +preservation of society, and others are encouraged only when the +Tories are in office. + +LARRY. I expect you were a Tory in a former existence; and that +is why you are here. + +BROADBENT [with conviction]. Never, Larry, never. But leaving +politics out of the question, I find the world quite good enough +for me: rather a jolly place, in fact. + +KEEGAN [looking at him with quiet wonder]. You are satisfied? + +BROADBENT. As a reasonable man, yes. I see no evils in the +world--except, of course, natural evils--that cannot be remedied +by freedom, self-government, and English institutions. I think +so, not because I am an Englishman, but as a matter of common +sense. + +KEEGAN. You feel at home in the world, then? + +BROADBENT. Of course. Don't you? + +KEEGAN [from the very depths of his nature]. No. + +BROADBENT [breezily]. Try phosphorus pills. I always take them +when my brain is overworked. I'll give you the address in Oxford +Street. + +KEEGAN [enigmatically: rising]. Miss Doyle: my wandering fit has +come on me: will you excuse me? + +AUNT JUDY. To be sure: you know you can come in n nout as you +like. + +KEEGAN. We can finish the game some other time, Miss Reilly. [He +goes for his hat and stick. + +NORA. No: I'm out with you [she disarranges the pieces and +rises]. I was too wicked in a former existence to play backgammon +with a good man like you. + +AUNT JUDY [whispering to her]. Whisht, whisht, child! Don't set +him back on that again. + +KEEGAN [to Nora]. When I look at you, I think that perhaps +Ireland is only purgatory, after all. [He passes on to the garden +door]. + +NORA. Galong with you! + +BROADBENT [whispering to Cornelius]. Has he a vote? + +CORNELIUS [nodding]. Yes. An there's lots'll vote the way he +tells them. + +KEEGAN [at the garden door, with gentle gravity]. Good evening, +Mr Broadbent. You have set me thinking. Thank you. + +BROADBENT [delighted, hurrying across to him to shake hands]. No, +really? You find that contact with English ideas is stimulating, +eh? + +KEEGAN. I am never tired of hearing you talk, Mr Broadbent. + +BROADBENT [modestly remonstrating]. Oh come! come! + +KEEGAN. Yes, I assure you. You are an extremely interesting man. +[He goes out]. + +BROADBENT [enthusiastically]. What a nice chap! What an +intelligent, interesting fellow! By the way, I'd better have a +wash. [He takes up his coat and cap, and leaves the room through +the inner door]. + +Nora returns to her chair and shuts up the backgammon board. + +AUNT JUDY. Keegan's very queer to-day. He has his mad fit on him. + +CORNELIUS [worried and bitter]. I wouldn't say but he's right +after all. It's a contrairy world. [To Larry]. Why would you be +such a fool as to let him take the seat in parliament from you? + +LARRY [glancing at Nora]. He will take more than that from me +before he's done here. + +CORNELIUS. I wish he'd never set foot in my house, bad luck to +his fat face! D'ye think he'd lend me 300 pounds on the farm, +Larry? When I'm so hard up, it seems a waste o money not to +mortgage it now it's me own. + +LARRY. I can lend you 300 pounds on it. + +CORNELIUS. No, no: I wasn't putn in for that. When I die and +leave you the farm I should like to be able to feel that it was +all me own, and not half yours to start with. Now I'll take me +oath Barney Doarn's goin to ask Broadbent to lend him 500 pounds +on the mill to put in a new hweel; for the old one'll harly hol +together. An Haffigan can't sleep with covetn that corner o land +at the foot of his medda that belongs to Doolan. He'll have to +mortgage to buy it. I may as well be first as last. D'ye think +Broadbent'd len me a little? + +LARRY. I'm quite sure he will. + +CORNELIUS. Is he as ready as that? Would he len me five hunderd, +d'ye think? + +LARRY. He'll lend you more than the land'll ever be worth to +you; so for Heaven's sake be prudent. + +CORNELIUS [judicially]. All right, all right, me son: I'll be +careful. I'm goin into the office for a bit. [He withdraws +through the inner door, obviously to prepare his application to +Broadbent]. + +AUNT JUDY [indignantly]. As if he hadn't seen enough o borryin +when he was an agent without beginnin borryin himself! [She +rises]. I'll bory him, so I will. [She puts her knitting on the +table and follows him out, with a resolute air that bodes trouble +for Cornelius]. + +Larry and Nora are left together for the first time since his +arrival. She looks at him with a smile that perishes as she sees +him aimlessly rocking his chair, and reflecting, evidently not +about her, with his lips pursed as if he were whistling. With a +catch in her throat she takes up Aunt Judy's knitting, and makes +a pretence of going on with it. + +NORA. I suppose it didn't seem very long to you. + +LARRY [starting]. Eh? What didn't? + +NORA. The eighteen years you've been away. + +LARRY. Oh, that! No: it seems hardly more than a week. I've been +so busy--had so little time to think. + +NORA. I've had nothin else to do but think. + +LARRY. That was very bad for you. Why didn't you give it up? Why +did you stay here? + +NORA. Because nobody sent for me to go anywhere else, I suppose. +That's why. + +LARRY. Yes: one does stick frightfully in the same place, unless +some external force comes and routs one out. [He yawns slightly; +but as she looks up quickly at him, he pulls himself together and +rises with an air of waking up and getting to work cheerfully to +make himself agreeable]. And how have you been all this time? + +NORA. Quite well, thank you. + +LARRY. That's right. [Suddenly finding that he has nothing else +to say, and being ill at ease in consequence, he strolls about +the room humming a certain tune from Offenbach's Whittington]. + +NORA [struggling with her tears]. Is that all you have to say to +me, Larry? + +LARRY. Well, what is there to say? You see, we know each other so +well. + +NORA [a little consoled]. Yes: of course we do. [He does not +reply]. I wonder you came back at all. + +LARRY. I couldn't help it. [She looks up affectionately]. Tom +made me. [She looks down again quickly to conceal the effect of +this blow. He whistles another stave; then resumes]. I had a sort +of dread of returning to Ireland. I felt somehow that my luck +would turn if I came back. And now here I am, none the worse. + +NORA. Praps it's a little dull for you. + +LARRY. No: I haven't exhausted the interest of strolling about +the old places and remembering and romancing about them. + +NORA [hopefully]. Oh! You DO remember the places, then? + +LARRY. Of course. They have associations. + +NORA [not doubting that the associations are with her]. I suppose +so. + +LARRY. M'yes. I can remember particular spots where I had long +fits of thinking about the countries I meant to get to when I +escaped from Ireland. America and London, and sometimes Rome and +the east. + +NORA [deeply mortified]. Was that all you used to be thinking +about? + +LARRY. Well, there was precious little else to think about here, +my dear Nora, except sometimes at sunset, when one got maudlin +and called Ireland Erin, and imagined one was remembering the +days of old, and so forth. [He whistles Let Erin Remember]. + +NORA. Did jever get a letter I wrote you last February? + +LARRY. Oh yes; and I really intended to answer it. But I haven't +had a moment; and I knew you wouldn't mind. You see, I am so +afraid of boring you by writing about affairs you don't +understand and people you don't know! And yet what else have I to +write about? I begin a letter; and then I tear it up again. The +fact is, fond as we are of one another, Nora, we have so little +in common--I mean of course the things one can put in a letter-- +that correspondence is apt to become the hardest of hard work. + +NORA. Yes: it's hard for me to know anything about you if you +never tell me anything. + +LARRY [pettishly]. Nora: a man can't sit down and write his life +day by day when he's tired enough with having lived it. + +NORA. I'm not blaming you. + +LARRY [looking at her with some concern]. You seem rather out of +spirits. [Going closer to her, anxiously and tenderly] You +haven't got neuralgia, have you? + +NORA. No. + +LARRY [reassured]. I get a touch of it sometimes when I am below +par. [absently, again strolling about] Yes, yes. [He begins to +hum again, and soon breaks into articulate melody]. + +Though summer smiles on here for ever, +Though not a leaf falls from the tree, +Tell England I'll forget her never, + +[Nora puts dawn the knitting and stares at him]. + + O wind that blows across the sea. + +[With much expression] + +Tell England I'll forget her ne-e-e-e-ver +O wind that blows acro-oss-- + +[Here the melody soars out of his range. He continues falsetto, +but changes the tune to Let Erin Remember]. I'm afraid I'm boring +you, Nora, though you're too kind to say so. + +NORA. Are you wanting to get back to England already? + +LARRY. Not at all. Not at all. + +NORA. That's a queer song to sing to me if you're not. + +LARRY. The song! Oh, it doesn't mean anything: it's by a German +Jew, like most English patriotic sentiment. Never mind me, my +dear: go on with your work; and don't let me bore you. + +NORA [bitterly]. Rosscullen isn't such a lively place that I am +likely to be bored by you at our first talk together after +eighteen years, though you don't seem to have much to say to me +after all. + +LARRY. Eighteen years is a devilish long time, Nora. Now if it +had been eighteen minutes, or even eighteen months, we should be +able to pick up the interrupted thread, and chatter like two +magpies. But as it is, I have simply nothing to say; and you seem +to have less. + +NORA. I--[her tears choke her; but the keeps up appearances +desperately]. + +LARRY [quite unconscious of his cruelty]. In a week or so we +shall be quite old friends again. Meanwhile, as I feel that I am +not making myself particularly entertaining, I'll take myself +off. Tell Tom I've gone for a stroll over the hill. + +NORA. You seem very fond of Tom, as you call him. + +LARRY [the triviality going suddenly out of his voice]. Yes I'm +fond of Tom. + +NORA. Oh, well, don't let me keep you from him. + +LARRY. I know quite well that my departure will be a relief. +Rather a failure, this first meeting after eighteen years, eh? +Well, never mind: these great sentimental events always are +failures; and now the worst of it's over anyhow. [He goes out +through the garden door]. + +Nora, left alone, struggles wildly to save herself from +breaking down, and then drops her face on the table and gives way +to a convulsion of crying. Her sobs shake her so that she can +hear nothing; and she has no suspicion that she is no longer +alone until her head and breast are raised by Broadbent, who, +returning newly washed and combed through the inner door, has +seen her condition, first with surprise and concern, and then +with an emotional disturbance that quite upsets him. + +BROADBENT. Miss Reilly. Miss Reilly. What's the matter? Don't +cry: I can't stand it: you mustn't cry. [She makes a choked +effort to speak, so painful that he continues with impulsive +sympathy] No: don't try to speak: it's all right now. Have your +cry out: never mind me: trust me. [Gathering her to him, and +babbling consolatorily] Cry on my chest: the only really +comfortable place for a woman to cry is a man's chest: a real +man, a real friend. A good broad chest, eh? not less than +forty-two inches--no: don't fuss: never mind the conventions: +we're two friends, aren't we? Come now, come, come! It's all +right and comfortable and happy now, isn't it? + +NORA [through her tears]. Let me go. I want me hankerchief. + +BROADBENT [holding her with one arm and producing a large silk +handkerchief from his breast pocket]. Here's a handkerchief. Let +me [he dabs her tears dry with it]. Never mind your own: it's too +small: it's one of those wretched little cambric handkerchiefs-- + +NORA [sobbing]. Indeed it's a common cotton one. + +BROADBENT. Of course it's a common cotton one--silly little +cotton one--not good enough for the dear eyes of Nora Cryna-- + +NORA [spluttering into a hysterical laugh and clutching him +convulsively with her fingers while she tries to stifle her +laughter against his collar bone]. Oh don't make me laugh: please +don't make me laugh. + +BROADBENT [terrified]. I didn't mean to, on my soul. What is it? +What is it? + +NORA. Nora Creena, Nora Creena. + +BROADBENT [patting her]. Yes, yes, of course, Nora Creena, Nora +acushla [he makes cush rhyme to plush]. + +NORA. Acushla [she makes cush rhyme to bush]. + +BROADBENT. Oh, confound the language! Nora darling--my Nora--the +Nora I love-- + +NORA [shocked into propriety]. You mustn't talk like that to me. + +BROADBENT [suddenly becoming prodigiously solemn and letting her +go]. No, of course not. I don't mean it--at least I do mean it; +but I know it's premature. I had no right to take advantage of +your being a little upset; but I lost my self-control for a +moment. + +NORA [wondering at him]. I think you're a very kindhearted man, +Mr Broadbent; but you seem to me to have no self-control at all +[she turns her face away with a keen pang of shame and adds] no +more than myself. + +BROADBENT [resolutely]. Oh yes, I have: you should see me when I +am really roused: then I have TREMENDOUS self-control. Remember: +we have been alone together only once before; and then, I regret +to say, I was in a disgusting state. + +NORA. Ah no, Mr Broadbent: you weren't disgusting. + +BROADBENT [mercilessly]. Yes I was: nothing can excuse it: +perfectly beastly. It must have made a most unfavorable +impression on you. + +NORA. Oh, sure it's all right. Say no more about that. + +BROADBENT. I must, Miss Reilly: it is my duty. I shall not detain +you long. May I ask you to sit down. [He indicates her chair with +oppressive solemnity. She sits down wondering. He then, with the +same portentous gravity, places a chair for himself near her; +sits down; and proceeds to explain]. First, Miss Reilly, may I +say that I have tasted nothing of an alcoholic nature today. + +NORA. It doesn't seem to make as much difference in you as it +would in an Irishman, somehow. + +BROADBENT. Perhaps not. Perhaps not. I never quite lose myself. + +NORA [consolingly]. Well, anyhow, you're all right now. + +BROADBENT [fervently]. Thank you, Miss Reilly: I am. Now we shall +get along. [Tenderly, lowering his voice] Nora: I was in earnest +last night. [Nora moves as if to rise]. No: one moment. You must +not think I am going to press you for an answer before you have +known me for 24 hours. I am a reasonable man, I hope; and I am +prepared to wait as long as you like, provided you will give me +some small assurance that the answer will not be unfavorable. + +NORA. How could I go back from it if I did? I sometimes think +you're not quite right in your head, Mr Broadbent, you say such +funny things. + +BROADBENT. Yes: I know I have a strong sense of humor which +sometimes makes people doubt whether I am quite serious. That is +why I have always thought I should like to marry an Irishwoman. +She would always understand my jokes. For instance, you would +understand them, eh? + +NORA [uneasily]. Mr Broadbent, I couldn't. + +BROADBENT [soothingly]. Wait: let me break this to you gently, +Miss Reilly: hear me out. I daresay you have noticed that in +speaking to you I have been putting a very strong constraint on +myself, so as to avoid wounding your delicacy by too abrupt an +avowal of my feelings. Well, I feel now that the time has come to +be open, to be frank, to be explicit. Miss Reilly: you have +inspired in me a very strong attachment. Perhaps, with a woman's +intuition, you have already guessed that. + +NORA [rising distractedly]. Why do you talk to me in that +unfeeling nonsensical way? + +BROADBENT [rising also, much astonished]. Unfeeling! Nonsensical! + +NORA. Don't you know that you have said things to me that no man +ought to say unless--unless--[she suddenly breaks down again and +hides her face on the table as before] Oh, go away from me: I +won't get married at all: what is it but heartbreak and +disappointment? + +BROADBENT [developing the most formidable symptoms of rage and +grief]. Do you mean to say that you are going to refuse me? that +you don't care for me? + +NORA [looking at him in consternation]. Oh, don't take it to +heart, Mr Br-- + +BROADBENT [flushed and almost choking]. I don't want to be petted +and blarneyed. [With childish rage] I love you. I want you for my +wife. [In despair] I can't help your refusing. I'm helpless: I +can do nothing. You have no right to ruin my whole life. You--[a +hysterical convulsion stops him]. + +NORA [almost awestruck]. You're not going to cry, are you? I +never thought a man COULD cry. Don't. + +BROADBENT. I'm not crying. I--I--I leave that sort of thing to +your damned sentimental Irishmen. You think I have no feeling +because I am a plain unemotional Englishman, with no powers of +expression. + +NORA. I don't think you know the sort of man you are at all. +Whatever may be the matter with you, it's not want of feeling. + +BROADBENT [hurt and petulant]. It's you who have no feeling. +You're as heartless as Larry. + +NORA. What do you expect me to do? Is it to throw meself at your +head the minute the word is out o your mouth? + +BROADBENT [striking his silly head with his fists]. Oh, what a +fool! what a brute I am! It's only your Irish delicacy: of +course, of course. You mean Yes. Eh? What? Yes, yes, yes? + +NORA. I think you might understand that though I might choose to +be an old maid, I could never marry anybody but you now. + +BROADBENT [clasping her violently to his breast, with a crow of +immense relief and triumph]. Ah, that's right, that's right: +That's magnificent. I knew you would see what a first-rate thing +this will be for both of us. + +NORA [incommoded and not at all enraptured by his ardor]. You're +dreadfully strong, an a gradle too free with your strength. An I +never thought o whether it'd be a good thing for us or not. But +when you found me here that time, I let you be kind to me, and +cried in your arms, because I was too wretched to think of +anything but the comfort of it. An how could I let any other man +touch me after that? + +BROADBENT [touched]. Now that's very nice of you, Nora, that's +really most delicately womanly [he kisses her hand chivalrously]. + +NORA [looking earnestly and a little doubtfully at him]. Surely +if you let one woman cry on you like that you'd never let another +touch you. + +BROADBENT [conscientiously]. One should not. One OUGHT not, my +dear girl. But the honest truth is, if a chap is at all a +pleasant sort of chap, his chest becomes a fortification that has +to stand many assaults: at least it is so in England. + +NORA [curtly, much disgusted]. Then you'd better marry an +Englishwoman. + +BROADBENT [making a wry face]. No, no: the Englishwoman is too +prosaic for my taste, too material, too much of the animated +beefsteak about her. The ideal is what I like. Now Larry's taste +is just the opposite: he likes em solid and bouncing and rather +keen about him. It's a very convenient difference; for we've +never been in love with the same woman. + +NORA. An d'ye mean to tell me to me face that you've ever been in +love before? + +BROADBENT. Lord! yes. + +NORA. I'm not your first love? + +BROADBENT. First love is only a little foolishness and a lot of +curiosity: no really self-respecting woman would take advantage +of it. No, my dear Nora: I've done with all that long ago. Love +affairs always end in rows. We're not going to have any rows: +we're going to have a solid four-square home: man and wife: +comfort and common sense--and plenty of affection, eh [he puts +his arm round her with confident proprietorship]? + +NORA [coldly, trying to get away]. I don't want any other woman's +leavings. + +BROADBENT [holding her]. Nobody asked you to, ma'am. I never +asked any woman to marry me before. + +NORA [severely]. Then why didn't you if you're an honorable man? + +BROADBENT. Well, to tell you the truth, they were mostly married +already. But never mind! there was nothing wrong. Come! Don't +take a mean advantage of me. After all, you must have had a fancy +or two yourself, eh? + +NORA [conscience-stricken]. Yes. I suppose I've no right to be +particular. + +BROADBENT [humbly]. I know I'm not good enough for you, Nora. But +no man is, you know, when the woman is a really nice woman. + +NORA. Oh, I'm no better than yourself. I may as well tell you +about it. + +BROADBENT. No, no: let's have no telling: much better not. I +shan't tell you anything: don't you tell ME anything. Perfect +confidence in one another and no tellings: that's the way to +avoid rows. + +NORA. Don't think it was anything I need be ashamed of. + +BROADBENT. I don't. + +NORA. It was only that I'd never known anybody else that I could +care for; and I was foolish enough once to think that Larry-- + +HROADBENT [disposing of the idea at once]. Larry! Oh, that +wouldn't have done at all, not at all. You don't know Larry as I +do, my dear. He has absolutely no capacity for enjoyment: he +couldn't make any woman happy. He's as clever as be-blowed; but +life's too earthly for him: he doesn't really care for anything +or anybody. + +NORA. I've found that out. + +BROADBENT. Of course you have. No, my dear: take my word for it, +you're jolly well out of that. There! [swinging her round against +his breast] that's much more comfortable for you. + +NORA [with Irish peevishness]. Ah, you mustn't go on like that. I +don't like it. + +BROADBENT [unabashed]. You'll acquire the taste by degrees. You +mustn't mind me: it's an absolute necessity of my nature that I +should have somebody to hug occasionally. Besides, it's good for +you: it'll plump out your muscles and make em elastic and set up +your figure. + +NORA. Well, I'm sure! if this is English manners! Aren't you +ashamed to talk about such things? + +BROADBENT [in the highest feather]. Not a bit. By George, Nora, +it's a tremendous thing to be able to enjoy oneself. Let's go off +for a walk out of this stuffy little room. I want the open air to +expand in. Come along. Co-o-o-me along. [He puts her arm into his +and sweeps her out into the garden as an equinoctial gale might +sweep a dry leaf]. + +Later in the evening, the grasshopper is again enjoying the +sunset by the great stone on the hill; but this time he enjoys +neither the stimulus of Keegan's conversation nor the pleasure +of terrifying Patsy Farrell. He is alone until Nora and +Broadbent come up the hill arm in arm. Broadbent is still +breezy and confident; but she has her head averted from him +and is almost in tears]. + +BROADBENT [stopping to snuff up the hillside air]. Ah! I like +this spot. I like this view. This would be a jolly good place for +a hotel and a golf links. Friday to Tuesday, railway ticket and +hotel all inclusive. I tell you, Nora, I'm going to develop this +place. [Looking at her] Hallo! What's the matter? Tired? + +NORA [unable to restrain her tears]. I'm ashamed out o me life. + +BROADBENT [astonished]. Ashamed! What of? + +NORA. Oh, how could you drag me all round the place like that, +telling everybody that we're going to be married, and +introjoocing me to the lowest of the low, and letting them shake +hans with me, and encouraging them to make free with us? I little +thought I should live to be shaken hans with be Doolan in broad +daylight in the public street of Rosscullen. + +BROADBENT. But, my dear, Doolan's a publican: a most influential +man. By the way, I asked him if his wife would be at home +tomorrow. He said she would; so you must take the motor car round +and call on her. + +NORA [aghast]. Is it me call on Doolan's wife! + +BROADBENT. Yes, of course: call on all their wives. We must get a +copy of the register and a supply of canvassing cards. No use +calling on people who haven't votes. You'll be a great success as +a canvasser, Nora: they call you the heiress; and they'll be +flattered no end by your calling, especially as you've never +cheapened yourself by speaking to them before--have you? + +NORA [indignantly]. Not likely, indeed. + +BROADBENT. Well, we mustn't be stiff and stand-off, you know. We +must be thoroughly democratic, and patronize everybody without +distinction of class. I tell you I'm a jolly lucky man, Nora +Cryna. I get engaged to the most delightful woman in Ireland; and +it turns out that I couldn't have done a smarter stroke of +electioneering. + +NORA. An would you let me demean meself like that, just to get +yourself into parliament? + +BROADBENT [buoyantly]. Aha! Wait till you find out what an +exciting game electioneering is: you'll be mad to get me in. +Besides, you'd like people to say that Tom Broadbent's wife had +been the making of him--that she got him into parliament--into +the Cabinet, perhaps, eh? + +NORA. God knows I don't grudge you me money! But to lower meself +to the level of common people + +BROADBENT. To a member's wife, Nora, nobody is common provided +he's on the register. Come, my dear! it's all right: do you think +I'd let you do it if it wasn't? The best people do it. Everybody +does it. + +NORA [who has been biting her lip and looking over the hill, +disconsolate and unconvinced]. Well, praps you know best what +they do in England. They must have very little respect for +themselves. I think I'll go in now. I see Larry and Mr Keegan +coming up the hill; and I'm not fit to talk to them. + +BROADBENT. Just wait and say something nice to Keegan. They tell +me he controls nearly as many votes as Father Dempsey himself. + +NORA. You little know Peter Keegan. He'd see through me as if I +was a pane o glass. + +BROADBENT. Oh, he won't like it any the less for that. What +really flatters a man is that you think him worth flattering. Not +that I would flatter any man: don't think that. I'll just go and +meet him. [He goes down the hill with the eager forward look of a +man about to greet a valued acquaintance. Nora dries her eyes, +and turns to go as Larry strolls up the hill to her]. + +LARRY. Nora. [She turns and looks at him hardly, without a word. +He continues anxiously, in his most conciliatory tone]. When I +left you that time, I was just as wretched as you. I didn't +rightly know what I wanted to say; and my tongue kept clacking to +cover the loss I was at. Well, I've been thinking ever since; and +now I know what I ought to have said. I've come back to say it. + +NORA. You've come too late, then. You thought eighteen years was +not long enough, and that you might keep me waiting a day longer. +Well, you were mistaken. I'm engaged to your friend Mr Broadbent; +and I'm done with you. + +LARRY [naively]. But that was the very thing I was going to +advise you to do. + +NORA [involuntarily]. Oh you brute! to tell me that to me face. + +LARRY [nervously relapsing into his most Irish manner]. Nora, +dear, don't you understand that I'm an Irishman, and he's an +Englishman. He wants you; and he grabs you. I want you; and I +quarrel with you and have to go on wanting you. + +NORA. So you may. You'd better go back to England to the animated +beefsteaks you're so fond of. + +LARRY [amazed]. Nora! [Guessing where she got the metaphor] He's +been talking about me, I see. Well, never mind: we must be +friends, you and I. I don't want his marriage to you to be his +divorce from me. + +NORA. You care more for him than you ever did for me. + +LARRY [with curt sincerity]. Yes of course I do: why should I +tell you lies about it? Nora Reilly was a person of very little +consequence to me or anyone else outside this miserable little +hole. But Mrs Tom Broadbent will be a person of very considerable +consequence indeed. Play your new part well, and there will be no +more neglect, no more loneliness, no more idle regrettings and +vain-hopings in the evenings by the Round Tower, but real life +and real work and real cares and real joys among real people: +solid English life in London, the very centre of the world. You +will find your work cut out for you keeping Tom's house and +entertaining Tom's friends and getting Tom into parliament; but +it will be worth the effort. + +NORA. You talk as if I were under an obligation to him for +marrying me. + +LARRY. I talk as I think. You've made a very good match, let me +tell you. + +NORA. Indeed! Well, some people might say he's not done so badly +himself. + +LARRY. If you mean that you will be a treasure to him, he thinks +so now; and you can keep him thinking so if you like. + +NORA. I wasn't thinking o meself at all. + +LARRY. Were you thinking of your money, Nora? + +NORA. I didn't say so. + +LARRY. Your money will not pay your cook's wages in London. + +NORA [flaming up]. If that's true--and the more shame for you to +throw it in my face if it IS true--at all events it'll make us +independent; for if the worst comes to the worst, we can always +come back here an live on it. An if I have to keep his house for +him, at all events I can keep you out of it; for I've done with +you; and I wish I'd never seen you. So goodbye to you, Mister +Larry Doyle. [She turns her back on him and goes home]. + +LARRY [watching her as she goes]. Goodbye. Goodbye. Oh, that's so +Irish! Irish both of us to the backbone: Irish, Irish, Irish-- + +Broadbent arrives, conversing energetically with Keegan. + +BROADBENT. Nothing pays like a golfing hotel, if you hold the +land instead of the shares, and if the furniture people stand in +with you, and if you are a good man of business. + +LARRY. Nora's gone home. + +BROADBENT [with conviction]. You were right this morning, Larry. +I must feed up Nora. She's weak; and it makes her fanciful. Oh, +by the way, did I tell you that we're engaged? + +LARRY. She told me herself. + +BROADBENT [complacently]. She's rather full of it, as you may +imagine. Poor Nora! Well, Mr Keegan, as I said, I begin to see my +way here. I begin to see my way. + +KEEGAN [with a courteous inclination]. The conquering Englishman, +sir. Within 24 hours of your arrival you have carried off our +only heiress, and practically secured the parliamentary seat. And +you have promised me that when I come here in the evenings to +meditate on my madness; to watch the shadow of the Round Tower +lengthening in the sunset; to break my heart uselessly in the +curtained gloaming over the dead heart and blinded soul of the +island of the saints, you will comfort me with the bustle of a +great hotel, and the sight of the little children carrying the +golf clubs of your tourists as a preparation for the life to +come. + +BROADBENT [quite touched, mutely offering him a cigar to console +him, at which he smiles and shakes his head]. Yes, Mr Keegan: +you're quite right. There's poetry in everything, even [looking +absently into the cigar case] in the most modern prosaic things, +if you know how to extract it [he extracts a cigar for himself +and offers one to Larry, who takes it]. If I was to be shot for +it I couldn't extract it myself; but that's where you come in, +you see [roguishly, waking up from his reverie and bustling +Keegan goodhumoredly]. And then I shall wake you up a bit. That's +where I come in: eh? d'ye see? Eh? eh? [He pats him very +pleasantly on the shoulder, half admiringly, half pityingly]. +Just so, just so. [Coming back to business] By the way, I believe +I can do better than a light railway here. There seems to be no +question now that the motor boat has come to stay. Well, look at +your magnificent river there, going to waste. + +KEEGAN [closing his eyes]. "Silent, O Moyle, be the roar of thy +waters." + +BROADBENT. You know, the roar of a motor boat is quite pretty. + +KEEGAN. Provided it does not drown the Angelus. + +BROADBENT [reassuringly]. Oh no: it won't do that: not the least +danger. You know, a church bell can make a devil of a noise when +it likes. + +KEEGAN. You have an answer for everything, sir. But your plans +leave one question still unanswered: how to get butter out of a +dog's throat. + +BROADBENT. Eh? + +KEEGAN. You cannot build your golf links and hotels in the air. +For that you must own our land. And how will you drag our acres +from the ferret's grip of Matthew Haffigan? How will you persuade +Cornelius Doyle to forego the pride of being a small landowner? +How will Barney Doran's millrace agree with your motor boats? +Will Doolan help you to get a license for your hotel? + +BROADBENT. My dear sir: to all intents and purposes the syndicate +I represent already owns half Rosscullen. Doolan's is a tied +house; and the brewers are in the syndicate. As to Haffigan's +farm and Doran's mill and Mr Doyle's place and half a dozen +others, they will be mortgaged to me before a month is out. + +KEEGAN. But pardon me, you will not lend them more on their land +than the land is worth; so they will be able to pay you the +interest. + +BROADBENT. Ah, you are a poet, Mr Keegan, not a man of business. + +LARRY. We will lend everyone of these men half as much again on +their land as it is worth, or ever can be worth, to them. + +BROADBENT. You forget, sir, that we, with our capital, our +knowledge, our organization, and may I say our English business +habits, can make or lose ten pounds out of land that Haffigan, +with all his industry, could not make or lose ten shillings out +of. Doran's mill is a superannuated folly: I shall want it for +electric lighting. + +LARRY. What is the use of giving land to such men? they are too +small, too poor, too ignorant, too simpleminded to hold it +against us: you might as well give a dukedom to a crossing +sweeper. + +BROADBENT. Yes, Mr Keegan: this place may have an industrial +future, or it may have a residential future: I can't tell yet; +but it's not going to be a future in the hands of your Dorans and +Haffigans, poor devils! + +KEEGAN. It may have no future at all. Have you thought of that? + +BROADBENT. Oh, I'm not afraid of that. I have faith in Ireland, +great faith, Mr Keegan. + +KEEGAN. And we have none: only empty enthusiasms and patriotisms, +and emptier memories and regrets. Ah yes: you have some excuse +for believing that if there be any future, it will be yours; for +our faith seems dead, and our hearts cold and cowed. An island of +dreamers who wake up in your jails, of critics and cowards whom +you buy and tame for your own service, of bold rogues who help +you to plunder us that they may plunder you afterwards. Eh? + +BROADBENT [a little impatient of this unbusinesslike view]. Yes, +yes; but you know you might say that of any country. The fact is, +there are only two qualities in the world: efficiency and +inefficiency, and only two sorts of people: the efficient and the +inefficient. It don't matter whether they're English or Irish. I +shall collar this place, not because I'm an Englishman and +Haffigan and Co are Irishmen, but because they're duffers and I +know my way about. + +KEEGAN. Have you considered what is to become of Haffigan? + +LARRY. Oh, we'll employ him in some capacity or other, and +probably pay him more than he makes for himself now. + +BROADBENT [dubiously]. Do you think so? No no: Haffigan's too +old. It really doesn't pay now to take on men over forty even for +unskilled labor, which I suppose is all Haffigan would be good +for. No: Haffigan had better go to America, or into the Union, +poor old chap! He's worked out, you know: you can see it. + +KEEGAN. Poor lost soul, so cunningly fenced in with invisible +bars! + +LARRY. Haffigan doesn't matter much. He'll die presently. + +BROADBENT [shocked]. Oh come, Larry! Don't be unfeeling. It's +hard on Haffigan. It's always hard on the inefficient. + +LARRY. Pah! what does it matter where an old and broken man +spends his last days, or whether he has a million at the bank or +only the workhouse dole? It's the young men, the able men, that +matter. The real tragedy of Haffigan is the tragedy of his wasted +youth, his stunted mind, his drudging over his clods and pigs +until he has become a clod and a pig himself--until the soul +within him has smouldered into nothing but a dull temper that +hurts himself and all around him. I say let him die, and let us +have no more of his like. And let young Ireland take care that it +doesn't share his fate, instead of making another empty grievance +of it. Let your syndicate come-- + +BROADBENT. Your syndicate too, old chap. You have your bit of the +stock. + +LARRY. Yes, mine if you like. Well, our syndicate has no +conscience: it has no more regard for your Haffigans and Doolans +and Dorans than it has for a gang of Chinese coolies. It will use +your patriotic blatherskite and balderdash to get parliamentary +powers over you as cynically as it would bait a mousetrap with +toasted cheese. It will plan, and organize, and find capital +while you slave like bees for it and revenge yourselves by paying +politicians and penny newspapers out of your small wages to write +articles and report speeches against its wickedness and tyranny, +and to crack up your own Irish heroism, just as Haffigan once +paid a witch a penny to put a spell on Billy Byrne's cow. In the +end it will grind the nonsense out of you, and grind strength and +sense into you. + +BROADBENT [out of patience]. Why can't you say a simple thing +simply, Larry, without all that Irish exaggeration and +talky-talky? The syndicate is a perfectly respectable body of +responsible men of good position. We'll take Ireland in hand, and +by straightforward business habits teach it efficiency and +self-help on sound Liberal principles. You agree with me, Mr +Keegan, don't you? + +KEEGAN. Sir: I may even vote for you. + +BROADBENT [sincerely moved, shaking his hand warmly]. You shall +never regret it, Mr Keegan: I give you my word for that. I shall +bring money here: I shall raise wages: I shall found public +institutions, a library, a Polytechnic [undenominational, of +course], a gymnasium, a cricket club, perhaps an art school. I +shall make a Garden city of Rosscullen: the round tower shall be +thoroughly repaired and restored. + +KEEGAN. And our place of torment shall be as clean and orderly as +the cleanest and most orderly place I know in Ireland, which is +our poetically named Mountjoy prison. Well, perhaps I had better +vote for an efficient devil that knows his own mind and his own +business than for a foolish patriot who has no mind and no +business. + +BROADBENT [stiffly]. Devil is rather a strong expression in that +connexion, Mr Keegan. + +KEEGAN. Not from a man who knows that this world is hell. But +since the word offends you, let me soften it, and compare you +simply to an ass. [Larry whitens with anger]. + +BROADBENT [reddening]. An ass! + +KEEGAN [gently]. You may take it without offence from a madman +who calls the ass his brother--and a very honest, useful and +faithful brother too. The ass, sir, is the most efficient of +beasts, matter-of-fact, hardy, friendly when you treat him as a +fellow-creature, stubborn when you abuse him, ridiculous only in +love, which sets him braying, and in politics, which move him to +roll about in the public road and raise a dust about nothing. Can +you deny these qualities and habits in yourself, sir? + +BROADBENT [goodhumoredly]. Well, yes, I'm afraid I do, you know. + +KEEGAN. Then perhaps you will confess to the ass's one fault. + +BROADBENT. Perhaps so: what is it? + +KEEGAN. That he wastes all his virtues--his efficiency, as you +call it--in doing the will of his greedy masters instead of doing +the will of Heaven that is in himself. He is efficient in the +service of Mammon, mighty in mischief, skilful in ruin, heroic in +destruction. But he comes to browse here without knowing that the +soil his hoof touches is holy ground. Ireland, sir, for good or +evil, is like no other place under heaven; and no man can touch +its sod or breathe its air without becoming better or worse. It +produces two kinds of men in strange perfection: saints and +traitors. It is called the island of the saints; but indeed in +these later years it might be more fitly called the island of the +traitors; for our harvest of these is the fine flower of the +world's crop of infamy. But the day may come when these islands +shall live by the quality of their men rather than by the +abundance of their minerals; and then we shall see. + +LARRY. Mr Keegan: if you are going to be sentimental about +Ireland, I shall bid you good evening. We have had enough of +that, and more than enough of cleverly proving that everybody who +is not an Irishman is an ass. It is neither good sense nor good +manners. It will not stop the syndicate; and it will not interest +young Ireland so much as my friend's gospel of efficiency. + +BROADBENT. Ah, yes, yes: efficiency is the thing. I don't in the +least mind your chaff, Mr Keegan; but Larry's right on the main +point. The world belongs to the efficient. + +KEEGAN [with polished irony]. I stand rebuked, gentlemen. But +believe me, I do every justice to the efficiency of you and your +syndicate. You are both, I am told, thoroughly efficient civil +engineers; and I have no doubt the golf links will be a triumph +of your art. Mr Broadbent will get into parliament most +efficiently, which is more than St Patrick could do if he were +alive now. You may even build the hotel efficiently if you can +find enough efficient masons, carpenters, and plumbers, which I +rather doubt. [Dropping his irony, and beginning to fall into the +attitude of the priest rebuking sin] When the hotel becomes +insolvent [Broadbent takes his cigar out of his mouth, a little +taken aback], your English business habits will secure the +thorough efficiency of the liquidation. You will reorganize the +scheme efficiently; you will liquidate its second bankruptcy +efficiently [Broadbent and Larry look quickly at one another; for +this, unless the priest is an old financial hand, must be +inspiration]; you will get rid of its original shareholders +efficiently after efficiently ruining them; and you will finally +profit very efficiently by getting that hotel for a few shillings +in the pound. [More and more sternly] Besides those efficient +operations, you will foreclose your mortgages most efficiently +[his rebuking forefinger goes up in spite of himself]; you will +drive Haffigan to America very efficiently; you will find a use +for Barney Doran's foul mouth and bullying temper by employing +him to slave-drive your laborers very efficiently; and [low and +bitter] when at last this poor desolate countryside becomes a +busy mint in which we shall all slave to make money for you, with +our Polytechnic to teach us how to do it efficiently, and our +library to fuddle the few imaginations your distilleries will +spare, and our repaired Round Tower with admission sixpence, and +refreshments and penny-in-the-slot mutoscopes to make it +interesting, then no doubt your English and American shareholders +will spend all the money we make for them very efficiently in +shooting and hunting, in operations for cancer and appendicitis, +in gluttony and gambling; and you will devote what they save to +fresh land development schemes. For four wicked centuries the +world has dreamed this foolish dream of efficiency; and the end +is not yet. But the end will come. + +BROADBENT [seriously]. Too true, Mr Keegan, only too true. And +most eloquently put. It reminds me of poor Ruskin--a great man, +you know. I sympathize. Believe me, I'm on your side. Don't +sneer, Larry: I used to read a lot of Shelley years ago. Let us +be faithful to the dreams of our youth [he wafts a wreath of +cigar smoke at large across the hill]. + +KEEGAN. Come, Mr Doyle! is this English sentiment so much more +efficient than our Irish sentiment, after all? Mr Broadbent +spends his life inefficiently admiring the thoughts of great men, +and efficiently serving the cupidity of base money hunters. We +spend our lives efficiently sneering at him and doing nothing. +Which of us has any right to reproach the other? + +BROADBENT [coming down the hill again to Keegan's right hand]. +But you know, something must be done. + +KEEGAN. Yes: when we cease to do, we cease to live. Well, what +shall we do? + +BROADBENT. Why, what lies to our hand. + +KEEGAN. Which is the making of golf links and hotels to bring +idlers to a country which workers have left in millions because +it is a hungry land, a naked land, an ignorant and oppressed +land. + +BROADBENT. But, hang it all, the idlers will bring money from +England to Ireland! + +KEEGAN. Just as our idlers have for so many generations taken +money from Ireland to England. Has that saved England from +poverty and degradation more horrible than we have ever dreamed +of? When I went to England, sir, I hated England. Now I pity it. +[Broadbent can hardly conceive an Irishman pitying England; but +as Larry intervenes angrily, he gives it up and takes to the bill +and his cigar again] + +LARRY. Much good your pity will do it! + +KEEGAN. In the accounts kept in heaven, Mr Doyle, a heart +purified of hatred may be worth more even than a Land Development +Syndicate of Anglicized Irishmen and Gladstonized Englishmen. + +LARRY. Oh, in heaven, no doubt! I have never been there. Can you +tell me where it is? + +KEEGAN. Could you have told me this morning where hell is? Yet +you know now that it is here. Do not despair of finding heaven: +it may be no farther off. + +LARRY [ironically]. On this holy ground, as you call it, eh? + +KEEGAN [with fierce intensity]. Yes, perhaps, even on this holy +ground which such Irishmen as you have turned into a Land of +Derision. + +BROADBENT [coming between them]. Take care! you will be +quarrelling presently. Oh, you Irishmen, you Irishmen! Toujours +Ballyhooly, eh? [Larry, with a shrug, half comic, half impatient, +turn away up the hill, but presently strolls back on Keegan's +right. Broadbent adds, confidentially to Keegan] Stick to the +Englishman, Mr Keegan: he has a bad name here; but at least he +can forgive you for being an Irishman. + +KEEGAN. Sir: when you speak to me of English and Irish you forget +that I am a Catholic. My country is not Ireland nor England, but +the whole mighty realm of my Church. For me there are but two +countries: heaven and hell; but two conditions of men: salvation +and damnation. Standing here between you the Englishman, so +clever in your foolishness, and this Irishman, so foolish in his +cleverness, I cannot in my ignorance be sure which of you is the +more deeply damned; but I should be unfaithful to my calling if I +opened the gates of my heart less widely to one than to the +other. + +LARRY. In either case it would be an impertinence, Mr Keegan, as +your approval is not of the slightest consequence to us. What use +do you suppose all this drivel is to men with serious practical +business in hand? + +BROADBENT. I don't agree with that, Larry. I think these things +cannot be said too often: they keep up the moral tone of the +community. As you know, I claim the right to think for myself in +religious matters: in fact, I am ready to avow myself a bit of +a--of a--well, I don't care who knows it--a bit of a Unitarian; +but if the Church of England contained a few men like Mr Keegan, +I should certainly join it. + +KEEGAN. You do me too much honor, sir. [With priestly humility to +Larry] Mr Doyle: I am to blame for having unintentionally set +your mind somewhat on edge against me. I beg your pardon. + +LARRY [unimpressed and hostile]. I didn't stand on ceremony with +you: you needn't stand on it with me. Fine manners and fine words +are cheap in Ireland: you can keep both for my friend here, who +is still imposed on by them. I know their value. + +KEEGAN. You mean you don't know their value. + +LARRY [angrily]. I mean what I say. + +KEEGAN [turning quietly to the Englishman] You see, Mr Broadbent, +I only make the hearts of my countrymen harder when I preach to +them: the gates of hell still prevail against me. I shall wish +you good evening. I am better alone, at the Round Tower, dreaming +of heaven. [He goes up the hill]. + +LARRY. Aye, that's it! there you are! dreaming, dreaming, +dreaming, dreaming! + +KEEGAN [halting and turning to them for the last time]. Every +dream is a prophecy: every jest is an earnest in the womb of +Time. + +BROADBENT [reflectively]. Once, when I was a small kid, I dreamt +I was in heaven. [They both stare at him]. It was a sort of pale +blue satin place, with all the pious old ladies in our +congregation sitting as if they were at a service; and there was +some awful person in the study at the other side of the hall. I +didn't enjoy it, you know. What is it like in your dreams? + +KEEGAN. In my dreams it is a country where the State is the +Church and the Church the people: three in one and one in three. +It is a commonwealth in which work is play and play is life: +three in one and one in three. It is a temple in which the priest +is the worshipper and the worshipper the worshipped: three in one +and one in three. It is a godhead in which all life is human and +all humanity divine: three in one and one in three. It is, in +short, the dream of a madman. [He goes away across the hill]. + +BROADBENT [looking after him affectionately]. What a regular old +Church and State Tory he is! He's a character: he'll be an +attraction here. Really almost equal to Ruskin and Carlyle. + +LARRY. Yes; and much good they did with all their talk! + +BROADBENT. Oh tut, tut, Larry! They improved my mind: they raised +my tone enormously. I feel sincerely obliged to Keegan: he has +made me feel a better man: distinctly better. [With sincere +elevation] I feel now as I never did before that I am right in +devoting my life to the cause of Ireland. Come along and help me +to choose the site for the hotel. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's John Bull's Other Island by George Bernard Shaw + diff --git a/old/jbull10.zip b/old/jbull10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d1e9f2d --- /dev/null +++ b/old/jbull10.zip |