Chapter II: Part 2

SÍGHLE.--Dá rachadh sé féin amach go toileamhail, ní bheith aon
bhrigh in a chuid mhallacht ann sin?

MÁIRE--Ní bheith. Acht ní rachaidh sé amach go toileamhail, agus ní
thig liom-sa a ruagadh amach ar eagla a mhallacht.

SÍGHLE--Feuch Séamus bocht. Tá sé dul anonn go h-Úna.

[_Éirigheann Séamus ⁊ téidheann sé go h-Úna._]

SÉAMUS--An ndamhsóchaidh tú an ríl seo liom-sa, a Úna, nuair
bhéidheas an píobaire réidh.

MAC UI h-ANN. [_ag éirghe_]--Is mise Tomás O h-Annracháin, agus tá mé ag labhairt le Úna Ní Ríogáin anois, agus chomh fad agus bhéidheas fonn uirre-se bheith ag caint liom-sa ní leigfidh mé d’aon dhuine eile do theacht eadrainn.

SÉAMUS [_gan aire ar Mac Ui h-Annracháin_]--Nach ndamhsóchaidh tú
liom, a Úna?

MAC UI h-ANN. [_go fíochmhar_]--Nár dhubhairt mé leat anois gur liom-sa do bhí Úna Ní Ríogáin ag caint? Imthigh leat ar an móimid, a bhodaigh, agus ná tóg clampar ann so.

SÉAMUS--A Úna----

MAC UI h-ANN. [_ag béicil_]--Fág sin!

[_Imthigheann Séamas agus tig sé go dtí an bheirt
shean-mhnaoi._]

SÉAMUS--A Mháire Ní Ríogáin, tá mé ag iarraidh cead ort-sa an sgraiste mí-ádhamhail meisgeamhail sin do chaitheamh amach as an tigh. Má leigeann tú dham, cuirfidh mise agus mo bheirt dhearbhráthar amach é, agus nuair bhéidheas sé amuigh sochróchaidh mise leis.

MÁIRE--O! a Shéamais, ná déan. Tá faitchios orm roimhe. Tá mallacht
aige sin do sgoiltfeadh na crainn, deir siad.

SÉAMUS--Is cuma liom má tá mallacht aige do leagfadh na spéartha. Is orm-sa tuitfidh sé, agus cuirim mo dhúbhshlán faoi. Dá marbhóchadh sé mé ar an móimid ní leigfidh mé dhó a chuid phistreóg do chur ar Úna. A Mháire, tabhair ’m cead.

SÍGHLE--Ná déan sin, a Shéamuis, tá cómhairle níos fearr ’ná sin
agam-sa.

SÉAMUS--Cia an chómhairle í sin?

SÍGHLE--Tá slighe in mo cheann agam le n-a chur amach. Má leanann sibh-se mo chómhairle-se rachaidh se féin amach chomh socair le uan, d’á thoil féin, agus nuair gheobhaidh sibh amuigh é, buailidh an dorus air, agus ná leigidh asteach arís go bráth é.

MÁIRE--Rath ó Dhia ort, agus innis dam cad é tá in do cheann.

SÍGHLE--Déanfamaoid é chomh deas agus chomh simplidhe agus chonnaic tú ariamh. Cuirfimid é ag casadh sugáin go bhfuighimid amuigh é, agus buailfimid an dorus air ann sin.

MÁIRE--Is forus a rádh, acht ní forus a dhéanamh. Déarfaidh sé leat
“déan sugán, thú féin.”

SÍGHLE--Déarfamaoid, ann sin, nach bhfacaidh duine ar bith ann so sugán féir ariamh, nach bhfuil duine ar bith an san tigh ar féidir leis ceann aca dhéanamh.

SÉAMUS--Acht an gcreidfidh sé rud mar sin--nach bhfacamar sugán
riamh?

SÍGHLE--An gcreidfidh sé, an eadh? Creidfidh sé rud ar bith chreidfeadh sé go raibh sé féin ’na righ ar Éirinn nuair bhfuil glaine ólta aige, mar atá anois.

SÉAMUS--Acht cad é an croiceann chuirfeas sinn ar an mbréig seo,--go
bhfuil sugán féir ag teastál uainn?

MÁIRE--Smuaín ar chroicionn do chur air sin, a Shéamus.

SÉAMUS--Déarfaidh mé go bhfuil an ghaoth ag eirighe agus go bhfuil cúmhdach an tighe d’á sguabadh leis an stoirm, agus go gcaithfimid sugán tharraingt air.

MÁIRE--Acht má éisteann sé ag an dorus béidh fhios aige nach bhfuil
gaoth ná stoirm ann. Smuaín ar chroicionn eile, a Shéamuis.

SÍGHLE--’Nois, tá an chómhairle cheart agam-sa. Abair go bhfuil cóiste leagtha ag bonn an chnuic, agus go bhfuil siad ag iarraidh sugáin leis an gcóiste do leasughadh. Ní fheicfidh sé chomh fada sin ó’n dorus, agus ní bhéidh fhios aige nach fíor é.

MÁIRE--Sin é an sgéal, a Shíghle. ’Nois, a Shéamuis, gabh imeasg na ndaoine agus leig an rún leó. Innis dóibh cad tá aca le rádh--nach bhfacaidh duine ar bith san tír seo sugán féir riamh--agus cuir croicionn maith ar an mbréig, thú féin.

[_Imthigheann Séamus ó dhuine go duine ag cogarnaigh leó.
Tosaigheann cuid aca ag gáire. Tagann an píobaire agus
tosuigheann sé ag seinm. Éirigheann trí no ceathrar de
chúplachaibh, agus tosuigheann siad ag damhsa. Imthigheann
Séamas amach._]

MAC UI h-ANN. [_ag éirighe tar éis a bheith ag féachaint orra ar feadh cúpla móimid_]--Psuit! stopagaidh! An dtugann sibh damhsa ar an strapaireacht sin! Tá sibh ag bualadh an urláir mar bheith an oiread sin d’eallach. Tá sibh chomh trom lé bulláin, agus chomh ciotach le asail. Go dtachtar mo phíobán dá mb’fhearr liom bheith ag féachaint orraibh ’ná ar an oiread sin lachain bacach, ag léimnigh ar fud an tigh ar leath-chois! Fágaidh an t-urlár fá Úna Ní Ríogáin agus fúm-sa.

FEAR [_atá dul ag damhsa_]--Agus cad fáth a bhfágfamaois an t-urlár
fút-sa?

MAC UI h-ANN.--Tá an eala ar bhruach na toinne, tá an Phoénics Ríoghdha, tá péarla an bhrollaigh bháin, tá an Bhénus ameasg na mban, tá Úna Ní Ríogáin ag seasamh suas liom-sa, agus áit ar bith a n-éirigheann sise suas úmhluigheann an ghealach agus an ghrian féin dí, agus úmhlóchaidh sibh-se. Tá sí ró áluinn agus ró spéireamhail le h-aon bhean eile do bheith ’na h-aice. Acht fan go fóil, sul thaisbeánaim daoibh mar gnidheann an buachaill breágh Connachtach rinnce, déarfaidh mé an t-abhrán daoibh do rinne mé do Reult Chúige Múmhan--d’Úna ní Ríogáin. Éirigh, a ghrian na mban, agus déarfamaoid an t-abhrán le chéile, gach le bhéarsa, agus ann sin múinfimid dóibh cad é is rinnce fíreannach ann.

[_Eirigheann siad ⁊ gabhaid abhrán_].

MAC UI h-ANN.

’Sí Úna bhán, na gruaige buidhe,
An chúilfhionn ’chrádh in mo lár mo chroidhe,
Is ise mo rún, ’s mo chumann go buan,
Is cuma liom choidhche bean acht í.

ÚNA.

A bháird na súile duibhe, is tú
Fuair buaidh in san saoghal a’s clú,
Goirim do bhéal, a’s molaim thú féin,
Do chuiris mo chroidhe in mo chléibh amúgh.

MAC UI h-ANN.

’Sí Úna bhán na gruaige óir,
Mo shearc, mo chumann, mo ghrádh, mo stór.
Rachaidh sí féin le n-a bárd i gcéin,
Do loit sí a chroidhe in a chléibh go mór.

ÚNA.

Níor bhfhada oidhche liom, ná lá,
Ag éisteacht le do chómhrádh breágh.
Is binne do bhéal ná seinm na n-éan,
Óm’ chroidhe in mo chléibh do fuairis grádh.

MAC UI h-ANN.

Do shiúbhail mé féin an domhan iomlán,
Sacsana, Éire, an Fhrainc ’s an Spáin,
Ní fhacaidh mé féin i mbaile ná’ ’gcéin
Aon ainnir fa’n ngréin mar Úna bhán.

ÚNA.

Do chualaidh mise an chláirseach bhinn
San tsráid sin Chorcaigh, ag seinm linn,
Is binne go mór liom féin do ghlór,
Is binne go mór do bhéal ’ná sin.

MAC UI h-ANN.

Do bhí mé féin mo chadhan bocht, tráth,
Níor léir dham oidhche thar an lá,
Go bhfacaidh mé í, do ghoid mo chroidhe,
A’s do dhíbir dhíom mo bhrón ’s mo chrádh.

ÚNA.

Do bhí mé féin ar maidin indé
Ag siúbhal cois coille le fáinne an laé,
Bhí eun ann sin ag seinm go binn,
“Mo ghrádh-sa an grádh, a’s nach áluinn é!”

[_Glaodh agus torann, agus buaileann Séamus O h-Iarainn an dorus
asteach_].

SÉAMUS--Ob ob ú, och on í ó, go deó! Tá an cóiste mór leagtha ag bonn an chnuic. Tá an mála a bhfuil litreacha na tíre ann pléasgtha, agus ní’l sreang ná téad ná rópa ná dadaidh aca le na cheangailt arís. Tá siad ag glaodhach amach anois ar sugán féir do dhéanamh dóibh--cibé sórt ruid é sin--agus deir siad go mbéidh na litreacha ⁊ an cóiste caillte ar easbhuidh sugáin féir le n-a gceangailt.

MAC UI h-ANN--Na bí ’g ár mbodhrughadh! Tá ár n-abhrán ráidhte againn, agus anois támaoid dul ag damhsa. Ní thagann an cóiste an bealach sin ar aon chor.

SÉAMUS--Tagann sé an bealach sin anois--acht is dóigh gur strainséar thusa, agus nach bhfuil eólas agad air. Nach dtagann an cóiste thar an gcnoc anois a chómharsanna?

IAD UILE--Tagann, tagann go cinnte.

MAC UI h-ANN.--Is cuma liom, má thagann no muna dtagann. Acht b’fearr liom fiche cóiste bheith briste ar an mbóthar ná go gcuirfeá Péarla an bhrollaigh bháin ó dhamhsa dúinn. Abair leis an gcóisteóir rópa do chasadh dhó féin.

SÉAMUS--O murder, ní thig leis, tá an oiread sin de fuinneamh agus de theas agus de shpreacadh agus de lúth in sna caplaibh aigeanta sin go gcaithidh mo chóisteór bocht breith ar a gcinn. Is ar éigin-báis is féidir leis a gceapadh ná a gcongbháil. Tá faitchios a anam’ air go n-eireóchaidh siad in a mhullach, agus go n-imtheóchaidh siad uaidh de ruaig. Tá h-uile sheitreach asta, ní fhacaidh tú riamh a leithéid de chaplaibh fiadháine!

MAC UI h-ANN.--Má tá, tá daoine eile ins an gcóiste a dhéanfas rópa má’s éigin do’n chóisteóir bheith ag ceann na gcapall: fág sin agus leig dúinn damhsa.

SÉAMUS--Tá; tá triúr eile ann, acht maidir le ceann aca, tá sé ar leath-láimh, agus fear eile aca,--tá sé ag crith agus ag crathadh leis an sgannradh fuair sé, ní thig leis seasamh ar a dhá chois leis an eagla atá air; agus maidir leis an tríomhadh fear ní’l duine ar bith sin tír do leigfeadh an focal sin “rópa” as a bheul in a fhiadhnuise, mar nach le rópa do chrochadh a athair féin anurraigh, mar gheall ar chaoirigh do ghoid.

MAC UI h-ANN.--Casadh fear agaibh féin sugán dó, mar sin, agus fágaidh an t-urlár fúinn. [_Le Úna._] ’Nois, a réilt na mban, taisbeán dóibh mar imthigheann Iúnó imeasg na ndéithe, no Helen fá’r sgriosadh an Traoi Dar mo láimh, ó d’éag Déirdre, fá’r cuireadh Naoise mac Uisneach chum báis, ní’l a hoidhre i nÉirinn indiú acht thu féin. Tosóchamaoid.

SÉAMUS--Ná tosaigh, go mbéidh an sugán againn. Ní thig linn-ne sugán
chasadh. Ní’l duine ar bith annso ar féidir leis rópa do dhéanamh!

MAC UI h-ANN--Ní’l duine ar bith ann so ar féidir leis rópa
dhéanamh!!

IAD UILE--Ní’l.

SÍGHLE--Agus is fíor dhaoibh sin. Ní dhearnaidh duine ar bith ins an tír seo sugán féir ariamh, ní mheasaim go bhfuil duine in san tigh seo do chonnaic ceann aca, féin, acht mise. Is maith cuimhnighim-se, nuair nach raibh ionnam acht girseach bheag go bhfacaidh mé ceann aca ar ghabhar do rug mo shean-athair leis as Chonnachtaibh. Bhíodh na daoine uile ag rádh, “ara! cia ’n sórt ruid é sin chor ar bith?” agus dubhairt seisean gur sugán do bhí ann, agus go gnidís na daoine a leithéid sin shíos i gConnachtaibh. Dubhairt sé go rachadh fear aca ag congbháil an fhéir agus fear eile d’á chasadh. Congbhóchaidh mise an féar anois, má théidheann tusa d’á chasadh.

SÉAMUS--Bhéarfaidh mise glac féir asteach.

[_Imthigheann sé amach._]

MAC UI h-ANN [_ag gabháil_]--

Déanfaidh mé cáineadh cúige Múmhan,
Ní fhágann siad an t-urlár fúinn;
Ní’l ionnta casadh sugáin, féin!
Cúige Mumhan gan snas gan seun!

Gráin go deó ar chúige Múmhan,
Nach bhfágann siad an t-urlár fúinn;
Cúige Múmhan na mbaillseóir mbréan,
Nach dtig leó casadh sugáin, féin!

SÉAMUS [_ar ais_]--Seo an féar anois.

MAC UI h-ANN.--Tabhair ’m ann so é. Taisbeánfaidh mise dhaoibh cad dhéanfas an Connachtach deagh-mhúinte deaslámhach, an Connachtach cóir cliste ciallmhar, a bhfuil lúth agus lán-stuaim aige in a láimh, agus ciall in a cheann, agus coráiste in a chroidhe, acht gur sheól mi-ádh agus mór-bhuaidhreadh an tsaoghail é ameasg leibidíní chúige Mumhan, atá gan aoirde gan uaisle, atá gan eólas ar an eala thar an lachain, no ar an ór thar an bprás, no ar an lile thar an bhfóthanán, no ar reult na mbán óg, agus ar phéarla an bhrollaigh bháin, thar a gcuid straoille agus giobach féin. Tabhair ’m cipín!

[_Séachaideann fear maide dhó, cuireann sé sop féir timchioll
air; tosaigheann sé dh’á chasadh, agus Síghle ag tabhairt
amach an fhéir dó._]

MAC UI h-ANN. [_ag gabhail_]--

Tá péarla mná ’tabhairt soluis dúinn,
Is í mo ghrádh, is í mo rún,
’S í Úna bhán, an righ-bhean chiuin,
’S ní thuigid na Muimhnigh leath a stuaim.

Atá na Muimhnigh seo dallta ag Dia,
Ní aithnighid eala thar lacha liath,
Acht tiucfaidh sí liom-sa, mo Hélen bhreágh
Mar a molfar a pearsa ’s a sgéimh go bráth.

Ara! mhuise! mhuise! mhuise! Nach é seo an baile breágh lághach, nach é seo an baile thar bárr, an baile a mbíonn an oiread sin rógaire crochta ann nach mbíonn aon easbhuidh rópa ar na daoinibh, leis an méad rópa ghoideann siad ó’n gcrochaire. Cráidhteacháin atá ionnta. Tá na rópaidh aca agus ní thugann siad uatha iad--acht go gcuireann siad an Connachtach bocht ag casadh sugáin dóibh! Níor chas siad sugán féir in san mbaile seo ariamh--agus an méad sughán cnáibe atá aca de bhárr an chrochaire!

Gnidheann Connachtach ciallmhar
Rópa dhó féin,
Acht goideann an Muimhneach
Ó’n gcrochaire é!
Go bhfeicidh mé rópa
Breágh cnáibe go fóill
D’á fhásgadh ar sgóigibh
Gach aoinne ann so!

Mar gheall ar aon mhnaoi amháin d’imthigheadar na Gréagaigh, agus níor stopadar agus níor mhór-chómhnuigheadar no gur sgriosadar an Traoi, agus mar gheall ar aon mhnaoi amháin béidh an baile seo damanta go deó na ndeór agus go bruinne an bhrátha, le Dia na ngrás, go síorruidhe suthain, nuair nár thuigeadar gur ab í Úna ní Ríogáin an dara Helen do rugadh in a measg, agus go rug sí bárr áille ar Helen agus ar Bhénus, ar a dtáinig roimpi agus ar dtiucfas ’na diaigh.

Acht tiucfaidh sí liom mo phéarla mná
Go cúige Connacht na ndaoine breágh;
Geobhaidh sí féasta fíon a’s feóil,
Rinnceanna árda, spórt a’s ceól.

O! mhuise! mhuise! nár éirighidh an ghrian ar an mbaile seo, agus
nár lasaidh réalta air, agus nár----

[_Tá sé san am so amuigh thar an dorus. Éirigheann na fir uile
agus dúnaid é d’aon ruaig amháin air. Tugann Úna léim chum
an doruis, acht beirid na mná uirri. Téidheann Séamus anonn
chuici._]

ÚNA--O! O! O! ná cuirigidhe amach é. Leig ar ais é. Sin Tomás O h-Annrachain, is file é, is bárd é, is fear iongantach é. O leig ar ais é, ná déan sin air!

SÉAMUS--A Úna bhán, agus a chuisle dhíleas, leig dó. Tá sé imthighthe anois agus a chuid phistreóg leis. Béidh sé imthighthe as do cheann amárach, agus béidh tusa imhthighthe as a cheann-san. Nach bhfuil fhios agat go maith go mb’fearr liom thu ’ná céad míle Déirdre, agus gur tusa m’aon phéarla mná amháin d’á bhfuil in san domhan.

MAC UI h-ANN [_amuigh, ag bualadh ar an dorus_]--Fosgail! fosgail!
fosgail! Leigidh asteach mé. O mo sheacht gcéad míle mallacht orraibh,

Mallacht na lag orraibh ’s na láidir,
Mallacht na sagart agus na mbráthair,
Mallacht na n-Easball agus an Phápa,
Mallacht na mbaintreabhach ’s na ngarlach.
Fosgail! fosgail! fosgail!

[_Buaileann sé an dorus arís agus arís eile._]

SÉAMUS--Tá mé buidheach díbh a chómharsanna, agus béidh Úna buidheach díbh amarach. Buail leat, a sgraiste! déan do dhamhsa leat féin amuigh ann sin, anois! Ní bhfuighidh tú asteach ann so! Óra, a chómharsanna nach breágh é, duine do bheith ag éisteacht leis an stoirm taobh amuigh, agus é fhéin go socair sásta cois na teineadh. Buail leat! Buail leat. Cá ’uil Connacht anois?

[CRÍOCH.]

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Twisting of the Rope.

HANRAHAN.--_A wandering poet._
SHEAMUS O’HERAN.--_Engaged to_ OONA.
MAURYA.--_The woman of the house._
SHEELA.--_A neighbour._
OONA.--_Maurya’s daughter._

_Neighbours and a piper who have come to Maurya’s house for a dance._

SCENE.--_A farmer’s house in Munster a hundred years ago. Men and women moving about and standing round the walls as if they had just finished a dance. HANRAHAN, in the foreground, talking to OONA_.

_The piper is beginning a preparatory drone for another dance,
but SHEAMUS brings him a drink and he stops. A man has come
and holds out his hand to OONA, as if to lead her out, but
she pushes him away_.

OONA.--Don’t be bothering me now; don’t you see I’m listening to what he is saying. [_To HANRAHAN_] Go on with what you were saying just now.

HANRAHAN.--What did that fellow want of you?

OONA.--He wanted the next dance with me, but I wouldn’t give it to
him.

HANRAHAN.--And why would you give it to him? Do you think I’d let you dance with anyone but myself, and I here. I had no comfort or satisfaction this long time until I came here to-night, and till I saw yourself.

OONA.--What comfort am I to you?

HANRAHAN.--When a stick is half burned in the fire does it not get
comfort when water is poured on it?

OONA.--But sure, you are not half burned?

HANRAHAN.--I am, and three quarters of my heart is burned, and scorched and consumed, struggling with the world and the world struggling with me.

OONA.--You don’t look that bad.

HANRAHAN.--Oh, Oona ni Regaun, you have not knowledge of the life of a poor bard, without house or home or havings, but he going and ever going a drifting through the wide world, without a person with him but himself. There is not a morning in the week when I rise up that I do not say to myself that it would be better to be in the grave than to be wandering. There is nothing standing to me but the gift I got from God, my share of songs; when I begin upon them, my grief and my trouble go from me, I forget my persecution and my ill luck, and now since I saw you Oona, I see there is something that is better even than the songs.

OONA.--Poetry is a wonderful gift from God, and as long as you have that, you are more rich than the people of stock and store, the people of cows and cattle.

HANRAHAN.--Ah, Oona, it is a great blessing but it is a great curse as well for a man, he to be a poet. Look at me, have I a friend in this world? Is there a man alive who has a wish for me, is there the love of anyone at all on me? I am going like a poor lonely barnacle goose throughout the world; like Usheen after the Fenians; every person hates me; you do not hate me, Oona?

OONA.--Do not say a thing like that, it is impossible that anyone
would hate you.

HANRAHAN.--Come and we will sit in the corner of the room together, and I will tell you the little song I made for you, it is for you I made it. (_They go to a corner and sit down together. SHEELA comes in at the door_.)

SHEELA.--I came to you as quick as I could.

MAURYA.--And a hundred welcomes to you.

SHEELA.--What have you going on now?

MAURYA.--Beginning we are, we had one jig, and now the piper is drinking a glass. They’ll begin dancing again in a minute when the piper is ready.

SHEELA.--There are a good many people gathering in to you to-night.
We will have a fine dance.

MAURYA.--Maybe so, Sheela, but there’s a man of them there, and I’d
sooner him out than in.

SHEELA.--It’s about the long brown man you are talking isn’t it? The man that is in close talk with Oona in the corner. Where is he from and who is he himself?

MAURYA.--That’s the greatest vagabond ever came into Ireland; Tumaus Hanrahan they call him, but it’s Hanrahan the rogue he ought to have been christened by right. Aurah, wasn’t there the misfortune on me, him to come in to us at all to-night.

SHEELA.--What sort of a person is he? Isn’t he a man that makes songs, out of Connacht? I heard talk of him before, and they say there is not another dancer in Ireland so good as him. I would like to see him dance.

MAURYA.--Bad luck to the vagabond! It is well I know what sort he is, because there was a kind of friendship between himself and the first husband I had, and it’s often I heard from poor Diarmuid--the Lord have mercy on him!--what sort of person he was. He was a schoolmaster down in Connacht, but he used to have every trick worse than another, ever making songs he used to be, and drinking whiskey and setting quarrels afoot among the neighbours with his share of talk. They say there isn’t a woman in the five provinces that he wouldn’t deceive. He is worse than Donal na Greina long ago. But the end of the story is that the priest routed him out of the parish altogether; he got another place then, and followed on at the same tricks until he was routed out again, and another again with it. Now he has neither place nor house nor anything, but he to be going the country, making songs and getting a night’s lodging from the people, nobody will refuse him, because they are afraid of him. He’s a great poet, and maybe he’d make a rann on you that would stick to you for ever, if you were to anger him.

SHEELA.--God preserve us, but what brought him in to-night?

MAURYA.--He was travelling the country and he heard there was to be a dance here, and he came in because he knew us, he was rather great with my first husband. It is wonderful how he is making out his way of life at all, and he with nothing but his share of songs. They say that there is no place that he’ll go to, that the women don’t love him and that the men don’t hate him.

SHEELA.--(_Catching MAURYA by the shoulder_) Turn your head, Maurya, look at him now, himself and your daughter, and their heads together; he’s whispering in her ear; he’s after making a poem for her and he’s whispering it in her ear. O the villain, he’ll be putting his spells on her now.

MAURYA.--Ohone, go deo! isn’t it a misfortune that he came. He’s talking every moment with Oona since he came in three hours ago. I did my best to separate them from each other, but it failed me. Poor Oona is given up to every sort of old songs and old made up stories, and she thinks it sweet to be listening to him. The marriage is settled between herself and Sheamus O’Herin there, a quarter from to-day. Look at poor Sheamus at the door, and he watching them. There is grief and hanging of the head on him; it’s easy to see that he’d like to choke the vagabond this minute. I am greatly afraid that the head will be turned on Oona with his share of blathering. As sure as I am alive there will come evil out of this night.

SHEELA.--And couldn’t you put him out?

MAURYA.--I could. There’s no person here to help him unless there would be a woman or two; but he is a great poet, and he has a curse that would split the trees and that would burst the stones. They say the seed will rot in the ground and the milk go from the cows when a poet like him makes a curse, if a person routed him out of the house; but if he were once out, I’ll go bail that I wouldn’t let him in again.

SHEELA.--If himself were to go out willingly, there would be no
virtue in his curse then?

MAURYA.--There would not, but he will not go out willingly, and I
cannot rout him out myself for fear of his curse.

SHEELA.--Look at poor Sheamus. He is going over to her (_SHEAMUS
gets up and goes over to her_).

SHEAMUS.--Will you dance this reel with me, Oona, as soon as the
piper is ready?

HANRAHAN (_rising up_).--I am Tumaus Hanrahan, and I am speaking now to Oona ni Regaun, and as long as she is willing to be talking to me, I will allow no living person to come between us.

SHEAMUS (_without heeding HANRAHAN_).--Will you not dance with me,
Oona?

HANRAHAN (_savagely_).--Didn’t I tell you now that it was to me Oona ni Regaun was talking? Leave that on the spot you clown, and do not raise a disturbance here.

SHEAMUS.--Oona----

HANRAHAN (_shouting_)--Leave that! (_SHEAMUS goes away and comes
over to the two old women_).

SHEAMUS.--Maurya Regaun, I am asking permission of you to throw that ill-mannerly, drunken vagabond out of the house. Myself and my two brothers will put him out if you will allow us; and when he’s outside I’ll settle with him.

MAURYA.--Sheamus, do not; I am afraid of him. That man has a curse
they say that would split the trees.

SHEAMUS.--I don’t care if he had a curse that would overthrow the heavens, it is on me it will fall, and I defy him! If he were to kill me on the moment, I will not allow him to put his spells on Oona. Give me leave, Maurya.

SHEELA.--Do not, Sheamus. I have a better advice than that.

SHEAMUS.--What advice is that?

SHEELA.--I have a way in my head to put him out. If you follow my advice he will go out himself as quiet as a lamb, and when you get him out, slap the door on him, and never let him in again.

MAURYA.--Luck from God on you, Sheela, and tell us what’s in your
head.

SHEELA.--We will do it as nice and easy as you ever saw. We will put him to twist a hay-rope till he is outside, and then we will shut the door on him.

SHEAMUS.--It’s easy to say, but not easy to do. He will say to you,
“Make a hay-rope yourself.”

SHEELA.--We will say then that no one ever saw a hay-rope made, that
there is no one at all in the house to make the beginning of it.

SHEAMUS.--But will _he_ believe that we never saw a hay-rope?

SHEELA.--He’d believe it, is it? He’d believe anything, he’d believe that himself is king over Ireland when he has a glass taken, as he has now.

SHEAMUS.--But what excuse can we make for saying we want a hay-rope?

MAURYA.--Can’t you think of something yourself, Sheamus?

SHEAMUS.--Sure I can say the wind is rising, and I must bind the
thatch, or it will be off the house.

SHEELA.--But he’ll know the wind is not rising if he does but listen
at the door. You must think of some other excuse, Sheamus.

SHEAMUS.--Wait, I have a good idea now; say that there is a coach upset at the bottom of the hill, and that they are asking for a hay-rope to mend it with. He can’t see as far as that from the door, and he wont know it’s not true it is.

MAURYA.--That’s the story, Sheela. Now, Sheamus, go among the people and tell them the secret. Tell them what they have to say, that no one at all in this country ever saw a hay-rope, and put a good skin on the lie yourself. (_SHEAMUS goes from person to person whispering to them, and some of them begin laughing. The piper has begun playing. Three or four couples rise up_).

HANRAHAN (_after looking at them for a couple of minutes_).--Whisht! Let ye sit down! Do ye call that dragging, dancing? You are tramping the floor like so many cattle. You are as heavy as bullocks, as awkward as asses. May my throat be choked if I would not rather be looking at as many lame ducks hopping on one leg through the house. Leave the floor to Oona ni Regaun and to me.

ONE OF THE MEN GOING TO DANCE.--And for what would we leave the
floor to you?

HANRAHAN.--The swan of the brink of the waves, the royal phœnix, the pearl of the white breast, the Venus amongst the women, Oona ni Regaun is standing up with me, and any place where she rises up the sun and the moon bow to her, and so shall ye yet. She is too handsome, too sky-like for any other woman to be near her. But wait awhile! Before I’ll show you how the fine Connacht boy can dance, I will give you the poem I made on the star of the province of Munster, on Oona ni Regaun. Get up, O sun among women, and we will sing the song together, verse about, and then we’ll show them what right dancing is! (_OONA rises_).

HANRAHAN.

She is white Oona of the yellow hair,
The Coolin that was destroying my heart inside me;
She is my secret love and my lasting affection,
I care not for ever for any woman but her.

OONA.

O bard of the black eye, it is you
Who have found victory in the world and fame;
I call on yourself and I praise your mouth;
You have set my heart in my breast astray.

HANRAHAN.

O fair Oona of the golden hair,
My desire my affection, my love and my store
Herself will go with her bard afar;
She has hurt his heart in his breast greatly.

OONA.

I would not think the night long nor the day,
Listening to your fine discourse;
More melodious is your mouth than the singing of the birds,
From my heart in my breast you have found love.

HANRAHAN.

I walked myself the entire world,
England, Ireland, France and Spain;
I never saw at home or afar
Any girl under the sun like fair Oona.

OONA.

I have heard the melodious harp
On the street of Cork playing to us;
More melodious by far did I think your voice
More melodious by far your mouth than that.

HANRAHAN.

I was myself one time a poor barnacle goose,
The night was not plain to me more than the day
Until I beheld her, she is the love of my heart,
That banished from me my grief and my misery.

OONA.

I was myself on the morning of yesterday
Walking beside the wood at the break of day;
There was a bird there was singing sweetly
How I love love, and is it not beautiful.

(_A shout and a noise, and SHEAMUS O’HERAN rushes in_.)

SHEAMUS.--Ububu! Ohone-y-o, go deo! The big coach is overthrown at the foot of the hill! The bag in which the letters of the country are is bursted, and there is neither tie nor cord nor rope nor anything to bind it up. They are calling out now for a hay sugaun, whatever kind of thing that is; the letters and the coach will be lost for want of a hay sugaun to bind them.

HANRAHAN.--Do not be bothering us; we have our poem done and we are
going to dance. The coach does not come this way at all.

SHEAMUS.--The coach does come this way now, but sure you’re a stranger and you don’t know. Doesn’t the coach come over the hill now, neighbours?

ALL.--It does, it does, surely.

HANRAHAN.--I don’t care whether it does come or whether it doesn’t. I would sooner twenty coaches to be overthrown on the road than the pearl of the white breast to be stopped from dancing to us. Tell the coachman to twist a rope for himself.

SHEAMUS.--O murder, he can’t. There’s that much vigour and fire and activity and courage in the horses that my poor coachman must take them by the heads, it’s on the pinch of his life he’s able to control them, he’s afraid of his soul they’ll go from him of a rout. They are neighing like anything, you never saw the like of them for wild horses.

HANRAHAN.--Are there no other people in the coach that will make a rope, if the coachman has to be at the horses’ heads? Leave that, and let us dance.

SHEAMUS.--There are three others in it, but as to one of them, he is one-handed, and another man of them, he’s shaking and trembling with the fright he got; its not in him now to stand up on his two feet with the fear that’s on him, and as for the third man, there isn’t a person in this country would speak to him about a rope at all, for his own father was hanged with a rope last year for stealing sheep.

HANRAHAN.--Then let one of yourselves twist a rope so, and leave the floor to us. [_To OONA_] Now, O star of women, show me how Juno goes among the gods, or Helen for whom Troy was destroyed. By my word, since Deirdre died, for whom Naoise, son of Usnech, was put to death, her heir is not in Ireland to-day but yourself. Let us begin.

SHEAMUS.--Do not begin until we have a rope, we are not able to
twist a rope, there’s nobody here can twist a rope.

HANRAHAN.--There’s nobody here is able to twist a rope?

ALL.--Nobody at all.

SHEELA.--And that’s true; nobody in this place ever made a hay sugaun. I don’t believe there’s a person in this house who ever saw one itself but me. It’s well I remember when I was a little girsha that I saw one of them on a goat that my grandfather brought with him out of Connacht. All the people used to be saying: Aurah, what sort of thing is that at all? And he said that it was a sugaun that was in it, and that people used to make the like of that down in Connacht. He said that one man would go holding the hay, and another man twisting it. I’ll hold the hay now, and you’ll go twisting it.

SHEAMUS.--I’ll bring in a lock of hay. [_He goes out._]

HANRAHAN.

I will make a dispraising of the province of Munster:
They do not leave the floor to us,
It isn’t in them to twist even a sugaun;
The province of Munster without nicety, without prosperity!

Disgust for ever on the province of Munster,
That they do not leave us the floor;
The province of Munster of the foul clumsy people.
They cannot even twist a sugaun!

SHEAMUS [_coming back_].--Here’s the hay now.

HANRAHAN.--Give it here to me; I’ll show ye what the well-learned handy, honest, clever, sensible Connachtman will do, who has activity and full deftness in his hands, and sense in his head, and courage in his heart, but that the misfortune and the great trouble of the world directed him among the _lebidins_ of the province of Munster, without honour, without nobility, without knowledge of the swan beyond the duck, or of the gold beyond the brass, or of the lily beyond the thistle, or of the star of young women and the pearl of the white breast beyond their own share of sluts and slatterns. Give me a kippeen (_a man hands him a stick, he puts a wisp of hay round it, and begins twisting it, and SHEELA giving him out the hay_).

HANRAHAN.

There is a pearl of a woman giving light to us;
She is my love; she is my desire;
She is fair Oona, the gentle queen-woman.
And the Munstermen do not understand half her courtesy.
These Munster men are blinded by God;
They do not recognise the swan beyond the grey duck,
But she will come with me, my fine Helen,
Where her person and her beauty shall be praised for ever.

Arrah, wisha, wisha, wisha, isn’t this the fine village, isn’t this the exceeding village! The village where there be that many rogues hanged that the people have no want of ropes with all the ropes that they steal from the hangman!

The sensible Connachtman makes
A rope for himself;
But the Munsterman steals it
From the hangman;
That I may see a fine rope,
A rope of hemp yet
A stretching on the throats
Of every person here!

On account of one woman only the Greeks departed, and they never stopped, and they never greatly stayed, till they destroyed Troy; and on account of one woman only this village shall be damned; go deo, ma neoir and to the womb of judgment, by God of the graces, eternally and everlastingly, because they did not understand that Oona ni Regaun is the second Helen, who was born in their midst, and that she overcame in beauty Deirdre and Venus, and all that came before or that will come after her!

But she will come with me, my pearl of a woman,
To the province of Connacht of the fine people,
She will receive feast, wine and meat,
High dances, sport and music!

O, wisha, wisha, that the sun may never rise upon this village, and that the stars may never shine on it, and that----. (_He is by this time outside the door. All the men make a rush at the door, and shut it. OONA runs towards the door, but the women seize her. SHEAMUS goes over to her._)

OONA.--Oh, oh, oh, do not put him out, let him back, that is Tumaus Hanrahan; he is a poet, he is a bard, he is a wonderful man. O, let him back, do not do that to him!

SHEAMUS.--Oh, Oona bawn, acushla deelish, let him be, he is gone now, and his share of spells with him. He will be gone out of your head to-morrow, and you will be gone out of his head. Don’t you know that I like you better than a hundred thousand Deirdres, and that you are my one pearl of a woman in the world.

HANRAHAN (_outside, beating on the door_).--Open, open, open, let me in! Oh, my seven hundred thousand curses on you, the curse of the weak and of the strong, the curse of the poets and of the bards upon you! The curse of the priests on you and the friars! The curse of the bishops upon you and the Pope! The curse of the widows on you and the children! Open! (_He beats at the door again and again._)

SHEAMUS.--I am thankful to ye, neighbours, and Oona will be thankful to ye to-morrow. Beat away you vagabond! Do your dancing out there with yourself now! Isn’t it a fine thing for a man to be listening to the storm outside, and himself quiet and easy beside the fire. Beat away, beat away! Where’s Connacht now?

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Transcriber’s Notes

The play _Casadh an tSugáin_ was originally printed in Cló Gaelach (Irish script), with lenition indicated by a dot over the affected consonant. This edition replaces the lenition dots with the letter “h,” as is standard in modern written Irish. The Irish text uses the Tironian et (⁊) rather than the Roman ampersand (&) to indicate “agus.”

As both plays are now set in Roman type, the formatting of each has been standardised, with, for example, stage directions in the Irish play set in italics and the formatting of the songs changed in the English version to match the Irish formatting.

This file uses _underscores_ to indicate italic text. Flourishes and decorations in advertising copy have not been included in this plain text version.

The following changes and corrections have been made:

• p. 6: Added period after “Mr.” in phrase “Mr. MacGinlay’s _Elis agus an bhean deirce_ has not this defect.” • p. 9: Removed after “separated” in phrase “it is difficult to write well in a language which has been long separated from the ‘folk-speech’.” • p. 11: Replaced “enthusiams” with “enthusiasms” in phrase “to create a sort of rallying point for the many literary enthusiasms and aspirations.” • p. 12: Replaced “Rembrandts” with “Rembrandt’s” in phrase “Green landscapes are not required in Rembrandt’s portraits.” • p. 13: Added period after phrase “this would have been a base vanity, and unworthy a Gaelic Leaguer.” • p. 20: Added period after phrase “file Connachtach atá ar seachrán.” • p. 20: Replaced “d’a” with “d’á” in phrase “mé ag éisteacht le n-a bhfuil seisean d’á rádh liom.” • p. 20: Replaced “nocht” with “anocht” in phrase “go dtáinig mé ann so anocht.” • p. 21: Replaced “anoish” with “anois” in phrase “sin le Úna in san gcoirneull anois.” • p. 22: Replaced “Eirinn” with “Éirinn” in phrase “deir siad nach bhfuil damhsóir eile i n-Éirinn chomh maith leis.” • p. 23: Replaced “Una” with “Úna” in phrase “A Úna----.” • p. 23: Replaced “SÉAMAS” with “SÉAMUS” before phrase “Is cuma liom má tá mallacht aige do leagfadh na spéartha.” • p. 27: Replaced “Seó” with “Seo” in phrase “Seo an féar anois.” • p. 29: Replaced “mllacht” with “mallacht” in phrase “O mo sheacht gcéad míle mallacht orraibh.” • p. 30: Added period after phrase “Engaged to OONA.” • p. 31: Replaced “its” with “it’s” in phrase “it’s Hanrahan the rogue he ought to have been christened by right.” • p. 32: Replaced “myself” with “himself” in phrase “there was a kind of friendship between himself and the first husband I had.” • p. 32: Replaced “its” with “it’s” in phrase “and it’s often I heard from poor Diarmuid.” • p. 36: Replaced “dont” with “don’t” in phrase “I don’t believe there’s a person in this house who ever saw one.” • p. 36: Added exclamation mark after phrase “The province of Munster without nicety, without prosperity!” • p. 38: Replaced “aud” with “and” in phrase “All the men make a rush at the door, and shut it.”

In addition, in several places in the English version of The Twisting of the Rope, “Shemus” has been replaced with “Sheamus” and “Mauyra” with “Maurya”; periods have silently been added after character names; and character names in stage directions have had small caps markup added.