Martin, a young man.

Mary. His newly married wife.

A Blind Fiddler.

Neighbours.

Scene.—A cottage kitchen. A table poorly set out, with two cups, a jug of milk, and a cake of bread. Martin and Mary sitting down to it.

Martin. This is a poor wedding dinner I have for you, Mary; and a poor house I brought you to. I wish it was seven thousand times better for your sake.

Mary. Only we have to part again, there wouldn't be in the world a pair happier than myself and yourself; but where's the good of fretting when there's no help for it?

Martin. If I had but a couple of pounds, I could buy a little ass and earn a share of money bringing turf to the big town; or I could job at the fairs. But, my grief, we haven't it, or ten shillings.

Mary. And if I could get but a few hens, and what would feed them, I could be selling the eggs or rearing chickens. But unless God would work a miracle for us, there's no chance of that itself. (She wipes her eyes with her apron.)

Martin. Don't be crying, Mary. You belong to me now; am I not rich so long as you belong to me? Whatever place I will go to I will know you are thinking of me.

Mary. That is a true word you say, Martin; I will never be poor so long as I know you to be thinking of me. No riches at all would be so good as that. There's a line my poor father used to be saying:—

It was Raftery, the blind man, said that. I never saw him; but my father used to be talking of him.

Martin. I don't care what he said. I wish we had goods and store. He said the exact contrary another time:—

Mary. Poor Raftery! he'd give us all that if he had the chance. He was always a good friend to the poor. I heard them saying the other day he was lying in his sickness at some place near Killeenan, and near his death. The Lord have mercy on him!

Martin. The Lord have mercy on him, indeed. Come now, Mary, eat the first bit in your own house. I'll take the eggs off the fire.

(He gets up and goes to the fire. There is a knock at the half-door, and an old ragged, patched fiddler puts in his head.)

Fiddler. God save all here!

Mary (standing up). Aurah, the poor man, bring him in.

Martin. Let there be sense on you, Mary; we have not anything at all to give him. I will tell him the way to the Brennans' house: there will be plenty to find there.

Mary. Indeed and surely I will not put him from this door. This is the first time I ever had a house of my own; and I will not send anyone at all from my own door this day.

Martin. Do as you think well yourself. (Mary goes to the door and opens it.) Come in, honest man, and sit down, and a hundred welcomes before you. (The old man comes in, feeling about him as if blind.)

Mary. O Martin, he is blind. May God preserve him!

Old Man. That is so, acushla; I am in my blindness; and it is a tired, vexed, blind man I am. I am going and ever going since morning, and I never found a bit to eat since I rose.

Mary. You did not find a bit to eat since morning! Are you starving?

Old Man. Oh, indeed, there was food to be got if I would take it; but the bit that does not come from a willing heart, there would be no taste on it; and that is what I did not get since morning; but people putting a potato or a bit of bread out of the door to me, as if I was a dog, with the hope I would not stop, but would go away.

Mary. Oh, sit down with us now, and eat with us. Bring him to the table, Martin. (Martin gives his hand to the old man, and gives him a chair, and puts him sitting at the table with themselves. He makes two halves of the cake, and gives a half to the blind man, and one of the eggs. The old man eats eagerly.)

Old Man. I leave my seven hundred thousand blessings on the people of this house. The blessing of God and Mary on them.

Mary. That it may be well with you. O Martin, that is the first blessing I got in my own house. That blessing is better to me than gold.

Old Man. Aurah, is it not beautiful for people to have a house of their own, and to have eyes to look about with?

Martin. May God preserve you, right man; it is likely it is a poor thing to be without sight.

Old Man. You do not understand, nor any person that has his sight, what it is to be blind and dark the way I am. Not to have before you and behind you but the night. Oh, darkness, darkness! No shape or form in anything; not to see the bird you hear singing in the tree over your head; nor the flower you smell on the bush, or the child, and he laughing in his mother's breast. The morning and the evening the day and the night, only the same thing to you Oh, it is a poor thing to be blind! (Martin puts over the other half of the cake and the egg to Mary, and makes a sign to her to eat. She makes a sign to him to take a share of them. The blind man stretches his hand over the table to try for a crumb of bread, for he has eaten his own share; and he gets hold of the other half cake and takes it.)

Mary. Eat that, poor man, it is likely there is hunger on you. Here is another egg for you. (She puts the other egg in his hand.)

Blind Man. The blessing of the Only Son and of the Holy Mother on the hand that gives it. (Martin puts up his two hands as if dissatisfied; and he is going to say something when Mary takes the words from his mouth, laughing at his gloomy face.)

Blind Man. Maisead, my blessing on the mouth that laughter came from, and my blessing on the light heart that let it out of the mouth.

Martin. A light heart, is it! There is not a light heart with Mary to-night, my grief!

Blind Man. Mary is your wife?

Martin. She is. I made her my wife three hours ago.

Blind Man. Three hours ago?

Martin (bitterly).—That is so. We were married to-day; and it is at our wedding dinner you are sitting.

Blind Man. Your wedding dinner! Do not be mocking me! There is no company here.

Mary. Oh, he is not mocking you; he would not do a thing like that. There is no company here; for we have nothing in the house to give them.

Blind Man. But you gave it to me! Is it the truth you are speaking? Am I the only person that was asked to your wedding?

Mary. You are. But that is to the honour of God; and we would never have told you that, but Martin let slip the word from his mouth.

Blind Man. Oh, and I eat your little feast on you, and without knowing it.

Mary. It is not without a welcome you eat it.

Martin. I am well pleased you came in; you were more in want of it than ourselves. If we have a bare house now, we might have a full house yet; and a good dinner on the table to share with those in need of it. I'd be better off now; but all the little money I had I laid it out on the house, and the little patch of land. I thought I was wise at the time; but now we have the house, and we haven't what will keep us alive in it. I have the potatoes set in the garden; but I haven't so much as a potato to eat. We are left bare, and I am guilty of it.

Mary. If there is any fault, it is on me it is; coming maybe to be a drag on Martin, where I have no fortune at all. The little money I gained in service, I lost it all on my poor father, when he took sick. And I went back into service; and the mistress I had was a cross woman; and when Martin saw the way she was treating me, he wouldn't let me stop with her any more, but he made me his wife. And now I will have great courage, when I have to go out to service again.

Blind Man. Will you have to be parted again?

Martin. We will, indeed; I must go as a spailpin fanac, to reap and to dig the harvest in some other place. But Mary and myself have it settled we'll meet again at this house on a certain day, with the blessing of God. I'll have the key in my pocket; and we'll come in, with a better chance of stopping in it. You'll have your own cows yet, Mary; and your calves and your firkins of butter, with the help of God.

Mary. I think I hear carts on the road. (She gets up, and goes to the door.)

Martin. It's the people coming back from the fair. Shut the door, Mary; I wouldn't like them to see how bare the house is; and I'll put a smear of ashes on the window, the way they won't see we're here at all.

Blind Man (raising his head suddenly). Do not do that; but open the door wide, and let the blessing of God come in on you. (Mary opens the door again. He takes up his fiddle, and begins to play on it. A little boy puts in his head at the door; and then another head is seen, and another with that again.)

Blind Man. Who is that at the door?

Mary. Little boys that came to listen to you.

Blind Man. Come in, boys. (Three or four come inside.)

Blind Man. Boys, I am listening to the carts coming home from the fair. Let you go out, and stop the people; tell them they must come in: there is a wedding-dance here this evening.

Boy. The people are going home. They wouldn't stop for us.

Blind Man. Tell them to come in; and there will be as fine a dance as ever they saw. But they must all give a present to the man and woman that are newly married.

Another Boy. Why would they come in? They can have a dance of their own at any time. There is a piper in the big town.

Blind Man. Say to them that I myself tell them to come in; and to bring every one a present to the newly-married woman.

Boy. And who are you yourself?

Blind Man. Tell them it is Raftery the poet is here, and that is calling to them.

(The boys run out, tumbling over one another.)

Martin. Are you Raftery, the great poet I heard talk of since I was born! (taking his hand). Seven hundred thousand welcomes before you; and it is a great honour to us you to be here.

Mary. Raftery the poet! Now there is luck on us! The first man that brought us his blessing, and that eat food in my own house, he to be Raftery the poet! And I hearing the other day you were sick and near your death. And I see no sign of sickness on you now.

Blind Man. I am well, I am well now, the Lord be praised for it.

Martin. I heard talk of you as often as there are fingers on my hands, and toes on my feet. But indeed I never thought to have the luck of seeing you.

Mary. And it is you that made 'County Mayo,' and the 'Repentance,' and 'The Weaver,' and the 'Shining Flower.' It is often I thought there should be no woman in the world so proud as Mary Hynes, with the way you praised her.

Blind Man. O my poor Mary Hynes, without luck! (They hear the wheels of a cart outside the house, and an old farmer comes in, a frieze coat on him.)

Old Farmer. God save you, Martin; and is this your wife? God be with you, woman of the house. And, O Raftery, seven hundred thousand welcomes before you to this country. I would sooner see you than King George. When they told me you were here, I said to myself I would not go past without seeing you, if I didn't get home till morning.

Blind Man. But didn't you get my message?

Old Farmer. What message is that?

Blind Man. Didn't they tell you to bring a present to the new-married woman and her husband. What have you got for them?

Old Farmer. Wait till I see; I have something in the cart. (He goes out.)

Martin. O Raftery, you see now what a great name you have here. (Old farmer comes in again with a bag of meal on his shoulders. He throws it on the floor.)

Old Farmer. Four bags of meal I was bringing from the mill; and there is one of them for the woman of the house.

Mary. A thousand thanks to God and you. (Martin carries the bag to other side of table.)

Blind Man. Now don't forget the fiddler. (He takes a plate and holds it out.)

Old Farmer. I'll not break my word, Raftery, the first time you came to this country. There is two shillings for you in the plate. (He throws the money into it.)

Blind Man.

Old Farmer. Maisead, long life to you, Raftery.

Blind Man. Are you there, boy?

Boy. I am.

Blind Man. I hear more wheels coming. Go out, and tell the people Raftery will let no person come in here without a present for the woman of the house.

Boy. I am going. (He goes out.)

Old Farmer. They say there was not the like of you for a poet in Connacht these hundred years back.

(A middle-aged woman comes in, a pound of tea and a parcel of sugar in her hand.)

Woman. God save all here! I heard Raftery the poet was in it; and I brought this little present to the woman of the house. (Puts them into Mary's hands.) I would sooner see Raftery than be out there in the cart.

Blind Man. Don't forget the fiddler, O right woman.

Woman. And are you Raftery?

Blind Man.

Woman. Good the man.

Blind Man.

(A young man comes in with a side of bacon in his arms, and stands waiting.)

Woman. Indeed, I would not begrudge it to you if it was a piece of gold I had (puts shilling in plate). The 'Repentance' you made is at the end of my fingers. Here's another customer for you now. (The young man comes forward, and gives the bacon to Martin, who puts it with the meal.)

Mary. I thank you kindly. Oh, it's like the miracle worked for Saint Colman, sending him his dinner in the bare hills!

Blind Man.

Fair Young Man. I heard the world and his wife were stopping at the door to give a welcome to Raftery, and I thought I would not be behindhand. And here is something for the fiddler (puts money in the plate). I would sooner see that fiddler than any other fiddler in the world.

Blind Man.

Fair Young Man (to Martin). How does he know I have yellow hair and he blind? How does he know that?

Martin. Hush, my head is going round with the wonder is on me.

Mary. No wonder at all in that. Maybe it is dreaming we all are.

(A grey-haired man and two girls come in.)

Grey-Haired Man (laying down a sack). The blessing of God here! I heard Raftery was here in the wedding-house, and that he would let no one in without a present. There was nothing in the cart with us but a sack of potatoes, and there it is for you, ma'am.

Mary. Oh, it's too good you all are to me. Whether it's asleep or awake I am, I thank you kindly.

Blind Man. Don't forget the fiddler.

Grey-Haired Man. Are you Raftery?

Blind Man.

Grey-Haired Farmer. You're welcome; you're welcome! That is Raftery, anyhow! (Puts money in the plate.)

Blind Man.

Grey-Haired Man. Aurah Susan, aurah Oona, are you looking at who is before you, the greatest poet in Ireland? That is Raftery himself. It is often you heard talk of the girl that got a husband with the praises he gave her. If he gives you the same, maybe you'll get husbands with it.

First Girl. I often heard talk of Raftery.

The Other Girl. There was always a great name on Raftery. (They put some money in the plate shyly.)

Blind Man.

First Girl (to Mary). Here's a couple of dozen of eggs, and welcome.

The Other Girl. O woman of the house! I have nothing with me here; but I have a good clucking hen at home, and I'll bring her to you to-morrow; our house is close by.

Mary. Indeed, that's good news to me; such nice neighbours to be at hand. (Several men and women come into the house together, every one of them carrying something.)

Several (together). Welcome, Raftery!

Blind Man.

(They laugh and greet Mary, and put down gifts—a roll of butter, rolls of woollen thread, and many other things.)

Old Farmer. Ha, ha! That's right. They are coming in now. Now, Raftery; isn't it generous and open-handed and liberal this country is? Isn't it better than the County Mayo?

Blind Man.

(Holds out his plate to them.)

Old Farmer (laughing). Now, neighbours, down with it! My conscience! Raftery knows how to get hold of the money.

A Man of Them. Maisead, he doesn't own much riches; and there is pride on us all to see him in this country. (Puts money in the plate, and all the others do the same. A lean old man comes in.)

Martin (to Mary). That is John the Miser, or Seagan na Stucaire, as they call him. That is the man that is hardest in this country. He never gave a penny to any person since he was born.

Miser. God save all here! Oh, is that Raftery? Ho, ho! God save you, Raftery, and a hundred thousand welcomes before you to this country. There is pride on us all to see you. There is gladness on the whole country, you to be here in our midst. If you will believe me, neighbours, I saw with my own eyes the bush Raftery put his curse on; and as sure as I'm living, it was withered away. There is nothing of it but a couple of old twigs now.

Blind Man.

Miser. Ho! ho! Raftery, making poems as usual. Well, there is great joy on us, indeed, to see you in our midst.

Blind Man. What is the present you have brought to the new-married woman?

Miser. What is the present I brought? O maisead! the times are too bad on a poor man. I brought a few fleeces of wool I had to the market to-day, and I couldn't sell it; I had to bring it home again. And calves I had there, I couldn't get any buyer for at all. There is misfortune on these times.

Blind Man. Every person that came in brought his own present with him. There is the new-married woman, and let you put down a good present.

Miser. O maisead, much good may it do her! (He takes out of his pocket a small parcel of snuff; takes a piece of paper from the floor, and pours into it, slowly and carefully, a little of the snuff, and puts it on the table.)

Blind Man.

Old Farmer. Maisead, long life to you, Raftery; that your tongue may never lose its edge. That is a man of cows certainly; I myself am a man of sheep.

Blind Man. A bag of meal from the man of sheep.

Fair Young Man. And I am a man of pigs.

Blind Man. A side of meat from the man of pigs.

Martin. Don't forget the woman of hens.

Blind Man.

All.

Old Farmer. The devil the like of such fun have we had this year!

Miser. Oh, indeed, I was only keeping a little grain for myself; but it's likely they may want it all. (He takes the paper out, and lays it on the table.)

Blind Man. A bag of meal from the man of sheep.

All.

(One of the girls hands the snuff round; they laugh and sneeze, taking pinches of it.)

Old Farmer. My soul to the devil, Seagan, do the thing decently. Give out one of those fleeces you have in the cart with you.

Miser. I never saw the like of you for fools since I was born. Is it mad you are?

All. From the man of cows, a half-ounce of snuff!

Miser. Oh, maisead, if there must be a present put down, take the fleece, and my share of misfortune on you! (Three or four of the boys run out.)

Old Farmer. Aurah, Seagan, what is your opinion of Raftery now? He has you destroyed worse than the bush! (The boys come back, a fleece with them.)

Boy. Here is the fleece, and it's very heavy it is. (They put it down, and there falls a little bag out of it that bursts and scatters the money here and there on the floor.)

Miser. Ub-ub-bu! That is my share of money scattered on me that I got for my calves. (He stoops down to gather it together. All the people burst out laughing again.)

Old Farmer. Maisead, Seagan, where did you get the money? You told us you didn't sell your share of calves.

Blind Man.

Miser. Oh, Raftery, don't do that. I tasted enough of your ranns just now, and I don't want another taste of them. There's threepence for you. (He puts three pennies in the plate.)

Blind Man.

Miser. O, in the name of God, Raftery, stop your mouth and let me go! Here is the sovereign for you; and indeed it's not with my blessing I give it.

(Blind Man plays on the fiddle. They all stand up and dance but Seagan na Stuciare, who shakes his fist in Blind Man's face, and goes out.

When they have danced for a minute or two, Blind Man stops fiddling and stands up.)

Blind Man. I was near forgetting: I am the only person here gave nothing to the woman of the house. (Hands the plate of money to Mary.) Take that and my seven hundred blessings along with it, and that you may be as well as I wish you to the end of life and time. Count the money now, and see what the neighbours did for you.

Mary. That is too much indeed.

Martin. You have too much done for us already.

Blind Man. Count it, count it; while I go over and try can I hear what sort of blessings Seagan na Stucaire is leaving after him.

(Neighbours all crowd round counting the money. Blind Man goes to the door, looks back with a sigh, and goes quietly out.)

Old Farmer. Well, you have enough to set you up altogether, Martin. You'll be buying us all up within the next six months.

Martin. Indeed I don't think I'll be going digging potatoes for other men this year, but to be working for myself at home.

(The sound of horse's steps are heard. A young man comes into the house.)

Young Man. What is going on here at all? All the cars in the country gathered at the door, and Seagan na Stucaire going swearing down the road.

Old Farmer. Oh, this is the great wedding was made by Raftery.—Where is Raftery? Where is he gone?

Martin (going to the door). He's not here. I don't see him on the road. (Turns to young farmer.) Did you meet a blind fiddler going out the door—the poet Raftery?

Young Man. The poet Raftery? I did not; but I stood by his grave at Killeenan three days ago.

Mary. His grave? Oh, Martin, it was a dead man was in it!

Martin. Whoever it was, it was a man sent by God was in it.

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