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diff --git a/1618-h/1618-h.htm b/1618-h/1618-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..402c570 --- /dev/null +++ b/1618-h/1618-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1367 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<title> In the Shadow of the Glen, by J. M. Synge </title> +<link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> +<style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + +body {background:#faebd0; + margin-right: 20%; + margin-left: 20%; + text-align: justify} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; +line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 200%;} +h2 {font-size: 175%;} +h3 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%; margin-top: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 0%; + margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0em;} + +p.right {text-align: right;} + +div.fig { display:block; + margin:0 auto; + text-align:center; } + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of In the Shadow of the Glen, by J. M. Synge + +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: In the Shadow of the Glen + +Author: J. M. Synge + +Release Date: November 7, 2008 [Etext #1618] +Last Updated: June 21, 2019 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN THE SHADOW OF THE GLEN *** + + + + +Produced by Judy Boss, and David Widger + + + + +</pre> + +<div class="fig" style="width:70%;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" style="width:100%;" alt="cover" /><br /><br /> +</div> + + + +<h1>IN THE SHADOW OF THE GLEN</h1> + +<h3>A PLAY IN ONE ACT</h3> + +<h2>By J. M. Synge</h2> + +<h3> First performed at the Molesworth Hall, Dublin, October 8th, 1903. </h3> + +<hr /> + +<h3>PERSONS</h3> + +<table summary="" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto"> + +<tr> +<td>DAN BURKE (<i>farmer and herd</i>)</td> +<td>George Roberts</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>NORA BURKE (<i>his wife</i>)</td> +<td>Maire Nic Shiubhlaigh</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>MICHEAL DARA (<i>a young herd</i>)</td> +<td>P. J. Kelly</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td>A TRAMP</td> +<td>W. G. Fay</td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<hr /> + +<p> +SCENE.—<i>The last cottage at the head of a long glen in County Wicklow.</i> +</p> + +<p> +(<i>Cottage kitchen; turf fire on the right; a bed near it against the wall with a +body lying on it covered with a sheet. A door is at the other end of the room, +with a low table near it, and stools, or wooden chairs. There are a couple of +glasses on the table, and a bottle of whisky, as if for a wake, with two cups, +a teapot, and a home-made cake. There is another small door near the bed. Nora +Burke is moving about the room, settling a few things, and lighting candles on +the table, looking now and then at the bed with an uneasy look. Some one knocks +softly at the door. She takes up a stocking with money from the table and puts +it in her pocket. Then she opens the door.</i>) +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +(<i>Outside.</i>) Good evening to you, lady of the house. +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +Good evening, kindly stranger, it’s a wild night, God help you, to be out +in the rain falling. +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +It is, surely, and I walking to Brittas from the Aughrim fair. +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +Is it walking on your feet, stranger? +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +On my two feet, lady of the house, and when I saw the light below I +thought maybe if you’d a sup of new milk and a quiet decent corner where +a man could sleep (<i>he looks in past her and sees the dead man.</i>) The Lord have +mercy on us all! +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +It doesn’t matter anyway, stranger, come in out of the rain. +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +(<i>Coming in slowly and going towards the bed.</i>) Is it departed he is? +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +It is, stranger. He’s after dying on me, God forgive him, and there +I am now with a hundred sheep beyond on the hills, and no turf drawn for the +winter. +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +(<i>Looking closely at the dead man.</i>) It’s a queer look is on him for +a man that’s dead. +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +(<i>Half-humorously.</i>) He was always queer, stranger, and I suppose them +that’s queer and they living men will be queer bodies after. +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +Isn’t it a great wonder you’re letting him lie there, and he +is not tidied, or laid out itself? +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +(<i>Coming to the bed.</i>) I was afeard, stranger, for he put a black curse on +me this morning if I’ld touch his body the time he’ld die sudden, +or let any one touch it except his sister only, and it’s ten miles away +she lives in the big glen over the hill. +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +(<i>Looking at her and nodding slowly.</i>) It’s a queer story he +wouldn’t let his own wife touch him, and he dying quiet in his bed. +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +He was an old man, and an odd man, stranger, and it’s always up on +the hills he was thinking thoughts in the dark mist. (<i>She pulls back a bit of +the sheet.</i>) Lay your hand on him now, and tell me if it’s cold he is +surely. +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +Is it getting the curse on me you’ld be, woman of the house? I +wouldn’t lay my hand on him for the Lough Nahanagan and it filled with +gold. +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +(<i>Looking uneasily at the body.</i>) Maybe cold would be no sign of death with +the like of him, for he was always cold, every day since I knew him,—and +every night, stranger,—(<i>she covers up his face and comes away from the +bed</i>); but I’m thinking it’s dead he is surely, for he’s +complaining a while back of a pain in his heart, and this morning, the time he +was going off to Brittas for three days or four, he was taken with a sharp +turn. Then he went into his bed and he was saying it was destroyed he was, the +time the shadow was going up through the glen, and when the sun set on the bog +beyond he made a great lep, and let a great cry out of him, and stiffened +himself out the like of a dead sheep. +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +(<i>Crosses himself.</i>) God rest his soul. +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +(<i>Pouring him out a glass of whisky.</i>) Maybe that would do you better than +the milk of the sweetest cow in County Wicklow. +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +The Almighty God reward you, and may it be to your good health. (<i>He drinks.</i>) +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +(<i>Giving him a pipe and tobacco.</i>) I’ve no pipes saving his own, +stranger, but they’re sweet pipes to smoke. +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +Thank you kindly, lady of the house. +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +Sit down now, stranger, and be taking your rest. +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +(<i>Filling a pipe and looking about the room.</i>) I’ve walked a great +way through the world, lady of the house, and seen great wonders, but I never +seen a wake till this day with fine spirits, and good tobacco, and the best of +pipes, and no one to taste them but a woman only. +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +Didn’t you hear me say it was only after dying on me he was when the +sun went down, and how would I go out into the glen and tell the neighbours, +and I a lone woman with no house near me? +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +(<i>Drinking.</i>) There’s no offence, lady of the house? +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +No offence in life, stranger. How would the like of you, passing in the +dark night, know the lonesome way I was with no house near me at all? +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +(<i>Sitting down.</i>) I knew rightly. (<i>He lights his pipe so that there is a +sharp light beneath his haggard face.</i>) And I was thinking, and I coming in +through the door, that it’s many a lone woman would be afeard of the like +of me in the dark night, in a place wouldn’t be so lonesome as this +place, where there aren’t two living souls would see the little light you +have shining from the glass. +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +(<i>Slowly.</i>) I’m thinking many would be afeard, but I never knew what +way I’d be afeard of beggar or bishop or any man of you at all. (<i>She +looks towards the window and lowers her voice.</i>) It’s other things than +the like of you, stranger, would make a person afeard. +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +(<i>Looking round with a half-shudder.</i>) It is surely, God help us all! +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +(<i>Looking at him for a moment with curiosity.</i>) You’re saying that, +stranger, as if you were easy afeard. +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +(<i>Speaking mournfully.</i>) Is it myself, lady of the house, that does be +walking round in the long nights, and crossing the hills when the fog is on +them, the time a little stick would seem as big as your arm, and a rabbit as +big as a bay horse, and a stack of turf as big as a towering church in the city +of Dublin? If myself was easily afeard, I’m telling you, it’s long +ago I’ld have been locked into the Richmond Asylum, or maybe have run up +into the back hills with nothing on me but an old shirt, and been eaten with +crows the like of Patch Darcy—the Lord have mercy on him—in the +year that’s gone. +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +(<i>With interest.</i>) You knew Darcy? +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +Wasn’t I the last one heard his living voice in the whole world? +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +There were great stories of what was heard at that time, but would any one +believe the things they do be saying in the glen? +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +It was no lie, lady of the house.... I was passing below on a dark night +the like of this night, and the sheep were lying under the ditch and every one +of them coughing, and choking, like an old man, with the great rain and the +fog. Then I heard a thing talking—queer talk, you wouldn’t believe +at all, and you out of your dreams,—and “Merciful God,” says +I, “if I begin hearing the like of that voice out of the thick mist, +I’m destroyed surely.” Then I run, and I run, and I run, till I was +below in Rathvanna. I got drunk that night, I got drunk in the morning, and +drunk the day after,—I was coming from the races beyond—and the +third day they found Darcy.... Then I knew it was himself I was after hearing, +and I wasn’t afeard any more. +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +(<i>Speaking sorrowfully and slowly.</i>) God spare Darcy, he’ld always +look in here and he passing up or passing down, and it’s very lonesome I +was after him a long while (<i>she looks over at the bed and lowers her voice, +speaking very clearly,</i>) and then I got happy again—if it’s ever +happy we are, stranger,—for I got used to being lonesome. (<i>A short pause; +then she stands up.</i>) +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +Was there any one on the last bit of the road, stranger, and you coming +from Aughrim? +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +There was a young man with a drift of mountain ewes, and he running after +them this way and that. +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +(<i>With a half-smile.</i>) Far down, stranger? +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +A piece only. +</p> + +<p> +(<i>She fills the kettle and puts it on the fire.</i>) +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +Maybe, if you’re not easy afeard, you’ld stay here a short +while alone with himself. +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +I would surely. A man that’s dead can do no hurt. +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +(<i>Speaking with a sort of constraint.</i>) I’m going a little back to the +west, stranger, for himself would go there one night and another and whistle at +that place, and then the young man you’re after seeing—a kind of a +farmer has come up from the sea to live in a cottage beyond—would walk +round to see if there was a thing we’ld have to be done, and I’m +wanting him this night, the way he can go down into the glen when the sun goes +up and tell the people that himself is dead. +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +(<i>Looking at the body in the sheet.</i>) It’s myself will go for him, +lady of the house, and let you not be destroying yourself with the great rain. +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +You wouldn’t find your way, stranger, for there’s a small path +only, and it running up between two sluigs where an ass and cart would be +drowned. (<i>She puts a shawl over her head.</i>) Let you be making yourself easy, and +saying a prayer for his soul, and it’s not long I’ll be coming +again. +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +(<i>Moving uneasily.</i>) Maybe if you’d a piece of a grey thread and a +sharp needle—there’s great safety in a needle, lady of the +house—I’ld be putting a little stitch here and there in my old +coat, the time I’ll be praying for his soul, and it going up naked to the +saints of God. +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +(<i>Takes a needle and thread from the front of her dress and gives it to +him.</i>) There’s the needle, stranger, and I’m thinking you +won’t be lonesome, and you used to the back hills, for isn’t a dead +man itself more company than to be sitting alone, and hearing the winds crying, +and you not knowing on what thing your mind would stay? +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +(<i>Slowly.</i>) It’s true, surely, and the Lord have mercy on us all! +</p> + +<p> +(<i>Nora goes out. The Tramp begins stitching one of the tags in his coat, saying +the “De Profundis” under his breath. In an instant the sheet is +drawn slowly down, and Dan Burke looks out. The Tramp moves uneasily, then +looks up, and springs to his feet with a movement of terror.</i>) +</p> + +<p>DAN.<br/> +(<i>With a hoarse voice.</i>) Don’t be afeard, stranger; a man that’s +dead can do no hurt. +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +(<i>Trembling.</i>) I meant no harm, your honour; and won’t you leave me +easy to be saying a little prayer for your soul? +</p> + +<p> +(<i>A long whistle is heard outside.</i>) +</p> + +<p>DAN.<br/> +(<i>Sitting up in his bed and speaking fiercely.</i>) Ah, the devil mend her.... +Do you hear that, stranger? Did ever you hear another woman could whistle the +like of that with two fingers in her mouth? (<i>He looks at the table hurriedly.</i>) +I’m destroyed with the drouth, and let you bring me a drop quickly before +herself will come back. +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +(<i>Doubtfully.</i>) Is it not dead you are? +</p> + +<p>DAN.<br/> +How would I be dead, and I as dry as a baked bone, stranger? +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +(<i>Pouring out the whisky.</i>) What will herself say if she smells the stuff +on you, for I’m thinking it’s not for nothing you’re letting +on to be dead? +</p> + +<p>DAN.<br/> +It is not, stranger, but she won’t be coming near me at all, and +it’s not long now I’ll be letting on, for I’ve a cramp in my +back, and my hip’s asleep on me, and there’s been the devil’s +own fly itching my nose. It’s near dead I was wanting to sneeze, and you +blathering about the rain, and Darcy (<i>bitterly</i>)—the devil choke +him—and the towering church. (<i>Crying out impatiently.</i>) Give me that +whisky. Would you have herself come back before I taste a drop at all? +</p> + +<p> +(<i>Tramp gives him the glass.</i>) +</p> + +<p>DAN.<br/> +(<i>After drinking.</i>) Go over now to that cupboard, and bring me a black stick +you’ll see in the west corner by the wall. +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +(<i>Taking a stick from the cupboard</i>) Is it that? +</p> + +<p>DAN.<br/> +It is, stranger; it’s a long time I’m keeping that stick for +I’ve a bad wife in the house. +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +(<i>With a queer look.</i>) Is it herself, master of the house, and she a grand +woman to talk? +</p> + +<p>DAN.<br/> +It’s herself, surely, it’s a bad wife she is—a bad wife +for an old man, and I’m getting old, God help me, though I’ve an +arm to me still. (<i>He takes the stick in his hand.</i>) Let you wait now a short +while, and it’s a great sight you’ll see in this room in two hours +or three. (<i>He stops to listen.</i>) Is that somebody above? +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +(<i>Listening.</i>) There’s a voice speaking on the path. +</p> + +<p>DAN.<br/> +Put that stick here in the bed and smooth the sheet the way it was lying. +(<i>He covers himself up hastily.</i>) Be falling to sleep now and don’t let on +you know anything, or I’ll be having your life. I wouldn’t have +told you at all but it’s destroyed with the drouth I was. +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +(<i>Covering his head.</i>) Have no fear, master of the house. What is it I know +of the like of you that I’ld be saying a word or putting out my hand to +stay you at all? +</p> + +<p> +(<i>He goes back to the fire, sits down on a stool with his back to the bed and +goes on stitching his coat.</i>) +</p> + +<p>DAN.<br/> +(<i>Under the sheet, querulously.</i>) Stranger. +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +(<i>Quickly.</i>) Whisht, whisht. Be quiet I’m telling you, they’re +coming now at the door. +</p> + +<p> +(<i>Nora comes in with Micheal Dara, a tall, innocent young man behind her.</i>) +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +I wasn’t long at all, stranger, for I met himself on the path. +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +You were middling long, lady of the house. +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +There was no sign from himself? +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +No sign at all, lady of the house. +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +(<i>To Micheal.</i>) Go over now and pull down the sheet, and look on himself, +Micheal Dara, and you’ll see it’s the truth I’m telling you. +</p> + +<p>MICHEAL.<br/> +I will not, Nora, I do be afeard of the dead. +</p> + +<p> +(<i>He sits down on a stool next the table facing the tramp. Nora puts the kettle +on a lower hook of the pot hooks, and piles turf under it.</i>) +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +(<i>Turning to Tramp.</i>) Will you drink a sup of tea with myself and the young +man, stranger, or (<i>speaking more persuasively</i>) will you go into the little room +and stretch yourself a short while on the bed, I’m thinking it’s +destroyed you are walking the length of that way in the great rain. +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +Is it to go away and leave you, and you having a wake, lady of the house? +I will not surely. (<i>He takes a drink from his glass which he has beside him.</i>) +And it’s none of your tea I’m asking either. +</p> + +<p> +(<i>He goes on stitching. Nora makes the tea.</i>) +</p> + +<p>MICHEAL.<br/> +(<i>After looking at the tramp rather scornfully for a moment.</i>) +That’s a poor coat you have, God help you, and I’m thinking +it’s a poor tailor you are with it. +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +If it’s a poor tailor I am, I’m thinking it’s a poor +herd does be running back and forward after a little handful of ewes the way I +seen yourself running this day, young fellow, and you coming from the fair. +</p> + +<p> +(<i>Nora comes back to the table.</i>) +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +(<i>To Micheal in a low voice.</i>) Let you not mind him at all, Micheal Dara, he +has a drop taken and it’s soon he’ll be falling asleep. +</p> + +<p>MICHEAL.<br/> +It’s no lie he’s telling, I was destroyed surely. They were +that wilful they were running off into one man’s bit of oats, and another +man’s bit of hay, and tumbling into the red bogs till it’s more +like a pack of old goats than sheep they were. Mountain ewes is a queer breed, +Nora Burke, and I’m not used to them at all. +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +(<i>Settling the tea things.</i>) There’s no one can drive a mountain ewe +but the men do be reared in the Glen Malure, I’ve heard them say, and +above by Rathvanna, and the Glen Imaal, men the like of Patch Darcy, God spare +his soul, who would walk through five hundred sheep and miss one of them, and +he not reckoning them at all. +</p> + +<p>MICHEAL.<br/> +(<i>Uneasily.</i>) Is it the man went queer in his head the year that’s +gone? +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +It is surely. +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +(<i>Plaintively.</i>) That was a great man, young fellow, a great man I’m +telling you. There was never a lamb from his own ewes he wouldn’t know +before it was marked, and he’ld run from this to the city of Dublin and +never catch for his breath. +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +(<i>Turning round quickly.</i>) He was a great man surely, stranger, and +isn’t it a grand thing when you hear a living man saying a good word of a +dead man, and he mad dying? +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +It’s the truth I’m saying, God spare his soul. +</p> + +<p> +(<i>He puts the needle under the collar of his coat, and settles himself to sleep +in the chimney-corner. Nora sits down at the table; their backs are turned to +the bed.</i>) +</p> + +<p>MICHEAL.<br/> +(<i>Looking at her with a queer look.</i>) I heard tell this day, Nora Burke, +that it was on the path below Patch Darcy would be passing up and passing down, +and I heard them say he’ld never past it night or morning without +speaking with yourself. +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +(<i>In a low voice.</i>) It was no lie you heard, Micheal Dara. +</p> + +<p>MICHEAL.<br/> +I’m thinking it’s a power of men you’re after knowing +if it’s in a lonesome place you live itself. +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +(<i>Giving him his tea.</i>) It’s in a lonesome place you do have to be +talking with some one, and looking for some one, in the evening of the day, and +if it’s a power of men I’m after knowing they were fine men, for I +was a hard child to please, and a hard girl to please (<i>she looks at him a +little sternly</i>), and it’s a hard woman I am to please this day, Micheal +Dara, and it’s no lie I’m telling you. +</p> + +<p>MICHEAL.<br/> +(<i>Looking over to see that the tramp is asleep, and then pointing to the +dead man.</i>) Was it a hard woman to please you were when you took himself for +your man? +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +What way would I live and I an old woman if I didn’t marry a man +with a bit of a farm, and cows on it, and sheep on the back hills? +</p> + +<p>MICHEAL.<br/> +(<i>Considering.</i>) That’s true, Nora, and maybe it’s no fool +you were, for there’s good grazing on it, if it is a lonesome place, and +I’m thinking it’s a good sum he’s left behind. +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +(<i>Taking the stocking with money from her pocket, and putting it on the +table.</i>) I do be thinking in the long nights it was a big fool I was that time, +Micheal Dara, for what good is a bit of a farm with cows on it, and sheep on +the back hills, when you do be sitting looking out from a door the like of that +door, and seeing nothing but the mists rolling down the bog, and the mists +again, and they rolling up the bog, and hearing nothing but the wind crying out +in the bits of broken trees were left from the great storm, and the streams +roaring with the rain. +</p> + +<p>MICHEAL.<br/> +(<i>Looking at her uneasily.</i>) What is it ails you, this night, Nora Burke? +I’ve heard tell it’s the like of that talk you do hear from men, +and they after being a great while on the back hills. +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +(<i>Putting out the money on the table.</i>) It’s a bad night, and a wild +night, Micheal Dara, and isn’t it a great while I am at the foot of the +back hills, sitting up here boiling food for himself, and food for the brood +sow, and baking a cake when the night falls? (<i>She puts up the money, +listlessly, in little piles on the table.</i>) Isn’t it a long while I am +sitting here in the winter and the summer, and the fine spring, with the young +growing behind me and the old passing, saying to myself one time, to look on +Mary Brien who wasn’t that height (<i>holding out her hand</i>), and I a fine +girl growing up, and there she is now with two children, and another coming on +her in three months or four. (<i>She pauses.</i>) +</p> + +<p>MICHEAL.<br/> +(<i>Moving over three of the piles.</i>) That’s three pounds we have +now, Nora Burke. +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +(<i>Continuing in the same voice.</i>) And saying to myself another time, to look +on Peggy Cavanagh, who had the lightest hand at milking a cow that +wouldn’t be easy, or turning a cake, and there she is now walking round +on the roads, or sitting in a dirty old house, with no teeth in her mouth, and +no sense and no more hair than you’ld see on a bit of a hill and they +after burning the furze from it. +</p> + +<p>MICHEAL.<br/> +That’s five pounds and ten notes, a good sum, surely!... +It’s not that way you’ll be talking when you marry a young man, +Nora Burke, and they were saying in the fair my lambs were the best lambs, and +I got a grand price, for I’m no fool now at making a bargain when my +lambs are good. +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +What was it you got? +</p> + +<p>MICHEAL.<br/> +Twenty pound for the lot, Nora Burke.... We’ld do right to wait +now till himself will be quiet awhile in the Seven Churches, and then +you’ll marry me in the chapel of Rathvanna, and I’ll bring the +sheep up on the bit of a hill you have on the back mountain, and we won’t +have anything we’ld be afeard to let our minds on when the mist is down. +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +(<i>Pouring him out some whisky.</i>) Why would I marry you, Mike Dara? +You’ll be getting old and I’ll be getting old, and in a little +while I’m telling you, you’ll be sitting up in your bed—the +way himself was sitting—with a shake in your face, and your teeth +falling, and the white hair sticking out round you like an old bush where sheep +do be leaping a gap. +</p> + +<p> +(<i>Dan Burke sits up noiselessly from under the sheet, with his hand to his face. +His white hair is sticking out round his head.</i>) +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +(<i>Goes on slowly without hearing him.</i>) It’s a pitiful thing to be +getting old, but it’s a queer thing surely. It’s a queer thing to +see an old man sitting up there in his bed with no teeth in him, and a rough +word in his mouth, and his chin the way it would take the bark from the edge of +an oak board you’ld have building a door.... God forgive me, Micheal +Dara, we’ll all be getting old, but it’s a queer thing surely. +</p> + +<p>MICHEAL.<br/> +It’s too lonesome you are from living a long time with an old +man, Nora, and you’re talking again like a herd that would be coming down +from the thick mist (<i>he puts his arm round her</i>), but it’s a fine life +you’ll have now with a young man, a fine life surely.... +</p> + +<p> +(<i>Dan sneezes violently. Micheal tries to get to the door, but before he can do +so, Dan jumps out of the bed in queer white clothes, with his stick in his +hand, and goes over and puts his back against it.</i>) +</p> + +<p>MICHEAL.<br/> +Son of God deliver us. +</p> + +<p> +(<i>Crosses himself, and goes backward across the room.</i>) +</p> + +<p>DAN.<br/> +(<i>Holding up his hand at him.</i>) Now you’ll not marry her the time +I’m rotting below in the Seven Churches, and you’ll see the thing +I’ll give you will follow you on the back mountains when the wind is +high. +</p> + +<p>MICHEAL.<br/> +(<i>To Nora.</i>) Get me out of it, Nora, for the love of God. He always did +what you bid him, and I’m thinking he would do it now. +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +(<i>Looking at the Tramp.</i>) Is it dead he is or living? +</p> + +<p>DAN.<br/> +(<i>Turning towards her.</i>) It’s little you care if it’s dead or +living I am, but there’ll be an end now of your fine times, and all the +talk you have of young men and old men, and of the mist coming up or going +down. (<i>He opens the door.</i>) You’ll walk out now from that door, Nora +Burke, and it’s not to-morrow, or the next day, or any day of your life, +that you’ll put in your foot through it again. +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +(<i>Standing up.</i>) It’s a hard thing you’re saying for an old +man, master of the house, and what would the like of her do if you put her out +on the roads? +</p> + +<p>DAN.<br/> +Let her walk round the like of Peggy Cavanagh below, and be begging money +at the cross-road, or selling songs to the men. (<i>To Nora.</i>) Walk out now, Nora +Burke, and it’s soon you’ll be getting old with that life, +I’m telling you; it’s soon your teeth’ll be falling and your +head’ll be the like of a bush where sheep do be leaping a gap. +</p> + +<p> +(<i>He pauses: she looks round at Micheal.</i>) +</p> + +<p>MICHEAL.<br/> +(<i>Timidly.</i>) There’s a fine Union below in Rathdrum. +</p> + +<p>DAN.<br/> +The like of her would never go there.... It’s lonesome roads +she’ll be going and hiding herself away till the end will come, and they +find her stretched like a dead sheep with the frost on her, or the big spiders, +maybe, and they putting their webs on her, in the butt of a ditch. +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +(<i>Angrily.</i>) What way will yourself be that day, Daniel Burke? What way will +you be that day and you lying down a long while in your grave? For it’s +bad you are living, and it’s bad you’ll be when you’re dead. +(<i>She looks at him a moment fiercely, then half turns away and speaks +plaintively again.</i>) Yet, if it is itself, Daniel Burke, who can help it at all, +and let you be getting up into your bed, and not be taking your death with the +wind blowing on you, and the rain with it, and you half in your skin. +</p> + +<p>DAN.<br/> +It’s proud and happy you’ld be if I was getting my death the +day I was shut of yourself. (<i>Pointing to the door.</i>) Let you walk out through +that door, I’m telling you, and let you not be passing this way if +it’s hungry you are, or wanting a bed. +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +(<i>Pointing to Micheal.</i>) Maybe himself would take her. +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +What would he do with me now? +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +Give you the half of a dry bed, and good food in your mouth. +</p> + +<p>DAN.<br/> +Is it a fool you think him, stranger, or is it a fool you were born +yourself? Let her walk out of that door, and let you go along with her, +stranger—if it’s raining itself—for it’s too much talk +you have surely. +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +(<i>Going over to Nora.</i>) We’ll be going now, lady of the +house—the rain is falling, but the air is kind and maybe it’ll be a +grand morning by the grace of God. +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +What good is a grand morning when I’m destroyed surely, and I going +out to get my death walking the roads? +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +You’ll not be getting your death with myself, lady of the house, +and I knowing all the ways a man can put food in his mouth.... We’ll be +going now, I’m telling you, and the time you’ll be feeling the +cold, and the frost, and the great rain, and the sun again, and the south wind +blowing in the glens, you’ll not be sitting up on a wet ditch, the way +you’re after sitting in the place, making yourself old with looking on +each day, and it passing you by. You’ll be saying one time, +“It’s a grand evening, by the grace of God,” and another +time, “It’s a wild night, God help us, but it’ll pass +surely.” You’ll be saying— +</p> + +<p>DAN.<br/> +(<i>Goes over to them crying out impatiently.</i>) Go out of that door, I’m +telling you, and do your blathering below in the glen. +</p> + +<p> +(<i>Nora gathers a few things into her shawl.</i>) +</p> + +<p>TRAMP.<br/> +(<i>At the door.</i>) Come along with me now, lady of the house, and it’s +not my blather you’ll be hearing only, but you’ll be hearing the +herons crying out over the black lakes, and you’ll be hearing the grouse +and the owls with them, and the larks and the big thrushes when the days are +warm, and it’s not from the like of them you’ll be hearing a talk +of getting old like Peggy Cavanagh, and losing the hair off you, and the light +of your eyes, but it’s fine songs you’ll be hearing when the sun +goes up, and there’ll be no old fellow wheezing, the like of a sick +sheep, close to your ear. +</p> + +<p>NORA.<br/> +I’m thinking it’s myself will be wheezing that time with lying +down under the Heavens when the night is cold; but you’ve a fine bit of +talk, stranger, and it’s with yourself I’ll go. +(<i>She goes towards the door, then turns to Dan.</i>) You think it’s a grand +thing you’re after doing with your letting on to be dead, but what is it +at all? What way would a woman live in a lonesome place the like of this place, +and she not making a talk with the men passing? And what way will yourself live +from this day, with none to care for you? What is it you’ll have now but +a black life, Daniel Burke, and it’s not long I’m telling you, till +you’ll be lying again under that sheet, and you dead surely. +</p> + +<p> +(<i>She goes out with the Tramp. Micheal is slinking after them, but Dan stops +him.</i>) +</p> + +<p>DAN.<br/> +Sit down now and take a little taste of the stuff, Micheal Dara. +There’s a great drouth on me, and the night is young. +</p> + +<p>MICHEAL.<br/> +(<i>Coming back to the table.</i>) And it’s very dry I am, surely, with +the fear of death you put on me, and I after driving mountain ewes since the +turn of the day. +</p> + +<p>DAN.<br/> +(<i>Throwing away his stick.</i>) I was thinking to strike you, Micheal Dara, but +you’re a quiet man, God help you, and I don’t mind you at all. +</p> + +<p> +(<i>He pours out two glasses of whisky, and gives one to Micheal.</i>) +</p> + +<p>DAN.<br/> +Your good health, Micheal Dara. +</p> + +<p>MICHEAL.<br/> +God reward you, Daniel Burke, and may you have a long life, and a quiet +life, and good health with it. (<i>They drink.</i>) +</p> + +<h5>CURTAIN.</h5> + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of In the Shadow of the Glen, by J. M. 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