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_ ACT I - SCENE II
Parlour of the Inn at Bannow.
Miss FLORINDA GALLAGHER, sola.
Various articles of dress on the floor--a looking-glass propped up on a chest--Miss GALLAGHER is kneeling before the glass, dressing her long hair, which hangs over her shoulders.
Miss G.
I don't know what's come to this glass, that it is not flattering at all the day. The spots and cracks in it is making me look so full of freckles and crow's feet--and my hair, too, that's such a figure, as straight and as stiff and as stubborn as a presbyterian. See! it won't curl for me: so it is in the papillotes it must be; and that's most genteel.
[Sound of a drum at a distance--Miss GALLAGHER starts up and listens.]
Miss G.
Hark till I hear! Is not that a drum I hear? Ay, I had always a quick ear for the drum from my cradle. And there's the whole band--but it's only at the turn of the avenue. It's on parade they are. So I'll be dressed and dacent before they are here, I'll engage. And it's my plaid scarf I'll throw over all, iligant for the Highlanders, and I don't doubt but the drum-major will be conquist to it at my feet afore night--and what will Mr. Gilbert say to that? And what matter what he says?--I'm not bound to him, especially as he never popped me the question, being so preposterously bashful, as them Englishmen have the misfortune to be. But that's not my fault any way. And if I happen to find a more shutable match, while he's turning the words in his mouth, who's to blame me?--My father, suppose!--And what matter?--Have not I two hundred pounds of my own, down on the nail, if the worst come to the worst, and why need I be a slave to any man, father or other?--But he'll kill himself soon with the whiskey, poor man, at the rate he's going. Two glasses now for his mornings, and his mornings are going on all day. There he is, roaring.
(Mr. GALLAGHER heard singing.)
You can't come in here, sir.
[She bolts the door.]
[Enter CHRISTY GALLAGHER, kicking the door open.]
Christy.
Can't I, dear? what will hinder me?
--Give me the kay of the spirits, if you plase.
Miss G.
Oh, sir! see how you are walking through all my things.
Christy.
And they on the floor!
--where else should I walk, but on the floor, pray, Miss Gallagher?
--Is it, like a fly, on the ceiling you'd have me be,
walking with my head upside down, to plase you?
Miss G.
Indeed, sir, whatever way you're walking, it's with your head upside down, as any body may notice, and that don't plase me at all--isn't it a shame, in a morning?
Christy.
Phoo! don't be talking of shame,
you that knows nothing about it. But lend me the kay of the spirits, Florry.
Miss G.
Sir, my name's Florinda
--and I've not the kay of the spirits at all, nor any such vulgar thing.
Christy.
Vulgar! is it the kay?
Miss G.
Yes, sir, it's very vulgar to be keeping of kays.
Christy.
That's lucky, for I've lost all mine now. Every single kay I have in the wide world now I lost, barring this kay of the spirits, and that must be gone after the rest too I b'lieve, since you know nothing of it, unless it be in this here chist.
[CHRISTY goes to the chest.]
Miss G.
Oh, mercy, sir!--Take care of the looking-glass, which is broke already. Oh, then, father, 'tis not in the chist, 'pon my word and honour now, if you'll b'lieve: so don't be rummaging of all my things.
[CHRISTY persists in opening the chest.]
Christy.
It don't signify, Florry; I've granted myself a gineral sarch-warrant; dear, for the kay; and, by the blessing, I'll go clane to the bottom o' this chist.
(Miss GALLAGHER writhes in agony.)
Why, what makes you stand twisting there like an eel or an ape, child?--What, in the name of the ould one, is it you're afeard on?--Was the chist full now of love-letter scrawls from the grand signior or the pope himself, you could not be more tinder of them.
Miss G.
Tinder, sir!
--to be sure, when it's my best bonnet I'm thinking on,
which you are mashing entirely.
Christy.
Never fear, dear! I won't mash an atom of the bonnet, provided always, you'll mash these apples for me, jewel. (He takes apples out of the chest.) And wasn't I lucky to find them in it? Oh, I knew I'd not sarch this chist for nothing. See how they'll make an iligant apple-pie for Mr. Gilbert now, who loves an iligant apple-pie above all things--your iligant self always excipted, dear.
[Miss GALLAGHER makes a slight curtsy, but motions the apples from her.]
Miss G.
Give the apples then to the girl, sir, and she'll make you the pie, for I suppose she knows how.
Christy.
And don't you, then, Florry?
Miss G.
And how should I, sir?
--You didn't send me to the dancing-school of Ferrinafad
to larn me to make apple-pies, I conclude.
Christy.
Troth, Florry, 'twas not I sint you there, sorrow foot but your mother; only she's in her grave, and it's bad to be talking ill of the dead any way. But be that how it will, Mr. Gilbert must get the apple-pie, for rasons of my own that need not be mintioned. So, Biddy! Biddy, girl! Biddy Doyle!
[Enter BIDDY, running, with a ladle in her hand.]
Christy.
Drop whatever you have in your hand, and come here,
and be hanged to you! And had you no ears to your head, Biddy?
Biddy.
Sure I have, sir--ears enough. Only they are bothering me so without, that pig and the dog fighting, that I could not hear ye calling at-all-at-all. What is it?--For I'm skimming the pot, and can't lave it.
[Miss GALLAGHER goes on dressing]
Christy.
It's only these apples, see!--You'll make me an apple-pie, Biddy, smart.
Biddy.
Save us, sir!--And how will I ever get time, when I've the hash to make for them Scotch yet? Nor can I tell, for the life of me, what it was I did with the onions and scallions neither, barring by great luck they'd be in and under the press here--(running to look under the press)--which they are, praised be God! in the far corner.
[BIDDY stretches her arm under the press.]
Christy.
There's a nice girl, and a 'cute cliver girl, worth a dozen of your Ferrinafads.
[BIDDY throws the onions out from under the press, while he speaks.]
Miss G.
Then she's as idle a girl as treads the earth, in or out of shoe-leather, for there's my bed that she has not made yet, and the stairs with a month's dust always; and never ready by any chance to do a pin's worth for one, when one's dressing.
[A drum heard; the sound seems to be approaching near.]
Christy.
Blood! the last rowl of the drum, and I not got the kay of the spirits.
Miss G.
Oh, saints above! what's gone with my plaid scarf?--and my hair behind, see!
[Miss GALLAGHER twists up her hair behind.
--BIDDY gathers up the onions into her apron, and exit hastily.]
Christy.
[runs about the room in a distracted manner,
looking under and over every thing, repeating]
--The kay! the kay! the kay!
Christy.
For the whiskey must be had for them Scotch,
and the bottled beer too for them English;
and how will I get all or any without the kay? Bones, and distraction!
Miss G.
And my plain hanke'cher that must be had, and where will I find it, in the name of all the damons, in this chaos you've made me out of the chist, father? And how will I git all in again, before the drum-major's in it?
Christy.
(sweeping up a heap of things in his arms,
and throwing them into the chest)
Very asy, sure! this ways.
Miss G.
(darting forward)
There's the plaid hanke'cher.
--(She draws it out from the heap under her father's arm,
and smooths it on her knee.)
But, oh! father, how you are making hay of my things!
Christy.
Then I wish I could make hay of them,
for hay is much wanting for the horses that's in it.
Miss G.
(putting on her plaid scarf)
Weary on these pins! that I can't stick any way at all,
my hands all trimble so.--Biddy! Biddy! Biddy! Biddy, can't ye?
--(Re-enter BIDDY, looking bewildered.)
Just pin me behind, girl--smart.
Christy.
Biddy is it?--Biddy, girl, come over and help me tramp down this hay.
[CHRISTY jumps into the chest.]
Miss G.
Oh, Biddy, run and stop him, for the love of God! with his brogues and big feet.
Biddy.
Oh, marcy! that's too bad, sir; get out o' that if you plase, or Miss Florry will go mad, sure! and the major that's coming up the street--Oh, sir, if you plase, in the name of mercy!
Christy.
(jumping out)
Why, then, sittle it all yourself, Biddy, and success to you; but you'll no more get all in again afore Christmas, to the best of my opinion, no more, see! than you'd get bottled porter, froth and all, into the bottle again, once it was out.
Miss G.
Such comparisons!
--(tossing back her head.)
Christy.
And caparisons!
--(pointing to the finery on the floor.)
But in the middle of it all, lend me the poker,
which will answer for the master-kay, sure!
--that poker that is houlding up the window--can't ye, Biddy?
[BIDDY runs and pulls the poker hastily from under the sash,
which suddenly falls, and every pane of glass falls out and breaks.]
Christy.
Murder! and no glazier!
Miss G.
Then Biddy, of all girls, alive or dead, you're the awk'ardest,
vulgarest, unluckiest to touch any thing at all!
Biddy.
(picking up the glass)
I can't think what's come to the glass, that makes it break so asy the day! Sure I done it a hundred times the same, and it never broke wid me afore.
Christy.
Well! stick up a petticoat, or something of the kind, and any way lend me hould of the poker; for, in lieu of a kay, that's the only frind in need.
[Exit CHRISTY with the poker.]
Miss G.
There, Biddy, that will do--any how.--Just shut down the lid, can't ye? and find me my other shoe. Biddy--then, lave that,--come out o' that, do girl, and see the bed!--run there, turn it up just any way;--and Biddy, run here,--stick me this tortise comb in the back of my head--oh!
(screams and starts away from BIDDY.)
You ran it fairly into my brain, you did! you're the grossest!
heavy handiest!--fit only to wait on Sheelah na Ghirah, or the like.
--(Turns away from BIDDY with an air of utter contempt.)
But I'll go and resave the major properly.
--(Turns back as she is going, and says to BIDDY)
Biddy, settle all here, can't ye?
--Turn up the bed, and sweep the glass and dust in the dust corner,
for it's here I'm bringing him to dinner,--so settle up all in a minute,
do you mind me, Biddy! for your life!
[Exit Miss GALLAGHER.]
BIDDY, alone
(speaking while she puts the things in the room in order.)
Settle up all in a minute!--asy said!--and for my life too!--Why, then, there's not a greater slave than myself in all Connaught, or the three kingdoms--from the time I get up in the morning, and that's afore the flight of night, till I get to my bed again at night, and that's never afore one in the morning! But I wouldn't value all one pin's pint, if it was kind and civil she was to me. But after I strive, and strive to the utmost, and beyand--(sighs deeply) and when I found the innions, and took the apple-pie off her hands, and settled her behind, and all to the best of my poor ability for her, after, to go and call me Sheelah na Ghirah! though I don't rightly know who that Sheelah na Ghirah was from Adam--but still it's the bad language I get, goes to my heart. Oh, if it had but plased Heaven to have cast me my lot in the sarvice of a raal jantleman or lady instead of the likes of these! Now, I'd rather be a dog in his honour's or her honour's house than lie under the tongue, of Miss Gallagher, as I do--to say nothing of ould Christy.
Miss GALLAGHER'S voice heard, calling,
Biddy! Biddy Doyle! Biddy, can't ye?
Biddy.
Here, miss, in the room, readying it, I am.
GALLAGHER'S voice heard calling,
Biddy!--Biddy Doyle!--Biddy, girl! What's come o' that girl,
that always out o' the way idling, when wanted?--Plague take her!
Biddy.
Saints above! hear him now!--But I scorn to answer.
Screaming louder in mingled voices, CHRISTY'S and Miss GALLAGHER'S,
Biddy! Biddy Doyle!--Biddy, girl!
Christy.
(putting in his head)
Biddy! sorrow take ye! are ye in it?
--And you are, and we cracking our vitals calling you.
What is it you're dallying here for? Stir! stir! dinner!
[He draws back his head, and exit.]
BIDDY, alone.
Coming then!
--Sure it's making up the room I am with all speed, and the bed not made after all!
--(Throws up the press-bed.)
--But to live in this here house, girl or boy,
one had need have the lives of nine cats and the legs of forty.
[Exit.] _
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