The Well of the Saints

would make the water not cure us at all. Martin Doul What way would I find a big, terrible word, and I shook with the fear; and if I did itself, who’d know rightly if it’s good words or bad would save us this day from himself? Mary Doul They’re coming. I hear their feet on the stones. The Saint comes in on right, with Timmy and Molly Byrne in holiday clothes, the others as before. Timmy I’ve heard tell Martin Doul and Mary Doul were seen this day about on the road, holy father, and we were thinking you’d have pity on them and cure them again. Saint I would, maybe, but where are they at all? I’ll have little time left when I have the two of you wed in the church. Mat Simon At their seat. There are the rushes they do have lying round on the stones. It’s not far off they’ll be, surely. Molly Byrne Pointing with astonishment. Look beyond, Timmy. They all look over and see Martin Doul. Timmy Well, Martin’s a lazy fellow to be lying in there at the height of the day. He goes over shouting. Let you get up out of that. You were near losing a great chance by your sleepiness this day, Martin Doul.⁠ ⁠… The two of them’s in it, God help us all! Martin Doul Scrambling up with Mary Doul. What is it you want, Timmy, that you can’t leave us in peace? Timmy The Saint’s come to marry the two of us, and I’m after speaking a word for yourselves, the way he’ll be curing you now; for if you’re a foolish man itself, I do be pitying you, for I’ve a kind heart, when I think of you sitting dark again, and you after seeing a while and working for your bread. Martin Doul takes Mary Doul’s hand and tries to grope his way off right; he has lost his hat, and they are both covered with dust and grass seeds. People You’re going wrong. It’s this way, Martin Doul. They push him over in front of the Saint, near centre. Martin Doul and Mary Doul stand with piteous hangdog dejection. Saint Let you not be afeard, for there’s great pity with the Lord. Martin Doul We aren’t afeard, holy father. Saint It’s many a time those that are cured with the well of the four beauties of God lose their sight when a time is gone, but those I cure a second time go on seeing till the hour of death. He takes the cover from his can. I’ve a few drops only left of the water, but, with the help of God, It’ll be enough for the two of you, and let you kneel down now upon the road. Martin Doul wheels round with Mary Doul and tries to get away. Saint You can kneel down here, I’m saying, we’ll not trouble this time going to the church. Timmy Turning Martin Doul round, angrily. Are you going mad in your head, Martin Doul? It’s here you’re to kneel. Did you not hear his reverence, and he speaking to you now? Saint Kneel down, I’m saying, the ground’s dry at your feet. Martin Doul With distress. Let you go on your own way, holy father. We’re not calling you at all. Saint I’m not saying a word of penance, or fasting itself, for I’m thinking the Lord has brought you great teaching in the blindness of your eyes; so you’ve no call now to be fearing me, but let you kneel down till I give you your sight. Martin Doul More troubled. We’re not asking our sight, holy father, and let you walk on your own way, and be fasting, or praying, or doing anything that you will, but leave us here in our peace, at the crossing of the roads, for it’s best we are this way, and we’re not asking to see. Saint To the People. Is his mind gone that he’s no wish to be cured this day, or to be living or working, or looking on the wonders of the world? Martin Doul It’s wonders enough I seen in a short space for the life of one man only. Saint Severely. I never heard tell of any person wouldn’t have great joy to be looking on the earth, and the image of the Lord thrown upon men. Martin Doul Raising his voice. Them is great sights, holy father.⁠ ⁠… What was it I seen when I first opened my eyes but your own bleeding feet, and they cut with the stones? That was a great sight, maybe, of the image of God.⁠ ⁠… And what was it I seen my last day but the villainy of hell looking out from the eyes of the girl you’re coming to marry⁠—the Lord forgive you⁠—with Timmy the smith. That was a great sight, maybe. And wasn’t it great sights I seen on the roads when the north winds would be driving, and the skies would be harsh, till you’d see the horses and the asses, and the dogs itself, maybe, with their heads hanging, and they closing their eyes⁠— Saint And did you never hear tell of the summer, and the fine spring, and the places where the holy men of Ireland have built up churches to the Lord? No man isn’t a madman, I’m thinking, would be talking the like of that, and wishing to be closed up and seeing no sight of the grand glittering seas, and the furze that is opening above, and will soon have the hills shining as if it was fine creels of gold they were, rising to the sky. Martin Doul Is it talking now you are of Knock and Ballavore? Ah, it’s ourselves had finer sights than the like of them, I’m telling you, when we were sitting a while back hearing the birds and bees humming in every weed of the ditch, or when we’d