A Mother
A Mother insists her daughter's performance contract is honored, which makes for an even more dramatic show than the music-making that's expected on stage. It was published in Dubliners (1916).
MR HOLOHAN, assistant secretary of the Eire Abu Society, hadbeen walking up and down Dublin for nearly a month, with hishands and pockets full of dirty pieces of paper, arranging about theseries of concerts. He had a game leg and for this his friends calledhim Hoppy Holohan. He walked up and down constantly, stood bythe hour at street corners arguing the point and made notes; but inthe end it was Mrs. Kearney who arranged everything.Miss Devlin had become Mrs. Kearney out of spite. She had beeneducated in a high-class convent, where she had learned Frenchand music. As she was naturally pale and unbending in manner shemade few friends at school. When she came to the age of marriageshe was sent out to many houses, where her playing and ivorymanners were much admired. She sat amid the chilly circle of heraccomplishments, waiting for some suitor to brave it and offer hera brilliant life. But the young men whom she met were ordinaryand she gave them no encouragement, trying to console herromantic desires by eating a great deal of Turkish Delight insecret. However, when she drew near the limit and her friendsbegan to loosen their tongues about her, she silenced them bymarrying Mr. Kearney, who was a bootmaker on Ormond Quay.He was much older than she. His conversation, which was serious,took place at intervals in his great brown beard. After the first yearof married life, Mrs. Kearney perceived that such a man wouldwear better than a romantic person, but she never put her ownromantic ideas away. He was sober, thrifty and pious; he went tothe altar every first Friday, sometimes with her, oftener by himself.But she never weakened in her religion and was a good wife tohim. At some party in a strange house when she lifted her eyebrowever so slightly he stood up to take his leave and, when his coughtroubled him, she put the eider-down quilt over his feet and made astrong rum punch. For his part, he was a model father. By paying asmall sum every week into a society, he ensured for both hisdaughters a dowry of one hundred pounds each when they came tothe age of twenty-four. He sent the older daughter, Kathleen, to agood convent, where she learned French and music, and afterwardpaid her fees at the Academy. Every year in the month of July Mrs.Kearney found occasion to say to some friend:"My good man is packing us off to Skerries for a few weeks."If it was not Skerries it was Howth or Greystones.
When the Irish Revival began to be appreciable Mrs. Kearneydetermined to take advantage of her daughter's name and broughtan Irish teacher to the house. Kathleen and her sister sent Irishpicture postcards to their friends and these friends sent back otherIrish picture postcards. On special Sundays, when Mr. Kearneywent with his family to the pro-cathedral, a little crowd of peoplewould assemble after mass at the corner of Cathedral Street. Theywere all friends of the Kearneys -- musical friends or Nationalistfriends; and, when they had played every little counter of gossip,they shook hands with one another all together, laughing at thecrossing of so many hands, and said good-bye to one another inIrish. Soon the name of Miss Kathleen Kearney began to be heardoften on people's lips. People said that she was very clever atmusic and a very nice girl and, moreover, that she was a believerin the language movement. Mrs. Kearney was well content at this.Therefore she was not surprised when one day Mr. Holohan cameto her and proposed that her daughter should be the accompanist ata series of four grand concerts which his Society was going to givein the Antient Concert Rooms. She brought him into thedrawing-room, made him sit down and brought out the decanterand the silver biscuit-barrel. She entered heart and soul into thedetails of the enterprise, advised and dissuaded: and finally acontract was drawn up by which Kathleen was to receive eightguineas for her services as accompanist at the four grand concerts.As Mr. Holohan was a novice in such delicate matters as thewording of bills and the disposing of items for a programme, Mrs.Kearney helped him. She had tact. She knew what artistes shouldgo into capitals and what artistes should go into small type. Sheknew that the first tenor would not like to come on after Mr.Meade's comic turn. To keep the audience continually diverted sheslipped the doubtful items in between the old favourites. Mr.Holohan called to see her every day to have her advice on somepoint. She was invariably friendly and advising -- homely, in fact.She pushed the decanter towards him, saying:"Now, help yourself, Mr. Holohan!"And while he was helping himself she said:"Don't be afraid! Don't be afraid of it! "Everything went on smoothly. Mrs. Kearney bought some lovelyblush-pink charmeuse in Brown Thomas's to let into the front ofKathleen's dress. It cost a pretty penny; but there are occasionswhen a little expense is justifiable. She took a dozen oftwo-shilling tickets for the final concert and sent them to thosefriends who could not be trusted to come otherwise. She forgotnothing, and, thanks to her, everything that was to be done wasdone.The concerts were to be on Wednesday, Thursday, Friday andSaturday. When Mrs. Kearney arrived with her daughter at theAntient Concert Rooms on Wednesday night she did not like thelook of things. A few young men, wearing bright blue badges intheir coats, stood idle in the vestibule; none of them wore eveningdress. She passed by with her daughter and a quick glance throughthe open door of the hall showed her the cause of the stewards'idleness. At first she wondered had she mistaken the hour. No, itwas twenty minutes to eight.In the dressing-room behind the stage she was introduced to thesecretary of the Society, Mr. Fitzpatrick. She smiled and shook hishand. He was a little man, with a white, vacant face. She noticedthat he wore his soft brown hat carelessly on the side of his headand that his accent was flat. He held a programme in his hand, and,while he was talking to her, he chewed one end of it into a moistpulp. He seemed to bear disappointments lightly. Mr. Holohancame into the dressingroom every few minutes with reports fromthe box-office. The artistes talked among themselves nervously,glanced from time to time at the mirror and rolled and unrolledtheir music. When it was nearly half-past eight, the few people inthe hall began to express their desire to be entertained. Mr.Fitzpatrick came in, smiled vacantly at the room, and said:"Well now, ladies and gentlemen. I suppose we'd better open theball."Mrs. Kearney rewarded his very flat final syllable with a quickstare of contempt, and then said to her daughter encouragingly:"Are you ready, dear?"When she had an opportunity, she called Mr. Holohan aside andasked him to tell her what it meant. Mr. Holohan did not knowwhat it meant. He said that the committee had made a mistake inarranging for four concerts: four was too many."And the artistes!" said Mrs. Kearney. "Of course they are doingtheir best, but really they are not good."Mr. Holohan admitted that the artistes were no good but thecommittee, he said, had decided to let the first three concerts go asthey pleased and reserve all the talent for Saturday night. Mrs.Kearney said nothing, but, as the mediocre items followed oneanother on the platform and the few people in the hall grew fewerand fewer, she began to regret that she had put herself to anyexpense for such a concert. There was something she didn't like inthe look of things and Mr. Fitzpatrick's vacant smile irritated hervery much. However, she said nothing and waited to see how itwould end. The concert expired shortly before ten, and everyonewent home quickly.The concert on Thursday night was better attended, but Mrs.Kearney saw at once that the house was filled with paper. Theaudience behaved indecorously, as if the concert were an informaldress rehearsal. Mr. Fitzpatrick seemed to enjoy himself; he wasquite unconscious that Mrs. Kearney was taking angry note of hisconduct. He stood at the edge of the screen, from time to timejutting out his head and exchanging a laugh with two friends in thecorner of the balcony. In the course of the evening, Mrs. Kearneylearned that the Friday concert was to be abandoned and that thecommittee was going to move heaven and earth to secure abumper house on Saturday night. When she heard this, she soughtout Mr. Holohan. She buttonholed him as he was limping outquickly with a glass of lemonade for a young lady and asked himwas it true. Yes. it was true."But, of course, that doesn't alter the contract," she said. "Thecontract was for four concerts."Mr. Holohan seemed to be in a hurry; he advised her to speak toMr. Fitzpatrick. Mrs. Kearney was now beginning to be alarmed.She called Mr. Fitzpatrick away from his screen and told him thather daughter had signed for four concerts and that, of course,according to the terms of the contract, she should receive the sumoriginally stipulated for, whether the society gave the four concertsor not. Mr. Fitzpatrick, who did not catch the point at issue veryquickly, seemed unable to resolve the difficulty and said that hewould bring the matter before the committee. Mrs. Kearney's angerbegan to flutter in her cheek and she had all she could do to keepfrom asking:"And who is the Cometty pray?"But she knew that it would not be ladylike to do that: so she wassilent.Little boys were sent out into the principal streets of Dublin earlyon Friday morning with bundles of handbills. Special puffsappeared in all the evening papers, reminding the music lovingpublic of the treat which was in store for it on the followingevening. Mrs. Kearney was somewhat reassured, but be thoughtwell to tell her husband part of her suspicions. He listenedcarefully and said that perhaps it would be better if he went withher on Saturday night. She agreed. She respected her husband inthe same way as she respected the General Post Office, assomething large, secure and fixed; and though she knew the smallnumber of his talents she appreciated his abstract value as a male.She was glad that he had suggested coming with her. She thoughther plans over.The night of the grand concert came. Mrs. Kearney, with herhusband and daughter, arrived at the Antient Concert Roomsthree-quarters of an hour before the time at which the concert wasto begin. By ill luck it was a rainy evening. Mrs. Kearney placedher daughter's clothes and music in charge of her husband andwent all over the building looking for Mr. Holohan or Mr.Fitzpatrick. She could find neither. She asked the stewards was anymember of the committee in the hall and, after a great deal oftrouble, a steward brought out a little woman named Miss Beirneto whom Mrs. Kearney explained that she wanted to see one of thesecretaries. Miss Beirne expected them any minute and askedcould she do anything. Mrs. Kearney looked searchingly at theoldish face which was screwed into an expression of trustfulnessand enthusiasm and answered:"No, thank you!"The little woman hoped they would have a good house. She lookedout at the rain until the melancholy of the wet street effaced all thetrustfulness and enthusiasm from her twisted features. Then shegave a little sigh and said:"Ah, well! We did our best, the dear knows."Mrs. Kearney had to go back to the dressing-room.The artistes were arriving. The bass and the second tenor hadalready come. The bass, Mr. Duggan, was a slender young manwith a scattered black moustache. He was the son of a hall porterin an office in the city and, as a boy, he had sung prolonged bassnotes in the resounding hall. From this humble state he had raisedhimself until he had become a first-rate artiste. He had appeared ingrand opera. One night, when an operatic artiste had fallen ill, hehad undertaken the part of the king in the opera of Maritana at theQueen's Theatre. He sang his music with great feeling and volumeand was warmly welcomed by the gallery; but, unfortunately, hemarred the good impression by wiping his nose in his gloved handonce or twice out of thoughtlessness. He was unassuming andspoke little. He said yous so softly that it passed unnoticed and henever drank anything stronger than milk for his voice's sake. Mr.Bell, the second tenor, was a fair-haired little man who competedevery year for prizes at the Feis Ceoil. On his fourth trial he hadbeen awarded a bronze medal. He was extremely nervous andextremely jealous of other tenors and he covered his nervousjealousy with an ebullient friendliness. It was his humour to havepeople know what an ordeal a concert was to him. Therefore whenhe saw Mr. Duggan he went over to him and asked:"Are you in it too? ""Yes," said Mr. Duggan.Mr. Bell laughed at his fellow-sufferer, held out his hand and said:"Shake!"Mrs. Kearney passed by these two young men and went to the edgeof the screen to view the house. The seats were being filled uprapidly and a pleasant noise circulated in the auditorium. She cameback and spoke to her husband privately. Their conversation wasevidently about Kathleen for they both glanced at her often as shestood chatting to one of her Nationalist friends, Miss Healy, thecontralto. An unknown solitary woman with a pale face walkedthrough the room. The women followed with keen eyes the fadedblue dress which was stretched upon a meagre body. Someone saidthat she was Madam Glynn, the soprano."I wonder where did they dig her up," said Kathleen to Miss Healy."I'm sure I never heard of her."Miss Healy had to smile. Mr. Holohan limped into thedressing-room at that moment and the two young ladies asked himwho was the unknown woman. Mr. Holohan said that she wasMadam Glynn from London. Madam Glynn took her stand in acorner of the room, holding a roll of music stiffly before her andfrom time to time changing the direction of her startled gaze. Theshadow took her faded dress into shelter but fell revengefully intothe little cup behind her collar-bone. The noise of the hall becamemore audible. The first tenor and the baritone arrived together.They were both well dressed, stout and complacent and theybrought a breath of opulence among the company.Mrs. Kearney brought her daughter over to them, and talked tothem amiably. She wanted to be on good terms with them but,while she strove to be polite, her eyes followed Mr. Holohan in hislimping and devious courses. As soon as she could she excusedherself and went out after him."Mr. Holohan, I want to speak to you for a moment," she said.They went down to a discreet part of the corridor. Mrs Kearneyasked him when was her daughter going to be paid. Mr. Holohansaid that Mr. Fitzpatrick had charge of that. Mrs. Kearney said thatshe didn't know anything about Mr. Fitzpatrick. Her daughter hadsigned a contract for eight guineas and she would have to be paid.Mr. Holohan said that it wasn't his business."Why isn't it your business?" asked Mrs. Kearney. "Didn't youyourself bring her the contract? Anyway, if it's not your businessit's my business and I mean to see to it.""You'd better speak to Mr. Fitzpatrick," said Mr. Holohandistantly."I don't know anything about Mr. Fitzpatrick," repeated Mrs.Kearney. "I have my contract, and I intend to see that it is carriedout."When she came back to the dressing-room her cheeks were slightlysuffused. The room was lively. Two men in outdoor dress hadtaken possession of the fireplace and were chatting familiarly withMiss Healy and the baritone. They were the Freeman man and Mr.O'Madden Burke. The Freeman man had come in to say that hecould not wait for the concert as he had to report the lecture whichan American priest was giving in the Mansion House. He said theywere to leave the report for him at the Freeman office and hewould see that it went in. He was a grey-haired man, with aplausible voice and careful manners. He held an extinguished cigarin his hand and the aroma of cigar smoke floated near him. He hadnot intended to stay a moment because concerts and artistes boredhim considerably but he remained leaning against the mantelpiece.Miss Healy stood in front of him, talking and laughing. He was oldenough to suspect one reason for her politeness but young enoughin spirit to turn the moment to account. The warmth, fragrance andcolour of her body appealed to his senses. He was pleasantlyconscious that the bosom which he saw rise and fall slowlybeneath him rose and fell at that moment for him, that the laughterand fragrance and wilful glances were his tribute. When he couldstay no longer he took leave of her regretfully."O'Madden Burke will write the notice," he explained to Mr.Holohan, "and I'll see it in.""Thank you very much, Mr. Hendrick," said Mr. Holohan. you'llsee it in, I know. Now, won't you have a little something beforeyou go?""I don't mind," said Mr. Hendrick.The two men went along some tortuous passages and up a darkstaircase and came to a secluded room where one of the stewardswas uncorking bottles for a few gentlemen. One of thesegentlemen was Mr. O'Madden Burke, who had found out the roomby instinct. He was a suave, elderly man who balanced hisimposing body, when at rest, upon a large silk umbrella. Hismagniloquent western name was the moral umbrella upon whichhe balanced the fine problem of his finances. He was widelyrespected.While Mr. Holohan was entertaining the Freeman man Mrs.Kearney was speaking so animatedly to her husband that he had toask her to lower her voice. The conversation of the others in thedressing-room had become strained. Mr. Bell, the first item, stoodready with his music but the accompanist made no sign. Evidentlysomething was wrong. Mr. Kearney looked straight before him,stroking his beard, while Mrs. Kearney spoke into Kathleen's earwith subdued emphasis. From the hall came sounds ofencouragement, clapping and stamping of feet. The first tenor andthe baritone and Miss Healy stood together, waiting tranquilly, butMr. Bell's nerves were greatly agitated because he was afraid theaudience would think that he had come late.Mr. Holohan and Mr. O'Madden Burke came into the room In amoment Mr. Holohan perceived the hush. He went over to Mrs.Kearney and spoke with her earnestly. While they were speakingthe noise in the hall grew louder. Mr. Holohan became very redand excited. He spoke volubly, but Mrs. Kearney said curtly atintervals:"She won't go on. She must get her eight guineas."Mr. Holohan pointed desperately towards the hall where theaudience was clapping and stamping. He appealed to Mr Kearneyand to Kathleen. But Mr. Kearney continued to stroke his beardand Kathleen looked down, moving the point of her new shoe: itwas not her fault. Mrs. Kearney repeated:"She won't go on without her money."After a swift struggle of tongues Mr. Holohan hobbled out in haste.The room was silent. When the strain of the silence had becomesomewhat painful Miss Healy said to the baritone:"Have you seen Mrs. Pat Campbell this week?"The baritone had not seen her but he had been told that she wasvery fine. The conversation went no further. The first tenor benthis head and began to count the links of the gold chain which wasextended across his waist, smiling and humming random notes toobserve the effect on the frontal sinus. From time to time everyoneglanced at Mrs. Kearney.The noise in the auditorium had risen to a clamour when Mr.Fitzpatrick burst into the room, followed by Mr. Holohan who waspanting. The clapping and stamping in the hall were punctuated bywhistling. Mr. Fitzpatrick held a few banknotes in his hand. Hecounted out four into Mrs. Kearney's hand and said she would getthe other half at the interval. Mrs. Kearney said:"This is four shillings short."But Kathleen gathered in her skirt and said: "Now. Mr. Bell," tothe first item, who was shaking like an aspen. The singer and theaccompanist went out together. The noise in hall died away. Therewas a pause of a few seconds: and then the piano was heard.The first part of the concert was very successful except for MadamGlynn's item. The poor lady sang Killarney in a bodiless gaspingvoice, with all the old-fashioned mannerisms of intonation andpronunciation which she believed lent elegance to her singing. Shelooked as if she had been resurrected from an old stage-wardrobeand the cheaper parts of the hall made fun of her high wailingnotes. The first tenor and the contralto, however, brought down thehouse. Kathleen played a selection of Irish airs which wasgenerously applauded. The first part closed with a stirring patrioticrecitation delivered by a young lady who arranged amateurtheatricals. It was deservedly applauded; and, when it was ended,the men went out for the interval, content.All this time the dressing-room was a hive of excitement. In onecorner were Mr. Holohan, Mr. Fitzpatrick, Miss Beirne, two of thestewards, the baritone, the bass, and Mr. O'Madden Burke. Mr.O'Madden Burke said it was the most scandalous exhibition he hadever witnessed. Miss Kathleen Kearney's musical career was endedin Dublin after that, he said. The baritone was asked what did hethink of Mrs. Kearney's conduct. He did not like to say anything.He had been paid his money and wished to be at peace with men.However, he said that Mrs. Kearney might have taken the artistesinto consideration. The stewards and the secretaries debated hotlyas to what should be done when the interval came."I agree with Miss Beirne," said Mr. O'Madden Burke. "Pay hernothing."In another corner of the room were Mrs. Kearney and her husband,Mr. Bell, Miss Healy and the young lady who had to recite thepatriotic piece. Mrs. Kearney said that the Committee had treatedher scandalously. She had spared neither trouble nor expense andthis was how she was repaid.They thought they had only a girl to deal with and that therefore,they could ride roughshod over her. But she would show themtheir mistake. They wouldn't have dared to have treated her likethat if she had been a man. But she would see that her daughter gother rights: she wouldn't be fooled. If they didn't pay her to the lastfarthing she would make Dublin ring. Of course she was sorry forthe sake of the artistes. But what else could she do? She appealedto the second tenor who said he thought she had not been welltreated. Then she appealed to Miss Healy. Miss Healy wanted tojoin the other group but she did not like to do so because she was agreat friend of Kathleen's and the Kearneys had often invited her totheir house.As soon as the first part was ended Mr. Fitzpatrick and Mr.Holohan went over to Mrs. Kearney and told her that the other fourguineas would be paid after the committee meeting on thefollowing Tuesday and that, in case her daughter did not play forthe second part, the committee would consider the contract brokenand would pay nothing."I haven't seen any committee," said Mrs. Kearney angrily. "Mydaughter has her contract. She will get four pounds eight into herhand or a foot she won't put on that platform.""I'm surprised at you, Mrs. Kearney," said Mr. Holohan. "I neverthought you would treat us this way.""And what way did you treat me?" asked Mrs. Kearney.Her face was inundated with an angry colour and she looked as ifshe would attack someone with her hands."I'm asking for my rights." she said.You might have some sense of decency," said Mr. Holohan."Might I, indeed?... And when I ask when my daughter is going tobe paid I can't get a civil answer."She tossed her head and assumed a haughty voice:"You must speak to the secretary. It's not my business. I'm a greatfellow fol-the-diddle-I-do.""I thought you were a lady," said Mr. Holohan, walking away fromher abruptly.After that Mrs. Kearney's conduct was condemned on all hands:everyone approved of what the committee had done. She stood atthe door, haggard with rage, arguing with her husband anddaughter, gesticulating with them. She waited until it was time forthe second part to begin in the hope that the secretaries wouldapproach her. But Miss Healy had kindly consented to play one ortwo accompaniments. Mrs. Kearney had to stand aside to allow thebaritone and his accompanist to pass up to the platform. She stoodstill for an instant like an angry stone image and, when the firstnotes of the song struck her ear, she caught up her daughter's cloakand said to her husband:"Get a cab!"He went out at once. Mrs. Kearney wrapped the cloak round herdaughter and followed him. As she passed through the doorwayshe stopped and glared into Mr. Holohan's face."I'm not done with you yet," she said."But I'm done with you," said Mr. Holohan.Kathleen followed her mother meekly. Mr. Holohan began to paceup and down the room, in order to cool himself for he felt his skin onfire."That's a nice lady!" he said. "O, she's a nice lady!"You did the proper thing, Holohan," said Mr. O'Madden Burke,poised upon his umbrella in approval.
A Mother was featured as
TheShort Story of the Day on
Sat, May 09, 2020
For another story about an over-controlling mother, you may enjoy reading Arnold Bennett's Hot Potatoes.
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