Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Comedy and Compromise
The story is told in Ireland of a fiddlers' competition out in the west, the winner of which
would become All-Ireland champion. (The title “All-Ireland champion” is admittedly rather
loose: one tends to bump into scores of All-Irish champion musicians up and down the
country, as though every second woman on the street in the United States were to turn out
to be Miss America.) The first contender for the award stepped on to the stage: a suave,
distinguished-looking, silver-haired gentleman in evening dress, exquisitely coifed and bear-
ing in his hand a genuine Stradivarius. Resting the instrument against his chin with a well-
practised flourish, he drew the bow vigorously across the strings and began to play.
And by God he was useless.
The second candidate for stardom then turned to face the audience—a slick-haired,
flashy-toothed type in a well-tailored grey suit, carrying in his hand an expensive but not
classic violin. With an ingratiating smile, he placed the instrument under his chin and began
to play.
And by God he was useless.
The judges were just on the point of declaring a no-winner when there was a slight com-
motion at the back of the room. Despite his evident reluctance, a third competitor was being
forced to the front by his friends—a tiny, shrunken, octogenarian fellow in a crumpled old
suit buttoned up with bits of string and hardly a seat to his trousers. In his withered claw lay
a fiddle as decrepit as himself, its strings frayed and peeling, its wood leashed together by
elastic bands. Shrinking from the crowd, but urged on loyally by his friends, he placed the
fiddle beneath his chin with a quivering hand and softly drew the tattered bow across it.
And by God he was useless too.
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