by Brian Friel
The sweet smell! Smell it! It’s the sweet smell! Jesus, it’s the potato blight!
DOALTY: It’s the army tents burning, Bridget.
BRIDGET: Is it? Are you sure? Is that what it is? God, I thought we were destroyed altogether. Come on! Come on!
(She runs off. OWEN goes to SARAH who is preparing to leave.)
OWEN: How are you? Are you all right?
(SARAH nods: Yes.)
OWEN: Don’t worry. It will come back to you again.
(SARAH shakes her head.)
OWEN: It will. You’re upset now. He frightened you. That’s all’s wrong.
(Again SARAH shakes her head, slowly, emphatically, and smiles at OWEN. Then she leaves, OWEN busies himself gathering his belongings. DOALTY leaves the window and goes to him.)
DOALTY: He’ll do it, too.
OWEN: Unless Yolland’s found.
DOALTY: Hah!
OWEN: Then he’ll certainly do it.
DOALTY: When my grandfather was a boy they did the same thing.
(Simply, altogether without irony) And after all the trouble you went to, mapping the place and thinking up new names for it.
(OWEN busies himself. Pause. DOALTY almost dreamily.) I’ve damned little to defend but he’ll not put me out without a fight. And there’ll be others who think the same as me.
OWEN: That’s a matter for you.
DOALTY: If we’d all stick together. If we knew how to defend ourselves.
OWEN: Against a trained army.
DOALTY: The Donnelly twins know how.
OWEN: If they could be found.
DOALTY: If they could be found. (He goes to the door.) Give me a shout after you’ve finished with Lancey. I might know
(He leaves.)
(OWEN picks up the Name-Book. He looks at it momentarily, then puts it on top of the pile he is carrying. It falls to the floor. He stoops to pick it up – hesitates – leaves it. He goes upstairs. As OWEN ascends, HUGH and JIMMY JACK enter. Both wet and drunk, JIMMY is very unsteady. He is trotting behind HUGH, trying to break in on HUGH’s declamation. HUGH is equally drunk but more experienced in drunkenness: there is a portion of his mind which retains its clarity.)
HUGH: There I was, appropriately dispositioned to proffer my condolences to the bereaved mother …
JIMMY: Hugh –
HUGH: … and about to enter the domus lugubris – Maire Chatach?
JIMMY: The wake house.
HUGH: Indeed – when I experience a plucking at my elbow: Mister George Alexander, Justice of the Peace. ‘My tidings are infelicitous‚’ said he – Bridget? Too slow. Doalty?
JIMMY: Infelix – unhappy.
HUGH: Unhappy indeed. ‘Master Bartley Timlin has been appointed to the new national school.’ ‘Timlin? Who is Timlin?’ ‘A schoolmaster from Cork. And he will be a major asset to the community: he is also a very skilled bacon-curer!’
JIMMY: Hugh –
HUGH: Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! The Cork bacon-curer! Barbarus hic ego sum quia non intelligor ulli – James?
JIMMY: Ovid.
HUGH: Procede.
JIMMY: ‘I am a barbarian in this place because I am not understood by anyone.’
HUGH: Indeed – (Shouts) Manus! Tea! I will compose a satire on Master Bartley Timlin, schoolmaster and bacon-curer. But it will be too easy, won’t it? (Shouts) Strong tea! Black!
(The only way JIMMY can get HUGH’s attention is by standing in front of him and holding his arms.)
JIMMY: Will you listen to me, Hugh!
HUGH: James. (Shouts) And a slice of soda bread.
JIMMY: I’m going to get married.
HUGH: Well!
JIMMY: At Christmas.
HUGH: Splendid.
JIMMY: To Athene.
HUGH: Who?
JIMMY: Pallas Athene.
HUGH: Glaukopis Athene?
JIMMY: Flashing-eyed, Hugh, flashing-eyed!
(He attempts the gesture he has made before: standing to attention, the momentary spasm, the salute, the face raised in pained ecstasy – but the body does not respond efficiently this time. The gesture is grotesque.)
HUGH: The lady has assented?
JIMMY: She asked me – I assented.
HUGH: Ah. When was this?
JIMMY: Last night.
HUGH: What does her mother say?
JIMMY: Metis from Hellespont? Decent people – good stock.
HUGH: And her father?
JIMMY: I’m meeting Zeus tomorrow. Hugh, will you be my best man?
HUGH: Honoured, James; profoundly honoured.
JIMMY: You know what I’m looking for, Hugh, don’t you? I mean to say – you know – I – I – I joke like the rest of them – you know? – (Again he attempts the pathetic routine but abandons it instantly.) You know yourself, Hugh – don’t you? – you know all that. But what I’m really looking for, Hugh – what I really want – companionship, Hugh – at my time of life, companionship, company, someone to talk to. Away up in Beann na Gaoithe – you’ve no idea how lonely it is. Companionship – correct, Hugh? Correct?
HUGH: Correct.
JIMMY: And I always liked her, Hugh. Correct?
HUGH: Correct, James.
JIMMY: Someone to talk to.
HUGH: Indeed.
JIMMY: That’s all, Hugh. The whole story. You know it all now, Hugh. You know it all.
(As JIMMY says those last lines he is crying, shaking his head, trying to keep his balance, and holding a finger up to his lips in absurd gestures of secrecy and intimacy. Now he staggers away, tries to sit on a stool, misses it, slides to the floor, his feet in front of him, his back against the broken cart. Almost at once he is asleep. HUGH watches all of this. Then he produces his flask and is about to pour a drink when he sees the Name-Book on the floor. He picks it up and leafs through it, pronouncing the strange names as he does. Just as he begins, OWEN emerges and descends with two bowls of tea.)
HUGH: Ballybeg. Burnfoot. King’s Head. Whiteplains. Fair Hill. Dunboy. Green Bank.
(OWEN snatches the book from HUGH.)
OWEN: I’ll take that. (In apology.) It’s only a catalogue of names.
HUGH: I know what it is.
OWEN: A mistake – my mistake – nothing to do with us. I hope that’s strong enough (tea). (He throws the book on the table and crosses over to JIMMY.)
Jimmy. Wake up, Jimmy. Wake up, man.
JIMMY: What – what – what?
OWEN: Here. Drink this. Then go on away home. There may be trouble. Do you hear me, Jimmy? There may be trouble.
HUGH: (Indicating Name-Book) We must learn those new names.
OWEN: (Searching around) Did you see a sack lying about?
HUGH: We must learn where we live. We must learn to make them our own. We must make them our new home.
(OWEN finds a sack and throws it across his shoulders.)
OWEN: I know where I live.
HUGH: James thinks he knows, too. I look at James and three thoughts occur to me: A – that it is not the literal past, the ‘facts’ of history, that shape us, but images of the past embodied in language. James has ceased to make that discrimination.
OWEN: Don’t lecture me, Father.
HUGH: B – we must never cease renewing those images; because once we do, we fossilize. Is there no soda bread?
OWEN: And C, Father – one single, unalterable ‘fact’: if Yolland is not found, we are all going to be evicted. Lancey has issued the order.
HUGH: Ah. Edictum imperatoris.
OWEN: You should change out of those wet clothes. I’ve got to go. I’ve got to see Doalty Dan Doalty.
HUGH: What about?
OWEN: I’ll be back soon.
(As OWEN exits.)
HUGH: Take care, Owen. To remember everything is a form of madness.
(He looks around the room, carefully, as if he were about to leave it forever. Then he looks at Jimmy, asleep again.) The road to Sligo. A spring morning. 1798. Going into battle. Do you remember, James? Two
young gallants with pikes across their shoulders and the Aeneid in their pockets. Everything seemed to find definition that spring – a congruence, a miraculous matching of hope and past and present and possibility. Striding across the fresh, green land. The rhythms of perception heightened. The whole enterprise of consciousness accelerated. We were gods that morning, James; and I had recently married my goddess, Caitlin Dubh Nic Reactainn, may she rest in peace. And to leave her and my infant son in his cradle – that was heroic, too. By God, sir, we were magnificent. We marched as far as – where was it? – Glenties! All of twenty-three miles in one day. And it was there, in Phelan’s pub, that we got homesick for Athens, just like Ulysses. The desiderium nostrorum – the need for our own. Our pietas, James, was for older, quieter things. And that was the longest twenty-three miles back I ever made. (Toasts JIMMY.) My friend, confusion is not an ignoble condition.
(MAIRE enters.)
MAIRE: I’m back again. I set out for somewhere but I couldn’t remember where. So I came back here.
HUGH: Yes, I will teach you English, Maire Chatach.
MAIRE: Will you, Master? I must learn it. I need to learn it.
HUGH: Indeed you may well be my only pupil.
(He goes towards the steps and begins to ascend.)
MAIRE: When can we start?
HUGH: Not today. Tomorrow, perhaps. After the funeral. We’ll begin tomorrow. (Ascending) But don’t expect too much. I will provide you with the available words and the available grammar. But will that help you to interpret between privacies? I have no idea. But it’s all we have. I have no idea at all.
(He is now at the top.)
MAIRE: Master, what does the English word ‘always’ mean?
HUGH: Semper – per omnia saecula. The Greeks called it ‘aei’. It’s not a word I’d start with. It’s a silly word, girl.
(He sits. JIMMY is awake. He gets to his feet. MAIRE sees the Name-Book, picks it up, and sits with it on her knee.)
MAIRE: When he comes back, this is where he’ll come to. He told me this is where he was happiest.
(JIMMY sits beside MAIRE.)
JIMMY: Do you know the Greek word endogamein? It means to marry within the tribe. And the word exogamein means to marry outside the tribe. And you don’t cross those borders casually – both sides get very angry. Now, the problem is this: Is Athene sufficiently mortal or am I sufficiently godlike for the marriage to be acceptable to her people and to my people? You think about that.
HUGH: Urbs antiqua fuit – there was an ancient city which,’ tis said, Juno loved above all the lands. And it was the goddess’s aim and cherished hope that here should be the capital of all nations – should the fates perchance allow that. Yet in truth she discovered that a race was springing from Trojan blood to overthrow some day these Tyrian towers – a people late regem belloque superbum – kings of broad realms and proud in war who would come forth for Lybia’s downfall – such was – such was the course – such was the course ordained – ordained by fate … What the hell’s wrong with me? Sure I know it backways. I’ll begin again. Urbs antiqua fuit – there was an ancient city which, ’tis said, Juno loved above all the lands.
(Begin to bring down the lights.)
And it was the goddess’s aim and cherished hope that here should be the capital of all nations – should the fates perchance allow that. Yet in truth she discovered that a race was springing from Trojan blood to overthrow some day these Tyrian towers – a people kings of broad realms and proud in war who would come forth for Lybia’s downfall …
Black
GREEK AND LATIN USED IN THE TEXT
(Homer, Odyssey, XIII, 420):
(Lit.) ‘But the grey-eyed goddess Athene then replied to him’
(Homer, Odyssey, XIII, 423–4):
(Lit.) ‘… but he sits at ease in the halls of the Sons of Athens …’
(Homer, Odyssey‚ XIII, 429):
(Lit.) ‘As she spoke Athene touched him with her wand’
(Homer, Odyssey, XIII, 433):
(Lit.) ‘She dimmed his eyes’
(Lit.) flashing-eyed Athene
(Homer, Odyssey, XIV, 1):
(Lit.) ‘But he went forth from the harbour …’
(Homer, Odyssey, XIV, 3–4):
(Lit.) ‘… he cared very much for his substance …’
Esne fatigata?: Are you tired?
Sum fatigatissima: I am very tired
Bene! Optime!: Good! Excellent!
Ignari‚ stulti, rustici: Ignoramuses, fools, peasants
Responde – responde!: Answer – answer!
a god
a goddess
Nigra fere et presso pinguis sub vomere terra
Land that is black and rich beneath the pressure of the plough
cui putre: crumbly soil
adsum: I am present
sobrietate perfecta: with complete sobriety
sobrius: sober
ave: hail
caerimonia nominationis: ceremony of naming
to dip or immerse
baptisterium: a cold bath, swimming-pool
Gratias tibi ago: I thank you
studia: studies
perambulare: to walk through
verecundus: shame-faced, modest
conjugo: I join together
acquiesco‚ acquiescere: to rest, to find comfort in procede:proceed
Silentium!: Silence!
diverto, divertere: to turn away
unfillable cask
Jacobe, quid agis?: James, how are you?
Festinate!: Hurry!
Gaudeo vos hic adesse: Welcome
Nonne Latine loquitur?: Does he not speak Latin?
opus honestum: an honourable task
Quantumvis cursum longum fessumque moratur
Sol, sacro tandem carmine vesper adest:
No matter how long the sun delays on his long weary course
At length evening comes with its sacred song
expeditio: an expedition
Tu es centurio in exercitu Britannico: You are a centurion in the British Army
Et es in castris quae sunt in agro: And you are in the camp in the field
Ignari! Stulti! Rustici!: Ignoramuses! Fools! Peasants!
domus lugubris: house of mourning
infelix: unlucky, unhappy
Bararus hic ego sum quia non intelligor ulli: I am a barbarian here because I am not understood by anyone procede: proceed
edictum imperatoris: the decree of the commander
desiderium nostrorum: longing/need for our things/people.
pietas: piety
Semper – per omnia saecula: Always – for all time.
always
to marry within the tribe
to marry outside the tribe
Urbs antiqua fuit: There was an ancient city
late regem belloque superbum: kings of broad realms and proud in war
SELECT CHECKLIST OF WORKS
Compiled by Frances-Jane French
STAGE PLAYS (published)
Philadelphia, Here I Come!, London, Faber & Faber, 1965; New York, Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 1966
The Loves of Cass McGuire, London, Samuel French, 1966; London, Faber & Faber, 1967; New York, Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 1967
Lovers, New York, Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 1968; London, Faber & Faber, 1969
Crystal and Fox, London, Faber & Faber, 1970; New York, Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 1970 (in Two Plays)
The Mundy Scheme, London, Samuel French, 1970; New York, Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 1970 (in Two Plays)
The Gentle Island, London, Davis Poynter, 1973
The Freedom of the City, London, Faber & Faber, 1974; New York, Samuel French, 1974
The Enemy Within, Newark, Delaware, Proscenium Press, 1975; Dublin, Gallery Press, 1979
Living Quarters, London, Faber & Faber, 1978
Volunteers, London, Faber & Faber, 1979
Faith Healer, London, Faber & Faber, 1980; New York, Samuel French, 1980
>
Aristocrats, Dublin, Gallery Press, 1980; London, Faber & Faber, 1984
Translations, Faber & Faber, 1981; New York, Samuel French, 1981
The Three Sisters (translated from Chekhov), Dublin, Gallery Press, 1981
The Communication Cord, London, Faber & Faber, 1983
STAGE PLAYS (unpublished)
A Doubtful Paradise (The Francophile), performed Belfast, 1959
The Blind Mice, performed Dublin, 1963
RADIO PLAYS
A Sort of Freedom, BBC Northern Ireland Home Service, 1958
To This Hard House, BBC Northern Ireland Home Service, 1958
The Founder Members, BBC Light Programme, 1964
RADIO ADAPTATIONS
The Loves of Cass McGuire, BBC Third Programme, 1961
The Enemy Within, BBC Third Programme, 1963
The Blind Mice, BBC Northern Ireland Home Service, 1963
Philadelphia, Here I Come!, BBC Third Programme, 1965
Winners (version of first part of Lovers), BBC Third Programme, 1968
TELEVISION ADAPTATION
The Enemy Within, BBC, 1965
FILM ADAPTATION
Philadelphia, Here I Come!, 1970
SHORT-STORY COLLECTIONS
The Saucer of Larks, London, Gollancz, 1962; Garden City, NY, Doubleday, 1962
The Gold in the Sea, London, Gollancz, 1966; Garden City, NY, Doubleday, 1966
Selected Stories, Dublin, Gallery Press, 1979; published as The Diviner: The Best Stories of Brian Friel, Dublin, O’Brien Press, 1982; London, Allison & Busby, 1982
CONTRIBUTIONS TO PERIODICALS
‘A Visit to Spain’, Irish Monthly (Dublin and London), vol. 53, November 1952
‘The Theatre of Hope and Despair’ (text of lecture), Everyman (Benburb, Co. Tyrone), no. 1,1968
TEXT OF INTERVIEW
‘An Ulster Writer: Brian Friel’, conducted by Graham Morison, Acorn (Londonderry), no. 8, Spring 1965
BIOGRAPHY
Brian Friel, Desmond E. S. Maxwell, Lewisburg, Pa, Bucknell University Press, 1973 456