The Plough and the Stars

by Sean O'Casey

  Peter (going, and turning as he reaches the door) Now, if that young Covey –

  Nora Go on, go on.

  Peter goes. Clitheroe sits down in the lounge, lights a cigarette, and looks thoughtfully into the fire. Nora takes the things from the table, placing them on the chest of drawers. There is a pause, then she swiftly comes over to him and sits beside him.

  (Softly) A penny for them, Jack!

  Clitheroe Me? Oh, I was thinkin’ of nothing.

  Nora You were thinkin’ of th’ … meetin’ … Jack. When we were courtin’ an’ I wanted you to go, you’d say, ‘Oh, to hell with meetin’s,’ an’ that you felt lonely in cheerin’ crowds when I was absent. An’ we weren’t a month married when you began that you couldn’t keep away from them.

  Clitheroe Oh, that’s enough about th’ meetin’. It looks as if you wanted me to go, th’ way you’re talkin’. You were always at me to give up th’ Citizen Army, an’ I gave it up; surely that ought to satisfy you.

  Nora Ay, you gave it up – because you got th’ sulks when they didn’t make a Captain of you. It wasn’t for my sake, Jack.

  Clitheroe For your sake or no, you’re benefitin’ by it, aren’t you? I didn’t forget this was your birthday, did I? (He puts his arms around her.) And you liked your new hat; didn’t you, didn’t you? (He kisses her rapidly several times.)

  Nora (panting) Jack, Jack; please, Jack! I thought you were tired of that sort of thing long ago.

  Clitheroe Well, you’re finding out now that I amn’t tired of it yet, anyhow. Mrs Clitheroe doesn’t want to be kissed, sure she doesn’t? (He kisses her again.) Little, little red-lipped Nora!

  Nora (coquettishly removing his arm from around her) Oh, yes, your little, little red-lipped Nora’s a sweet little girl when th’ fit seizes you; but your little, little red-lipped Nora has to clean your boots every mornin’, all the same.

  Clitheroe (with a movement of irritation) Oh, well, if we’re goin’ to be snotty!

  A pause.

  Nora It’s lookin’ like as if it was you that was goin’ to be … snotty! Bridlin’ up with bittherness, th’ minute a body attempts t’ open her mouth.

  Clitheroe Is it any wondher, turnin’ a tendher sayin’ into a meanin’ o’ malice an’ spite!

  Nora It’s hard for a body to be always keepin’ her mind bent on makin’ thoughts that’ll be no longer than th’ length of your own satisfaction. (A pause. Standing up) If we’re goin’ to dhribble th’ time away sittin’ here like a pair o’ cranky mummies, I’d be as well sewin’ or doin’ something about th’ place.

  She looks appealingly at him for a few moments; he doesn’t speak. She swiftly sits down beside him, and puts her arm around his neck.

  (Imploringly) Ah, Jack, don’t be so cross!

  Clitheroe (doggedly) Cross? I’m not cross; I’m not a bit cross. It was yourself started it.

  Nora (coaxingly) I didn’t mean to say anything out o’ the way. You take a body up too quickly, Jack. (In an ordinary tone as if nothing of an angry nature had been said) You didn’t offer me me evenin’ allowance yet.

  Clitheroe silently takes out a cigarette for her and himself and lights both.

  (Trying to make conversation) How quiet th’ house is now; they must be all out.

  Clitheroe (rather shortly) I suppose so.

  Nora (rising from the seat) I’m longin’ to show you me new hat, to see what you think of it. Would you like to see it?

  Clitheroe Ah, I don’t mind.

  Nora suppresses a sharp reply, hesitates for a moment, then gets the hat, puts it on, and stands before Clitheroe.

  Nora Well, how does Mr Clitheroe like me new hat?

  Clitheroe It suits you, Nora, it does right enough.

  He stands up, puts his hand beneath her chin, and tilts her head up. She looks at him roguishly. He bends down and kisses her.

  Nora Here, sit down, an’ don’t let me hear another cross word out of you for th’ rest o’ the night.

  They sit down.

  Clitheroe (with his arms around her) Little, little, red-lipped Nora!

  Nora (with a coaxing movement of her body towards him) Jack!

  Clitheroe (tightening his arms around her) Well?

  Nora You haven’t sung me a song since our honeymoon. Sing me one now, do … please, Jack!

  Clitheroe What song? ‘Since Maggie Went Away’?

  Nora Ah, no, Jack, not that; it’s too sad. ‘When You Said You Loved Me.’

  Clearing his throat, Clitheroe thinks for a moment, and then begins to sing. Nora, putting an arm around him, nestles her head on his breast and listens delightedly.

  Clitheroe (singing verses following to the air of ‘When You and I Were Young, Maggie’)

  Th’ violets were scenting th’ woods, Nora,

  Displaying their charm to th’ bee,

  When I first said I lov’d only you, Nora,

  An’ you said you lov’d only me!

  Th’ chestnut blooms gleam’d through th’ glade, Nora,

  A robin sang loud from a tree,

  When I first said I lov’d only you, Nora,

  An’ you said you lov’d only me!

  Th’ golden-rob’d daffodils shone, Nora,

  An’ danc’d in th’ breeze on th’ lea,

  When I first said I lov’d only you, Nora,

  An’ you said you lov’d only me!

  Th’ trees, birds, an’ bees sang a song, Nora,

  Of happier transports to be,

  When I first said I lov’d only you, Nora,

  An’ you said you lov’d only me!

  Nora kisses him. A knock is heard at the door, right; a pause as they listen. Nora clings closely to Clitheroe. Another knock, more imperative than the first.

  I wonder who can that be, now?

  Nora (a little nervous) Take no notice of it, Jack; they’ll go away in a minute.

  Another knock, followed by a voice.

  Voice Commandant Clitheroe, Commandant Clitheroe, are you there? A message from General Jim Connolly.

  Clitheroe Damn it, it’s Captain Brennan.

  Nora (anxiously) Don’t mind him, don’t mind, Jack. Don’t break our happiness … Pretend we’re not in. Let us forget everything tonight but our two selves!

  Clitheroe (reassuringly) Don’t be alarmed, darling; I’ll just see what he wants, an’ send him about his business.

  Nora (tremulously) No, no. Please, Jack; don’t open it. Please, for your own little Nora’s sake!

  Clitheroe (rising to open the door) Now don’t be silly, Nora.

  Clitheroe opens door, and admits a young man in the full uniform of the Irish Citizen Army – green suit; slouch green hat caught up at one side by a small Red Hand badge; Sam Browne belt, with a revolver in the holster. He carries a letter in his hand. When he comes in he smartly salutes Clitheroe. The young man is Captain Brennan.

  Capt. Brennan (giving the letter to Clitheroe) A dispatch from General Connolly.

  While Clitheroe reads out the letter Brennan’s eyes are fixed on Nora, who droops as she sits on the lounge.

  Clitheroe (reading) ‘Commandant Clitheroe is to take command of the eighth battalion of the ICA which will assemble to proceed to the meeting at nine o’clock. He is to see that all units are provided with full equipment; two days’ rations and fifty rounds of ammunition. At two o’clock a.m. the army will leave Liberty Hall for a reconnaissance attack on Dublin Castle. – Com.-Gen. Connolly.’ I don’t understand this. Why does General Connolly call me Commandant?

  Capt. Brennan Th’ Staff appointed you Commandant, and th’ General agreed with their selection.

  Clitheroe When did this happen?

  Capt. Brennan A fortnight ago.

  Clitheroe How is it word was never sent to me?

  Capt. Brennan Word was sent to you … I meself brought it.

  Clitheroe Who did you give it to, then?

  Capt. Brennan (after a pause) I think I gave it to Mrs Clitheroe, there.

 
; Clitheroe Nora, d’ye hear that?

  Nora makes no answer.

  (There is a note of hardness in his voice.) Nora … Captain Brennan says he brought a letter to me from General Connolly, and that he gave it to you … Where is it? What did you do with it?

  Nora (running over to him, and pleadingly putting her arms around him) Jack, please, Jack, don’t go out tonight an’ I’ll tell you; I’ll explain everything … Send him away, an’ stay with your own little red-lipp’d Nora.

  Clitheroe (removing her arms from around him) None o’ this nonsense, now; I want to know what you did with th’ letter.

  Nora goes slowly to the lounge and sits down.

  (Angrily) Why didn’t you give me th’ letter? What did you do with it? … (He shakes her by the shoulder.) What did you do with th’ letter?

  Nora (flaming up) I burned it, I burned it! That’s what I did with it! Is General Connolly an’ th’ Citizen Army goin’ to be your only care? Is your home goin’ to be only a place to rest in? Am I goin’ to be only somethin’ to provide merry-makin’ at night for you? Your vanity’ll be th’ ruin of you an’ me yet … That’s what’s movin’ you: because they’ve made an officer of you, you’ll make a glorious cause of what you’re doin’, while your little red-lipp’d Nora can go on sittin’ here, makin’ a companion of th’ loneliness of th’ night!

  Clitheroe (fiercely) You burned it, did you? (He grips her arm.) Well, me good lady –

  Nora Let go – you’re hurtin’ me!

  Clitheroe You deserve to be hurt … Any letter that comes to me for th’ future, take care that I get it … D’ye hear – take care that I get it!

  He goes to the chest of drawers and takes out a Sam Browne belt, which he puts on, and then puts a revolver in the holster. He puts on his hat, and looks towards Nora. While this dialogue is proceeding, and while Clitheroe prepares himself, Brennan softly whistles ‘The Soldiers’ Song’.

  (At door, about to go out) You needn’t wait up for me; if I’m in at all, it won’t be before six in th’ morning.

  Nora (bitterly) I don’t care if you never come back!

  Clitheroe (to Capt. Brennan) Come along, Ned.

  They go out. There is a pause. Nora pulls the new hat from her head and with a bitter movement flings it to the other end of the room. There is a gentle knock at door, right, which opens, and Mollser comes into the room. She is about fifteen, but looks to be only about ten, for the ravages of consumption have shrivelled her up. She is pitifully worn, walks feebly, and frequently coughs. She goes over to Nora.

  Mollser (to Nora) Mother’s gone to th’ meetin’, an’ I was feelin’ terrible lonely, so I come down to see if you’d let me sit with you, thinkin’ you mightn’t be goin’ yourself … I do be terrible afraid I’ll die sometime when I’m be meself … I often envy you, Mrs Clitheroe, seein’ th’ health you have, an’ th’ lovely place you have here, an’ wondherin’ if I’ll ever be sthrong enough to be keepin’ a home together for a man. Oh, this must be some more o’ the Dublin Fusiliers flyin’ off to the front.

  Just before Mollser ceases to speak, there is heard in the distance the music of a brass band playing a regiment to the boat on the way to the front. The tune that is being played is ‘It’s a Long Way to Tipperary’; as the band comes to the chorus, the regiment is swinging into the street by Nora’s house, and the voices of the soldiers can be heard lustily singing the chorus of the song.

  Soldiers (off)

  It’s a long way to Tipperary, it’s a long way to go;

  It’s a long way to Tipperary, to th’ sweetest girl I know!

  Goodbye Piccadilly, farewell Leicester Square.

  It’s a long, long way to Tipperary, but my heart’s right there!

  Nora and Mollser remain silently listening. As the chorus ends and the music is faint in the distance again, Bessie Burgess appears at door, right, which Mollser has left open.

  Bessie (speaking in towards the room) There’s th’ men marchin’ out into th’ dhread dimness o’ danger, while th’ lice is crawlin’ about feedin’ on th’ fatness o’ the land! But yous’ll not escape from th’ arrow that flieth be night, or th’ sickness that wasteth be day … An’ ladyship an’ all, as some o’ them may be, they’ll be scattered abroad, like th’ dust in th’ darkness!

  Bessie goes away; Nora steals over and quietly shuts the door. She comes back to the lounge and wearily throws herself on it beside Mollser.

  Mollser (after a pause and a cough) Is there anybody goin’, Mrs Clitheroe, with a titther o’ sense?

  Curtain.

  Act Two

  A commodious public-house at the corner of the street in which the meeting is being addressed from Platform No. 1. It is the south corner of the public-house that is visible to the audience. The counter, beginning at back about one-fourth of the width of the space shown, comes across two-thirds of the length of the stage, and, taking a circular sweep, passes out of sight to left. On the counter are beer-pulls, glasses, and a carafe. The other three-fourths of the back is occupied by a tall, wide, two-paned window. Beside this window at the right is a small, boxlike, panelled snug. Next to the snug is a double swing door, the entrance to that particular end of the house. Farther on is a shelf on which customers may rest their drinks. Underneath the windows is a cushioned seat. Behind the counter at back can be seen the shelves running the whole length of the counter. On these shelves can be seen the end (or the beginning) of rows of bottles. The Barman is seen wiping the part of the counter which is in view. Rosie is standing at the counter toying with what remains of a half of whiskey in a wineglass. She is a sturdy, well-shaped girl of twenty; pretty, and pert in manner. She is wearing a cream blouse, with an obviously suggestive glad neck; a grey tweed dress, brown stockings and shoes. The blouse and most of the dress are hidden by a black shawl. She has no hat, and in her hair is jauntily set a cheap, glittering, jewelled ornament. It is an hour later.

  Barman (wiping counter) Nothin’ much doin’ in your line tonight, Rosie?

  Rosie Curse o’ God on th’ haporth, hardly, Tom. There isn’t much notice taken of a pretty petticoat of a night like this … They’re all in a holy mood. Th’ solemn-lookin’ dials on th’ whole o’ them an’ they marchin’ to th’ meetin’. You’d think they were th’ glorious company of th’ saints, an’ th’ noble army of martyrs thrampin’ through th’ sthreets of paradise. They’re all thinkin’ of higher things than a girl’s garthers … It’s a tremendous meetin’; four platforms they have – there’s one o’ them just outside opposite th’ window.

  Barman Oh, ay; sure when th’ speaker comes (motioning with his hand) to th’ near end, here, you can see him plain, an’ hear nearly everythin’ he’s spoutin’ out of him.

  Rosie It’s no joke thryin’ to make up fifty-five shillin’s a week for your keep an’ laundhry, an’ then taxin’ you a quid for your own room if you bring home a friend for th’ night … If I could only put by a couple of quid for a swankier outfit, everythin’ in th’ garden ud look lovely –

  Barman Whisht, till we hear what he’s sayin’.

  Through the window is silhouetted the figure of a tall man who is speaking to the crowd. The Barman and Rosie look out of the window and listen.

  Voice of the Man It is a glorious thing to see arms in the hands of Irishmen. We must accustom ourselves to the thought of arms, we must accustom ourselves to the sight of arms, we must accustom ourselves to the use of arms … Bloodshed is a cleansing and sanctifying thing, and the nation that regards it as the final horror has lost its manhood … There are many things more horrible than bloodshed, and slavery is one of them!

  The figure moves away towards the right, and is lost to sight and hearing.

  Rosie It’s th’ sacred thruth, mind you, what that man’s afther sayin’.

  Barman If I was only a little younger, I’d be plungin’ mad into th’ middle of it!

  Rosie (who is still looking out of the window) Oh, here’s the two gems runnin’ over again f
or their oil!

  Peter and Fluther enter tumultuously. They are hot, and full and hasty with the things they have seen and heard. Emotion is bubbling up in them, so that when they drink, and when they speak, they drink and speak with the fullness of emotional passion. Peter leads the way to the counter.

  Peter (splutteringly to the Barman) Two halves … (To Fluther) A meetin’ like this always makes me feel as if I could dhrink Loch Erinn dhry!

  Fluther You couldn’t feel any way else at a time like this when th’ spirit of a man is pulsin’ to be out fightin’ for th’ thruth with his feet thremblin’ on th’ way, maybe to th’ gallows, an’ his ears tinglin’ with th’ faint, far-away sound of burstin’ rifle-shots that’ll maybe whip th’ last little shock o’ life out of him that’s left lingerin’ in his body!

  Peter I felt a burnin’ lump in me throat when I heard th’ band playin’ ‘The Soldiers’ Song’, rememberin’ last hearin’ it marchin’ in military formation, with th’ people starin’ on both sides at us, carryin’ with us th’ pride an’ resolution o’ Dublin to th’ grave of Wolfe Tone.

  Fluther Get th’ Dublin men goin’ an’ they’ll go on full force for anything that’s thryin’ to bar them away from what they’re wantin’, where th’ slim thinkin’ counthry boyo ud limp away from th’ first faintest touch of compromisation!

  Peter (hurriedly to the Barman) Two more, Tom! … (To Fluther) Th’ memory of all th’ things that was done, an’ all th’ things that was suffered be th’ people, was boomin’ in me brain … Every nerve in me body was quiverin’ to do somethin’ desperate!

  Fluther Jammed as I was in th’ crowd, I listened to th’ speeches pattherin’ on th’ people’s head, like rain fallin’ on th’ corn; every derogatory thought went out o’ me mind, an’ I said to meself, ‘You can die now, Fluther, for you’ve seen th’ shadow-dhreams of th’ past leppin’ to life in th’ bodies of livin’ men that show, if we were without a titther o’ courage for centuries, we’re vice versa now!’ Looka here. (He stretches out his arm under Peter’s face and rolls up his sleeve.) The blood was BOILIN’ in me veins!