by Tom Murphy
Short pause. Lopakhin takes out his keys.
Lyubov We have another few minutes. I’m leaving with two worries. There’s Firs, who is ill.
Anya Yasha had him sent to hospital.
Lyubov And there’s Varya. She’s used to getting up early and working. Now her eyes are always red from crying, and she’s losing weight. The creature is like a fish out of water. Anya. (She whispers something to Anya, who whispers/nods to Charlotta and they both leave, leaving Lyubov alone with Lopakhin.) . . . You love her! . . . It’s been going on now for a long time, Yermolay . . . And you know very well what I had in mind for the two of you. It’s the natural conclusion. You love her! And a blind person could see that she dotes on you. And why the two of you now go round avoiding each other is a mystery to me, it’s strange. I don’t understand it, Yermolay. Do you?
Lopakhin I don’t.
Lyubov You see! D’you see my point?
Lopakhin It’s strange all right, I suppose.
Lyubov Well?
Lopakhin Well . . . if there was still time.
Lyubov What does it take but a minute?
Lopakhin I suppose . . . Let’s do it then, straightaway. [‘Get it over with’]
Lyubov I’ll call her. Varya! (To Yasha, who is coming in.) Sortez! Hors d’ici! (‘Go out!’ Calls to Anya’s room.) Varya, leave everything and come here at once for a moment! Come! (Going out; to herself.) Wonderful!
Lopakhin, alone, needs a prop for the occasion: the champagne. But someone has drunk it all.
Varya comes in. She inspects the luggage in silence for a long time.
Varya That’s odd.
Lopakhin What is?
Varya . . . I can’t find it anywhere.
Lopakhin . . . What’re you looking for?
Varya Oh! (Gesturing vaguely ‘something’.) I packed it myself and can’t remember where.
Lopakhin . . . Where are you off to, Varvara Mikailovna?
Varya Me? To the Ragulins . . . To look after things for them . . . A sort of housekeeper, I suppose.
Lopakhin The Ragulins, in Yashnevno? . . . That’s a fair bit away.
Varya . . . Yes.
Lopakhin . . . So life in this house is over.
Varya (inspecting/counting the luggage again) Maybe I packed it in the big trunk. Or . . . Yes, life in this house is over. And it won’t come back.
Lopakhin I’m off to Kharkov. The same train as them, for a few stops. I’ve so much work on. Yepikhodov is going to clerk for me.
Varya You’ve taken him on?
Lopakhin I have.
Varya I see.
Lopakhin . . . It’s calm out there. Sunny. Last year, if you remember, it was snowing at this time . . . Cold, though. Three degrees.
Varya Three degrees?
Lopakhin Three degrees below.
Varya I haven’t looked at the thermometer.
Pause.
Voice (from outside) Yermolay Alekseich! Can you come out a minute?
Lopakhin Coming! (He goes out quickly.)
Varya weeps.
Lyubov (comes in, the question ‘Well?’ on her face. She can do no more) . . . We must go.
Varya (dries her eyes) Yes, it’s time.
Lyubov (calls) Anya, put your things on!
Varya I can get to the Ragulins today if I don’t miss my train.
Anya, Gayev and Charlotta come in, dressed for leaving.
Coachmen come for the luggage. Yepikhodov, too, dressed to leave, getting in the way.
Anya We’re setting out!
Gayev My friends, my dear friends, of whom I am so fond: how to remain silent, how to refrain from giving farewell voice to the feelings that now well-up within –
Anya (laughing) Uncle!
Varya Dear uncle, we know.
Gayev: finger to his lips, then mimes a billiard shot.
Petya and Lopakhin come in.
Petya Time to go!
Anya Time to go!
Lyubov Just one minute more. (Sits – rather abruptly.)
Lopakhin Yepikhodov, my coat!
Lyubov It’s as though I’ve never seen these walls before. Now I devour them.
Gayev Trinity Sunday, I was six years old, sitting on that windowsill, watching father go off to church.
Lyubov Has all the luggage been taken out?
Lopakhin By the look of things, yes. (Takes his coat from Yepikhodov.) See that everything’s in order.
Yepikhodov Affix your confidence to me, Yermolay Alekseich. (In a husky voice.)
Lopakhin What’s the matter with you? [‘with your voice’]
Yepikhodov Swallowed – swallowed something. (He leaves.)
Yasha (to himself) Il ne connait pas le monde!
Lyubov And not a soul will remain. [‘here when we’re gone’]
Lopakhin Until spring. (Now he clowns, ducking, as though to protect himself.)
Varya has been tugging at an umbrella to extricate it from a bundle and it has come free in a swipe.
Varya (to Lopakhin) What? (She realises she is holding the umbrella aloft. Then, innocently.) I wouldn’t ever. Here are your galoshes, Peter, they were under the luggage.
Petya (slipping on the galoshes) Now muster up, everyone!
Gayev (to himself) Muster up –
Varya (the galoshes) How very worn they are.
Petya Our carriages await –
Gayev Very worn – Carriages –
Lopakhin Is everyone here?
Petya The train will be in!
Gayev (continues) Train – Croisée, into the middle – To the station, everybody – Double back, white to corner: end of break. (He’s smiling, gamely, in a private panic, afraid of crying.)
Lyubov Yes! We’re leaving!
Lopakhin (He locks a side door.) Some stuff stored in there so better lock it up. All ready?
Anya Goodbye, old house, goodbye, old world! (She leaves, laughing.)
Petya Hail, new life! (He goes, cheerfully.)
Varya follows, looking up and around at the ceiling. Charlotta and her dog, Yasha stepping aside, elegantly, to let them precede him.
Lopakhin All right then, till spring, out we go, far-thee-well!
Lyubov and Gayev stand there on their own. And suddenly, as though they’d been waiting for the moment, they throw their arms around each other and weep quietly, afraid of being heard.
Gayev Sister, sister. . .
Lyubov My gentle cherry orchard.
Gayev Sister, sister . . .
Lyubov Happiness, goodbye.
Anya (off, laughing) Mama! Mama!
Lyubov Our dear mother walking this room.
Gayev Sister . . .
Anya (off) Mama, come on!
Petya (off) Ah-ooo!
Lyubov One last look.
Petya (off) Ah-ooo!
Anya (off) Mama!
Lyubov We’re coming!
They leave and the stage is empty. The sound of doors being locked and then the carriages pulling away. It grows quiet. The thud of the axe from the orchard. Footsteps. And Firs comes in. He is dressed, as always, in his jacket and white waistcoat, but he is wearing slippers. He is ill.
Firs . . . They’ve gone? . . . (He tries a door, finds it locked.) Locked. Shit . . . And I expect he left in that light coat. Tck, I should have seen to that! Sit for a bit? (He sits, muttering something.) . . . Yes, young people . . . And, you know, life slips by. It goes by, somehow. As though you never really live it . . . (He smiles, blows a puff of air: ephemeral life.) Here, gone. Forgotten . . . I’ll lie down for a bit. (He mutters something we can’t make out.) . . . Yes, and you’ve nothing left in you, you know . . . Have you? No . . . Shit . . . Good-for-nothing.
A distant sound, as though out of the sky, the sound of a breaking string (a metallic twang) vibrating and dying away again. Then all that is heard is the sound of the axe on the trees far off in the orchard.
The Drunkard
For Jane
Acknowledgements
&
nbsp; The Drunkard, after the melodrama by W.H. Smith and A Gentleman, is indebted to Fifteen Years of a Drunkard’s Life by Douglas Jerrold; and for lines, freely used, from ‘Let The Toast Pass’ by R.B. Sheridan in Scene Two Act Two. Songs: the lullaby, ‘Child and Mother’ is by H.A.J. Campbell and Eugene Field; ‘O Kisses They are Plenty’ (anonymous); ‘Down Among the Dead Men’ is by Dyer; ‘Soft Music is Stealing’ is by F. Pax.
Additional music
Additional, original music for the premiere of The Drunkard was composed and performed live by Ellen Cranitch and Helene Montague. It included some set pieces – the wedding scene, the tavern scenes and the final ‘hymn’. Extensive underscoring was also used almost continuously – this was devised in response to the rhythm of language, and the actions and interactions of the characters.
The Drunkard was first produced at the Town Hall Theatre, Galway, on 18 July 2003, by b*spoke theatre company in association with Galway Arts Festival, with the following cast:
Sir Arden Rencelaw
Nick Dunning
Edward Kilcullen
Rory Keenan
Phelim McGinty
Stephen Brennan
Mother/Agnes Earley/Floozie 1
Pauline McLynn
Arabella/Floozie 2
Sarah-Jane Drummey
William Earley/Loafer 3
Jack Lynch
Widdy Spindle/Tavern Keeper/Loafer 1/Bartender/Policeman 2
Dylan Tighe
Farmer/Loafer 2/Policeman 1
Rory Nolan
Alanna/Village Girl/Floozie 3
Sarah Brennan
Village Girl
Gemma Reeves
Director Lynne Parker
Set and Costume Design Monica Frawley
Lighting Design Rupert Murray
Music arranged, composed, and performed by Ellen Cranitch and Helene Montague
Stage Manager Aisling Mooney
Assistant Stage Manager Gemma Reeves
Producers Jane Brennan and Alison McKenna
Characters
Sir Arden Rencelaw
Edward Kilcullen
Phelim McGinty, a lawyer
Arabella
Mother
Agnes Earley
Tavern-Keeper
William Earley
Alanna, a child
Widdy Spindle
Bartender
Man
Villagers, Loafers, Floozies, Policemen
The play benefits from a musical accompaniment.
Prologue
The prologue is delivered by Sir Arden Rencelaw, dramatist and philanthropist. He is innocently himself.
Rencelaw When steadfast man, with riches to enjoy, wellborn and nobly to ambition’s cause intent, begins to slide into perdition’s way, what topples him? What insidious attraction tempts the tender heart from that straight and goodly narrow to the rude bent and vulgar broad? Why, when in safe harbour, his wont to drift the foul-hard foetid waters from the soft moorings of a lovely wife?
Apply to Intellect’s highest school, man’s overflowing treasury of light, Philosophy, and draw a blank. And the Holy Alternative in His infinite wisdom guards His motives still. Our heavenward appeal is not for answer but to implore first aid.
Yet, I have some, and not a little, knowledge of this turpitude, for I was once – though never wedded – one such.
Taxing to credit when you see before you a personage of my conduct. But ’tis shining reformation o’er my erstwhile fault that you perceive; a figure staunch again in the ways of righteousness, reconstituted in fortune and, though I am not one to boast, in just and rightful claim to fame. Indeed, in recognition of a life spent penning works for the edification of my fellow man, titled. Don’tcha know.
But that is perfunctory by the way, for the protagonist of the drama to be here enacted is not its humble author: the role I take is more modest one, God’s instrument on earth.
Lights briefly up on a bundle of rags that is Edward, lying in a heap on the ground.
There he is, the hero, master of the earth and all its creatures. There he lies, man, who binds the elements to his will, at death’s door, gorged to the throat with wine.
Is’t too late for him to mend? Can the luminous, once noble light, now guttering to its shivering last, have rekindle? Is’t too late? Is’t too late for YOU? Fellow, fallible man, I stand before you, renovation’s living proof! All can be saved.
Light briefly up on McGinty – his back towards us, perhaps.
Most all. For there are some, into whose hearts, black and adamantine, no ray of sweetness is allowed to penetrate, who will continue blind to example’s lamp and resolutely deaf to the reproving shafts of conscience. Why? In this request we are afforded no difficulty. For no reason other than that someone pitied them.
Take observation then and attend the tale of human weakness about to be revealed, of selfless and unfaltering love to rend and yet uplift the gentle heart; a tale of remorseless hatred, cruel injustice and salvation.
Poor woman.
The last, as he leaves, of Mother, who is entering Scene One. Music.
Act One
Scene One
An idyllic, rural cottage. A chair . . . Mother, an apple-cheeked, old lady, has entered, leaning on a stick. She starts, totters, cries, as if seeing a ghost.
Arabella, who will come hurrying in in a moment, alarmed, with a basket of flowers, is young, beautiful, spirited and very kind.
Mother Oooooo!
Arabella Mother! Mother!
Mother (to her) Bartholemew!
Arabella Mother?
Mother Your dear father – (She points to a spot, whispers.) Bartholemew.
Arabella Shriek! (Then.) There is nothing there. Morning light through the lattice contrives in variegated hues to dissemble, amusingly.
Mother No, my dear. It was on that spot your dear father breathed his last.
Arabella Oh, Mother. Let me help you to the chair.
Mother That chair is indeed dear to me.
Arabella There. (Seating her.)
Mother For it was in this chair he sat the day before he passed away. Oh, how he loved this calm retreat! And ’twas often in his last illness, he . . .
Arabella He rejoiced in you, Mother.
Mother He rejoiced in me, Arabella. The comfort he drew from the knowledge that it should be myself would close his eyes at last to these rural shades; ah yes, and soon follow him, to be laid in yon little nook out there beside him.
Arabella Dearest, dearest, dearest, Mother, it is true that this cottage, and its contents, are most dear to us, but we are not its proprietors, and word is now abroad that our worthy landlord, Patrick Joseph Kilcullen, is failing fast.
Mother Aa no! Old Paddy Joe?
Arabella I fear so. And should he cease the world we would be in the hands of his son, Young Edward Kilcullen, who has come down from college, word on whom is scant other than that he has been paying nocturnal calls on the village tavern of late.
Mother My beloved child! Who will protect you when I am gone?
Arabella Oh dear, I did not mean to alarm you.
Mother Hark!
A knock at the door.
That must be someone. Come in!
Enter McGinty.
McGinty Good Mrs Clancy – Remember me? – One of the McGinty family below? – Now Lawyer McGinty. I once ran barefoot in this village and knew your husband Bartley well, indeed I did and he knew me – Good morning!
Mother Good morning, Sir!
Arabella Sir! (Curtseys.)
McGinty Mmmm, young lady!
Mother Arabella, child, a chair.
McGinty Won’t sit. A sad calamity has befallen the village.
Mother Not? Aa no!
McGinty Paddy Joe. I have lost a client, may he rest in peace.
Mother The lenient creature! Many a poor person, I feel, will have reason to mourn his passing.
McGinty Indeed they will, how true! A good old skin,
a grand old stick and we’ll leave it at that. He placed great confidence in me towards the end and I am now sole trustee and executor of all he owned, except this cottage.
Mother Which favour he bequeathed to us in his final testament!
McGinty Aaa, no now. (‘Not so fast.’) Which favour was transferred by deed, to his son, sometime in the past.
Arabella To Young Edward Kilcullen?
McGinty To the young buck Ned.
Arabella Sir, you are skilled in pleading causes and I perceive in you a worthy advocate who has –
McGinty A heart for business and a head to feel for the unfortunate – yes! So why prolong a matter that perhaps another dreads: do ye have the money to purchase this property?
Mother This calm retreat!
McGinty (to himself) They don’t have it.
Arabella The young gentleman wishes to sell it?
McGinty What else can he do?! It’s all that he possesses. Cut off with a shilling in his father’s will – I saw to it myself !
Mother It’s the streets for us then!
McGinty (to himself) The streets!
Mother Is my child to be exposed to the thousand temptations of life?!
McGinty Bear up! Your daughter’s young and roundly beautiful: avid public interest must await such usefulness.
Arabella (to herself) What if the rumour of this young man’s character be in mistake or a tarnish put about by idle tongues?
McGinty (to himself) What’s the young fruit thinking?
Arabella (to herself) And I, with safety, could approach him with petition?
McGinty No!
Arabella Sir?
McGinty Let me plead your case.
Arabella But some instinct tells me deep inside –
McGinty The young man’s gay! Grows fond of the world, fond of – Not edifying for the ears of sweet innocence.
Arabella But –
McGinty He’s giddy! Be advised, my dear: do not approach him, nor let him see you – unless I find advantage in it. I shall go to him at once and, man to man, make trial on your behalf.
