by Brian Friel
You’re going to stop him, aren’t you, Sir? Yes, you’re the one who can save him. You’re not going to let him do that to himself – no, no, you’re not.
SIR: The ledger can’t be –
TOM: What can the ledger not be? – to hell with the ledger – that’s what I say – to hell with that corrupt ledger.
SIR: Tom, sit down –
TOM: Great – great – ‘Tom, sit down’ – you know what Frank’s going to do and all you can say is ‘Tom, sit down’.
SIR: Sit down and keep quiet.
TOM: I will not sit down and I will not keep quiet! My friend, Frank, has gone into that back room and not one of you is going to –
SIR: Shut up! Now!
TOM: I will –
SIR: You had your opportunities and you squandered them.
TOM: I never had –
SIR: Many opportunities, many times. You should have spoken then. We’ll have none of your spurious concern now that it’s all over. So sit down and shut up!
TOM: (Suddenly deflated) If I had – sometimes, I – I always tried to – Oh, my Jesus –
(For a few seconds his mouth keeps opening and shutting, but no words come. He looks at the others. Pause. Then he shuffles over to ANNA, sits beside her, put his arm round her, and rests his face on her shoulders. His body shakes as he cries quietly. Pause. Then suddenly TINA comes stumbling down the stairs in a panic and rushes into the living-room. She is in a frenzy and looks around wildly. Then:)
TINA: (Shouts) Daddy-Daddy-Daddy-Daddy!
(SIR leaps to his feet.)
SIR: (Tense whisper) Not yet! Tina! Not yet!
(She freezes. Pause. Then a single revolver shot off. TINA’s hands go up to her face. She screams. Silence. Pause. SIR sits again. Then very slowly, the others relax and emerge from their cocoons. Cigarettes are lit. A sense of relief. Serenity. The remaining sequence must not be played in a sad, nostalgic mood. MIRIAM enters in coat and headscarf. TOM, now fully sober, sits with his arms around ANNA. From his stool SIR watches this slow awakening. Then he rises, stretching his arms, smiling.)
SIR: Well – well – well – well – well – well – well. (He goes into the living-room.) That wasn’t too bad, was it?
(No one answers – they are still not quite out of their reveries. He goes to TINA, catches her chin and wags it.)
And how are you? All right?
(She smiles and nods.)
(To all) That wasn’t too bad after all now, was it? No, of course it wasn’t. (To HELEN) And you with your worries that things were being ‘distorted’ – (To ANNA) – and you afraid that you’d ‘messed it all up’ – (To both) I told you, didn’t I? Incidentally, Anna, we made a mistake, you and I – well me, really.
ANNA: What was that?
SIR: I never introduced you! You’re the only person who wasn’t introduced. (Opening ledger.) So let’s rectify that – right?
ANNA: No, please, Sir –
SIR: But I want to –
ANNA: Please, It doesn’t matter now, not in the least. It’s of no importance now.
SIR: I’m sorry. My mistake.
ANNA: It doesn’t matter.
SIR: As you wish. (He leafs through the ledger.) I’m sure you’re all tired, so what I think we’ll do is go straight to the postscript and wind it up with that, ‘Not yet, Tina! Not yet! – Single revolver shot – etc., etc. –’
We’ve been through all that –
TOM: There was never any doubt in my mind that it was an unfortunate accident. Never. And I said that at the inquest. I mean we were such terrific friends all our lives – no one was going to tell me that Frank Butler took – that it wasn’t an accident. And I saw to it that my friend was buried with the full rites of the Church. I saw to that. It was the least I could do for my friend, Frank Butler – my terrific friend, Frank.
(SIR has been waiting patiently for this to end.)
SIR: Yes. A brief enough postscript as it happens. ‘Funeral on Friday afternoon. The following morning Charlie Donnelly arrived with a van and removed all the furnishings –’ By the way, where is Charlie? Charlie!
(He goes off left to look for him.)
MIRIAM: I was worried about the children – you know – what I’d tell them.
TOM: Naturally. And how are the kids?
MIRIAM: I’d given them corn flakes and a fry for their breakfast – they’re a great crowd for fries – and they were sitting round the table eating like nobody’s business and I said quietly, ‘Your Granda’s dead,’ I said. ‘Your Granda’s gone to Heaven to join your Grandma‚’ I said. And when they began to cry I said, ‘Don’t cry for your Granda,’ I said. ‘Your Granda was a good man and a brave man. Ask anybody‚’ I said, ‘and they’ll tell you how good and brave your Granda was.’ Wasn’t I right, Father?
TOM: God have mercy on his good soul.
MIRIAM: And they listened to me. You should have seen them. They did – they listened – and they stopped crying. But he was a good man, you know – a good man and a brave man. No – a great man and a brave man.
(She moves slowly off right.)
SIR: (Off left) Charlie! Charlie!
TOM: You’re going back to London, aren’t you?
HELEN: Tomorrow afternoon.
TOM: Tina’s going with you?
HELEN: Yes.
TOM: You’ll look after her well, Helen, won’t you? It’s a big city and she’s never been away from home and –
TINA: Don’t worry about me. I’ll be all right. I can look after myself.
TOM: You’ll be in digs with Helen – that’s good. And she’ll get you fixed up in a job.
TINA: I’m not a child, Father. I’m almost nineteen.
TOM: All the same, my love –
TINA: (Bitterly) Why the sudden concern about me? Why all the platitudes? You’re the one in trouble, Father – not me.
(She goes off quickly.)
HELEN: She didn’t mean that, Father. She’s upset. Tina!
(She follows TINA off. SIR enters.)
BEN: (Urgently) Remember just before that last sequence?
SIR: (Consulting ledger) Mm?
BEN: I was going to say something to him and you interrupted.
SIR: (Not listening) Yes – yes –
(TOM looks around, then drifts aimlessly off.)
BEN: Maybe I had some intimation of a moment being missed for ever – because there was the sudden necessity to blurt out, to plunge some oversimplification into him before it was too late. And what I was going to say to him was that ever since I was a child I always loved him and always hated her – he was always my hero. And even though it wouldn’t have been the truth, it wouldn’t have been a lie either: no, no; no lie.
SIR: I see.
BEN: But I suppose it was just as well it wasn’t said like that because he could never receive that kind of directness, and I suppose I could never have said it. But I just hope – I just hope he was able to sense an expression of some k-k-k-k-– of some kind of love for him – even if it was only in my perfidy –
(He goes off slowly.)
SIR: Yes. (Back to ledger.) ‘– removed all the furnishings.’ Yes. ‘That afternoon Helen and Tina flew to London, where they now live in different flats and seldom meet. Tina works as a waitress in an all-night café and Helen has had to give up her office job because of an acute nervous breakdown. Ben went to Scotland. He came back after seven months. He has been jailed twice for drunk and disorderly behaviour. Father Tom has retired and is living in a nursing-home in County Wicklow. He has difficulty walking and spends most of his time in bed.’
(CHARLIE’s brisk entrance interrupts the reading.)
CHARLIE: Sorry – sorry – sorry – you were looking for me?
SIR: It doesn’t matter, Charlie. We’re just finishing up.
CHARLIE: If I’m here, I’m not wanted. (Pause.) I mean to say – if I’m wanted I’m not here. (Laughs in surprise.) Dammit, they’re both right! First time that ever happened!
Isn’t that a good one! Where’s the missus?
SIR: She left a few minutes ago.
CHARLIE: Oh-ho! Better catch up with her or there’ll be hair flying. See you. Good luck – good luck. (Pauses at exit.) When do I clear out this stuff?
SIR: Saturday.
CHARLIE: Morning or afternoon?
SIR: Morning.
CHARLIE: Bang goes the sleep-in. Oh, well, good to get it all out of the road. Luck.
(He leaves.)
SIR: Goodbye, Charlie. Now – ‘– spends most of his time in bed. Mrs Butler, Anna, emigrated to America, She lived with an aunt in New Jersey for six months and then went to Los Angeles, where she works in the office of a large insurance company –’
(He breaks off because he is aware that the place is not empty. Then he sees ANNA.)
Oh, you’re still here. Heavens, I thought I was alone for a minute. Just the two of us. Not much point in continuing, is there?
ANNA: Yes – go on. Please go on.
SIR: With this?
ANNA: Please.
SIR: There’s only – what? – two or three lines left.
ANNA: Even so.
SIR: ‘She shares an apartment with an English girl and they go on holidays together. She owns a car and is thinking of buying an apartment of her own. She has never returned to Ireland.’ And that’s it.
ANNA: That’s all?
SIR: That’s all I’ve got here.
ANNA: Are you sure?
SIR: Blank pages.
ANNA: I see.
(She gets up and begins to move off.)
SIR: Did you expect there’d be something more?
ANNA: I just wondered – that’s all.
SIR: Is there something missing?
ANNA: No. Not a thing. Not a single thing.
SIR: Ah. Good, Good. All right, Anna?
(But she has gone. He shrugs his shoulders and closes the book. He takes a last look round the set and begins to leave. As he leaves, bring down the lights.)
ARISTOCRATS
CHARACTERS
WILLIE DIVER
TOM HOFFNUNG
UNCLE GEORGE
CASIMIR
ALICE
EAMON
CLAIRE
JUDITH
FATHER
(ANNA’S VOICE)
for K.H.H.
with affection and gratitude
Aristocrats was first performed in the Abbey Theatre, Dublin, on Thursday, 8 March 1979. The cast was as follows:
WILLIE DIVER Niall O’Brien
TOM HOFFNUNG Kevin McHugh
UNCLE GEORGE Bill Foley
CASIMIR John Kavanagh
ALICE Dearbhla Molloy
EAMON Stephen Rea
CLAIRE Ingrid Craigie
JUDITH Kate Flynn
FATHER Geoff Golden
ANNA’S VOICE Kathleen Barrington
Direction Joe Dowling
Setting and costumes Wendy Shea
Lighting Leslie Scott
The text was first published by the Gallery Press, Dublin, in 1980.
Set
Most of the action takes place outside the south side of the house. Most recently it was a lawn that has not been cared for in years. Before that it was a grass tennis court and before that a croquet lawn – but no trace of these activities remains.
The lawn stretches right across the full front of stage and upstage left (left and right from point of view of audience) where it halts at a tall grey gable with uncurtained windows.
Upstage left is a gazebo with a pagoda roof and badly weather-beaten. A rusty iron seat inside. The gazebo is made of wood and is about to collapse.
A small room – the study – occupies upstage right. One step up into it from the lawn. And it is separated from the lawn by two invisible walls. On the third wall, parallel to the front of stage, is an early Victorian writing desk. The fourth wall, at right angles to front of stage, has a huge marble fireplace. In front of the fireplace is a chaise-longue. In the centre of this study a small table, etc., etc., sufficient furnishings to indicate when the Hall flourished and to suggest its present decline.
Downstage right is a broken sundial mounted on a stone plinth.
Time and place: summer, mid-1970s. Ballybeg Hall, the home of District Justice O’Donnell, a large and decaying house overlooking the village of Ballybeg, County Donegal, Ireland.
Music (all works by Chopin, written for piano)
Act One
Scherzo No. 2 in B flat minor, Op. 31
Ballade in G minor, Op. 23
Waltz in G flat major. Op. 70, No. 1
Sonata no. 3 in B minor, Op. 58 (Third Movement only: Largo)
Waltz in A flat major (Posth.)
Waltz in E flat major (Posth.)
Act Two
Étude in E major, Op, 10, No. 3
Nocturne in F sharp major, Op. 15, No. 2
Act Three
Sonata No. 2 in B flat minor, Op. 35 (Third Movement: middle section only)
Ballade in A flat major, Op. 47
ACT ONE
Early afternoon on a very warm summer day.
The opening bars of Scherzo No. 2 in B flat minor fill the study and the lawn, then fade to background.
TOM HOFFNUNG is seated at the table in the study, copying the titles of books into his notebook. He is a quiet, calm, measured American academic in his mid-fifties.
Inside the door leading out to the hall is WILLIE DIVER. He is in his mid-thirties and is from the village. He is standing on a chair and attaching a small speaker to the door frame (he is standing on his jacket to protect the seat of the chair).
Both men work for a few seconds in silence.
Now UNCLE GEORGE enters from the hall. He is in his late seventies; a brother of Father’s. Panama hat, walking sticky very old and creased off-white linen suit with an enormous red silk handkerchief spilling out of the breast pocket, trousers stopping well above his ankles. His mouth never stops working, vigorously masticating imaginary food. All his gestures are informed with great energy, as if he were involved in some urgent business.
He is half-way across the study before he realizes that there are other people in the room. Then he stops, stands still, stares at them.
TOM: Hi!
(Pause.)
WILLIE: Hello, Mister George.
TOM: Come right through. I’m almost finished here.
(GEORGE hesitates – then turns and exits through the door.)
TOM: That’s the third time he’s attempted to come in here. Maybe I should go somewhere else.
WILLIE: Not at all. He dodges about like that all the time.
TOM: Does he never speak?
WILLIE: They say he does. I never heard him.
TOM: And he’s a brother of the District Justice – is that correct?
WILLIE: That’s it. Fierce man for the booze when he was only a young fella – drunk himself half-crazy. Then all of a sudden packed it in. And stopped speaking.
TOM: I wonder why.
WILLIE: They say about here that when he wasn’t going to be asking for drink, he thought it wasn’t worth saying anything. But brains – d’you see Mister George? – the smartest of the whole connection, they say.
(He gets down from the chair, removes his jacket, carefully rubs the seat with his sleeve.)
WILLIE: Could you give us a second, Tom?
TOM: How’s it going?
WILLIE: Nearly finished now.
(TOM joins him at the door.)
TOM: Judith’s really going to be pleased with this.
WILLIE: Do you think so?
TOM: Sure she will. What can I do?
WILLIE: Show her this when she comes down, will you? There’s a volume control at the side here – loud or soft, whatever way she wants it.
TOM: Right.
WILLIE: And if she wants to turn it off altogether, there’s a switch at the bottom here – d’you see?
TOM: Got it.
WILLIE: I haven’
t put it up too high for her, have I? What d’you think?
TOM: Looks about right to me.
WILLIE: An ugly-looking aul’ yoke in a room like this, isn’t it?
TOM: You wouldn’t notice it. It’s a good job, Willie.
WILLIE: Indeed and it’s rough enough. But it’ll save her running up and down them stairs every turnabout.
TOM: Is it on now?
WILLIE: I’ve still to connect it to the lead from the bedroom. Hold on a minute.
(WILLIE goes out to the hall. TOM returns to the table. Just before he sits down, CASIMIR enters left, carrying deck-chairs. CASIMIR is the only son of the house; in his thirties. Despite the heat he is wearing a knitted V-neck pullover under his sports jacket. One immediately gets a sense that there is something different about him – as he says himself, ‘peculiar’. But what it is, is elusive: partly his shyness, partly his physical movements, particularly the way he walks – rapid, jerky, without ease or grace – partly his erratic enthusiasm, partly his habit of suddenly grinning and giving a mirthless ‘ha-ha’ at unlikely times, usually when he is distressed. But he is not a buffoon nor is he ‘disturbed’. He is a perfectly normal man with distinctive and perhaps slightly exaggerated mannerisms. He now stands at the step just outside the study and talks to TOM.)
CASIMIR: Claire.
TOM: Yeah.
CASIMIR: Playing the piano.
TOM: Sure.
CASIMIR: My sister Claire.
TOM: I know.
CASIMIR: Welcome home recital for me.
TOM: Some welcome.
CASMIR: Dexterity – simplicity – passion – Claire has everything.
TOM: She certainly –
(But CASIMIR has gone and now stands in the middle of the lawn.)
CASIMIR: Claire!
CLAIRE: Yes?
CASIMIR: Play the G minor Ballade.
(The music stops.)
CLAIRE: Which?
CASIMIR: The G minor.
CLAIRE: I’m not in the mood for that, Casimir.
CASIMIR: Special request. Please.
CLAIRE: Just a bit of it, then.
(He stands listening. She begins in the middle of the Ballade in G minor, Op. 23 just immediately before the molto crescendo, after three fz bars.)
