by Sean O'Casey
Fluther (more loudly still) There’s no necessity to be raisin’ your voice; shoutin’s no manifestin’ forth of a growin’ mind.
Peter (struggling with his collar) God, give me patience with this thing … She makes these collars as stiff with starch as a shinin’ band o’ solid steel! She does it purposely to thry an’ twart me. If I can’t get it on th’ singlet, how, in th’ Name o’ God, am I goin’ to get it on th’ shirt?
The Covey (loudly) There’s no use o’ arguin’ with you; it’s education you want, comrade.
Fluther The Covey an’ God made th’ world, I suppose, wha’?
The Covey When I hear some men talkin’ I’m inclined to disbelieve that th’ world’s eight-hundhred million years old, for it’s not long since th’ fathers o’ some o’ them crawled out o’ th’ sheltherin’ slime o’ the sea.
Mrs Gogan (from room at back) There, they’re afther formin’ fours, an’ now they’re goin’ to march away.
Fluther (scornfully) Mollycewels! (He begins to untie his apron.) What about Adam an’ Eve?
The Covey Well, what about them?
Fluther (fiercely) What about them, you?
The Covey Adam an’ Eve! Is that as far as you’ve got? Are you still thinkin’ there was nobody in th’ world before Adam an’ Eve? (Loudly) Did you ever hear, man, of th’ skeleton of th’ man o’ Java?
Peter (casting the collar from him) Blast it, blast it, blast it!
Fluther (viciously folding his apron) Ah, you’re not goin’ to be let tap your rubbidge o’ thoughts into th’ mind o’ Fluther.
The Covey You’re afraid to listen to th’ thruth!
Fluther Who’s afraid?
The Covey You are!
Fluther G’way, you wurum!
The Covey Who’s a wurum?
Fluther You are, or you wouldn’t talk th’ way you’re talkin’.
The Covey Th’ oul’, ignorant savage leppin’ up in you, when science shows you that th’ head of your god is an empty one. Well, I hope you’re enjoyin’ th’ blessin’ o’ havin’ to live be th’ sweat of your brow.
Fluther You’ll be kickin’ an’ yellin’ for th’ priest yet, me boyo. I’m not goin’ to stand silent an’ simple listenin’ to a thick like you makin’ a maddenin’ mockery o’ God Almighty. It ’ud be a nice derogatory thing on me conscience’ an’ me dyin’, to look back in rememberin’ shame of talkin’ to a word-weavin’ little ignorant yahoo of a red flag Socialist!
Mrs Gogan has returned to the front room, and has wandered around looking at things in general, and is now in front of the fireplace looking at the picture hanging over it.
Mrs Gogan For God’s sake, Fluther, dhrop it; there’s always th’ makin’s of a row in th’ mention of religion … (Looking at picture) God bless us, it’s a naked woman!
Fluther (coming over to look at it) What’s undher it? (Reading) ‘Georgina: The Sleepin’ Vennis’. Oh, that’s a terrible picture; oh, that’s a shockin’ picture! Oh, th’ one that got that taken, she must have been a prime lassie!
Peter (who also has come over to look, laughing, with his body bent at the waist, and his head slightly tilted back) Hee, hee, hee, hee, hee!
Fluther (indignantly, to Peter) What are you hee, hee-in’ for? That’s a nice thing to be hee, hee-in’ at. Where’s your morality, man?
Mrs Gogan God forgive us, it’s not right to be lookin’ at it.
Fluther It’s nearly a derogatory thing to be in th’ room where it is.
Mrs Gogan (giggling hysterically) I couldn’t stop any longer in th’ same room with three men, afther lookin’ at it!
She goes out. The Covey, who has divested himself of his dungarees, throws them with a contemptuous motion on top of Peter’s white shirt.
Peter (plaintively) Where are you throwin’ them? Are you thryin’ to twart an’ torment me again?
The Covey Who’s thryin’ to twart you?
Peter (flinging the dungarees violently on the floor) You’re not goin’ to make me lose me temper, me young Covey.
The Covey (flinging the white shirt on the floor) If you’re Nora’s pet, aself, you’re not goin’ to get your way in everything.
Peter (plaintively, with his eyes looking up at the ceiling) I’ll say nothin’ … I’ll leave you to th’ day when th’ all-pitiful, all-merciful, all-lovin’ God ’ll be handin’ you to th’ angels to be rievin’ an’ roastin’ you, tearin’ an’ tormentin’ you, burnin’ an’ blastin’ you!
The Covey Aren’t you th’ little malignant oul’ bastard, you lemon-whiskered oul’ swine!
Peter runs to the sword, draws it, and makes for the Covey, who dodges him around the table; Peter has no intention of striking, but the Covey wants to take no chances.
(Dodging) Fluther, hold him, there. It’s a nice thing to have a lunatic like this lashin’ around with a lethal weapon! (The Covey darts out of the room, right, slamming the door in the face of Peter.)
Peter (battering and pulling at the door) Lemme out, lemme out; isn’t it a poor thing for a man who wouldn’t say a word against his greatest enemy to have to listen to that Covey’s twartin’ animosities, shovin’ poor, patient people into a lashin’ out of curses that darken his soul with th’ shadow of th’ wrath of th’ last day!
Fluther Why d’ye take notice of him? If he seen you didn’t, he’d say nothin’ derogatory.
Peter I’ll make him stop his laughin’ an’ leerin’, jibin’ an’ jeerin’ an’ scarifyin’ people with his corner-boy insinuations! … He’s always thryin’ to rouse me: if it’s not a song, it’s a whistle; if it isn’t a whistle, it’s a cough. But you can taunt an’ taunt – I’m laughin’ at you; he, hee, hee, hee, hee, heee!
The Covey (singing through the keyhole)
Dear harp o’ me counthry, in darkness I found thee,
The dark chain of silence had hung o’er thee long –
Peter (frantically) Jasus, d’ye hear that? D’ye hear him soundin’ forth his divil-souled song o’ provocation?
The Covey (singing as before)
When proudly, me own island harp, I unbound thee,
An’ gave all thy chords to light, freedom an’ song!
Peter (battering the door) When I get out I’ll do for you, I’ll do for you, I’ll do for you!
The Covey (through the keyhole) Cuckoo-oo!
Nora enters by door, right. She is a young woman of twenty-two, alert, swift, full of nervous energy, and a little anxious to get on in the world. The firm lines of her face are considerably opposed by a soft, amorous mouth and gentle eyes. When her firmness fails her, she persuades with her feminine charm. She is dressed in a tailor-made costume, and wears around her neck a silver fox fur.
Nora (running in and pushing Peter away from the door) Oh, can I not turn me back but th’ two o’ yous are at it like a pair o’ fightin’ cocks! Uncle Peter … Uncle Peter … UNCLE PETER!
Peter (vociferously) Oh, Uncle Peter, Uncle Peter be damned! D’ye think I’m goin’ to give a free pass to th’ young Covey to turn me whole life into a Holy Manual o’ penances an’ martyrdoms?
The Covey (angrily rushing into the room) If you won’t exercise some sort o’ conthrol over that Uncle Peter o’ yours, there’ll be a funeral, an’ it won’t be me that’ll be in th’ hearse!
Nora (between Peter and the Covey, to the Covey) Are yous always goin’ to be tearin’ down th’ little bit of respectability that a body’s thryin’ to build up? Am I always goin’ to be havin’ to nurse yous into th’ hardy habit o’ thryin’ to keep up a little bit of appearance?
The Covey Why weren’t you here to see th’ way he run at me with th’ sword?
Peter What did you call me a lemon-whiskered oul’ swine for?
Nora If th’ two o’ yous don’t thry to make a generous altheration in your goin’s on, an’ keep on thryin’ t’ inaugurate th’ customs o’ th’ rest o’ th’ house into this place, yous can flit into other lodgin’s where your bowsey battlin’ ’ll meet, maybe, with
an encore.
Peter (to Nora) Would you like to be called a lemonwhiskered oul’ swine?
Nora If you attempt to wag that sword of yours at anybody again, it’ll have to be taken off you an’ put in a safe place away from babies that don’t know th’ danger o’ them things.
Peter (at entrance to room, back) Well, I’m not goin’ to let anybody call me a lemon-whiskered oul’ swine. (He goes in.)
Fluther (trying the door) Openin’ an’ shuttin’ now with a well-mannered motion, like a door of a select bar in a high-class pub.
Nora (to the Covey, as she lays table for tea) An’, once for all, Willie, you’ll have to thry to deliver yourself from th’ desire of provokin’ oul’ Pether into a wild forgetfulness of what’s proper an’ allowable in a respectable home.
The Covey Well, let him mind his own business, then. Yestherday, I caught him hee-hee-in’ out of him an’ he readin’ bits out of Jenersky’s Thesis on th’ Origin, Development, an’ Consolidation of th’ Evolutionary Idea of th’ Proletariat.
Nora Now, let it end at that, for God’s sake; Jack’ll be in any minute, an’ I’m not goin’ to have th’ quiet of this evenin’ tossed about in an everlastin’ uproar between you an’ Uncle Pether. (To Fluther) Well, did you manage to settle th’ lock, yet, Mr Good?
Fluther (opening and shutting door) It’s betther than a new one, now, Mrs Clitheroe; it’s almost ready to open and shut of its own accord.
Nora (giving him a coin) You’re a whole man. How many pints will that get you?
Fluther (seriously) Ne’er a one at all, Mrs Clitheroe, for Fluther’s on th’ wather waggon now. You could stan’ where you’re stannin’ chantin’, ‘Have a glass o’ malt, Fluther; Fluther, have a glass o’ malt,’ till th’ bells would be ringin’ th’ ould year out an’ th’ New Year in, an’ you’d have as much chance o’ movin’ Fluther as a tune on a tin whistle would move a deaf man an’ he dead.
As Nora is opening and shutting door, Mrs Bessie Burgess appears at it. She is a woman of forty, vigorously built. Her face is a dogged one, hardened by toil, and a little coarsened by drink. She looks scornfully and viciously at Nora for a few moments before she speaks.
Bessie Puttin’ a new lock on her door … afraid her poor neighbours ud break through an’ steal … (In a loud tone) Maybe, now, they’re a damn sight more honest than your ladyship … checkin’ th’ children playin’ on th’ stairs … gettin’ on th’ nerves of your ladyship … Complainin’ about Bessie Burgess singin’ her hymns at night, when she has a few up … (She comes in half-way on the threshold, and screams.) Bessie Burgess’ll sing whenever she damn well likes!
Nora tries to shut door, but Bessie violently shoves it in, and, gripping Nora by the shoulders, shakes her.
You little over-dressed throllope, you, for one pin I’d paste th’ white face o’ you!
Nora (frightened) Fluther, Fluther!
Fluther (running over and breaking the hold of Bessie from Nora) Now, now, Bessie, Bessie, leave poor Mrs Clitheroe alone; she’d do no one any harm, an’ minds no one’s business but her own.
Bessie Why is she always thryin’ to speak proud things, an’ lookin’ like a mighty one in th’ congregation o’ th’ people!
Nora sinks frightened on to the couch as Jack Clitheroe enters. He is a tall, well-made fellow of twenty-five. His face has none of the strength of Nora’s. It is a face in which is the desire for authority, without the power to attain it.
Clitheroe (excitedly) What’s up? what’s afther happenin’?
Fluther Nothin’, Jack. Nothin’. It’s all over now. Come on, Bessie, come on.
Clitheroe (to Nora) What’s wrong, Nora? Did she say anything to you?
Nora She was bargin’ out of her, an’ I only told her to g’up ower o’ that to her own place; an’ before I knew where I was, she flew at me like a tiger, an’ thried to guzzle me!
Clitheroe (going to door and speaking to Bessie) Get up to your own place, Mrs Burgess, and don’t you be interferin’ with my wife, or it’ll be th’ worse for you … Go on, go on!
Bessie (as Clitheroe is pushing her out) Mind who you’re pushin’, now … I attend me place o’ worship, anyhow … not like some o’ them that go to neither church, chapel nor meetin’-house … If me son was home from th’ threnches he’d see me righted.
Bessie and Fluther depart, and Clitheroe closes the door.
Clitheroe (going over to Nora, and putting his arm round her) There, don’t mind that old bitch, Nora, darling; I’ll soon put a stop to her interferin’.
Nora Some day or another, when I’m here be meself, she’ll come in an’ do somethin’ desperate.
Clitheroe (kissing her) Oh, sorra fear of her doin’ anythin’ desperate. I’ll talk to her tomorrow when she’s sober. A taste o’ me mind that’ll shock her into the sensibility of behavin’ herself!
Nora gets up and settles the table. She sees the dungarees on the floor and stands looking at them, then she turns to the Covey, who is reading Jenersky’s Thesis at the fire.
Nora Willie, is that th’ place for your dungarees?
The Covey (getting up and lifting them from the floor) Ah, they won’t do th’ floor any harm, will they? (He carries them into room, back.)
Nora (calling) Uncle Peter, now, Uncle Peter; tea’s ready.
Peter and the Covey come in from room, back; they all sit down to tea. Peter is in full dress of the Foresters: green coat, gold braided; white breeches, top boots, frilled shirt. He carries the slouch hat, with the white ostrich plume, and the sword in his hands. They eat for a few moments in silence, the Covey furtively looking at Peter with scorn in his eyes. Peter knows it and is fidgety.
The Covey (provokingly) Another cut o’ bread, Uncle Peter?
Peter maintains a dignified silence.
Clitheroe It’s sure to be a great meetin’ tonight. We ought to go, Nora.
Nora (decisively) I won’t go, Jack; you can go if you wish.
A pause.
The Covey D’ye want th’ sugar, Uncle Peter?
Peter (explosively) Now, are you goin’ to start your thryin’ an’ your twartin’ again?
Nora Now, Uncle Peter, you mustn’t be so touchy; Willie has only assed you if you wanted th’ sugar.
Peter He doesn’t care a damn whether I want th’ sugar or no. He’s only thryin’ to twart me!
Nora (angrily, to the Covey) Can’t you let him alone, Willie? If he wants the sugar, let him stretch his hand out an’ get it himself!
The Covey (to Peter) Now, if you want the sugar, you can stretch out your hand and get it yourself!
Clitheroe Tonight is th’ first chance that Brennan has got of showing himself off since they made a Captain of him – why, God only knows. It’ll be a treat to see him swankin’ it at th’ head of the Citizen Army carryin’ th’ flag of the Plough an’ th’ Stars … (Looking roguishly at Nora) He was sweet on you, once, Nora?
Nora He may have been … I never liked him. I always thought he was a bit of a thick.
The Covey They’re bringin’ nice disgrace on that banner now.
Clitheroe (remonstratively) How are they bringin’ disgrace on it?
The Covey (snappily) Because it’s a Labour flag, an’ was never meant for politics … What does th’ design of th’ field plough, bearin’ on it th’ stars of th’ heavenly plough, mean, if it’s not Communism? It’s a flag that should only be used when we’re buildin’ th’ barricades to fight for a Workers’ Republic!
Peter (with a puff of derision) P-phuh.
The Covey (angrily) What are you phuhin’ out o’ you for? Your mind is th’ mind of a mummy. (Rising) I betther go an’ get a good place to have a look at Ireland’s warriors passin’ by. (He goes into room, left, and returns with his cap.)
Nora (to the Covey) Oh, Willie, brush your clothes before you go.
The Covey Oh, they’ll do well enough.
Nora Go an’ brush them; th’ brush is in th’ drawer there.
The Co
vey goes to the drawer, muttering, gets the brush, and starts to brush his clothes.
The Covey (singing at Peter, as he does so)
Oh, where’s th’ slave so lowly,
Condemn’d to chains unholy,
Who, could he burst his bonds at first,
Would pine beneath them slowly?
We tread th’ land that … bore us,
Th’ green flag glitters … o’er us,
Th’ friends we’ve tried are by our side,
An’ th’ foe we hate … before us!
Peter (leaping to his feet in a whirl of rage) Now, I’m tellin’ you, me young Covey, once for all, that I’ll not stick any longer these tittherin’ taunts of yours, rovin’ around to sing your slights an’ slandhers, reddenin’ th’ mind of a man to th’ thinkin’ an’ sayin’ of things that sicken his soul with sin! (Hysterically; lifting up a cup to fling at the Covey) Be God, I’ll –
Clitheroe (catching his arm) Now then, none o’ that, none o’ that!
Nora Uncle Pether, Uncle Pether, UNCLE PETHER!
The Covey (at the door, about to go out) Isn’t that th’ malignant oul’ varmint! Lookin’ like th’ illegitimate son of an illegitimate child of a corporal in th’ Mexican army! (He goes out.)
Peter (plaintively) He’s afther leavin’ me now in such a state of agitation that I won’t be able to do meself justice when I’m marchin’ to th’ meetin’.
Nora (jumping up) Oh, for God’s sake, here, buckle your sword on, and go to your meetin’, so that we’ll have at least one hour of peace! (She proceeds to belt on the sword.)
Clitheroe (irritably) For God’s sake hurry him up ou’ o’ this, Nora.
Peter Are yous all goin’ to thry to start to twart me now?
Nora (putting on his plumed hat) S-s-sh. Now, your hat’s on, your house is thatched; off you pop! (She gently pushes him from her.)
