by Sean O'Casey
The silhouette of the tall figure again moves into the frame of the window speaking to the people.
Peter (unaware, in his enthusiasm, of the speaker’s appearance, to Fluther) I was burnin’ to dhraw me sword, an’ wave an’ wave it over me –
Fluther (overwhelming Peter) Will you stop your blatherin’ for a minute, man, an’ let us hear what he’s sayin’!
Voice of the Man Comrade soldiers of the Irish Volunteers and of the Citizen Army, we rejoice in this terrible war. The old heart of the earth needed to be warmed with the red wine of the battlefields … Such august homage was never offered to God as this: the homage of millions of lives given gladly for love of country. And we must be ready to pour out the same red wine in the same glorious sacrifice, for without shedding of blood there is no redemption!
The figure moves out of sight and hearing.
Fluther (gulping down the drink that remains in his glass, and rushing out) Come on, man; this is too good to be missed!
Peter finishes his drink less rapidly, and as he is going out wiping his mouth with the back of his hand he runs into the Covey coming in. He immediately erects his body like a young cock, and with his chin thrust forward, and a look of venomous dignity on his face, he marches out.
The Covey (at counter) Give us a glass o’ malt, for God’s sake, till I stimulate meself from th’ shock o’ seein’ th’ sight that’s afther goin’ out!
Rosie (all business, coming over to the counter, and standing near the Covey) Another one for me, Tommy; (to the Barman) th’ young gentleman’s ordherin’ it in th’ corner of his eye.
The Barman brings the drink for the Covey, and leaves it on the counter. Rosie whips it up.
Barman Ay, houl’ on there, houl’ on there, Rosie!
Rosie (to the Barman) What are you houldin’ on out o’ you for? Didn’t you hear th’ young gentleman say that he couldn’t refuse anything to a nice little bird? (To the Covey) Isn’t that right, Jiggs? (The Covey says nothing.) Didn’t I know, Tommy, it would be all right? It takes Rosie to size a young man up, an’ tell th’ thoughts that are thremblin’ in his mind. Isn’t that right, Jiggs?
The Covey stirs uneasily, moves a little farther away, and pulls his cap over his eyes.
(Moving after him) Great meetin’ that’s gettin’ held outside. Well, it’s up to us all, anyway, to fight for our freedom.
The Covey (to Barman) Two more, please. (To Rosie) Freedom! What’s th’ use o’ freedom, if it’s not economic freedom?
Rosie (emphasizing with extended arm and moving finger) I used them very words just before you come in. ‘A lot o’ thricksters,’ says I, ‘that wouldn’t know what freedom was if they got it from their mother.’ … (To Barman) Didn’t I, Tommy?
Barman I disremember.
Rosie No, you don’t disremember. Remember you said, yourself, it was all ‘only a flash in th’ pan’. Well, ‘flash in th’ pan, or no flash in th’ pan,’ says I, ‘they’re not goin’ to get Rosie Redmond,’ says I, ‘to fight for freedom that wouldn’t be worth winnin’ in a raffle!’
The Covey There’s only one freedom for th’ workin’ man: conthrol o’ th’ means o’ production, rates of exchange, an’ th’ means of disthribution. (Tapping Rosie on the shoulder) Look here, comrade, I’ll leave here tomorrow night for you a copy of Jenersky’s Thesis on the Origin, Development, an’ Consolidation of the Evolutionary Idea of the Proletariat.
Rosie (throwing off her shawl on to the counter, and showing an exemplified glad neck, which reveals a good deal of a white bosom) If y’ass Rosie, it’s heartbreakin’ to see a young fella thinkin’ of anything, or admirin’ anything, but silk thransparent stockin’s showin’ off the shape of a little lassie’s legs!
The Covey, frightened, moves a little away.
(Following on) Out in th’ park in th’ shade of a warm summery evenin’, with your little darlin’ bridie to be, kissin’ an’ cuddlin’ (she tries to put her arm around his neck), kissin’ an’ cuddlin’, ay?
The Covey (frightened) Ay, what are you doin’? None o’ that, now; none o’ that. I’ve something else to do besides shinannickin’ afther Judies!
He turns away, but Rosie follows, keeping face to face with him.
Rosie Oh, little duckey, oh, shy little duckey! Never held a mot’s hand, an’ wouldn’t know how to tittle a little Judy! (She clips him under the chin.) Tittle him undher th’ chin, tittle him undher th’ chin!
The Covey (breaking away and running out) Ay, go on, now; I don’t want to have any meddlin’ with a lassie like you!
Rosie (enraged) Jasus, it’s in a monasthery some of us ought to be, spendin’ our holidays kneelin’ on our adorers, tellin’ our beads, an’ knockin’ hell out of our buzzums!
The Covey (outside) Cuckoo-oo!
Peter and Fluther come in again, followed by Mrs Gogan, carrying a baby in her arms. They go over to the counter.
Peter (with plaintive anger) It’s terrible that young Covey can’t let me pass without proddin’ at me! Did you hear him murmurin’ ‘cuckoo’ when we were passin’?
Fluther (irritably) I wouldn’t be everlastin’ cockin’ me ear to every little whisper that was floatin’ around about me! It’s my rule never to lose me temper till it would be dethrimental to keep it. There’s nothin’ derogatory in th’ use o’ th’ word ‘cuckoo’, is there?
Peter (tearfully) It’s not th’ word; it’s th’ way he says it: he never says it straight out, but murmurs it with curious quiverin’ ripples, like variations on a flute!
Fluther Ah, what odds if he gave it with variations on a thrombone! (To Mrs Gogan) What’s yours goin’ to be, ma’am?
Mrs Gogan BessieBessie Ah, a half o’ malt, Fluther.
Fluther (to Barman) Three halves, Tommy.
The Barman brings the drinks.
Mrs Gogan (drinking) The Foresthers’ is a gorgeous dhress! I don’t think I’ve seen nicer, mind you, in a pantomime … Th’ loveliest part of th’ dhress, I think, is th’ osthrichess plume … When yous are goin’ along, an’ I see them wavin’ an’ noddin’ an’ waggin’, I seem to be lookin’ at each of yous hangin’ at th’ end of a rope, your eyes bulgin’ an’ your legs twistin’ an’ jerkin’, gaspin’ an’ gaspin’ for breath while yous are thryin’ to die for Ireland!
Fluther If any o’ them is hangin’ at the end of a rope, it won’t be for Ireland!
Peter Are you goin’ to start th’ young Covey’s game o’ proddin’ an’ twartin’ a man? There’s not many that’s talkin’ can say that for twenty-five years he never missed a pilgrimage to Bodenstown!
Fluther You’re always blowin’ about goin’ to Bodenstown. D’ye think no one but yourself ever went to Bodenstown?
Peter (plaintively) I’m not blowin’ about it; but there’s not a year that I go there but I pluck a leaf off Tone’s grave, an’ this very day me prayer-book is nearly full of them.
Fluther (scornfully) Then Fluther has a vice versa opinion of them that put ivy leaves into their prayer-books, scabbin’ it on th’ clergy, an’ thryin’ to out-do th’ haloes o’ th’ saints be lookin’ as if he was wearin’ around his head a glittherin’ aroree boree allis! (Fiercely) Sure, I don’t care a damn if you slep’ in Bodenstown! You can take your breakfast, dinner, an’ tea on th’ grave in Bodenstown, if you like, for Fluther!
Mrs Gogan Oh, don’t start a fight, boys, for God’s sake; I was only sayin’ what a nice costume it is – nicer than th’ kilts, for, God forgive me, I always think th’ kilts is hardly decent.
Fluther Ah, sure, when you’d look at him, you’d wondher whether th’ man was makin’ fun o’ th’ costume, or th’ costume was makin’ fun o’ th’ man!
Barman Now, then, thry to speak asy, will yous? We don’t want no shoutin’ here.
The Covey, followed by Bessie Burgess, comes in. They go over to the opposite end of the counter, and direct their gaze on the other group.
The Covey (to Barman) Two glasses o’ malt.
Peter Ther
e he is, now; I knew he wouldn’t be long till he folleyed me in.
Bessie (speaking to the Covey, but really at the other party) I can’t for th’ life o’ me undherstand how they can call themselves Catholics, when they won’t lift a finger to help poor little Catholic Belgium.
Mrs Gogan (raising her voice) What about poor little Catholic Ireland?
Bessie (over to Mrs Gogan) You mind your own business, ma’am, an’ stupefy your foolishness be gettin’ dhrunk.
Peter (anxiously) Take no notice of her; pay no attention to her. She’s just tormentin’ herself towards havin’ a row with somebody.
Bessie There’s a storm of anger tossin’ in me heart, thinkin’ of all th’ poor Tommies, an’ with them me own son, dhrenched in water an’ soaked in blood, gropin’ their way to a shattherin’ death, in a shower o’ shells! Young men with th’ sunny lust o’ life beamin’ in them, layin’ down their white bodies, shredded into torn an’ bloody pieces, on th’ althar that God Himself has built for th’ sacrifice of heroes!
Mrs Gogan Isn’t it a nice thing to have to be listenin’ to a lassie an’ hangin’ our heads in a dead silence, knowin’ that some persons think more of a ball of malt than they do of th’ blessed saints.
Fluther Whisht; she’s always dangerous an’ derogatory when she’s well oiled. Th’ safest way to hindher her from havin’ any enjoyment out of her spite, is to dip our thoughts into the fact of her bein’ a female person that has moved out of th’ sight of ordinary sensible people.
Bessie To look at some o’ th’ women that’s knockin’ about, now, is a thing to make a body sigh … A woman on her own, dhrinkin’ with a bevy o’ men, is hardly an example to her sex … A woman dhrinkin’ with a woman is one thing, an’ a woman dhrinkin’ with herself is still a woman – flappers may be put in another category altogether – but a middle-aged married woman makin’ herself th’ centre of a circle of men is as a woman that is loud an’ stubborn, whose feet abideth not in her own house.
The Covey (to Bessie) When I think of all th’ problems in front o’ th’ workers, it makes me sick to be lookin’ at oul’ codgers goin’ about dhressed up like green-accoutred figures gone asthray out of a toyshop!
Peter Gracious God, give me patience to be listenin’ to that blasted young Covey proddin’ at me from over at th’ other end of th’ shop!
Mrs Gogan (dipping her finger in the whiskey, and moistening with it the lips of her baby) Cissie Gogan’s a woman livin’ for nigh on twenty-five years in her own room, an’ beyond biddin’ th’ time o’ day to her neighbours, never yet as much as nodded her head in th’ direction of other people’s business, while she knows some as are never content unless they’re standin’ senthry over other people’s doin’s!
Bessie is about to reply, when the tall, dark figure is again silhouetted against the window, and the voice of the Speaker is heard speaking passionately.
Voice of Speaker The last sixteen months have been the most glorious in the history of Europe. Heroism has come back to the earth. War is a terrible thing, but war is not an evil thing. People in Ireland dread war because they do not know it. Ireland has not known the exhilaration of war for over a hundred years. When war comes to Ireland she must welcome it as she would welcome the Angel of God! (The figure passes out of sight and hearing.)
The Covey (towards all present) Dope, dope. There’s only one war worth havin’: th’ war for th’ economic emancipation of th’ proletariat.
Bessie They may crow away out o’ them; but it ud be fitther for some o’ them to mend their ways, an’ cease from havin’ scouts out watchin’ for th’ comin’ of th’ Saint Vincent de Paul man, for fear they’d be nailed lowerin’ a pint of beer, mockin’ th’ man with an angel face, shinin’ with th’ glamour of deceit an’ lies!
Mrs Gogan An’ a certain lassie standin’ stiff behind her own door with her ears cocked listenin’ to what’s being said, stuffed till she’s sthrained with envy of a neighbour thryin’ for a few little things that may be got be hard sthrivin’ to keep up to th’ letther an’ th’ law, an’ th’ practices of th’ Church!
Peter (to Mrs Gogan) If I was you, Mrs Gogan, I’d parry her jabbin’ remarks be a powerful silence that’ll keep her tantalizin’ words from penethratin’ into your feelin’s. It’s always betther to leave these people to th’ vengeance o’ God!
Bessie Bessie Burgess doesn’t put up to know much, never havin’ a swaggerin’ mind, thanks be to God, but goin’ on packin’ up knowledge accordin’ to her conscience: precept upon precept, line upon line; here a little, an’ there a little. But (with a passionate swing of her shawl), thanks be to Christ, she knows when she was got, where she was got, an’ how she was got; while there’s some she knows, decoratin’ their finger with a well-polished weddin’ ring, would be hard put to it if they were assed to show their weddin’ lines!
Mrs Gogan (plunging out into the centre of the floor in a wild tempest of hysterical rage) Y’ oul’ rip of a blasted liar, me weddin’ ring’s been well earned be twenty years be th’ side o’ me husband, now takin’ his rest in heaven, married to me be Father Dempsey, in th’ Chapel o’ Saint Jude’s, in th’ Christmas Week of eighteen hundhred an’ ninety-five; an’ any kid, livin’ or dead, that Jinnie Gogan’s had since, was got between th’ bordhers of th’ Ten Commandments! … An’ that’s more than some o’ you can say that are kep’ from th’ dhread o’ desthruction be a few drowsy virtues, that th’ first whisper of temptation lulls into a sleep, that’ll know one sin from another only on th’ day of their last anointin’, an’ that use th’ innocent light o’ th’ shinin’ stars to dip into th’ sins of a night’s diversion!
Bessie (jumping out to face Mrs Gogan, and bringing the palms of her hands together in sharp claps to emphasize her remarks) Liar to you, too, ma’am, y’ oul’ hardened thresspasser on other people’s good nature, wizenin’ up your soul in th’ arts o’ dodgeries, till every dhrop of respectability in a female is dhried up in her, lookin’ at your ready-made manoeuverin’ with th’ menkind!
Barman Here, there; here, there; speak asy there. No rowin’ here, no rowin’ here, now.
Fluther (trying to calm Mrs Gogan) Now Jinnie, Jinnie, it’s a derogatory thing to be smirchin’ a night like this with a row; it’s rompin’ with th’ feelin’s of hope we ought to be, instead o’ bein’ vice versa!
Peter (trying to quiet Bessie) I’m terrible dawny, Mrs Burgess, an’ a fight leaves me weak for a long time aftherwards … Please, Mrs Burgess, before there’s damage done, thry to have a little respect for yourself.
Bessie (with a push of her hand that sends Peter tottering to the end of the shop) G’way, you little sermonizing, little yella-faced, little consequential, little pudgy, little bum, you!
Mrs Gogan (screaming) Fluther, leggo! I’m not goin’ to keep an unresistin’ silence, an’ her scattherin’ her festherin’ words in me face, stirrin’ up every dhrop of decency in a respectable female, with her restless rally o’ lies that would make a saint say his prayer backwards!
Bessie (shouting) Ah, everybody knows well that th’ best charity that can be shown to you is to hide th’ thruth as much as our thrue worship of God Almighty will allow us!
Mrs Gogan (frantically) Here, houl’ th’ kid, one o’ yous; houl’ th’ kid for a minute! There’s nothin’ for it but to show this lassie a lesson or two … (To Peter) Here, houl’ th’ kid, you. (Before Peter is aware of it, she places the infant in his arms. To Bessie, standing before her in a fighting attitude) Come on, now, me loyal lassie, dyin’ with grief for little Catholic Belgium! When Jinnie Gogan’s done with you, you’ll have a little leisure lyin’ down to think an’ pray for your king an’ counthry!
Barman (coming from behind the counter, getting between the women, and proceeding to push them towards the door) Here, now, since yous can’t have a little friendly argument quietly, you’ll get out o’ this place in quick time. Go on, an’ settle your differences somewhere else – I don’t want to have another
endorsement on me licence.
Peter (anxiously, over to Mrs Gogan) Here, take your kid back, ower this. How nicely I was picked, now, for it to be plumped into me arms!
The Covey She knew who she was givin’ it to, maybe.
Peter (hotly to the Covey) Now, I’m givin’ you fair warnin’, me young Covey, to quit firin’ your jibes an’ jeers at me … For one o’ these days, I’ll run out in front o’ God Almighty an’ take your sacred life!
Barman (pushing Bessie out after Mrs Gogan) Go on, now; out you go.
Bessie (as she goes out) If you think, me lassie, that Bessie Burgess has an untidy conscience, she’ll soon show you to th’ differ!
Peter (leaving the baby down on the floor) Ay, be Jasus, wait there, till I give her back her youngster! (He runs to the door.) Ay, there, ay! (He comes back.) There, she’s afther goin’ without her kid. What are we goin’ to do with it, now?
The Covey What are we goin’ to do with it? Bring it outside an’ show everybody what you’re afther findin’!
Peter (in a panic to Fluther) Pick it up, you, Fluther, an’ run afther her with it, will you?
Fluther What d’ye take Fluther for? You must think Fluther’s a right gom. D’ye think Fluther’s like yourself, destitute of a titther of undherstandin’?
Barman (imperatively to Peter) Take it up, man, an’ run out afther her with it, before she’s gone too far. You’re not goin’ to leave th’ bloody thing here, are you?
Peter (plaintively, as he lifts up the baby) Well, God Almighty, give me patience with all th’ scorners, tormentors, an’ twarters that are always an’ ever thryin’ to goad me into prayin’ for their blindin’ an’ blastin’ an’ burnin’ in th’ world to come! (He goes out.)
