by Sean O'Casey
Fluther God, it’s a relief to get rid o’ that crowd. Women is terrible when they start to fight. There’s no holdin’ them back. (To the Covey) Are you goin’ to have anything?
The Covey Ah, I don’t mind if I have another half.
Fluther (to Barman) Two more, Tommy, me son.
The Barman gets the drinks.
You know, there’s no conthrollin’ a woman when she loses her head.
Rosie enters and goes over to the counter on the side nearest to Fluther.
Rosie (to Barman) Divil a use o’ havin’ a thrim little leg on a night like this; things was never worse … Give us a half till tomorrow, Tom, duckey.
Barman (coldly) No more tonight, Rosie; you owe me for three already.
Rosie (combatively) You’ll be paid, won’t you?
Barman I hope so.
Rosie You hope so! Is that th’ way with you, now?
Fluther (to Barman) Give her one; it’ll be all right.
Rosie (clapping Fluther on the back) Oul’ sport!
Fluther Th’ meetin’ should be soon over, now.
The Covey Th’ sooner th’ betther. It’s all a lot o’ blasted nonsense, comrade.
Fluther Oh, I wouldn’t say it was all nonsense. Afther all, Fluther can remember th’ time, an’ him only a dawny chiselur, bein’ taught at his mother’s knee to be faithful to th’ Shan Van Vok!
The Covey That’s all dope, comrade; th’ sort o’ thing that workers are fed on be th’ Boorzwawzee.
Fluther (a little sharply) What’s all dope? Though I’m sayin’ it that shouldn’t: (catching his cheek with his hand, and pulling down the flesh from the eye) d’ye see that mark there, undher me eye? … A sabre slice from a dragoon in O’Connell Street! (Thrusting his head forward towards Rosie) Feel that dint in th’ middle o’ me nut!
Rosie (rubbing Fluther’s head, and winking at the Covey) My God, there’s a holla!
Fluther (putting on his hat with quiet pride) A skelp from a bobby’s baton at a Labour meetin’ in th’ Phoenix Park!
The Covey He must ha’ hitten you in mistake. I don’t know what you ever done for th’ Labour Movement.
Fluther (loudly) D’ye not? Maybe, then, I done as much, an’ know as much about th’ Labour Movement as th’ chancers that are blowin’ about it!
Barman Speak easy, Fluther, thry to speak easy.
The Covey There’s no necessity to get excited about it, comrade.
Fluther (more loudly) Excited? Who’s gettin’ excited? There’s no one gettin’ excited! It would take something more than a thing like you to flutther a feather o’ Fluther. Blatherin’, an’, when all is said, you know as much as th’ rest in th’ wind up!
The Covey Well, let us put it to th’ test, then, an’ see what you know about th’ Labour Movement: what’s the mechanism of exchange?
Fluther (roaring, because he feels he is beaten) How th’ hell do I know what it is? There’s nothin’ about that in th’ rules of our Thrades Union!
Barman For God’s sake, thry to speak easy, Fluther.
The Covey What does Karl Marx say about th’ Relation of Value to th’ Cost o’ Production?
Fluther (angrily) What th’ hell do I care what he says? I’m Irishman enough not to lose me head be follyin’ foreigners!
Barman Speak easy, Fluther.
The Covey It’s only waste o’ time talkin’ to you, comrade.
Fluther Don’t be comradin’ me, mate. I’d be on me last legs if I wanted you for a comrade.
Rosie (to the Covey) It seems a highly rediculous thing to hear a thing that’s only an inch or two away from a kid, swingin’ heavy words about he doesn’t know th’ meanin’ of, an’ uppishly thryin’ to down a man like Misther Fluther here, that’s well flavoured in th’ knowledge of th’ world he’s livin’ in.
The Covey (savagely to Rosie) Nobody’s askin’ you to be buttin’ in with your prate … I have you well taped, me lassie … Just you keep your opinions for your own place … It’ll be a long time before th’ Covey takes any insthructions or reprimandin’ from a prostitute!
Rosie (wild with humiliation) You louse, you louse, you! … You’re no man … You’re no man … I’m a woman, anyhow, an’ if I’m a prostitute aself, I have me feelin’s … Thryin’ to put his arm around me a minute ago, an’ givin’ me th’ glad eye, th’ little wrigglin’ lump o’ desolation turns on me now, because he saw there was nothin’ doin’ … You louse, you! If I was a man, or you were a woman, I’d bate th’ puss o’ you!
Barman Ay, Rosie, ay! You’ll have to shut your mouth altogether, if you can’t learn to speak easy!
Fluther (to Rosie) Houl’ on there, Rosie; houl’ on there. There’s no necessity to flutther yourself when you’re with Fluther … Any lady that’s in th’ company of Fluther is goin’ to get a fair hunt … This is outside your province … I’m not goin’ to let you demean yourself be talkin’ to a tittherin’ chancer … Leave this to Fluther – this is a man’s job. (To the Covey) Now, if you’ve anything to say, say it to Fluther, an’, let me tell you, you’re not goin’ to be pass-remarkable to any lady in my company.
The Covey Sure I don’t care if you were runnin’ all night afther your Mary o’ th’ Curlin’ Hair, but, when you start tellin’ luscious lies about what you done for th’ Labour Movement, it’s nearly time to show y’up!
Fluther (fiercely) Is it you show Fluther up? G’way, man, I’d beat two o’ you before me breakfast!
The Covey (contemptuously) Tell us where you bury your dead, will you?
Fluther (with his face stuck into the face of the Covey) Sing a little less on th’ high note, or, when I’m done with you, you’ll put a Christianable consthruction on things, I’m tellin’ you!
The Covey You’re a big fella, you are.
Fluther (tapping the Covey threateningly on the shoulder) Now, you’re temptin’ Providence when you’re temptin’ Fluther!
The Covey (losing his temper, and bawling) Easy with them hands, there, easy with them hands! You’re startin’ to take a little risk when you commence to paw the Covey!
Fluther suddenly springs into the middle of the shop, flings his hat into the corner, whips off his coat, and begins to paw the air.
Fluther (roaring at the top of his voice) Come on, come on, you lowser; put your mits up now, if there’s a man’s blood in you! Be God, in a few minutes you’ll see some snots flyin’ around, I’m tellin’ you … When Fluther’s done with you, you’ll have a vice versa opinion of him! Come on, now, come on!
Barman (running from behind the counter and catching hold of the Covey) Here, out you go, me little bowsey. Because you got a couple o’ halves you think you can act as you like. (He pushes the Covey to the door.) Fluther’s a friend o’ mine, an’ I’ll not have him insulted.
The Covey (struggling with the Barman) Ay, leggo, leggo there; fair hunt, give a man a fair hunt! One minute with him is all I ask; one minute alone with him, while you’re runnin’ for th’ priest an’ th’ doctor.
Fluther (to the Barman) Let him go, let him go, Tom: let him open th’ door to sudden death if he wants to!
Barman (to the Covey) Go on, out you go an’ do th’ bowsey somewhere else. (He pushes the Covey out and comes back.)
Rosie (getting Fluther’s hat as he is putting on his coat) Be God, you put th’ fear o’ God in his heart that time! I thought you’d have to be dug out of him … Th’ way you lepped out without any of your fancy side-steppin’! ‘Men like Fluther’, say I to meself, ‘is gettin’ scarce nowadays.’
Fluther (with proud complacency) I wasn’t goin’ to let meself be malignified by a chancer … He got a little bit too derogatory for Fluther … Be God, to think of a cur like that comin’ to talk to a man like me!
Rosie (fixing on his hat) Did j’ever!
Fluther He’s lucky he got off safe. I hit a man last week, Rosie, an’ he’s fallin’ yet!
Rosie Sure, you’d ha’ broken him in two if you’d ha’ hitten him one clatther!
Fluther (amorously, putting his arm around Rosie) Come on into th’ snug, me little darlin’, an’ we’ll have a few dhrinks before I see you home.
Rosie Oh, Fluther, I’m afraid you’re a terrible man for th’ women.
They go into the snug as Clitheroe, Captain Brennan, and Lieut. Langon of the Irish Volunteers enter hurriedly. Captain Brennan carries the banner of the Plough and the Stars, and Lieut. Langon a green, white and orange Tricolour. They are in a state of emotional excitement. Their faces are flushed and their eyes sparkle; they speak rapidly, as if unaware of the meaning of what they said. They have been mesmerized by the fervency of the speeches.
Clitheroe (almost pantingly) Three glasses o’ port!
The Barman brings the drinks.
Capt. Brennan We won’t have long to wait now.
Lieut. Langon Th’ time is rotten ripe for revolution.
Clitheroe You have a mother, Langon.
Lieut. Langon Ireland is greater than a mother.
Capt. Brennan You have a wife, Clitheroe.
Clitheroe Ireland is greater than a wife.
Lieut. Langon Th’ time for Ireland’s battle is now – th’ place for Ireland’s battle is here.
The tall, dark figure again is silhouetted against the window. The three men pause and listen.
Voice of the Man Our foes are strong, but strong as they are, they cannot undo the miracles of God, who ripens in the heart of young men the seeds sown by the young men of a former generation. They think they have pacified Ireland; think they have foreseen everything; think they have provided against everything; but the fools, the fools, the fools! – they have left us our Fenian dead, and, while Ireland holds these graves, Ireland, unfree, shall never be at peace!
Capt. Brennan (catching up the Plough and the Stars) Imprisonment for th’ Independence of Ireland!
Lieut. Langon (catching up the Tricolour) Wounds for th’ Independence of Ireland!
Clitheroe Death for th’ Independence of Ireland!
The Three (together) So help us God!
They drink. A bugle blows the Assembly. They hurry out. A pause. Fluther and Rosie come out of the snug; Rosie is linking Fluther, who is a little drunk. Both are in a merry mood.
Rosie Come on home, ower o’ that, man. Are you afraid or what? Are you goin’ to come home, or are you not?
Fluther Of course I’m goin’ home. What ud ail me that I wouldn’t go?
Rosie (lovingly) Come on, then, oul’ sport.
Officer’s Voice (giving command outside) Irish Volunteers, by th’ right, quick march!
Rosie (putting her arm round Fluther and singing)
I once had a lover, a tailor, but he could do nothin’ for me,
An’ then I fell in with a sailor as strong an’ as wild as th’ sea.
We cuddled an’ kissed with devotion, till th’ night from th’ mornin’ had fled;
An’ there, to our joy, a bright bouncin’ boy
Was dancin’ a jig in th’ bed!
Dancin’ a jig in th’ bed, an’ bawlin’ for butther an’ bread.
An’ there, to our joy, a bright bouncin’ boy
Was dancin’ a jig in th’ bed!
They go out with their arms round each other.
Clitheroe’s Voice (in command outside) Dublin Battalion of the Irish Citizen Army, by th’ right, quick march!
Curtain.
Act Three
The corner house in a street of tenements: it is the home of the Clitheroes. The house is a long, gaunt, five-storey tenement; its brick front is chipped and scarred with age and neglect. The wide and heavy hall door, flanked by two pillars, has a look of having been charred by a fire in the distant past. The door lurches a little to one side, disjointed by the continual and reckless banging when it is being closed by most of the residents. The diamond-paned fanlight is destitute of a single pane, the framework alone remaining. The windows, except the two looking into the front parlour (Clitheroe’s room), are grimy, and are draped with fluttering and soiled fragments of lace curtains. The front parlour windows are hung with rich, comparatively, casement cloth. Five stone steps lead from the door to the path on the street. Branching on each side are railings to prevent people from falling into the area. At the left corner of the house runs a narrow lane, bisecting the street, and connecting it with another of the same kind. At the corner of the lane is a street lamp. As the house is revealed, Mrs Gogan is seen helping Mollser to a chair, which stands on the path beside the railings, at the left side of the steps. She then wraps a shawl around Mollser’s shoulders. It is some months later.
Mrs Gogan (arranging shawl around Mollser) Th’ sun’ll do you all th’ good in th’ world. A few more weeks o’ this weather, an’ there’s no knowin’ how well you’ll be … Are you comfy, now?
Mollser (weakly and wearily) Yis, ma; I’m all right.
Mrs Gogan How are you feelin’?
Mollser Betther, ma, betther. If th’ horrible sinkin’ feelin’ ud go, I’d be all right.
Mrs Gogan Ah, I wouldn’t put much pass on that. Your stomach maybe’s out of ordher … Is th’ poor breathin’ any betther, d’ye think?
Mollser Yis, yis, ma; a lot betther.
Mrs Gogan Well, that’s somethin’ anyhow … With th’ help o’ God, you’ll be on th’ mend from this out … D’your legs feel any sthronger undher you, d’ye think?
Mollser (irritably) I can’t tell, ma. I think so … A little.
Mrs Gogan Well, a little aself is somethin’ … I thought I heard you coughin’ a little more than usual last night … D’ye think you were?
Mollser I wasn’t, ma, I wasn’t.
Mrs Gogan I thought I heard you, for I was kep’ awake all night with th’ shootin’. An’ thinkin’ o’ that madman, Fluther, runnin’ about through th’ night lookin’ for Nora Clitheroe to bring her back when he heard she’d gone to folly her husband, an’ in dhread any minute he might come staggerin’ in covered with bandages, splashed all over with th’ red of his own blood, an’ givin’ us barely time to bring th’ priest to hear th’ last whisper of his final confession, as his soul was passin’ through th’ dark doorway o’ death into th’ way o’ th’ wondherin’ dead … You don’t feel cold, do you?
Mollser No, ma; I’m all right.
Mrs Gogan Keep your chest well covered, for that’s th’ delicate spot in you … if there’s any danger, I’ll whip you in again … (Looking up the street) Oh, here’s th’ Covey an’ oul’ Pether hurryin’ along. God Almighty, sthrange things is happenin’ when them two is pullin’ together.
The Covey and Peter come in, breathless and excited.
(To the two men) Were yous far up th’ town? Did yous see any sign o’ Fluther or Nora? How is things lookin’? I hear they’re blazin’ away out o’ th’ GPO. That th’ Tommies is sthretched in heaps around Nelson’s Pillar an’ th’ Parnell Statue, an’ that th’ pavin’ sets in O’Connell Street is nearly covered be pools o’ blood.
Peter We seen no sign o’ Nora or Fluther anywhere.
Mrs Gogan We should ha’ held her back be main force from goin’ to look for her husband … God knows what’s happened to her – I’m always seein’ her sthretched on her back in some hospital, moanin’ with th’ pain of a bullet in her vitals, an’ nuns thryin’ to get her to take a last look at th’ crucifix!
The Covey We can do nothin’. You can’t stick your nose into O’Connell Street, an’ Tyler’s is on fire.
Peter An’ we seen th’ Lancers –
The Covey (interrupting) Throttin’ along, heads in th’ air; spurs an’ sabres jinglin’, an’ lances quiverin’, an’ lookin’ as if they were assin’ themselves, ‘Where’s these blighters, till we get a prod at them?’ when there was a volley from th’ Post Office that stretched half o’ them, an’ sent th’ rest gallopin’ away wondherin’ how far they’d have to go before they’d feel safe.
Peter (rubbing his hands) ‘Damn it,’ says I to meself, ‘this looks like business
!’
The Covey An’ then out comes General Pearse an’ his staff, an’, standin’ in th’ middle o’ th’ street, he reads th’ Proclamation.
Mrs Gogan What proclamation?
Peter Declarin’ an Irish Republic.
Mrs Gogan Go to God!
Peter The gunboat Helga’s shellin’ Liberty Hall, an’ I hear the people livin’ on th’ quays had to crawl on their bellies to Mass with th’ bullets that were flyin’ around from Boland’s Mills.
Mrs Gogan God bless us, what’s goin’ to be th’ end of it all!
Bessie (looking out of the top window) Maybe yous are satisfied now; maybe yous are satisfied now. Go on an’ get guns if yous are men – Johnny get your gun, get your gun, get your gun! Yous are all nicely shanghaied now; th’ boyo hasn’t a sword on his thigh now! Oh, yous are all nicely shanghaied now!
Mrs Gogan (warningly to Peter and the Covey) S-s-sh, don’t answer her. She’s th’ right oul’ Orange bitch! She’s been chantin’ ‘Rule, Britannia’ all th’ mornin’.
Peter I hope Fluther hasn’t met with any accident, he’s such a wild card.
Mrs Gogan God grant it; but last night I dreamt I seen gettin’ carried into th’ house a sthretcher with a figure lyin’ on it, stiff an’ still, dhressed in th’ habit of Saint Francis. An, then, I heard th’ murmurs of a crowd no one could see sayin’ th’ litany for th’ dead; an’ then it got so dark that nothin’ was seen but th’ white face of th’ corpse, gleamin’ like a white wather-lily floatin’ on th’ top of a dark lake. Then a tiny whisper thrickled into me ear, sayin’, ‘Isn’t the face very like th’ face o’ Fluther?’ an’ then, with a thremblin’ flutther, th’ dead lips opened, an’, although I couldn’t hear, I knew they were sayin’, ‘Poor oul’ Fluther, afther havin’ handed in his gun at last, his shakin’ soul moored in th’ place where th’ wicked are at rest an’ th’ weary cease from throublin’.’
