Here, however, is the main point of this letter. After sending you his disquisition on dung, Mr. Fallon communicated with the Director of the Boy Scouts employed in the play and used every endeavour to make him withdraw the boys so that the whole presentation would be sabotaged; he did not succeed, and presumably an opportunity will be found later for associating the Boy Scout organization with dung, which is Mr. Fallon’s symbol of disapproval. Since your paper honours Mr. Fallon with the role of critic, I think he is entitled to denounce every single play he sees if he feels that way about it, however much his disapproval may be the result of ignorance or mental immaturity. That he should take steps to close down a show he does not like is, I think, a unique departure in dramatic criticism. When he finds himself excluded as an undesirable from all theatres, as he well may, he will have to find some other rostrum from which to direct his foul-mouthed campaign for decency and reticence.
THE TRANSLATOR OF THE INSECT PLAY
Letter from Member of Audience:
Sir—I wish to congratulate you on your article censuring the Gaiety ‘Insect Play’ last week. In company with a Protestant friend, I visited the show and felt most uncomfortable during the first act. I muttered to my friend: ‘This is blasphemous and most suggestive’ and the answer I received was in the nature of ‘Evil to him who evil thinks’! References to the ‘Queen’ up in the sky and ‘keeping pure till we meet her’ made me squirm and the language and use of the Holy Name, along with the ‘maternity’ act in the second part, was vile.
A lady behind me roared laughing (to put it mildly) at these sallies. What was my amazement to read, then, in my programme that the Catholic Boy Scouts of Ireland were in the cast and a Catholic (!) Myles Na gCopaleen was the translator of this low down jibe at all that we, as Catholics, hold dear. One wonders if Catholic Dublin has loyalty to Faith and principles when such a show could take place during Lent in our principal theatre? Was it shamefacedness that prevented the author appearing on the first night at the last curtain, or was it last minute remorse, at any rate Mr. Edwards seemed annoyed and apologized for his non-appearance.
The only other paper that censured this play was the Herald. I would have written to the Independent but I know it would be useless as the papers think too much of the advertising end of the theatre business to censure their shows.
I think it is time some league was formed to rouse public opinion against the ‘taking in vain’ of God’s name which has become a scandal on the Dublin stage. Unfortunately, Catholic actors are the commonest offenders …
Every educated person, Protestant or Catholic, deplores this tendency and desires some change. Can THE STANDARD lead public opinion to demand it? Say a Matt Talbot League for Catholics, for that sainted man never heard the sacred name of Jesus pronounced without lifting his hat, and his dislike of profanity was so great that even though a humble workman his influence was such that bad language came to be unknown in his vicinity.
One occasion was reported of a profaner being faced by Matt Talbot with a crucifix and the words ‘Do you know Who you are crucifying?’ No more was said and the man hung his head and made no further reply.
S.M. DUNN
[Note: In justice to the secular press the Irish Press, and to some extent, the Times Pictorial joined in the protest against the Insect Play.—Editor, THE STANDARD.]
Our Theatre Critic’s reply and his challenge to Myles na gCopaleen: The translator’s letter speaks eloquently for itself.
Not all of its implications can be answered here or at the moment: nevertheless certain important facts must immediately be made clear.
(1) In reference to Paragraph 4 and the letter’s ‘main point’.
I had no communication whatsoever with the Director of the Boy Scouts concerning this play, nor had I communication with any officer or member of that body concerning it.
(2) As to the reference in Paragraph 3 that The Standard’s ‘wretched pedant’ has never read or seen Capek’s play —
I have read it; I have seen it; and I have reviewed it as the files of The Standard will testify.
So much for the letter, at the moment.
I now challenge the translator of The Insect Play to send to the editor of The Standard the script of the version played to the audience of the Gaiety Theatre on the evening of Monday, March 22, 1943, in order that the readers of The Standard may be convinced of the justice or the injustice of my criticism.
I append a copy of a letter sent by me to the Manager of the Gaiety Theatre on March 25.
My Dear Hamlyn, —In view of last week’s presentation by Edwards–MacLiammóir Productions at the Gaiety, I have decided to refrain from attendance at any subsequent presentation which this company may offer during the current season.
I trust that this step, which has been determined after careful consideration, will not in any way interfere with the cordial relations exisiting between The Standard Drama Critic and yourself and Mr. Elliman, and the very courteous staff of the Gaiety Theatre.
With every good wish,
Yours Sincerely.
(Signed) Gabriel Fallon.
Hamlyn Benson, Esq., Manager, Gaiety Theatre, Dublin.
20 ‘Poznamky k Zivotu hmyzu,’ Spisy 18: 399.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Rhapsody in Stephen’s Green survives thanks to the acumen of R. Russell Maylone, Curator of Special Collections, Northwestern University Library, who obtained the Gate Theatre Archive. I am grateful to him, and to Mrs. Evelyn O’Nolan, for permission to publish the play. I also wish to thank Ann Tisa of the Northwestern Library’s Special Collections for her help, and Daniel H. Garrison of the Northwestern University Department of Classics for patiently checking many details. My other debts of gratitude are to Sheila Ryan, Curator of Manuscripts at the Morris Library, Southern Illinois University at Carbondale, where Myles’s papers are kept; to Nancy Axelrod of the Entomological Library, University of California, Berkeley; to Patricia Donlon, Director of the National Library of Ireland, for permission to quote unpublished passages from Joseph Holloway’s diaries; and to Margaret Me Peake and her Apple Macintosh.
R.T.
Rhapsody in Stephen’s Green was first performed (as The Insect Play) by the Gate Theatre Company at the Gaiety Theatre, Dublin, on 22 March 1943. The cast was as follows:
THE TRAMP Robert Hennessy
A LADY IN THE GREEN Rosalind Halligan
CHILDREN Tony Mathews, Teddy Lucas, Eileen Ashe, Collette Redmond, Ita McManus, Deirdre King, Dolores Lucas, Peggy Kennedy, Maeve Kennedy
A GIRL STUDENT Patricia Kennedy
A YOUNG MAN James Neylin
A VISITOR Liam Gaffney
THE KEEPER William Fassbender
THE DRONE BEE Stephen King
BASIL BEE Cecil Monson
CECIL BEE Norman Barrs
CYRIL BEE Antony Walsh
A YOUNG BEE Robert Dawson
HER MAJESTY QUEEN BEE Betty Chancellor
A DUCKLING Alexis Milne
THE VOICE OF THE EGG Jean St Clair
THE DUCK P.P. Maguire
MR BEETLE William Fassbender
MRS SEETLE Sally Travers
A STRANGE BEETLE Tyrell Pine
MR CRICKET J. Winter
MRS CRICKET Meriel Moore
A PARASITE Liam Gaffney
A BLIND ANT William Fassbender
THE CHIEF ENGINEER ANT J. Winter
THE 2ND ENGINEER ANT Sean Colleary
THE POLITICIAN ANT Antony Walsh
A MESSENGER ANT Liam Gaffney
A CROSS-CHANNEL ANT Norman Barrs
SLATTERY Val Iremonger
GREEN ANTS, RED ANTS, ORANGE ANTS, ANTS OF THE GAEL AND ANTS OF THE PALE.
DIRECTOR/PRODUCER Hilton Edwards
SETTINGS Molly MacEwen
COSTUMES Micheál MacLiammóir
PROLOGUE
St Stephen’s Green. Probably near the lake, there is a row of chairs with their backs to the audience; some are deck chairs and some th
e upright green twopenny type.1 Most of them are occupied. Dusk is falling (and pretty fast too). The bells of the keepers summoning the visitors to leave are heard in the distance. A few small children rush across the foreground shouting and playing with a ball; they run out again. A bell is heard being banged very loud off. Enter a comic KEEPER carrying the bell. He looks from behind at the row of inert seated figures, his back to the audience. His stance and silence suggest patient disgust. Suddenly he gives a savage ear-splitting clang of the bell, startling everybody, including the audience.
KEEPER Do yez know the time or have yez no home to go to?2
A very mixed group get up hastily, glare at the KEEPER and move off. A fat lady calls to her children, two old men shamble off muttering, a student and some others leave in the manner that fits them. A very pronounced bulge in the back of one of the deck-chairs at the right-hand side of the row remains, however. The KEEPER eyes it and approaches stealthily. He then gives a really ferocious clang on the bell.
KEEPER Will yeh get up to hell ou’ a that and clear out of this pairk, d’yeh hear me!
An irate fat well-dressed figure has jumped up out of the chair. His accent is very ‘cultured’.
VISITOR What the devil do you mean?
KEEPER (Sarcastic in a steely way) I beg yer pardin?
VISITOR How dare you talk to me like that — how dare you ring your bell like that in my ear?
KEEPER Now luckit here, don’t give me anny trouble. This pairk is closed down be the regulations from sunset. And all the visitors has to be cleared out, d’yeh understhand me. All has to go off an’ leave the premises. It’s just like a public house. Come on now, sir, yeh’ll have to pack up, yeh’ll have all day to-morra to be lying down there snoozin’!
VISITOR (Flabbergasted at all this familiarity) Well upon my word! Who the devil do you think you’re speaking to? Of all the … infernal … nerve!
KEEPER I don’t want anny trouble now, DON’T GIVE ME ANNY TROUBLE. Out yeh’ll have to go and that’s all about it. It’s a very seryus thing to be in the pairk after dairk.
VISITOR How dare you address members of the public in that impertinent fashion! How dare you set out to injure people’s hearing with that bell of yours! HOW DARE YOU SIR!
KEEPER (With fake resignation) Well, of course … I dunno. I don’t know what I’ll do with this man at all. I don’t know what I’ll do with this man at all.
VISITOR Permit me to remark that it is rather a question of what will be done with you, my man.
KEEPER (Mechanical reply to any ‘difficult’ speech) I beg yer pardin?
VISITOR Do you know who I am?
KEEPER (Brushing aside a very old story with his flat hand) Now listen. Luckit here. I don’t want to know yer name, yer address, or who yer mother was. Are yeh gettin’ out or are yeh not? Now don’t tell me I’ll have to call a Gaird.3
VISITOR (Getting ready to leave) From your offensive behaviour it’s rather obvious you don’t know who I am but you may learn sooner than you expect.
KEEPER I don’t give a damn if yer de Valera … or one of them lads out of the Kildare Street Club4 … or (tremendous effort) the Bishop … of … Bangalore—OUT—OF—THIS—PAIRK—YOU’LL—HAVE—TO GO—AND THAT’S ALL.
VISITOR Indeed? Perhaps I should tell you who I am.
KEEPER (Putting up the hand again to ward off unwanted information) Now I don’t want to hear anny more — I don’t want to hear anny more talk or chat at all. This pairk is owned an’ run by the Boord of Works,5 d’yeh understand. And the Boord of Works is a very sthrict crowd … a very … sthrict … crowd.
VISITOR (Interested) Really.
KEEPER D’yeh undhersthand me now. The Boord has very sthrict regulations for clearin’ out the pairk after dairk. I don’t care who y’are — all has to pack up and mairch out of the pairk when it gets dairk. It’s the Boord’s regulations, yeh’ll see them pasted up there be the gate.
VISITOR All this is extremely interesting.
KEEPER Are yeh gettin’ out? Yes or no now.
VISITOR Extremely interesting.
KEEPER Because if yer goin’ to stop here, I’ll go and get a Gaird and it’s above in the ‘joy6 yeh’ll spend the night, me good man.
VISITOR If you knew who you are speaking to, you uncouth impudent …
KEEPER (Almost roaring) Luckit here, if you were wan of the head buck-cats out of the Boord of Works itself, a big offeecial from the place beyant there (He points), if you were the head-man in chairge of pairks an’ gairdens, I’d mairch you out just the same in double quick time, me bucko!
VISITOR (Angry but gloating) As a matter of fact that’s exactly who I am. (He begins to move off)
KEEPER I beg yer pardin?
VISITOR That’s exactly who I am.
KEEPER (Dumfounded) I beg yer pardin?
VISITOR That’s exactly who I am.
KEEPER (Exit out after the visitor, making desperate efforts to retrieve the damage) But I beg yer pardin kindly sir, SHURE I DIDN’T MEAN ANNY HARM, Sir. Didn’t I know yeh well an’ me only tryin’ to take a rise out of yeh, I’d no more think of givin’ guff to yer honour than I would of givin’ it to Mister Connolly,7 yer honour …
They pass out, the VISITOR very haughty. The light sinks somewhat. Loud buzzing as if of aeroplanes is heard. The TRAMP, who is emaciated (naturally enough) is concealed in one of the other deck-chairs, making little or no bulge to betray his presence. The buzzing noise gets louder. The audience hears the maudlin voice of the hidden TRAMP. His accent is a richer Dublin job than the KEEPER; indeed, the latter might be better with a rich southern New-York-cop intonation.
TRAMP Away wid yez now! Away wid yez! Keep offa me now. (More buzzing, much nearer).
TRAMP Do yez hear me! Get away to hell ou’ a that!
He starts thrashing about with his arms, which betray his location to the audience. He starts incoherent drunken roaring and falls out of the chair into full view.
TRAMP One sting from one of them lads and begob yeh could be screwed down in yer coffin in two days.
He swipes at invisible bees but carefully preserving his bottle; he pauses to take a good swig.
TRAMP The bee … Do you know what I’m goin’ to tell yeh. The bee … is one of the worst jobs out. Them little lads has a bagful of stuff inside them … and they do spend all their time lookin’ for some poor unfortunate omadaun8 like meself for to pump it into. Ah yes, a very bad job — the bee. I don’t fancy the bees atchall.
He swipes madly again and then has a swig. He resumes his monologue in a very high-pitched confidential voice.
TRAMP (To audience) I’ll tell yez a good wan. I seen a man — a perrsonal friend of me own — stung be a bee and him lying on his death-bed. A man that was given up be the clergy, the docthors, the nurses, and begob even be the parties that was to benefit under the will. That’s a quare one! Yer man is breathin’ his last gasp when the bee flies in and given him pfffff——, a dart in the neck. And do you know what happens? (He pauses impressively and takes another long suck) Do you know what happens? Now you won’t believe this, as sure as God you’ll tell me I’m a liar … (Again he pauses for effect and takes another drink) I’ll tell you what happens. Your man … sits up … in bed … and says he; Will one of youz hand me me trousers there … plee-ez. Ah? That’s … a quare wan for yez. Would yeh believe that? (He drinks again, somewhat astonished at the anecdote himself) An’ from that good day to this, yer man never looked back and never ever a day’s sickness in the bed. D’yeh undhersthand what I’m tellin’ yeh? D’yeh undhersthand me now? A very ferocious … baste, the bee. A very … contentious … intimidatin’ … exacerbatin’ animal, the bee. But a great man for suckin’ honey an’ workin’ away inside in the nest. Very hard-workin’ industrious men, the bees. (He looks round. There is loud buzzing.) And d’yeh know what I’m goin’ to tell yeh, there’s a bloody nest of the buggers around here somewhere. (He swipes.) Gou-a-that! Gou’athat to hell away from me, yez black
an’ yalla own-shucks!9 (He takes a long drink.) Begob d’yeh know what it is, yeh can’t bate d’ould bottle! I declare to me God I’d be a dead man only for this little drop o’ malt,10 because I have a very heavy cold on me and that’s the God’s truth. I’m not in me right health. What a man like me wants is … family allowances, yeh know … family allowances … and plenty of free insurance, d’yeh undhersthand me. (He is becoming more and more maudlin.) An’ house-buildin’ facilities for gettin’ married, d’yeh know. An’ … wan more cow … wan more sow … an’ wan … more … acre … undher th’plough.11 D’yeh undhersthand me now? D’yeh undhershand what I’m sayin’? Ah yes. Certaintly. Certaintly … Certaintly.
He sits down, drinks, sighs, and yawns and drinks. His fading senses are reflected in the sinking light. He lies down finally and is asleep by the time the light is nearly gone.