Read Brian Friel Plays 1 Online
Authors: Brian Friel
for Stephen Rea
MANUS
SARAH
JIMMY JACK
MAIRE
DOALTY
BRIDGET
HUGH
OWEN
CAPTAIN LANCEY
LIEUTENANT YOLLAND
Translations
was first presented by Field Day Theatre Company in the Guildhall, Derry on Tuesday, 23 September 1980. The cast was as follows:
| | MANUS | Mick Lally |
| | SARAH | Ann Hasson |
| | JIMMY JACK | Roy Hanlon |
| | MAIRE | Nuala Hayes |
| | DOALTY | Liam Neeson |
| | BRIDGET | Brenda Scallon |
| | HUGH | Ray McAnally |
| | OWEN | Stephen Rea |
| | CAPTAIN LANCEY | David Heap |
| | LIEUTENANT YOLLAND | Shaun Scott |
| | Direction | Art O Briain |
| | Design | Consolata Boyle |
| | Design assistance | Magdalena Rubalcava |
| | | Mary Friel |
| | Lighting | Rupert Murray |
Field Day Theatre Company was formed by Brian Friel and Stephen Rea.
Translations
was their first production.
The action takes place in a hedge-school in the townland of Baile Beag/Ballybeg, an Irish-speaking community in County Donegal.
| ACT ONE | An afternoon in late August 1833. | |
| ACT TWO | A few days later. | |
| ACT THREE | The evening of the following day. | |
| One interval – between the two scenes in Act Two. | |
(For the convenience of readers and performers unfamiliar with the language, roman letters have been used for the Greek words and quotations in the text. The originals, together with the Latin and literal translations, appear
here
.)
The
hedge-school
is
held
in
a
disused
barn
or
hay-shed
or
byre.
Along
the
back
wall
are
the
remains
of
five
or
six
stalls – wooden
posts
and
chains – where
cows
were
once
milked
and
bedded.
A
double
door
left,
large
enough
to
allow
a
cart
to
enter.
A
window
right.
A
wooden
stairway
without
a
banister
leads
to
the
upstairs
living-quarters
(off
)
of
the
schoolmaster
and
his
son.
Around
the
room
are
broken
and
forgotten
implements:
a
cart-wheel,
some
lobster-pots,
farming
tools,
a
battle
of
hay,
a
churn,
etc.
There
are
also
the
stools
and
bench-seats
which
the
pupils
use
and
a
table
and
chair
for
the
master.
At
the
door
a
pail
of
water
and
a
soiled
towel.
The
room
is
comfortless
and
dusty
and
functional – there
is
no
trace
of
a
woman’s
hand.
When
the
play
opens,
MANUS
is
teaching
SARAH
to
speak.
He
kneels
beside
her.
She
is
sitting
on
a
low
stool,
her
head
down,
very
tense,
clutching
a
slate
on
her
knees.
He
is
coaxing
her
gently
and
firmly
and – as
with
everything
he
does – with
a
kind
of
zeal.
MANUS
is
in
his
late
twenties/early
thirties;
the
master’s
older
son.
He
is
pale-faced,
lightly
built,
intense,
and
works
as
an
unpaid
assistant – a
monitor – to
his
father.
His
clothes
are
shabby;
and
when
he
moves
we
see
that
he
is
lame.
SARAH’
s
speech
defect
is
so
bad
that
all
her
life
she
has
been
considered
locally
to
be
dumb
and
she
has
accepted
this:
when
she
wishes
to
communicate,
she
grunts
and
makes
unintelligible
nasal
sounds.
She
has
a
waiflike
appearance
and
could
be
any
age
from
seventeen
to
thirty-five.
JIMMY JACK CASSIE
–
known
as
the
Infant
Prodigy – sits
by
himself,
contentedly
reading
Homer
in
Greek
and
smiling
to
himself.
He
is
a
bachelor
in
his
sixties,
lives
alone,
and
comes
to
these
evening
classes
partly
for
the
company
and
partly
for
the
intellectual
stimulation.
He
is
fluent
in
Latin
and
Greek
but
is
in
no
way
pedantic – to
him
it
is
perfectly
normal
to
speak
these
tongues.
He
never
washes.
His
clothes – heavy
top
coat,
hat
‚
mittens,
which
he
wears
now – are
filthy
and
he
lives
in
them
summer
and
winter,
day
and
night.
He
now
reads
in
a
quiet
voice
and
smiles
in
profound
satisfaction.
For
JIMMY
the
world
of
the
gods
and
the
ancient
myths
is
as
real
and
as
immediate
as
everyday
life
in
the
townland
of
Baile
Beag.
MANUS
holds
SARAH
’s
hands
in
his
and
he
articulates
slowly
and
distinctly
into
her
face.
MANUS:
We’re doing very well. And we’re going to try it once more – just once more. Now – relax and breathe in … deep … and out …
in … and out …
(
SARAH
shakes
her
head
vigorously
and
stubbornly.
)
MANUS:
Come on, Sarah. This is our secret.
(
Again
vigorous
and
stubborn
shaking
of
SARAH
’s
head.
)
MANUS:
Nobody’s listening. Nobody hears you.
JIMMY:
‘Ton
d’emeibet
epeita thea
glaukopis
Athene
…’
MANUS:
Get your tongue and your lips working. ‘My name–’ Come on. One more try. ‘My name is–’ Good girl.
SARAH:
My …
MANUS:
Great. ‘My name–’
SARAH:
My … my …
MANUS:
Raise your head. Shout it out. Nobody’s listening.
JIMMY:
‘…
alla
hekelos
estai
en
Atreidao
domois
…’
MANUS:
Jimmy, please! Once more – just once more – ‘My name–’ Good girl. Come on now. Head up. Mouth open.
SARAH:
My …
MANUS:
Good.
SARAH:
My …
MANUS:
Great.
SARAH:
My name …
MANUS:
Yes?
SARAH:
My name is …
MANUS:
Yes?
(
SARAH
pauses.
Then
in
a
rush.
)
SARAH:
My name is Sarah.
MANUS:
Marvellous! Bloody marvellous!
(
MANUS
hugs
SARAH
.
She
smiles
in
shy,
embarrassed
pleasure.
)
Did you hear that, Jimmy? – ‘My name is Sarah’ – clear as a bell.
(
To
SARAH
) The Infant Prodigy doesn’t know what we’re at.
(
SARAH
laughs
at
this.
MANUS
hugs
her
again
and
stands
up.
)
Now we’re really started! Nothing’ll stop us now! Nothing in the wide world!
(
JIMMY
,
chuckling
at
his
text,
comes
over
to
them.
)
JIMMY:
Listen to this, Manus.
MANUS:
Soon you’ll be telling me all the secrets that have been in that head of yours all these years. Certainly, James – what is it? (
To
SARAH
) Maybe you’d set out the stools?
(
MANUS
runs
up
the
stairs.
)
SARAH:
Wait till you hear this, Manus.
MANUS:
Go ahead. I’ll be straight down.
JIMMY:
‘Hos
ara
min
phamene
rabdo
epemassat
Athene–
’
‘After Athene had said this, she touched Ulysses with her wand. She withered the fair skin of his supple limbs and destroyed the flaxen hair from off his head and about his limbs she put the skin of an old man …’! The divil! The divil!
(
MANUS
has
emerged
again
with
a
bowl
of
milk
and
a
piece
of
bread.
)
JIMMY:
And wait till you hear! She’s not finished with him yet!
(As
MANUS
descends
the
stairs
he
toasts
SARAH
with
his
bowl.
)
JIMMY:
‘
Knuzosen
de
oi
osse–
’
‘She dimmed his two eyes that were so beautiful and clothed him in a vile ragged cloak begrimed with filthy smoke …’! D’you see! Smoke! Smoke! D’you see! Sure look at what the same turf-smoke has done to myself! (
He
rapidly
removes
his
hat
to
display
his
bald
head.
)
Would you call that flaxen hair?
MANUS:
Of course I would.
JIMMY:
‘And about him she cast the great skin of a filthy hind, stripped of the hair, and into his hand she thrust a staff and a wallet’! Ha-ha-ha! Athene did that to Ulysses! Made him into a tramp! Isn’t she the tight one?
MANUS:
You couldn’t watch her, Jimmy.
JIMMY:
You know what they call her?
MANUS:
‘
Glaukopis
Athene.
’
JIMMY:
That’s it! The flashing-eyed Athene! By God, Manus, sir, if you had a woman like that about the house, it’s not stripping a turf-bank you’d be thinking about – eh?
MANUS:
She was a goddess, Jimmy.
JIMMY:
Better still. Sure isn’t our own Grania a class of a goddess and–
MANUS:
Who?
JIMMY:
Grania – Grania – Diarmuid’s Grania.
MANUS:
Ah.
JIMMY:
And sure she can’t get her fill of men.
MANUS:
Jimmy, you’re impossible.
JIMMY:
I was just thinking to myself last night: if you had the choosing between Athene and Artemis and Helen of Troy all three of them Zeus’s girls – imagine three powerful-looking daughters like that all in the one parish of Athens! – now, if you had the picking between them, which would you take?
MANUS:
(
To
SARAH
) Which should I take, Sarah?
JIMMY:
No harm to Helen; and no harm to Artemis; and indeed no harm to our own Grania, Manus. But I think I’ve no choice but to go bull-straight for Athene. By God, sir, them flashing eyes would fair keep a man jigged up constant!
(
Suddenly
and
momentarily,
as
if
in
spasm,
JIMMY
stands
to
attention
and
salutes,
his
face
raised
in
pained
ecstasy,
MANUS
laughs.
So
does
SARAH
.
JIMMY
goes
back
to
his
seat,
and
his
reading.
)
MANUS:
You’re a dangerous bloody man, Jimmy Jack.
JIMMY:
‘Flashing-eyed’! Hah! Sure Homer knows it all, boy. Homer knows it all.
(
MANUS
goes
to
the
window
and
looks
out.
)
MANUS:
Where the hell has he got to?
(
SARAH
goes
to
MANUS
and
touches
his
elbow.
S
he
mimes
rocking
a
baby.
)
MANUS:
Yes, I know he’s at the christening; but it doesn’t take them all day to put a name on a baby, does it?
(
SARAH
mimes
pouring
drinks
and
tossing
them
back
quickly.
)
MANUS:
You may be sure. Which pub?
(
SARAH
indicates.
)
MANUS:
Gracie’s?
(
No.
Further
away.
)
MANUS:
Con Connie Tim’s?
(
No.
To
the
right
of
there.
)
MANUS:
Anna na mBreag’s?
(
Yes. That’s it.
)
MANUS:
Great. She’ll fill him up. I suppose I may take the class then.
(
MANUS
begins
to
distribute
some
books,
slates
and
chalk,
texts,
etc.,
beside
the
seats.
SARAH
goes
over
to
the
straw
and
produces
a
bunch
of
flowers
she
has
hidden
there.
During
this:
)
JIMMY:
‘Autar
o
ek
limenos
prosebe
–’ ‘But Ulysses went forth from the harbour and through the woodland to the place where Athene had shown him he could find the good swineherd who – ‘
o
oi
biotoio
malista
kedeto
’
– what’s that, Manus?
MANUS:
‘Who cared most for his substance’.
JIMMY:
That’s it! ‘The good swineherd who cared most for his substance above all the slaves that Ulysses possessed …’
(
SARAH
presents
the
flowers
to
MANUS
.)
MANUS:
Those are lovely, Sarah.
(
But
SARAH
has
fled
in
embarrassment
to
her
seat
and
has
her
head
buried
in
a
book.
MANUS
goes
to
her.
)
MANUS:
Flow-ers.
(
Pause.
SARAH
does
not
look
up.
)
MANUS:
Say the word: flow-ers. Come on – flow-ers.
SARAH:
Flowers.
MANUS:
You see? – you’re off!
(
MANUS
leans
down
and
kisses
the
top
of
SARAH
’
s
head.
)
MANUS:
And they’re beautiful flowers. Thank you.
(
MAIRE
enters,
a
strong-minded,
strong-bodied
woman
in
her
twenties
with
a
head
of
curly
hair.
She
is
carrying
a
small
can
of milk.
)
MAIRE:
Is this all’s here? Is there no school this evening?
MANUS:
If my father’s not back, I’ll take it.
(
MANUS
stands
awkwardly,
having
been
caught
kissing
SARAH
and
with
the
flowers
almost
formally
at
his
chest.
)
MAIRE:
Well now, isn’t that a pretty sight. There’s your milk. How’s Sarah?
(
SARAH
grunts
a
reply.
)
MANUS:
I saw you out at the hay.
(
MAIRE
ignores
this
and
goes
to
JIMMY
.)
MAIRE:
And how’s Jimmy Jack Cassie?
JIMMY:
Sit down beside me, Maire.
MAIRE:
Would I be safe?
JIMMY:
No safer man in Donegal.
(
MAIRE
flops
on
a
stool
beside
JIMMY
.)
MAIRE:
Ooooh. The best harvest in living memory, they say; but I don’t want to see another like it. (
Showing
JIMMY
her
hands.
)
Look at the blisters.
JIMMY:
Esne
fatigata?
MAIRE:
Sum
fatigatissima.
JIMMY:
Bene!
Optime!
MAIRE:
That’s the height of my Latin. Fit me better if I had even that much English.
JIMMY:
English? I thought you had some English?
MAIRE:
Three words. Wait – there was a spake I used to have off by heart. What’s this it was? (
Her
accent
is
strange
because
she
is
speaking
a
foreign
language
and
because
she
does
not
understand
what
she
is
saying.
)
‘In Norfolk we besport ourselves around the maypoll.’ What about that!