Collected Plays and Teleplays (Irish Literature) (3 page)

5
O’Brien also wrote up a short treatment for a television series based on
The Third Policeman—The Detectional Fastidities of Seargeant Fortell
—which is so slight an effort (two pages of preface material) that I have decided not to include it in the current colume. I have also left out his translation into Irish of Brinsley MacNamara’s
Margaret Gillan
, as well as acts three, four, and five of an untitled play in Irish housed at Boston College’s Burns Library. There have also been various stage adaptations of some of O’Brien’s novels, including
The Saints Go Cycling In
by Hugh Leonard, on which O’Brien is known to have collaborated: “O’Brien had, in fact, consulted closely with Leonard during rewriting and, though he does not seem to have had much of a hand in the actual structuring of the play, he was able to comment on the spirit of the book” (Clissman 336). As the play is definitively Leonard’s, however, it is not included here. It is also perhaps worth mentioning
Myles Apart
, a series of scripts Flann O’Brien wrote for radio. However, there is very little that resembles a proper play script in these pieces, as they are monologues fashioned along the lines of
The Cruiskeen Lawn
columns (“The Lurch of Time,” a sketch housed at University of Southern Illinois, Carbondale, is similar to
Myles Apart
).

A Note on the Text

S
OURCES AND
R
ESOURCES

Myles na gCopaleen,
Faustus Kelly: A Play in Three Acts.
Dublin: Cahill 1943; Reprinted in: O’Brien, Flann.
Stories and Plays.
Claud Cockburn, ed. (1973; London: Paladin, 1991), pp. 95–166.

Myles na gCopaleen,
Rhapsody in Stephen’s Green: The Insect Play
, Northwestern University Library Special Collections, Gate Theatre Archive; Previously published as Flann O’Brien,
Rhapsody in Stephen’s Green: The Insect Play
, Robert Tracy, ed. Dublin: Lilliput Press, 1994.

Myles na gCopaleen,
Thirst
(short version), complete typescript (undated), box 3, folder 15, Flann O’Brien Collection, Boston College. This version is also available from the Carbondale archive, box 4, folder 7. Previously published in
Stories and Plays
, Claud Cockburn, ed. (1973; London: Paladin, 1991), pp. 81–94.

Myles na gCopaleen,
Thirst
(long version), complete typescript (undated), box 3, folder 15, Flann O’Brien Collection, Boston College.

Myles na gCopaleen,
An Scian
, box 4, folder 9, Flann O’Brien Collection, Boston College.

Myles na Gopaleen,
The Handsome Carvers
, box 4, folder 29, Flann O’Brien Collection, Boston College.

Myles na Gopaleen,
A Moving Tale
, box 4, folder 28, Flann O’Brien Collection, Boston College.

Myles na Gopaleen,
The Boy from Ballytearim
, box 4, folder 31, Flann O’Brien Collection, Boston College.

Myles na Gopaleen,
The Time Freddie Retired
, box 4, folder 2, Flann O’Brien Collection, Boston College.

Myles na Gopaleen,
Flight
, box 4, folder 4, Flann O’Brien Collection, Boston College.

Myles na Gopaleen,
The Man with Four Legs
, box 4, folder 25, Flann O’Brien Collection, Boston College.

Myles na Gopaleen,
The Dead Spit of Kelly
, box 21, folder 4, Flann O’Brien Collection, Boston College.

Myles na Gopaleen,
O’Dea’s Your Man
, Episode One—
The Meaning of Malt
, box 5, folder 6, Brian O’Nolan Papers, Special Collections Research Center, Morris Library, Southern Illinois University, Carbondale.

Myles na Gopaleen,
Th’ Oul Lad of Kilsalaher
, Episode One—
Trouble About Names
, box 5, folder 3, Brian O’Nolan Papers, Special Collections Research Center, Morris Library, Southern Illinois University, Carbondale.

STAGE
PLAYS

FAUSTUS KELLY

Characters in the play

Faustus Kelly
was first performed at the Abbey Theatre, Dublin, on 25 January 1943, with the following cast:

Directed by Frank Dermody

Designed by Michael Clarke

PROLOGUE

Stage is blacked out. A faint white light picks out the head and shoulders of the
DEVIL
and the head of
KELLY
.
The
DEVIL
is standing behind
KELLY
,
who is seated signing a diabolical bond. When he has it signed, the
DEVIL
reaches out a green-tinted claw and snatches up the document with a sharp rustling noise. Immediately there is a complete black-out.

ACT I

The setting of the First Act is the Council Chamber, which is also used by the
TOWN CLERK
as his office. It is a spacious room with a window at side, left; the door is left. The
TOWN CLERK’S
desk with adjacent typist’s table and various office effects are on the right-hand side of the room. In the remaining two-thirds of the floor space stand the large table and chairs used for meetings of the Council. The side of the table faces audience and one side should be long enough to accommodate four chairs.
REILLY
and
KILSHAUGHRAUN
sit at the ends in
ACT I.
At back is a recessed platform railed off and marked with a sign
‘SILENCE
: Public Gallery.’ When the curtain goes up
CULLEN
and
REILLY
are discovered in casual attitudes, evidently waiting for the others.

CULLEN:
That was a bad business out the road, Martin.

REILLY:
I was just saying today that if we didn’t do something to control them motorcars, they’ll wipe out the whole lot of us.

CULLEN:
I wouldn’t blame the motorcar, Martin. The motorcar is man’s friend. Fair is fair. Blame where blame is due, as the man said. Where do you leave Mister John Barleycorn?

REILLY:
O, I know. I’m not making any excuse for that, the driver was fluthered, I’m told. And the lady was no better. A very bold article, I believe, with a man’s breeches on her—

CULLEN:
Well, there you are! A young drunken pup flying around the country in transports of intoxication, killing hens, cows, pigs and Christians—and you blame the motorcar! What sort of reasoning is that, man?

REILLY:
(
With great feeling.
) I’d like to see all the motorcars in the world destroyed.

CULLEN:
Faith, Martin. I often think you’re not all in it.

REILLY:
I’m sure of one thing—it’s only in a motorcar you’d see a bold article like her with her trousers and her brazen face and her big backside.

CULLEN:
(
Laughing.
) Ah, Martin, you’re very hard on the poor motorcars.

REILLY:
(
Paying no attention.
) Isn’t it a terrible thing to have young people misbehavin’ and drivin’ around drunk and killin’ people? Is it any wonder they have them retreats above in the Chapel?

CULLEN:
Maybe they were brother and sister.

REILLY:
And what brother, in God’s name, would let his sister go around with pants on?

CULLEN:
(
Doubtfully.
) O, I don’t know. (
Reflectively.
) My own sister Maggie, now, or a girl with that class of a figure. . . .

REILLY:
(
Exploding.
) Get away outa that, man, for pity’s sake. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. . . . (
Gets up and looks out of window. Comes back frowning.
) There’s nothing but trousers in Russia, I’m told. Men, women and children go about all day working at ingines and thrashing machines, no privacy or home-life or respect for womanhood. That’s where you ought to be, in Russia. Away out with a crowd of madmen thrashing and working away for further orders. Father Peter was telling me that a business like that can’t last. Couldn’t possibly last.

CULLEN:
(
Smiling some good-humour back into the conversation.
) Russia, is it? Ah, a beautiful but distant land. The Russian bear, the Russian steamroller. The Volga, the Vistula and the Dnieper. The grave of Napoleon’s Grand Army. Never fear, Martin, ould Ireland’s good enough for me. (
He pauses.
) The Big Man, Mr. Kelly, is late tonight. So are the others.

REILLY:
The Chairman’s late every night but always in time to bawl off some unfortunate man that’s two minutes later. (
He sits.
)

CULLEN:
True enough. Do you remember the night he went for me? (
Mimicking.
) Am I to understand, Mr. Cullen, that you desire to have your name recorded as having been present at this meeting? Don’t exert yourself talking, Mr. Chairman, says I, till you get your breath back, because them stairs would kill a horse! (
Laughs appreciatively.
) Wasn’t it good? He was just in before me. ‘Don’t exert yourself talking, Mr. Chairman, till you get your breath back, because them stairs would kill a horse.’

REILLY:
(
Very drily.
) Yes.

CULLEN:
I think I hear the bould Shawn.

REILLY:
(
Makes a grimace of distaste and rises stiffly and shambles to the window.
) Well, for God’s sake keep him off politics because that fellow has me worn out with his politics.

CULLEN:
Good evening to you, Shawn.

(
SHAWN KILSHAUGHRAUN
enters from main door, back right. He is a thick, smug, oafish character, dressed in a gawkish blue suit. He exudes a treacly good-humour, always wears an inane smile and talks with a thick western brogue upon which sea-weed could be hung. Hangs hat on stand, right of door.
)

SHAWN:
Bail o Dhia annso isteach. Hullo, Tom. And how is Martin.

REILLY:
(
Sourly.
) Martin is all right.

SHAWN:
(
Expansively.
) Well, isn’t it the fine-glorious summer evening, thanks be to God. Do you know, the air is like wine. I’m half drunk, drinkin’ it in. Ah, but ‘tis grand. A walk on a day like that would do you as much good as a good iron tonic.

CULLEN:
It’s great weather, there’s no doubt. I’d like to take off all my clothes and lie out in the meadow as stark naked as God made me.

REILLY:
(
Turning quickly from the window.
) You’d get all you want of that carry-on in Russia. You can wheel a wheelbarra down the main street of Moscow without a stitch on you and the people will say you’ve a nice new barra. That’s the place for you—Russia. (
Sits right of table.
) He’s off to Russia, Shawn, that’s the latest.