Authors: Brian Friel

Brian Friel Plays 2 (36 page)

Mary
A few hours ago.

O’Neill
Well, this is a surprise.

Mary
I’m just about to leave.

They
shake
hands.

O’Neill
What’s the hurry?

Mabel
She wants to get home before dark.

Mary
Hello, Harry.

Harry
You’re a stranger, Mary. How are you?

They
shake
hands.

Mary
I’m well, Harry. How are you?

Harry
Fine, thank you, fine.

O’Neill
Well, this is unexpected.

Mabel
Isn’t she looking well?

O’Neill
Indeed. And have the sisters had a good long gossip?

Mabel
We’re about talked out – aren’t we?

O’Neill
And how’s the Queen’s Marshal?

Mary
Henry’s well, thank you.

O’Neill
Henry’s well.

Mary
Yes.

O’Neill
Good.

Mary
Yes. (
Pause
.)
He’s very well.

O’Neill
Splendid. But disquieted, I imagine, by that little difficulty with Maguire down in Fermanagh?

Mary
I don’t know anything about that, Hugh.

O’Neill
Of course not; naturally; affairs of state. But he does have a problem there – or at least so we’ve heard, Harry, haven’t we?

Mary
Henry doesn’t discuss those things with me.

O’Neill
The difficulty –
as we understand it – is that London has asked Maguire to make a public profession of his loyalty and obedience – to ‘come in’ as they coyly phrase it, as in to come in out of the wilderness, the Gaelic wilderness, of course. Nothing more than a token gesture is asked for – the English, unlike us, never drive principles to embarrassing conclusions. For heaven’s sake, I’ve made the gesture myself, haven’t I, Harry? And I’ve brought young Hugh O’Donnell ‘in’. And I assure you, Mary, it means nothing, nothing. And in return for that symbolic … courtesy London offers you formal
acknowledgement and recognition of what you already are – leader of your own people! Politically quaint, isn’t it?

Mary
So taking a solemn oath of loyalty to Her Majesty is neither solemn nor binding to you, Hugh?

O’Neill
Good heavens, no! I’m loyal today – disloyal tomorrow – you know how capricious we Gaels are. Anyhow, where was I? Yes, our friend Maguire. Maguire is having difficulty making that little courtesy. And so London gets peevish. And heated messages are exchanged. And terrible threats are made. And who gets hauled in to clean up the mess? Of course – poor old Henry! It’s always the Henrys, the menials in the middle, who get the kicks, isn’t it?

Mary
Our Henry’s well able to handle rebels like Maguire.

O’Neill
‘Our Henry’? Nobody better. London couldn’t have a more dutiful servant than Our Henry. As you and I know well – but as London keeps forgetting – it’s the plodding Henrys of this world who are the real
empire-makers
. But the point I’m getting to – (
to
Harry
)
I’m not being indiscreet, Harry, am I? – the reason I mention the problem at all is that Maguire has thrown the head up and proclaims he’ll fight to the death before a syllable of loyalty to a foreign queen will ever issue from his pure lips! I know. I know. Trapped in the old Gaelic paradigms of thought. It’s so familiar – and so tedious. But then what does he do? Comes to me who has already made the token gesture, me, the ‘compromised’ O’Neill in his eyes, comes to me and begs me to fight beside him! Now! Look at the dilemma that places me in, Mary. You do appreciate my dilemma, don’t you?

Mary
I don’t want to hear anything about this, Hugh.

O’Neill
I try to live at peace with my fellow chieftains, with your people, with the Old English, with Dublin, with London, because I believe – I know – that the slow, sure tide of history is with me, Mary. All I have to do is … just sit – and – wait. And then a situation like this arises and how am I to conduct myself?

Mabel
It’s time Mary set off.

O’Neill
Do I keep faith with my oldest friend and ally, Maguire, and indeed with the Gaelic civilization that he personifies? Or do I march alongside the forces of Her Majesty? And I’ve marched with them before, Mary. You didn’t know that? Oh yes, I’ve trotted behind the Tudors on several expeditions against the native rebels. I’ve even fought alongside Our Henry in one little skirmish – oh, years and years ago, when you and Mabel were still playing with your dolls. Oh, yes, that’s a detail our annalists in their wisdom choose to overlook, perhaps because they believe, like Peter Lombard, that art has precedence over accuracy. I’m beginning to wonder should we trust historians at all! Anyhow back to Maguire – and my dilemma. It really is a nicely balanced equation. The old dispensation – the new dispensation. My reckless, charming, laughing friend, Maguire – or Our Henry. Impulse, instinct, capricious genius, brilliant improvisation – or calculation, good order, common sense, the cold pragmatism of the Renaissance mind. Or to use a homely image that might engage you: pasture – husbandry. But of course I’m now writing a cliché history myself, amn’t I? Because we both know that the conflict isn’t between caricatured national types but between two deeply opposed civilizations, isn’t it? We’re really talking about a life-and-death conflict, aren’t we? Only one will survive. You wouldn’t disagree with that, would you?

Mabel
Mary wants to leave, Hugh.

O’Neill
No, no, it’s a nice point and I would welcome Mary’s wholesome wisdom. I’ll be very direct. Do I grasp the Queen’s Marshal’s hand? – using Our Henry as a symbol of the new order which every aristocratic instinct in my body disdains but which my intelligence comprehends and indeed grudgingly respects – because as a boy I spent nine years in England where I was nursed at the very wellspring of that new order – think of all those formative years in the splendid homes of Leicester and Sidney and indeed at the Court itself – hence the grand accent, Mary –

Mabel
Hugh, I think –

O’Neill
No – allow me – or – or do I grip the hand of the Fermanagh rebel and thereby bear public and imprudent witness to a way of life that my blood comprehends and indeed loves and that is as old as the Book of Ruth? My dilemma. Help me, Mary. Which hand do I grasp? Because either way I make an enemy. Either way I interfere with that slow sure tide of history. No, that’s unfair. I mustn’t embarrass you. Let’s put it another way. Which choice would history approve? Or to use the Archbishop’s language: if the future historian had a choice of my two alternatives, which would he prefer for his acceptable narrative? Tell me.

Mary
I don’t know anything about history, Hugh.

O’Neill
All right; then which hand do I grasp?

Mary
Queen Elizabeth made you an Earl. And you accepted that title. And you know that that title carries with it certain duties and responsibilities.

O’Neill
Those duties I have honoured faithfully.

Mary
Then as long as you continue to do that, Hugh,
and if you are at peace with your conscience, you have no dilemma.

O’Neill
(
to
Harry
)
She’s right, you know, (
to
Mary
)
A wise answer that, Mary. You have an admirably tidy little mind. That’s what I’ll do. And hope that history’s approval and the guidance of my conscience are in accord.

Mary
gathers
her
belongings
together
.
She
embraces
Mabel
.

Mary
I’m glad to see you looking so well.

Mabel
Write to me.

They
kiss
.

Thank you for all you brought.

Mary
I’ll not forget the valerian. Goodbye, Harry.

Harry
Safe journey, Mary.

They
shake
hands
.

Mary
Goodbye, Hugh.

Hugh
is
examining
the
seed
packets
with
excessive
interest
.

O’Neill
Sorry?

Mary
Goodbye.

O’Neill
Oh – goodbye – goodbye – remember me to Our Henry.

Both
women
exit
.
Long
pause
.

Harry
All that will go straight back to the Marshal.

O’Neill
What’s that, Harry?

Harry
Everything you said will be reported to Bagenal – and to London.

O’Neill
That’s why I told her.

Harry
You want it known that you’ve promised Maguire you’d help him?

O’Neill
I don’t think I told her that, did I? (
He
reads:
) ‘The coriander seed. Watch this seed carefully as it ripens suddenly and will fall without warning.’ Sounds like Maguire, doesn’t it? – Coriander Maguire.

Harry
Because if you renege on that promise he certainly will fall.

O’Neill
What herb are you, Harry? What about dill? ‘Has a comforting and soothing effect.’ Close enough. And who is borage? ‘Inclined to induce excessive courage, even recklessness.’ That’s O’Donnell, isn’t it? Borage O’Donnell.

Harry
Or are you saying that you’re going to take the English side against Maguire, Hugh?

O
’
Neill
gathers
the
envelopes
of
seeds
together.

In fact are you going to betray your old friend, Maguire?

O’Neill
(
roaring
)
‘Betray my old –’! For Christ’s sake don’t you start using language like that to me, Harry! (
softly
)
Maguire is a fool. He’s determined to rise up and nobody can stop him and he’ll be hacked to pieces and his people routed and his country planted with Upstarts and safe men. It happened to Fitzmaurice. And McDermott. And Nugent. And O’Reilly. And O’Connor. And O’Kelly. Their noble souls couldn’t breathe another second under ‘tyranny’. And where are they now? Wiped out. And what did they accomplish? Nothing. But because of their nobility, survival – basic, crude, day-
today
survival – is made infinitely more difficult for the rest of us.

Harry
You are unfair to Maguire, Hugh. He’s impetuous but he’s no fool.

O’Neill
I know – I know – of course I know Maguire’s no fool. Maguire has no choice. Maguire has to rise. History, instinct, his decent passion, the composition of his blood – he has no alternative. So he will fulfil his fate. It’s not a tragic fate and it’s not a heroic fate. But his open embrace of it has elements of both, I suppose. Of course I know all that, for Christ’s sake …

O’Donnell
bursts
in.
He
is
breathless
with
excitement.

O’Donnell
News, boys! News! News! News! Wait till you hear the news, Hugh! Big news – huge news – enormous news! Sorry for bursting in on you like this, Harry. Peter Lombard’s with me. We’ve been riding since dawn. God, I’m wild dry – give us a swig of that wine, Harry. This is it, Hugh boy! I’m telling you – this is it!

O’Neill
This is what?

O’Donnell
Don’t ask me. I can’t tell you. Wait for Peter – I can’t spoil it on him. But I’ll say this much, Hugh O’Neill: I never thought I’d live to see the day! (
He
accepts
a
glass
.)
Decent man, Harry. (
He
toasts
.)
To the future – to a great, great future – to the three of us –

Enter
Lombard
.

– to the four of us! (
to
Lombard
)
I haven’t opened my mouth – have I?

Lombard
is
equally
excited
but
controlled
.
He
shakes
hands
with
O
’
Neill
and
then
Harry.