CHAPTER VII

“THE PLAYBOY” IN AMERICA

On September 7, 1911, I received a letter from Mr. Yeats: “I am

trying possible substitutes for Miss O’Neill and some will not do.

As a last resource I have told Miss Magee to understudy the part of

‘Pegeen Mike.’ She was entirely natural and delightful in that small

part in _The Mineral Workers_ the day before yesterday. I said to

some one that she had the sweet of the apple, and would be a Pegeen

Mike if she could get the sour of the apple too. Now the serious

difficulty of the moment is that there is nobody in the theatre

capable of teaching a folk part to an inexperienced person. If there

was, I would at once put Miss Magee into Pegeen Mike; by the time she

had played it through the States she could come back Miss O’Neill’s

successor. Now I am going to ask you if you feel well enough for a

desperate measure. Can you, if it seem necessary to-morrow, take my

place in the steamboat on Tuesday evening? Allowing eight days for

the passage--for the boat is slow--you would arrive in Boston on

the 20th. _The Playboy_ cannot come till about the 28th; you would

be able to train Miss Magee for the part, or, of course, another if

you prefer her.... I can wire to-morrow and get the necessary papers

made out (you have to swear you are not an Anarchist). If they want

me I can follow next boat and possibly arrive before you. I will go

steerage if necessary; that will be quite an amusing adventure, and

I shall escape all interviewers. One thing I am entirely sure of,

that there is no one but you with enough knowledge of folk to work a

miracle.”

I could not set out on the same day as the Company. I was needed

at home. But I promised to follow in the _Cymric_, sailing from

Queenstown a week later.

I think from the very first day Mr. Yeats and I had talked at Duras

of an Irish Theatre, and certainly ever since there had been a

company of Irish players, we had hoped and perhaps determined to go

to _An t-Oilean ur_ “the New Island,” the greater Ireland beyond the

Atlantic. But though, as some Connacht girls said to me at Buffalo,

“Since ever we were the height of the table, America it was always

our dream,” and though we had planned that if for any cause our

Theatre should seem to be nearing its end we would take our reserve

fund and spend it mainly on that voyage and that venture, we did not

ourselves make the opportunity at the last. After we had played in

the summer of 1911 at the Court Theatre, as ever for a longer period

and to a larger audience, we were made an offer by the theatrical

managers, Liebler & Co., to play for three or four months in the

United States, and the offer had been accepted. They had mentioned

certain plays as essential, among them _The Playboy of the Western

World_. Miss O’Neill, who had played its heroine, had married and

left us; that is how the difficulty had arisen.

On September 19th I said good-bye to home, where I had meant to

spend a quiet winter, writing and planting trees, and to the little

granddaughter for whose first appearance in the world I had waited.

There had not been many days for preparation, but it was just as

well I did not require large trunks, for on the eve of my journey a

railway strike was declared in Ireland and there were no trains to

take any one to Queenstown. Motors are still few in the country. We

wired to Limerick but all were engaged already; to Galway which did

not answer at all; and to Loughrea, where the only one had already

been engaged by my neighbour, Lord Gough, who had friends with him

who also wanted means to travel. I could but send over a message to

his home, Lough Cutra Castle, in the dark of night; and a kindly

answer came that he would yield his claim to mine. So at midday on

September 19th, I set out with such luggage as I could take, to cross

the five counties that lay between me and Queenstown harbour. One

of the tires broke at intervals, once on the top of a wild mountain

in, I think, the County Limerick, and people came out from a lonely

cottage to say how far we were from any town or help; and these

delays kept us from reaching Cork till after dark. Then we went on

towards Queenstown in a fine rain which had begun, and after a while

when we stopped to ask the way we were told we had gone eight miles

beyond it. But I was in time after all, went out in the tender and

joined the _Cymric_ next morning, and so made my first voyage across

the ocean. The weather was rather cold and rough and I was glad of a

rest, and stayed a good deal in my cabin. I knew no one on board and

I had leisure to write a little play, _MacDonough’s Wife_, which had

been forming itself in my mind for a while past.

I had always had a passion for the sea, as I saw it from our coasts

and in our bays and invers, and when going through the Mediterranean

and the Indian Ocean. But the great Atlantic seemed dark and dead and

monotonous, and it was a relief when on the last day or two one could

see whales spouting, and a sparrow came and perched on the ship; and

then fishing boats, looking strange in shape and rigging, came in

sight, and I felt like Christopher Columbus.

Mr. Yeats, who had gone on with the Company, came to meet me on board

ship as we arrived at Boston on September 29th, St. Michael’s Day,

and told me of the success of the first performances there; and that

evening I went to the Plymouth Theatre and found a large audience,

and a very enthusiastic one, listening to the plays. I could not but

feel moved when I saw this, and remembered our small beginnings and

the years of effort and of discouragement.

The interviewers saved me the trouble of writing letters these first

days. I sent papers home instead. It was my first experience of this

way of giving news, and I was amused by it. One always, I suppose,

likes talking about oneself and what one is interested in, and that

is what they asked me to do. I found them everywhere courteous,

mannerly, perhaps a little over-insistent. I think I only offended

one, a lady in a provincial town. She wanted to talk about _The

Playboy_, and for reasons of policy I didn’t. She avenged herself by

saying I had no sense of humour and that my dress (Paris!) “had no

relation to the prevailing modes.”

I had plenty to do at first. I had not much time to go about, for I

rehearsed all the mornings and could not leave the theatre in the

evenings, but when I got free of constant rehearsal I was taken by

friends to see, as I longed to see, something of the country. I

wanted especially to know what the coast here was like--whether it

was very different from our own of Galway and of Clare; and I had

a wonderful Sunday at a fine country house on the North Shore,

and saw the islands and the reddish rocks, not like our grey ones

opposite; and the lovely tints of the autumn leaves, a red and yellow

undergrowth among the dark green trees. My hostess’s grandchildren

were playing about. One said, “I am going to be a bear,” and grunted.

It made me so glad to think the little grandson at home has a

playfellow in the making--in the cradle!

Boston is a very friendly place. There are so many Irish there that I

had been told at home there is a part of it called Galway, and I met

many old friends. Some I had known as children, sons of tenants and

daughters, now comfortably settled in their own houses. I had known

of the nearness of America before I came, for I remember asking an

old woman at Kiltartan why her daughter who had been home on a visit

had left her again, and she had said, “Ah, her teeth were troubling

her and her dentist lives at Boston.” England, on the other hand,

seems a long way off, and there are many tears shed if a child goes

even to a good post over the Channel. Two dear old ladies came to

see me, daughters of an old steward of my father’s. One of them said

she used to “braid my hair” as a child that I might be in time for

family prayers, and had wept when she saw the snapshots in the papers

after I landed, and found I was so changed. She said, weeping, “I

hope the people of America know you are a real lady; if not, I could

testify to it!” And I was able to write to my son of the well-being

of tenants’ children: “T. C. and his wife came to the theatre and

brought me a beautiful bouquet of pink carnations. I had a visit from

M. R., such a handsome, smart girl, and from N. H., sending up her

visiting card, very pleased with herself. Many of the ladies I meet

tell me the cook or laundress or manservant are so excited at their

meeting me and know all about me.” And the son of a Welsh carpenter

who had lived at Roxborough in my childhood met me at the theatre

door after _Spreading the News_ and said, “I never thought, when you

used to teach us in Sunday School, you would ever write such merry

comedies.” This reminded me of the tailor from Gort who wrote home

after a visit to the Abbey, “No one who knows Lady Gregory would ever

think she had so much fun in her.”

On October 8th I wrote home: “I send a paper with opinions for and

against the plays. I am afraid there may be demonstrations against

_Harvest_ and _The Playboy_. The Liebler people don’t mind, think it

will be an advertisement. I was cheered by a visit from some members

of the Gaelic League, saying they were on our side and asking me to

an entertainment next Sunday, and from D. K., who is very religious

and wants to go into a convent. She says the attacks on the plays

are by very few and don’t mean anything. Most of the society people

are in the country, but they motor in sixty or eighty miles for the

plays. Last night we had a little party on the stage: some Gaelic

Leaguers, who brought me a bouquet; some people from the Aran

colony--including Synge’s friend, McDonough, whom I had also known

in Aran; and from Kiltartan Mary R. and a cousin and Mrs. Hession’s

daughters, with the husband of one. They were very smart, one in a

white blouse, another in a blue one with pearl necklace. You must

tell Mrs. Hession they are looking so well. The management gave us

sandwiches on the stage, and punchbowls of claret cup, and we had

Irish songs and I called for a cheer for Ireland in Boston. I enjoyed

very much watching the Hession women at the play. They nearly got

hysterics in _Workhouse Ward_, and when the old woman comes on, they

did not laugh but bent forward and took it quite seriously. It shows

the plays would have a great success in the country. The County

Galway Woman’s League have asked me to be their president.... Members

of the Gaelic League are working a banner for me. They showed me the

painted design at a party given in our honour. Yeats leaves for New

York to-day, but comes back for first night of _The Playboy_ next

Monday and sails Tuesday. They are rather afraid of trouble, but I

think the less controversy the better now. It should be left between

the management and the audience.

“The manager says we may stay longer in Boston, we are doing so well.

I should like to stay on. It is a homey sort of place. I am sent

quantities of flowers, my room is full of roses and carnations.”

* * * * *

Now as to the trouble over _The Playboy_. We were told, when we

arrived, that opposition was being organised from Dublin, and I

was told there had already been some attacks in a Jesuit paper,

_America_. But the first I saw was a letter in the _Boston Post_

of October 4th, the writer of which did not wait for _The Playboy_

to appear but attacked plays already given, _Birthright_ and

_Hyacinth Halvey_. The letter was headed in large type, “Dr. J. T.

Gallagher denounces the Irish Plays, says they are Vulgar, Unnatural,

Anti-National, and Anti-Christian.” The writer declared himself

astonished at “the parrot-like praise of the dramatic critics.”

He himself had seen these two plays and “my soul cried out for a

thousand tongues to voice my unutterable horror and disgust....

I never saw anything so vulgar, vile, beastly, and unnatural, so

calculated to calumniate, degrade, and defame a people and all they

hold sacred and dear.”

_Birthright_, written by a young National schoolmaster in County

Cork, had not been attacked in Ireland; both it and my own _Hyacinth_

have been played not only at the Abbey but in the country towns and

villages with the approval of the priests and of the Gaelic League.

_Birthright_ is founded on some of the most ancient of stories, Cain

and Abel, Joseph and the pit, jealousy of the favoured younger by

the elder, a sudden anger, and “the voice of thy brother’s blood

crieth to me from the ground.” In a photograph of the last scene a

Boston photographer had, to fill his picture, brought on the father

and mother looking at the struggle between the brothers, instead of

coming in, as in the play, to find but a lifeless body before them.

This heartlessness was often brought up against us by some who had

seen the picture but not the play, and sometimes by those who had

seen both.

_The Playboy_ was announced for October 16th, and on the 14th the

_Gaelic American_ printed a resolution of the United Irish Societies

of New York, in which they pledged themselves to “drive the vile

thing from the stage.”

There was, however, very little opposition in the Plymouth Theatre.

There was a little booing and hissing, but there were a great many

Harvard boys among the audience and whenever there was a sign of

coming disapproval they cheered enough to drown it. Then they took to

cheering if any sentence or scene was coming that had been objected

to in the newspaper attacks, so, I am afraid, giving the impression

that they had a particular liking for strong expressions. We had,

as I have already told, cut out many of these long ago in Dublin,

and had never put them back when we played in England or elsewhere;

and so the enemy’s paper confessed almost sadly, “it was a revised

and amended edition that they saw ... the most offensive parts were

eliminated. It was this that prevented a riot.... But most of those

present and all the newspaper men had read the excised portions in

the _Gaelic American_ and were able to fill the gaps.”

Because of the attacks in some papers, the Mayor of Boston sent his

secretary, Mr. William A. Leahy, to report upon _The Playboy_, and

the Police Commissioners also sent their censor. Both reports agreed

that the performance was not such as to “justify the elimination

of any portion of the play.” Mr. Leahy had already written of the

other plays: “I have seen the plays and admire them immensely. They

are most artistic, wonderfully acted, and to my mind absolutely

inoffensive to the patriotic Irishman. I regret the sensitiveness

that makes certain men censure them. Knowing what Mr. Yeats and Lady

Gregory want to do, I cannot but hope that they succeed and that

they are loyally supported in America. My commendation cannot be

expressed too forcibly.” And after he had seen _The Playboy_, he

wrote: “If obscenity is to be found on the stage in Boston, it must

be sought elsewhere and not at the Plymouth Theatre.” After speaking

with some sympathy of the objections made to the plays, he says:

“The mistake, however, lies in taking the pictures literally. Some

of these playwrights, of course, are realists or copyists of life

and like others of their kind they happen to prefer strong brine to

rosewater and see truth chiefly in the ugliness of things. But as it

happens the two remarkable men among the Irish playwrights are not

realists at all. Yeats and Synge are symbolists, and their plays are

as fantastic and fabulous as the Tales of the Round Table.”

There was no further trouble at Boston. There was nothing but a

welcome for all the plays, many of them already so well known,

especially through Professor Baker’s dramatic classes at Harvard,

that we were now and again reproved by some one in the audience if a

line or passage were left out, by design or forgetfulness. I wrote

home on October 22nd: “Gaston Mayer came yesterday, representing

Liebler. They are delighted with our success, and want us, urged us,

to stay till May. We refused this, but will certainly stay January,

possibly a little longer. It is rather a question for the Company.

They want me to stay all the time. I said I would stay for the

present. If I get tired, Yeats will come back.... We had the sad news

last night that we are only to have one more week here, and are to

do some three night places, opening at Providence on the 30th. Mrs.

Gardner came to the theatre this morning, furious at our going so

soon.”

We said farewell to Boston October 30th. Yet it was not quite

farewell, for on our last day in America--March 5th--we stopped there

on the way from Chicago to New York and gave a “flying matinée”; and

I brought home the impression of that kind, crowded audience, and the

knowledge that having come among strangers, we left real friends.

On October 13th I had written from Boston: “I am sorry to say Flynn

(Liebler’s special agent), who has been to Providence, announces

strong opposition to _The Playboy_. A delegation came to demand

its withdrawal, but he refused. I had also a letter saying the

Clan-na-Gael was very strong there, and advising that we have police

at hand. Of course, had we known this, we should not have put on

_The Playboy_, but we must fight it out now. The danger is in not

knowing whether we shall get any strong support there. A Harvard lad

has interviewed me for a magazine. He promised to try and make up a

party to go to Providence Tuesday night, and also to stir up Brown

University.”

Though we all grieved at leaving friendly Boston, we found friends

also at Providence, with its pleasant name and hilly streets and

stately old dwelling houses. But a protest had been made before we

arrived, and a committee had waited on the Police Commissioners and

presented a petition asking them to forbid the performance of _The

Playboy_.

“I had to appear before the Police Commissioners this morning. The

accusations were absurd and easy to answer; most of them founded upon

passages which have never been said upon the stage. I wish I had

been allowed to take a copy. There was one clause which accused us

of ‘giving the world to understand a barbarous marriage custom was

in ordinary use in Ireland.’ This alluded to the ‘drift of chosen

females from the Eastern World,’ one of those flights of Christy

Mahon’s fancy which have given so much offence. I showed them the

prompt copy with the acting version we have always used. Unluckily

the enemy didn’t turn up. Of course the play is to be let go on, and

there are to be plenty of policemen present in case of disturbance.

The police people said they had had the same trouble about a negro

play said to misrepresent people of colour.

“The Police Commissioners themselves attended and have published

a report, saying they not only found nothing to object to in the

play but enjoyed every minute of it. Nevertheless, the protesting

committee published its statement: ‘How well our objections were

founded may be judged from the fact that the Company acting this play

has agreed to eliminate from it each and every scene, situation,

and word to which we objected, and it is on the basis of this

elimination that the play has been permitted to go on.’ And I gave

my answer: ‘I think it may be as well to state that we gave the play

to-night exactly as it has been given in London, Oxford, Cambridge,

Manchester, and many cities in Ireland and the other night in

Boston. The players have never at any time anywhere spoken all the

lines in the published book.’” And after its production I wrote home:

“Nov. 1st. _The Playboy_ went very well last night, not an attempt to

hiss.”

From another town--Lowell--I wrote: “A newspaper man from Tyrone

lamented last night the _Playboy_ fight. He said all nationalities

here are very sensitive. The Swedes had a play taken off that

represented some Swedish women drinking. The French Canadians, he

says, are as touchy as the Irish. He said that in consequence of this

sensitiveness, in the police reports the nationality of those brought

up before the court is not given. I looked in the Lowell newspaper

next day, and I saw that this was true. One José Viatchka was brought

up charged with the theft of two yards of cloth. She was found guilty

and her nationality was not given. Allan Carter made his second

appearance for drunkenness. Being an American citizen, even his

dwelling place, Canaan, N. H., was not kept secret. Thomas Kilkelly

and Daniel O’Leary were fined for drunkenness. I felt very glad that

their nationality was not given!”

Yale like Harvard demanded _The Playboy_, and we put it on for one

night at New Haven. Synge’s plays and others on our list are being

used in the course of English literature there, and professors and

students wanted to see them. We were there for Monday and Tuesday,

the 6th and 7th of November. On the first night we put on other

plays. Next day there was a matinée and we gave Mr. Bernard Shaw’s

_Blanco Posnet_ and my own _Image_. I left before the matinée was

over for Northampton, as I was to lecture that night at Smith

College. Next day I was astonished to see a paragraph in a New

Haven paper, saying that the Mayor, having been asked to forbid

the performance of _The Playboy_, had sent his censor, the Chief

of Police, Mr. Cowles, to attend a rehearsal of it; that several

passages had been objected to by him and that the manager had in

consequence suppressed them, and it had been given at the evening

performance without the offending passages. I was astounded. I knew

the report could not be correct, must be wholly incorrect, and yet

one knows there is never smoke without even a sod of turf. The

players, who arrived at Northampton that morning, were equally

puzzled. There had been no rehearsal, and the play had been given as

ever before. I wired to a friend, the head of the University Press

at Yale, to investigate the matter. The explanation came: “Chief

Cowles,” as the papers called him, had attended, not a rehearsal but

the matinée. He was said to have objected to certain passages, though

he had not sent word of this to any of our people. The passages

he objected to were not spoken at the evening performance of _The

Playboy_, because the play in which they are spoken was _Blanco

Posnet_. Yale laughed over this till we could almost hear the echoes,

indeed the echoes appeared in the next day’s papers. _The Gaelic

American_, however, announced that in New Haven one of our plays

“was allowed to be presented only after careful excision of obscene

passages.”

Washington was the next place where _The Playboy_ was to appear. I

wrote home from there on November 12th: “Liebler’s Manager wired

for me to come on here and skip Albany. To-day two or three priests

preached against us, and a pamphlet has been given away at the chapel

doors denouncing us. I think it would be a good thing to put it up

in the Hall of the Abbey framed for Dublin people to see. The worst

news is that the players have arrived without Sinclair. He had a fall

down six steps when coming down to the stage at Albany and hurt his

back. The doctor said it was only the muscles that were hurt and that

he would be all right to-day, but he has wired to-day that he cannot

move. A bad performance would worry me more than the pamphlet.

“These are some of its paragraphs:

“‘The attention of fair-minded Washingtonians is called to a most

malignant travesty of Irish life and religion about to be presented

upon the stage of a local theatre by the “Irish Players.” This

travelling Company is advertised as “coming from the Abbey Theatre,

Dublin.” True, but they came from Dublin, followed by the hisses and

indignation of an outraged populace!

“‘A storm of bitter protest has been raised in every city in which

they have presented their false and revolting pictures of Irish life.

Dublin people never accepted the plays. They virtually kicked them

from the stage. England gave them no reception.’

“Then they quote ‘a Boston critic’ (this is Dr. Gallagher, who wrote

that letter to the Boston papers):

“‘“Nothing but hell-inspired ingenuity and a satanic hatred of

the Irish people and their religion could suggest, construct, and

influence the production of such plays. On God’s earth the beastly

creatures of the plays never existed.”

“‘Such are the productions which, hissed from Dublin, hawked around

England by the “Irish Players” for the delectation of those who

wished to see Irishmen shown unfit for self-government, are now

offered to the people of Washington. Will Washington tolerate the lie?

“‘THE ALOYSIUS TRUTH SOCIETY.’

“This is the first time any section of the Catholic Church has come

into the fight. It is a good thing they denounce all the plays, not

only _The Playboy_. On the other hand, the Gaelic Association, of

which Monsignor Shahan, President of the Catholic University, is

head, has asked me to address its meeting next Thursday, and, of

course, I shall do so.

“This invitation was incorrectly reported in the papers, and

Monsignor Shahan, who is just leaving for Rome, has denied having

‘invited the Irish Players to speak.’ The invitations sent out,

printed cards with his printed signature, had asked people to come

and hear me speak, and I did so and had a good audience; and a

resolution was proposed, praising all I had done for literature

and the theatre, and making me the first Honorary Member of the

Association, and this was agreed to by the whole meeting with

applause.”

For among the surprises of the autumn I had suddenly found that I

could speak. I was quite miserable when, on arriving in Boston, I

found it had been arranged for me to “say a few words” at various

clubs or gatherings. I thought a regular lecture would be better.

If it failed, I would not be asked again or I would have an excuse

for silence. It would be easier, too, in a way than the “few words,”

for I should know how long the lecture ought to be and what people

wanted to hear about, and I would have the assurance that they knew

what they were coming for instead of having a stranger let loose on

them just as they were finishing their lunch. It was at one of these

lunches that that wonderful woman who has in Boston, as the Medici

in Florence, spent wealth and vitality and knowledge in making such

a collection of noble pictures as proves once more that it is the

individual, the despot, who is necessary for such a task--bringing

the clear conception, the decision of one mind in place of the

confusion of many--liked what I said and offered me for my first

trial the spacious music room of Fenway Court.

I spoke on play-writing, for I had begun that art so late in life that

its rules, those I had worked out for myself or learned from others,

were still fresh in my mind; and I wrote home with more cheerfulness

than I had felt during the days of preparation, that I thought and

was assured my address had gone well; “what I was most proud of was

keeping it exactly to the hour. I was glad to find I could fill up

so much time. I had notes on the table and just glanced at them now

and again but didn’t hesitate for a word or miss my points. It is a

great relief to me and the discovery of a new faculty. I shan’t feel

nervous again; that is a great thing.”

I had boasted of this a little too soon, for the next letter says:

“I had a nice drive yesterday, twenty-five miles to B. A lady called

for me in her motor, and we passed through several pretty little New

England villages and through woods. Then a wait of an hour before

lecture, keeping up small talk and feeling nervous all the time, then

the lecture. I forgot to bring my watch and gave them twenty minutes

over the hour! It was a difficult place to speak in, a private

house,--a room to the right, a room to the left, and a room behind.

However they seemed to hear all right.... I had a nice run home alone

in the dark.”

I gave my ideas on “play-writing” again at Philadelphia, and was told

just before I began that there were several dramatists in the room,

including the author of _Madame Butterfly_. So I had to apologise

on the ground of an inferior cook being flattered at being asked to

give recipes, whereas a real _chef_ keeps the secrets to himself. And

sometimes at the end of all my instruction on the rules I gave the

hearers as a benediction,

“And may you better reck the rede

Than ever did the adviser!”

Mr. Yeats, when lecturing in America, had written to me from Bryn

Mawr: “I have just given my second lecture.... They are getting all

our books here now. Do you know I have not met a single woman here

who puts ‘tin-tacks in the soup,’ and I find that the woman who does,

is recognised as an English type. One teacher explained to me the

difference in this way: ‘We prepare the girls to live their lives,

but in England they are making them all teachers.’”

And I also was delighted with the girls’ colleges and wrote home:

“At Vassar the girls were playing a football game in sympathy with

the Harvard and Yale match going on. They were all dressed as boys,

had made up trousers, or knickers, and some were playing on combs

to represent a band, and singing the Yale song, though the sham

Harvard had beaten the sham Yale by 25 to 5. They are nice, merry

girls, I think as nice as at Smith’s, where I promised to suggest

my granddaughter should be educated. I had an audience of about six

hundred, a very good and pleasant one, nearly all girls and a few

men. The President was sitting close to the door, and I asked him

to call out to me to speak up if he didn’t hear, as I was young as

a lecturer and always afraid my voice might not reach. He said he

would not like to do that, but would hold up a handkerchief if I

was to speak louder. About the middle of the lecture I saw him very

slowly raise a handkerchief to the level of his face, but I could

not catch his eye, so I stopped and asked if that was the signal.

He was quite confused and said, No, he wanted to blow his nose, and

the girls shrieked with delight. He told me afterwards he had held

out as long as he could. The girls had acted some of my plays. _The

Jackdaw_ is a great favourite there as well as at Smith’s, where they

have conjugated a verb ‘to Jackdaw.’ One of the ‘Faculty’ said she

doubted if our players could do _Gaol Gate_ as well as Mr. Kennedy,

the author of _The Servant in the House_, reads it....”

These lectures gave me opportunity of seeing many places where our

plays did not go, and I have delighted memories of rushing waters in

Detroit, and of little girls dancing in cruciform Columbus, and of

the roar of Niagara Falls, and the stillness of the power house that

sends that great energy to create light and motion a hundred or two

hundred miles away, and of many another wide-spreading, kindly city

where strangers welcomed me, and I seemed to say good-bye to friends.

Dozing in midnight trains, I would remember, as in a dream, “the

flight of a bird through a lighted hall,” the old parable of human

life.

To return to the meeting at Washington:

“I had to get away early because Mrs. Taft had asked me to the White

House to hear the Mormon choir. I arrived there rather late but the

music was going on. It was a very pretty sight, the long white room

with fine old glass chandeliers, and two hundred Mormons--the men

in black, the women in white--and about fifty guests. I heard one

chorus, and they sang ‘The Star-Spangled Banner,’ and everyone stood

up. Then we moved about and chatted, and I was presented to the

President--pleasant enough, but one doesn’t feel him on the stage

like Roosevelt.

“To-day I had a very scattered rehearsal of _Spreading the News_. The

players kept slipping out by a back door, and I found the negroes

were dancing and singing out there, it being their dinner hour. It

was, of course, irresistible.”

One day when we went to rehearsal, the sun was shining and I offered

the players a holiday and picnic to Mount Vernon, and we crossed

the river and spent the day there very pleasantly. Donovan said,

“No wonder a man should fight for such a home as this.” I told them

the holiday was not a precedent, for we might go to a great many

countries before finding so great a man to honour. Washington had

been a friend of my grandfather’s, who had been in America with his

regiment. There was a case of stuffed birds at Roxborough which was

said to have been a present from Washington, and there was a field

there called Mount Vernon. My grandfather had built a little sea

lodge on the Burren coast and had called that also Mount Vernon, so

I was specially interested in seeing the house. It is beautifully

kept and filled with memorials of its owner and with furniture that

belonged to him. The Americans keep their sacred places well. A

school at which I lectured wanted to give me a fee; but I did not

wish to take one, and I said when they pressed it, that I had seen

in a shop window an old jug with portraits of Washington and of

Lafayette on it, and had wished for it, but it was nine dollars and

I was refraining from luxuries, and that I would accept that if they

liked. So it was sent to me, and I brought it safely home to add

to my collection of historic delft. It has the date 1824. It was

made to commemorate Lafayette’s visit at that time, and the words on

it are, “A Republic is not always ungrateful.” It now stands near

another jug of about the same date, on which there is the portrait of

that other patriot beloved by his people, O’Connell.

On November 18th I arrived at New York. All my work was easier from

that time through the help of my friend of some ten years, Mr. John

Quinn. I had a pleasant little set of rooms at the Algonquin Hotel.

I said to Mr. Flynn, Liebler’s manager, when I arrived there, “Is it

near the theatre? Shall I be able to walk there?” “Walk there,” he

said, “why you could throw a cricket ball to it.” I did walk there

and back many times a day during my stay, and grew fond of the little

corner of the city I got to know so well; but I sometimes envied the

cricket ball that would have escaped the dangerous excitement of the

five crossings, one of them across 6th Avenue, with motors dashing in

all directions, and railway trains thundering overhead. The theatre

was charming, I wish we could carry it about on all our tours, and

I was given a little room off the stage, which had been Maxine

Elliott’s own room, and where players and guests often had tea with

me.

“Hotel Algonquin, New York, Monday, 20th November. We opened very

well last night. A crowded house and very enthusiastic, _Rising of

the Moon_, _Birthright_, and _Spreading the News_ were given. All got

five or more curtains. One man made rather a disturbance at the fight

in _Birthright_, saying it was ‘not Irish,’ but his voice was drowned

and he left. I was told that ---- one of the enemy who was there,

said, ‘Such things do not happen in Ireland; they may happen in Lady

Gregory’s own family.’ _The Playboy_ is to be put on next week. J.

Q. seems a bit anxious about _The Playboy_; says they may ‘throw

things,’ and that seems what the _Gaelic American_ is inviting them

to do when it says _The Playboy_ ‘must be squelched’ and a lesson

taught to Mr. Yeats and his fellow-agents of England, and that I have

no right to appeal for respect for my sex.

“Last night as I went into the theatre I heard my name spoken, and a

girl told me she was the daughter of old Matt Cahel, the blacksmith

who had lived at Roxborough, and she had come to see the plays and

said her father would have been so proud, if he had lived, to know

I was here. I am glad of this, for I hear the plays were preached

against by some priests last Sunday. Father Flanagan thinks the

attacks all come from Dublin. The players are convinced they are from

some of our non-paying guests.... I think we must revise that list.

_The Playboy_ is to be put on next Monday. I am glad they are not

putting off the fight any longer. It tries the players’ nerves. It

will be on for four nights and a matinée. By going behind myself and

gathering a party and cheering with what voice I had left, I at last

got the shouts for Hughie in _Birthright_ to be less of a mournful

wail.”

“Friday, November 24th. I have been to-day to lunch with Mrs. ----,

a Catholic lady I had met in London, who gave a lunch to me to show

she was on our side. There was a Father X. there, who is not in this

diocese and is very much shocked at the action of the priests. One

told his congregation on Sunday from the altar, it would be a mortal

sin to come to the plays, and another, Father X. says, to his certain

knowledge advised his people from the altar if they did come, to

bring eggs to throw. Mr. Hackett was sitting behind a woman who said

in _Birthright_ ‘it’s a pity it ain’t Lady Gregory they are choking.’

Mr. Quinn heard I held a salon at the theatre and it is wonderful

how many people turn up or come to express sympathy. I got a good

rehearsal to-day of _Mixed Marriage_, which I think might take very

well here.”

“26th. Plenty of booking for _Playboy_ whether by friends or enemies.

I went to lecture at Vassar yesterday. I had no idea the Hudson was

so beautiful. The train was close to the brink all the way, and

opposite are wooded cliffs and heights, and at night, coming back,

the lighted towns on the other side gave a magic atmosphere. I find

new scenery an extraordinary excitement and delight. I am going off

just now to Oyster Bay for the night to visit the Roosevelts. I have

been to church this morning and feel fresher.”

“Algonquin, Monday, 27th. When John Quinn came yesterday afternoon,

he brought Gregg with him. Both had heard from different sources that

_The Playboy_ is to be attacked to-night. The last _Gaelic American_

says, ‘The New York Irish will send the Anti-Irish Players back to

Dublin like whipped curs with their tails between their legs.’ Quinn

heard it from a man he knows well, who had called him up to say there

is a party of rowdies coming to the theatre to-night to make their

demonstration. They thought it possible this might be stopped by

letting the enemy know we are prepared, but I thought it better to

let them show themselves. They have been threatening us so long; we

shall see who they are.

“This morning I saw Flynn and Gaston Mayer and told them the matter

was out of my hands now, that we don’t want interviews or argument,

and that it is a question between Liebler and the mob. Flynn went off

to the police, and I have not heard anything since. I have not told

the players.”

“Tuesday, November 28th. The papers give a fairly accurate account

of what happened last night.[1] There was a large audience, _The

Gaol Gate_ was put on first, which, of course, has never offended

anyone in Ireland, but there was a good deal of coughing going on

and there was unrest in the gallery. But one man was heard saying to

another, ‘This is all right. You needn’t interrupt this. Irishmen

do die for their neighbours.’ Another said, ‘This is a part of _The

Playboy_ that is going on now, but they are giving it under another

name.’ Very soon after the curtain went up on _The Playboy_ the

interruptions began. The managers had been taking much too confident

a view, saying, ‘These things don’t happen in New York.’ When this

did happen, there were plenty of police, but they wouldn’t arrest

anyone because no one gave the order, and the disturbance was let

go on nearly all through the first act. I went round, when the

disturbance began, and knelt in the opening of the hearth, calling

to every actor who came within earshot that they must not stop for

a moment but must spare their voices, as they could not be heard,

and we should do the whole act over again. At the end Tyler came

round and I was delighted when he shouted that it should be played

again. O’Donovan announced this and there were great cheers from the

audience. And the whole play was given then in perfect peace and

quiet. The editor of the _Gaelic American_ and his bodyguard were

in the stalls, two rows of them. They were pointed out to me when I

came in. The disturbers were very well arranged; little groups here

and there. In the box office this morning they have a collection of

spoils left by the enemy (chiefly stink-pots and rosaries). A good

many potatoes were thrown on the stage and an old watch, and a tin

box with a cigar in it and a cigarette box. Our victory was complete

in the end.

[1] See extract in appendix.

“Ten men were arrested. Two of them were bar-tenders; one a liquor

dealer; two clerks; one a harness-maker; one an instructor; one a

mason; one a compositor, and one an electrician.

“Some of the police who protected us were Irish. One of them said

to our manager, Mr. Robinson: ‘There’s a Kerryman says he has you

pictured and says he’ll have your life.’ Mr. Robinson had had some

words with this Kerryman and had said: ‘We’ll give you a supper when

you come to Dublin,’ and the Kerryman had answered, ‘We’ll give you a

wake.’

“The disturbers were fined sums from three to ten dollars each.”

“28th. I was talking to Roosevelt about the opposition on Sunday and

he said he could not get in to the plays: Mrs. Roosevelt not being

well, he did not like to leave home. But when I said it would be a

help to us, he said, ‘Then I will certainly come,’ and settled that

to-night he will dine with me and come on.”

“Wednesday, 29th. I was in such a rush last night I sent off my

letters very untidily. I hadn’t time even to change my dress for

dinner. It went off very well. John Quinn, Col. Emmet, grand-nephew

of the Patriot, Mr. Flynn. I had asked Peter Dunne (Mr. Dooley)

but he was engaged to dinner at eight at the Guinnesses. He came,

however, at seven and sat through ours. He was very amusing, and he

and Roosevelt chaffed each other.... When we got to the theatre and

into the box, people saw Roosevelt and began to clap and at last he

had to get up, and he took my hand and dragged me on my feet too, and

there was renewed clapping.... Towards the end of _Gaol Gate_ there

was a great outbreak of coughing and sneezing, and then there was a

scuffle in the gallery and a man throwing pepper was put out. There

was a scuffle now and then during _The Playboy_ but nothing violent

and always great clapping when the offender was thrown out. We played

with the lights up. After the first act I took my party on to the

stage and introduced the players, and Roosevelt spoke separately to

them and then made a little speech, saying how much he admired them

and that he felt they were doing a great deal to increase the dignity

of Ireland (he has adopted my phrase) and that he ‘envied them and

Lady Gregory for America.’ They were quite delighted and Kerrigan had

tears in his eyes. Roosevelt’s daughter, who was with another party,

then appeared and he introduced her to them, remembering all the

names, ‘This is Mr. Morgan, this is Miss Magee....’ I brought him a

cup of tea and it was hard to tear him away when the curtain went up.

“I stayed in my room writing letters through the second act, and when

I came back, a swarm of reporters was surrounding Roosevelt and he

was declaring from the box, ‘I would as soon discuss the question as

discuss a pipe dream with an out-patient of Bedlam.’ This was about

an accusation they had just shown him in some paper, saying he had

had a secret understanding with some trusts. He was shaking his fist

and saying, ‘I am giving you that straight; mind you, take it down as

I say it.’ When the play was over, he stayed in the box a few minutes

discussing it; he said he would contribute a note on an article he

wants John Quinn to write about us. When we left the box, we found

the whole route to the door packed, just a narrow lane we could walk

through, and everyone taking off hats and looking at him with real

reverence and affection, so unlike those royal crowds in London. It

was an extraordinary kindness that he did us.”

The Mayor had received a protest against the play and on that second

night he sent as his representative the Chief Magistrate, Mr. McAdoo,

who had formerly been a member of Congress, had served as Assistant

Secretary of the Navy and as Police Commissioner of New York, and is

a leading citizen of the city.

The _New York Sun_, in the issue of November 30th, summarised his

report:

“Chief Magistrate McAdoo, who was sent by Mayor Gaynor on Tuesday

night to see _The Playboy of the Western World_, wrote to the Mayor

yesterday that he had sat through the play and had seen nothing in

it to warrant the fuss which some Irishmen were making. Magistrate

McAdoo told the Mayor that it was not nearly as objectionable as

scores of American plays he had seen in this city and that there was

no reason why the Mayor should either order the withdrawal of the

play or suspend the licence of Maxine Elliott’s Theatre. The Mayor

said that the letter had satisfied him that there was no need of any

action by the city and that so far as he was concerned the matter was

closed.”

“Of the few arrested on the second night one was an Englishman, who

objected to British soldiers being spoken of as ‘khaki cut-throats,’

and one was a Jew, who did not give his reasons. For the accusations

were getting more and more mixed. A man was heard asking outside the

Maxine Elliott Theatre during the riot, ‘What is on to-night?’ and

the answer was, ‘There’s a Jewman inside has a French play and he’s

letting on it’s Irish, and some of the lads are inside talking to

them.’

“I have had a nice letter from Rothenstein. He is here painting some

portraits. He says, ‘I would have been to pay you my respects but

unhappily I have for the second time been laid up. I hope I may still

get the chance, and that the charming and brilliant people I saw

with such delight in London are getting their due. I want to bring

some friends to see them this week, and am looking forward to the

pleasure of seeing them again.’ This was written on the morning of

the 28th, and he adds a postscript: ‘Since writing I see at breakfast

an account of a big fuss you had last night. I think it is a fine

thing that a work of art should have so vital an effect on people

that they feel towards it as they do towards life, and wish to exalt

or to destroy it. In these days when there is so little understanding

of the content and so much said about the technique of these things,

I do feel refreshed that such a thing can happen. I hope the physical

experience was not too trying. I admire the courage and determination

which both sides showed. If a country can produce so great a man as

Synge and a public so spirited that it will protest against what

seems a wrong presentment of life to them, then we may still have

hope that art will find a place by the fireside. I take my hat off to

you all.’”

“December 1st. All well last night. Galleries filled, and apparently

with Irish, all applauding, not one hiss.

“I was asked at a tea-party ‘what was my moral purpose in writing

_The Playboy_!’”

Mr. Yeats wrote from Dublin when he heard of the riot: “December 3d.

What a courageous man Roosevelt is! I mean courageous to go so much

beyond official routine. I think it is the best thing that has ever

happened to us so far as opinion here is concerned. The papers here

have been exceedingly venomous. I am having a baize-covered board

with a glass frame to fit in it put up in the vestibule, and promised

the audience yesterday, speaking from the stage, that I would put

up the American notices as they reached us, good and bad alike. At

present I have put up an old picture frame with the rather lengthy

London notices of the row. I think it wise that our own people should

know that they see there on the board some proof of the reception we

are getting.... Shaw has just sent me a copy of an interview he is

sending to the _New York Sun_. He says you are ‘the greatest living

Irishwoman,’ and adds you will beat the Clan na Gael as you beat the

Castle. He makes a most amusing and ferocious attack on the Clan na

Gael, and says they are not Irish.... But I forgot, you will have

read it before this reaches you. I hope he will not have left you all

in the plight the little boy was in after Don Quixote had beaten

his master. He will, at any rate, have amused New York, which does

not care for the Clan, and all fuel helps when one wants a fire. I

am pleased that he has seen the issue--that we are the true Ireland

fighting the false.”

I wrote home on December 1st. “The Company have signed on till end of

February, so I shall most likely stay till then. The only thing I am

at all afraid of is want of sleep. I don’t get much. Everyone says

the climate here is exciting, but I may get used to it, and we have

had exciting times.

“I have made my little room off the stage into a greenroom, and

brought some books there and made regular arrangements for tea.

There are no greenrooms in these theatres and the Company look

rather miserable straying about. Mrs. G. is lending me her motor

this afternoon and I am taking some of the players for a drive and

to Quinn’s for tea. He is such a help to me, so capable and kind. My

December horoscope, I remember, said, ‘Benefit through friends’ and

I think it comes about a month wrong and that things happen in the

previous month, for in November I had help from him and Bernard Shaw

and Roosevelt!

“A priest came in yesterday to express his sympathy, and attended

the plays, and I took him round to see the players. So far ‘the

Church’ has not pronounced against us, only individual priests....

The servant maids are told we are ‘come to mock Ireland.’ We are

answering nothing now, just going on. Bernard Shaw’s article is

splendid, going to the root of the matter, as you say. I am just now

going over to the theatre to see the start of the voice-production

classes.... I determined there should be a beginning.”

“Dec. 12th. The luncheon with the _Outlook_ was great fun. There were

present the editors, an Admiral, and some other military heroes, and

after lunch some one called for silence ‘that Lady Gregory might

be questioned.’ So they asked questions from here and there, and

I gave answers. For instance, they asked if the riot had affected

our audience, and I said, yes, I was afraid more people had come

to see us pelted than playing. And that I had met a few nights

before in Buffalo a General Green, who told me that when driving

through crowds cheering for Roosevelt, he had said to Roosevelt,

‘Theodore, don’t you feel elated by this?’ And Mr. Roosevelt had

said, ‘Frank, I always keep in mind what the Duke of Wellington said

on a similar occasion, “How many more would come to see me hanged”’

(great applause).... Someone asked me why I had worked so hard at the

Theatre, and I quoted Blake:

I will not cease from mental strife

Or let the sword fall from my hand

Till we have built Jerusalem

In--Ireland’s--fair and lovely land.

“For, I said, it was a part of the building of Jerusalem. This went

very well, and in my lecture at Brooklyn in the evening I tried it

again, but it was received with roars of delighted laughter. It was

explained to me afterwards that a part of Brooklyn is full of Jews,

who are trying to turn it into a Jerusalem of their own!

“Oh, I am tired to-night!”

“Dec. 15th. Mrs. ----, the Catholic friend who is working for us, is

sending to-day to the _Tablet_ a very good notice of us written by

a priest. She says educated priests and Catholics generally are so

much ashamed of the riot that they give out it was got up by the

management! She wanted me to have this contradicted, but of course

it would be useless. I have just had the _Outlook_ and will send it

on to you. Roosevelt ‘commanded’ Quinn to write an article on us. He

said he couldn’t, but I think it is charming.”

“Sunday, 27th. I don’t think the Church will really turn on us. It

would bring it into a fight with all the theatres and that would make

it unpopular. Here Catholics take care to say, ‘It is not the Church

that is against you, only certain priests.’ Father Y. telephoned me

this afternoon, saying he was praying for us every day and for the

success of our work, and that he thinks _Workhouse Ward_ as fine as

Shakespeare! Another priest, Father Z., Chaplain in the Navy, has

asked me to tea, and says he will come to see the plays, only not

_The Playboy_.”

“A nice matinée yesterday. My friend the wild Irishman who comes to

the theatre, tells me the Irish are ‘waiting for us’ in Chicago, but

I don’t see what they can do.

“The _Gaelic American_ is firing a very distant and random gun now

though it has headed an article ‘_Playboy_ as dead as a nail in a

door.’ I have just been reading Masefield’s _Everlasting Mercy_.

How fine it is, as fine as _Nan_, but leading to Heaven and the

wholesomeness of earth instead of poison pies!

“Mrs. ---- gave a tea for me yesterday, and people seemed

enthusiastic and there is evidently a great deal of talk about us;

but it is just like London, we are building downwards from the

intellectuals. _Image_ went so well last night I was glad I had put

it on. Quinn was delighted with the scene and grouping. He thought

each scene like an Augustus John drawing.... I believe the critics

are bewildered because of so much new work. Priests keep dropping

in and seem to enjoy the plays, and O’S. told me last night all the

young men are either coming to see us or if they have no money, are

reading our plays at the library and getting up debates concerning

them.

“A lady at Philadelphia said to another, ‘What did you really think

of _Lady Gregory’s_ play, _The “Cowboy” of the Western World_!’

“Many happy New Years to you!”

“December 29th. I am too tired to write a letter. This is just to say

all is going well, big houses on these last nights. _Kathleen_ and

_The Playboy_ both go extremely well. We have got the audience, and

I believe, and everyone says, we could now run on for weeks, but the

theatre is let to someone else. It is just as well leaving at the top

of the wave. Next week six towns, then Philadelphia.”

“January 2d. I had a talk with Tyler. He was nice, and they want us

to confirm the contract for next year. Talking of the opposition he

said, ‘The Irish seem to be always afraid of things.’ ... Last week

was a real triumph.”

“Philadelphia, January 9, 1912. I am staying here with Mr. and Mrs.

Jayne, in a beautiful house, with great kindness from my host and

hostess. We opened very well last night. We had a very appreciative

audience. Mr. and Mrs. ---- afterwards gave a supper for me and

presented me with an immense basket of roses.

“We dined on Sunday night with Dr. Furness, the old Shakesperean

scholar. We went by rail and had to walk a little way to his

house. It was four degrees above zero but so still it didn’t seem

cold. There has been a good deal of snow, and the streets are very

slippery. It is impossible to walk at all without goloshes.

“Mr. Jayne went after dinner to a meeting of a philosophical society

founded by Franklin. He brought back philosophers and learned men of

all sorts. We talked on astronomy. I told them I had once walked down

the tube of Lord Rosse’s big telescope. Mr. Jayne told of Herschel

having his telescope brought to him when he was old that he might

look at Orion and remember it as his last view of the heavens.

“The Jaynes and some of the philosophers went on to a ball at the

Assembly Rooms, and I was invited. It gave me a sense of Philadelphia

being a community of its own--very entertaining.

“A Rev. John ---- called on me yesterday, sending in a message that I

used to teach him his catechism at Killinane Church. I had forgotten,

but remembered him as a little Protestant boy. Something made me ask

what church he belonged to. ‘Catholic.’ I said: ‘My catechism didn’t

do much good then?’ ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I was an Anglican clergyman for

a great many years.’ ‘Why did you change?’ ‘Because of authority. I

wanted authority, and I cannot give up the belief in the divinity

of our dear Lord.’ ‘But we believe that.’ ‘No, it’s being given

up little by little, and the bishops seemed uncertain. I wanted

authority.’

“When we parted we talked about Roxborough thirty-eight years ago. I

said, ‘We must say a little prayer now and again for each other.’ He

said, ‘Will you please say a great many for me.’

“By orders from New York two secret service men were sent to see me

safely home from the theatre, quite unnecessary for Mr. Jayne, who is

a leading lawyer, was sufficient escort.”

“January 16th. We had a little trouble last night, the first of

_The Playboy_. The first act hadn’t gone far when a man got up and

protested loudly and wouldn’t stop. Others shouted to him to go out

or keep quiet, and called out ‘New York Irish,’ but it was a good

while before the police could be stirred up to remove him. By that

time another man in the stalls was calling out ‘This is an insult.’

The men near were calling to him to clear out, but they didn’t help

to evict him. It was Robinson who came at last and led him out like

a lamb, but I believe he made some disturbance in the hall. By this

time others had started a demonstration in the balcony and there

was a good deal of noise, so that for about ten minutes the play

couldn’t be heard. I went round, but didn’t make the actors repeat

it, for I thought the audience ought to be made to suffer for not

being more helpful. About twenty-five men were ejected or walked

out, but all were given back their money at the box office, and I am

sure will think it a sacred duty to spend it in the same way again.

Two were arrested for assault. Nothing was thrown but a slice of

currant cake, which hit Sinclair, and two or three eggs, which missed

him--he says they were fresh ones. I lectured at the University this

afternoon; some of the students had come and invited me. A very fine

attendance, many of the audience standing. I spoke only half an hour,

but made quite a new little lecture and it held them. I gave eight

tickets to be given to athletes among the Pennsylvania students as A.

D. C.’s for me to-night. They would have been very useful putting out

offenders and taking messages to the stage. I rehearsed this morning,

and then lectured and went to a ‘College Club’ tea--and I am tired

and won’t write more.”

“January 17th. The riot last night was not so serious as I had

expected. The agitators had been so gently dealt with the first

night and had had their money returned, one felt sure they would

try again, and when I got to the theatre, one of the officials told

me he had been watching the box office during the day, and had seen

‘murderers’ taking four or five seats together. The auditorium was

very full, and at the back, where I sat, there were a great many

suspicious-looking characters. One of them began to cough loudly

during _Kathleen ni Houlihan_ when Miss Allgood was singing the first

little song, and to mutter, so that people near told him he was not

the only person in the theatre. Others joined in coughing, but I sent

a message round to have the lights put up, and the moment they were

turned on, the coughs stopped. I pointed out this man, and was amused

to see him sit through the play looking sullen but silent except

for an occasional mutter or cough, which was stopped at once, for a

policeman in plain clothes had been put on each side of him. Near the

end, where all on the stage rush out after Christy when he is going

to ‘kill his father the second time,’ he could not resist laughing,

and then he walked out discomfited.

“There was a man behind me who coughed loudly at intervals all

through and sounded as if making ready to spit, so that it took all

my courage not to move. In the third act, when Christy boasts of

having ‘cleft his father to the breeches belt,’ he called out ‘Shame,

shame!’ several times and walked out. However, whether he repented

or looked through the glass screen at back of the stalls and saw the

father come to life again, I don’t know, but he returned and stayed

to the end.

“The first man who made a noise was the most difficult to deal with.

He crooked his legs round the legs of his chair, and it took four

men to take him out. One, with a large roll of paper in his hand,

stood up and called out that he represented the County Down. There

were fifteen evicted altogether, all from the stalls, and some others

walked out shouting protests.

“The police were more energetic last night and did their work very

well and with joy, as Irish policemen would. The inspector too was

there and seemed very determined. Also, I had my eight young athletes

from the University at hand, ready and willing to give aid. The play

was not interrupted for more than a minute or two at a time. I

told the players to stop speaking whenever there was a row, and to

resume when it was over, so nothing was really lost. A good half of

the protesters last night stayed till the end of the play. I think

they were waiting for the bad bits to begin, so they saw it at all

events. The papers say snuff was thrown, but I think not. I think

it was premeditated coughing, but the throats didn’t hold out very

long. On the other hand, there were a lot of rough-looking Irishmen

near me, three together on my bench, who did not take any part in

the disturbance, and seemed to enjoy the play. I am sure, therefore,

that there will be two parties.... I am having my University boys

again to-night. Flynn had to leave in the middle of the evening

and Robinson took Mrs. Flynn to the opera, so we were a little

short-handed, but got on all right. John Quinn is coming from New

York and will stay the night, so I shall be quite easy.”

“January 17th. At two o’clock I was just finishing lunch alone, Mrs.

Jayne lunching out and Mr. Jayne being in bed with a cold, when I

was rung up by Mr. Bradford, our manager at the Adelphi, to say that

he had warning from Lieblers that we might have to change the bill

to-night and take off _The Playboy_. I said that could not be done,

but he said it might be necessary. There is some legal point, and Mr.

Bradford thought that we might all be arrested if we went on. I said

I would rather be arrested than withdraw the play and could answer

for the players feeling the same. He said there was also danger that

Shubert, to whom the theatre belongs, might close it. I said that

would be bad but not so bad as withdrawing _The Playboy_, for it

would be Shubert’s doing not ours, though that might not be much help

in the public view. I was anxious, and I told Bradford not to consent

to anything without consulting me. Then I called up John Quinn at

New York, got him at his office, and asked him to see the Lieblers,

and said that I need not tell him I would sooner go to my death than

give in. He said he would see them at once, and that he would be here

this evening, as he had intended. At 4 o’clock I heard again from

Bradford. He said it had been decided to go on, and that a bail bond

had been prepared. He asked if there was anyone to represent me in

case of my arrest. I said I would wait to consult Quinn. It is such

a mercy he is coming. My only fear is lest they should get out an

injunction to stop the matinée to-morrow; even that would be claimed

as a victory. They had told me at the theatre this morning there

would probably be trouble to-night. The men arrested were let out,

had their money returned, and were escorted through the streets by an

admiring crowd. However, I should like to avoid arrest, because of

the publicity; one would feel like a suffragette.”

“Thursday, 18th. When Quinn arrived, we went straight to the

theatre--it was then 7:15--and found the whole cast had already

been technically arrested! The tactics of the enemy had been to

arrest them in the theatre at 8 o’clock and so make a performance

impossible. But the theatre lawyer had managed to circumvent them,

and the Chief of Police, now our warm friend, had said he would not

only refuse to let his men arrest the actors, but he would have

anyone arrested who came on the stage to do so. In the end the

warrants of arrest were issued and the manager of the theatre signed

bail bonds for the appearance of the Company on Friday morning. The

warrants are founded on a bill passed last year in the municipality

before S. Bernhardt’s visit, forbidding ‘immoral or indecent plays.’

Our accuser is a liquor dealer. I should have been completely

bewildered by the whole thing, but Quinn seemed to unravel it. We had

a consultation with the theatre lawyer, and Mr. Jayne’s partners,

Mr. Biddle and Mr. Yocum, to whom he had sent me. The question seems

to be whether it is best to have the hearing put off and brought

before a judge, or whether to have it settled straight off to-morrow.

The danger is that our case may come up for trial after some weeks,

bringing us back here, making it possible for the enemy to boast that

we were under bail. Quinn is this morning seeing all the lawyers

again, and some decision as to our course will be come to.

“The Commissioner of Public Safety attended the play last night, and

said the attack on it must be a joke.... I have been interrupted in

this by the correspondent of the _Telegraph_ coming to ask if it is

true, as stated by the Irish Societies, that I am an envoy of the

English Government. I referred him to Mr. Bryce, who, I suppose,

would be my paymaster!”

“Saturday, 20th. I have been too anxious and hard worked to write

since Thursday. That was the last performance of _The Playboy_, and

there was an immense audience. I could not get a seat. Even the

little boxes at the top--it is a very high theatre with eight boxes

at each side--were all taken. I had made appointments with reporters

and others, and had to get a high stool from the office put in the

passage and sit there or at the back of the stage. It was the record

matinée of the Adelphi. There was tremendous enthusiasm and not a

sign of any disturbance. Of course, we had a good many policemen in

the house, to the great regret of the management, who had to turn so

much good money away. So that was quite a cheerful day. Someone in

the audience was heard declaring that the players are not Irish, but

all Jews. I had an anonymous letter from some one, who accuses me of

the usual crimes and winds up: ‘The writer has never saw the play,

but has read all about you and it’! That is the way with most of the

letter writers, I think.

“Yesterday, Friday morning, we attended the Magistrate’s Court at

nine o’clock. We had to wait nearly an hour in a tiny, stuffy room.

When the hearing began, I was given a chair behind the Magistrate,

but the others had either to sit at the back of the inner room,

where they could not see or hear, or stand as they did, for over an

hour. The liquor-seller, our prosecutor, was the first witness. He

had stayed only till Shawneen’s ‘coat of a Christian man’ was left

in Michael James’s hands. He made a disturbance then and was turned

out, but was able to find as much indecency even in that conversation

as would demoralise a monastery. His brother, a priest, had stayed

all through, and found we had committed every sin mentioned in the

Act. Another witness swore that sentences were used in the play and

that he had heard them, though they are not either in book nor play.

Several witnesses were examined or asked to speak, all giving the

same story, ‘or if it was not the same story, anyway it was no less

than the first story.’

“Our actors were furious. Kerrigan tried hard to keep from breaking

out and risking all when the priest was attacking his (that is Shawn

Keogh’s) character and intentions. At last he called out, ‘My God!’

and the Magistrate said, ‘If that man interrupts the Court again,

turn him out,’ forgetting that he was speaking of a prisoner at the

bar! Indeed, as the prosecutors grew excited, the trial of the Irish

Players seemed to be forgotten, and it became the trial of Christy

Mahon for the attempted murder of his father. Mr. Gray demanded that

the actors should be ‘held for Court,’ but Quinn, knowing what would

happen, had arranged for this, and our lawyers ‘sued out a writ

of _habeas corpus_’ (I hope this is the right expression) and had

arranged with Judge Carr to try the case in the afternoon. Mr. Gray

wanted then to have it tried at once. He said he had to leave town

in the afternoon, but in the end the Judge said he could not arrange

for the trial before three o’clock. This gave me time to telephone

to John Quinn, who had thought the trial was not to be till next

morning, and was attending cases of his own in New York. He answered

that he would come if he possibly could. Then there was a message

that he had missed the train by one minute, but had caught another,

ten minutes later. At three o’clock we went to the Court, a large

one this time. The Judge didn’t know anything about the play, and

had to be told the whole story as it went on, just like old Wall in

Dublin at our first riot, so before the case had gone far audience

and officials were in a broad grin. The liquor-dealer got a different

hearing this time, was asked some pertinent questions instead of

being simply encouraged, as he was by the Magistrate.

“The dramatic event was the arrival of Quinn while a witness

was being examined. We had got leave from the Judge for him to

cross-examine, and the witness had to confess that the people of

Ireland do use the name of God at other times than in blessing or

thanking those who have been kind to them, and in gratitude or

prayer, as he had at first asserted upon oath. Also when he based his

attack on indecency by quoting the ‘poacher’s love,’ spoken of by

Christy, he was made to admit that, a few sentences earlier, marriage

had been spoken of, ‘in a fortnight’s time when the banns will be

called.’ Whether this made it more or less moral, he was not asked to

say. He called the play ‘libidinous.’

“J. Q. asked one witness if anything immoral had happened on the

stage, and he answered ‘Not while the curtain was up!’ I think it

was the same witness who said, ‘A theatre is no place for a sense

of humour.’ The players beamed and the audience enjoyed themselves,

and then when the Director of Public Safety was called and said he

and his wife had enjoyed the play very much and had seen nothing to

shock anybody, the enemy had received, as Quinn said, ‘a knock-out

blow.’ He made a very fine speech then. There is just a little bit

of it in the _North American_, but Mr. Gray made objections to its

being reported, but anyhow, it turned the tables completely on the

enemy. It was a little disappointment that the Judge did not give his

verdict there and then, that we might have cabled home.

“A lot of people have been expressing sympathy. A young man from the

University, who had been bringing a bodyguard for me on the riot

nights, has just been to say good-bye, and told me the students are

going to hold an indignation meeting. The Drama League, six hundred

strong, has so far done or said nothing, though it is supposed to

have sent out a bulletin endorsing the favourable opinion of Boston

upon our plays, a week after we came here, not having had time to

form an opinion of its own. Can you imagine their allowing such a

thing to happen here as the arrest of a company of artists engaged

in producing a masterpiece, and at such hands! The Administration has

been re-formed of late and is certainly on the mend, but there is

plenty more to be done, although the city has an innocent look, as

if it had gone astray in the fields, and its streets are named after

trees. The Company are in a state of fury, but they adore John Quinn,

and his name will pass into folk-lore like those stories of O’Connell

suddenly appearing at trials. He spoke splendidly, with fire and

full knowledge. You will see what he said about the witnesses in the

_North American_ and even Robinson says he ‘came like an angel.’

“Sunday, 21st. Yesterday was a little depressing, for the Judge had

not yet given out his decision; so we are still under bail and the

imputations of indecency, etc. The Philadelphians say it is because

the Act is such a new one, it requires a great deal of consideration.

“A reporter came yesterday to ask whether I considered _The Playboy_

immoral. I said my taking it about was answer enough, but that if

he wished to give interesting news, he would go to the twenty-six

witnesses produced against us (we were not allowed to produce one

on our side) and try to get at their opinions, and on what they were

founded. He answered that he had already been to ten of them that

morning, that they all answered in the same words, not two words

of difference--that their opinion was founded on the boy and the

girl being left alone in the house for the night. They can hardly

have heard Quinn making the clerical witness withdraw his statement

that immorality was implied by their being left together. I advised

him also to look at the signed articles on the play in so many

English and American magazines, and to remember that even here the

plays have been taught in the dramatic classes of the University

of Pennsylvania, that the President of Bryn Mawr had invited the

players to the College for the day, and had sent a large party of

students to the last matinée of _The Playboy_, leave being asked to

introduce them to me. I told him he might print all this opposite the

witnesses’ opinions.

“Yesterday’s matinée, _Rising of the Moon_, _Well of the Saints_, and

_Workhouse Ward_, was again so crowded that I could not get a place

and went and sat in the side-wings, where a cinematograph man came

to ask if I would allow _The Playboy_ to be used for a moving-picture

exhibition, as it would be ‘such a good advertisement for us!’ Last

night also there was a very good audience. We took just one dollar

short of eight thousand dollars in the week. Such a pity the dollars

were returned to the disturbers or we should have gone above it.”

“I was advised to go to a certain newspaper office to get evidence

that was considered necessary as to the standing of the magistrate

who had issued the writ and before whom we had been brought (we had

been advised to take an action for malicious arrest). The editor

was generous enough to let me have from the files, classified in

the newspaper office as ‘Obituary Notices,’ ready for use at the

proper time an envelope containing reports of some curious incidents

in the record of the magistrate in question. The editor lamented

his troubles of the evening before when he had gone for supper to

the Bellevue where I had met him. He had taken to the restaurant a

young niece, who wanted something delicate for supper, whereas the

editor himself wanted two soft-boiled eggs with rice and cream. These

simple dishes, however, could not be had at the fashionable Bellevue

and he was able but to pick at a little of the delicate food.

After he had taken the niece home, he made off to his own little

homely restaurant, where he secured his rice and eggs. This, and an

interview I had seen with Yeats, who supposes that our arrest was due

to the fact that Philadelphia is a Puritan town, brought back the

rural atmosphere.”

* * * * *

Our friends at home were naturally amazed, especially in London

where the posters of the newspapers had in large letters, “ARREST

OF THE IRISH PLAYERS.” Mr. Yeats wrote from Dublin, January 21st:

“I need not tell you how startled I was when a reporter came to

me on Thursday evening and asked me whether I had anything to say

regarding the arrest of the Abbey Players. While I was talking to him

and telling him I didn’t really know anything about it (he was as

ignorant of your crime as I was), a second reporter came in, equally

urgent and ignorant. Then a wire came from the London correspondent

of the _New York Sun_, asking for an opinion on the arrest of Abbey

Players. We were speculating as to what it could mean, and I was

surmising it was _Blanco_, when a telegram came from the _Manchester

Guardian_, saying it was _The Playboy_ and asking me to see their

reporter. Then a young man arrived with a telegram, and I thought he

was the reporter and became very eloquent. He was sympathetic and

interested, and when I had finished, explained that he was only the

post-office messenger. Then another reporter turned up and after that

the _Manchester Guardian_ man. You will have had the papers before

this. I think for the moment it has made us rather popular here in

Dublin, for no matter how much evil people wish for the Directors,

they feel amiable towards the players. If only Miss Allgood could get

a fortnight, I think the pit would love even _The Playboy_. However,

I imagine that after a few days of the correspondence columns, we

shall discover our enemies again.

“We have done very well this week with the school. I am rather

anxious that the school, or No. 2 Company, as it will be, should have

in its repertory some of our most popular pieces.... The great thing

achieved is that if Philadelphia had permanently imprisoned the whole

Company, our new Company would in twelve months have taken their

place here in Dublin. We have now a fine general effect, though we

have no big personalities.”

* * * * *

“Philadelphia, Monday. I forget what I have written, and I don’t know

if I have explained that we were allowed no witnesses, either at the

Magistrate’s or the Judge’s Court, and with our hastily instructed

lawyers we should not have been able to make even any defence through

them but for the miraculous appearance of John Quinn. And this is the

fifth day we have been under bail on charge of indecency, and its

like.”

“January 22d, Hotel Algonquin, New York. Contrary to my directions

Liebler’s man had put on _The Playboy_ for Pittsburg. It was asked

for by some ladies who are taking the whole house for a charity

performance. Now they have written to ask for another bill instead,

_Hyacinth_, _Riders_, _Workhouse_; and the papers say that _The

Playboy_ has been taken off on religious grounds.”

“Richmond, Indiana, January 24th. The journey to Pittsburg is a quite

lovely journey, like Switzerland but less monotonous; the sunshine

and snow exhilarating. The plays had begun when I arrived. There was

a very good audience and _Hyacinth_ and _Workhouse Ward_ made them

laugh a great deal. Carnegie Hall is all gilding and marbles, and a

gilded organ towers above the butcher’s shop in _Hyacinth_. I had

to make a little speech and was able to tell of the telegram from

Philadelphia, saying the Judge had dismissed the case. We came on

here through the night.

“An interviewer who came this morning has sent me an interesting book

on Indiana book plates, and an old lady brought me an Irish Bible,

and the jeweller who packed my watch would take nothing, and Miss

Allgood has sent me a box of roses. So the stars must be in a good

mood. I think we ought to start with _The Playboy_ in Chicago and get

that over. It would show we are not damped by Philadelphia.”

We went on that night to Indianapolis. _The Playboy_ had been

specially asked for in Indianapolis. Protests against its production

were made to the manager of the theatre by the Ancient Order of

Hibernians and others, but the manager said he was powerless. They

also called upon Superintendent of Police Hyland, who said: “I will

have plenty of men at the theatre to quell a disturbance. I don’t

believe, however, that there will be any trouble. If there are

persons who do not like the show, they can stay away. But there is

one thing certain; if they do not stay away and come to the show to

make trouble, they will find plenty of it on hand.”

The Mayor was also appealed to, but he did not see his way to stop

the play. The Irish Societies then decided to stay away, and though

the theatre was packed, the play went through in perfect peace.

“Chicago, Hotel La Salle, January 26th. Tyler wired me to come on

here, so I left the Company at Indianapolis this morning and came

on. We don’t begin playing here till the 5th. No theatre is ready.

Gaston Mayer was very urgent we should stay another week on account

of getting here so late. I told the Company of this and they decided

to stay. We shall therefore finish here March 2d and sail on the 6th.

We had no trouble at Indianapolis last night. The police authorities

were very firm and the threats collapsed. I wish Philadelphia had

been as firm. They are all afraid of the politicians....

“I was sorry to leave the Company. I feel like Wilhelm Meister going

through ever-fresh adventures with the little troop. As to the rows,

I don’t think there is anything you (Yeats) could have done, except

that you would have done things yourself while others have done them

for me. The Company insist on giving John Quinn a silver cup, in

gratitude for his help. I haven’t seen Flynn for a fortnight. He is

astray among the one-night towns and talked to us at Indianapolis

through the telephone, with a bad cold.”

“25th or 26th. I see by the papers that at the La Salle Hotel,

where I am staying, a meeting of Irishmen has been held at which an

‘Anti-Irish Players’ League’ was formed, beginning with a membership

of three hundred. Such a pity I couldn’t have slipped in to the

meeting! A petition had also been written and was being sent out for

signature, demanding the suppression of _The Playboy_. This petition

was said to have been signed by eight thousand persons, and twenty

thousand signatures were expected. Meanwhile the Anti-Cruelty Society

of Chicago, at the head of which are various benevolent ladies, had

asked leave to buy up the whole house for the first performance of

_The Playboy of the Western World_. They meant to resell these seats

at an increased price for their charity and believed it was likely

to draw the largest audience. So they have taken the theatre for

Tuesday, February 6, and the public performance of _The Playboy_ will

take place the next day.”

“January 29th. My typewriter is mended at last, and I am getting

settled. Last night one of the boy interviewers--they are all boys

here--came in from one of the papers. He showed me two statements

written by Liebler’s manager here, one colourless, the other offering

a reward of five thousand dollars to anyone who could prove the

management had bribed rioters for the first night, as has been stated

in the papers. I advised that this be put in, as people really seem

to believe it is true. This young man had been to see many of the

objectors. They said Synge was a ‘degenerate,’ who had lived abroad

to collect a bad atmosphere, which he put round Irish characters

afterwards. A nice young interviewer; he wants to write a play around

his mother’s life, to show what a mother’s devotion can be. Another

of them is twenty-five and is going to be married next summer. He

showed me his fiancée’s portrait, and another went and hunted for a

Don Quixote I wanted, to distract my mind from present-day things.

“This morning one came who is in with the Irish Clubs and had all the

objections, but now seems quite friendly. He says one of the chief

officers of the ‘Anti-Irish Players’ League’ is a man called H., a

son of old Mrs. H.! He has hinted that my sympathies are with the

landlord side, and that he could tell tales of hard treatment. The

interviewer wanted to know if a rehearsal could be held for the Mayor

so that he might judge the play, but I said the first night under the

patronage of the Anti-Cruelty Society would give him his opportunity.

A lady interviewer then came, but I made her take her pencil and

write down what I did say, which is more than the boys do. I tell

them I put in my pig and it comes out sausage.”

“Tuesday, January 30th. I am so tired! Last night I dined with

the Hamills, friends of John Quinn. It was a very pleasant dinner

and we all went afterwards to see _The Woman_, a good play in its

realistic way. I came home quite cheery but found in the passage

one of my young interviewers, who told me the Town Council had

unanimously voted against _The Playboy_ being put on. He had been

sent to ask me for a statement, but advised me not to make one, and

there was nothing to say. I was going to bed near midnight when

another interviewer arrived, and said the Mayor had acted on the

recommendation of the Council and suppressed the play. He showed me

an article which was to appear in the morning issue of his paper

telling this. I was very sad for it seemed as if there was an end of

the fight. The hot water-apparatus in my room, which is always out

of order, began grunting and groaning between one and two when I was

asleep and wakened me; so I got no more sleep till late morning, and

then was awaked by interviewers at the telephone. They even knocked

at my door while I was dressing.

“When I went down, however, I found that the Mayor had not ordered

the play off, and the article in the paper had had to be re-printed.

Also Flynn arrived and was a help with the army who came in,

entertaining them while I typed out a statement about the adventures

of _The Playboy_ so far, and this statement I gave them. Then I

’phoned to Mr. Hamill, who is a lawyer and who had said last night

he would help me in any legal difficulty. He came at once and was

splendid. He went into the law of the case, and believes that if the

Mayor does forbid it, we can take him into the Federal Court, and go

on all right. He says another lawyer, who was at dinner last night,

has also volunteered to serve. He went to try and see the Mayor but

missed him. He is, however, to see him at noon to-morrow. He came

back at five for another talk, and says he doesn’t think the Mayor

has power to stop it. He has seen the Corporation lawyer.

“I was engaged to lunch with a nice Mrs. ---- at one, but got there

after the hour and had to be back here before two, and it was an

absurd thing: I had had my room changed. I had suffered so much from

the unmanageable hot water that I threatened the manager that I

would tell the interviewers about it, and he at once gave me another

suite. My things were being brought up, and I couldn’t find hat or

coat, therefore had to go just as I was. However the lunch was very

pleasant and good, what I had of it....

“I came back to find a Mr. Field, editor of one of the papers, who

had brought ‘an enemy,’ who announced he had come but for five

minutes to hear my views, and spent at least ten in giving his own.

Then Liebler’s local manager came in. He also thinks we shall be able

to circumvent the Mayor. He believes, however, the Mayor will give

the order for political reasons, though he has some culture and would

not like to be classed with the Aldermen. A couple of ladies called.

One comfort of being attacked is that one finds friends to help....

“I have nice rooms now on the ninth floor--there are twenty-two

floors altogether--the place riddled with telephones, radiators, etc.

I was glad to hear the voice of a fat housemaid from Mayo a while ago.

“It is a strange fate that sends me into battle after my peaceful

life for so many years, and especially over _Playboy_, that I have

never really loved, but one has to carry through one’s job. One of

the accusations has been that there are no Irish persons connected

with the Company, and my answer is given accurately in one of the

papers. ‘The Players are all Irish by birth. They had never left

Ireland until they came to England on the tours made by us. With two

exceptions all are Roman Catholics.

“‘I believe the play is quite honestly considered by some of my

countrymen out here to be injurious to Ireland and her claim for

self-government, but I know that such an assumption is wrong and that

the dignity of Ireland has been very much increased by the work of

the Theatre, of which the genius of Mr. Synge is a component part.’”

“February 1st. Yesterday morning I took a holiday, went to see a

little amateur play in a private house. It was on suffrage, called

_Everywoman_, very short and rather amusing. It was given at 11

o’clock and afterwards there was an ‘informal lunch,’ rather a good

idea,--little tables, not set out, here and there. There were first

cups of delicious soup, then vegetable sandwiches with little cases

of hot mince, and peas, just a plate and fork, then ices and black

coffee, and bonbons. It was much pleasanter than sitting down to

a table; one could move about. The luncheon was all over by 1:30,

and then a Mrs. R---- took me for a drive in her motor. We drove

about thirty miles about the park and town and along the lake side,

but never really away from the town, which is immense. The lake is

lovely, a soft turquoise blue, not the blue of the sea, and there was

floating ice near the shore. It was luckily a bright day, the first

we have had. To-day there is snow again and darkness.

“When I came home, I set to work to correct a copy of _The Playboy_

according to the prompt copy I had just had sent on by the Company,

in case the Mayor wanted it. A journalist came in who wanted to know

about the cuts, and I got him to help me. Then Mr. Hamill came;

he doesn’t think there will be trouble. Then I took up a lot of

telephone addresses that had been left for me to call up, and found

one was from ‘W. Dillon.’ It was a Mr. Dillon representing the enemy,

who had been brought to see me on Tuesday. My interview with him had

appeared in a very mangled form next day and I found only then that

he was a brother of John Dillon, M.P., and the Corporation lawyer. I

called him up, and he answered from the City Hall, and said he was

writing a report on the legal aspect of the case for the Mayor, and

wanted to know if I was sure certain words had been left out of the

acting version, as I told him had always been done. I said yes, and

I could now bring him the prompt copy. He assented and I went round

to the City Hall. Mr. Dillon was sitting in his office, dictating to

a shorthand writer. He said, ‘You may listen to what I am dictating,

but you must treat it as confidential.’ I said, ‘I will go away if

you wish,’ but he said, ‘No, I will trust to your honour as a lady.’

He was just finishing his statement, as printed in the papers this

morning, denouncing the play but saying that, though in his opinion

it might lead to a riot, he did not think the Mayor had power to stop

it. I showed him the prompt copy. He asked if we could not strike out

still more. I said the passages we had changed or left out had been

changed in Mr. Synge’s lifetime and with his consent, and we did not

feel justified in meddling any more. I think he expected me to make

some concession, for he said then, ‘I think you would do much better

to take the play off altogether.’ I said we were bound by contract

to Liebler to put on whatever plays they asked for. He said, ‘Then

it is not in your power to remove it?’ I answered, ‘No,’ and that

ended the matter. I felt sorry for the moment, for it would have

been gracious to make some small concession, but afterwards I thought

of Parnell.... We may bring that play some other time, and there are

many who think his betrayal a greater slur upon Ireland than would be

even the real killing of a father.

“The _Examiner_ announces that the Mayor won’t stop the play. He has

said. ‘I do not see how the performance can be stopped. I have read

part of it and its chief characteristic seems to be stupidity rather

than immorality. I should think it would take more than a regiment of

soldiers to compel an audience to fill the Grand Opera House to see

such a poor production. I certainly shall not see it.’

“I hope I may get some breathing time. The idea of a day spent

playing with little Richard seems an impossible heaven! And I feel a

little lonely at times. It is a mercy this will be the last fight.

I don’t think it is over yet.... I like to hear of the success of

the school. It will be a great enjoyment sitting down to listen to a

verse play again if I survive to do it!”

“Feb. 3rd. I dined with the McC----s, and went on to the Opera,

_Tristan und Isolde_, which I had never seen. It was a great

delight, a change from worries. I like the people here. They are more

merry than those of the other cities somehow, at least those I have

fallen amongst. They are vital. They don’t want to die till they see

what Chicago is going to do.

“There is snow on the ground and yesterday when I went for a walk,

the cold frightened me at first,--such pain in the face, but I went

on and got used to it. The thermometer has been six below zero.”

“Feb. 8th. I seem to have been busy ever since. The first night of

_The Playboy_ was anxious. I was not really anxious the Anti-Cruelty

night, and it went off quite peaceably, but I was last night, the

open one, for, as I quoted from _Image_, ‘There are always contrary

people in a crowd.’ But the play was acted in entire peace. I nearly

fell asleep! It seems complete victory. The Corporation had to

rescind their resolution against it, and I suppose the objectors

found public opinion was too strong to permit any protest to be made.

It is a great mercy. I did not know how great the strain was till it

was over.

“On Monday we opened to a fairly large house with comedies and

they were well received. The Hull House Players came and gave me a

lovely bunch of roses. They have been acting some of my plays. When

I got back to the hotel, I found a threatening letter written in

vile language, and with picture of coffin and pistol, saying I would

‘never see the hills of Connemara again,’ and was about to meet with

my death. It seems a miracle to have got through such a Wood of

Dangers with flags flying.”

“Feb. 12th. Everything goes on so peaceably we are astonished. _The

Playboy_ finished its five days’ run on Saturday with never a boo or

a hiss. I believe the enemy are making some excuse for themselves,

saying they won’t riot because it was said they were paid to do so,

but it is an extraordinary defeat for them. Quinn was much excited

over it when he was here, and he did not know the extent of our

victory. He thinks it the pricking of the bubble of all the societies

that have been terrorising people. Fibs go on, of course, and a Mrs.

F---- told me that her Irish maid said she had been forbidden to go

to _The Playboy_ because it runs down the courage of the Irish.’ She

was sad, and said ‘The Irish always had courage.’

“It makes one think _The Playboy_ more harmless even than one had

thought, their having to make up these inventions. One is glad to put

it on for them to see. I feel like Pegeen showing off Christy to the

Widow Quinn, ‘See now is he roaring, romping?’ The author of ‘An Open

Letter to Lady Gregory’ came to me at some Club to ask if I had seen

it. I said yes, and that the paper had telephoned to know if I would

answer it, but I had said no, and that I wished all my critics would

write me open letters instead of personal ones, as I could leave them

unanswered without discourtesy.

“We have a good following among the intellectuals, and a good many

Irish begin to come in. We know that by the reception of _Rising of

the Moon_.

“Coming back from my lecture at Detroit, I was to have arrived at

Chicago at eight o’clock. I awoke to find we were in a blizzard. The

train got stuck in a suburb of Chicago, and after hours of waiting we

had to wade across the track, ankle deep in snow, I in my thin shoes!

After fighting the blizzard, we had to sit in a shed for another hour

or two. Then they said we must wade back to the train. They thought

it could be run to the station. I thought I might as well wait for my

end where I was, as I could not carry my baggage and there was no one

to help me, so stayed on my bench. After a bit some omnibuses came

to our relief, and I being near the door was put in first, and got

to the hotel at three o’clock. I had not had breakfast, expecting we

should be in, and when I asked for it later, the car had been taken

off, so all the food I had was a dry roll I had taken from the hotel

on Sunday. However, I was none the worse, and glad to have seen a

blizzard. It was the worst they had had for many years, deaths were

caused by it, and much damage was done.

“I have been walking to the theatre every night as usual in spite of

that threatening letter. I don’t feel anxious, for I don’t think from

the drawing that the sender has much practical knowledge of firearms.

“I can hardly believe we shall sail next week! It will be a great

rest surely.... Well, we have had a great victory!”

THE BINDING

I had but just written these pages and put together these letters

when in last Christmas week we set out again for America. We spent

there the first four months of this year, but this time there were

no riots and we were of the happy people who have no history, unless

it may be of the continued kindness of America, and of the growing

kindness and better understanding on the part of our own countrymen.

Last year, it was often said to me in New York and elsewhere, “You

must not think that we Americans helped in these attacks.” And I

would answer, “No; our countrymen took care to make that clear by

throwing our national potato. If you had attacked us you would

have thrown pumpkins, and we should have fared worse than Æsop’s

philosopher under the oak.”

I think the facts I have given show that the opposition was in every

case planned and ordered before the plays had been seen--before

we landed, and by a very small group working through a political

organisation. As to the reason and meaning of that attack, it is for

those who made it to set that out. I cannot but remember Alexander

Hamilton’s words when the building of America began: “After this war

is over, will come the real war, the great battle of ideas”; and that

the long political war in Ireland may be, and seems to be, nearing

its end. I think too of Laeg looking out from the wounded Cuchulain’s

tent and making his report at Ilgaireth: “I see a little herd of

cattle breaking out from the west of Ailell’s camp, and there are

lads following after them and trying to bring them back, and I see

more lads coming out from the army of Ulster to attack them”; and how

Cuchulain said: “That little herd on the plain is the beginning of

a great battle.” The battle of ideas has been fought elsewhere and

against other dramatists. Was not Ibsen banished from his country,

and Molière refused Christian burial?

It is after all the old story of the two sides of the shield. Some

who are lovers of Ireland believe we have lessened the dignity of

Ireland by showing upon the stage countrymen who drink and swear

and admire deeds of violence, or who are misers and covetous or

hungering after land. We who are lovers of Ireland believe that our

Theatre with its whole mass of plays has very greatly increased that

dignity, and we are content to leave that judgment to the great

arbitrator, Time. And amongst the Irish in America it was easy to

rouse feeling against us. Is not the new baby always the disturber in

the household? Our school of drama is the newest birth in Ireland,

that Ireland which had become almost consecrated by distance and by

romance. An old Irishwoman who loves her country very much said while

I was in America: “I don’t want to go back and see Ireland again.

It is a finished picture in my mind.” But Ireland cannot always be

kept as a sampler upon the wall. It has refused to be cut off from

the creative work of the intellect, and the other countries creating

literature have claimed her as of their kin.

I wish my countrymen, before coming into the fight, had known it to

be so unequal. They had banished from the stage one or two plays

that had given them offence and no one had greatly cared. But works

of imagination such as those of Synge could not be suppressed even

if burned in the market place. They had not realised the tremendous

support we had, that we were not fighting alone, but with the

intellect of America as well as of Europe at our back.