The Highest House On The Mountain E-Book

John B. Keane

• Herausgeber: Mercier Press
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016

Seitenzahl: 119

Beschreibung

The Highest House On The Mountain examines the tension between brothers, fathers and sons. When Mikey's son Patrick comes to visit with his new wife, he is quickly followed by his brother Connie, a scheming ne'er-do-well who sets out to destroy Patrick's marriage and Mikey's bond with his brother Sonny. The only escape from the final tragedy is to The Highest House On The Mountain, where those who've had 'enough of bitterness' can take refuge.

Leseprobe

MERCIER PRESS

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First published in 1961 by Progress House (Publications) Ltd.

© John B. Keane Occasions, 2016

Epub ISBN: 978 1 78117 431 9

Mobi ISBN: 978 1 78117 432 6

The Highest House on the Mountain is a copyright play and may not be performed without a licence. Application for a licence for amateur performances must be made in advance to the Drama League of Ireland, The Mill Theatre, Dundrum, Dublin 16. Terms for professional performances may be had from JBK Occasions, 37 William Street, Listowel, Co. Kerry.

This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

To Michael and Joan

INTRODUCTION

Writing an introduction is as tricky as writing a reference— too many compliments sound insincere, and to be critical is surely as ill-mannered as drinking a host’s whiskey and telling him you know a better brand. Still, the risk must be taken to acknowledge the compliment of having been asked by the author to introduce his play.

And so I will chance an introduction—but not about the play. I know ‘The Highest House on the Mountain’ too well to be dispassionate about it. I lived with it from the day I was asked to direct, through the usual first-production struggle of alteration, emendation and re-writing, until it was staged and became the longest runner of the 1960 theatre festival. Such an association is too intimate for critical detachment, and I beg leave to be excused from comment.

Instead, I would like to say a few words about the author—risky, too, perhaps, and I hope neither ill-chosen nor ill-timed.

John Keane’s place in the theatre is unstable. Praise and blame for his work have been extravagant—he has been identified as a sort of deep-south-Kerry white hope, and dismissed as a Bouccicault reactionary; his plays have been called ‘lyrical’, ‘nasty’, ‘powerful’ and ‘melodramatic’— but no one can deny that he is there [very much there] and that he is successful.

Theatrically John Keane is a man from outer space. He made his name under freak circumstances. ‘Sive’ caused a sensation entirely through amateur production, and ‘Sharon’s Grave’, also successful, again was launched by amateurs. This was excellent for amateur drama, but at the time I wondered if it was the best thing for John Keane, the playwright. The reward of professional efficiency is to make good work better and inferior work good, and even an effective writer like Keane needs direction that amateurs are unlikely to provide.

I was particularly pleased to be asked to produce one of John’s plays. I had adjudicated his previous plays publicly and not all my comments were complimentary—indeed on the technicalities of construction I found many flaws—but I was insistent on his best qualities as a playwright, exciting invention of character, lively dialogue, and the ability which must come from some deity of the Reeks to hold an audience and fill the house. But what effect had success had upon him? How would he adapt to professional treatment of one of his scripts?

An author is, in a way, at the mercy of everyone connected with a production. Once the script is out of his hands things can happen to it that sometimes delight and often chagrin a writer, who may wonder pettishly who was responsible for the thing in the first place. Some, I suppose, get toughened and try to console themselves with, as Coward puts it, “the fruits of commercial success”. Sometimes they squeal in anguish and depart with the script in an affronted hip-pocket “but—good sense, or determination, or humility, or what-you-will prevailing—they usually turn-up again.

Producers feel that authors are in the way [no doubt a reciprocal emotion] and find it difficult to be sympathetic towards the expectant-father gibberings in the waiting room of rehearsal. An anonymous benefactress [I’m sure it was a woman] was she who first thought of sending father to buy the cigars while mother got on with the job. In the theatre the best way to occupy an author is to engage him in making out a list of complimentary seats for his friends.

When I first met John B. Keane I was impressed by the fact that he neither pretended nor thought that he knew it all. Any changes suggested for the good of the play were willingly embraced and tiresome rewriting did not irk him. He was not subdued by the take-over atmosphere of a professional presentation, but had the good sense and humility to realise that by observing the work of professionals he could improve his own.

Ideas come to a writer without effort, the hard work is in expressing these ideas selectively and cogently within the limitations of a three-act play. A too-facile flow of ideas is John Keane’s greatest enemy; when he can discipline his writing by a mastery of craftsmanship his boisterous imagination will not be straightjacketed but will be more effectively expressed through conciseness.

If there is in what I have written an inference of diminishing John Keane’s previous work, that is not intended. Only churlishness would make one sour his success, and I write this merely as my reaction to a writer I found gifted and hardworking, who has the qualities for successful writing and who is intensely interested in mastering the high art of the theatre.

John B. Keane has years of writing before him, and I hope that time will bring a more balanced judgement on his work. Let those who venerate him delay apotheosis for posterity, and let those who hate him not be over-anxious to push him into the Pit. In simple terms—give the man a chance.

BARRY CASSIN.

‘The Highest House on the Mountain’ was first presented by Orion Productions at the Gas Company Theatre, Dun Laoghaire, with the following cast:

Mikey Bannon

MARTIN DEMPSEY

Sonny Bannon

PAT NOLAN

Sheila Moloney

JACQUELINE RYAN

Patrick Bannon

GERRY SULLIVAN

Julie Bannon

ANNA MANAHAN

Connie Bannon

GERRY ALEXANDER

Two Countrymen

PADDY MacGOWAN   TOM NOLAN

Production was by Barry Cassin and Setting by Robert Heade.

ACT ONE SCENE ONE

The action takes place in the kitchen of a farmhouse in South-Western Ireland.The time is the present. It is the flight time of a day late in December. Two men occupy chairs near the fire. One is reading from a newspaper. He is sixtyish. He wears overalls, cap and hobnailed boots. He is Mikey Bannon. The other is younger, fiftyish. He wears an old suit of black material, with the coat collar pulled up and about his neck. He holds the lapels together near the throat. He is barefooted, pale and dejected of face. He is Sonny Bannon.

Mikey   Did you ever hear better than this?[Sonny looks up]

Mikey  ‘Civic Guard destroyed by goat in Tipperary’. Great God! Nothin’ left but the badge on his cap an’ the buttons of his coat. The father o’nine children and a brother a priest. The goat was treated by four veterinary surgeons. Needles was used on him but he died as a result of eatin’ the Guard. [Lays down paper] Great God! There’s no one safe in Tipperary. If the goats are like that, what way are the donkeys and horses.[Sonny scoffs unbelievingly]

Mikey  All right! All right! I was only makin’ it up, but sure I thought it might bring a smile to your face or knock a laugh out o’ you. Are you cold?

Sonny   No.

Mikey  Whist, maybe it’s them. An’ sure they’d hardly be here yet. Sonny, will you talk to the young couple when they come, and let on you’re natural, the same us all? Will you, Sonny?

Sonny   ’Tis nothing to me.

Mikey  Will you shake the girl by the hand, anyway? ’Twould put her at ease in a strange house.

Sonny   I’ll do that for you, Mikey. I will. I’ll do that for sure.

Mikey  Ah, sure, I knew you would … Have you the hurt bad to-night, Sonny?[Sonny nods]

Mikey   Where have you it to-night, Sonny?

Sonny[Puts finger to chest] Here! Inside here ’tis!

Mikey  ’Tis better than havin’ it in the head, all the same, Sonny. Anything is better than havin’ it in the head. Maybe if you aren’t too bad, you’ll talk to the girl … [Lifts hand before Sonny can reply] Only the bare word. Only if she’ll ask you a question. You needn’t let a hum or a ha out o’ you otherwise.

Sonny  Sure, I don’t know what I’ll do. [Panicky] What’ll I do if she says something to me? Sure, I wouldn’t know what to say. I’d only leave yourself and Patrick down.

Mikey  I know ’tis hard for you, Sonny … [Cheerfully] Look! Did you ever notice the way people do be when they’re talkin’? One says to the other … ‘Oh, hello, is that you? How’s the hay by you this year?’ Then the other fellow says … ‘Hay? What hay? How’s your own scutterin’ hay?’ You see, Sonny, that’s what comes of these fellows who make bold with their talk. The right way is to say nothin’ until this fellow opens his mouth first. Now, tonight, if the hurt isn’t too bad with you, let you do the same.

Sonny  I’ll try it for you, Mikey. I’ll do my best anyway.

Mikey  What’s that … Did you hear a step on the road? Listen! [They both listen]

Sonny  Someone that strayed off the main road maybe or a wanderin’ dog.

Mikey  I have my doubts. If ’twas a dog you’d hear him scrapin’ at the door and if ’twas a body gone astray they’d knock lookin’ for direction. [Goes to door cautiously] Don’t make a tittle and we’ll see. It could be some robber stealin’ hens. [He opens door suddenly and calls out] Who’s there? Who’s there, I say? Come out till I see you.

Sonny  [Tremulously] Who is it?

Mikey   ’Tis a girl that’s standin’ out there!

Sonny   A girl!

Mikey  She’s hidden beyond the corner of the byre. [Calls out to the girl] Come out girl. You’ll come to no harm, I promise you. There’s no one here but myself and my brother. [Pause]

Sonny   Is she comin’?

Mikey[Retreats a little into kitchen] She’s comin’ all right, whoever she is. [Sonny rises a little fearfully and seems to withdraw a pace]

Sonny   Who would she be?

Mikey  ’Tis Sheila Moloney, Ned Moloney’s daughter. What’s she doin’ wanderin’ around in the night? [Retreats further] [Enter Sheila Moloney]

Mikey  God save you, Sheila. Is there anything the matter at home that you’re out so late?

Sheila[Nervously, guiltily] No … no … [Notices Sonny] Hello Sonny.

Sonny   Sheila.

Mikey   Well, will you sit up to the fire.

Sheila   No, no thank you.

Mikey  Will I walk back home a bit of the road with you so?

Sheila  No, no need. I’ll be all right… [Unconvincingly] ’Twas how the turkeys broke out and I thought they might have strayed this way.

Mikey   Get a light, Sonny, and we’ll search for ’em.

Sheil   Oh, no, no, my brothers will do that. [Mikey and Sonny are obviously puzzled].

Sheila  I’d better get back home now. Good night to ye.

Mikey   Good night. [Hurriedly exits]

Mikey   She wasn’t lookin’ for turkeys.

Sonny  [Sitting again] No, she wasn’t.

Mikey  Would she be courtin’ some fella and maybe not want her father to know? I don’t like women comin’ here. I’m too lonely thinkin’ about them, and you know what thinkin’ leads to, and God knows, I’m as human as the next man!

Sonny   She was in strange behaviour whatever.

Mikey[Suspicious] She was all that [Shuts door] We’ll drink a mug of milk now before they come. If the weather came warm now, after the Christmas, your appetite might improve. [Pours milk and hands mug to Sonny] Maybe the girl that’s coming is a good warrant to cook. [Goes to dresser and cuts a square of bread] A woman is a great thing in a house, even if you never have use for her. [Dreamily] Man, dear, a woman that can cook is worth the winning. [Reflects] What would I like now if I had a cook? A roast goose now, with a good carge of pandy inside of him. Would you like a roast goose, Sonny?[Mikey takes a mug of milk from dresser. Sonny nibbles at the bread]

Mikey  Imagine a roast goose … or chops! There’s nothin’ in this world or the next as sweet as a chop. Suppose now a fellow came in that door with a frying pan full o’ chops, I bet you’d jump up an’ eat a few.

Sonny   I wouldn’t care.

Mikey  Well I’d care, I can tell you. I’d kiss the four sides of his head. There’s nothin’ like chops! [Drinks his milk] I remember to be in the village of Ballyheigue years ago when the times were bad. ’Twas a fair day. I remember to see a cattle-jobber from West Limerick eatin’ chops.

Sonny   He must have been a big man.

Mikey   I tell you he was the biggest man I ever saw. From West Limerick he came. I heard afterwards that he had twenty-seven buttons in the fly of his trousers …

Sonny  Will there be a change, do you think, in Patrick?

Mikey  ’Tis hardly likely. Patrick was always a quiet boy, taking after his mother, the Lord have mercy on her.

Sonny   His mother was a lady.

Mikey   She was all that.

Sonny  I often think of her. She was a good friend to me.

Mikey  I think of her myself, man. [Lonely] I remember not long after we married to be mowing hay in the mountain meadow. Twas a June day and I saw her comin’ across the fields with the evenin’ tea. My God! she was a handsome girl!

Sonny   She was all that.

Mikey