Compare it with an
Irishman's, above all a poor Irishman's, reckless abandonment and
naturalness, or compare it with the only fragment that has come down
to us of Shakespeare's own conversation.
Irishman's, above all a poor Irishman's, reckless abandonment and
naturalness, or compare it with the only fragment that has come down
to us of Shakespeare's own conversation.
Yeats
If Irish dramatists had studied the romantic
plays of Ibsen, the one great master the modern stage has produced,
they would not have sent the Irish Literary Theatre imitations of
Boucicault, who had no relation to literature, and Father O'Leary would
have put his gift for dialogue, a gift certainly greater than, let us
say, Mr. Jones' or Mr. Grundy's, to better use than the writing of
that long rambling dramatisation of the _Tain bo Cuailgne_, in which
I hear in the midst of the exuberant Gaelic dialogue the worn-out
conventions of English poetic drama. The moment we leave even a little
the folk-tradition of the peasant, as we must in drama, if we do not
know the best that has been said and written in the world, we do not
even know ourselves. It is no great labour to know the best dramatic
literature, for there is very little of it. We Irish must know it all,
for we have, I think, far greater need of the severe discipline of
French and Scandinavian drama than of Shakespeare's luxuriance.
If the _Diarmuid and Grania_ and the _Casadh an t-Sugain_ are not well
constructed, it is not because Mr. Moore and Dr. Hyde and myself do not
understand the importance of construction, and Mr. Martyn has shown by
the triumphant construction of _The Heather Field_ how much thought he
has given to the matter; but for the most part our Irish plays read
as if they were made without a plan, without a 'scenario,' as it is
called. European drama began so, but the European drama had centuries
for its growth, while our art must grow to perfection in a generation
or two if it is not to be smothered before it is well above the earth
by what is merely commercial in the art of England.
Let us learn construction from the masters, and dialogue from
ourselves. A relation of mine has just written me a letter, in which
he says: 'It is natural to an Irishman to write plays, he has an
inborn love of dialogue and sound about him, of a dialogue as lively,
gallant, and passionate as in the times of great Eliza. In these
days an Englishman's dialogue is that of an amateur, that is to say,
it is never spontaneous. I mean in _real life_.
Compare it with an
Irishman's, above all a poor Irishman's, reckless abandonment and
naturalness, or compare it with the only fragment that has come down
to us of Shakespeare's own conversation. ' (He is remembering a passage
in, I think, Ben Jonson's _Underwoods_. ) 'Petty commerce and puritanism
have brought to the front the wrong type of Englishman; the lively,
joyous, yet tenacious man has transferred himself to Ireland. We have
him and we will keep him unless the combined nonsense of . . . and . . .
and . . . succeed in suffocating him. '
In Dublin the other day I saw a poster advertising a play by a Miss
. . .
plays of Ibsen, the one great master the modern stage has produced,
they would not have sent the Irish Literary Theatre imitations of
Boucicault, who had no relation to literature, and Father O'Leary would
have put his gift for dialogue, a gift certainly greater than, let us
say, Mr. Jones' or Mr. Grundy's, to better use than the writing of
that long rambling dramatisation of the _Tain bo Cuailgne_, in which
I hear in the midst of the exuberant Gaelic dialogue the worn-out
conventions of English poetic drama. The moment we leave even a little
the folk-tradition of the peasant, as we must in drama, if we do not
know the best that has been said and written in the world, we do not
even know ourselves. It is no great labour to know the best dramatic
literature, for there is very little of it. We Irish must know it all,
for we have, I think, far greater need of the severe discipline of
French and Scandinavian drama than of Shakespeare's luxuriance.
If the _Diarmuid and Grania_ and the _Casadh an t-Sugain_ are not well
constructed, it is not because Mr. Moore and Dr. Hyde and myself do not
understand the importance of construction, and Mr. Martyn has shown by
the triumphant construction of _The Heather Field_ how much thought he
has given to the matter; but for the most part our Irish plays read
as if they were made without a plan, without a 'scenario,' as it is
called. European drama began so, but the European drama had centuries
for its growth, while our art must grow to perfection in a generation
or two if it is not to be smothered before it is well above the earth
by what is merely commercial in the art of England.
Let us learn construction from the masters, and dialogue from
ourselves. A relation of mine has just written me a letter, in which
he says: 'It is natural to an Irishman to write plays, he has an
inborn love of dialogue and sound about him, of a dialogue as lively,
gallant, and passionate as in the times of great Eliza. In these
days an Englishman's dialogue is that of an amateur, that is to say,
it is never spontaneous. I mean in _real life_.
Compare it with an
Irishman's, above all a poor Irishman's, reckless abandonment and
naturalness, or compare it with the only fragment that has come down
to us of Shakespeare's own conversation. ' (He is remembering a passage
in, I think, Ben Jonson's _Underwoods_. ) 'Petty commerce and puritanism
have brought to the front the wrong type of Englishman; the lively,
joyous, yet tenacious man has transferred himself to Ireland. We have
him and we will keep him unless the combined nonsense of . . . and . . .
and . . . succeed in suffocating him. '
In Dublin the other day I saw a poster advertising a play by a Miss
. . .
