The Ageing Abbey. I

Irish Jesuit Province

The Ageing Abbey. IReview by: Gabriel FallonThe Irish Monthly, Vol. 66, No. 778 (Apr., 1938), pp. 265-272Published by: Irish Jesuit ProvinceStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20514315 .

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265

Sitting at the Play.

The Ageing Abbey--I

By GABRIEL FALLON.

VW 14 HEN William Fay (accomripanried by his brother Frank)

left the Abbey h'lietrea for the last timc on January 13th, 1908, "i going ouit at poorer mian than I came

in," the simple statement nmade by Mr. Yeats to the effect that

there had been a difference of op)inion l)ctveen the directors and Mr. Fay, told the public notlhing.

Foolishly, perhaps, the Fayxs hleld tleir peace. Many things had led to their departure, the last of thlcsc bwing the request that

W. G. Fay should be given the (tistomtnry i)ower of at nianager

and producer. " From the first F4rawnk and( I li had seen in the National Theatre movement the possifility o( a reial art theatre, and we had been led to believe thiatt thec Abbey directors shared

our vision. . Uinfortunately the lavish encomicuus of the English Press had been too heady for our friends Yeats, Synge and

Augusta Gregory. They imiiagined we lhad arrived, when we

had no more than started. We lha(a at coinpany that could do

peasant plays with an accomplishlmilent atn(d finishi that have never

been rivalled, much less excelled. lBtt we should hlave to show much more than that before we cotuld claim to be a real art

theatre. We should have to create by degrees a company capable,

both in numbers and experience, of performing any type of play,

whether low life or high life, prose or verse. Frank and I

reckoned that this would be a long and hard job-a matter of ten

years at least, even with the excellent materials we undoubtedly had."



266 THE IRISH MONTHLY

'I'lese ideals of the Fays deserve the earnest consideration of those who are sincerely interested in the problem presented by the ageing Abbey. With the capable assistance of his brother Frank, William Fay had made and trained that first company of actors and actresses whose work won for the Abbey Theatre the

world's wonder and applause, whose accomplishment, as he tells us with justifiable pride, has never been rivalled, much less excelled. With a request for the managerial power necessary to carry them out, Willie Fay placed his plans before the directors of the Abbey Theatre. With what result? " After a few days

Lady Gregory came to me to say that the directors were not disposed to make any changes, and what was I going to do about it?" Clearly the directors were not disposed to make that change at any rate. Fay's reaction was decisive, dramatic, and undeni ably straightforward. " I did the only thing that was left to

me-I resigned on the spot." The story which would omit or in any way seek to minimise the

part played by the brothers Fay in founding the Abbey Theatre would not be a true story. And yet Dr. James Bridie, the

distinguished Scottish dramatist, was constrained to remark in his introduction to The Fays of the Abbey Theatre, that the part played by the Fays " has, perhaps, been insufficiently emphasised in the text-books." "-For," says Dr. Bridie, " many more

assertive or spectacular personalities than theirs were mixed up in the venture."

In a sense, the Fays were the Abbey Theatre's very founda

tions. The work which won the plaudits of the world was their

work. The impetus which was given to Little Theatre foundation the world over sprang from the impetus which their interest in the

theatre had given to others of their little band. Nothing of the

[Abbey which we know to-day bears traces of their coin or stamp. When they left in 1908, not a little of their work remained



THE AGEING ABBEY.-I 267

behind them, but when the last of their company sought fairer laurels and better contracts elsewhere, the work of the brothers

Fay had vanished from our ken. We saw it fleetingly again in the rare returns of Sara Allgood to the Abbey, or (a little uncon trolled, perhaps, more boisterous now) in the visits of Arthur Sinclair, Maire O'Neill and company to other Dublin theatres; but that strange dramatic valuie, the imparting of which was solely the possession of the Fays, had, from the day of their going out, fled beyond the Abbey Theatre's recall. Each mem ber of their far-flung company retained, despite their part or place of playing, a measure of those primal dramatic qualities first received at the hands of the Fays, which eamed and is still earning for them the high praises of the drama critics of what ever country they happen to be playing in.

In any examination of the present condition of the Abbey, a study of its earlier years will help in a large measure to explain some of the chaotic complications of its later ones. It is fre quently and dogmatically stated: " Of course, the Abbey Theatre is first and foremost a playuright's theatre." To me personally, such a statement is little more than sound and emphasis, for where audiences and actors matter not (and pre sumably they do not matter in a playwright's theatre), no theatre can exist.. But let it pass. What is meant (if meaning be in it at all) is an institution in which the play, i.e., the written play, is the thing. Hence the claim of that 1898 foundation, the Irish

Literary Theatre, that its concern lay with " plays that are

literature ", a phrase which, one ventures to suggest, never

troubled the thinking of a Shakespeare or a Marlowe, but one

which, strangely enough, has come to be associated with The

Courting of Mary Doyle and The Young Man from Rathmines. But, to return to William Fay: " And here now is my great

point that can never be sufficiently emphasised. The Abbey




I'heatre was first and foremost a theatrical, not a literary venture. It was the creation, not of men of letters, but of actors. It is true that it discovered many dramatists of ability, and at least

one, J. M. Synge, of genius, who being men of letters, appeal to other men of letters, and so have received their full meed of praise, which nobody grudges them. But the playwrights were, so to speak, a supervening phenomenon. It was the zeal of the players that provided the conditions in which they were able to emerge."

Is there contradiction here? An Irish Literary Theatre, founded in 1898, its concern " plays that are literature ".

An Abbey Theatre, opened in 1904, " first and foremost a theatrical not a literary venture ". The undoubted literary talent of its members drew much attention to the Irish

Literary Theatre, but two things alone made the Abbey Theatre possible-Miss Horniman's generosity and the work of the brothers Pay. After all, it is clear that all the conditions of a theatre could have been fulfilled by productions of Shakespeare, for instance. That is, of course, assuming that no greater or

more native playwrights were to hand. But the native play wrights were there, had been there from the foundation of the Irish Literary Theatre. What happened then? How, did the

literary venture clash with this theatrical one? " We were not literary men," writes William Fay. "Most

of us were humble folk who had to live by hard and humdrum

toil-almost, I might say,

rude mechanicals That work for bread upon Athenian stalls.

What bound us together was enthusiasm for the art of acting. If we had been limited by literary or political considerations, we

might have done some interesting work, but we should have




remained parochial. We should never have created, as we did, the community drama '." " Drama " again! Not " community literature ". Or dra

matic literature for the few. Community drama, which in its fullest sense is that co-operation between author, actor and audience which goes to make up theatre. Between author, actor and audience. Not jvst that co-operation between merely an author and his opinions which, strengthened by the applause of the foolish, has led to a rather vicious form of theatre dictatorship. In what sense does the Abbey Theatre of to-day supply com

munity drama? To what extent is it limited by literary con siderations-or political ones?

Let us return to the " rude mechanicals ". When Willie Fay of the Abbey Theatre wished to discuss his plans for that

theatre, and attempted to obtain his proper managerial control there, he had of necessity to approach the Abbey Theatre directors. How near was he then to that Irish Literary Theatre of 1898, with its interest in " plays that are literature "? Did he really think, even for one moment, that his plea would receive the hearing it deserved? Did he not realise that a concern for " plays that are literature " was considered to be a far, far better

thing than any mere " theatrical movement " Lady Gregory told him that the directors did not propose to make any change. She asked him " what he proposed to do about it "P Why?

Was it because of his staunch adherence to his ideals of theatre, his plea for theatre in the fullest sense of the word, his openly acknowledged antipathy to the term, " literary "? Or was it the feeling, perhaps sincerely entertained, that " rude mechani cals " such as these, could not be expected to know what was

proper to the foundation of a "c National " Theatre? To some the answers to these questions may not seem to

matter. But to those who are interested in the future of any




tlhcettre in this country they are of vital importance. Fay's ideals were right ideals; his work was fruitful work. Talk of a "

literary theatre " in the sense in which this " literary theatre ' is talked about, is, in plain terms, just bosh. Plays that are not

plays can never, by any stretch of the imagination, be plays that are literature. A literary movement is not a theatrical move

ment, and a literary theatre is a monstrosity in theatres. Fay's

mind-with the Gaelic directness of the O'Fahys-saw these things clearly. And it was for this clear vision that he was forced to -go. Nevertheless, in the individual artistry and team work of his early players, he had given the world something which it still delights to talk about, something which may help to afford

material for a still greater revival. There have been few glories since that early Albbey glory.

When the Fays left the dramatic venture disintegrated and the literary theatre lingered. It is lingering still. In the -main, it has survived on the fame of the Fays' early work, on the literary

achievements of its directors, on the occasional turbulenee of c" rude mechanicals "in its audience on the work of a few play

wrights, on a faithful and hardworking company, and (of recent

years) on a regular Government grant. It is still a " literary theatre ". It possesses little hope of amendment. In moments

of thoughtless vain-glory it flatters itself that it is a natiotal

theatre, forgetful of its guest artists and its imported producers (anomalies which have graced many of its yesterdays), forgetful of the fact that national audiences (save in moments of provoked

anger) hardly think of it at all. What is wrong with the Abbey was wrong with the Abbey

on the 13th January, 1908, when the stage-carpenter and the

theatre housekeeper bid a lonely goodbye to the Fays, and the

Abbey's directors waved a grandiloquent farewell to a theatre

that was to be nothing greater than a mere theatrical venture.




What literary products have fared upon its stages since then, and what plays! A careful analysis of its performances might reveal very many interesting things. One thing for which we

must praise the institution is for its consistency in remaining faithful to its directorial dogma: " We atsk ouirselves two ques tions: first does it please us, and thlCn does. it please you?"

How much the Abbey has given uIs in the fornm of dramatic literature in the couirse of its thirty-ftour years we can easily assess. How much of this dranmatic literature wc are prepared to accept is, indeed, a different mnatter. Ihowe nuch of it is dramatic literature? How much of it is national? A notice (taken at random) of the first production of 'adraie Colum's

Broken Soil serves to show how, even att thit early time, the feelings of the Irish people were cleairly indicated on this point. The extract is from Arthur Griffith'.s paper, United Irishman, the author Oliver St. John Gogarty : " IBroken1i Soil is a national drama in a fuller sense, perhaps, than aniy yet presented, not because its theme is Irish, but becauise thew play is l)uilt and the

catastrophe produced from circumstances airising out of the tem

perament, religion and tradition pecuilitar- to the Irislh people." Broken Soil is not a great play, but its author was ait that time

a more than promnising playwright. llowv mutchii draimatic power Colum may have lost through the Abbey Tlhcatre's " literari ness " is a matter for interesting speculattioin. A playwright seeking dramatic power in his work wouild, I dare swear, find it in resisting Abbey influence. But to resist Abbey influence is to court rejection by the Abbey's directors. There is no excep tion to this law. Even O'Casey, " discovered " by them, his "; apotheosis " found for him by Mr. Yeats himself, was thrust into exterior darkness for the enormity of his crime. Many passages in his memorable letter to Mr. Yeats floodlight the weak ness of this literary-dramatic citadel, but none, perhaps, better



272 TIIE IRISH MONTHLY

tlhan,l that in whiich he accuses its, directors of attempting to build t) " little worlds of wallpaper and hiding striding life behind it all ".

The striding life of the Irish nation marches well outside of thie four walls of this Abbey literary theatre, and the adequate expression of that life in national drama will perhaps never be found inside them. Had the Fays remained, the Abbey might not have been the Abbey that the national consciousness requires to-day, but, there is not a doubt about it, it would have differed from to-day's Abbey in one important respect-it would have been a better theatre.



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