The Collected Shorter Plays of Samuel Beckett Read online

  The Collected Shorter Plays

  WORKS BY SAMUEL BECKETT PUBLISHED BY GROVE PRESS

  Collected Poems in English and French

  The Collected Shorter Plays

  (All That Fall, Act Without Words I, Act Without Words II, Krapp’s Last Tape, Rough for Theatre I, Rough for Theatre II, Embers, Rough for Radio I, Rough for Radio II, Words and Music, Cascando, Play, Film, The Old Tune, Come and Go, Eh Joe, Breath, Not I, That Time, Footfalls, Ghost Trio, . . . but the clouds . . . , A Piece of Monologue, Rockaby, Ohio Impromptu, Quad, Catastrophe, Nacht and Träume, What Where)

  The Complete Short Prose: 1929–1989, edited by S. E. Gontarski

  (Assumption, Sedendo et Quiescendo, Text, A Case in a Thousand, First Love, The Expelled, The Calmative, The End, Texts for Nothing 1–13, From an Abandoned Work, The Image, All Strange Away, Imagination Dead Imagine, Enough, Ping, Lessness, The Lost Ones, Fizzles 1–8, Heard in the Dark 1, Heard in the Dark 2, One Evening, As the story was told, The Cliff, neither, Stirrings Still, Variations on a “Still” Point, Faux Départs, The Capital of the Ruins)

  Disjecta: Miscellaneous Writings and a Dramatic Fragment

  Endgame and Act Without Words

  First Love and Other Shorts

  Grove Centenary Editions

  Volume I: Novels

  (Murphy, Watt, Mercier and Camier)

  Volume II: Novels

  (Molloy, Malone Dies, The Unnamable, How It Is)

  Volume III: Dramatic Works

  Volume IV: Poems, Short Fiction, Criticism

  Happy Days

  Happy Days: Production Notebooks

  How It Is

  I Can’t Go On, I’ll Go On:

  A Samuel Beckett Reader

  Krapp’s Last Tape

  (All That Fall, Embers, Act Without Words I, Act Without Words II)

  Mercier and Camier

  Molloy

  More Pricks Than Kicks

  (Dante and the Lobster, Fingal, Ding-Dong, A Wet Night, Love and Lethe, Walking Out, What a Misfortune, The Smeraldina’s Billet Doux, Yellow, Draff)

  Murphy

  Nohow On

  (Company, Ill Seen Ill Said, Worstward Ho)

  Proust

  The Shorter Plays: Theatrical Notebooks, edited by S. E. Gontarski

  (Play, Come and Go, Eh Joe, Footfalls, That Time, What Where, Not I)

  Stories and Texts for Nothing

  (The Expelled, The Calmative, The End, Texts for Nothing 1–13)

  Three Novels

  (Molloy, Malone Dies, The Unnamable)

  Waiting for Godot

  Waiting for Godot: A Bilingual Edition

  Waiting for Godot: Theatrical Notebooks

  Watt

  The Collected Shorter Plays

  Samuel Beckett

  This collection copyright © 1984 by Samuel Beckett

  Act Without Words I © 1959 by Les Éditions de Minuit; Act Without Words II © 1959 by Les Éditions de Minuit; All That Fall © 1957 by The Estate of Samuel Beckett; Breath © 1970 by The Estate of Samuel Beckett; . . . but the clouds . .. © 1977 by The Estate of Samuel Beckett; Cascando © 1963 by Les Éditions de Minuit; Catastrophe © 1984 by Les Éditions de Minuit; Come and Go © 1968 by The Estate of Samuel Beckett; Eh Joe © 1967 by The Estate of Samuel Beckett; Embers © 1959 by The Estate of Samuel Beckett; Film © 1967 by The Estate of Samuel Beckett; Footfalls © 1976 by The Estate of Samuel Beckett; Ghost Trio © 1976 by The Estate of Samuel Beckett; Krapp’s Last Tape © 1958 by The Estate of Samuel Beckett; Nacht und Träume © 1984 by The Estate of Samuel Beckett; Not I © 1973 by The Estate of Samuel Beckett; Ohio Impromptu © 1982 by The Estate of Samuel Beckett; A Piece of Monologue © 1982 by The Estate of Samuel Beckett; Play © 1964 by The Estate of Samuel Beckett; Quad © 1984 by The Estate of Samuel Beckett; Rockaby © 1982 by The Estate of Samuel Beckett; Rough for Radio I © 1976 by Les Éditions de Minuit; Rough for Radio II © 1976 by Les Éditions de Minuit; Rough for Theatre I © 1976 by Les Éditions de Minuit; Rough for Theatre II © 1976 by Les Éditions de Minuit; That Time © 1976 by The Estate of Samuel Beckett; What Where © 1984 by Les Éditions de Minuit; Words and Music © 1966 by The Estate of Samuel Beckett.

  The publisher acknowledges with gratitude the permission to include in this volume The Old Tune, Samuel Beckett’s adaptation of Robert Pinget’s La Manivelle, first published by Les Éditions de Minuit © 1963. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, or the facilitation thereof, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review. Any members of educational institutions wishing to photocopy part or all of the work for classroom use, or publishers who would like to obtain permission to include the work in an anthology, should send their inquiries to Grove/Atlantic, Inc., 841 Broadway, New York, NY 10003.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Design and textual supervision by Laura Lindgren

  eBook ISBN-13: 978-0-8021-9846-4

  Library of Congress Catalog Card Number 60-8388

  Grove Press

  an imprint of Grove/Atlantic, Inc.

  841 Broadway

  New York, NY 10003

  DISTRIBUTED BY PUBLISHERS GROUP WEST

  WWW.GROVEATLANTIC.COM

  All That Fall

  Act Without Words I

  Act Without Words II

  Krapp’s Last Tape

  Rough for Theatre I

  Rough for Theatre II

  Embers

  Rough for Radio I

  Rough for Radio II

  Words and Music

  Cascando

  Play

  Film

  The Old Tune

  Come and Go

  Eh Joe

  Breath

  Not I

  That Time

  Footfalls

  Ghost Trio

  . . . but the clouds . . .

  A Piece of Monologue

  Rockaby

  Ohio Impromptu

  Quad

  Catastrophe

  Nacht und Träume

  What Where

  Notes

  The Collected Shorter Plays

  ALL THAT FALL

  A play for radio

  Mrs. Rooney (Maddy), a lady in her seventies

  Christy, a carter

  Mr. Tyler, a retired bill-broker

  Mr. Slocum, Clerk of the Racecourse

  Tommy, a porter

  Mr. Barrell, a station-master

  Miss Fitt, a lady in her thirties

  A Female Voice

  Dolly, a small girl

  Mr. Rooney (Dan), husband of Mrs. Rooney, blind

  Jerry, a small boy

  Rural sounds. Sheep, bird, cow, cock, severally, then together.

  Silence.

  Mrs. Rooney advances along country road towards railway station. Sound of her dragging feet.

  Music faint from house by way. “Death and the Maiden.”

  The steps slow down, stop.

  MRS. ROONEY

  Poor woman. All alone in that ruinous old house.

  [Music louder. Silence but for music playing. The steps resume. Music dies. Mrs. Rooney murmurs, melody. Her murmur dies.

  Sound of approaching cartwheels. The cart stops.

  The steps slow down, stop.]

  Is that you, Christy?

  CHRISTY

  It is, Ma’am.

  MRS. ROONEY

  I thought the hinny was familiar. How is your poor wife?

  CHRISTY

  No better, Ma’am.

/>   MRS. ROONEY

  Your daughter then?

  CHRISTY

  No worse, Ma’am.

  [Silence.]

  MRS. ROONEY

  Why do you halt? [Pause.] But why do I halt? [Silence.]

  CHRISTY

  Nice day for the races, Ma’am.

  MRS. ROONEY

  No doubt it is. [Pause.] But will it hold up? [Pause. With emotion.] Will it hold up?

  [Silence.]

  CHRISTY

  I suppose you wouldn’t—

  MRS. ROONEY

  Hist! [Pause.] Surely to goodness that cannot be the up mail I hear already.

  [Silence. The hinny neighs. Silence.]

  CHRISTY

  Damn the mail.

  MRS. ROONEY

  Oh thank God for that! I could have sworn I heard it, thundering up the track in the far distance. [Pause.] So hinnies whinny. Well, it is not surprising.

  CHRISTY

  I suppose you wouldn’t be in need of a small load of dung?

  MRS. ROONEY

  Dung? What class of dung?

  CHRISTY

  Stydung.

  MRS. ROONEY

  Stydung . . . I like your frankness, Christy. [Pause.] I’ll ask the master. [Pause.] Christy.

  CHRISTY

  Yes, Ma’am.

  MRS. ROONEY

  Do you find anything . . . bizarre about my way of speaking? [Pause.] I do not mean the voice. [Pause.] No, I mean the words. [Pause. More to herself.] I use none but the simplest words, I hope, and yet I sometimes find my way of speaking very . . . bizarre. [Pause.] Mercy! What was that?

  CHRISTY

  Never mind her, Ma’am, she’s very fresh in herself today.

  [Silence.]

  MRS. ROONEY

  Dung? What would we want with dung, at our time of life? [Pause.] Why are you on your feet down on the road? Why do you not climb up on the crest of your manure and let yourself be carried along? Is it that you have no head for heights?

  [Silence.]

  CHRISTY

  [to the hinny] Yep! [Pause. Louder.] Yep wiyya to hell owwa that!

  [Silence.]

  MRS. ROONEY

  She does not move a muscle. [Pause.] I too should be getting along, if I do not wish to arrive late at the station. [Pause.] But a moment ago she neighed and pawed the ground. And now she refuses to advance. Give her a good welt on the rump. [Sound of welt. Pause.] Harder! [Sound of welt. Pause.] Well! If someone were to do that for me I should not dally. [Pause.] How she gazes at me to be sure, with her great moist cleg-tormented eyes! Perhaps if I were to move on, down the road, out of her field of vision. . . . [Sound of welt.] No, no, enough! Take her by the snaffle and pull her eyes away from me. Oh this is awful! [She moves on. Sound of her dragging feet.] What have I done to deserve all this, what, what? [Dragging feet.] So long ago. . . . No! No! [Dragging feet. Quotes.] “Sigh out a something something tale of things, Done long ago and ill done.” [She halts.] How can I go on, I cannot. Oh let me just flop down flat on the road like a big fat jelly out of a bowl and never move again! A great big slop thick with grit and dust and flies, they would have to scoop me up with a shovel. [Pause.] Heavens, there is that up mail again, what will become of me! [The dragging steps resume.] Oh I am just a hysterical old hag I know, destroyed with sorrow and pining and gentility and church-going and fat and rheumatism and childlessness. [Pause. Brokenly.] Minnie! Little Minnie! [Pause.] Love, that is all I asked, a little love, daily, twice daily, fifty years of twice daily love like a Paris horse-butcher’s regular, what normal woman wants affection? A peck on the jaw at morning, near the ear, and another at evening, peck, peck, till you grow whiskers on you. There is that lovely laburnum again. [Dragging feet. Sound of bicycle-bell. It is old Mr. Tyler coming up behind her on his bicycle, on his way to the station. Squeak of brakes. He slows down and rides abreast of her.]

  MR. TYLER

  Mrs. Rooney! Pardon me if I do not doff my cap, I’d fall off. Divine day for the meeting.

  MRS. ROONEY

  Oh, Mr. Tyler, you startled the life out of me stealing up behind me like that like a deer-stalker! Oh!

  MR. TYLER

  [playfully] I rang my bell, Mrs. Rooney, the moment I sighted you I started tinkling my bell, now don’t you deny it.

  MRS. ROONEY

  Your bell is one thing, Mr. Tyler, and you are another.

  What news of your poor daughter?

  MR. TYLER

  Fair, fair. They removed everything, you know, the whole . . . er . . . bag of tricks. Now I am grandchildless.

  [Dragging feet.]

  MRS. ROONEY

  Gracious how you wobble! Dismount, for mercy’s sake, or ride on.

  MR. TYLER

  Perhaps if I were to lay my hand lightly on your shoulder, Mrs. Rooney, how would that be?

  [Pause.] Would you permit that?

  MRS. ROONEY

  No, Mr. Rooney, Mr. Tyler I mean, I am tired of light old hands on my shoulders and other senseless places, sick and tired of them. Heavens, here comes Connolly’s van! [She halts. Sound of motor-van. It approaches, passes with thunderous rattles, recedes.] Are you all right, Mr. Tyler? [Pause.] Where is he? [Pause.] Ah there you are! [The dragging steps resume.] That was a narrow squeak.

  MR. TYLER

  I alit in the nick of time.

  MRS. ROONEY

  It is suicide to be abroad. But what is it to be at home, Mr. Tyler, what is it to be at home? A lingering dissolution. Now we are white with dust from head to foot. I beg your pardon?

  MR. TYLER

  Nothing, Mrs. Rooney, nothing, I was merely cursing, under my breath, God and man, under my breath, and the wet Saturday afternoon of my conception. My back tyre has gone down again. I pumped it hard as iron before I set out. And now I am on the rim.

  MRS. ROONEY

  Oh what a shame!

  MR. TYLER

  Now if it were the front I should not so much mind. But the back. The back! The chain! The oil! The grease! The hub! The brakes! The gear! No! It is too much!

  [Dragging steps.]

  MRS. ROONEY

  Are we very late, Mr. Tyler? I have not the courage to look at my watch.

  MR. TYLER

  [bitterly] Late! I on my bicycle as I bowled along was already late. Now therefore we are doubly late, trebly, quadrupedly late. Would I had shot by you, without a word.

  [Dragging feet.]

  MRS. ROONEY

  Whom are you meeting, Mr. Tyler?

  MR. TYLER

  Hardy. [Pause.] We used to climb together. [Pause.] I saved his life once. [Pause.] I have not forgotten it.

  [Dragging feet. They stop.]

  MRS. ROONEY

  Let us halt a moment and let this vile dust fall back upon the viler worms.

  [Silence. Rural sounds.]

  MR. TYLER

  What sky! What light! Ah in spite of all it is a blessed thing to be alive in such weather, and out of hospital.

  MRS. ROONEY

  Alive?

  MR. TYLER

  Well half alive shall we say?

  MRS. ROONEY

  Speak for yourself, Mr. Tyler. I am not half alive nor anything approaching it. [Pause.] What are we standing here for? This dust will not settle in our time. And when it does some great roaring machine will come and whirl it all skyhigh again.

  MR. TYLER

  Well, shall we be getting along in that case?

  MRS. ROONEY

  No.

  MR. TYLER

  Come, Mrs. Rooney—

  MRS. ROONEY

  Go, Mr. Tyler, go on and leave me, listening to the cooing of the ringdoves. [Cooing.] If you see my poor blind Dan tell him I was on my way to meet him when it all came over me again, like a flood. Say to him, Your poor wife, she told me to tell you it all came flooding over her again and . . . [the voice breaks] . . . she simply went back home . . . straight back home. . . .

  MR. TYLER

  Come, Mrs. Rooney, come,
the mail has not yet gone up, just take my free arm and we’ll be there with time and to spare.

  MRS. ROONEY

  [sobbing] What? What’s all this now? [Calmer.]

  Can’t you see I’m in trouble? [With anger.] Have you no respect for misery? [Sobbing.] Minnie! Little Minnie!

  MR. TYLER

  Come, Mrs. Rooney, come, the mail has not yet gone up, just take my free arm and we’ll be there with time and to spare.

  MRS. ROONEY

  [brokenly] In her forties now she’d be, I don’t know, fifty, girding up her lovely little loins, getting ready for the change. . . .

  MR. TYLER

  Come, Mrs. Rooney, come, the mail—

  MRS. ROONEY

  [exploding] Will you get along with you, Mr. Rooney, Mr. Tyler I mean, will you get along with you now and cease molesting me? What kind of a country is this where a woman can’t weep her heart out on the highways and byways without being tormented by retired bill-brokers! [Mr. Tyler prepares to mount his bicycle.] Heavens you’re not going to ride her flat! [Mr. Tyler mounts.] You’ll tear your tube to ribbons! [Mr. Tyler rides off. Receding sound of bumping bicycle. Silence. Cooing.] Venus birds! Billing in the woods all the long summer long. [Pause.] Oh cursed corset! If I could let it out, without indecent exposure. Mr. Tyler! Mr. Tyler! Come back and unlace me behind the hedge! [She laughs wildly, ceases.] What’s wrong with me, what’s wrong with me, never tranquil, seething out of my dirty old pelt, out of my skull, oh to be in atoms, in atoms! [Frenziedly.] ATOMS! [Silence. Cooing. Faintly.] Jesus! [Pause.] Jesus! [Sound of car coming up behind her. It slows down and draws up beside her, engine running. It is Mr. Slocum, the Clerk of the Racecourse.]