Playwrights and actors propose; the gods dispose. My intention last night was first to see that very vexatious play, ‘The Playboy of the Western World’, so that I might be better prepared to have a talk with its author, Mr. J. M. Synge, which was my chief errand. But the gods had willed it otherwise. Technically considered, perhaps they were not gods; they were confined mostly to the left-hand side of the upper end of the house; but they were all-powerful. They overpowered everybody and everything else. Certainly they could not have been anything less than saints; for none but saints could take up the quarrel of virtue with such a vehemence, such an unflagging zeal. After all ‘saints’ is the better word here. It must not be forgotten that we are dealing here with the National Theatre of a nation of saints.
KeywordsNational Theatre Irish Time Artistic Sense Aran Case Irish Language
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