![Études Irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 [En Ligne], Mis En Ligne Le 30 Juin 2011, Consulté Le 09 Décembre 2020](http://data.docslib.org/img/ee09c74804fbce206036ae9101049ab5-1.webp)
Études irlandaises
34.1 | 2009 Varia
Édition électronique URL : http://journals.openedition.org/etudesirlandaises/317 DOI : 10.4000/etudesirlandaises.317 ISSN : 2259-8863
Éditeur Presses universitaires de Caen
Édition imprimée Date de publication : 30 juin 2009 ISBN : 978-2-7535-0935-1 ISSN : 0183-973X
Référence électronique Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 [En ligne], mis en ligne le 30 juin 2011, consulté le 09 décembre 2020. URL : http://journals.openedition.org/etudesirlandaises/317 ; DOI : https://doi.org/10.4000/ etudesirlandaises.317
Ce document a été généré automatiquement le 9 décembre 2020.
Études irlandaises est mise à disposition selon les termes de la Licence Creative Commons Attribution - Pas d’Utilisation Commerciale - Partage dans les Mêmes Conditions 4.0 International. 1
SOMMAIRE
In memoriam Jean Brihault
Études d'histoire et de civilisation
L’histoire et les Penny Journals : réécriture du passé et construction identitaire Claire Dubois
La France et les propagandes nationalistes irlandaises durant la Première Guerre mondiale Pierre Ranger
Art Imitating War? Observe the Sons of Ulster Marching Towards the Somme and its Place in History Jacqueline Hill
Closer to Brussels than to Rome? The EU as the new external referent for a secularised Irish society and a redefined Catholic identity Jean-Christophe Penet
Art et image
L’intemporel incarné : les corps des tourbières entre métaphore et littéralité Valérie Morisson
“Soul of the Devil’s Pig”: Comedy and Affirmation in James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake Bernard McKenna
“Default[ing] to the Oldest Scar”: A Psychoanalytic Investigation of Subjectivity in Anne Enright’s The Gathering Sarah C. Gardam
Mme de Staël’s Cosmopolitan Imaginary and Sydney Owenson’s Early Novels Evgenia Sifaki
Quelle poésie de la sortie de guerre en Irlande du Nord ? L’exemple de Breaking News de Ciaran Carson (2003) et The State of the Prisons (2005) de Sinéad Morrissey Catherine Conan
Links to Pagan Ritual in Medieval Irish Literature David A. Hutchison
Comptes rendus de lecture
Plays and Controversies. Theatre and Globalization. Interactions: Dublin Theatre Festival 1957-2007 Modern Irish Theatre Martine Pelletier
A Little Book of Hours Jessica Stephens
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 2
Points West Catching the Light Clíona Ní Ríordáin
The Poems of James Stephens Claude Fierobe
Irish Poetry after Feminism Clíona Ní Ríordáin
Literarisierung einer gespaltenen Stadt Angela Vaupel
Madness and Murder Nathalie Sebbane
Knock Catherine Maignant
Michael Davitt Olivier Coquelin
How Ireland Voted 2007 Julien Guillaumond
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 3
In memoriam
Jean Brihault
1 Le Professeur Jean Noël est décédé le 11 février 2009 dans sa 97e année. Pendant la plus grande partie de sa vie professionnelle, il avait été Professeur de littérature anglaise à l’université Rennes 2 – Haute-Bretagne.
2 Il fut le fondateur des études irlandaises en langue anglaise à la faculté des lettres de l’Université de Rennes, devenue université Rennes 2 – Haute-Bretagne. Après une thèse d’État consacrée à l’auteur irlandais George Moore, il introduisit progressivement des enseignements de littérature irlandaise dans les programmes du département d’anglais. Il travailla à un rapprochement avec la section de celtique de l’université pour, finalement, fonder le Centre d’Études Irlandaises de l’université Rennes 2 – Haute-Bretagne. Il créa également la revue liée à ce centre et qui fut publiée sous le titre Cahiers du Centre d’Études Irlandaises avant de fusionner avec les deux autres revues existant au plan national : Gaëliana (Caen) et Études Irlandaises (Lille 3) pour donner naissance à la revue nationale Études Irlandaises. Il fut un directeur de thèse apprécié, également exigeant sur le plan scientifique et bienveillant sur le plan humain ; il publia de nombreux articles dans le domaine de la littérature irlandaise et, jusqu’à l’âge de 90 ans, fut le talentueux traducteur de l’œuvre du romancier et nouvelliste irlandais, Walter Macken.
3 Jean Noël participa également à la structuration des études irlandaises au plan national et lorsque le Professeur Patrick Rafroidi entreprit de fonder la Société Française d’Études Irlandaise, il fit tout naturellement appel à Jean Noël pour en être le premier président.
4 De même, il joua un rôle déterminant dans le développement de l’université Rennes 2 – Haute-Bretagne dont il devint le vice-président après le vote de la loi Edgar Faure. À ce titre, il fut le premier artisan du développement du secteur de l’audiovisuel à l’Université. C’est lui qui, avec beaucoup de détermination et de sens politique, obtint du ministère une importante dotation en matériel et la reconnaissance de ce domaine de formation et de recherche. Ce sont cette vision et cet acharnement à la mettre en œuvre qui permirent, par la suite, le développement au sein de l’université Rennes 2 –
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 4
Haute-Bretagne d’un secteur audiovisuel de réputation internationale dans les domaines de la recherche, de l’enseignement et de la création.
5 Il était aussi peintre amateur de talent. Sa modestie lui a toujours interdit de présenter ses œuvres en public. Les rares privilégiés qui en possèdent ne peuvent que s’émerveiller devant ces tableaux de la vie quotidienne, saturés de couleur, révélateurs d’un désir d’aller vers l’autre, de le comprendre, de le connaître et le respecter.
6 Ceux qui eurent la chance de côtoyer Jean Noël garderont, par-dessus tout, le souvenir de son dévouement aux autres, de sa gentillesse et de son humanité.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 5
Études d'histoire et de civilisation
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 6
L’histoire et les Penny Journals : réécriture du passé et construction identitaire
Claire Dubois
1 The Dublin Penny Journal fut lancé en 1832 par Caesar Otway, éditeur du Christian Examiner de 1825 à 1831. Ce fut le premier journal qui réussit à avoir un fort tirage en Irlande, soit cinquante mille exemplaires 1. Après huit numéros, George Petrie décida de travailler en collaboration avec Otway. Dans la préface du premier volume, ils énoncèrent leurs intentions. Ils désiraient créer un journal qui se voulait neutre, « indépendant de secte ou de parti ». Il était destiné à la fois à tenir dans les « poches des membres des classes les plus pauvres de la société », mais sous forme de volume il n’était pas indigne de la « bibliothèque de l’érudit et du gentilhomme 2 ». Outre le fait que le journal était destiné à toutes les classes de la société, il se construisait sur des bases exclusivement irlandaises. Il était écrit par des Irlandais pour des Irlandais et c’est ce qui faisait sa spécificité.
2 Les éditeurs espéraient fédérer la population irlandaise autour de son histoire et réagir ainsi aux querelles sectaires qui agitaient traditionnellement le pays dans le but de parvenir à une amélioration sur un plan moral. Le journal comptait des articles économiques, des conseils pratiques, mais on peut noter le nombre de sujets qui touchaient à l’histoire et à l’archéologie. Petrie écrivait des articles de vulgarisation historique et archéologique, des biographies. Certains numéros reproduisaient des légendes du folklore irlandais. On pouvait également y trouver des notices descriptives de paysages typiques et de sites archéologiques. Le journal reflétait avec fidélité la variété des intérêts de George Petrie, qui était selon Joep Leerssen un des derniers grands « polymaths » (esprit universel) en Irlande 3. Peintre de formation, Petrie se passionnait pour l’histoire et a progressivement amené l’archéologie vers le professionnalisme. Il collectait également des airs musicaux du folklore irlandais et collaborait de façon régulière aux débats et aux publications de diverses sociétés savantes parmi lesquelles The Royal Irish Academy ou The Royal Irish Art Union. Il dirigea la section historique de l’Ordnance Survey et publia un mémoire avec la collaboration de
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 7
Eugene O’Curry et de John O’Donovan, deux gaélophones avec qui il travaillait régulièrement. La presse lui permettait de dépasser le cercle restreint des historiens pour tenter de toucher un public plus large, voire la population irlandaise dans son ensemble. L’édition d’un journal constituait donc un prolongement logique à la stratégie de diffusion du savoir de Petrie.
3 Après un an, le journal connut des difficultés financières et il fut repris par P. D. Hardy. Après cela, les contributions de Otway et Petrie se firent plus rares. Petrie tenta en 1840 de rééditer un journal dans la continuité du Dublin Penny Journal, mais sous un nouveau nom, The Irish Penny Journal. Dès la fin de l’année, les ventes chutèrent des deux tiers et Petrie abandonna l’édition. Malgré une nouvelle tentative en 1841-1842, le journal souffrit du fait que le nouvel éditeur, Samuel Lover, éditait également le Dublin University Magazine.
4 Dans sa première année de parution, le journal était véritablement le reflet des différentes activités de George Petrie, qui s’y consacrait pleinement. Très attaché à la dimension éducative de ses ouvrages et toiles, Petrie se lançait ainsi dans une entreprise lui permettant d’approfondir ses tentatives d’éducation historique de la population irlandaise, mais cette fois avec un lectorat potentiel bien plus important. Cela implique, comme nous le verrons, un effort de vulgarisation et/ou un choix de sujets censés plaire et intéresser le plus grand nombre. Nous étudierons précisément le public visé par Petrie et Otway et nous verrons comment s’exprime leur souci didactique au sein même du journal. Enfin, nous nous attacherons à voir comment les éditeurs espérèrent fédérer la population en créant une communauté grâce à ce journal et à l’histoire irlandaise. Nous étudierons comment cela s’intègrait dans le projet nationaliste culturel de Petrie. Nous nous poserons également la question des raisons de l’échec du journal dont les ventes chutèrent dès le début des années 1840 lorsqu’il fut confronté à un autre type de publication, The Nation.
Un journal à portée nationale
5 Petrie et Otway annoncèrent leurs intentions dans la préface au premier volume du Dublin Penny Journal. Il était destiné à toutes les classes de la société, aux membres de toutes les communautés religieuses. Il était également construit sur des bases exclusivement nationales.
Agreeing, therefore, with its valuable predecessors only in the exclusion of politics and sectarian religion, and in the general desire to be useful and instructive, the Penny Journal started on new and exclusively national ground and with national as well as useful objects in view. The subjects chiefly chosen were such as the most likely to attract the attention of the Irish people, next to those of politics and polemics, by which their minds had been previously and almost exclusively occupied: namely, the history, biography, poetry, antiquities, national history, legends and traditions of the country: subjects which can never fail of interesting the feelings of a people. The plan was novel and experimental, and, at the same time, animating to the minds zealous for the moral improvement of the country 4.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 8
6 Les bases nationales du journal impliquent qu’il était écrit par des Irlandais pour des Irlandais, mais également qu’il traitait principalement de sujets irlandais. L’objectif de cette publication était national autant que pratique. Les éditeurs espéraient fédérer la population irlandaise autour de son histoire et mettre ainsi fin aux querelles sectaires qui agitaient le pays. Ils étaient conscients de participer à un projet nouveau et expérimental. Petrie et Otway souhaitaient s’inscrire dans la continuité des publications précédentes en Irlande, tout en s’en démarquant dans le choix des sujets puisqu’ils affirmaient vouloir laisser de côté la politique et la religion. Cette attitude constituait une solution alternative à d’autres journaux tels que le Dublin University Magazine, qui se voulait le porte-parole d’un certain nationalisme protestant que les récents événements en Irlande avaient consterné. L’émancipation catholique avait en effet été vécue par certains comme une trahison de la part du gouvernement britannique. Ce mensuel défendait ardemment l’Eglise d’Irlande et ses droits à percevoir la dîme par exemple. Il se voulait la voix des protestants qui craignaient qu’un mouvement populaire ne provoque un changement radical en Irlande et qui souhaitaient retrouver leur rôle de guides de la nation irlandaise.
7 Contrairement à ce concurrent, le Dublin Penny Journal avait une conception plus large de la nationalité irlandaise. On peut noter le nombre de sujets qui touchaient à l’histoire et à l’archéologie. L’histoire est citée deux fois dont une avec l’adjectif « nationale », la biographie de même que les légendes et les traditions sont des domaines périphériques à l’histoire. L’archéologie est également évoquée grâce aux objets découverts. L’objectif du journal était donc d’instruire la population sans tomber dans la polémique. Le journal était destiné à la population dans son ensemble, ce qui constituait une nouveauté en Irlande et correspondait au projet culturel de Petrie.
8 Cependant, dès la préface, le rôle accru des élites dans la mise en œuvre de ce projet est souligné. Si on lit la préface jusqu’à la fin, les objectifs de Petrie et Otway sont formulés plus clairement encore. Si ce journal était destiné à la population irlandaise dans son ensemble, il était plus susceptible d’être lu par les classes sociales les plus aisées qui avaient à la fois le temps de faire ce genre de lectures et l’instruction nécessaire.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 9
They [the conductors] have the conviction that their little work is eminently calculated to effect a public good, and not of a fleeting but a permanent character: that its beneficial influence will be but little felt at the present time as compared with its extent hereafter, by exciting a national and concordant feeling in a country in which there is, as yet, so much of discord and party, and by extending a taste for literature among a people to whom it has been but little known, except as connected with political and polemical discussions. To further these objects, the conductors throw themselves on the good feeling of the well disposed of all classes, and hope for the support of the higher orders, who should feel most interested in their attainment. It is to them that this preface is more especially addressed. With them it chiefly rests whether the DPJ shall be successfully sustained, because it is through their influence its circulation may be yet more widely extended. To such influence is mainly attributable the success, in the sister isle, of works having similar objects, and should it, in this instance, be withheld from ours, we may venture to say it would be but little honourable to Ireland 5.
9 Ce passage montre que Petrie et Otway désiraient instruire les Irlandais et agir pour le bien du pays ainsi que dans le sens d’une réconciliation entre les différentes communautés. Toutefois, c’étaient les classes sociales élevées qui constituaient la clé de leur conception de l’instruction populaire. Ils en appelaient à l’influence de l’Ascendancy pour permettre l’amélioration de la situation irlandaise. Les éditeurs reconnaissaient toutefois la difficulté de cette entreprise, eu égard au contexte social irlandais. Ils savaient que les classes sociales les plus élevées « avaient généralement des préjugés bien ancrés contre ce qui était créé sur place et national » et que les plus humbles « ne lisaient d’autre littérature que ce que la presse quotidienne leur procurait 6 ». Pour Petrie et Otway les classes sociales humbles lisaient la presse quotidiennement. Il s’agissait donc certainement des classes moyennes dont la conscience politique s’éveillait à cette époque suite notamment à l’émancipation catholique. Il est important de remarquer que Petrie et Otway en appelaient paradoxalement aux élites anglo- irlandaises pour faire l’éducation historique des classes populaires, qu’ils considéraient pourtant comme les dépositaires des traditions et des valeurs de la société gaélique.
Un objectif didactique
10 Les élites se virent donc attribuer le rôle de veiller à l’instruction des classes populaires. Selon Petrie et Otway, l’éducation était la clé pour sortir de la situation actuelle. Le journal tentait de conserver un côté pratique en donnant des conseils aux lecteurs en ce qui concerne l’agriculture ou simplement la vie quotidienne. C’était sans doute grâce à ces rubriques que le journal espérait toucher les classes les plus humbles. Le rédacteur de la rubrique Practical Advice to Irishmen vantait ainsi les mérites de l’éducation et de la lecture pour essayer de faire mentir les préjugés anglais.
We are sure that all our friends will not despise a little advice; and we therefore wish to call their attention to a few things not unworthy the observation of rational men. One grand objection, until of late, to
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 10
Irishmen, was their want of business habits. It is owing to this that the English have imbibed the idea that nothing good can come out of Ireland, and it is owing to this that our shops and our warehouses are filled with Scotchmen. We do not mention this for the sake of invidious comparison, all we mean by it is, that Irishmen may be stimulated to rival them in what is assuredly merely an educational habit. To our young men, we would say, never undervalue your situation. […] We say habit, for it is owing to education. Let our friends endeavour to diffuse around them a taste for wholesome manly reading. Let them endeavour to diffuse knowledge, and to guide the demand for it; let them encourage it in their children and relatives; and Ireland will soon present a cheering scene 7.
11 Le rédacteur insiste sur l’importance de l’instruction tout en lançant un appel aux classes les plus instruites pour qu’elles jouent leur rôle de guide surtout auprès des jeunes générations. La lecture et l’instruction sont présentées comme des remèdes aux préjugés. Selon le rédacteur, c’est l’ignorance qui maintient l’Irlande dans cette situation. Ce type de sujet intitulé Practical Advice ainsi que le coût de l’hebdomadaire garantissaient une certaine « accessibilité psychologique » du journal 8. Il ne s’agissait pas d’un périodique purement littéraire. Il se devait d’être à la fois utile et instructif. Jusqu’à ce type de publication, la situation économique de la majorité de la population ne lui permettait pas de lire la presse et donc de participer à la vie publique de la même façon que la bourgeoisie. Cependant, les grandes causes politiques comme l’émancipation catholique amenaient cette population dans la rue. La dichotomie entre culture savante et culture populaire était donc très accentuée. Selon Habermas, « les classes forment des milieux spécifiques, des mondes vécus et des valeurs orientées selon des traits spécifiques à chaque couche sociale 9 ». La situation en Irlande était bien entendu compliquée par les disparités religieuses. La création des penny journals tendait donc à la fois vers une hiérarchisation et un décloisonnement de l’horizon de communication possible 10.
12 Selon Habermas, l’objectif de ces périodiques était de remplir une mission au sein de la société. Ils devaient permettre de rendre publique l’opinion de l’éditeur, en l’occurrence celle de Petrie. Cela lui donnait la possibilité de « donner à l’usage qu’il faisait de sa raison dans un but pédagogique une efficacité sur le plan public 11 ». La mission des élites anglo-irlandaises était donc d’instruire la population dans le but de l’amener à se servir de sa propre raison. Le rédacteur de la rubrique en appelle d’ailleurs aux hommes rationnels, « rational men ». Les classes sociales instruites devaient s’éveiller à une conscience nationale et prendre leurs responsabilités en tant que guides d’une rénovation culturelle, morale et économique du pays.
Histoire et réconciliation nationale
13 L’histoire devait permettre de rassembler la totalité de la population autour de racines et d’une identité communes. Contrairement au Dublin University Magazine et à The Nation, le Dublin Penny Journal tentait de véhiculer un sens plus large de la nationalité irlandaise. Il essayait de ne pas s’impliquer dans la bataille nationaliste, mais il diffusait la notion d’une identité culturelle distincte et originale. Le journal était entièrement construit pour faire progresser la cause de la réconciliation, mais également pour
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 11
démontrer l’intérêt de l’histoire irlandaise. Petrie faisait preuve d’exactitude scientifique tout en cherchant à mettre en avant son projet de régénération nationale. Les sujets cités dans la préface étaient présentés comme des « zones de réconciliation » qui pouvaient susciter un intérêt similaire chez tous les Irlandais et grâce auxquelles ils pouvaient surmonter leurs différences 12. Le journal utilisait à de nombreuses reprises l’adjectif Irish comme en témoigne cette note aux lecteurs à la fin du premier numéro.
We would not vainly boast, neither would we recklessly promise; but we may be permitted to say this much, that we are neither ashamed of our handiwork, nor afraid of keeping it up. It is an Irish undertaking altogether, Irish paper, Irish printing, the woodcut was done expressly for this number by an Irishman, Clayton, and we wherefore claim Irish support. The expense of producing such a periodical is great; but moderate profits will suffice us, if our countrymen only second our endeavours to wipe off the stigma which has, we do trust falsely, been affixed to Irish spirit and to Irish literature 13.
14 Les éditeurs affirment vouloir rompre avec le passé, enlever l’étiquette que l’on a collée à l’Irlande et aux Irlandais. Ils ne condamnent toutefois pas explicitement l’attitude anglaise. Tout ceci est présenté comme un vaste malentendu dû à l’ignorance des uns et des autres. Petrie et Otway appellent d’ailleurs l’Angleterre « the sister isle ».
15 Il semble somme toute assez logique que le journal s’intéresse particulièrement à la littérature comme moyen de véhiculer sa nouvelle conception de la nationalité irlandaise. Petrie insistait sur l’intérêt de la littérature et de l’art pour instruire la population. Des extraits de The Irish Minstrelsy de Hardiman furent publiés ainsi que des poèmes et histoires de Samuel Ferguson, James Clarence Mangan, William Carleton (Rose Moan, The Irish Midwife) ou encore Samuel Lover (The Landlord and the Tenant). Les thèmes abordés étaient principalement les histoires du passé et les paysans, « past and peasant ». Il faut noter que la plupart de ces auteurs contribuaient également au Dublin University Magazine. Il semble donc que ce soient principalement des auteurs anglo- irlandais qui entendaient instruire les classes moyennes irlandaises. Il faut toutefois noter que John O’Donovan et Eugene O’Curry signèrent également quelques articles, notamment des notices historiques.
16 L’autre centre d’intérêt du journal était le passé gaélique. En l’absence d’une véritable nation politique, il est inévitable que toute discussion de ce qu’est la nation irlandaise aborde les questions de l’identité et de l’originalité historique et culturelle. Il était donc logique que le journal comporte de si nombreux articles concernant le passé gaélique, si on le compare aux penny journals anglais. Petrie a signé par exemple, au cours de la première année de parution, une série de sept articles concernant le développement de l’art en Irlande et intitulée Historic sketch of the past and present state of the Fine Arts in Ireland 14. Le premier article de la série constitue à la fois une introduction et une condamnation des préjugés anglais quant à l’histoire irlandaise ainsi que des reconstructions gaéliques 15. Comme dans nombre de ses écrits pour la Royal Irish Academy, Petrie reprend les arguments d’autres auteurs, qu’ils soient anglais ou irlandais, et les réfute un à un avant de montrer qu’il faut s’appuyer sur des preuves concrètes. Il retrace ensuite au fil des articles l’évolution de l’art en Irlande grâce notamment à des illustrations qu’il réalise lui-même. Selon lui, l’épanouissement des
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 12
arts en Irlande va sans doute être rendu possible par les changements politiques récents 16.
Our minds, no longer engaged in the harrowing broils of political and religious strife, will seek the soft and humanizing enjoyments which the cultivation of the taste can alone impart, and we shall find our reward in the acquisition of a new sense more ennobling to our nature, and more closely allied to the Divinity than those already enjoyed in common with the lower animals 17.
17 Petrie semble dans ce passage accueillir l’émancipation catholique avec un certain soulagement. Il s’agissait sans doute à ses yeux d’une nécessité pour parvenir à une réconciliation des différentes communautés en Irlande. Il espérait que cela mettrait un terme aux divisions politiques et religieuses et permettrait ainsi aux Irlandais de s’adonner à des activités plus nobles. Dans cette série d’articles, Petrie se posait en interprète des arts et des origines gaéliques. Pour lui ce sujet était une question nationale. Il se faisait l’interprète à la fois par rapport à sa propre communauté mais également par rapport aux catholiques qu’il estime coupés de leur histoire en quelque sorte. Grâce à divers médias, il se lançait dans une véritable quête d’authenticité susceptible d’éveiller un sentiment d’appartenance à un territoire, à une nouvelle communauté unie dont ce journal serait la voix dans l’espace public, une sorte de communauté de discours 18. Les sites et les monuments tels que Clonmacnoise, que Petrie considérait comme le plus beau du pays, étaient les dépositaires d’une culture irlandaise originale et distincte sur le modèle défini par Herder au siècle précédent 19. Petrie attachait une très grande importance à ces lieux de mémoire qui, selon la définition de Pierre Nora, sont des lieux où la mémoire nationale s’est incarnée, qu’ils soient matériels ou intellectuellement construits, des éléments symboliques du « patrimoine mémoriel d’une quelconque communauté 20 ». Petrie découvrit, avec O’Curry et O’Donovan, de nombreux objets comme le calice d’Armagh et la broche de Tara qui devinrent des exemples des réalisations d’un âge d’or qu’ils situaient entre le VIIIe et le XIe siècle. La culture irlandaise de cette période était selon eux une fusion très réussie des traditions païennes et de la chrétienté héritée de Saint Patrick, jusqu’à l’arrivée des Anglo-Normands 21.
18 L’activité des traducteurs du passé comme Petrie déterminait le nouveau nationalisme culturel qui vit le jour dans les années 1830 et 1840. Les implications nationalistes des activités de Petrie poussèrent le gouvernement britannique à mettre fin au financement de la section historique de l’Ordnance Survey en 1840, à une période où le nationalisme politique mené par Daniel O’Connell jetait la population dans la rue. Le nationalisme de Petrie n’était toutefois pas politique. Il déplorait l’anglicisation de l’Irlande mais craignait que les campagnes menées par O’Connell ne polarisent davantage la société. Il était par ailleurs partisan de l’Union.
19 La question de l’identité était centrale pour les Anglo-Irlandais qui ne voulaient pas que l’Irlande soit considérée comme une simple province anglaise et pour les Irlandais d’origine gaélique qui étaient culturellement déracinés. Petrie explorait donc tous les aspects du territoire national. Les symboles irlandais, représentant son originalité historique et culturelle, furent d’ailleurs reproduits dans le Dublin Penny Journal dès le deuxième numéro.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 13
Figure 1 : National Emblems (1832).
20 [Image non convertie] Illustration du Dublin Penny Journal, tirée de Nicholas Lee (ed.), Irish Identity and Literary Periodicals 1832-1842, Derry, Field Day, 1991, vol. 1, p. 9.
21 On peut voir par exemple une tour ronde, élément archéologique exclusivement irlandais dont les origines et l’utilisation faisaient toujours débat dans les années 1830 22. Cet élément est symbolique de la présence du passé au sein du présent en Irlande, c’est en quelque sorte un chronotope 23. Cette illustration des symboles est prétexte à une lettre de Terence O’Toole, pseudonyme de Caesar Otway. Dans cette lettre, Otway passe en revue les différents symboles irlandais présents dans l’illustration et leur signification. Les illustrations sont amenées à jouer un rôle dans la transmission du savoir. C’est d’ailleurs un des moyens utilisés par Petrie pour transmettre ses idées, notamment par le biais de paysages 24. Ces croquis étaient censés éveiller un sens du territoire national.
Sir, Your woodcut is, to my apprehension, as full of meaning to an Irishman, as any emblematic device I have seen. It represents peculiar marks or tokens of Ireland, which are dear to my soul. I am bold to say, the Round Tower, and the Wolf Dog, belong exclusively to our country; not so I allow the Oak, or the Shamrock, or the Harp; and we may add, the Crown. But Irish oaks and shamrocks, and Harps, as well as Irish Dogs, are known all the world over; and small blame to me if I try to say a little about them 25!
22 O’Toole se présente comme un lecteur ayant quelques connaissances sur l’Irlande et son histoire. Il retrace l’histoire des différents symboles représentés sur cette gravure. En ce qui concerne les tours rondes, O’Toole cite l’ouvrage de Petrie, The Ecclesiastical Architecture of Ireland et reprend les arguments de ce dernier en évoquant brièvement la polémique. Otway entreprend ici de réveiller la fibre nationale des lecteurs et présente le journal comme un « patriote qui n’est pas mercenaire ». Cette expression souligne une nouvelle fois la volonté des éditeurs de présenter l’histoire irlandaise d’un point de vue non sectaire. Les symboles évoquent de façon tangible l’originalité de la culture irlandaise et donnent un ancrage réel au folklore et aux traditions que reprennent les auteurs irlandais.
23 Ainsi, des préoccupations nationales s’exprimaient à travers des spécificités locales et un sens du territoire spécifique. Le réveil de la fierté nationale préoccupait les éditeurs qui y voyaient un intérêt pour l’Irlande. Cela leur permettait d’envisager la possibilité que les différences pouvaient être mises de côté. Le Dublin Penny Journal portait indubitablement la marque de Petrie et mettait en exergue ses idées de réconciliation autour d’une histoire commune. Il soulignait l’importance de l’histoire dans la vie d’une nation et le fait qu’il fallait connaître les histoires du passé pour s’en servir au présent. L’histoire était une force vive qui devait servir d’inspiration dans tous les domaines. Petrie rendit ses théories accessibles au plus grand nombre grâce à la presse. Il agissait comme un propagandiste dans le but de créer une nouvelle Irlande dans laquelle les élites ne seraient plus tournées vers le modèle britannique. Ces préoccupations semblaient correspondre à une attente du public puisque le journal se vendit très bien jusqu’à ce que les lecteurs se tournent vers un nationalisme plus ardent.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 14
24 Nombre de critiques reprochaient au journal de permettre à l’élite anglo-irlandaise de perpétuer sa mainmise sur la majorité catholique. En effet, le journal préconisait une éducation de la population par le haut, ce qui permettait à l’élite anglo-irlandaise de continuer à jouer son rôle paternaliste et ce, malgré l’émancipation des catholiques. Dans cette optique, The Nation correspondait sans doute mieux aux nouvelles attentes de la population, et notamment des classes moyennes catholiques. Les journaux concurrents du Dublin Penny Journal, comme le Dublin University Magazine ou The Nation, n’occultaient par ailleurs pas la dimension politique et polémique inhérente à la situation irlandaise. Habermas souligne qu’à partir des années 1840 environ, les classes sociales instruites perdent le sentiment d’avoir une mission à remplir au sein de la société 26. Les journaux politisent davantage leur contenu et deviennent parfois les porte-parole de mouvements politiques, comme The Nation en Irlande. Un rédacteur de ce périodique reprochait d’ailleurs au Dublin Penny Journal de tout faire pour éviter la controverse : « Seem Irish and be Irish 27. » En lisant le Dublin Penny Journal, le lecteur ne pouvait qu’être conscient des sujets polémiques qui étaient laissés de côté, car ils faisaient partie de son quotidien ou tout du moins de l’histoire récente dont il n’était pas aisé d’effacer les stigmates. Le journal donnait certes une vue partielle et partiale de l’Irlande mais c’était dans le but avoué de parvenir à une réconciliation nationale.
NOTES
1. À noter que les penny journals anglais atteignaient des tirages de cent mille à deux cent mille exemplaires. À titre de comparaison le mensuel The Dublin University Magazine et l’hebdomadaire The Nation, créé plus tard, atteignaient respectivement un tirage de quatre mille et douze mille exemplaires. 2. Nicholas Lee (ed.), Irish Identity and Literary Periodicals 1832-1842, 6 volumes, Bristol, Thoemmes Press, 2000, vol. 1, Préface, sans pagination : « unconnected with sect or party », « suited to the pockets of the poorer classes of the society », « not unworthy of the library of the scholar and the gentleman ». 3. Joep Leerssen, « Petrie, Polymath and Innovator » in Peter Murray (ed.), George Petrie (1790-1866), The Rediscovery of Ireland’s Past, Cork, Gandon Editions, 2004, p. 7-11. 4. Nicholas Lee, op. cit., Préface. 5. Ibid. 6. « Who were unaccustomed to any other species of literature than that which the daily press afforded » ; « who had generally a deep-rooted prejudice against what is home-bred and national ». Nicholas Lee, ibid. 7. Ibid., vol 1, p. 21. 8. Jürgen Habermas, L’espace public : archéologie de la publicité comme dimension constitutive de la société bourgeoise, Paris, Payot, 1993, p. 164. 9. Jürgen Habermas, Théorie de l’agir communicationnel, Paris, Fayard, 1987, vol. 2, p. 174.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 15
10. Ibid., p. 429. 11. Jürgen Habermas, L’espace public…, op. cit., p. 176, 190. 12. Seamus Deane (ed.), The Field Day Anthology of Irish Writing, 5 volumes, Derry, Field Day, 1991, vol. 2, p. 4. 13. Nicholas Lee, op. cit., vol. 1, p. 8. 14. Les articles ont été publiés dans les numéros suivants du volume 1 : n° 11 du 8 septembre 1832, 13 du 22 septembre, 19 du 3 novembre, 29 du 12 janvier 1833, 39 du 23 mars, 42 du 6 avril et 45 du 4 mai. 15. Selon Petrie, les auteurs d’origine gaélique, cherchant à contrer les préjugés anglais, échafaudaient des théories fantaisistes qui se révélaient aussi préjudiciables à l’histoire irlandaise que les préjugés eux-mêmes. 16. Petrie fait certainement allusion ici à l’émancipation catholique de 1829. 17. Nicholas Lee, op. cit., vol. 1, p. 83. 18. Jürgen Habermas, L’espace public…, op. cit., p. 190. 19. Johann Gottfried Herder avait soutenu que la culture était unique et particulière à chaque nation et qu’elle dépendait avant tout de caractéristiques propres à chaque peuple, caractéristiques notamment ethniques et traditionnelles. Une autre philosophie de l’histoire, 1774, Paris, Montaigne, 1964. 20. Pierre Nora, Les lieux de mémoire, Paris, Gallimard, 1984-1992, 3 tomes, vol. 1, introduction, p. 20. 21. John Hutchinson, The Dynamics of Cultural Nationalism, Londres, Allen and Unwin, 1987, p. 74-113. 22. Voir à ce sujet le chapitre concernant la polémique dans Joep Leerssen, Remembrance and Imagination, Cork, Cork University Press, 1996, pp. 108-134. 23. Anthony Purdy définit le chronotope comme un élément par lequel se manifeste la présence du passé, la trace consciente ou inconsciente d’une période plus ou moins distante dans la vie d’une communauté ou d’un individu. Anthony Purdy, « The bog body as mnemotope: nationalist archaeologies in Heaney and Tournier », Style 36-1, printemps 2002, p. 93-110. 24. Voir ma communication au colloque Mémoire d’Empire à l’Université de Lille 3 en octobre 2007 : « George Petrie : paysages irlandais et identité nationale ». 25. Nicholas Lee, op. cit., vol. 1, p. 9. 26. Jürgen Habermas, L’espace public, op. cit., p. 174. 27. « Our periodical literature », The Nation, in Field Day Anthology of Irish Writing, op. cit., vol. 1, p. 1265-1269.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 16
RÉSUMÉS
George Petrie (1790-1866) espérait fédérer la population irlandaise autour d’une histoire nationale non-sectaire sur le plan religieux. Cet article montre comment ce projet a dépassé le cercle restreint des historiens pour se diffuser sur le plan national. Le Dublin Penny Journal était en effet destiné à toutes les classes de la société et tentait de populariser tous les aspects de l’histoire et du folklore irlandais auprès du grand public.
George Petrie’s project was to reconcile all the communities of Ireland by presenting them a non- sectarian national history. This paper aims at showing how this project left the limited circle of historians and antiquarians to be circulated on a national basis. The Dublin Penny Journal was written for all the social classes of the Irish society and tried to popularize all aspects of history and folklore.
INDEX
Mots-clés : identité nationale, Petrie George, histoire des représentations, presse populaire Keywords : national identity, popular press, history of representations, Petrie George
AUTEUR
CLAIRE DUBOIS Université Charles de Gaulle – Lille 3
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 17
La France et les propagandes nationalistes irlandaises durant la Première Guerre mondiale
Pierre Ranger
1 Il n’est probablement pas exagéré d’écrire que l’historiographie irlandaise de la Première Guerre mondiale a connu de très grandes évolutions ces dernières années. La publication d’un certain nombre de travaux a permis de mieux comprendre une période qui pouvait être qualifiée jusque-là d’« amnésie nationale 1 ». L’identité nationale irlandaise s’est, en effet, largement développée au XXe siècle autour des figures d’un nationalisme irlandais radical, tout particulièrement celles des responsables de l’insurrection de Pâques 1916 2. Patrick Pearse a été introduit au panthéon de l’histoire irlandaise après son exécution. Eamon de Valera est resté au plus proche du pouvoir de 1932, lorsqu’il devient Premier Ministre, à 1973. Qu’au moment même où quelques centaines d’hommes s’emparaient de la poste de Dublin, des milliers de soldats irlandais mourraient dans les tranchées en France sous l’uniforme britannique est, somme toute, longtemps passé inaperçu 3.
2 Dans de telles circonstances, le rôle de l’Irlande dans la Première Guerre mondiale a souvent été perçu comme anecdotique par les Irlandais eux-mêmes. Il n’a certes pas été décisif, mais les dernières recherches font état d’un nombre de soldats engagés assez important au vu des handicaps évidents auquel un recrutement militaire britannique devait se confronter. Keith Jeffery dénombre 210 000 soldats irlandais ayant combattu, sans compter ceux qui se sont engagés directement dans différentes parties de l’Empire britannique ou dans l’armée des États-Unis. 25 000 de ces soldats ont été tués 4. Outre les statistiques, les recherches les plus récentes, tels les travaux de Jérôme aan de Wiel, Ben Novick et Keith Jeffery, ont tenté de comprendre le rôle de la guerre dans l’évolution des questions intérieures irlandaises.
3 Avec le début de la guerre, la vieille et complexe division entre nationalistes irlandais constitutionnalistes modérés et séparatistes radicaux prend un tour décisif. Recherchant la mise en pratique du Home Rule que lui ont promis les Britanniques au début de la guerre, John Redmond, responsable du parti parlementaire irlandais,
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 18
promeut une « union de cœur » et, soutenu par une large majorité de la presse irlandaise5, fait campagne pour le recrutement de soldats irlandais au sein des armées britanniques. Les nationalistes plus radicaux, très divers mais menés entre autres par le fondateur du Sinn Féin, Arthur Griffith, font front commun pour la promotion de la neutralité irlandaise. Nous définirons respectivement ces deux partis antagonistes comme les pro et les anti-alliés, une terminologie utilisée par Ben Novick. Mais ces termes ne reflètent pas la réalité de la situation. Un fait, notamment, rajoute une difficulté. Aucun de ces frères ennemis ne peut oublier qu’au sein des alliés, au côté de l’Angleterre, combat la France. Dans la décisive guerre de mots que se livrent les deux camps nationalistes ainsi formés, ce fait soulève maints débats, interrogations et tergiversations, largement influencés par les évolutions du contexte intérieur irlandais. Du côté anti-alliés, on peut en effet diviser la représentation donnée de la France en deux grandes phases : pré et post-Pâques 1916. Que la France soit au cœur de la propagande nationaliste irlandaise ne constitue pas, en soit, un fait nouveau 6. La principale évolution se trouve dans un changement de rôle. Entre constitutionnalistes moins prompts à célébrer l’héritage français parfois violent 7 du nationalisme irlandais, et des hommes plus radicaux qui par le passé en ont fait un outil de propagande, cet article cherche à comprendre la place et l’influence de la France dans un face-à-face qui, sur fond de guerre mondiale, oppose deux visions d’une Irlande indépendante.
La propagande française en Irlande : enjeux et limites
4 Quelques mois après le début de la guerre, le gouvernement français se montre particulièrement désireux de raviver la vieille amitié franco-irlandaise. L’objectif est triple : motiver le recrutement de soldats en Irlande, engendrer un mouvement de sympathie à l’égard des alliés dans la communauté américano-irlandaise, mais aussi aider à la stabilité de la Grande-Bretagne. Une trop grande instabilité en Irlande pourrait, en effet, conduire l’Angleterre à renforcer son contingent militaire sur l’île, et donc provoquer un affaiblissement du front ouest 8. Informé de l’opinion irlandaise sur la politique française en matière de religion par le parlementaire irlandais, Timothy Power O’Connor 9, le gouvernement français prend la décision, dès 1915, d’inviter à Paris une délégation d’Irlandais constitutionnalistes et catholiques. La visite a lieu du 30 avril au 1er mai. L’objectif affiché est de renouer les sentiments amicaux des catholiques irlandais envers la France. La situation est en effet devenue préoccupante. Le clergé irlandais, tout en soutenant les alliés, semble devenir particulièrement sensible aux bonnes relations de l’Allemagne avec le Vatican 10. La France, qui entretient des rapports difficiles avec le souverain pontife, et dont la réputation de pays anticlérical s’est affirmée après le vote de la Loi de Séparation de l’Église et de l’État de 1905, se doit de réagir. En effet, la baisse du recrutement en Irlande devient inquiétante 11. Cette diminution est notamment le fait d’un manque de propagande en faveur du recrutement, de mauvaises décisions du cabinet Asquith qui hésite à mettre en valeur la bravoure des soldats irlandais sur le front 12, et du développement économique des campagnes irlandaises pendant la guerre, qui n’invite pas les fermiers à s’engager.
5 La délégation irlandaise envoyée à Paris se compose majoritairement de membres de The Ancient Order of Hibernians 13, et de son président Joseph Devlin, figure majeure du nationalisme irlandais à Belfast. Durant les trois jours que cette délégation passe dans
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 19
la capitale française, les discours se succèdent pour promouvoir les symboles du lien franco-irlandais au travers du XIXe siècle, tel le partage d’un même sang celtique. Timothy O’Connor, sur place pendant la visite, décrit par exemple la France comme « the greatest of the Celtic countries 14 », une rhétorique utilisée par John Redmond lui- même dans son manifeste sur les devoirs de l’Irlande dans la guerre :
It is a war for the defense of the sacred rights and liberties of small nations. Involved in it is the fate of France, the chief nation of that powerful Celtic race to which we belong 15.
6 Le thème particulièrement sensible de la religion est laissé à Devlin, qui met en valeur le combat des prêtres dans les tranchées et parle d’une « France nouvelle 16 », pour mieux souligner la renaissance de la pratique religieuse dans le pays depuis le début de la guerre, ainsi que la mise en sourdine des politiques anticléricales.
7 Ces discours constituent donc un complet changement de ton. La France n’est plus regardée comme un pays immoral, dirigé par de violents et dangereux anticléricaux, comme avait pris l’habitude de l’affirmer le Weekly Freeman, journal catholique particulièrement proche de Redmond. Avec le début du conflit, trente années d’une rhétorique acerbe sont oubliées, et la France retrouve sa place de protectrice de la chrétienté face à la menace allemande, barbare. Le 26 décembre 1914, ce même Weekly Freeman explique :
The bombardment of Rheims cathedral has raised a wave of indignation throughout the country […] In striking contrast to the German vandalism is the action of the French doctors, who, risking their lives, entered the Cathedral and rescued the German wounded 17.
8 Aux yeux de cette presse, la France redevient ce pays juste, humaniste, protégeant tout homme, toute nation devenue vulnérable.
La campagne anti-alliés face au lien mémoriel et identitaire franco-irlandais
9 Dans les deux premières années de la guerre, la réaction de plusieurs journaux anti- alliés à cette offensive pro-française est étonnamment prudente et complexe. Certes, la France, irreligieuse et amorale, apparaît une cible facile, comme le montre l’Honesty, un journal proche de l’Irish Republican Brotherhood :
The French people have practically no regard for the sanctity of marriage, and the State of France has given its sanction and recognition to immorality by legally recognizing illegitimacy 18.
10 Il est difficile de savoir à quoi fait exactement référence le journal. Peut-être à la loi Naquet de 1884 qui rétablit le divorce, ou à l’acceptation grandissante de l’« union libre » dans la société française 19. Probablement cherche-t-il une parade à la rhétorique pro-alliée, en utilisant la représentation d’une France n’obéissant plus aux règles édictées par l’Église catholique. La dévalorisation religieuse et morale des alliés est aussi faite au travers d’une propagande raciale, qui dénonce l’utilisation de troupes
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 20
indigènes. Griffith notamment ne se prive pas de railler dans son Nationality, « les Sénégalais et les ilotes cannibales » que l’on voudrait faire passer pour les plus grands défenseurs de la « civilisation chrétienne 20 ».
11 Au vu de ces quelques exemples, il serait logique de conclure que l’ensemble de la presse nationaliste irlandaise anti-alliée va s’attacher à montrer au peuple d’Irlande combien la France est restée ce pays « sans Dieu ». Cependant, dans les premières années de la guerre, l’évolution n’est pas tout à fait celle-ci, et les dénonciations claires et franches de la société française sont relativement peu fréquentes 21.
12 Cette observation peut certainement surprendre, mais elle n’en est pas moins raisonnable. Le soutien que la grande majorité des Irlandais aux sympathies nationalistes apportent dès les premiers instants de la guerre aux alliés constitue l’une des explications. Des rapports de police sur l’état de l’opinion montrent clairement que l’Allemagne est « haïe », et la France « adorée 22 ». Affronter un point de vue si majoritaire en attaquant trop violemment la France et risquer de s’aliéner une partie de la population aurait été un mauvais calcul. On remarque d’ailleurs que l’article de l’Honesty est écrit dans un contexte moins favorable aux alliés où, comme on l’a vu, le recrutement est en baisse. Il faut rajouter qu’en 1914, les quelques journaux anti-alliés à faibles tirages se trouvent bien désarmés face à la puissante machinerie des grands périodiques nationaux qui appellent avec enthousiasme à soutenir l’effort de guerre français, et, surtout, qui n’hésitent pas à faire valoir le traditionnel lien franco- irlandais 23.
13 Pour mieux comprendre cette sorte d’argument, il faut nous transporter à la fin du XIXe siècle, lorsque la France joue encore un rôle important au sein du débat nationaliste irlandais 24. Avant la guerre, en effet, il n’est pas rare de voir certains nationalistes plus ou moins proches de la mouvance séparatiste des fenians, prendre la défense de la politique religieuse du gouvernement français. Ainsi, au début du XXe siècle, Arthur Griffith n’hésite pas à s’opposer aux attaques de la presse catholique irlandaise contre le gouvernement français, qu’il pense instrumentalisées par les autorités britanniques pour distancier l’Irlande d’un allié 25. À ces affaires religieuses se rajoute la question coloniale. Fidèles à l’adage selon lequel « les difficultés anglaises sont les opportunités irlandaises », les nationalistes irlandais dans leur grande majorité recherchent des signes de tensions franco-anglaises au cours du XIXe siècle. Ils promeuvent dès qu’ils le peuvent le renouveau militaire français après l’humiliation de 1870. C’est en particulier le cas de la presse proche de l’Irish Republican Brotherhood, ou en tout cas d’un certain idéal séparatiste26. Les campagnes coloniales en Afrique, à Madagascar ou au Soudan, sont l’occasion de montrer le retour au premier plan d’une armée puissante, possible rivale de celle de l’Angleterre.
14 La guerre des Boers leur apporte une autre raison d’espérer un soutien venu de France, ou en tout cas de le faire savoir. Si certains historiens considèrent que le gouvernement français reste plutôt neutre durant l’ensemble du conflit, d’autres travaux ont montré qu’il n’en a pas moins conscience des possibilités que peut offrir l’Irlande nationaliste. Paul Cambon, ambassadeur de France à Londres pendant la guerre des Boers, a semble- t-il pris au sérieux les risques que représente alors le mouvement nationaliste irlandais pour la sécurité de la Grande-Bretagne27. Plus généralement, les relations franco- irlandaises promues au cours du XIXe siècle par les nationalistes irlandais, notamment les plus proches de l’idéal séparatiste et républicain, prennent en large partie racine dans le républicanisme de Wolfe Tone et des Irlandais Unis. Ce lien est aussi celui d’une
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 21
dette que le pays aurait contractée avec l’intervention française pendant la révolte des Irlandais Unis.
15 La place accordée à la France dans l’histoire, la mémoire, et les politiques nationalistes irlandaises jusqu’à la fin du XIXe siècle rajoute donc une vraie complexité à la position tenue par les anti-alliés durant les deux premières années de la guerre. La preuve nous en est fournie par le Gael, lorsque le journal publie en plein milieu de la guerre une série d’articles sur les aventures de Monceau de Jones, un soldat français ayant combattu aux côtés des Irlandais Unis :
We present our readers with a narrative of the exciting and romantic adventures of Monceau de Jones in the great and glorious struggle for Irish freedom of 1796 and 1798. Monceau de Jones was a brave and brilliant soldier of France. France is not now our ally. But the enemy of 98 is the enemy of 1916 28.
16 Les derniers mots tentent de dissiper l’ambiguïté de la publication de ce texte dans un tel contexte. Mais les responsables du journal ne peuvent ignorer la place de la France dans la construction d’une identité nationale irlandaise souvent tournée sur la mise en valeur d’un passé commun, des brigades irlandaises à la rébellion de 1798. Même si les relations avec la France se détériorent après 1904 et la signature de l’« Entente Cordiale 29 », pour des Irlandais nationalistes « avancés » qui tendent à se référer obsessionnellement aux faits passés, ou à ce qu’ils veulent en savoir, pour en tirer les explications, les leçons, et les justifications à leurs actes30, il est difficile de se défaire d’une telle présence historique lorsque ceux contre lesquels ils dirigent leur campagne l’utilisent dès qu’ils le peuvent.
Contourner le problème français avant Pâques 1916 : une question de rhétorique
17 Nous ne prétendons pas affirmer qu’il existe une parfaite uniformité de ton au sein des différentes publications anti-alliés, qui chacune possède une identité politique distincte. Nous ne souhaitons pas non plus nier que certains propos anti-français, notamment ceux des « Sinn Féin priests », aient été utilisés dans la presse anti-alliées 31. Mais nous constatons que trois différentes approches rhétoriques ont été utilisées pour aborder le rôle de la France durant le conflit, chacune permettant de réaffirmer la complexité du contexte franco-irlandais.
18 Une première piste est offerte à la propagande anti-alliée par le traitement du thème religieux, passé et présent. Dans le contexte difficile qui suit la chute du député irlandais Charles Stewart Parnell en 1890 32, les anti-parnellites, souvent catholiques conservateurs, s’opposent aux parnellites, généralement plus radicaux. La France devient un objet de débat. Les uns l’utilisent comme l’exemple d’une société en décadence morale, les autres prennent sa défense. Le concept d’un peuple resté fidèle aux enseignements du catholicisme, mais prisonnier de ses dirigeants, est alors développé. C’est ce même concept qui est utilisé pour démontrer l’amoralité des responsables français pendant la guerre, opposée à un peuple remplissant bravement son devoir. Une façon de neutraliser les arguments pro-français tout en se gardant de s’attaquer au peuple de France et à ce qu’il représente dans l’histoire irlandaise. Voici
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 22
comment l’Honesty, qui avait publié quelques jours auparavant le petit article isolé sur l’immoralité française cité plus haut, change partiellement de cap. L’athéisme français reste dénoncé, mais l’article vise les responsables politiques de France, alors qu’il rend hommage à son peuple :
Here is this unfortunate country, with the invader in possession of its choicest territory, and a much hated invader he is. The men of France are sacrificing everything that is dear to them in an effort to drive out the detested enemy. And while they are doing this the deposed oligarchy that rules the country is fattening upon its miseries. This shows what kind of patriot an atheist usually is 33.
19 Pour les nationalistes irlandais qui adhèrent à cette théorie, le peuple français, dont les vertus ne sont pas à remettre en cause, se trouve prisonnier des dirigeants athées et anticléricaux que sont Raymond Poincaré, George Clémenceau, ou encore René Viviani 34. Le sentiment d’amitié envers la France qui émane de ce texte est encore plus frappant si on l’oppose à la vision assez dure qui est donnée de l’Allemagne. Celle d’un envahisseur en possession de territoires, l’Alsace et la Lorraine, qui ne lui appartiennent pas. Pourtant, dès le début de la guerre, plusieurs Irlandais séparatistes se tournent vers l’Allemagne. Des contacts assez avancés ont existé entre des nationalistes irlandais, notamment sir Roger Casement, et l’état-major allemand. Des armes ont notamment été sur le point d’être envoyées en Irlande. Présenter l’Allemagne comme un « envahisseur » est donc dans ce cadre une démarche tout à fait surprenante. Que faut-il comprendre ? L’Allemagne est une pièce maîtresse des politiques nationalistes anti-alliés mises en place pendant la guerre, et cette phrase ne permet pas de réévaluer ce sentiment. En revanche, nous touchons ici à la question de l’Alsace-Lorraine, vecteur d’un puissant symbolisme pour une Irlande qui se considère, elle aussi, occupée. En effet, après la défaite de 1870, l’opinion catholique et nationaliste irlandaise a toujours démontré une grande empathie envers les peuples de ces deux régions 35.
20 Une autre solution pour résoudre la « question française » consiste simplement à ignorer la France 36. La Russie, cible facile notamment par sa politique polonaise, est présentée seule à combattre aux côtés des Anglais. Le 11 décembre 1915 l’Hibernian, l’un des rares journaux catholiques et radicaux, accuse ainsi la Russie d’être à l’origine du conflit mondial. Le 24 janvier 1915, dans le Nationality, on peut lire ce commentaire sarcastique :
We all know that England and Russia are the friends of small nationalities and the enemies of militarism […] and that the Germans, whom we are taught in our school geographies were “a brave, industrious, moral, and pious people”, are, on the contrary, cowardly and brutal savages 37.
21 L’article évoque ensuite les drapeaux mêlés de Moscou et de la Grande-Bretagne. Rien n’est dit sur le drapeau français, ou sur l’implication française dans la guerre, puisque dans la mémoire et l’identité nationaliste irlandaise, la France a toujours été représentée comme la première alliée de ces petites nations dont parle l’article. Mais la solution la plus communément choisie par les nationalistes radicaux est certainement de présenter la nation française comme une autre victime d’une guerre bâtie, comme
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 23
Eire-Ireland l’explique, à 95 % par les Anglais 38. Au contraire de l’Angleterre ou de la Russie, la France n’est donc pas, dans cette perspective, un agresseur. Déjà en 1904, quand la France signe l’Entente Cordiale avec l’Angleterre, Griffith présente l’accord comme le résultat de la séduction des naïfs Français par les Anglais 39. C’est également ce que l’Irish Freedom, journal de l’IRB, affirme dans son numéro d’avril 1914 : « La France est écrasée sous l’égoïste monopole anglais 40. » La guerre est donc une occasion parfaite pour insister sur la machination de la « perfide Albion ». Le sacrifice des soldats français sur les champs de bataille est souvent opposé à l’attentisme anglais. Dans l’Honesty du 4 mars 1916 on peut lire :
The Frenchman knows that since the beginning of the war there are more than 700 000 killed, and nearly 800 000 permanently disabled, when the British Empire counts hardly 130 000 killed 41.
22 À la fin de la guerre, la Grande-Bretagne compte approximativement 750 000 morts 42. En conséquence, le chiffre de 130 000 morts pour mars 1916 apparaît bien en dessous de la réalité, même s’il est vrai que les états-majors laissent filtrer très peu d’informations sur ce type de statistiques. La volonté de démontrer les manipulations et la lâcheté des dirigeants de Grande-Bretagne est en tout cas claire.
23 L’article de l’Honesty semble en fait répondre à un double objectif. En effet on y remarque la volonté de présenter le début d’une dissension entre les alliés en insistant sur le terme : « The Frenchman knows ». Les nationalistes irlandais radicaux ont toujours considéré l’entente franco-anglaise comme un accord n’obéissant à aucune logique, et ne pouvant durer comme la discorde ne pourrait manquer de s’imposer entre les deux ennemis héréditaires. Naturellement, alors que la guerre s’installe en Europe, la presse nationaliste radicale insiste sur de supposées tensions entre les soldats français et anglais. Eire-Ireland écrit le 13 novembre 1914 :
There is a rather bitter feeling growing between the French and English soldiers in the field. The French think the English have not “played the game” 43.
24 Cette dernière expression insinue que les Français s’éveillent finalement à la réalité et comprennent avec qui leur destinée est liée. L’Entente Cordiale ne pouvait résister, passé le premier combat révélateur des véritables intentions anglaises. En fait, un certain nombre de ces nationalistes radicaux ne semblent pas capables, même après dix années, à se résoudre à une « entente » qui dure toujours. À accepter l’alliance « naïve », d’une certaine façon la trahison de leur premier et seul allié naturel 44. Même les plus fervents partisans d’une alliance avec l’Allemagne conservent sur ce sujet un sentiment particulièrement amer. Sir Roger Casement, dans un conte non publié qu’il a écrit lui-même, présente ouvertement son opinion :
Once upon a time there were two friends [La France et l’Angleterre naturellement] and they said : “It is a great Pity we are not three for Three’s Company Two’s none.” “Humph!” Said an old woman, “I heard that put differently when I was young.” “When you were young, Ma’am”, they said with a smile, “people were foolish enough to speak the truth” 45.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 24
25 La vieille femme du texte correspond à la représentation traditionnelle de l’Irlande née de la ballade Shan Van Vocht, dont le titre se traduit lui-même par la « vieille dame », et qui a été composée en souvenir du débarquement des troupes françaises sur les côtes irlandaises en 1798. La référence à la « vieille dame » est celle d’une Irlande soutenue par une France révolutionnaire, alors en guerre contre l’Angleterre. Cette vision de la France constitue la « vérité » dont parle le texte, opposée au mensonge d’une alliance franco-anglaise. L’Irlande séparatiste, prônant un nationalisme radical, qui pense souvent en terme de religion, de race, de mémoire, ne peut ni admettre, ni même peut- être pleinement comprendre un accord passé entre deux pays n’ayant majoritairement pas la même religion, supposément pas la même origine ethnique (Celtes ou Latins contre Saxons), et partageant une mémoire de conflits et de rivalités.
La question française après Pâques 1916
26 Le soulèvement impose à la vie politique irlandaise et aux rapports de force qui l’ont caractérisée pendant une bonne partie du XIXe siècle de profondes et durables modifications. La première victime en est le parti parlementaire de John Redmond, qui perd peu à peu le fil des politiques nationalistes. Cette nouvelle situation est illustrée par les changements appliqués à la représentation de la France au sein de la propagande du Sinn Féin. En effet, le front anti-alliés peut maintenant s’appuyer sur une opinion outragée par les exécutions des responsables du soulèvement. Le Sinn Féin bénéficie de cette évolution, et voit sa popularité augmenter sensiblement jusqu’en août 1917 46. Pour le gouvernement français, le progressif retournement du rapport de forces entre nationalistes séparatistes et parlementaires arrive au plus mauvais moment. La répression qui suit le soulèvement de Pâques a pour effet de réduire drastiquement le nombre de recrues irlandaises, alors qu’il faut remplacer les 286 000 soldats morts pendant l’année 47. Différentes tactiques de propagande sont donc employées, mais elles se soldent toutes par un échec 48.
27 Pour la propagande anti-alliés, il est temps de se montrer plus agressif. D’autant que si le Freeman’s Journal multiplie les articles pro-français 49, il ne se remettra jamais de la destruction de ses locaux pendant l’insurrection 50. Aux précautions du début succèdent donc des attaques bien moins teintées de respect pour le lien identitaire et historique franco-irlandais. Le Nationality, chef de file de la propagande anti-alliés à partir de 1916, montre la voie en mettant en valeur l’anticléricalisme français avec de plus en plus d’insistance 51. Le journal n’hésite pas non plus à retourner contre la France l’argument des provinces perdues, si sensible dans les premières années de guerre, en remettant en cause la légitimité des Français à se saisir de ces territoires : « As to Alsace-Lorraine, the Alsace-Lorrainers are three-fourths German and less than one-fourth French52. »
28 Pour soutenir sa démarche, le Nationality peut compter sur des périodiques qui avaient jusque-là montré un profil neutre, ou légèrement favorable aux alliés. C’est le cas du Catholic Bulletin, un mensuel catholique proche du Sinn Féin. Si en 1914 il soutient la France, ses positions se radicalisent nettement en faveur de l’Allemagne après le soulèvement de 1916 et la crise qui suit les rumeurs d’application de la conscription en Irlande au printemps 1918. En mars de cette même année, il appuie donc la tactique du Nationality sur la question de l’Alsace-Lorraine :
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 25
The argument that these two provinces in the main belonged to France before 1870 is not very convincing in supporting the French claim […] there is another view of the question. What think the Alsatians and Lorrainers now 53.
29 Au regard de ces quelques citations, qui en appellent bien d’autres, il semble qu’après le soulèvement de Pâques 1916 il ne reste plus du lien franco-irlandais qu’un bien lointain souvenir, sur le point de s’effacer alors que le XXe siècle avance et l’influence allemande avec lui.
30 Outil essentiel pour certains, sur-utilisé par les soutiens pro-alliés de John Redmond, facteur d’ambiguïté rajoutant à la complexité de la position tenue par les anti-alliés avant 1916, ou symbole du retournement de l’opinion nationaliste dans les années qui suivent le soulèvement, la France est en tout cas très présente au sein de ce matériel imprimé. L’effet concret d’une propagande destinée à empêcher le recrutement irlandais est assez difficile à estimer. Il semble que les événements de Pâques 1916 aient constitué un argument beaucoup plus efficace, comme le montrent les chiffres du recrutement. La prospérité économique récente de l’Irlande n’incite pas non plus les jeunes fermiers à s’engager. Prendre la décision de risquer sa vie dans une guerre dont les intérêts vous sont au fond assez éloignés est un processus complexe, difficile à apprécier correctement aujourd’hui. Cela semble autant affaire de contexte social ou familial que de revendication politique et idéologique 54.
31 Dès l’armistice signé, le Sinn Féin, qui remporte en l’Irlande les élections législatives de 1918, refuse de siéger à Londres, et constitue un parlement à Dublin, le Dáil. En quête de reconnaissance internationale, le mouvement nationaliste irlandais met en place un bureau à Paris, lieu du déroulement de la conférence de la paix. Charles Gavan Duffy notamment met en place un vrai réseau européen de propagande, et déploie d’importants efforts pour ramener à la cause irlandaise la population et le gouvernement français. Mais ce dernier dépend trop de l’Angleterre pour imposer ses vues sur le traité de paix, et assurer sa sécurité face à l’Allemagne. De plus, le soulèvement de Pâques 1916 n’a rien fait pour développer l’amitié et la confiance du gouvernement français envers le mouvement nationaliste irlandais tel qu’il s’impose à partir de 1918-1919.
32 Mais l’étude de cet effort de propagande nous permet d’observer qu’au-delà de la nette baisse d’influence de la France sur les politiques nationalistes à partir de 1904, sa représentation, associée aux épisodes de 1798 ou 1848, oblige, pendant la Première Guerre mondiale, les héritiers de ces événements à s’accommoder de sa présence au sein de l’identité nationale irlandaise jusqu’à ce que l’état de l’opinion publique irlandaise change drastiquement après le soulèvement de Pâques 1916. Plutôt que de le renier, il semble plus logique d’accepter le lien de deux nations dont les identités se sont inter-influencées, et de n’en rejeter que les dirigeants, britanniques ou français anticléricaux, qui les gardent prisonnières. Ceci nous permet également de garder en mémoire l’importance du contexte continental en Irlande, qui, s’il a été porteur d’espoirs déçus au cours du XIXe siècle, n’en a pas moins continué à influencer les politiques nationalistes irlandaises jusqu’à la veille de la signature du traité anglo- irlandais de 1921.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 26
NOTES
1. Keith Jeffery, Ireland and the Great War, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2000, p. 1. Aux publications largement utilisées dans cet article, nous pouvons aussi rajouter des études d’histoire militaire comme celle de Timothy Bowman, Irish Regiments in the Great War (Manchester, Manchester University Press, 2003), des études régionales et personnelles telle Niall McGinley, Donegal, Ireland and the First World War (Letterkenny, An Crann, 2005) ou encore l’ouvrage de T. P. Dooley, Irishmen or English Soldiers (Liverpool, Liverpool University Press, 1995). 2. Soulèvement planifié par l’organisation séparatiste de l’Irish Republican Brotherhood. La répression qui a suivi l’opération a été à l’origine de la montée en puissance du Sinn Féin au sein de l’opinion nationaliste irlandaise. Griffith n’a pas participé aux opérations militaires, mais a su en tirer profit en dénonçant la violence des autorités britanniques. 3. Cela fait une vingtaine d’années que des recherches sont menées sur ce sujet. Parmi les publications récentes, on peut noter le livre de John Horne (dir.), Our War (Dublin, Gill&MacMillan, 2008). L’ouvrage, qui traite notamment des vétérans, montre un intérêt grandissant de la recherche et du public pour l’histoire des soldats irlandais pendant et après la Grande Guerre. 4. Keith Jeffery, Ireland and the Great War, op. cit., p. 6. 5. . Jérôme aan de Wiel, The Irish Factor 1899-1919, Dublin, Irish Academic Press, 2008, p. 161. 6. Les recherches effectuées sur le sujet sont nombreuses, mais on peut citer entre autres les travaux de thèse de Janick Julienne, La question irlandaise en France de 1860 à 1890 : perceptions et réactions (thèse de doctorat, 1997, Université Paris 7), et de Laurent Colantonio, Daniel O’Connell : un Irlandais au cœur du débat politique français, (thèse de doctorat, 2001, Université Paris 8), l’article de Vincent Comerford sur l’influence française du mouvement fenian, « France, fenianism, and Irish nationalist strategy » (Études Irlandaises, n° 7, 1982), ou bien encore, sur l’Irlande et la guerre franco- prussienne de 1870, la publication de Gary K. Pealing, « Saxon and Celt on the Rhine ? Religion and representation in Irish reactions to the Franco-Prussian war 1870-71 », in Colin Graham, Leon Litvack (dir.), Ireland and Europe in the Nineteenth Century (Dublin, Four Court Press, 2005), pp. 112-121 ; ainsi que sur le mouvement Jeune Irlande, les articles de Pierre Joannon, « L’Irlande et la France en 1848 » (Études Irlandaises, N° 12, 1987) et de Mary Buckley, « French influences on Young Ireland, 1842-45 » (Études Irlandaises, N° 7, 1982). 7. On pense notamment aux brigades irlandaises au service des armées de Louis XIV ou de Louis XV, à l’intervention militaire française durant la rébellion de 1798 menée par l’organisation nationaliste des Irlandais Unis, ou à l’influence de la Révolution de Février sur le mouvement nationaliste romantique des Jeunes Irlandais. Dans les années 1850-1860, on peut aussi noter les activités à Paris de nombreux membres de l’organisation de l’Irish Republican Brotherhood, appelés fenians. 8. C’est ce qu’explique Jérôme aan de Wiel dans The Catholic Church in Ireland 1914-1918, Dublin, Irish Academic Press, 2003, p. 128.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 27
9. Ibid., p. 129. 10. Ibid., p. 135. 11. Ibid., p. 222. On compte tout de même un nombre non négligeable de 95 143 recrues irlandaises engagées dans l’armée britannique entre août 1914 et février 1916. 12. Jérôme aan de Wiel, The Irish Factor…, op. cit., p. 181. 13. Fraternité irlando-américaine établie aux États-Unis en 1836, d’inspiration catholique et nationaliste. Avec l’arrivée de Joseph Devlin en 1905, elle se transforme en véritable machine politique au service du parti parlementaire irlandais de John Redmond. Jusqu’alors peu influente en Irlande et en Grande-Bretagne, elle va très largement se développer au sein de la communauté catholique, notamment en Ulster. 14. Jérôme aan de Wiel, The Catholic Church…, op. cit., p. 136. 15. Weekly Freeman, 19 septembre 1914. 16. Discours compilés dans La délégation irlandaise à Paris 1915, Paris, Printing Chaix, 1915. 17. Weekly Freeman, 26 septembre 1914. 18. Honesty, 15 janvier 1916. 19. Jean-Baptiste Duroselle, La France de la « belle époque », Paris, Presse de la Fondation Nationale des Sciences Politiques, 1992 (2nde éd.), p. 12. 20. Nationality, 24 juillet 1915. Griffith étant connu pour son racisme chauvin, il est possible qu’une telle déclaration tienne autant de la propagande que de ses convictions personnelles. 21. L’article cité ci-dessus est à la fois le premier et le dernier du genre à être publié dans l’Honesty. 22. Jérôme aan de Wiel, The Irish Factor…, op. cit., p. 159. Rapport qui s’intéresse au comté de Roscommon. 23. On pense notamment au Freeman’s Journal, à l’Irish Independent, ou au Cork Examiner, qui sont parmi les journaux les plus lus du pays. 24. Dans sa thèse de doctorat, Janick Julienne montre très bien la façon dont le gouvernement français pratique une politique de moins en moins amicale envers les nationalistes irlandais à partir des années 1870. L’échec relatif de la visite de Parnell en 1881 puis l’expulsion de James Stephens en 1885 en font la démonstration. Cependant, il nous semble que cet argument peut être complété par une analyse plus poussée d’archives mettant en valeur les réactions irlandaises à ces politiques françaises. 25. Patrick Maume, The Long Gestation, Irish Nationalist Life 1891-1918, Dublin, Gill & Macmillan, 1999, p. 54. 26. Pour les années 1880, on pense notamment à l’Irishman dont l’un des principaux responsables, James O’Connor, est un membre influent de l’IRB, ou, dans les années 1890, au Weekly Irish Independent, qui compte dans sa rédaction plusieurs membres de l’organisation séparatiste, ainsi qu’au United Irishman d’Arthur Griffith, qui participe à la renaissance du séparatisme irlandais. 27. La neutralité de la France pendant la guerre des Boers est défendue par Pascal Venier, dans « French Foreign Policy and the Boer War », in Keith Wilson (dir.), The International Impact of the Boer War, (Chesham, Acumen, 2001), p. 65-78. Mais dans The Irish Factor…, op. cit., p. 6, Jérôme aan de Wiel défend la thèse selon laquelle certains
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 28
diplomates français, notamment Jules Cambon, ont très vite compris l’importance du « monde irlandais ». 28. The Gael, 29 janvier 1916. Le Gael reste un journal qui s’appuie beaucoup sur une propagande très pro-allemande, et cette caractéristique rend donc cet article d’autant plus intéressant. 29. Dans The Irish Factor…, op. cit., p. 22-24 et p. 28, Jérôme aan de Wiel expose la détérioration des relations franco-irlandaises après la signature de l’Entente Cordiale. Il montre comment les Irlandais nationalistes se rendent rapidement compte du changement d’attitude du gouvernement français à leur égard, qui voit désormais l’Irlande comme une source possible d’affaiblissement pour l’Angleterre. Ce changement permet à l’Allemagne de gagner du terrain, surtout auprès des Irlandais séparatistes, notamment pendant la crise du « Home Rule » de 1913-1914, où les nationalistes sont à la recherche d’armes en cas de guerre civile avec les unionistes d’Ulster. 30. Tom Garvin, Nationalist Revolutionaries in Ireland, Dublin, Gill and Macmillan, 2005 (1re éd. 1987), p. 108-110. 31. Comme on a pu l’observer, le Nationality d’Arthur Griffith hésite moins que d’autres journaux à s’attaquer à la France, à son gouvernement et à sa moralité. Le Spark, proche de l’IRB, est, quant à lui, le seul journal qui ne montre aucune sympathie envers une France qu’il considère moralement inférieure à l’Irlande. 32. Charles Stewart Parnell a dominé la vie politique irlandaise pendant les années 1880. Il meurt en 1891, son honneur souillé par une relation adultérine, et laisse une Irlande nationaliste profondément divisée. 33. Honesty, 22 janvier 1916. Sur le même thème : Hibernian, 4 mars 1916 ; Nationality, 21 août 1915 et 4 décembre 1915, article qui se concentre sur la figure de Viviani. 34. Jérôme aan de Wiel, The Irish Factor…, op. cit., p. 182. Bien avant la guerre, Viviani est accusé d’être le plus grand anticlérical de France, de surcroît franc-maçon. La dénonciation du « Grand Orient », complotant à la tête de l’État français, est une autre façon de dissocier peuple et dirigeants. 35. Des journaux nationalistes aux positions politiques aussi différentes que le républicain Flag of Ireland, ou le catholique conservateur Dublin Evening Post, montrent tous les deux une sympathie profonde envers les populations d’Alsace et de Lorraine jusqu’à la fin du XIXe siècle. 36. C’est aussi la tactique adoptée face aux États-Unis lorsque ces derniers entrent en guerre aux côtés de la Grande-Bretagne en avril 1917. Voir Ben Novick, Conceiving Revolution…, op. cit., p. 114. 37. Nationality, 24 janvier 1915. 38. Eire-Ireland, 2 décembre 1914. Scissors and Paste, un autre journal de Griffith, développe aussi longuement la théorie selon laquelle l’Angleterre est la seule responsable du conflit. 39. Patrick Maume, The Long Gestation…, op. cit., p. 86. 40. Irish Freedom, avril 1914. Le 15 septembre 1915, le catholique Hibernian reprend une thèse similaire en affirmant que l’affaire Dreyfus n’avait été qu’une machination anglaise pour affaiblir la « Gallant French army ». 41. Honesty, 4 mars 1916. Autre article sur le même thème : Nationality, 12 février 1916.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 29
42. Martin Gilbert, First World War, Londres, Harper Collins, 1994, p. 541. 43. Eire-Ireland, 13 novembre 1914. Autres articles sur le même thème : Honesty, 25 mars 1916 ; Nationality, 12 février 1916. 44. Un sentiment ressenti par le fenian O’Donovan Rossa, alors encore un enfant, lorsqu’en 1848 Lamartine refuse d’apporter son soutien au mouvement de la Jeune Irlande. Voir Jérôme Aan de Wiel, The Irish Factor, op. cit., p. 401. 45. National Library of Ireland, Ms 29064, « The Three Friends ». Malheureusement, la rédaction de ce conte n’a pas été datée par l’auteur, mais l’on peut penser qu’il a été écrit avant la guerre, ou pendant ses premiers mois. 46. Jérôme aan de Wiel, The Irish Factor…, op. cit., p. 311. 47. Ibid., p. 294. 48. Une mission ecclésiastique est notamment envoyée en Irlande. Pour une analyse détaillée, voir Jérôme aan de Wiel, The Catholic Church…, op. cit., p. 128-52. 49. Jérôme aan de Wiel, The Irish Factor, op. cit., p. 240. 50. Patrick Maume, The Long Gestation, op. cit., p. 186. 51. Ibid., p. 313. 52. Nationality, 7 avril 1917. 53. The Catholic Bulletin, mars 1918. 54. C’est la thèse développée par David FitzPatrick dans The logic of collective sacrifice : Ireland and the British Army, 1914-1918, The Historical Journal, Vol. 38, n° 4, décembre 1995, 1017-1030.
RÉSUMÉS
Cet article explore la façon dont la presse nationaliste irlandaise a utilisé l’image de la France durant la première guerre mondiale. La radicalisation des politiques nationalistes, entre constitutionnalistes poussant au recrutement et radicaux s’y opposant, est forte dès 1914, encore plus accentuée après Pâques 1916. Combattant aux côtés de la Grande-Bretagne, la France, qui continue malgré tout à bénéficier d’une place à part au sein de l’identité nationale irlandaise, ajoute à la complexité de la situation jusqu’en 1916, car la situation évolue par la suite. C’est ce rôle unique que nous chercherons à comprendre. Entre utilisation des symboles du traditionnel lien franco-irlandais pour les uns, et rejet de cet héritage pour ceux qui l’avaient longtemps mis en valeur.
This article explores how the Irish nationalist press used the image of France during the First World War to feed its own divisions. The radicalization of nationalist politics, between constitutionalists supporting recruitment, and radicals opposing it, is pronounced from 1914, and even more so after Easter 1916. France, which fought alongside great Britain, still enjoyed a special place in Irish nationalism. This relationship became more complex after 1916 and the representation of France changed as a result of the Easter Rising. The present article seeks to explore this representation, caught between the traditional symbols of Franco-Irish complicity
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 30
and the rejection of this heritage by certain sectors of the community which had so long cherished it.
INDEX
Keywords : First World War, Franco-Irish relations, press, Irish nationalism, history of representations Mots-clés : relations franco-irlandaises, nationalisme irlandais, Première Guerre mondiale, presse, histoire des représentations
AUTEUR
PIERRE RANGER Université de Paris XII – Val de MarneQueen’s University, Belfast
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 31
Art Imitating War? Observe the Sons of Ulster Marching Towards the Somme and its Place in History
Jacqueline Hill
1 Observe the Sons of Ulster Marching Towards the Somme (henceforth OSU), by Frank McGuinness, is among the foremost Irish history plays of the twentieth century. First performed in Dublin in 1985, it is the play that first won the author international acclaim, and after Someone Who’ll Watch Over Me (1992) it is his most frequently staged play. From the outset, it was hailed as a major dramatic work, exploring ways in which the historical past could both galvanise and yet shackle the imagination 1.
2 The play’s main character, Kenneth Pyper, is a survivor of the battle of the Somme in July 1916, who looks back on the war-time experiences of his immediate group of fellow-Protestant combatants, members of the 36th (Ulster) Division. They all joined up at the start of the Great War in 1914 and (with the exception of Pyper) all lost their lives at the Somme. As an old man living in Ulster, the elder Pyper recalls the events of the Great War through the prism of “the Troubles”; but virtually all the action in the play is set in the period from the men’s first enlisting to its climax at the Somme. Given the play’s subject matter, it has attracted some comment from historians 2, but there has been no sustained examination of its place in the evolving historiographical tradition of the First World War. This article sets out to fill that gap.
3 The play does not, of course, set out to be a work of history, and it is argued here that while the matter of whether it “got the details right” – such as whether the combatants might plausibly have donned Orange sashes before going into battle on 1 July, or shouted “No Surrender!” as they went over the top – is important, the play raises wider issues to be explored. These include the question of who enlisted and why; why, despite growing evidence of casualties on an unprecedented scale, the combatants were prepared to stay and fight; Ulster Protestant identity and the First World War, and the wider issue of history and memory. The views of historians from the time of the Great War onwards will be examined to assess how the play stands up in the light of these issues.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 32
4 It used to be remarked that Irish historians had been particularly slow in getting to grips with twentieth-century history 3. Even outside Ireland, however, in respect of the First World War, the early interest shown by historians remained for many years highly selective, focusing mainly on the war’s origins. This was driven, understandably, by the desire to avert future conflict, and by the perceived need to confirm, deny, or transcend the issue of “war guilt”. Debate about the war’s origins continued after the Second World War, peaking in the 1960s 4.
5 Meanwhile, all over the world survivors of the conflict, and the millions of the bereaved, had perforce to try to come to terms with their losses, both individually and collectively. Publishers were not slow to try to cater for this potentially huge market. On the Allied side – to pick an example at random – in 1919 the publishers of Punch brought out what they called Mr Punch’s History of the Great War, a compendium of articles and cartoons that had appeared in the magazine during the conflict. Military memoirs also appeared, and, within a decade of the Armistice, collections of soldiers’ letters from the front had been published in Germany 5.
6 Although the Punch history did not lack the customary elements of humour and the ridiculous, the overall thrust of such early works was, for the most part, highly partisan, and stressed the heroism, patriotism, and fighting spirit of the combatants. However, when a collection of British soldiers’ letters was published in 1930, its tendency was rather different. The editor, Laurence Housman, was a socialist and pacifist who hoped to expose the horrors of war, and the collection was published by the Left Book Club 6. A similar questioning of the meaning of the war, notably in countries that had been on the victorious side, was already underway in the literary sphere, by poets, novelists, dramatists and film-makers; while in the social sciences some of the ground work was laid for the study of what some later scholars would call “social memory 7”.
7 An important stimulus for research in this field was a study by a Professor of English that drew heavily on British literary evidence and soldiers’ memoirs, Paul Fussell’s The Great War and Modern Memory (1975), a work whose influence on OSU Frank McGuinness has acknowledged 8. Fussell contended that a pre-war world in which everyone knew the meaning of honour, glory and Christian sacrifice had been shattered by the war, and especially by the experience of the Somme. On the first day of infantry deployment (1 July 1916) the British army alone suffered some 60,000 casualties: the combined British and French casualties over the entire six-month duration of the Somme campaign were ten times that number, without producing any significant gains 9. The dashing of hopes and expectations on such a scale fostered in certain writers a sense of disenchantment, detachment, and irony, attitudes that for Fussell came to represent the dominant, “essentially ironic”, form of modern understanding 10. Fussell’s conclusions proved controversial 11, but helped to encourage historical research. By the 1990s the study of “history and memory” had become a major field for historical research in its own right: this was not confined to the subject of the First World War, but that event did figure largely in the genre 12.
8 As far as Irish historians were concerned, in the decades immediately following the war there was little incentive to join in the international discussion about its origins. On both sides of the newly instituted border (1920) between Northern Ireland and the Irish Free State there was a concern with internal matters; moreover, the writing of
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 33
contemporary history was not encouraged by the journal Irish Historical Studies (1938-) dedicated to “the scientific study of Irish history 13”.
9 None of this, however, prevented the appearance of publications on Irish participation in the war, with early contributions falling into the “heroic” camp 14. The main account of the 36th (Ulster) Division was by Cyril Falls, who had been a captain in the Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers. Falls (who in the 1940s became Chicele Professor of the History of War at the University of Oxford) drew not only on official records but on contributions sent by many who had served with the Division. He emphasised that he had attempted to present life as lived during the war, moving beyond a mere record of battles 15, but the book was first and foremost a military history intended as a tribute to those who had been killed in the war, and to those who had returned.
10 However, such works inevitably bore an added significance, appearing as they did during the crucial years that saw the formation of the new Northern Ireland. The 36th Division had been overwhelmingly Protestant and Unionist in its composition. The Somme was its first major engagement, and on 1-2 July 1916 its members had succeeded in penetrating further into German lines than any other unit: four V.C.s were subsequently awarded to individual members for heroism. But their success had been negated by poor support and the rigidity of the British battle plans – admitted by Falls, though he also claimed that the battle “laid the foundations of future victory 16” – and the Division had suffered very heavy casualties 17. Yet it continued to have an impressive record for the remainder of the war. It is clear that there was a sense among Ulster Unionists that a record of the Division’s achievements would not alone memorialise the dead and comfort the bereaved but also reinforce and justify their own claim to special treatment in the settlement of the Home Rule issue. At all events, Falls’ book was commissioned by a high-powered committee, and a fund set up to cover the costs of production. Within weeks it was “largely oversubscribed”. Among the patrons were Lord (formerly Sir Edward) Carson of Duncairn and Sir James Craig, Prime Minister of Northern Ireland 18. Accordingly, without containing an explicit contemporary political message, Falls’ book was a celebration of “the men of Ulster”. Their discipline, gallantry and spirit of self-sacrifice had depended only in part on their military training: the other element was “a racial spirit possessing already in amplitude the seeds of endurance and of valour 19”. Not surprisingly, in view of the fact that 1 July (Old Style: before the calendar reform of 1752) had been the date of the Battle of the Boyne (1690), the commemoration of the Somme was added to the anniversary calendar of the Orange Order 20.
11 For many years, there were few challenges in Northern Ireland to the “heroic” interpretation of the war 21. Echoing their predecessors, historians noted that for Ulster Protestants the Somme bore much the same significance as the 1916 Easter Rising against British rule did for Catholics: a blood sacrifice, “a pledge of burning sincerity 22”. The fiftieth anniversary of the battle, which coincided with the anniversary of the Easter Rising, did not, as in the latter case, give rise to a crop of new books on the subject. However, it did see the publication of a new, non-partisan, overview of the role of all the Irish regiments in the war, aimed in part at reminding southerners and Catholics of their own contribution 23. The anniversary also prompted some reflections by veterans that questioned the quality of military leadership 24. The onset of “the Troubles” in the late 1960s prompted a greater interest, particularly in the Irish Republic, in the circumstances of the setting up of Northern Ireland. Certain
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 34
historians gave the war a socialist gloss, arguing that the tradition of the Somme was of interest only to the ascendancy class: “the European war was fought for no cause of the poor Protestants of Sandy Row or the Shankill Road 25…”
12 The pace of change in Northern Ireland from 1968 to 1972 under the stimulus of “the Troubles”, coming as it did so soon after what amounted to rapid British disengagement from the African empire during the early 1960s, naturally encouraged speculation as to whether the British government would or should disengage from Northern Ireland 26. For some, such a course of action was regarded as a panacea for the Northern problems. However, over the next decade, during which violence on both sides continued to claim lives, and the loyalist Ulster Workers’ Council defied the government with its general strike and helped to bring down the Sunningdale assembly, it became clear that the problem was more intractable. Among some Unionists, “the Troubles”, far from inducing a spirit of cooperation with nationalists or republicans, prompted a new emphasis on the uniqueness of Ulster identity 27, thus signalling not merely to Dublin but also to London that Northern Ireland Protestants were as likely to insist on their right to self-government as to cast in their lot with the Republic.
13 Against this background, new surveys appeared from historians with a long-standing interest in Ulster history which sought to analyse the causes of this apparent intractability. One such survey, The Narrow Ground, by A. T. Q. Stewart, is worth dwelling on because McGuinness has acknowledged that it was one of the historical works he read when preparing to write the play 28. Stewart argued that there existed in Northern Ireland historic patterns of behaviour and attitude that tended to come into operation at times of crisis. It was sometimes supposed, he contended, that such atavistic patterns themselves constituted the nub of the problem; but that was not the case. The onset of “the Troubles” in the late 1960s owed more to events in Paris in 1968 than to the penal laws or the Battle of the Boyne. Stewart’s point was that once contemporary pressures had come into operation, then “the form and course of the conflict are determined by patterns concealed in the past, rather than by those visible in the present”. Given the inability of the authorities to contain the violence of the 1970s, the civil population on both sides had turned to “the ancestral voices”, “the inherited folk memories of what had been done in the past”. In other words, quoting Kipling, “the Gods of the Copybook Headings in fire and slaughter return 29”.
14 If OSU owes a debt to The Narrow Ground, most obviously expressed in Pyper’s often tortured engagement with his own “ancestral voices”, the “Protestant Gods” 30, other debts are also apparent. McGuinness has indicated that his interest in the war was originally awakened by Jennifer Johnston’s novel How Many Miles to Babylon? (1974), which deals with Irish Catholic participation in the war. Subsequently, it was the war memorial in Coleraine, County Londonderry, with its lists of the names of the dead, which prompted a curiosity about the significance of the Somme for Ulster Protestants. This was a topic about which McGuinness’s own education as a Catholic in Buncrana, County Donegal (in the Irish Republic) had furnished few insights 31. Fussell’s treatment offered a precedent for placing the infantry at the heart of the “drama”, a metaphor so frequently used by contemporaries when describing the war 32. For Fussell, the lowest ranks of fighting men represented the very embodiment of the blasted hopes and lost innocence which for him was the hallmark of the war and particularly of the Somme for British troops at the western front. He pictured them as isolated from their officers
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 35
(by class and military hierarchies); from the enemy (who in conditions of trench warfare were frequently invisible); and of course from their friends and relatives at home (less by geographical distance than by the nature of their experiences on the front) 33. These are conditions which also obtain in OSU.
15 However, while Fussell was preoccupied with the generality of experience of daily life at the front 34, OSU is concerned with the particular experience of eight fictional Ulstermen, all (with one doubtful exception) Protestants, as the survivor Pyper remembers them. When the play was first performed, it was remarkable to see such a subject represented on a Dublin stage. As noted above, the interest shown by historians and others during the 1970s in the history of Northern Ireland had been driven by a desire to understand “the Troubles” and (apart from Harris’s pioneering study) had not involved any systematic consideration of the significance of the First World War or the Somme. Since then, mainly under the impetus of the “history and memory” school in which the First World War has played so prominent a part, a great deal has been written about the war, both from an Irish and an international perspective 35. How does OSU stand up in the light of this new research?
16 One major area of interest for Irish historians has been the question of who enlisted to fight in the war. Since conscription was never applied to Ireland, the recruits were all volunteers, and their composition has now been comprehensively analysed. The findings have confirmed that Ulster consistently provided the highest ratio of enlistment of the four Irish provinces: just over half of all Irish enlistments came from Ulster 36. However, recruitment from Ireland in general began to decline as early as mid-1915; Ulster recruitment held up better, but the number of battalions to be supplied was higher, and by the autumn of 1916 there were serious manpower shortages across all the Irish regiments 37. As for the 36th (Ulster) Division, its overwhelmingly Protestant nature has been confirmed; Catholics were discouraged from joining it, and their numbers were very small 38. Thus far, the findings are consistent with the picture presented of the 36th Division in OSU, which features only one quasi-Catholic, Martin Crawford from Derry town, who privately divulges to Christopher Roulston that he may have been baptised a Catholic 39. However, any idea that Irish enlistment in general was a mainly Protestant phenomenon has been demolished. Less than half – about 43 per cent – of all Irish recruits from 1914 to 1918 were Protestants; and the initially high recruitment levels in Ulster were reflected among nationalists as well as loyalists 40.
17 Why did Ulster Protestants enlist? For Falls the answer had been simple: they believed in their leaders as well as in themselves, and their leaders urged them to come forward for the defence of the Empire, the honour of Ulster, and of Ireland 41. And in OSU too the new recruits, when asked directly why they have enlisted, tend to speak in similar terms – except for Pyper, who has his own complex reasons for joining. However, it takes little reading between the lines of either Falls’ account or OSU to suspect that the reality was more complex, and it is the non-rhetorical aspects that have recently been engaging historians’ attention. Data from official sources shows that the propensity to enlist was affected by social and economic conditions 42, but that did not mean that men joined up simply to escape unemployment, as James Connolly suggested 43. In fact, there was disproportionately heavy enlistment from such stable trades as engineering and ship-building, perhaps because it could be taken for granted that there would still be plenty of work in such trades when the war ended. In the countryside, there was
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 36
marked reluctance to enlist among farmers’ sons and farm workers; and taken overall, recruitment was much lower in rural than in urban areas. It should be noted, too, that there was some alienation of Ulster Unionists from government in the summer of 1914 because of the passing of the Home Rule Bill, which may have affected recruiting 44.
18 No doubt, as some survivors later suggested in a deliberate debunking exercise, for many recruits it was simply a matter of wanting to escape the monotony of life at home: war offered the prospect of novelty and adventure 45. However, there was one factor that stands out above all as influencing participation. The intense militarism of the climate on the eve of the war (which affected nationalists as well as unionists) meant that military life was held in esteem; and the idea that war was “natural” – drawing on Darwinian assumptions – was gaining ground. Heroic qualities were there to be realised, both on an individual level and as part of a team 46. Before the war large numbers of Protestants belonged to the Ulster Volunteer Force, formed to resist Home Rule, while many Catholics belonged to the rival Irish Volunteers. In total, these private armies contained over 250,000 men, and when war broke out both Sir Edward Carson for the Ulster Volunteers and John Redmond for the Irish Volunteers expected that their own force would be embodied as a Division. Carson’s wish was quickly granted, but it took another month to authorise a “second new army”, of which the 16th (Irish) Division was to be part. Overall, it has been calculated that of the Ulster recruits in the early months of war, over four-fifths of Protestants and the same proportion of Catholics had belonged to their respective private army 47.
19 Membership of the Ulster/Irish Volunteers was thus the most important of the group or collective pressures that encouraged recruitment. Precisely how such pressures influenced the enlistment of individuals awaits fuller study of personal records, but research so far highlights the attitudes of comrades in pre-existing small units 48, and decisions made by kinsmen, neighbours and fellow-members of associations such as sporting clubs and fraternities, among them the Ancient Order of Hibernians, the Orange Order, and Masonic lodges 49. Local connections in general appear to have been particularly important – this was not merely an Ulster phenomenon, but found in Britain too. Such connections were reflected in the names of various battalions of the 36th Division: “East Belfast Volunteers”, “South Belfast Volunteers”, “South Antrim Volunteers”, and so on 50.
20 In the context of these findings, the characters in OSU are not unrepresentative of Ulster Protestant recruits. Several of them, certainly Moore, Millen and Craig, had been active in the Ulster Volunteers; Anderson and McIlwaine were shipyard workers. For the purposes of the play, it is necessary that some characters should have joined up as individuals, but Moore and Millen, Anderson and McIlwaine were comrades or colleagues before enlisting.
21 Given that the war was not “over by Christmas”, as many had expected, but had already cost hundreds of thousands of lives by the end of 1914 alone 51, historians have also begun to ask, why did the men stay? Of course, fear of official reprisals against deserters, or “cowards” was one explanation: in OSU Millen is warned by McIlwaine that merely criticising officers could lead to a court martial. Recent research shows that the number of men tried by courts martial for a variety of disciplinary offences was higher in Irish regiments than in English, Scottish and Welsh ones; however, Irish soldiers were not over-represented among those executed following courts martial 52.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 37
22 In any case, fear of reprisals was hardly a sufficient explanation for willingness to stay and fight. Fussell’s study in 1975 highlighted the “innocence” of the troops, their elevated language of personal control and honour, and also their sense of confidence: on the eve of the Somme even the generals felt that God was on their side 53. Recent research has offered a somewhat modified view. Confidence there was, in the effects of British artillery in preparing the way for the advance of the infantry, and although this turned out to be misplaced at the Somme, in the longer term improvements in artillery meant that the war came to an end on Allied terms 54. Morale-boosting initiatives were common: the 36th Division possessed a concert troupe and cinema. Group loyalty – often loyalty to very small groups – was an important factor. Jay Winter has noted that such camaraderie made the war a very private affair indeed, with survival chances often depending on two or three men. Such bonds, frequently pre-dating the war, were reinforced by the isolation of platoons at the front 55. All this is prefigured in OSU through the creation or intensification of relationships (“pairing and bonding”), the results of which are recalled by the elder Pyper as the play begins. He remembers Anderson’s vain attempts to save his friend McIlwaine; and Moore endlessly searching for Millen, supposed dead 56. In such conditions homo-erotic relationships might develop: in OSU that between Pyper and Craig even comes to win a certain acceptance from the other characters 57.
23 The role of the junior officers, who (in contrast to the “top brass”) served in the trenches alongside the men, has also been stressed. Overlooked in Fussell’s account, and largely absent from OSU (one is said to have passed through the trench shortly before the battle is due to begin, only to be dismissed by Millen as a “useless bugger”), these officers in fact shared the risks of the men they led, and their death rate was even higher: 20 per cent as compared with 10-12 per cent of enlisted men in combat units 58. Desertion, or failure to return after leave, meant breaking faith with such officers. All this casts doubt on the (mainly recent) perception of the infantry as mere victims, duped into sacrificing themselves by remote and unfeeling officers. The quality of British high command at the Somme, so long regarded as lamentably poor, has also come in for some reassessment 59.
24 Additional resources to sustain morale at the front were also available. All accounts mention the importance of religion, and those of the 36th Division emphasise that the reading of bibles was particularly common among Ulstermen 60. This must have eased the task of the Young Men’s Christian Association (YMCA), which provided (in addition to a canteens system) religious, educational and social activities among the men. The work of the Y.M.C.A. in the 36th Division was highly praised by Major General Powell 61. OSU strikes a sceptical note in having Moore draw attention to profane uses of the bible, but as the battle approaches, he and his comrades find more conventional comfort in hymn singing and prayer 62.
25 The significance of the Orange tradition, on the other hand, has become a matter of some controversy, which in respect of OSU has centred on the donning of Orange sashes by the men as they prepare to fight on 1 July 63. A number of points can be made. That membership of the Orange Order, although it has not been quantified, was present in the 36th Division seems certain; several battalions in the Division had their own Orange lodges, and lodge meetings took place at the front 64. In July 1915, the War Office went so far as to move the 36th Division from Ireland to Britain lest men desert to participate in Orange parades on 12 July 65. None of this, of course, meant that membership of the
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 38
Order was the norm in the Division. As to the invoking of Orange symbols on the first day of the battle (the Old Style anniversary of the battle of the Boyne) there are conflicting reports. Several early accounts indicated that the men were aware of, indeed inspired by, the significance of the date 66. The source for shouts of “No Surrender” as the men went over the top has been traced to a letter from an English officer at the front to the Belfast Grand Master of Orange Lodges, which was published in the press on 7 July 1916 67. Among the veterans he studied, Philip Orr found some contemporary evidence for the wearing of Orange lilies, and the singing/whistling of Orange songs. Certainly, the Orange Order was quick to incorporate symbols associated with the Somme into their banners 68.
26 However, a survivor who wrote to the Belfast Telegraph in 1966 criticised the “nonsense stuck on to the story”. Admittedly, an orange handkerchief had been waved, but orange was his battalion’s colour; and the writer cast doubt on the extent to which the significance of 1 July was widely known 69. Doubt on the wearing of sashes was expressed by the survivor cited by Kevin Myers 70. Keith Jeffery’s verdict seems judicious: “reliable authority for these stories is hard to come by, and they have certainly multiplied in the telling 71.” But ultimately, given the presence of Orangeism in the Division, the donning of the Orange sashes is not intrinsically implausible, and it makes sense in terms of the action of the play, symbolising as it does not merely the men’s commitment to each other, but Pyper’s acceptance of himself as one of them and his reconciliation with his “ancestral voices”.
27 These matters lead naturally on to the issue of “history and memory”. The twentieth century, with its questioning of the integrity of the self, of authorship, and the reliability of human memory, prompted scepticism in some quarters about the extent to which the past is knowable at all. The inherent subjectivity of even eye-witness reports has become more widely recognised, and the passage of time raises even more questions about the “authenticity” of what is recalled 72.
28 Such issues lie at the very heart of OSU, since so much of what happens on stage is a function of the memory of the elder Pyper. At the outset Pyper makes the disclaimer: “I am not your military historian”, which at its simplest reminds the audience of the subjectivity of his testimony, but also raises the possibility that his interpretation of his group’s wartime experience may be influenced – and almost certainly is influenced – by later events, and specifically, it appears, by “the Troubles”, to which he alludes. The warning is compounded by Pyper’s statement that “I am a liar 73”. In fact, we take on trust what he tells us of the group, because the men he recalls are so vividly brought to life 74.
29 Where, then, does OSU fit into what historians have had to say about Ulster Protestant identity and the First World War? Of course, it was neither the war nor the Somme that induced northern Protestants to highlight their “Ulster” identity, which in its modern form can be traced back to the first Home Rule crisis in 1886, and indeed further back still 75. However, not only did contemporary considerations influence the appearance of early tributes to the 36th (Ulster) Division such as that of Falls, but they also coloured the process of commemoration. Given the evidence, now available in some detail 76, about Catholic participation in the war – including the battle of the Somme, though mostly in its later stages – there was no inherent reason why in Northern Ireland the war should not have been commemorated in ways that would have been inclusive of the two communities.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 39
30 That this (though there were exceptions) did not happen, and the process of commemoration became “overwhelmingly an opportunity to confirm loyalty to the British link and affirm Ulster’s Protestant heritage 77”, has to be evaluated in the light of the circumstances in which Northern Ireland was set up. The campaign waged by the IRA in Northern Ireland in 1921 and 1922, endorsed by the hawkish element in the provisional government in Dublin, was intended to destabilise the province and force an end to partition. This served to reinforce and intensify the traditional Protestant sense of siege, and put a premium on ensuring Unionist unity 78. Meanwhile, in the Irish Free State the tradition of commemorating the war, quite strong in the immediate post-war decades, was dealt a blow by Irish neutrality in the Second World War: such commemoration, it was feared, could imply support for the new British war effort 79.
31 By the time Unionists faced their next major challenge with the onset of “the Troubles” nearly half a century later (the background against which the elder Pyper recalls his wartime experience), much had changed. What has been called their “multi-layered” sense of identity, comprising Ulster, Irish and British imperial elements, was becoming more problematic 80. Although by the 1920s Unionists had come to accept devolution for the North, their sense of Irishness, already diminishing in the period of the Home Rule crisis, had been further eroded by the Gaelicising policies and de facto status accorded to the Catholic church in the Free State, and by the different experiences, on either side of the border, of the Second World War and its aftermath. Identification with Britain, which had drawn much of its strength from ties of religion and common imperial interests, became less straightforward as the influence of mainstream Protestant churches diminished in Britain and disengagement from empire gathered pace. The advent of the Cold War reduced Northern Ireland’s strategic importance, as did the accession of Britain and the Irish Republic to the EEC. Thus the abolition of the Stormont parliament in 1973, which dramatically demonstrated the limits of self- government, was followed by greater interest, in some loyalist and Unionist quarters, in the idea of an autonomous Northern Ireland 81. The Protestant tradition of self- reliance could be invoked, which provides a context in which the elder Pyper could appropriate the meaning of “Sinn Féin” (“Ourselves alone”) for Ulster Protestants 82. And if there were sectarian and atavistic overtones in such a response, there were also positive elements, including love of place and landscape: both aspects are reflected in OSU 83.
32 The first production of OSU in 1985 generated considerable controversy in Ireland. Theatre critic David Nowlan may have exaggerated when he called the play “one of the most devastating attacks ever made on Ulster Protestantism” 84, but it can be read as an indictment of the traditional values of loyalty to king, creed, and empire that rendered men willing to sacrifice their lives at the behest of faceless and incompetent “top brass”. The power of these traditions is dramatically brought to life by the men’s action in donning their Orange sashes, and in the consent of Pyper – who had mocked those traditions – to join in that symbolic act. The hymn they all sing is redolent of the ultimate sacrifice they are about to make: “I’m but a stranger here, Heaven is my home” 85. That such values are represented in the play as having enduring power, reaching into the late twentieth century, can be seen as rendering them all the more malign and destructive. We observe that in later life Pyper still clings to these values, despite the fact that they may seem to be ineffective or, indeed, counterproductive: “the house has grown cold. Ulster has grown lonely 86.” To this extent, the play is
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 40
consistent with the twentieth-century “modernist” rejection of traditional “heroic” interpretations of the war, informed as the latter were by high-flown sentiments and patriotic certainties 87.
33 However, such a verdict on the play is not sufficient. For the play, at another level, is also about Pyper’s mourning for his comrades. If he adopts their values, if he returns home to Armagh, it appears that he does so willingly as an affirmation of love for them and for Ulster. Certainly, any dreams he may have had about a future life with Craig were blasted by the war, but nevertheless his wartime experiences were the richest and most intense of his life 88. Even in old age he is still visited by the men’s ghosts, and struggles to make sense of their deaths, at one moment blaming God, at another accepting that this is too simple: “in the end, we were not led, we led ourselves 89.” To this extent, the elder Pyper represents not just one Ulster Protestant but millions of survivors, who were faced, like him, with the task of finding meaning in such appalling losses.
34 In their study of commemoration, historians have noted that it was generally the case, not merely in Britain and Ireland, that its forms and processes owed much to traditional values, to religious and patriotic symbolism, to romantic and classical styles that had been prevalent in the nineteenth century and even earlier. Certainly, even before the war ended, there were those who rejected a patriotic and religious response; but the point has been made that the modernist critique, with its emphasis on dislocation, paradox, and irony, lacked the power of traditional forms and images to mediate bereavement 90. Hence the propensity to commemorate the dead with crosses and cenotaphs, obelisks and war memorials containing their “Rolls of Honour”. These memorials became the focus for anniversary gatherings. Such invocation of the dead, Winter has argued, transcended class and rank and created “a bond of bereavement 91”.
35 Tradition, in other words, provided a cathartic language of mourning, both at a private and a collective level, something that was not unique to Ulster, or to Ulster Protestants. This was less obviously the case after the Second World War, which threw up horrors unmatched even in the First, and was not followed, or not to the same extent, by the revival of traditional forms of language and imagery: silence sometimes seemed the only appropriate response. It was after that war, it has been argued, that the modernist critique took hold more strongly 92, and it is from this later world that the elder Pyper addresses us, when the search for meaning had become much more difficult. Appropriately, at first, it seems, he will be unable or unwilling to describe his experience, but he brings himself to do so. Not the least of his achievements in this play is that in OSU McGuinness overcomes the temptation simply to imprison his characters at one end of the spectrum of twentieth-century responses to the meaning of two world wars.
36 I am grateful to Keith Jeffery for reading this article and for his helpful suggestions. Errors that remain are, of course, my own.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 41
NOTES
1. OSU was awarded the Dan Rooney Prize for Literature in 1985, and the Christopher Ewart-Biggs Memorial Prize in 1987. For an illuminating interdisciplinary study of the play see Bernhard Klein, On the Uses of History in Recent Irish Writing, Manchester, Manchester University Press, 2007, pp. 101-24; see also Claire Gleitman, “Reconstructing History in the Irish History Play”, in Shaun Richards (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Twentieth-Century Irish Drama, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2004, p. 218-30, and Eamonn Jordan, The Feast of Famine: The Plays of Frank McGuinness, Bern, Peter Lang, 1997, p. 25-45. 2. See, e.g., Keith Jeffery, “Under the Blood-Red Hand”, Times Literary Supplement, No. 4312, 22 Nov. 1985, p. 1326; Joep Leerssen, “Monument and Trauma: Varieties of Remembrance”, in Ian McBride (ed.), History and Memory in Modern Ireland, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2001, p. 204-22, at p. 222; D. G. Boyce, “That Party Politics Should Divide Our Tents: Nationalism, Unionism and the First World War”, in Adrian Gregory and Senia Paseta (eds.), Ireland and the Great War “A War to Unite Us All?”, Manchester, Manchester University Press, 2002, p. 190-217, at p. 209-11. 3. J. J. Lee, Ireland 1912-1985, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1989, p. 589. 4. The Origins of the First World War: Great Power Rivalry and German War Aims, edited by H. W. Koch, London, Macmillan, 1972, p. 3-12. 5. Mr Punch’s History of the Great War, London, New York, Toronto and Melbourne, Cassell, 1919. On soldiers’ letters, much recent research is summarised in Neil Jakob, “Representation and Commemoration of the Great War”, Irish History: A Research Yearbook, No. 1, Dublin, Four Courts Press, 2002, p. 75-88. 6. War Letters of Fallen Englishmen, London, Victor Gollancz, 1930. The collection also included some letters written by Dominion soldiers and Americans (Jakob, op. cit., p. 78-79). 7. Ian McBride, “Memory and Identity in Modern Ireland”, in McBride (ed.), History and Memory in Modern Ireland, p. 1-42, at p. 6-7. 8. Helen Heusner Lojek, Contexts for Frank McGuinness’s Drama, Washington, Catholic University of America Press, 2004, p. 67. 9. J.M. Winter, The Experience of World War I, Oxford, Equinox, 1988, p. 92. 10. Paul Fussell, The Great War and Modern Memory, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1975, p. 35. 11. See, e.g., Robin Prior and Trevor Wilson, “Paul Fussell at War”, War in History, Volume I, No. 1, 1994, 63-80. 12. In addition to Winter, op. cit., and Fussell, op. cit., see also Samuel Hynes, A War Imagined: The First World War and English Culture, London, Pimlico, 1992; Jay Winter, Sites of Memory, Sites of Mourning: The Great War in European Cultural History, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1995; Jay Winter and Emmanuel Sivan (eds), War and Remembrance in the Twentieth Century, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1999. 13. Irish Historical Studies, Volume I, No. 1, March 1938, Preface, p. 2; statement under “Writings on Irish History”, ibid., p. 68.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 42
14. See e.g., Michael MacDonagh, The Irish at the Front, with an introduction by John Redmond, M.P., London, New York and Toronto, Hodder & Stoughton, 1916; idem, The Irish on the Somme, with an introduction by John Redmond, M.P., London, New York and Toronto, Hodder & Stoughton, 1917; Anon., The Great War 1914-1918. Ulster Greets her Brave and Faithful Sons and Remembers her Glorious Dead, Belfast, Bairds, 1919. 15. Cyril Falls, The History of the 36th (Ulster) Division (first published 1922) London, Constable, 1998, p. xv. 16. Ibid., p. 43. 17. It has been estimated that the 36th Division suffered some 5,000 casualties on 1-2 July, of whom at least 2,000 died. See Philip Orr, The Road to the Somme. Men of the Ulster Division Tell Their Story, Belfast, Blackstaff Press, 1987, p. 199-200; Tom Johnstone, Orange, Green and Khaki: The Story of the Irish Regiments in the Great War 1914-18, Dublin, Gill & Macmillan, 1992, p. 235. 18. Falls, op. cit., p. XIII. 19. Ibid., p. XI, 301. 20. Keith Jeffery, Ireland and the Great War, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2000, p. 133-4. 21. As in Britain, however, some socialists took a different view, including the poet John Hewitt, who stressed the futility of the war: see Edna Longley, “The Rising, the Somme and Irish Memory”, in Máirín Ní Dhonnchadha and Theo Dorgan (eds), Revising the Rising, Derry, Field Day, 1991, p. 29-49, at p. 40. 22. See, e.g., Hugh Shearman, Anglo-Irish Relations, London, Faber & Faber, 1948, p. 163; A. T. Q. Stewart, The Ulster Crisis, London, Faber & Faber, 1967, p. 242. 23. Henry Harris, The Irish Regiments in the First World War, Cork, Mercier Press, 1968, p. 210. 24. Orr, op. cit., p. 218. 25. Liam de Paor, Divided Ulster, Harmondsworth, Penguin Books, 1971, p. 83. 26. Ibid., p. XX; Constantine Fitzgibbon, Red Hand: The Ulster Colony, London, Michael Joseph, 1971, pp. 333-335. 27. See two works by Ian Adamson, Cruthin: The Ancient Kindred, Newtownards, Pretani Press, 1974, also published as The Cruthin, Belfast, 1986, 1991; The Identity of Ulster: The Land, the Language and the People, Belfast, Pretani Press, 1982, 1991. 28. Personal communication. 29. A. T. Q. Stewart, The Narrow Ground: Patterns of Ulster History, London, Faber & Faber, 1977, p. 183-185. 30. OSU, p. 47: all references to Faber edition, London, 1986. 31. Hiroko Mikami, Frank McGuinness and his Theatre of Paradox, Gerrards Cross, Colin Smythe, 2002, p. 15; Lojek, op. cit., p. 77.
32. Fussell, op. cit., ch. 6; cf Falls, op. cit., p. XVI. 33. 33. Fussell, op. cit., ch. 3. 34. The accuracy of Fussell’s account of life at the front has been questioned: see Prior and Wilson, op. cit., who ask whether the complexities of modern warfare can be laid bare on the basis simply of literary sources and some personal accounts (p. 63).
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 43
35. Recent research on Ireland and the First World War is reviewed in Timothy Bowman, The Irish Regiments and the Great War: Discipline and Morale, Manchester, Manchester University Press, 2003, p. 1-7. 36. David Fitzpatrick, “Militarism in Ireland, 1900-1922”, in Thomas Bartlett and Keith Jeffery (eds), A Military History of Ireland, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1996, p. 379-406, at p. 389. 37. Nicholas Perry, “Maintaining Regimental Identity in the Great War: The Case of the Irish Infantry Regiments”, Stand To!: The Journal of the Western Front Association, No. 52 (April 1998), p. 5-6. 38. James Loughlin, Ulster Unionism and British National Identity Since 1885, London and New York, Pinter, 1995, p. 82. 39. OSU, p. 54. 40. Fitzpatrick, “Militarism in Ireland”, p. 389. 41. Falls, op. cit., p. 2-5. 42. Fitzpatrick, “Militarism in Ireland”, p. 389. 43. Jeffery, Ireland and the Great War, p. 19-20. 44. Fitzpatrick, “Militarism in Ireland”, p. 389; see also idem, “The Logic of Collective Sacrifice: Ireland and the British Army, 1914-1918”, Historical Journal, Volume 38, No. 4, 1995, 1017-1030, at p. 1023; Loughlin, op. cit., pp. 77-79. 45. See veterans cited by Orr, op. cit., p. 225; also Fitzpatrick, “Militarism in Ireland”, p. 389. 46. Fitzpatrick, “Militarism in Ireland”, p. 379; John Gooch, “Attitudes to War in Late Victorian and Edwardian England”, in Brian Boyd and Ian Roy (eds), War and Society: A Yearbook of Military History, London, Croom Helm, n.d., 1975?, 99-100. 47. Fitzpatrick, “Militarism in Ireland”, p. 381-91; idem, “The Logic of Collective Sacrifice”, p. 1028-1029. The significance of the links between the U.V.F. and the 36th Division are reassessed by Timothy Bowman, “The Ulster Volunteer Force and the Formation of the 36th (Ulster) Division”, Irish Historical Studies, Volume 32, No. 128, Nov. 2001, 498-518. 48. Orr, op. cit., p. 161-4; Falls, op. cit., p. 12. 49. Fitzpatrick, “The Logic of Collective Sacrifice”, p. 1029; idem, “Militarism in Ireland”, p. 388-389; Bowman, “The Ulster Volunteer Force”, p. 513-4. 50. MacDonagh, The Irish on the Somme, p. 27-28; Myles Dungan, Irish Voices From the Great War, Dublin, Irish Academic Press, 1995, p. 126. 51. Winter, Experience of World War I, p. 114. 52. OSU, p. 62; Bowman, Irish Regiments, p. 202-203. 53. Fussell, op. cit., p. 21-29. 54. Cf Falls, op. cit., p. 61; Johnstone, op. cit., p. 224; Prior and Wilson, op. cit., p. 67-8. 55. Bowman, Irish Regiments, p. 26; Winter, Experience of World War I, p. 146-7. On morale in the British forces during the Great War, see also David Englander and James Osborne, “Jack, Tommy, and Henry Dubb: The Armed Forces and the Working Class”, Historical Journal, Volume 21, No. 3, 1978, 594-5. 56. OSU, p. 11.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 44
57. On this subject, see Fussell, op. cit., ch. 8. 58. OSU, p. 62; Winter, Experience of World War I, p. 147. 59. See Prior and Wilson, op. cit., p. 67; Jeffery, Ireland and the Great War, p. 9-10; Gary Sheffield, The Somme, London, Cassell, 2003, p. XII-XV. 60. Falls, op. cit., p. 16-17; Orr, op. cit., p. 57-8, 124-6; Perry, “Maintaining Regimental Identity”, p. 9. 61. Bowman, Irish Regiments, p. 26-8. 62. OSU, p. 32, 66-67, 78-79. 63. OSU, p. 77-79. 64. Falls, op. cit., p. 63; Orr, op. cit., p. 58, 129-131. 65. Bowman, Irish Regiments, p. 86-87. 66. Anon., The Great War 1914-1918, p. 20; MacDonagh, Irish on the Somme, p. 24, 36, 39; John Buchan, The Battle of the Somme, Volume 16 of Nelson’s History of the War, 24 Volumes, London, Edinburgh, and New York, Thomas Nelson, 1914-1919, p. 41; Falls, op. cit., p. 51. 67. David Officer, “‘For God and Ulster’: The Ulsterman on the Somme”, in McBride (ed.), History and Memory in Modern Ireland, p. 160-183, at p. 168. 68. Orr, op. cit., p. 164, 170; Dungan, op. cit., p. 126. 69. Orr, op. cit., p. 218. 70. Kevin Myers, “The Irish and the Great War” (programme note, OSU, Abbey Theatre, Dublin, October 1994), and for further discussion see Dungan, op. cit., p. 109. 71. Jeffery, Ireland and the Great War, p. 56; see also Mikami, op. cit., p. 20-21. 72. For a discussion of the issue of “authenticity” in respect of published collections of soldiers’ letters, see Jakob, op. cit., p. 75-77; Winter and Sivan, “Setting the Framework”, in Winter and Sivan, op. cit., p. 6-39, at p. 13. 73. OSU, p. 9-11. 74. For a valuable discussion of the issue of history and memory in OSU see Klein, op. cit., 105-110. 75. Ian McBride, “Ulster and the British Problem”, in Richard English and Graham Walker (eds), Unionism in Modern Ireland: New Perspectives on Politics and Culture, Basingstoke, Macmillan, 1996, p. 1-15, at p. 6-7. Also of interest is Richard R. Russell, “Ulster Unionism’s Mythic and Religious Culture in Observe the Sons of Ulster”, Working Papers in Irish Studies, Nova Southeastern University, Fort Lauderdale, Florida, 1998, pp. 1-16. 76. See Johnstone, op. cit.; Terence Denman, Ireland’s Unknown Soldiers: The 16th (Irish) Division in the Great War, 1914-1918, Dublin, Irish Academic Press, 1992; Dungan, op. cit. 77. Jeffery, Ireland and the Great War, p. 131-134. 78. Alvin Jackson, Ireland 1798-1998: Politics and War, Oxford, Blackwells, 1999, p. 279, 336-339; Brian Barton, “Northern Ireland, 1920-25”, in J. R. Hill (ed.), A New History of Ireland VII: Ireland 1921-1984, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 161-198, at p. 173-198. 79. Jeffery, Ireland and the Great War, p. 123-35. 80. McBride, “Ulster and the British Problem”, p. 1. 81. Ibid., p. 12-13; Jackson, op. cit., p. 400-1.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 45
82. OSU, p. 10. 83. OSU, p. 33-4, 38-9, 72-3. See also Jordan, op. cit., p. 39-40. 84. Irish Times, 23 Feb. 1985 (cited in Mikami, op. cit., p. 236-237 (n. 12)). 85. OSU, p. 78. 86. OSU, p. 11. 87. Winter, Sites of Memory, p. 2. 88. Cf Berenice Shrank, “World War I in the Plays of Shaw, O’Casey and McGuinness, Études Irlandaises, Vol. 17, No. 2, December 1992, 29-36 (p. 34). 89. OSU, p. 9-12. 90. Winter, Sites of Memory, p. 5. 91. Ibid., p. 227-228. For the prevalence of such styles of memorials in Ireland see Jane Leonard, “Lest We Forget”, in David Fitzpatrick (ed.), Ireland and the First World War, Dublin, Trinity History Workshop, 1986, p. 59-67; Jeffery, Ireland and the Great War, p. 108-133. 92. Winter, Sites of Memory, p. 228.
ABSTRACTS
This paper examines the treatment of Ireland and World War One in Observe the Sons of Ulster Marching Towards the Somme, one of Frank McGuinness’s best-known plays, and among the leading Irish history plays of the twentieth century. The play has received considerable analysis from literature specialists, but much less from historians. In particular, the paper considers the play in the context of the evolving historiography of the First World War, including Irish participation, history and memory, and forms of commemoration. Specific issues discussed include who enlisted, and why; why soldiers were prepared to stay and fight (despite the high level of casualties), and Ulster Protestant identity. Among the scholars and writers whose work is mentioned are Tim Bowman, Cyril Falls, David Fitzpatrick, Paul Fussell, Henry Harris, Laurence Housman, Keith Jeffery, Jennifer Johnston, Kevin Myers, David Nowlan, Philip Orr, A.T.Q. Stewart, and Jay Winter.
Cet article analyse la représentation de l’Irlande et de la Première Guerre mondiale dans Observe the Sons of Ulster Marching Towards the Somme, une des pièces les plus connues de Frank McGuinness, et une des pièces historiques irlandaises majeures écrites au xxe siècle. La pièce a déjà fait l’objet d’un nombre considérable d’études de la part de spécialistes de littérature, mais a reçu moins d’attention de la part des historiens. Cet article replace la pièce dans le contexte de l’évolution de l’historiographie de la Première Guerre mondiale, concernant en particulier la participation des Irlandais, le rapport entre histoire et mémoire, et les formes de la commémoration. Les questions précises discutées ici sont : qui étaient ceux qui s’engagèrent, et quelles raisons ils avaient de le faire ; pourquoi les soldats étaient prêts à rester et à se battre, en dépit du grand nombre de tués ; et l’identité protestante de l’Ulster. Parmi les spécialistes et auteurs dont le nom est mentionné apparaissent Tim Bowman, Cyril Falls, David Fitzpatrick, Paul
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 46
Fussell, Henry Harris, Laurence Housman, Keith Jeffery, Jennifer Johnston, Kevin Myers, David Nowlan, Philip Orr, A.T.Q. Stewart, et Jay Winter.
INDEX
Keywords: Easter Rising (1916), battle of the Somme (1916), First World War, history and fiction, McGuinness Franck, drama, Northern Ireland - conflict, Ulster Division (36th) Mots-clés: bataille de la Somme (1916), McGuinness Frank, histoire et fiction, Première Guerre mondiale, Irlande du Nord - conflit, théâtre, division d’Ulster (36e), soulèvement de Pâques (1916)
AUTHOR
JACQUELINE HILL Department of History, NUI Maynooth
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 47
Closer to Brussels than to Rome? The EU as the new external referent for a secularised Irish society and a redefined Catholic identity
Jean-Christophe Penet
1 It can be easily argued that from the creation of the Irish State and well into the 1960s Catholicism was at its apex in Ireland, as the institutional Church turned out to be one of the great victors of the nation’s war for independence. As shown by Patsy McGarry, it was a time when “Ireland was producing so many priests and nuns that between one- third and a half of them went on the missions” 1. In an article about Catholic and national identity, however, Timothy J. White shows that, despite appearances, “By the late 1950s and early 1960s, the integration of Catholicism and national identity which had delayed or prevented the secularisation that had come to the rest of Europe finally yielded to those forces associated with the arrival of industrialisation and urbanisation 2.” In fact, just as Irish nationalism, which had achieved most of its objectives by the 1960s, had paradoxically become exhausted at that time – as shown by the decision to apply for EEC membership in 1961 – it seems that the high point of its most faithful ally, the Catholic Church, had also already passed in Ireland by the end of that decade 3. It is therefore legitimate to wonder whether Ireland’s will to join in the European project was the result of or further entailed the weakening position of the Catholic Church in Ireland, and how the latter reacted to those changing circumstances. How did the Church react to the gradual crumbling down of its monopoly within Irish society at a time when the country started becoming more liberal-minded, increasingly founding its hopes on the emerging liberal and secular European Community? To try and answer this question, we shall first have a closer look at the way EEC membership has transformed the relationship between Church and State since Ireland started its liberal dawn in the late 1950s. This should lead us to note
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 48
that the Church’s loss of its monopoly in Ireland has not meant the disappearance of its influence in the public sphere. In fact, the Church has pragmatically and successfully adapted its views on the European project over the years in order to survive. This has, in turn, brought about a redefinition of its perceived role both within Irish society and within the European Union.
2 On an institutional level, the liberal 4 dawn of the sixties started in Ireland when Seán Lemass became Taoiseach in 1959, since he engendered, along with Ken Whitaker 5, what Liam Ryan calls the “creation of the second Ireland 6” – the one that came after de Valera’s. Even though Seán Lemass had been, as minister in de Valera’s government, an advocate of isolationism, he decided, as Taoiseach, that it was time for Ireland to improve its grim economy by trading isolationism for free trade. As underlined by Marie-Claire Considère-Charon: “Tandis que le projet de marché commun se consolidait peu à peu, l’Irlande allait à son tour redéfinir ses orientations et ses priorités. Une nouvelle logique économique sous le signe de l’ouverture allait se mettre en place 7.” Recognising that Ireland’s size, its geographical location and its insularity somewhat hindered the country’s economic boom, Lemass nonetheless claimed that these obstacles could be removed by a new and appropriate economic strategy. As a result, crucial policy changes were brought together in Thomas Kenneth Whitaker’s seminal paper Economic Development (1958). These policies were, as shown by John Bradley, “a heady and novel mix of commitment to trade liberalisation, a range of direct and indirect grant aid to private firms, and a singular incentive of zero corporation profit tax exports 8”. An attractive corporation tax rate and the absence of tariffs were, however, but a beginning in the creation of this second Ireland which, according to Liam Ryan, “brought economic as well as psychological transformation to the country by providing a solid economic base 9”. It was in such a context that Ireland sent its application for EEC membership along with the British application in 1961.
3 It is true that Ireland could barely have done otherwise once the British Prime Minister Macmillan had announced the intention of the UK to apply for membership, as the 1938 Anglo-Irish Trade Agreement had made the UK Ireland’s greatest trading partner. Yet there are reasons to believe that the application also corresponded to a genuine will on the part of the Irish government to join in the new economic perspective opened up by the European Economic Community. Even though the joint Anglo-Irish application was rejected due to General de Gaulle’s staunch refusal to let the UK become a new EEC- member – to be finally accepted in 1972 under Georges Pompidou’s presidency – the seriousness with which the Irish took their application was demonstrated in the educational domain. After the war, most European countries had developed an egalitarian vision of society in which education had a key role to play. Equal educational opportunities, it was believed, would enable the disadvantaged to climb the social ladder. In Ireland, however, education had remained the stronghold of the Catholic Church, and “the Church’s concentration on the humane disciplines, and its endorsement of the classical liberal education tradition had resulted in technical knowledge being undervalued10”. In 1966, the – originally European – Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) published a report entitled “Investment in Education”. The OECD reproached the Irish education system for having a strong degree of class differentiation at secondary and third levels and it strongly recommended a change in the Irish curricular emphasis from the classical humanist tradition – championed by the Church – to “applied knowledge”, that is to say to a form
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 49
of knowledge that could serve economic development. In the wake of the OECD report, the Department of Education decided to design new school curricula that would serve the needs of an industrial economy. The Department of Education’s decision to take the advice of the OECD cannot be underestimated, as it represented a fundamental philosophical shift in thinking on education.11 The government’s decision to answer the needs of the Irish economy in spite of the Church’s unwillingness to yield power in the educational domain and, thereby, its decision to put an end to what had been the guiding principle in education since the late 19th century, shows that Irish politics and Irish society had already started having more secular preoccupations in the mid-1960s. Whether they were, at a political level, brought into the country by OECD reports or, at a social level, by the foreign media and their foreign programmes (and we are thinking, here, of the BBC), the more secular and liberal preoccupations of most Western societies had well and truly penetrated Irish society by the end of the sixties.
4 In fact, the ease with which these crucial new policies were carried out and accepted in Ireland tends to show that the country was already partly secularised at that stage. Truly, one could believe that, due to the withdrawal of Irish society into an inclusive form of nationalism progressively associated with Catholicism through the 19th century, and to the isolationism championed by the Church-State-Nation triangle in De Valera’s moral community, Ireland did not experience modernity. However, this interpretation ignores the fact that one of the main characteristics of modernity was, after all, the creation of new political communities. In its efforts to “restore” the Irish nation to the way it used to be under the banner of religion, nationalism in Ireland was much more a political project – a future-oriented political belief and ideology that made ample use of the past to legitimise its present claims – than a religious one. Irish nationalists were in fact unconsciously changing the divine order by imposing their own nationalist – and therefore human – will onto this order. Even though the modern political ideology adopted by modern Ireland – its political belief – was a mix of nationalism and of Ultramontane Catholicism which rejected modern, secular values, it can be argued that Irish society started its own secularisation process from the very moment it adopted this very political ideology. Thus, despite appearances, De Valera’s moral community was never completely achieved – and it was speedily dismissed once the time had come. If this explains why the changes adopted in the 1960s, and notably the decision to apply for EEC membership, were easily accepted by most of the Irish, it does not account for the Irish hierarchy’s acceptance of the latter. In fact, this was probably due to the redefinition of Catholic practices and of the role of the Church in society brought about by the second Vatican Council. Started in 1962, the council, which consisted in an effort to adapt the Catholic Church to the modern world, encouraged – albeit unconsciously – the advance of secularisation, since it recognised the modern values of private judgement and of pluralism it had until then intransigently fought. With Vatican II, the Catholic Church was turning the page on the intransigent chapter of its history, no less. However reluctantly, the Irish Catholic hierarchy – which for the most part could not see any point in changing anything within the Church, as there were but few visible signs of secularisation in Ireland at the time – followed Rome’s instructions, thereby remaining faithful to its tradition of unquestioning obedience to the Holy See. It consequently gave the Irish government more leeway in terms of economic policies. What is more, there is another reason why the Second Vatican Council participated in the Irish clergy’s acceptance of the EEC-
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 50
membership. In an article on “Religious phenomena and European Identification”, Alfredo Canavero and Jean-Dominique Durand emphasised that:
[…] les pèlerinages à Rome, surtout ceux qui ont suivi les deux guerres mondiales, ou le concile de Vatican II, ont représenté une étape importante dans le processus d’intégration et dans la formation d’une mentalité européenne […]. Dans une perspective originale, Dominique Gonnet a souligné ce que l’événement conciliaire a signifié pour la rencontre et les échanges entre les évêques européens après le cloisonnement des dernières années du pontificat pacellien. Il a défini le concile comme « le point d’ancrage d’une longue histoire européenne » […]. Ce fut la solidarité entre les évêques européens et leurs sentiments communs qui permirent l’approbation de la déclaration sur la liberté religieuse Dignitatis Humanae, avec des effets importants sur le développement de l’œcuménisme et, par conséquent, une plus grande intégration parmi les peuples européens 12.
5 Even though it would be fair to think that, due to Ireland’s neutrality during the war and the apparent good health of Catholicism there, the Irish bishops did not share as much in the feeling of solidarity as, say, their French counterparts, this does not mean that they did not experience it at all. Upon coming back from Rome, Irish bishops were probably much more willing to show themselves more enthusiastic about Ireland’s membership in the EEC than in the 1950s, be it to control the change that was bound to emerge from it. Indeed, by the mid-1960s, they were increasingly aware of the fact that Ireland was becoming visibly more secular. As confirmed by Timothy J. White: […] by integrating the Irish economy with those in Europe and the rest of the world, [Seán] Lemass [had] necessarily unleashed forces that would challenge not only the standard of living of the Irish but also their priorities and values in life. The materialistic mentality of the Irish proliferated as material conditions in Ireland dramatically improved in the 1960s 13.
6 In 1972, however, the year when its EC-membership joint application with the UK was finally accepted, Ireland still bore nearly all of the characteristics of a Third-World country. Its unbalanced economy was marked by high unemployment and emigration levels as well as by bad infrastructures and a poorly skilled and insufficient workforce 14. Things were soon to change for the better, though, in the Emerald Isle, thanks to continued economic reform and massive EEC investments. Thus, as emphasised by John Bradley: The Irish economic policy-making environment during this period can be characterised as having shifted from one appropriate to a dependent state on the periphery of the UK to that of a region more fully integrated into an encompassing European economy. Foreign Direct Investment (FDI) renovated and boosted Irish productive capacity. The Single Market provided the primary source of demand. All that remained was for a big push on improvement in physical infrastructure, education and training, and this arrived in the form of a dramatic innovation in regional policy at the EU level 15.
7 The link between Ireland’s EEC membership and its improving economy certainly explains why the Irish have been so favourable to the European project16. In the 1972 referendum on EEC membership, 83 per cent of the Irish voted in favour of membership 17. Fifteen years later, in the referendum on the Single European Act (May
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 51
1987), only 30 per cent of them rejected the act which was to open up an internal free market of 320 million consumers – with free movement of goods, services, people and capital ensured – by 31 December 1992. Economically, at least, this meant that the Irish were ready to do away with their insular mentality to adopt, instead, a more global stand. In an article published in the Jesuit magazine Studies in 1989, the then European Commissioner Irish-born Peter D. Sutherland stated that it would be unfair to characterise the positive attitude of the Irish towards Europe “as simply a reflection of the widespread understanding that membership has brought substantial economic benefit 18”. He then reminded his readers that in a survey conducted in Ireland at the end of 1988, 79 per cent expressed the belief that Ireland had gained through membership as against, for example, 47 per cent and 55 per cent respectively in the UK and West Germany. Similarly, the Catholic Church in Ireland at the time was quite zealous to show its endearment to the European project. If it did, it was probably because it was aware, at that stage, of the fact that Ireland’s political ideal of a moral community was but a remnant from the past, as testified by the issue dedicated to “Secularisation in Ireland” in Studies in 1985. In the editorial of the Jesuit magazine, it was admitted that “The Republic is no longer universally Roman Catholic and Nationalist as it seemed to be in the 1950s”. It was also underlined that secularisation can be seen positively, as it helps people “move away from the easy reliance on an overinstitutionalised Church to a more personal choice of faith”, and therefore leads to “better religious individuals 19”. Following this idea that modernity and secularisation were forces to be reckoned with rather than fought, the Irish Catholic Church no longer had any reason to show itself half-hearted when it came to the European project. In fact, the Irish hierarchy had to embrace the European project if it wanted to influence it. This is how we can understand why the Irish bishops declared in a lengthy statement in 1979 on the occasion of the first direct election to the European Parliament: “We must go beyond the merely economic aspect of the European Community and see the desire that was there at its beginning and has remained at its heart 20.”
8 Ireland’s growing integration into the European Community nevertheless remained a true challenge for the Catholic Church in Ireland, as European Laws participated in the further secularisation of the country’s laws and Constitution – which had been inspired by Catholic teachings – and led, therefore, to a gradual dismantlement of the Church’s moral monopoly in Irish society. The year Ireland became a member State, the Lynch government held a referendum asking the Irish to consent to the deletion of the clause in Article 44 of the 1937 Constitution which recognised the “special position” of the Catholic Church. The huge support in favour of the deletion of the clause (85 per cent) can nonetheless be seen as the obedience – however reluctant it might have been – of Irish Catholics to the new precepts of Vatican II that championed a more ecumenical view of religion. If this was the case, Rome and not Brussels remained Ireland’s external referent at that date. One year later, in 1973, however, the same Irish Catholic hierarchy distanced itself from its until then usual, dogmatic stand during the debate over Mary Robinson’s highly polemical private member’s bill to liberalise the import and sale of contraceptives in the Emerald Isle. Even though the Catholic hierarchy strongly warned against the dark effects of generalising access to contraceptives, they declared: “There are many things which the Catholic Church holds to be morally wrong and no one has ever suggested, least of all the Church herself, that they should be prohibited by the State 21.” Rejected by the Dáil in March 1974, the bill never became law. The Fine Gael/Labour coalition led by FitzGerald that was elected in 1981
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 52
nonetheless felt boosted by this new attitude of the Catholic hierarchy towards politics and did not hide its ambition to further ensure the liberalisation of Irish political and social life from Catholic teachings. Soon after the election, it launched a vast “constitutional crusade” that aimed to reform Ireland’s institutions by making them more secular. As Louise Fuller noted in her article on “New Ireland and the Undoing of the Catholic Legacy”, developments in Irish society back then conspired to make FitzGerald’s reform programme difficult, as voters remained divided between liberal and conservative camps, each wanting to define Irish identity. The new Taoiseach’s crusade nonetheless set the tone for the whole of the 1980s, and the 1980s and 1990s were consequently decades of intense reform 22. If some of these reforms resulted directly from the Irish government’s will to secularise its laws – in February 1985, for instance, despite strong opposition from the Catholic hierarchy, Minister for Health Barry Desmond passed the Family Planning (Amendment) Act which made non-medical contraceptives available to adults without a medical prescription – others were the direct result of the new sovereignty of Community Law. Established in 1963, the doctrine of Direct Effect provided that under certain conditions the provisions of European Law would have direct effect and might provide rights and remedies for individuals that can be enforced against Member States. This is what happened in Ireland, especially concerning the liberation of women from the traditional role in which De Valera’s moral community had wanted to keep them. In article 119 of the Treaty of Rome, for example, the EEC advocated equal job opportunities between men and women. Shortly after its admission and the removal of the clause about the “special position of the Church” in the Constitution, the Irish government consequently voted in a series of laws that aimed at re-establishing equal job opportunities for women in Ireland – Employment and Married Women Act (1974), Anti-Discrimination Pay Act (1976), Employment Equality Act (1977) and, last but not least, the Social Welfare Act (1985) which guaranteed women the same right to social welfare as men 23. More concretely, EC Law sometimes directly overruled some of Ireland’s most “traditional” (read Catholic) laws, as was partially the case in the X case. In 1992, the Irish High Court forbade a pregnant Irish teenager who had been raped to travel abroad to interrupt her pregnancy. This decision was motivated by article 40.3.3 of the Irish Constitution whereby: “The State acknowledges the right to life of the unborn and, with due regard to the equal right to life to the mother, guarantees in its laws to respect, as far as predictable, by its laws to defend and vindicate that right 24.” In March 1992, the Supreme Court judged otherwise and repealed the teenager’s travel ban. Following this decision by the Supreme Court a referendum on abortion was held in November 1992. In this referendum, 65% of Irish voters judged that suicide was a sufficient threat to justify an abortion, 60% were in favour of the right to information on abortion services and 62% of them believed that the prohibition of abortion should not limit the right to travel abroad to avail of such services. Judging by the results of the referendum, which by and large approved of the Supreme Court’s decision, it seems that by the early 1990s it was not only the Irish government, but Irish civil society as a whole that had started taking Brussels instead of Rome as its new external referent, if not as its referee 25. This tendency was confirmed, one year later, when a directive from the European Court of Human Rights calling for the decriminalisation of homosexual acts between two consenting adults made Ireland pass some legislation which legalised homosexuality 26. According to Louise Fuller, such change shows that, in the area of social legislation, “by the 1980s and 1990s not only were bishops less able to influence politicians, but
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 53
politicians themselves did not have the last word as to legislation, nor did the national courts have absolute discretion as to its interpretation 27”. European institutions now have to be reckoned with. This phenomenon, which has affected all of the Member States, is not specific to Ireland, but demonstrates the extent to which the latter has become integrated into the European Union in spite of its national/religious specificity.
9 No doubt, belonging to the European Union has been a permanent source of transformation for Ireland’s own public space and, therefore, for its national identity. As boasted by the Department of Foreign Affairs in its website on “Ireland in Europe”: “Membership has contributed to rapid progress in a range of areas including the development of agriculture, industry and services. It is estimated that 700,000 jobs have been created in Ireland during the years of membership and that trade has increased 90 fold 28.” As a result, the 1990s saw the creation of a so-called “Celtic Tiger Ireland” characterised by sustained high levels of economic growth. Ireland’s Gross Domestic Product increased by 9.8 per cent in 1998 and by 10.7 per cent in 2000, thus turning the Irish economy into the fastest-growing economy of the whole European Community. If in 1978 Ireland’s GDP was only 58 per cent of the European Community’s average GDP, it had surpassed the United Kingdom’s GDP in 1996 and represented 119 per cent of the European Community’s average GDP in 2000 29. This change in the Irish economy undeniably opened new horizons in Irish society, which gradually became more confident and outward looking. With a now transformed economy, largely opened to foreign investments and based on a thriving service industry, Ireland’s sense of identity was bound to be altered by permanent contact with otherness, whether that otherness be European (due to a continued integration into the European Union) or North American (due to the huge amount of US investments in the Irish economy). To the extent that the Catholic Church in Ireland, which is now seen as just yet another organisation, no longer defines Ireland’s national identity. Indeed, “Modern Ireland is the nation of the Celtic Tiger rather than the land of saints and scholars (which, it could be argued, was a rather romantic notion anyway). Gone are the days when there were no weddings and dances during Lent. Vocations to priesthood and religious life are nearly non-existent 30”. On the one hand, the privileged position of the Church in Ireland can no longer be taken for granted. On the other hand, the current redefinition of the Church does not mean, I believe, its complete disappearance from the public arena.
10 In fact, according to Tony Fahey: “Although Catholics in the Republic may be less assiduous in religious practice and more critical of the Catholic Church than in the past, they have been slow to disavow their Catholic connections entirely 31.” In Celtic Tiger Ireland, just as in most European societies, a redefinition of what it means to be Catholic seems to have taken place. This redefinition is characterised by a general drop in Church attendance – between 1999 and 2003, the number of regular attenders and of weekly attenders fell respectively from 76% and 83% to 70% and 64% 32 – and also by a dramatic drop in the number of people going to confession, as 47% of Irish Catholics went to confession on a monthly basis in 1974, as compared to a mere 14% in 1995 33. This does not mean, however, that the link between Catholicism and today’s Irish has been totally severed, but confirms the idea that “when it comes to giving expression to their beliefs, [the Irish] increasingly prefer a private to a communal setting 34”. And this is shown by the fact that 60 per cent of Irish people still pray on a regular basis, which is a way for them to maintain some sort of a connection with the next world. In Ireland’s secular Tiger society, Catholic identity and belief have become privatised,
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 54
individualised and, therefore, plural. The sources of definition and of legitimisation of Catholic identity and belief no longer lie, as used to be the case, in the one moral community, but, on the contrary, in the plurality of individuals who can either adopt them or reject them. Thus, the definition of Catholic identity has become somewhat fragmented in an Ireland where “the disaffection of the traditional Church has led many to a spiritual quest of their own 35”. This idea was clearly expressed by columnist Colum Kenney, who wrote: “Hopefully, there will never be again a uniform ‘Irish Catholic’ but, instead, many Irish Catholics with personal identities based on open and authentic spiritual practice 36.” It is not only their identity as Irish people, but also their identity as Catholics that most Irish do not expect the Roman Catholic institution to continue defining for them. Irish Catholics now want a more immediate, a more authentic and a more personal link with the next world. In doing so, they are in fact becoming more like the rest of their European counterparts. Now that the Irish choose to be Catholic – or not – in contemporary, globalised Ireland, Catholicism can no longer remain “la culture englobante de la société, même sous forme sécularisée 37”. Restructured as a subculture, Catholicism nonetheless remains influential within Irish society – and, more generally, within the European Union 38 – be it as a lobby 39.
11 In a now redefined Irish society, in which Catholicism has progressively become a subculture, we can wonder how Ireland now conceives of the place of Catholicism both in its own and in the European public arena. As a pro-European, Ireland’s ex-Taoiseach Bertie Ahern willingly recognised that taking Brussels instead of Rome as a new external referent through EU membership had played a vital role in his country’s recent success story 40. Yet Bertie Ahern also believed that the one did not necessarily exclude the other. Indeed, after a visit to Pope Benedict XVI in 2005, Ahern wrote in Ireland’s The Irish Times that his meeting with the Pope was “a reminder of the values at the heart of the European project”: “Our future can only be shaped with confidence when we are secularly rooted in our culture and in our community. One pillar of that culture is the Christian tradition. It is a culture of community, but one with deep respect for the individual. […] It is the foundation of our common European inheritance 41.” Still according to Ahern, now that Ireland has become more confident thanks to EU membership, it should become more actively involved in the European project, whether politically, economically or culturally. Back in 1989, Irish professor of moral theology Enda McDonagh already believed that: In its closer integration with Europe, Ireland and its people with their political and intellectual leaders will have a responsibility to further the dialogue between the political and transcendent dimensions of freedom. […]. It must also of course seek to cherish the rich, if diverse, Irish identity within an interdependent Europe in the face of any attempt at shallow homogenisation 42.
12 Twenty years on, it seems that Enda McDonagh’s wish has been heard by Irish politicians, who pushed for the amendment of Article 51 of the proposed European constitutional treaty (2004) so as to clarify the status of Churches in their relations with European institutions. This was done, according to Bertie Ahern, because “structured dialogue with the churches offers the opportunity to listen anew in an open and transparent way to an inner voice in the Irish and European tradition.”43 For the same reason, Ireland encouraged the mention of Europe’s common past Christian heritage in the European constitution’s preamble, while more fiercely secular countries such as France largely objected to it. Is Ireland therefore a country with a mission in the
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 55
European public sphere? According to current editorialist of Studies, Fergus O’Donoghue, Ireland […] has become so much a part of the European project that we are now at its heart. Our recent membership of the UN Security Council shows that we are able to punch well above our weight. Our attempt to have God mentioned in the EU Constitution was itself a sign that we defend traditions and values, even when some commentators see them as “outmoded”. We can reaffirm the values that are the basis of the European ideal and can affirm the need for ever-closer cooperation 44.
13 Whether or not Ireland is a country with a – Catholic – mission in Europe’s public arena is largely arguable. It is undeniable, however, that Ireland’s more active role, of late, in the shaping of EU institutions and of their relations to Europe’s Churches challenges France’s definition of a secular Europe ! If, as shown recently by the Millward Brown IMS opinion poll carried out on the no vote in the Lisbon referendum (12 June 2008), the main reason for Irish people to have voted no to the Treaty was “lack of understanding or understanding” of what they were asked to vote on (42%), the other two main reasons were the fear that “the introduction of a conscription into a European army was included in the treaty” (33%) and the fear that “it would end Ireland’s control over the country’s abortion policy 45”. If these reasons were the ones given by the people having voted no, they were probably widely shared in Ireland, as 67% of respondents of a Eurobarometer poll considered that the “no” campaign was the more convincing one 46. No matter what one thinks about those fears, they corroborate the idea that a considerable part of the Irish are still endeared to the principle of neutrality and to Catholic teachings in social matters, and that they want to defend them in (spite of) Brussels. This does not mean, however, that the Irish are now shying away from Brussels. In spite of the victory of the no vote, “60 per cent of voters felt that Ireland’s interests were best pursued by remaining fully involved in the EU 47”. A view shared by the island’s new Taoiseach, Brian Cowen, who recently emphasised “[…] the imperative for Ireland to be fully engaged with our partners in the European Union” in Fianna Fáil parliamentary party in Galway 48. Faring in a sea of serious global economic trouble, Ireland is aware of the importance to embrace the European project, be it to better control it. It does not seem willing, however, to sacrifice its Catholic heritage – still too often misleadingly confused for its national identity – to do so. This is why it is now more than time that one started studying in greater detail the influence both of Ireland as a Member State and of Irish Catholicism as a lobby in Brussels, on Europe’s emerging public sphere – defined as “[…] l’arène d’expression des engagements collectifs et des allégeances, le lieu où se nouent les interactions de ces variables avec les pratiques et les discours de pouvoir 49” – and more specifically on Europe’s perception of the role of religions in this public sphere. Will David, once more, triumph over Goliath?
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 56
NOTES
1. Patsy McGarry, “The Rise and Fall of Roman Catholicism in Ireland” in Louise Fuller, John Littleton and Eamon Maher (eds.), Irish and Catholic. Towards an Understanding of Identity, Dublin, The Columba Press, 2006, pp. 31-44, p. 32. 2. Timothy J. White, “Decoupling Catholic and National Identity: Secularisation Theories in the Irish Context.” Ibid., pp. 238-255, p. 244. 3. Toney Fahey, B.C Hayes and R. Sinnott (eds.), Conflict and Consensus: A Study of Values and Attitudes in the Republic of Ireland and Northern Ireland, Dublin, Institute of Public Administration, 2005, p. 31. 4. The adjective liberal is used to describe social, economic and political views throughout this article. All three are derived from the elaboration, during the Enlightenment, of liberalism as an ideology advocating that politics should first and foremost protect individual rights and maximise individual freedom of choice. When used to describe social attitudes, it refers to a certain openness to the introduction of new ideas and to proposals of social reforms. When used in relation to politics, it refers to the belief that individuals should pursue their lives according to their own perception of the good and that the State should generally not dictate morality. Similarly, when used to describe economic perspectives, the word liberal refers to the idea that the state should not intervene too much in the economic realm and that an open economy should be preferred, therefore, to protectionism. Lastly, it is also used to describe the Church’s classic perception of education in Ireland until the 1960s. In that context, the adjective liberal is to be understood in its original meaning as “Directed to general intellectual enlargement and refinement; not narrowly restricted to the requirements of technical or professional training” in The Oxford English Dictionary, Volume VIII (2nd edition), Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1991, p. 881. 5. Ken Whitaker (1916- ) became Secretary of the Department of Finance in 1956. It was in this position that he became the author of the First Programme for Economic Expansion, a White Paper that was released in 1958 and that advocated the reform and liberalisation of Ireland’s economy. 6. Michael Fogarty, Liam Ryan and Joseph Lee (eds.), Irish Values and Attitudes. The Irish Report of the European Value System, Dublin, Dominican Publications, 1984, p. 101. 7. Marie-Claire Considère-Charon, Irlande : une singulière intégration européenne, Paris, Economica, 2002, p. 27. 8. John Bradley, “Managing Globalisation: Ireland’s Experience in Attracting Foreign Investment” in Catherine Maignant, (dir.), Le tigre celtique en question. L’Irlande contemporaine: économie, Etat, société, Caen, PU Caen, 2007, pp. 12-25, p. 19. 9. Fogarty, op. cit., p. 101. 10. Louise Fuller, Irish Catholicism Since 1950: The Undoing of a Culture, Dublin, Gill&Macmillan, 2002, p. 149. 11. Ibid., p. 151. 12. Alfredo Canavero and Jean-Dominique Durand, “Les phénomènes religieux et l’identification européenne” in Frank Robert (dir.), Les Identités européennes au XXe siècle.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 57
Diversités, convergences et solidarités, Paris, Publications de la Sorbonne, 2004, pp. 145-164, p. 152. 13. Timothy J. White, “Nationalism VS. Liberalism in the Irish Context: From a Postcolonial Past to a Postmodern Future” in Eire-Ireland, An Interdisciplinary Journal of Irish Studies, Vol. 38, n° 3-4, 2002, pp. 25-37, p. 31. 14. Considère-Charon, op. cit., p. 9. 15. Bradley, op. cit., p. 24. 16. Ireland’s support for the EU project continues despite the recent No vote in the Lisbon referendum. Released in The Irish Times in September 2008, the Millward Brown IMS opinion poll on the Lisbon No vote carried out for the government clearly showed that, despite the outcome, “60 per cent of voters felt that Ireland’s interests were best pursued by remaining fully involved in the EU.” The Irish Times, 10 September 2008. 17. Considère-Charon, op. cit., p. 51. 18. Peter D. Sutherland, “Ireland: Where do we stand on European Integration?” in Studies, vol. 78, n° 311, 1989, pp. 243-254, p. 248. 19. Editorial, Studies, vol. 74, n° 293, 1985, p. 10. 20. Quoted from Jerome Connolly, “The Irish Churches and Foreign Policy” in Studies, vol. 77, n° 395, 1988, pp. 55-67, p. 59. 21. The Irish Independent, 26 November 1973. 22. Louise Fuller, “New Ireland and the Undoing of the Catholic Legacy: Looking Back to the Future”, in Louise Fuller, John Littleton and Eamon Maher (eds.), Irish and Catholic. Towards an Understanding of Identity. Dublin, The Columba Press, 2006, pp. 68-87, p. 82. 23. Considère-Charon, op. cit., p. 172. 24. Bunreacht na hEireann, article 40.3.3. 25. As pointed out by Maire Nic Ghiolla Phadraig: “The advance consultation with the hierarchy on policies of legislation impinging on sex, family life, or education gave way to informing them in advance, and then to the 1992 statement by An Taoiseach that he had no intention of talking to the bishops about the wording of an abortion referendum, and the 1993 permission for condom-vending machines again without notice to the bishops. The state, of course, has had a new external referent since joining the European Community and looks to Brussels rather than Rome for approval of policies as well as for financial support.” in “The Power of the Catholic Church in the Republic of Ireland”, in Patrick Clancy et al., Irish Society, Sociological Perspectives, Dublin, Institute of Public Administration, 1995, pp. 593-619, p. 612. 26. As shown by Louise Fuller, this is to be contrasted with what had happened 10 years earlier, when “[…] the Supreme Court had rejected an appeal by David Norris to declare that two Acts inherited from the period of British rule were unconstitutional and cited the preamble to the 1937 Constitution, which points to the people of Ireland as ‘humbly acknowledging their obligation to Our Divine Lord Jesus Christ’ as the reason for their rejection of the plea [to decriminalise homosexuality]”, Fuller 2002, op. cit., p. 85. 27. Fuller 2006, op. cit., p. 85. 28. http://www.dfa.ie/home/index.aspx ?id=28457&media=print [Accessed 14 March 2008]. 29. Considère-Charon, op. cit., p. 55.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 58
30. John Littleton, “Catholic Identity and the Irish Context” in Louise Fuller, John Littleton and Eamon Maher (eds.), Irish and Catholic. Towards an Understanding of Identity, Dublin, The Columba Press, 2006, pp. 12-30, p. 29. 31. Fahey, B. C. Hayes and R. Sinnott (eds.), Conflict and Consensus: A Study of Values and Attitudes in the Republic of Ireland and Northern Ireland, Dublin, Institute of Public Administration, 2005, p. 55. 32. Ibid., p. 43. 33. Marguerite Corish, “Pratiques et croyances religieuses, valeurs morales” in Paul Brennan (dir.), La sécularisation en Irlande, Caen, Presses universitaires de Caen, 1998, p. 140. 34. Eoin Cassidy (ed.), Measuring Ireland. Discerning Values and Beliefs, Dublin, Veritas, 2002, p. 29. 35. Catherine Maignant, “Re-Imagining Transcendence in the Global Village” in Eamon Maher and Michael Böss, Engaging Modernity, Dublin, Veritas, 2003, pp. 71-84, p. 74. 36. Colum Kenney, “‘God Help Us!’: The Media and Irish Catholicism” in Louise Fuller, John Littleton and Eamon Maher (eds.), Irish and Catholic. Towards an Understanding of Identity, Dublin, The Columba Press, 2006, pp. 89-103, p. 102. 37. Jean-Paul Willaime, “L’évolution de la place du religieux dans la société” in Cahiers Français, n° 340, septembre-octobre 2007, pp. 3-7, p. 8. 38. See to that effect Bérengère Massignon’s study of the impact of religions – including Catholicism – on the European Union in Brussels entitled Des dieux et des fonctionnaires. Religions et laïcités face au défi de la construction européenne, Rennes, Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2007. 39. Concerning the self-definition by the Catholic lobby of its role in the European public arena, see François Foret and Philip Schlesinger, “Le religieux dans la légitimation de l’Union européenne” in François Foret (ed.), L’espace public européen à l’épreuve du religieux, Bruxelles, Editions Libres de Bruxelles, 2007, pp. 229-249, pp. 244-245. 40. “As a country Ireland is now more successful, more confident and optimistic than at any time since the foundation of the State. We are a country transformed. And our EU membership has played a vital role in this transformation. We must not forget this. We must not take it for granted.” Bertie Ahern, “Where does the European Union go now?” in Studies, vol. 94, n°375, Autumn 2005, pp. 227-236, p. 231. 41. Bertie Ahern, “Meeting with Pope a reminder of values at heart of European project” in The Irish Times, 7 July 2005. 42. Enda McDonagh, “Europe, the Faith and Ireland” in Studies, vol. 78, n° 311, Autumn 1989, pp. 255-261, p. 260. 43. The Irish Times, 7 July 2005. 44. Studies, vol. 93, n° 369, Spring 2004, p. 6. 45. The Irish Times, 10 September 2008. In fact, those figures confirm those of the Flash Eurobarometer report released in July 2008: http://ec.europa.eu/public_opinion/flash/ fl_245_full_en.pdf [Accessed 9 September 2008]. 46. Ibid. 47. The Irish Times, 10 September 2008.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 59
48. Ibid. 49. François Foret, “Introduction”, L’espace public européen à l’épreuve du religieux, op. cit., p. 11.
ABSTRACTS
As soon as Ireland submitted its first application for EEC membership in 1961, Brussels became another external referent alongside Rome for an Irish society that increasingly looked to outside influences. If the Irish Catholic Church first was reluctant for Ireland to join in the European project, it soon realised the importance of embracing the project, if only to control it. Brussels has nonetheless seriously challenged Rome’s position as Ireland’s main external point of reference in the last four decades, to the extent that the Irish Catholic Church is now perceived as yet another institution. It remains, however, quite influential in Irish politics and so a force to be reckoned with when it comes to analysing the island’s perception of the European project. The present article consists above all of a general review of the way EEC membership has transformed the relationship between Church and State in Ireland for almost fifty years now.
Dès que l’Irlande soumit sa première demande d’adhésion à la CEE, Rome cessa d’être la principale source de référence étrangère pour faire place à Bruxelles dans cette société s’ouvrant progressivement sur l’extérieur. Si l’Église catholique d’Irlande vit tout d’abord d’un mauvais œil cette volonté de l’île de se joindre au projet européen, elle se rendit tout de même vite compte de l’importance d’embrasser l’initiative, ne serait-ce que pour mieux la contrôler. Bruxelles n’en est pas moins devenue un sérieux adversaire de l’hégémonie romaine en Irlande depuis bientôt un demi-siècle, à tel point que l’Église catholique y est désormais perçue comme une institution parmi d’autres. Cependant, son influence en politique persiste et elle demeure une force non négligeable pour toute analyse de la perception de l’Europe par l’Irlande. Le présent article se veut avant tout une revue générale de la manière dont l’adhésion à la CEE a fait évoluer la relation entre Eglise et Etat en Irlande depuis un peu moins de cinquante ans maintenant.
INDEX
Mots-clés: Église catholique d’Irlande, Union Européenne / CEE, sécularisation, identité nationale Keywords: Irish Catholic Church, national identity, secularization, European Union / EEC
AUTHOR
JEAN-CHRISTOPHE PENET NCFIS Dublin
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 60
Art et image
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 61
L’intemporel incarné : les corps des tourbières entre métaphore et littéralité
Valérie Morisson
1 « Et rien ne meurt. De nouvelles choses arrivent ; de grands changements surviennent. Mais ce qui était là auparavant ne disparaît pas vraiment ; cela s’enfonce un peu plus et disparaît de la surface. La culture irlandaise est sédimentaire, faite de couches d’expérience et d’émotions superposées les unes aux autres 1. » L’écho que reçurent les corps exhumés dans des tourbières irlandaises semble donner raison à Fintan O’Toole : Seamus Heaney n’est pas le seul Irlandais dont l’œuvre réfracte ces découvertes archéologiques. Les tourbières ont livré des vestiges majeurs à l’origine d’un ample phénomène culturel. R. C. Turner concluait que « rien ne peut expliquer l’ampleur du phénomène provoqué par les corps des tourbières… Les explications avancées nous apprennent davantage sur l’expliquant que sur le phénomène lui-même 2 ». Nous lui donnerons raison mais, au-delà des premières ondes de choc qui ont secoué le public après les révélations des archéologues, ne doit-on pas voir dans ces cadavres et leurs évocations plastiques une manifestation mnémotopique éclairant la question irlandaise d’un jour nouveau ?
2 Les corps des tourbières constituèrent d’abord un objet d’étude pour les archéologues. En 1965, l’ouvrage de P. V. Glob narrant les découvertes danoises, fit sensation 3. Les photographies accompagnant le texte étaient si stupéfiantes qu’elles marquèrent les lecteurs et les chercheurs du monde entier, au point que l’auteur s’en étonna lui- même 4. Les corps extrêmement bien préservés devinrent une source d’inspiration pour plusieurs artistes : parmi les premiers lecteurs de cet ouvrage liminaire figuraient le poète Seamus Heaney et le peintre Louis le Brocquy. En 1969, lorsque parut la traduction anglaise de ce récit archéologique, dix-neuf corps avaient été retrouvés en Irlande. Subséquemment, des expositions firent connaître au grand public ces corps qui font aujourd’hui partie de la culture populaire : les cadavres de l’Age de Fer furent le sujet d’un film d’horreur et plusieurs sites internet y furent consacrés 5. En 2002-2003, une exposition itinérante intitulée The Mysterious Bog People circula Outre-Atlantique et
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 62
présenta six corps dont deux avait acquis le statut de stars de l’archéologie grâce à la presse quotidienne : celui d’Yde, portant autour du cou la corde intacte qui servit à l’étrangler il y a plus de 2000 ans et celui de Red Franz, momie de 1500 ans fort célèbre en Allemagne pour avoir gardé une crête de cheveux teintés en rouge. L’exposition à grand succès mêlait culture populaire et scientifique : la thématisation du mystère mettait au premier plan le travail de collecte et d’interprétation des archéologues tout en aiguisant la curiosité du public ; dans une partie de l’exposition nommée « Bog Science Investigation », les jeunes visiteurs du National History Museum de Los Angeles pouvaient participer à des enquêtes fictives et découvrir les méthodes d’investigations des médecins légistes. Le succès de l’exposition est dû autant aux choix muséographiques, privilégiant la participation du visiteur, qu’à l’attrait plus morbide pour les cadavres en « chair et en os » du mésolithique. L’archéologue danois Winjand van der Sanden s’émut de voir les corps reproduits sur les produits dérivés de l’exposition et jugea la transformation de cadavres d’ancêtres glorieux en objets de consommation peu conforme à l’éthique muséographique 6.
3 Depuis le début du dix-neuvième siècle, les tourbières irlandaises ont livré 89 corps. Le premier document relatif à ces découvertes, rédigé par Lady Moira en 17817, provient du comté de Down. Seule une minorité des cadavres trouvés en Irlande remonte à la préhistoire. Les premières découvertes d’objets de l’Age du Bronze (1880-700 av. J.-C.) datent des années 1830 ; la plupart des corps déterrés alors étaient rejetés et échappaient à l’analyse scientifique. L’homme de Gallagh (470-120 av. J.-C.) fut retrouvé en 1821 non loin de Castleblakeney (Co. Galway) et transféré au National Museum en 1829. Ce n’est qu’en 1978, après la découverte à Meenybradden (Co. Donegal) d’un corps daté de 1570 dont la partie supérieure était encore recouverte de peau que des recherches archéologiques furent menées. Faisant suite aux travaux de Glob et Wijnand van der Sanden au Danemark8, Barry Raftery, spécialiste irlandais de l’Age de Fer et de l’art celte, publia Trackways Through Time 9. En Irlande, l’intérêt pour les corps momifiés des tourbières fut ravivé en 2003 après l’exhumation accidentelle de deux corps morcelés, retrouvés à vingt-cinq kilomètres d’écart sur des exploitations de tourbe : à Croghan, celui d’un homme ayant vécu aux environs de 362-175 av. JC, à Clonycavan, plus fragmentaire, celui d’un homme mort il y a 2300 ans. La nouvelle des découvertes fut rapportée non seulement dans des revues spécialisées mais également par The Mirror ou l’Irish Times. L’émission Time Watch de la BBC, diffusée en janvier 2006, revint en détail sur les conclusions des archéologues et vulgarisa les résultats de l’enquête dirigée par Isabella Mulhall, coordonatrice du Bog Bodies Project. Trois mois plus tard, l’exposition du National Museum de Dublin, Kingship and Sacrifice – an Exhibition of Bog Bodies and Related Finds, présenta au public ces deux découvertes et appuya la thèse selon laquelle ces sacrifices, pratiqués près des limites territoriales, étaient liés à l’exercice du pouvoir royal. Melanie Giles, chercheuse à l’université de Manchester remarqua à propos des deux corps découverts en 2003 : « Perhaps, unsurprisingly, they have captured the imagination of poets, writers and film-makers, who have responded evocatively to the drama and pathos of such encounters 10. »
4 Les Bog Poems de Seamus Heaney ont aiguisé l’intérêt de plusieurs chercheurs 11. Néanmoins, peu de cas est fait de la référence à ces corps dans les arts visuels. Or, le nombre d’œuvres directement inspirées de ces découvertes atteste et explique l’imaginaire très spécifique que firent naître ces étranges revenants. L’évocation des
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 63
corps dans l’art contribua à transformer une découverte archéologique en fait culturel en prise avec le présent.
Une faille chronologique
5 En raison de l’état de conservation exceptionnel des corps et des visages, les découvertes provoquèrent un inhabituel écrasement temporel. L’acidité des tourbières, ainsi que l’absence d’oxygène dans le sous-sol permit la conservation des tissus organiques (peau, cheveux, ongles, organes) et de matériaux tels que la laine ou le coton. Les photographies de corps publiées par Glob donnent à voir chaque ride, des poils de barbe et des sourcils ; l’expression des visages est parfois saisissante. Les corps se distinguent donc très nettement des gisants ou des masques funéraires. L’une des photographies est ainsi légendée : « The dead and the sleeping, how they resemble one another 12 », légende qui ne peut que rappeler les vers de Seamus Heaney : « Who will say ‘corpse’/to his vivid cast?/Who will say ‘body’/to his opaque repose 13 ? »
6 Au milieu des années 1960, P. V. Glob avait noté des erreurs quant à la datation des corps : « As they worked, they suddenly saw in the peat-layer a face so fresh that they could only suppose they had stumbled on a recent murder 14. » En Irlande, la confusion fut alimentée par le fait que les tourbières servirent à cacher les corps de victimes des Troubles dans les années 1960-1970. Le corps parfaitement conservé de l’homme de Croghan fit d’abord l’objet d’une enquête policière car on pensait qu’il s’agissait du corps d’une victime récente 15. Rolly Reed, l’un des conservateurs chargés de l’enquête, revint sur ses émotions lors d’une interview :
I had visions of these enormous arms coming round the back of my neck…I was getting flashbacks for a fortnight… I was having nightmares. What hit me hardest, I think, was the fingerprints – perfect fingerprints – the same as a guy’s from today. He could have been anybody off the streets of Dublin… it was like touching your own skin 16.
7 L’écrasement temporel est accentué par les reconstitutions scientifiques, la connaissance des individus meurtris et la présentation des corps dans le musée. Le buste de l’homme de Clonycavan a été remodelé par les artistes du département de criminologie de l’Université de Dundee. On connaît aujourd’hui jusqu’au menu du dernier repas de l’homme de Croghan. Devant ces corps exposés dans un musée, le visiteur est confronté au temps historique de la mise à mort mais également au temps de l’exhumation et de la redécouverte car les corps sont présentés exactement comme ils ont été trouvés. Plusieurs éléments de la mise en scène muséographique créent une intimité déconcertante entre le spectateur et le mort et nous invitent à imaginer la victime avant son exécution. Glob conclut d’ailleurs sa description de l’homme de Tollund ainsi : « Dark in hue, the head is still full of life and more beautiful than the best portraits by the world’s greatest artists, since it is the man himself we see 17. »
8 Les corps des tourbières incarnent et matérialisent un passé qui se confond étrangement avec le présent. S’inspirant du chronotope de Bakhtine 18, Anthony Purdy conceptualisa la notion de mnémotope, que les corps des tourbières incarnent :
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 64
Since the primary function of the archaeological artifact as chronotope is to materialize a past in the present, to serve as a vehicle for personal and cultural memory, I will refer to it as a mnemotope, a term that should be fairly transparent but that I will define provisionally as a chronotopic motif manifesting the presence of the past, the conscious or unconscious memory traces of a more or less distant period in the life of a culture or, metaphorically, an individual. Of course, the mnemotope might come in many guises and be inflected by attitudinal values ranging from nostalgia and melancholy through desire, obsession and remembrance to horror and denial. […] To an extraordinary degree, bog bodies allow us to see time 19.
9 Karine Sanders, de l’université de Berkeley, note pareillement une fusion du passé et du présent : « Whether you’re looking at it as a scientist or a poet, it’s very easy to imagine the bog bodies as a direct portal into the past. The bodies make history seem very close. It’s as if we’re looking right into the face of our ancestors 20. » L’impression est proche de celle qu’exprime Turner : « The sense of wonder [bog bodies] conjure up is combined with the feeling that they have in some way cheated death, to live again 21. » Plus que tout autre vestige archéologique, le corps semble à même de faire resurgir le passé dans le présent. L’écrivain Eugène Nshimiyimana, parlant de cadavres meurtris, affirme que « le corps se situe nécessairement dans une double dimension, temporelle et atemporelle, qui l’associe à la mémoire dans son rapport au passé et au futur 22 ». Le temps est matérialisé sur le corps par des traces de coups, des cicatrices, des attitudes, il devient un espace mémoriel, au même titre que les lieux de mémoire évoqués par Pierre Nora 23. Cependant, contrairement à l’acte commémoratif qui implique une volonté, voire un geste, d’ordre politique, le mnémotope surgit de manière involontaire, tel le corps d’une victime torturée refaisant surface au milieu d’un paysage pastoral.
10 C’est en tant que mnémotopes que les corps des tourbières sont représentés par l’artiste Barrie Cooke (né en 1931), intéressé par les écosystèmes et les biotopes autant que par l’animisme qu’il a découvert par ses voyages (Nouvelle-Zélande, Bornéo, Java) ou par le taoïsme 24. Dans plusieurs œuvres (Bog, 1970, Turf Box, 1974 et Bog Box, 1975), la tourbe n’est pas un symbole de l’identité nationale mais un milieu géologique et biologique particulier qu’il peint après l’avoir observé avec l’œil d’un biologiste. La série de toiles intitulées Bog Figures, I – VI, datées de 1973, montre que Cooke fut influencé par le livre de P. V. Glob et fasciné par les conditions de préservation des tissus : « His response to The Bog People was in large measure derived from the fact that it described things which dovetailed with his own concerns and intuitions 25. » On observe une similarité frappante entre les toiles et les photographies de Glob – le peintre s’efforçant de suggérer l’ensevelissement du corps dans un milieu géologique qui l’absorbe. Cooke produisit plusieurs dessins destinés à illustrer les Bog Poems de Seamus Heaney. Le regard de Cooke sur les corps est presque scientifique : les cadavres ou corps endormis qu’il représente sont tels des fossiles, parfaitement enchâssés dans le sol spongieux. Parfois, une simple accumulation de matière plus qu’une variation chromatique signale la présence du corps dans le sol. Les corps, nus, sont peints comme des organismes faits de tissus et d’articulations. L’épaisseur de la pâte imite les fibres musculaires et les
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 65
ligaments, et dessine des linéaments sinueux semblables à des racines ou des rhizomes si bien que le corps semble englouti par la terre :
There is an extraordinary intimacy between human and peat. Preserved through a kind of tanning process, the bog peoples’ skin darkens to leathery beauty, towards the black, moist turf. […] Bog figures and bone boxes alike suggest something ancient and dormant revivified, and they could be read as metaphors of primitive consciousness, more directly in touch with a world of natural forces 26.
11 Dans les années 1970, Cooke réalisa plusieurs vitrines contenant des ossements, des pierres, des fragments de bois qui par leur seule présence ouvrent la porte du mythe.
12 Louis le Brocquy rencontra Heaney de manière fortuite : « Each of us was haunted by the Tollund Man, the Winderby Girl, and others sacrificed in an Iron Age bog that had preserved them perfectly to the inclination of an eyelid. Yes, I’m afraid that ‘terrible’ aspect may sometimes be reflected in my work 27. » Ses séries de têtes ou portraits déformés doivent autant aux têtes polynésiennes qu’il découvre au musée de l’Homme à Paris en 1964, qu’aux têtes qu’il voit l’année suivante sur le site celte ligurien d’Entremont en Provence ou aux photographies des corps des tourbières publiées par Glob 28. Le travail de le Brocquy illustre une transcendance, en ce qu’il a la vertu de présentifier l’absent : « These portraits see death as a part of life, within the flux of the continuous present 29. » Les visages démantelés, décomposés, ne sont pas tant une évocation de la mort qu’une tentative d’accéder à l’esprit logé dans le crâne, à la spiritualité piégée dans l’enveloppe matérielle de la tête. Louis le Brocquy travaille là où le visible se fissure pour révéler l’esprit : « For our Celtic ancestors, I imagine, the head was a box which holds the spirit prisoner but which at the same time manifests this spirit. The head is simultaneously a mask which hides the mind and a revelation, an incarnation of mind. […] I try to scuffle the surface of the paper or the canvas, to penetrate the surface rather like an archaeologist in order to see what may emerge 30. » À propos de la main de Louis le Brocquy, Seamus Heaney évoque aussi l’homme de Tollund, dont le corps l’a pareillement marqué :
That hand does not seek to express its own personality. It is obedient rather than dominant, subdued into process as it awaits a discovery. What it comes up with will sometimes feel like something come upon, a recognition. Like a turfcutter’s spade coming upon the body in the bog, the head of the Tollund man, ghostly yet palpable, familiar and other, a historical creature grown ahistorical 31.
13 L’idée de permanence, d’absence de temporalité est évoquée par l’artiste lui-même. Les visages fragmentés sont les métaphores d’une temporalité qui se dissout. Le mélange de passé mythologique et de modernité avant-gardiste dans l’éclatement de la figure aboutit à une déconstruction de la linéarité chronologique.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 66
De la fracture temporelle à la béance visuelle
14 Les bog people font resurgir une violence jusque-là enfouie et qui, lorsqu’elle réapparaît à la surface, évoque soit une éternelle béance de l’enveloppe corporelle soit l’inscription des meurtres contemporains dans une mythologie nationale.
15 Comme l’ont montré les analyses des médecins légistes et des archéologues, les personnes dont le corps avait été exhumé avaient été victimes de violences multiples 32. L’homme de Gallagh (trouvé à Castleblakeney et conservé au National Museum de Dublin) avait été étranglé et maintenu dans le sol par deux piquets de bois. D’autres corps retrouvés en Irlande ont été éviscérés et démembrés. C’est le cas de l’homme de Croghan, dont la tête et certains membres étaient manquants. Sa poitrine était lacérée, il avait été attaché grâce à deux trous percés dans son bras et blessé à plusieurs reprises à l’estomac. Ces perforations corporelles, qui sont de précieux indices pour les archéologues, sont autant de brèches dans lesquelles s’engouffre un imaginaire de la violence attisé par le mystère des crimes. Les corps sont identifiés comme étant ceux de victimes tantôt de sacrifices destinés à célébrer des victoires militaires, à encourager la fertilité ou à aider à une guérison (Glob) ; tantôt de châtiments infligés par la communauté entière après une transgression des codes sociétaux 33. Parfois encore, les corps sont présentés comme ceux d’individus victimes d’un bannissement hors du périmètre de la paroisse 34 ou de rituels associés au pouvoir royal (Ned Kelly), ou encore d’actes divinatoires, ce qui expliquerait les éviscérations. Les corps seraient donc ceux de boucs émissaires choisis pour incarner la culpabilité de leur communauté ou ceux de captifs otages de guerres claniques ou tribales. Quelle que soit l’interprétation, les corps apportent la preuve de pratiques culturelles qui tolèrent la cruauté comme moyen d’améliorer le sort de la communauté. Les photographies des corps publiées par les archéologues et les journaux ne masquèrent guère la brutalité, et l’on peut avancer que c’est cette cruauté brute qui frappa sans doute le plus les artistes.
16 Hughie O’Donoghue, né à Manchester en 1953 d’un père soldat, réalise un travail sériel sur le corps contorsionné, déformé et maculé par des cicatrices, des marques, des taches. Ses toiles sombres, qui refusent de montrer des visages ou un lieu, « s’efforcent de donner une impression de corporéité, une sensation d’étouffement, d’intoxication, de nausée, de douleur, l’impression que membres et muscles sont en mouvement, que l’on touche la peau, le toucher, la succion, les morsures, la conscience d’organes internes et des tissus 35 ». Fasciné par Titien et Le Greco, O’Donoghue l’est aussi par le sous-sol irlandais et ses marécages. La série de toiles intitulées Sleeper (commencée dès 1984) fut influencée par la découverte de l’homme de Tollund. L’artiste explique qu’enfant, on lui racontait des histoires sur ces hommes au passé obscur. Les toiles semi-abstraites aux couleurs sombres de Tomb et Within Earth (1980-1990) illustrent une angoisse de l’engloutissement, de l’enterrement. Dans Blue Crucifixion (1993-2003), toile de plus de huit mètres de long, le fond bleu maculé de noir laisse entrevoir une vague silhouette humaine qui ressemble à une empreinte cireuse ou à une momie :
A theme, or image, which has haunted them [his paintings] for several years is that of a human figure, often implicit rather than defined, which at times obviously relates to the crucifixion, at other times to the “bog figures” which have inspired Seamus Heaney. […] Here perhaps, we have an image of what lies buried in our
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 67
unconscious, and also an expression of the regenerative powers of nature and of the complex, many-layered myth of the Resurrection36.
17 Si la position des corps rappelle les squelettes des musées archéologiques, la stylisation des cicatrices et l’utilisation d’une palette presque monochrome pour accentuer l’intensité du fond invitent à une lecture littérale, aphoristique plus que métaphorique. La série de toiles qu’Hughie O’Donoghue réalisa sur la Passion du Christ dévoile des corps noueux et recroquevillés qui doivent autant aux corps des tourbières qu’aux torsions des figures de Rembrandt 37. Des tons sombres et rougeoyants baignent ces scènes intemporelles qui évoquent la fragilité primordiale du corps : « The work of art becomes the medium that carries the predilection of the artist for the present time, a time in which the past comes back to life, although in a very peculiar and precarious way 38. »
18 O’Donoghue fait émerger de la toile l’archétype du corps blessé, agonisant, qui hante l’art et la littérature. La qualité centripète des aplats au couteau, l’éclatement des touches et la taille des toiles matérialisent la souffrance du corps. David Slattery voit dans la blessure la présence violente du sacré et du mythe qui entre en nous par l’acte de l’Autre. La faille dans le corps serait le locus privilégié de notre rencontre, fut-elle violente, avec le sacré, le langage et le social. Le corps doit se penser comme un lieu culturellement marqué : « In the body distended and distorted there is revealed something true about the interaction of individuals and the world concerning their own fatedness [sic], their individual destiny, and their evolving character39. » Les corps meurtris des tourbières et les êtres scarifiés et contorsionnés de O’Donoghue ont ceci de commun qu’ils constituent des images culturelles, sièges de mythologies individuelles et collectives. La blessure rend visible la vulnérabilité des hommes et aiguise notre conscience du danger, de l’impermanence, de l’incessante confrontation au monde et à autrui. Les coups, les écorchures, les plaies et autres atteintes à l’intégrité corporelle tracent aussi des parcours d’initiation et construisent notre identité. La cicatrice inscrit le corps dans le temps et la narrativité : « […] signing or marking the body signifies its passage into writing, its becoming a literary body, and generally also a narrative body, in that the inscription of the sign depends on and produces a story. The signing of the body is an allegory of the body become a subject for literary writing – a body entered in writing 40. »
De la métaphore archéologique au symbole politique
19 La pratique de la vidéo resitue le corps dans une trame narrative qui se prête particulièrement au jeu sur la temporalité, la focalisation et l’identité. Tout comme Seamus Heaney, Pauline Cummins, vidéaste et photographe irlandaise, a évoqué les victimes sacrificielles de l’Age du Bronze en relation avec le conflit nord-irlandais au début des années 1980 : « I tried to look further back into our history, for ancient symbols, and past rituals, in an attempt to rise above and view the present, as a tiny part of an ongoing cycle. I became interested in bodies preserved in the bogs, some of them two thousand years old 41. » Pauline Cummins commença alors à réaliser des masques d’argile émiettée en raku, évoquant le passage du temps et la décrépitude. Ces visages étaient immortalisés dans l’action, leurs expressions saisies sur le vif, comme ceux de victimes d’attaques imprévues, d’où leur lien avec le terrorisme en Irlande : « My clay figures speak of the past, and of the present, of life remembered –life dismembered 42. » Dans Unearthed (Fig. 1), installation de 1988 centrée sur le thème des bog people, l’artiste proposa de réfléchir aux résurgences du passé dans la vie politique actuelle. Dans une vidéo, l’artiste, vêtue
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 68
de noir, interroge le public en adoptant un accent irlandais prononcé : « Irish ? Me ? I’m not Irish… » – puis, retrouvant un accent anglais, évoque la nationalité anglaise de sa mère, puis le Dimanche Sanglant de 1972, avant d’entonner un chant de lamentation traditionnel, le keening 43. À l’écran, le spectateur voit des visages qui se transforment en masques d’argile ou de raku disposés dans un paysage naturel verdoyant, ainsi que des photos personnelles de l’artiste. Les craquelures de l’émail ressemblent à des cicatrices sur des visages déformés : « With their eye slits, twisted mouth holes and missing noses, the masks are at once bog people and the bandaged, Northern dead who won’t stay buried. They’re waiting for a cease-fire 44. » Unearthed présente des versions contradictoires du conflit. Cummins entend montrer que personne ne détient la vérité même si chacun doit être responsable de ses actes 45. La pratique de l’installation, rompant avec l’unité de l’espace de représentation et permettant des juxtapositions non congruentes, est particulièrement propice à instiller le doute dans l’esprit du spectateur qui doit reconstruire le sens de ce qui se présente comme hybride et épars.
Figure 1 : Pauline Cummins, Raku Mask, Unearthed (1988) – Performance et installation.
P. Cummins précise dans un courriel adressé à l’auteur en février 2009 : « The work Unearthed was a multimedia performance commissioned by Projects UK in 1988, and later became a photographic and video installation for the exhibition, Inheritance And Transformation, The Irish Museum of Modern Art, 1991. » (Reproduction avec l’aimable autorisation de l’artiste)
20 Autre vidéaste, Nigel Rolfe travaille inlassablement sur la mémoire ainsi que sur la construction de l’identité et de la culture nationales. Marqué par le positionnement politico-social de Joseph Beuys, Rolfe pratique de manière délibérée un art politique. Il s’intéresse aux ruptures plus qu’aux équilibres et s’efforce de poser des questions, « d’ouvrir des blessures 46 ». L’une de ses expositions inclut le texte suivant : « Expose what is underneath/suggest other possibilities/examine and question/heart and soul/dig deep, unearth, discover/history, memory, imagination 47. » The Edge of Europe (1988) est une
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 69
photographie de performance le montrant gisant nu et immobile, vulnérable, dans un marais de tourbe du comté de Sligo : c’est là une image de naissance et de mort, de communion avec le sol qui trouve un écho dans la ruralité si longtemps associée à l’identité irlandaise. L’action faisait référence aux corps des tourbières : « […] often I have turned to archaeology and the landscape as a source for my work 48. » Rolfe interroge ici la primitivité de l’Irlande, primitivité qui est devenue, au fil de l’histoire nationaliste de l’île, une construction culturelle centrale dans l’identité irlandaise, une légende étayée par l’archéologie.
21 Ni l’archéologie ni le folklore ne sont exempts de biais politiques. Bruce Trigger a mis en évidence des schémas de récits archéologiques communs liés à des contextes politiques particuliers 49. Ainsi, les corps des tourbières sont des accroches pour des mythologies individuelles ou collectives mais aussi des preuves de l’étendue de la culture celte. Or, cet âge d’or celte servit à légitimer des revendications politiques :
Images from the past play conspicuous and powerful roles in the present. […] Archaeological finds become battle-banners of modern ethnic groups and nations; how the dubious evidence of ancient ethnic migrations and diffusions can be used to legitimize modern territorial expansion and ethnic cleansing; how pattern of archaeological funding and scholarly interest can place interest on certain politically useful sites and certain classes of evidence; and how archaeological interpretation can often both reflect and reinforce the centralizing policies of emerging nation-states 50.
22 Les artistes contemporains qui, comme Nigel Rolfe, optent pour une attitude post- nationaliste remettent en cause le nationalisme culturel et son influence sur l’iconographie nationale. Ils déconstruisent la culture nationale, interrogent la mise en images, la patrimonialisation et les pratiques mémorielles dans leur rapport à l’élaboration de l’identité irlandaise. En cela, Rolfe est représentatif d’une génération d’artistes se préoccupant des biais politiques, conscients ou inconscients, véhiculés par la culture.
23 La tranchée initialement tracée dans le champ de tourbe a révélé aux contemporains un passé oublié et, ce faisant, instauré une brèche dans la temporalité. Que le corps déterré soit métaphore ou incarnation littérale, il bouleverse le rapport de l’être au passé ainsi que sa conscience de l’histoire et de son identité. Dans plusieurs performances filmées ou photographiées, Nigel Rolfe, artiste-chaman, s’asperge de farine ou de poussière transformant ainsi son corps en objet étrange. Dust Breeding (2008) 51 est une vidéo montée en boucle qui provoque un trouble de la temporalité propre au rituel prophylactique. Le visage de l’artiste, couché au sol et filmé en gros plan, est déformé par l’application de la poussière qui se craquelle et se fissure (Fig. 2 et 3). Les œuvres visuelles s’inspirant des corps des tourbières puisent leur force dans la littéralité de la présentation du corps. Alors que les textes de Glob et de Heaney tracent les contours des corps et ressuscitent les individus dont ils font les portraits, les œuvres visuelles nient l’intégrité du corps et dissolvent le sujet dans la matière. La condensation des signes visuels permet d’accéder à des topoï universels. L’enfouissement du visage de Rolfe rappelle l’ensevelissement des corps des tourbières mais aussi le travestissement par le masque et la catharsis qu’il permet. Préférant le primordial au primitif, Rolfe poursuit ainsi une réflexion transculturelle sur l’Autre
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 70
insaisissable qui se loge au cœur d’un moi familier, sur la barbarie qui resurgit soudain dans la civilisation. Son travail illustre les propos de Mélanie Giles : « Part of the important process of forgetting is the act of remembering 52. »
Figures 2 et 3 : Nigel Rolfe, Dust Breeding (2008)
Photographies couleur, 36 x 36in. Droits de reproduction concédés par la Green on Red Gallery, Dublin. Remerciements à Mary Conlon.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 71
NOTES
1. Fintan O’Toole, « Ireland », Irish Art Now. From the Poetic to the Political, Boston, Merrell Holberton-McMullen Museum of Art, 1999, p. 23 (traduction de l’auteur). 2. R. C. Turner, « The Lindow Man Phenomenon : Ancient and Modern », Bog Bodies : New Discoveries and New Perspectives, Londres, British Museum Press, 1995 (traduction de l’auteur). 3. L’ouvrage faisait suite à la découverte, dans des tourbières danoises, de plusieurs corps datant de l’Age de Fer (700-52 av. JC). Le plus vieux était celui de la femme de Koelberg, qui aurait vécu il y a 5500 ans et dont le crâne est aujourd’hui conservé au Fyns Stifsmuseum d’Odense au Danemark (voir Paul Bahn, « Bodies of the Bogs », Archeology, vol. 50, n° 4, juillet, 1997, p. 62-67). 4. Glob, The Bog People, Iron-Age Man Preserved, Londres, Faber and Faber, traduit du danois en 1969, p. 15-16. 5. Bog Bodies, le film d’horreur irlandais réalisé par Brendan Foley, fut commercialisé en 2008 (Voir http://www.bogbodiesthemovie.com). Voir également http://mummytombs.com et http://www.tollundman.dk/andre-moselig.asp pour les sites populaires de vulgarisation. 6. Voir Winjnand Van Der Sanden, « Mummies, Mugs and Museum Shops », Archeological Institute of America, 30 août 2005, www.archeology.org/online/features/bog/ exhibit.html et Bergen, C., M. J. L. Th. Niekus and V. T. van Vilsteren (dir.), The Mysterious Bog People. Zwolle, Netherlands : Waanders Publishers ; Hanover, Germany : Niedersächsisches Landesmuseum Hannover ; Gatineau, Quebec : Canadian Museum of Civilization ; Calgary, Alberta : Glenbow Museum, 2002. 7. Voir P. V. Glob, op. cit., p. 69. 8. Van der Sanden, Wijnand, Through Nature to Eternity. The Bog Bodies of Northwest Europe, Amsterdam, Batavian Lion International, 1996 et « Mummies, Mugs, and Museum Shops », Archeological Institute of America, 30 août 2005, voir note 6. 9. B. Raftery, Trackways Through Time : Archaeological Investigations on Irish Bog Roads, 1985-1989, Rush, Co. Dublin, Headline Publishing, 1990. 10. Giles, Melanie, « Bog Bodies : Representing the Dead », contribution à la conférence intitulée « Respect for Ancient British Human Remains : Philosophy and Practice », 17 novembre 2006, Manchester Museum, http://www.museum.manchester.ac.uk/ medialibrary/documents/respect/bog_bodies_representing_the_dead.pdf/. 11. Heaney Seamus, Bog Poems, Londres, Rainbow Press, 1975 ; Door into the Dark, New York, Oxford University Press, 1969 ; Preoccupations, Selected Prose 1968-1978, Londres, Faber & Faber, 1980, p. 57-58. Voir également David Annwn, Inhabited Voices : Myth and History in the Poetry of Georgy Hill, Seamus Heaney and George Mackay Brown, Frome, Somerset, Bran’s Head Books, 1984 ; Anthony Bailey, « A Gift for Being in Touch : Seamus Heaney builds houses of truth », Quest, n° 2, janvier-février 1978 ; Dianne, Meredith, « Landscape or Mindscape? Seamus Heaney’s Bogs”, in Irish Geographical Society, vol. 32.2, 1999, p. 127-133 ; Michael Parker, « Gleanings, Leavings : Irish and American Influences on Seamus Heaney’s Wintering Out (1972)”, in New Hibernia Review, vol.2 : 3, automne 1998. 12. Glob, P. V., op. cit., p. 29.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 72
13. Heaney, Seamus, « The Grauballe Man », in North, Londres, Faber & Faber, 1975. 14. Glob, P. V., op. cit., p. 18. 15. Voir Claire Raymond, « Murdered 2,500 years ago », The Mirror, 7 janvier 2006. 16. In Grice, E., « A Chilling Tale of Ritual Murder », Daily Telegraph, 7 janvier 2006, p. 19-21, article cité par Giles, M., op. cit., p. 8. 17. Ibid., p. 36. 18. M. M. Bakhtine, Esthétique et théorie du roman, traduit du russe, Paris, Gallimard, collection « Bibliothèque des idées », 1978. 19. Purdy, Anthony, « The Bog Body as Mnemotope : Nationalist Archaeologies in Heaney and Tournier », Style, printemps 2002. 20. Dayton, Todd, « Tales from the Bog », Illumination, Berkeley University, 2002, http:// illuminations.berkeley.edu/archives/2002/article. 21. Turner, Richard et Scaife, Robert, Bodies : New Discoveries and New Perspectives, Londres, British Museum Press, 1995, p. 32. 22. Eugène Nshimiyimana, « Les corps mythiques de Sony Labou Tansi », Études Françaises, 41 : 2, 2005, p. 95. 23. Voir Pierre Nora (dir.), Les lieux de mémoire, Paris, Gallimard (Quarto), 3 tomes, 1997. 24. [Seamus Heaney, Aidan Dunne et Niall McMonagle], Barrie Cooke, Kinsale, Gandon Edition, coll. Profile, 1998, p. 12. 25. Ibid. 26. Propos de l’artiste, cités dans Dunne, Aidan, Barrie Cooke, Douglas Hyde Gallery, ACNI, 1986, p. 75-76. 27. Morgan, George, « An Interview with Louis le Brocquy by George Morgan », in Le Brocquy, P. (dir.), Louis le Brocquy, The Head Image, Kinsale, Gandon Editions, 1996, p. 17. 28. Ibid. 29. Montague, John, A Louis le Brocquy, Gimpel Fils Gallery, Londres, 1974, p. 3. 30. Le Brocquy, Louis, Images of W. B. Yeats, James Joyce, Federico Garcia Lorca, Picasso, Samuel Beckett, Francis Bacon, 1975-1987, p. 14. 31. Carpenter, Andrew (dir.), Eight Irish Writers, Eight Poems in a Portfolio of Collotype Lithographs, Dublin, 1981, non paginé. 32. Voir Don Brothwell, The Bog Man and the Archaeology of People, Cambridge, Massachusetts, Harvard University Press, 1987 ; Kiner, A. « Momies de l’âge du fer : le peuple des tourbières », Sciences et avenir, no 607, septembre 1997, p. 90-96 ; Menon, Shanti. « The People of the Bog », in Discover, août 1997, p. 60-67, 87 ; Mohen, J. P. « Les hommes des tourbières », in Dossiers d’archéologie, no 259, décembre 2000, p. 10-15 ; Owen, James, « Murdered ‘Bog Men’ Found With Hair Gel, Manicured Nails », in National Geographic News, January 17, 2006 ; Pringle, Heather Anne, The Mummy Congress : Science, Obsession, and the Everlasting Dead, New York, Hyperion, 2001. 33. Miranda Green, Dying for the Gods : Human Sacrifice in Iron Age and Roman Europe, Stroud, Tempus, 2001, p. 118. 34. Tim Taylor, The Buried Soul : How Humans Invented Death, Beacon Press, 2004 et Fischer, John Hayes (réal.), The Perfect Corpse, DVD distribué par NOVA, 2006.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 73
35. O’Donoghue, Hughie, 13 Drawings from the Human Body, Jill George Gallery, Londres, 1993, non paginé. (traduction de l’auteur). 36. Fallon, Brian (introduction), A Line of Retreat, Hughie O’Donoghue, Purdy / Hicks, Londres, 1997, p. 7. 37. O’Donoghue, Hughie, Paintings and Drawings 1983-86, Fabian Carlsson Gallery, Londres, 1986, non paginé. 38. Oliva, Achille Bonito, Hughie O’Donoghue, Opere 1986-87, Galleria Carini Firenze, 1987, non paginé. 39. Slattery, Denis Patrick, The Wounded Body, Remembering the Markings of Flesh, New York, State University of New York Press, 2000, p. 7-11 40. Brooks, Peter, Body Work : Objects of Desire in Modern Narrative, Cambridge, Harvard University Press, 1993, p. 3. 41. Cummins, Pauline, « A Series of Changes », Performance Magazine, 54, juin-juillet 1988, p. 22. 42. Idem. 43. Voir le script de la performance dans Cummins, Pauline, « Unearthed, Performance script; n.paradoxa, vol.5, p. 71-73. 44. Higgins, Judith, « Art From the Edge », in Art in America, décembre 1995, p. 37-40. 45. Deepwell, Kathy, Dialogues, Women Artists from Ireland, Tauris and Company, 2004, p. 154. 46. Nigel Rolfe, Vidéos 1983-1996, interview avec Declan McGonagle, Musée d’Art Moderne de la ville de Paris, 1996 (en français dans le texte). 47. Rolfe Nigel, Resonator, Douglas Hyde Gallery, Dublin, 1992. 48. Rolfe Nigel, Vidéos 1983-1996, op. cit., p. 12. 49. Trigger, Bruce G., « Alternative Archaeologies. Nationalist, Colonialist, Imperialist », in Robert Preucel et Ian Hodder (dir.), Contemporary Archaeology in Theory, Oxford, Blackwell Publishers, 1999 (1996), p. 615-631. 50. Silberman, Neil A., « Promised Lands and Chosen Peoples: the Politics and Poetics of Archaeological Narrative », in Nationalism, Politics and the Practice of Archaeology, ed. Philip L. Khol et Clare Fawcett, Cambridge, CUP, 1995, p. 249-250. 51. Dust Breeding, vidéo enregistrée sur DVD, 5 mn ; visible sur http:// greenonredgallery.com. 52. Giles, Melanie, « Bog Bodies : Representing the Dead », contribution à la conférence intitulée « Respect for Ancient British Human Remains : Philosophy and Practice », 17 novembre 2006, Manchester Museum, p. 12, retranscrite sur le site http:// www.museum.manchester.ac.uk/medialibrary/documents/respect/ bog_bodies_representing_the_dead.pdf.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 74
RÉSUMÉS
L’attrait des corps des tourbières provient du mystère entourant leur mort et de leur capacité à bouleverser notre rapport au temps. L’ouvrage de P. V. Glob marqua S. Heaney mais aussi B. Cooke, L. le Brocquy ou H. O’Donoghue. La représentation des corps et de la violence dans les arts visuels est chez eux à la fois littérale et archétypale. Travaillant sur la fragmentation du corps, peintres ou vidéastes présentent des corps ensevelis de manière à initier une réflexion sur la blessure, l’identité et ses rapports à l’histoire nationale.
The fascination exerted by bog bodies springs from the mystery surrounding their deaths and their capacity to disrupt chronological frameworks. P. V. Glob’s seminal work has had a profound influence on S. Heaney, as well as B. Cooke, L. le Brocquy or H. O’Donoghue. The representation of the bodies and the violence they exemplify is both literal and archetypal. The paintings and videos showing fragmented bodies explore wounds that are both organic and cultural and question the notion of identity in the face of national history.
INDEX
Mots-clés : corps des tourbières, archéologie, Le Brocquy Louis, Rolfe Nigel, Cooke Barrie, O’Donoghue Hughie, Cummins Pauline , arts visuels Keywords : archaeology, bog bodies, Le Brocquy Louis, Cooke Barrie, O'Donoghue Hughie, Rolfe Nigel , Cummins Pauline, visual arts
AUTEUR
VALÉRIE MORISSON Université Grenoble II
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 75
“Soul of the Devil’s Pig”: Comedy and Affirmation in James Joyce’s Finnegans Wake
Bernard McKenna
1 In Finnegans Wake, James Joyce explores the associations of the Irish myth of the “Black Pig,” building scenes around its motifs in Chapter I, Book 11 and in Chapter III, Book 42. Through the use of comedy (satire, parody, and irony), Joyce offers a critique of the way Irish Revival writers came to terms with myth and the way they attempted to trace and establish a national identity in writing. Simultaneously, the passages offer an affirmation. The traditions surrounding the Valley of the Black Pig offer an ideal metaphor for such dual representations in that the Valley marks, according to myth, the site of the battle of the end of the world. However, the death of one world leaves an opening for a new beginning in just the same way that Joyce’s use of comedy tears down one world and his affirmations build another. Such a process is not uncommon in cultures and societies emerging from a colonial/post-colonial era. Mbembe and Roitman, in “Figures of the subject in Times of Crisis”, define the process as “the possibility for self-constitution”: According to this formulation, we are not interested primarily in the problematics of resistance, emancipation, or autonomy. We distance ourselves from these questions in order to better apprehend, in today’s context, the series of operations in and through which people weave their existence in incoherence, uncertainty, instability, and discontinuity; then, in experiencing the reversal of the material conditions of their societies, they recapture the possibility for self-constitution, thus instituting other words of truth3.
2 Through the myth of the Black Pig, Joyce weaves new possibilities for self-constitution into the space left empty by the disposition of colonial and post-colonial discourse. Finnegans Wake then offers a perspectival shift towards formerly marginalized narrative constructions.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 76
Pastiche and Affirmation
3 In a passage taken from Book III, Chapter IV, Joyce parodies the manner and consequences of Revivalist assemblage of folklore, customs and traditions. As a result, Finnegans Wake offers up a narrative that anticipates Frederic Jameson’s reading of the “Postmodern pastiche”: “a field of stylistic and discursive heterogeneity without a norm4”. The Revivalists, however, do offer a “norm” for their descriptions; Yeats, in The Trembling of the Veil, seeks to distill the essence of spiritual truth from a variety of traditions, writing that he planned a mystical Order which should buy or hire the castle, and keep it as a place where its members could retire for a while for contemplation, and where we might establish mysteries like those of Eleusis and Samothrace. […] I did not think this philosophy would be altogether pagan, for it was plain that its symbols must be selected from all those things that had moved men most during many, mainly Christian, centuries5.
4 In constructing an idyllic mystical retreat, Yeats makes himself vulnerable to the charge that he de-contextualizes the religious symbols and “mysteries” from their cultural and ritual context, potentially robbing them of their spiritual potency. Joyce, in the voice of Mark, echoes and reduces to the absurd the type of de-contextualized assemblage present in Yeats’ The Trembling of the Veil. Specifically, Mark describes “that white and gold elephant in our zoopark” (564.5-6), suggesting the sacred objects of India or Africa. Animistic religious traditions find a resonance in the “Talkingtree and sinningstone” (564.30-31). Pastoral religion is also present, in the “shady rides [that] lend themselves out to rustic cavalries” (564.25-26) and in the “olave, that firile, was aplantad in her liveside” (564.2122). The passage even gives voice to Classical religious practices, describing the “grekish and romanos” (564.9); the “Hystorical leavesdroppings” (564.31), which recall the withering Cumaenean Sybil; and, in another sense, “that white and gold elephant”: Pheidias statue of Zeus at Olympia, according to the Greek historian Pausanias, included ivory and gold elements. Mark, like Yeats, also includes Christian components: “How tannoboom held tonobloom. How rood in norlandes” (564.21-23)6, signifying Christmas and the word for the cross7. The passage adds to the spiritual references a clear signal of satiric perspective: “sir Shamus Swiftpatrick, Archfieldchaplain” (564.31-33): Jonathan Swift. The subsequent lines reveal Joyce’s satiric target: “How familiar it is to see all these interesting advenements with one snaked’s eyes” (564.33-34). The use of “snaked eyes” implies Satan’s revelation to Adam and Eve and, by connection, reveals the naked assemblage of a variety of de- contextualized religious traditions, robbed of their spiritual value (Jameson’s “norm”) as a consequence of their de-contextualization. The passage’s satiric force culminates in a call of “Ulvos! Ulvos!” (565.5). The warning certainly suggests wolves at the gates threatening civilization. In this sense, Yeats and his type of assemblage are the wolves that threaten the ordered practice of rooted religious tradition. The warning also suggests, “Odin, in the Voluspa of the Poetic Edda, [who] calls up the Volva, or Sibyl, from the lower regions to learn the fate of the gods from her8”; fire destroyed Sybil’s prophecies when Rome burned in 83 B.C. Subsequently, classical and early Christian writers attempted to reconstruct or even invent her prophecies9. The passage reads then like an invented tradition, once again recalling Jameson’s observations of the “pastiche,” in that it “randomly and without principle but with gusto cannibalizes all the […] styles of the past and combines them in over-stimulating ensembles10”.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 77
Finnegans Wake parodies the effect of Revivalist compilations of folklore and tradition, arguing that the intended purpose of the assembly, to reconstruct lost spiritual vitality, is itself lost when random assembly robs spiritual traditions of the normative value inherent in their cultural context.
5 However, the passage may also be read as an affirmation. The parody that mocks the type of discourse characterized by Yeats, liberates the assemblage of spiritual traditions from that same oppressive discourse and carries a resonance with Linda Hutcheon’s views of “pastiche” as an artistic form that has not necessarily “lost its meaning and purpose”, but rather “inevitably has a new and different significance11”. Pastiche then, as Hutcheon characterizes it, offers possibilities not inherent in Jameson’s reading. Joyce, in Finnegans Wake’s representation of the myth of the Black Pig, anticipates both alternatives. The text simultaneously parodies the style of discourse adopted by Yeats in his memoirs, a discourse consistent with Jameson’s reading of pastiche, but also offers, within the void left by parody, an example of Hutcheon’s reading of pastiche. Hutcheon’s view, furthermore, echoes Jameson’s reading of an “Irish Modernism12” in connection with Ulysses: “Irish Modernism [is] a form which […] [projects] a radically different kind of space, a space no longer central, as in English life, but marked as marginal and ec-centric after the fashion of the colonized areas of the imperial system. The colonized space may then be expected to transform the modernist project radically, while still retaining a distant familial likeness to its imperial variants13.” Joyce’s representation of myth from a variety of traditions functions both as a parody of imperial discourse and as an alternative to imperial discourse. Specifically, the words and phrases that parody colonial constructions, also, as Stuart Hall observes of articulations of identity freed from post- colonial discourse, “offer a way of imposing an imaginary [i.e. creative] coherence on the experience of dispersal and fragmentation14”. Freed from the imagined [i.e. fabricated] coherence of Revivalism, Finnegans Wake offers a unity through a creative construction of words and phrases that universalizes myth without the imposition of an imperial order or hierarchy and without decontextualizing traditions. Joyce’s text then presents a common human experience in the void left by parody. For example, “that white and gold elepant” suggests not only India but also the “chryselephantine [ivory and gold] statue of Zeus15”. The passage’s reference to pastoral religious traditions also makes a specific connection to Ireland; “liveside”, (564.22), for example, suggests the “Liffey River16”. Ireland then, through juxtaposition, does indeed have a unity with the Classical world. Moreover, the hierarchy implicit in representation of pastoral to agrarian to Christian religious also dissolves in the parodic representation, leaving an association without need for hierarchy. Joyce then anticipates a use of language and myth consistent with Jameson’s characterization of an “Irish Modernism” in that he roots an “ec-centric” view of myth within Irish tradition and history and, therefore, “transforms the modernist project” from one rooted in post-colonial and colonial discourse into one which, as in Richard Kearney’s observations regarding the hermeneutic imagination, “offer(s) the possibility of redeeming symbols from the ideological abuses of doctrinal prejudice, racist nationalism, class oppression, or totalitarian domination17.” In a very real sense, Ireland’s “firile” (564.22), or “man18” that “was aplanted in her liveside” (564.22) and the progeny of Joyce’s reversal of Genesis’ gender roles is the universality inherent in Joyce’s Hutcheon-like pastiche.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 78
Comic Deflation
6 In Book I, Chapter IV, Finnegan utters an explicative: “Anam muck an dhoul!” (24.15), which Brendan O’Herir translates, “Soul of the Devils pig19”. In the next line, the Four tell him to “be aisy, good Mr Finnimore, sir. And take your laysure like a god on pension and don’t be walking abroad” (24.16-17). The language, with its conversational style and representation in dialect belies the epic language and heroic representation of the pig in Celtic legends, comically deflating the elevated, epic language of Revivalists. Lady Gregory retells the story of Finn’s son as the black pig, slaughtered on the battlefield: For as to the black pig that came before you on the plain,” he [Finn] said, “it was no common pig was in it, but my own son. And there fell along with him,” he said, “the son of the King of the Narrow Sea, and the son of the King of the Sea of Gulls, and the son of Ilbhrec, son of Manannan, and seven score of the comely sons of kings and queens. And it is what destroyed my strength and my respect entirely, they to have been burned away from me in a far place20.
7 The Four Masters address Finnegan, using the surname “Finnemore”, suggesting that he too is Finn (or Finn’s descendant). They tell him to behave like a “god,” indicating a heroic nature but one on “pension”, deflating the epic potential inherent in a giant rising from the Irish landscape. In addition, retellings of Celtic legend also suggest that the black pig is a representative of evil: “Now pigs came out of the Cave of Cruachain and that is Ireland’s gate of hell. […] [M]oreover, come these swine. Round whatever thing they used to go, till the end of seven years, neither corn nor grass nor leaf would grow21.” Finnegan’s declaration of the “soul of the devil’s pig”, but with a comic groan, once again, deflates the elevated language of Stokes’ type of depiction of the pig rising from the gates of Hell. Essentially, Joyce uses humor to demythologize the stories surrounding the black pig, positing instead a very human representation of the god and ironically implying the legends themselves have no insight into the supposedly pure Celtic tradition which they seek. Joyce points out the inherent contradictions in the legacy of Celtic legend, belying the hopes to access through stories the original culture behind the tales. Moreover, because the text represents a rising Finnegan in such a comic and human (as opposed to epic) form, Joyce implies that the heroes were likely more human than epic. Moreover, even if they were to come to life, it is possible, according to the treatment they receive from the Four Masters, that they would not be heralded as heroes but rather dealt with a patronizing tone, designed to mollify and contain any epic energy that might go “walking abroad.” In short, Irish Revivalist society as reflected in the passage, would not recognize a god or hero even if he appeared before them, rising from Phoenix Park.
8 In addition, Finnegans Wake satirically argues that even if the people of Irish Revivalist culture recognized the traces of a living hero/divinity, they would misinterpret the signs and respond with hostility. Yeats tells the story of one such instance of the sighting of a mysterious pig: “the people of the village took pitchforks and spades and the like, and went along the road with them to drive the pig away. When they turned the comer they could not find anything22.” Joyce associates the waking Finnegan with language of death and sacrifice. The Four Masters warn him that, if he should wander off, “Sure you’d only lose yourself in Healiopolis now the way your roads in Kapelavaster are that winding there after the calvary” (24.17-19). The passage’s reference to “calvary” recalls the sacrifice of the Christian messiah at the hands of a
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 79
hostile crowd, not unlike the throng who sought the mythic pig in Yeats’ tale. Further, the passage also references the Egyptian City of the Sun god, merging its name, “Heliopolis,” with that of Timothy Healy, recalling Parnell’s sacrifice at the hands of a hostile crowd. The rejection of Parnell recalls a tradition associated with the black pig recounted by Samuel Ferguson: the black pig is a “mythological monster, said to have been banished, after the establishment of Christianity, to the Hebridean Seas, where his ‘rootings’ may be seen in stormy weather in the hollow of the waves, and his ‘gruntings’ heard from the caverned rocks of Mull and Isa23”. The Irish bishops, with the cooperation of members of the Irish Party, led by Healy, betrayed and “banished” Parnell in the same way the establishment of Christianity saw the banishment of Ferguson’s mythological pig. Joyce’s satire not only humanizes the deity it comically depicts as a crowd not ready to accept the presence of the divine, preferring instead to hunt him down, whether at the hands of a hostile Irish village with pitchforks, a crowd calling for the sacrifice of a Christian messiah, or an Irish public ready to sacrifice Parnell.
9 By comically deflating Revival-style representations, Joyce succeeds in re-humanizing the Irish myths on which the representations draw. In doing so, Joyce anticipates what Richard Kearney sees as necessary for “humanity to return to itself and rediscover its own powers of making24”. Specifically, Joyce, applying Kearney’s analysis to Finnegans Wake “debunk[s] the pseudo world of fetish images in which ideology alienates human consciousness25”. Essentially, Joyce’s comic deflation reveals how certain Revivalist writers and their willing audiences, informed by colonial and post-colonial discourse, project their desire for the “pure” onto legends or even public figures, like Parnell. Such acts of projection create a fetish that dehumanizes and decontextualizes the objects of desire. In his comic deflation, Joyce both signals a disconnection from Revivalist representations of myth that tend to dehumanize their subjects and, simultaneously, signals a re-humanization of the myths. Joyce, from the Revivalist’s perspective, ironically brings the myths closer to the people, offering them figures with whom they can identify. Joyce’s representation of the human nature of Irish heroes and myths comically affirms the presence of those heroes and myths and the value of their presence in the lives of a receptive audience. The value rests not in the myth’s ability to elevate a readership’s aspirations to a pure and super-human standard but rather to elevate a readership’s self-conception by stressing the human and flawed nature of the heroes. Joyce grants his readership a clearer and more accurate understanding of their mythological inheritance and grants his readership a clearer and more accurate understanding of their own potential: if the heroes of the past were as human as a contemporary readership, applying Joycean logic, then their heroic acts are within the reach of a contemporary readership.
Carnival
10 When Padraic Pearse wrote that “Bloodshed is a cleansing and sanctifying thing26”, he echoed the sentiments of some in the Irish Nationalist movement who sought violence in order to purify an Ireland that they considered weakened by centuries of British occupation. Joyce, in Mark’s narrative (564-565), characterizes sanctifying violence as a “feud fionghalian” (564.30), suggesting that rather than achieve a connection with a pure Irish past, those involved in violence, ironically, destroy their heritage through
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 80
“fratricide27”. Clues in the narrative further point towards violence extending beyond Ireland. As John Bishop observes, a “whole set of ciphers designating ‘the end of the world’28” emerges, including, “guttergloomering29”. Violence then, the passage suggests, leads to even more death; it cannot be controlled, even by an ideology like Irish Nationalism. The passage indicates that a “scarlet pimparnell now mules the mound where anciently first murders were wanted to take root” (564.28-30). John Gordon argues that “the sight of red blood on white skin, the “scarlet pimparnell, is […] a powerful symbol of alternately shameful and sacred secrets30”. The words, “first murders”, in part recall bloodletting connecting with sacred rites or the attempt at the sacred that actually brings shame to the perpetrator. Moreover, the emergence of the “scarlet pimparnell” suggests that violence does not end, that it has unintended consequences. The myth of the “Black Pig” then is a fitting metaphor around which to build such images of escalating and fruitless violence. Lady Gregory writes of how “the hunt [for the pig] brought destruction on Angus, [and] it brought losses on the Fianna as well31”. W. B. Yeats, in “the Valley of the Black Pig32”, hears “the clash of fallen horsemen and the cries/Of unknown perishing armies beat about my ears” (ll. 3-4). Yeats links the Irish myth of the end of the world to “perishing armies” of “fallen horsemen”, to ghostly figures locked in violent struggle. Lady Gregory’s version of the tale reveals unexpected and far-reaching consequences of violence. Mark’s narrative, from Finnegans Wake, builds, around the central metaphor of the “Black Pig”, images containing an uncontrollable violence that originates, as in Padraic Pearse’s writings, in a desire for the sacred and pure.
11 Within Joyce’s metaphorical world, there is no clearer image of an attempt at purification leading to an ironic and violent end than the metonymy of the Parnell case, and Mark’s narrative also gives voice to the scandals that eventually destroyed not only Parnell but his efforts to establish, through peaceful means, an Irish nation. In the case of Parnell, the passage’s reference to “first murders” (564.29) and the “scarlet pimparNell” (564.28) could quite easily be taken as a reference to the “Phoenix Park Murders”: On 6 May, Lord Frederick Cavendish […] was murdered in the Phoenix Park, together with T.H. Burke, the under-secretary, […] The assassins, members of a band known as “The Invincibles”, had no connection with any organization with which Parnell was involved; but he was so horrified at the crime, and so deeply convinced that it would destroy his political influence, that his first resolve was to retire at once into private life. “What is the use”, he asked Davitt, “if men striving as we have done […] if we are to be struck at in this way by unknown men who can commit atrocious deed of this kind?” […] The obvious sincerity with which he denounced the crime made a good impression in Britain33.”
12 Nonetheless, a scandal began to circulate that threatened Parnell’s claim to the moral high ground: “An accusation made by The Times [London] in 1887 that he had privately condoned the Phoenix Park murders was dramatically refuted, two years later, by a discovery that the letters on which the newspapers had relied had been forged by a journalist34.” The “scarlet pimparnell” in this context can be taken to mean both the shedding of blood in the Phoenix Park and the scandal that attempted to misrepresent Parnell’s private attitude towards the killings. The “scarlet pimparnell” might also refer to the subsequent scandal that eventually did destroy Parnell’s efforts at a peaceful statehood for Ireland. Mark’s narrative ends with the cry of “Ulvos! Ulvos!” (565.5); McHugh glosses the words as “wolves35”. Not only would Pearse’s plea for violence replace Parnell’s plea for peace, Parnell himself became a “hunted animal36”.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 81
Moreover, the violence that destroyed Parnell, ironically, did not come from England: “In his final desperate appeal to his countrymen, he begged them not to throw him as a stop to the English wolves howling around them. It redounds to their honour that they did not fail this appeal. They did not throw him to the English wolves; they tore him to pieces themselves37.” In destroying the father of peaceful Nationalism, the Irish people embraced violence and fratricide, a “feud fionghalian”, not only in the destruction of Parnell but also in the creation of an Irish nation founded on violence.
13 The passage also refers to the creation of the Irish Free State, its symbolic connection to Britain and its continued close association with the Catholic Church. In the passage’s contemplation of “Holl Hollow” (565.2) as giving “wankyrious thoughts” (565.3), Joyce plants, at the conclusion of Mark’s narrative, references to both British and Roman rule. Brendan O’Herir glosses “wankyrious” as “lord, master38.” Mark’s narrative lays out the geography of the Phoenix Park, which demonstrates Joyce’s thought that Ireland had continued, deleterious links to the two masters even after independence: “On the right prominence confronts you the handsome vineregent’s lodge while, turning to the other supreme piece of cheeks, exactly opposite, you are confronted by the equally handsome chief sacristary’s residence” (564.13-15). Earlier, on pages 24-25, Joyce describes the area as the “Healiopolis” (24.18). Quite literally, Time Healy “was named first Governor General of the Free State39” and took up residence in the former vice-regent’s lodge. Healy “had at one time been secretary to Parnell” but took “a prominent part in his overthrow40”. Joyce would have discerned the irony of the former advocate of a morally pure Irish Nationalism as the representative for and figure head of a British presence in Ireland. As Adaline Glasheen observes, Healy “ratted on Parnell and joined the wolves [. . . ] and priests who hunted Parnell to death41”. Within the imaginative geography of the “Healiopolis” the “Chief Sacristary” lives across from the vice-regent; in actuality, the Chief Secretary’s residence sits opposite to the vice- regent’s lodge. Joyce alters the name to reveal the alliance between Healy42 and the Roman Catholic Church to overthrow Parnell. In doing so, Joyce taps into a vein in Irish history. As Richard Ellmann points out, Joyce felt that “the modern papacy is as deaf to the Irish cries for help as the medieval papacy [under Adrian IV] was43.” Indeed, as Joep Leerssen notes, “the fact that Pope Adrian himself was an Englishman, may indicate the possibility that the strategic or territorial design of the king of England on the neighboring island was, if not in orchestrated concord, at least compatible with the policy of the Holy Sea44”. The metaphorical connection between the two within the geography of the Phoenix Park reveals that Joyce sought to suggest a post-colonial mindset in the newly formed Irish Free state, one that continued its adherence to colonial values while simultaneously proclaiming itself free.
14 Joyce, in the passage, makes clear the violent ends of some aspects of the Irish Nationalist movement and makes clear that those ends actually draw Ireland ideologically closer to colonial forces. The violence then functions as a type of Bakhtinian Carnival, meaning that it offers a temporary suspension of colonial control but ultimately results in closer associations with a colonial mindset and colonial power. However, the passage also offers elements that point towards a unity through peaceful procreation and a sociocultural synthesis that belies the values, internalized or imposed, of colonialism and post-colonialism. Reinforcing this view, John Bishop notes the significance of the distinction between “historical” and “hystorical” in 564.31: Creation is not an historical event that happens only once, with a remote big bang in the Garden of Eden, but a ‘hystoRical event’, happening constantly in the ‘Garden
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 82
of Erin’ and other modern nations as people keep on waking up and children keep on spilling into the world. As in Genesis, then, where all the glittering appearances of the earth come forth out of a dark, formless, and inchoate body of water seeded with paternal form, as if from the interior of an egg45.
15 The nature of creation and of creative forces, contrasting with the power of violence, offers not a millennial event that will transform the world, the kind foreseen by Pearse, but rather offers constantly changing and constantly growing transformation that combines many aspects of Irish society. The passage notes that “Around is a little amiably tufted and man is cheered when he bewonders through the boskage how the nature in all frisko is enlivened by gentlemen’s seats” (564.15-17). The passage makes a distinction between “man” and “gentleman”. However, the two come together in an “little amiable tufted”, a version of the Garden of Eden, in its association with plants that share a common root stem but diverge in growth. Tufted also has associations with weaving. The passage then implies that Ireland’s diverse populations are woven together and share an inexorable connection to one another that cannot be sundered by violence; in fact, violence simply asserts the ascendancy of one tradition over another. Whereas, all come together in the “frisko” and “enlivened” exercise of creativity. In stressing the productive aspects of association, Joyce anticipates the theory of “Carnival” espoused by Antonio Benitez-Rojo. For Benitez-Rojo, carnival is an embrace of social engagement, “unifying through its performance that which cannot [otherwise] be unified46”. Significantly, the carnival functions differently in this context than it does in the definitions of Bakhtin and others. For Benitez-Rojo, carnival functions as a forum to expose the masks of those in power, to reveal their motives for maintaining order. The passage reveals the close association between the violent urges of an aspect of Irish Nationalism and colonial control in Ireland. Carnival also functions as a forum for insurgency. Not only does the language of the passage comically deflate a violent nationalism, the juxtaposition between violence and procreation undermines an aggressive hegemony. In both cases, carnival functions as a way to come to terms with violence. Ultimately, its performative aspects and the comic performance of Finnegans Wake are unifying and represent a sociocultural synthesis.
16 Other passages in Finnegans Wake allude to the myth of the “Black Pig 47”, but the passages on pages 24-25 and 564-565 are the only references that occur early enough in the composition process to assert that Joyce constructed themes and images around references to the Black Pig. In doing so, Joyce built into the passages not only a reference to the end of the world but also references to a new world. Simultaneous deconstruction and reconstruction is a familiar theme to Wake scholars. Declan Kiberd observes a similar pattern, noting that the “moment […] Joyce wrote in English, he felt himself performing a humiliating translation of a split linguistic choice. In his writings, he seeks to express that sundering; and, eventually, in Finnegans Wake he would weave the absent texts in the space between standard Irish and standard English48”. To carry Kiberd’s theories forward into a reading of Joyce’s use of the Black Pig, Finnegans Wake weaves an affirmation in the space left open after his use of the comic tears down the discourse of the Revival. Richard Kearney, in Poetics of Modernity, makes note of a process similar to Kiberd’s observations regarding sundering and creation: Kearney suggests that “Finnegans Wake […] testifies to the fall of the patriarchal Logos into the babel of history49”, but he also argues that Finnegans Wake is a ‘mamafesta’ which retells how Anna (the Celtic mother goddess who reconciles the father Manaanan and the son Aengus) and Eve (the mythic temptress who
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 83
challenged patriarchal self-sufficiency) inaugurated the history of human creation and procreation. Anna and Eve become identified in Joyce’s remythologizing with the suppressed poetics of language. Joyce seems to be saying that it is only by attending to this other utopian language […] that we become aware of the polyphonic legacy of “woman’s reason.” […] Joyce is disclosing a non-foundational role for myth as emancipatory play of endless metamorphosis50.
17 Similarly, Joyce’s use of comic forms emancipates through play positive associations and establishes an affirmation. In their discussion of Joyce’s use of language, Kiberd and Kearney echo Barbara Lalla’s observations regarding the representation of language by formerly colonized peoples. Lalla writes of an “Expansion Phase51” that marks “a perspectival shift that relocates the speaker to the centre (rather than margin) of a valorized discourse, which becomes an instrument of identity construction52”. Finnegans Wake’s use of language(s) does indeed mark a profound narrative shift in which the formerly marginalized relocate to the center of discourse, weaving themselves into the empty spaces vacated by the colonizing powers. Significantly, Joyce’s use of myth and specifically the myth of the Black Pig, accomplishes the same ends as does his use of language. Those ends, meaning the affirmation of formerly marginalized discourse, share a commonality with the struggles of people attempting to emerge from the discourses and mindsets of colonialism and post-colonialism.
NOTES
1. The evidence from the early drafts of pages 24.15-25.16 indicates that Joyce built an association between the myth of the black pig, the British imperial presence in Phoenix Park, and diverse cultures outside of Dublin and Ireland when he revised the passage. The passage begins immediately after Finn wakes up to the word whiskey. The Four Masters attempt to convince him to accept things as they are. The first available version of the lines dates from 1927 when Joyce wrote in the margins of his manuscript the words, “(Anam a dhoul!) Did ye drink me dead? Now, be easy, good Mister Finnomore sir! And take your laysure and not be walking abroad, […] Aisy now and quiet and repose your honour’s lordship” (James Joyce Archive, 44, Finnegans Wake, Book I, Chapter I: a facsimile of drafts, typescripts & proofs/James Joyce; prefaced by David Hayman; arranged by Danis Rose, with the assistance of John O’Hanlon, 138). The draft suggests that Joyce, when he first came to this passage, wanted to emphasize Finn’s rootedness and to imply that Finn has a high opinion of himself or at the very least, that he expects to be treated with respect. Further, Finn’s initial utterance, “Anam a shoul,” as opposed to “anam muck an dhoul” (24.15), suggests that Joyce originally thought the line should stand as “Soul to the devil,” as simply an expletive uttered by Finn and as a direct reference to the words of the song “Finnegan’s Wake”. The first appearance of the final form of the phrase, with a reference to the devil’s pig, comes in the typescript from the next available revision and adds the word, “muck” (JJA 44, 199) which changes the line to “soul of the devil’s pig,” suggesting that Joyce
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 84
wanted to make an explicit connection between an evil “pig” and the legends alluded to in the passages subsequent lines. 2. The early drafts of pages 564.4-565.5 indicate that Joyce built the passage around the myth of the black pig, adding details to create an association between the mythic tradition, the British presence in Ireland, and an assortment of religious traditions. The passage, the section of “discord” in the chapter, is spoken by Mark (Munster) and focuses on the various conflicts present in the narrative: brother/brother, sister/ brother, father/child, parents/children, mother/father, Ireland/England, the present/ the past, and Ireland/the Catholic Church. The earliest draft of the passage contains a reference to the mythical black pig. Joyce details the “black and blue markings [the traces of the wild boar that] indicate the presence of sylvious beltings. Any pretty dears to be caught. At the lowest end is the depression, called the Hollow. It is often quite gloomyand gives bad thoughts” (James Joyce Archive, 60, Finnegans Wake, Book III, Chapter 4, Drafts, TSS and Proofs, David Hayman and Danis Rose [eds.], New York, Garland Publishing, 1978, p. 70). 3. Achille Mbembe and Janet Roitman, “Figures of the Subject in Time of Crisis.” The Geography of Identity. Patricia Yeager (ed.), Ann Arbor, University of Michigan Press, 1996, p. 155. 4. Fredric Jameson, Postmodernism, or, Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism, Durham, Duke University Press, 1991, p. 17. 5. William Butler Yeats, Autobiographies: The Collected Works of W.B. Yeats, Volume III, William H. O’Donnell, Douglas N. Archibald (eds.), New York, Scribner, 1989, p. 204. 6. All textual citations to Finnegans Wake are taken from James Joyce, Finnegans Wake, London, Faber and Faber, 1957. 7. Roland McHugh, Annotations to Finnegans Wake, Third Edition, Baltimore, Johns Hopkins University Press, 2006, p. 564. 8. Dounia Bunis Christiani, Scandanavian Elements of Finnegans Wake, Evanston, Northwestern University Press, 1965, p. 216. 9. Arthur Stanley Pease, “Sybylla,” The Oxford Classical Dictionary, N.G.L. Hammond and H.H. Scullard, (eds.) Oxford, The Clarendon Press, 1970, p. 984. 10. Jameson, op. cit., p. 19. 11. Linda Hutcheon, The Politics of Postmodernism, New York, Routledge, 2002, p. 90. 12. Fredric Jameson, Modernism and Imperialism, Derry, Field Day Theatre Company,1988, p. 20. 13. Ibidem. 14. Stuart Hall, “Cultural Identity and Diaspora”, Identity: Community, Culture, Difference. Jonathan Rutherford (ed.), London, Lawrence and Wishart, 1990, p. 224.
15. Brendan O’Herir and John Dillon, A Classical Lexicon for Finnegans Wake, Berkeley, University of California Press, 1977, p. 470. 16. Brendan O’Herir, A Gaelic Lexicon for Finnegans Wake, Berkeley, University of California Press, 1967, p. 297. 17. Richard Kearney, Poetics of Modernity, Atlantic Highlands, Humanities Press, 1995, p. 75. 18. O’Herir, Gaelic Lexicon, p. 297. 19. Kearney, op. cit., p. 17. 20. Lady Augusta Gregory, Gods and Fighting Men, London, John Murray, 1926, p. 305.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 85
21. Whitley Stokes, “The Battle of Mag Muccrime,” Revue Celtique, p. 13 (1892). 22. William Butler Yeats, “The Swine of the Gods”, Mythologies, London, Macmillan, 1971, p. 67. 23. Samuel Ferguson, Congal: A Poem in Five Books, Dublin, Edward Ponsonby, 1872, p. 12. 24. Kearney, p. 66. 25. Ibidem. 26. Padraic Pearse, “The Coming Revolution,” Political Writings and Speeches, Dublin, The Talbot Press, 1952, p. 99. 27. McHugh, Annotations, p. 564. 28. John Bishop, Joyce’s Book of the Dark: Finnegans Wake, Madison, University of Wisconsin Press, 1986, p. 402. 29. Ibidem. 30. John Gordon, Finnegans Wake: A Plot Summary. Syracuse, Syracuse University Press, 1986, p. 84. 31. Gregory, op. cit., p. 304. 32. All textual citations to Yeats’ poetry are taken from The Variorum Edition of the Poems of W.B. Yeats, Peter Alt and Russell K. Alspach (eds.), London, Macmillan, 1966. 33. J. C. Beckett, The Making of Modern Ireland, 1603-1923, London, Faber and Faber, 1981, p. 393. 34. Ibidem, p. 401. 35. McHugh, Annotations, p. 565. 36. Richard Ellmann, James Joyce, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1982, p. 32. 37. James Joyce, “The Shade of Parnell”, James Joyce: The Critical Writings. Ellsworth Mason and Richard Ellmann (eds.), Ithaca, Cornell University Press, 1989, p. 228. 38. O’Herir, Classical Lexicon, p. 471. 39. Giovanni Costigan, A History of Modern Ireland, New York, Pegasus, 1970, 351. 40. Beckett, op. cit., p. 413. 41. Adaline Glasheen, Third Census of Finnegans Wake, Berkeley, University of California Press, 1977, p. 122. 42. In Stephen Hero, a “Father Healy” is a “little man” who “looked far away into the golden sun and all of a sudden – imagine! – his mouth opened and he gave a slow noiseless yawn.” (Stephen Hero, Theodore Spencer, John Slocum, Herbert Cahoon [eds.], London, Jonathan Cape, 1969, p. 239). 43. Ellmann, op. cit., p. 25-257. 44. Joep Leerssen, Mere Irish and Fior-Ghael, Cork, Cork University Press, 1996, p. 34. 45. Bishop, op. cit., p. 378-379. 46. Antonio Benitez-Rojo, The Repeating Island, Durham, Duke University Press, 1996, p. 307. 47. The only obvious reference to the “Black Pig’s Dyke” (517.15) in Finnegans Wake comes in Book III, Chapter 3 placing the allusion after the story of the fall and during the conflict between Shem and Shaun. Joyce’s reference reinforces the conflict between the two brothers as part of a mythic conflict associated with Irish legend. However, it is not an essential component of this particular passage having been added relatively late,
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 86
in 1936 (JJA 62, 473). However, Joyce scatters references to the valley of the black pig throughout his text referencing the traditional motifs associated with the myth. Specifically, on pages 15, 77, and 262, Joyce uses the myth to reinforce notions of the apocalypse finding a resonance with late-Victorian and early modern representations of the black pig’s dyke. On pages 15, 77, 362, 441-442, and 448, Joyce uses the myth in reference to the battle between the English and the Irish finding a resonance with the “prophecy of the Irish Columba … [who] said that the carnage of the citizens would be so great, that the enemies would be knee-deep in the blood of the slain” (Eugene O’Curry, On the Manners and Customs of the Ancient Irish, Dublin, Williams and Norgate, 1873, p. 432), and “a belief held by many natives of Ulster that the English will some day make a bloody massacre of the Irish in the Valley of the Black Pig” (William Kane, “The Black Pig’s Dyke,” Proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy. 27 [1907-1909], p. 326). On pages 262 and 448, Joyce links his black pig to traditions associated with ritualised food and drink – “From a very early period, pig bones and whole joints of pork appear in burials, and this association of the animal with grave goods and with the Celtic ritual of the feast continues right down into the late literary tradition” (Anne Ross, Pagan Celtic Britain, London, Routledge and Keegan Paul, 1967, 391). Further, on pages 77 and 362, Joyce represents the black pig in connection with the feast of Samhain and the corn mother finding a resonance with Yeats’ pig which is “a type of cold and of winter that awake[s] in November, the old beginning of winter” (William Butler Yeats, The Variorum Edition of the Plays of W.B. Yeats, Russell K. Alspach (ed.), London, Macmillan, 1966, 1184) and the “pig [which] seems to have been originally a genius of the corn” (James Frazer, The Golden Bough, London, Macmillan, 1890, 56). Further, on pages 362 and 448 Joyce finds in the black sow a representation of the border between Ulster and Connaught, the ancient boundary for fighting and rivalry between provinces. (Kane, 560) In addition, Joyce finds in his recreation of the myth the pig a creature of revenge on pages 15, 77, 362, 441-442, and 448. Finally, Joyce suggests on pages 15, 77, and 362 the legends associated with the black pig and the sea – “When the Firbolgs ruled the kingdom the land was overrun with swine, which committed great depredation.” The Tuatha De Danann destroyed all save one herd which they eventually killed off by raising “a violent convulsion of the elements which swept the entire herd into the sea” (William Gregory Wood-Martin, Traces of the Elder Faiths in Ireland, London, Longmans, Green, and Company, 1902, 131). The references taken together with the motifs of the black pig carried forward in the revisions of the passage, there exists quite a bit more than a mere hint of resemblance between Joyce’s text and the legends associated with the traditions of the black boar. “Everyone of course knows that Joyce was fond of weaving into his work parallels with myth, saga, and epic. It is, however, a mistake to assume, when such a parallel is identified, that it must be complete. It rarely is. … In Finnegans Wake wonders can be done with a mere hint of resemblance” (James Kelleher, “Irish History and Mythology in James Joyce’s ‘The Dead’”. The Review of Politics. 27.3 [July 1965], p. 421). 48. Declan Kiberd, Inventing Ireland, London, Jonathan Cape, 1995, p. 332. 49. Kearney, op. cit., p. 184. 50. Ibidem. 51. Barbara Lalla, “Creole and Respec’ in the Development of Jamaican Literary Discourse,” Journal of Pidgin and Creole Languages 20:1. 53-84 (2005), p. 67. 52. Ibidem.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 87
ABSTRACTS
In Finnegans Wake, James Joyce explores the associations of the Irish myth of the “Black Pig”, building scenes around its motifs in Chapter I, Book 1 and in Chapter III, Book 4. Through the use of comedy (satire, parody, and irony), Joyce offers a critique of the way Irish Revival writers came to terms with myth and the way they attempted to trace and establish a national identity in writing. Simultaneously, the passages offer an affirmation.
Dans Finnegans Wake, James Joyce explore les associations du mythe irlandais du « Cochon Noir », en construisant des scènes autour de ses motifs dans le Chapitre I, Livre 1 et dans le Chapitre III, Livre 4. Par le recours à la comédie (satire, parodie et ironie), Joyce offre une critique de la façon dont les auteurs de la Renaissance Celtique ont illustré le mythe et la façon dont ils ont essayé de retrouver et de définir une identité nationale par l’écriture. Simultanément, les passages offrent une affirmation.
INDEX
Mots-clés: littérature - comédie, post-colonialisme, Joyce James, identité nationale, impérialisme/colonialisme Keywords: literature - comedy, post-colonialism, Joyce James, national identity, imperialism/ colonialism
AUTHOR
BERNARD MCKENNA University of Delaware
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 88
“Default[ing] to the Oldest Scar”: A Psychoanalytic Investigation of Subjectivity in Anne Enright’s The Gathering
Sarah C. Gardam
…though it hurt, I found that I was able to draw on more ancient hurts than that – and that is how I survived. This is how we all survive. We default to the oldest scar. (The Gathering 97)
1 An initial reading of Anne Enright’s The Gathering may lead readers to dismiss the novel as a mere therapeutic narrative – Veronica Hegarty’s struggle to confront the unacceptable reality of the sexual trauma that set her brother Liam on his tragic path toward suicide. According to this reading, Veronica’s narrative reconstruction of events constitutes an attempt to neutralize the traumatic memories, incorporating them as just another part of her past, and thereby “modify [ing her] fear structure,” to borrow the language of trauma theory 1. I would like to argue that Enright’s text merits closer psychoanalytic study because it provocatively engages theoretical explanations of subjectivity put forward by Jacques Lacan and his psychoanalytic antecedents. Dana Craciun notes that Enright’s previous books “enact the postmodernist concern for the ‘radically undetermined and unstable nature of textuality and subjectivity,’” while Jeanett Shumaker discusses how Enright’s use of uncanny doubles “demythologizes Western traditions about the stability of identity”; however, scholars have not yet examined the sophistication and depth of Enright’s psychoanalytic leanings (Craciun 211; Shumaker 118). Her latest novel, The Gathering, lends itself to such study because the text’s exploration of sexual trauma is simultaneously an investigation of the inevitable human trauma of the split subject – what Slavoj Zizek calls “the traumatic kernel” of the subject’s being – and which is, in Lacanian terms, “the ‘truth’ of the
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 89
unconscious […] the moment of fundamental division through which the subject entered into language and sexuality, and the constant failing of position within both” (Metastases 178; Rose 53). As Jacqueline Rose explains in her introduction to On Feminine Sexuality: Lacan’s statements on language need to be taken in two directions – towards the fixing of meaning itself (that which is enjoined on the subject), and away from that very fixing to the point of its constant slippage, the risk or vanishing-point which it always contains (the unconscious). Sexuality is placed on both these dimensions at once. The difficulty is to hold these two emphases together – sexuality in the symbolic (an ordering) and sexuality as that which constantly fails (43).
2 Veronica struggles between these two dimensions, using language to order her sexual experience, while also sensing that both language and sexuality fail to capture the ‘truth’ of her unconscious, which, according to Lacan, is organized around a fundamental lack. In other words, although Veronica’s therapeutic employment of language could potentially help her to reestablish a more stable and healthy sense of self, she also seems aware that the possibility of coherent identity and wholeness that language seems to extend (via ideology) is actually the “ultimate fantasy” of human experience (Rose 32). Veronica, like all human subjects, “can only operate within language by constantly repeating that moment of fundamental and irreducible division” (Rose 31). I focus here on Veronica’s increasing awareness of identity-as- illusion, resulting from her reliving of the original trauma of split subjectivity, brought on by the traumatic loss of her brother, and from Veronica’s consequent interrogation of the excessive nature of sexuality.
3 A brief introduction to Lacanian theories of infantile trauma will help to clarify the terms of this discussion. Lacan builds on Freud’s ideas about infantile oedipal trauma, but for Lacan the trauma occurs through the subject’s introduction into language, the law of the father, which establishes the difference between the sexes and hence divides the subject as she identifies a (distorted) image of her “self” through the perceptions of those around her. The subject becomes a mere signifier, existing only within language (Seminar XX 36). The ideological world enables the traumatized infant to construct the illusion of a secure identity to cover over the essential split; however, the subject’s unconscious mind, constituted around the original loss or lack created at the moment of the subject’s divisive introduction to language and sexuality, continues to undermine her sense of stability by hinting at the subject’s fundamentally split nature. This lack lies at the core of sexuality as well, proscribing the possibility of satisfaction by giving rise to the desire for what has been irretrievably lost. Language shares sexuality’s inevitable failure; it can only function through symbolization – by designating an object in its absence 2.
4 Lacan’s ideas help to explain the inseparability of language and sex in Enright’s text, thereby illuminating the depth and complexity of narrator Veronica Hegarty’s struggles against and within language and sexuality in the wake of her brother’s death. Liam’s death throws Veronica into an identity crisis because it triggers the original traumatic loss that she and all other human beings experience as they enter into sexuality and language. Gaps begin to appear in her conscious psychic life as her unconscious mind yields up repressed memories, fears, and wishes that disrupt the falsely stable subjectivity she has constructed through interaction with the ideological world. This threatening of her ability to continue existing in her own life invests
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 90
Veronica’s investigation of Liam’s death with a special urgency: it is simultaneously an investigation of the traumatic way she came into being.
5 Liam’s death dredges up material from Veronica’s unconscious mind, which, according to Lacan, bears witness to the original splitting of the subject and therefore “undermines the subject from any position of certainty, from any relation of knowledge to his or her psychic processes and history, and simultaneously reveals the fictional nature of the sexual category to which every human subject is nonetheless assigned” (Rose 29). Veronica is suffering from exactly this lack of certainty about her psychic history as she becomes increasingly aware of that history’s fictional nature; this is why she feels the “need to bear witness to an uncertain event. I feel it roaring inside me – this thing that may not have taken place. I don’t even know what name to put on it” (11). The uncertainty “roaring” inside her is both the event of her brother’s abuse as well as the original traumatic splitting of her subjectivity, which she can hardly “name” because that split occurred just as she was introduced to language.
6 The gap of the sexual abuse in the text is reflected in the cracks that begin to appear in Veronica’s stable identity as Veronica’s unconscious mind reveals a core-emptiness, lack, or “nothing [ness] that exists beneath Veronica’s constructed identity. Enright, a strong believer in the power of the unconscious, has noted that “There is often a gathering sense of dread, there’s a gap sometimes in the text from which all kinds of monsters can emerge…” (Tonkin Interview, para. 10). Veronica becomes increasingly aware of such monstrous gaps between the sudden emptiness revealed by her brother’s death and the supposedly full life she has been leading. She experiences feelings that her house and her family have “nothing to do with me” (36); that they are just “a residue” (36); that she is in danger of dying of “irrelevance,” of “fad [ing] away” (38). She cannot remember the “nothing” that she does as she putters around her house at night, but feels that “it would be nice to know what kind of nothing that was” (38). Furthermore, she has begun to hear voices, she cannot even remember the word for her occupation (“housewife”), and she no longer feels attached to any of the things she owns, experiencing instead a repeated urge to deconstruct the houses which represent her socially constructed identity (39).
7 This troubled profile indicates that, although she may not have been sexually abused herself, Veronica demonstrates all of the textbook symptoms of a post-traumatic or “hysterical” subject who is suffering the effects of sexual abuse or violence (which are fundamentally synonymous, as I will discuss later 3); however, Veronica’s post- traumatic symptoms spring from the more primal cause that gives The Gathering its depth and shape. Her symptoms have been brought on by the death of her brother Liam, whose “great talent” in life had been “exposing the lie” and who has likewise exposed in death the lie of language, of the ideological world, which has, until now, assembled Veronica into a coherent subject and masked the fact that she is inherently split and lacking. Liam’s death shows her that she “has lost something that cannot be replaced” and that, in order to tell the story of that loss, she must start “long before he was born” (11; 13). Veronica begins this investigation by recreating the story of how her brother’s abuser, Lamb Nugent, first entered their lives by falling in love with their grandmother, Ada Merriman. Although the original trauma of the split subject really goes back to the beginning of human history, the story of Lamb and Ada does allow Veronica to investigate the imbalanced structure of sexuality, as we shall see shortly.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 91
8 Veronica has trouble pinning down her personal history; partly because she realizes that her “true” memories are really just as fictional as the ones she imagines, since the entire construction of her identity has been a fiction. She apprehends this Lacanian idea with her words: “the only things that I am sure of are the things I never saw – my little blasphemies…” (66). The fictional construction of her identity and history is merely a symptom of language’s nature as an unstable medium built around a lack – words can only symbolize absent things. As Rose articulates,“Lacan’s statements on language need to be taken in two directions – towards the fixing of meaning itself (that which is enjoined on the subject), and away from that very fixing to the point of its constant slippage, the risk or vanishing-point which it always contains (the unconscious)” (43). Even as she struggles to fix meaning to her brother’s death, Veronica finds that meaning continually “slips” out from under her. She finds that history keeps “sliding around in [her] head” (13); that her memory “slip [ps] by [her] too fast” (108). As she talks to her sister Bea on the phone as she rides into Brighton, Veronica finds herself staring at one line in the landscape “that refuses to move” but “slides backwards instead, and that is where I fix my eye” (44). Even as Veronica-as- constructed-subject “I” struggles to “fix” her imaginative “eye” on the past to attach meaning to it, she finds that, in her mind’s eye, she still sees Bea as a little girl (43-44). Veronica realizes that it is “impossible” for her to grow up, to let her father die, to let her sister enter adolescence, because language will always slip off of whatever she tries to attach it to, causing the meaning she struggles to construct to vanish (44). Her unconscious mind will always remind her of this slippage, undermining her conscious mind’s attempts to order her experience according to temporal, spatial, or historical ‘realities.’
9 Veronica’s narrative suggests that Liam’s inability to order his experience is what ultimately destroys him – like many victims of child abuse, he has lost a basic trust in the orderly constructions of the ideological world and its authority figures. Liam has experienced sexuality (a false order imposed by language) prematurely and therefore chaotically; a fact which rends his split subjectivity further instead of patching over it. As a result, Liam fails to construct an identity that he or anyone else can believe in. Life seems like a “complete joke” to Liam, who exists “beyond the rules” (167; 163). He laughs at everything, including himself, spiraling into the destruction of a self that lacks the belief in stability and meaning that ideology usually constructs for the human subject as a means of disguising its split, lost origin. Veronica, thinking back on her own wilder days, realizes that she too “could have been lost,” but saved herself by finding the “path” of respectability that Liam has “wandered off” (121; 123).
10 The gap between them widens as they travel in the opposite directions that language and sexuality can take, Veronica heading toward order and leaving Liam prey to the fearful, slippery content of the unconscious. She recalls, “Liam slid backwards from me into his misspent youth” and confesses: “I left Liam to the opening gap of the door, and to whatever was behind it. Something boring and horrible…” (165; 123). The gap in the door that “torment [s]” Veronica stands in here for the unconscious, the repressed, that original gap at the heart of subjectivity. Veronica chooses to repress the original trauma of split subjectivity; instead she hearkens to the stable sexual identity assigned to her that gives her meaning, admitting, “I wanted to be a girl. I wanted to have sex that meant something” (123). The sexual division here of Liam and Veronica into man and woman mirrors that first sexual division assigned to them by the law of the father.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 92
It also suggests the structural imbalance of sexuality, caused by that lack at its heart which causes the “inhuman excess” that so disturbs Veronica (PV 5). Veronica recalls, “the gap that opened between us was the gap that exists between a woman and a man – or so I thought, at sixteen – the difference between what a man might do, or want to do, sexually, what a woman might only guess at” (170). This is one of many places where Veronica associates manhood with excessive sexuality, a relationship that Lacan’s ideas do, in one sense, support.
11 According to Lacan, the structure of sexuality is inherently imbalanced because of its constitution around the original lack of the split subject. The subject’s original desire for the “big Other,” the “Real” thing to which the subject hopes that language corresponds, arises from a lack because no such connection actually exists between language and the Real (Fink 29-30). This lack in the big Other is the void around which subjectivity, language, and sexuality come into being. Slavoj Zizek explains that this structural imbalance of sexual relationship “condemns any sexual practice to eternal oscillation between the ‘spontaneous’ pathos of self-obliteration and the logic of external ritual (following the rules). Thus the final outcome is that sexuality is the domain of ‘spurious infinity’ whose logic, brought to an extreme, cannot but engender tasteless excess” (PV 13). And further, “Sexuality is the only drive that is in itself hindered, perverted: simultaneously insufficient and excessive, with the excess as the form of appearance of the lack” (Metastases 127). This lack gives rise to desire, which of course can never be satisfied because of the original lack. Psychoanalysis tells us that frustration is part of the nature of desire: “desire’s raison d’etre […] is not to realize its goal, to find full satisfaction, but to reproduce itself as desire” (“Desire vs. Drive” para. 7).This insatiable sexual desire gives rise to drive - the human subject’s method of enjoying the thwarting of her desire. As Zizek explains, “drive emerges as a strategy to profit from the very failure to reach the goal of desire” (PV 387). This strange enjoyment goes beyond need or pleasure and is therefore excessive – becoming what Lacan calls “jouissance” (Rose 34).
12 Veronica Hegarty struggles to come to terms with the excessive nature of sexuality because she senses that this excess lies at the root of Lamb Nugent’s abuse of Liam. Nugent’s drives, like those of all human subjects, emerge from infantile trauma, a fact indicated by Ada’s imagined observation of Nugent’s childlike nature. Wondering, “What did the silly man have to hide?”, Ada remembers the “greediness” of his mouth around her “biscuits,” and ponders, “he had such a sweet tooth. He was such a child. Maybe that was the secret – the fact that he was only and ever five years old. Or two” (252). Lamb’s childlike greed appears at first to be a hunger for pleasure, yet the excessive avarice of it suggests an insatiable hunger for the original lost object (the oral fixation suggests a longing for the mother’s breast). Lamb Nugent desires Ada Merriman as his “object petit a,” what Bruce Fink describes as, “a last reminder or remainder of the hypothetical mother-child unity to which the subject clings in fantasy to achieve a sense of wholeness, as the Other’s desire” (83). In other words, the object a embodies the void in the big Other. Nugent’s thwarted desire for Ada gives rise to drive – Zizek’s “inhuman excess” of desire despite (or rather because of) the impossibility of satisfaction (PV 5). Although his interference with children, just like his consumption of sweets, probably brings Nugent some physical pleasure, both signify his unfulfilled desire for Ada, so that by enjoying them, he has found a way to enjoy being thwarted. Veronica’s displaced memory of Liam’s abuse imagines Nugent orgasming with Ada’s name on his lips, as Veronica looks back and sees Ada standing there with the word
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 93
“nothing” written on her “blank [ed]”out face (222). As object petit a, Ada embodies the void, the nothing, which is at the heart of sexual desire. Veronica explains that the word coming out of Nugent’s mouth will “fill the world but not mark it. It is there already […] mocking us all” (222). The absence represented by the word “Ada” expresses that lack which is always already present at the heart of language and of sexual desire, mocking human beings’ ignorance of their own split structure and the consequent emptiness masked by ideological constructions.
13 The text indicates that Veronica has imagined this sexual abuse memory, yet the traumatic scene also expresses the primal scene – the traumatic splitting of her subjectivity. She explains that the imagined picture “is made up of the words that say it” and “comes from a place in my head where words and actions are mangled. It comes from the very beginning of things…” (222). This “beginning” is the moment when the law of the father (language) traumatically divides the subject. Veronica explains, “I think of the ‘eye’ of his penis, and it is pressing against my own eye,” indicating that her subjectivity – her mind’s eye/I – comes into existence through a traumatic splitting by the law of the phallus.
14 Veronica’s deliberate exposure of sexuality-as-excess, embodied for her by the male sex organ, is an attempt to understand the imbalanced structure of desire and drive that subjects human beings in general and women in particular. The disturbing violence that Veronica senses is the violence inherent in the symbolic and sexual order: because language and sexuality are structured around a lack that gives rise to desire for an irretrievably lost object, the real object that is made to fill the “pre-given fantasy place” (object petit a) suffers an inevitable distortion by the desiring subject (“Desire…” para 7). This is complicated when another human subject, such as a woman, becomes the object a, the stand in for the lost object. Lacan speaks to this problem: That the woman should be inscribed in an order of exchange of which she is the object, is what makes for the fundamentally conflictual and, I would say, insoluble character of her position: the symbolic order literally submits her, it transcends her… There is for her something insurmountable, something unacceptable, in the fact of being placed as an object in a symbolic order to which, at the same time, she is subjected just as the man (Lacan, qtd. in Rose 45).
15 This distortion of woman threatens Veronica’s own existence as a subject because, “Defined as such, reduced to being nothing other than the fantasmatic place, the woman does not exist” (Rose 48). This distortion recalls Veronica’s identity crisis discussed previously – her sense of being nothing and doing nothing – as well as her account of Ada and her mother (explained below).
16 Veronica experiences the erasure of her subjectivity as a reduction to mere flesh by the desires of her family: “Everyone wants a bit of me. And it has nothing to do with what I might want, whatever that might be – God knows it is a long time since I knew. There I am, sitting on a church bench in my own meat: pawed, used, loved, and very lonely” (244). This echoes the eroded subjectivity of Veronica’s own mother: “If only she would become visible, I think… But she remains hazy, unhittable, too much loved” [italics mine] (5). Ada also functions as a kind of absence in the text, symbolizing the ever-desired lost object at the source of her family’s original trauma. As a result, Ada can only exist as a fantasy of the narrative, lending irony to Veronica’s statement that “Ada was a fantastic woman. I have no other word for her” (17). Veronica finds that ultimately she cannot blame Ada for what happened to all of them because Ada, another victim of the imbalanced nature of human desire, does not even really exist.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 94
17 The idea of woman as object a, the place where man projects his lack, helps to explain the connection between desire and hatred, sexuality and violence, that troubles Veronica and, arguably, Enright herself. In an interview about The Gathering, Enright admits, One of the things I wanted to do in the book was explore how desire and hatred are closely bound up […] You know, that sense that someone – usually a man – is enraged by the fact that he desires someone – usually a woman […]… desire is sometimes like that. You hate what you desire because you desire it. That’s why we speak about something that sounds so violent, namely fucking. I wanted to write about sex in a different way from that bad-boy stuff that men write so often, to think about the violence in desire (Jeffries Interview, para. 12).
18 Enright’s account of sexual desire accords perfectly with Lacan’s idea that man, while desiring woman, must also struggle to reduce her importance because, although she reminds him of the sexual difference that allows him to exist as a subject, she also reminds him of what he lacks 4. [Lacan argues that even man’s belief in his own soul depends on his belittling woman: “For the soul to come into being, she, the woman, is differentiated from it… called woman and defamed,” which is interesting because Ada is convinced that Nugent actually does not have a soul (Lacan, qtd. in Rose 48; Gathering 252).]. This reduction - the distortion of woman inherent in his construction of her as fantasy - is an inherently violent act, a symptom of sexuality’s imbalanced structure and its consequent “inhuman excess,” the drive (PV 5).
19 This violence is at the heart of Veronica’s problem with sexuality; she sees the penis as symbolic of sexuality’s violently uncontrollable excess. She tries to tell herself that the spontaneous erection of the sleeping man on the train to Brighton is “Harmless. Harmless. Harmless,” yet it appears directly after her recollection of a masturbating Italian who followed her, giving her the “choking sense that this was the way I would die, my face jammed in the filthy gabardine, of navy or black, a stranger’s cock in the back of my throat […]” (52; 51). Veronica takes out her fear and disgust of male sexuality on her husband Tom, claiming that “this is sometimes what he is like, yearning on the pull-back and hatred in the forward slam […] what he wants, what my husband has always wanted, and the thing I will not give him, is my annihilation. This is the way desire runs. It runs close to hatred. It is sometimes the same thing” (145). Veronica knows that her husband does not consciously want her annihilated – she speaks here of the more subtle violence endemic to the structure of sexuality and desire.
20 The more Veronica senses that sexuality is a violent, corrupt economy, the more the idea of love seems like a fiction. Veronica’s college paper “Paying for Sex in the Irish Free State” illuminates the violence of sexuality for her: “men fucked women – it did not happen the other way around – and this surprising mechanism was to change, not just my future, which was narrowing even as I looked at it, but also the wide and finished world of my past” (92). The physical dynamics of fucking reflect, for Veronica, the symbolic fucking of women at the level of desire – the man’s forcing of his own lack (the lost phallus) onto the woman, who is consequently distorted. In her imagined sex scene between Ada and Nugent, Veronica says cynically, “We are near to the truth of it here, we are getting man’s essential bookieness and women’s whorishness” (139). This idea assigns social roles to the sexual ones explored by Lacan: woman, as repository of man’s insatiable desires, is a whore, while man is a kind of cheater whose objects of desire are arbitrary and who only invests himself for a payoff. Veronica imagines this
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 95
violence in Lamb Nugent’s desire for Ada: “he must move from love to a kind of sneering, he must be smitten by hatred and touched by desire, he must find a final humility and so begin with love again. Each time around he would know more about her – more about himself perhaps – and nothing he learned would make any difference” (18). The fatalism of the last line proves most significant for us here; it shows Veronica’s recognition that romantic love is simply the meaning that we graft onto desire, and consequently has an inherently violent core that none of us can change.
21 This recognition comes to Veronica through the identity crisis brought on by Liam’s death – she begins to question the very nature of her family’s love for her, especially Tom’s. Death reveals that “most of the stuff that you do is just nagging and whining and picking up for people who are too lazy even to love you” (27). Her growing sense that love is nothing more than misdirected desire leads her to stop sleeping with Tom because, without the existence of real love, the sex act reduces her to a “quartered chicken” and “butchered meat” (40; 219). At times Veronica even feels the urge to escape her body altogether, speculating that people attach meaning to sex as a way of escaping what Zizek would call the “the raw reality of copulation”: “Maybe this is what they are about, these questions of which or whose hole, the right fluids in the wrong places, these infantile confusions 5 and small sadisms: they are a way of fighting our way out of all this meat” (PV 12; Gathering 140).
22 Veronica herself has tried very hard to attach meaning to sexuality by believing that a connection exists between sex and love. Reflecting back on her college days, Veronica realizes that she always felt compelled to love the men she sleeps with in order to not hate herself, which makes sense because the belief that she loves them allows her to retain some semblance of subjectivity despite her objectification by the desiring male subject. Facing the truth about Liam’s abuse has made her realize that sexual desire does not always signify love or even “mean” something. She has trouble acknowledging that Nugent was “horrible” to her brother, because, as she puts it, …somewhere in my head, in some obstinate and God-forsaken part of me, I think that desire and love are the same thing. They are not the same thing. They are not even connected. When Nugent desired my brother, he did not love him in the slightest. That’s as much as I know. I could also say that Liam must have wanted him too. Or wanted something (223).
23 Here Veronica struggles to come to terms with the Lacanian idea that desire is constituted around a lack, that even a child like Liam must have experienced a longing for an unattainable lost something. Liam was forced to face early the subversive nature of desire, that desire does not equal love, that love is a meaning that we attach to desire. His likely skepticism about love exemplifies the failure of language, of the ideological world, to construct the illusion of a stable identity for him and cover over his split subjectivity.
24 As Veronica recognizes the nature of the damage that Liam suffered, she also must negotiate the disconnection between desire and love. At the beginning of her narrative she expresses surprise at the fact that human beings really love each other at all: …what amazes me as I hit the motorway is not the fact that everyone loses someone, but that everyone loves someone. It seems like such a massive waste of energy – and we all do it… We each love someone, even though they will die. And we keep loving them, even when they are not there to love any more. And there is no logic or use to any of this, that I can see (28).
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 96
25 She senses that love, as the meaning that language attaches to an actually insatiable desire, can only be a kind of excess, a waste. What she wants to know here, and what she discovers at the end of the story, is how this excess breaks its own rules: how love still persists despite its impossibility.
26 Veronica’s crisis is one of belief: she struggles to retain a belief in love as the ideological world that constructs it crumbles away. Facing the truth about Liam’s abuse has forced Veronica to see into the lack, the empty heart of human sexuality and desire, and as she sits in the church during his funeral she “tr [ies] to believe in love” but finds it is “Not easy” (228). Veronica’s introspection reveals that her love for her children still holds up in the face of her newly disillusioned view of sexuality and desire: “I bow my head and try to believe that love will make it better, or if love won’t then children will. I turn from the high to the humble and believe, for many seconds at a time, in the smallness and necessity of being a mother” (228). Her biological connection to her children is ultimately what “saves” her; because she “liv[es] in” her family, she already has a connection stronger than any ideological construction; however, she must put this connection into words so that she can reconcile it with the stable sense-of-self that language has allowed her to construct (66). As she tries to believe in love, she feels something “hot and struggling” in her chest: “The chest thing is like fighting for words and the forehead thing is pure and empty, like after all the words have been said […] Belief. I have the biology of it. All I need is the stuff to put in there. All I need are the words” (229). Veronica needs words because words are what will reattach love to desire, patching over her split subjectivity again and thereby allowing her to continue living with her family and her “self.”
27 This view highlights the importance of her daughter’s words over the hotel phone, words which come just as Veronica is about to relinquish her belief in the stable life she has created: “I give you a word,” says her daughter, “And that word is ‘love’” (257). By giving her mother the word “love,” Rebecca allows Veronica to attach the ideological dimension of meaning (“love”) to the biological connection between mother and child. This naming of the blood tie prevents Veronica from floating free of her signifiers and losing her subjectivity altogether. Veronica then imagines that the world is “wrapped in blood, as a ball of string is wrapped in its own string. That if I just follow the line I will find out what it is that I want to know” (258). She senses that blood is the tie that binds, the “love” that persists despite a more radical awareness of its origin in a primal loss. Veronica finally knows what she wants – not a different life, but simply to be able to go on living the one she has created. She must patch over the original trauma that Liam’s death cast her back upon, coming to terms with the failure that exists at the core of the human subject. Veronica has realized that beneath the terror of abuse exists a more fundamental terror – the loss of self accompanying split subjectivity: “I know he [Nugent] could be the explanation for all of our lives, and I know something more frightening still – that we did not have to be damaged by him in order to be damaged” (224). Although she now recognizes this, she turns away from it and back toward the safety of ideology and family. As she puts it, “I just want to be less afraid” (260-261).
28 Enright leaves the specifics of Veronica’s fate ambiguous, yet the text indicates that, although the language of Veronica’s narrative has allowed her to take apart her illusions of coherent identity, blood ties ultimately triumph over a radical understanding of the unstable core on which they are based. Enright’s interviews, her previous fiction 6, and her current novel suggest that she puts faith in a biological tie to
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 97
family that may be more cultural than anything else, even as she acknowledges that family ties are perceived as more binding in Ireland than in the American or British contexts 7. At any rate, the narrative’s apparent faith in the indissoluble blood tie as a fundamental kind of love suggests that Enright’s text, although engaging with Lacan’s theories at a compelling depth, also rejects his basic premise – that human subjects do not exist outside of language. Or, in another sense, perhaps she does not threaten his ideas at all, but simply reminds us that human subjectivity, constituted through a language that creates sexual difference, is still grafted onto a biological, animal body that operates on the level of instinct and therefore “loves” its offspring partly because it does not know the difference between self and other. This seeming contradiction makes the book all the more compelling by tracing the irresolvable parallax of the human animal – the gap between the human “self” and the grey matter that houses it.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Coulter, Carol, “‘Hello Divorce, Goodbye Daddy’: Women, Gender and the Divorce Debate”, Gender and Modern Sexuality in Ireland. U of Massachusetts P, 1997, p. 275-298.
Craciun, Dana, “The Pleasure Anne Enright Took in The Pleasure of Eliza Lynch”, British and American Studies, 11; 2005, p. 211-217.
Enright, Anne, The Gathering, New York, Black Cat, 2007.
—, “F slits T”, Teaching Literature: Writers and Teachers Talking, Ed. Kravis, Judy, Cork, Cork UP, 1995.
—, Interview with Stuart Jeffries, The Guardian. 18 Oct. 2007. [http://books.guardian.co.uk/ manbooker2007/story/0,,2193477,00.html#article_continue]
—, Interview with Boyd Tonkin, The Independent, 19 Oct. 2007. [http://www.independent.co.uk/arts- entertainment/books/features/interview-the-fearless-wit-of-man-booker-winner-anne- enright-394987.html]
—, Interview with Chrissie Russle, Belfast Telegraph, 18 Oct. 2007. [http://www.belfasttelegraph.co.uk/ features/books/article3073477.ece]
Fink, Bruce, The Lacanian Subject: Between Language and Jouissance, Princeton UP, 1995.
Lacan, Jacques, The Seminar of Jacques Lacan, Book XVII: The Other Side of Psychoanalysis, Ed. Jacques- Alain Miller. Trans. Russell Grigg, W.W. Norton and Co., Inc., 2007 (1991).
—, The Seminar of Jacques Lacan, Book XX: On Feminine Sexuality, The Limits of Love and Knowledge. Ed. Jacques-Alain Miller. Trans. Bruce Fink, 1998. (1975).
McKenna, Bernard, Rupture, Representation, and the Refashioning of Identity in Drama from the North of Ireland, 1969-1994, Westport, CT: Praeger Publishers, 2003.
Mitchell, Juliet and Jacqueline Rose, Eds. Feminine Sexuality: Jacques Lacan and the ecole Freudienne, Trans. Jacqueline Rose, New York, W.W. Norton and Co., 1982.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 98
Olasov-Rothbaum, Barbara and Edna Foa. “Cognitive-Behavioral Therapy for Posttraumatic Stress Disorder”, Traumatic Stress: The Effects of Overwhelming Experience on Mind, Body, and Society, Ed. Bessell Van der Kolk, Alexander McFarlane, and Lars Weisaeth. London, The Guilford Press, 1996, p. 426.
Shumaker, Jeanett. “Uncanny Doubles: The Fiction of Anne Enright”, New Hibernia Review – Volume 9, Number 3, Autumn 2005, p. 107-122.
Zizek, Slavoj. “Desire: Drive = Truth: Knowledge.” Umbr(a): On The Drive. 1997. pp. 147-152. Date Accessed: 5/1/08. [http://www.lacan.com/zizek-desire.htm]
—, The Metastases of Enjoyment: Six Essays on Women and Causality. London and New York, Verso, 1994.
—, The Parallax View, Massachusetts Institute of Technology P, 2006.
NOTES
1. Barbara Olasov-Rothbaum, and Edna Foa. “Cognitive-Behavioral Therapy for Posttraumatic Stress Disorder.” Traumatic Stress: The Effects of Overwhelming Experience on Mind, Body, and Society. Ed. Bessell Van der Kolk, Alexander McFarlane, and Lars Weisaeth. London, The Guilford Press, 1996, p. 426. 2. This basic summary can be found in many different places, so I didn’t think it needed citation. 3. Trauma theory explains that “victims of violence experience six common symptoms: ‘distancing,’ a psychic construction of fantasy life designed to protect an individual from further damage; ‘anxiety,’ an exaggerated fear of death and attack; ‘guilt’ regarding survivability; ‘loneliness and vulnerability,’ which arises as a consequence of the disruption in normal social relationships and a reluctance, as a consequence of trauma, to expose oneself to further relationships; ‘loss of self control,’ which results in an individual yielding control to external, seemingly more powerful forces, including mythic and historical forces; and ‘disorientation,’ which involves a debilitated capacity for reasoning and making individual associations. All of these symptoms are themselves a consequence of and contribute to a further sense of loss of self-control” (McKenna 10). 4. Lacan says that either a man or a woman can occupy these positions, but he genders the object petit a female because it accords with the most common patterns manifest in traditional gender roles (e.g. courtly love). 5. Just a side note: Enright’s reference to “infantile confusions” here suggests an awareness of the psychoanalytic drama at play in her text. She also mentions the helpfulness of “psychological” readings in her essay “F Slits T.” 6. Jeanett Shumaker points out that the character Grace from Enright’s The Wig My Father Wore “transcends despair about mortality by becoming pregnant” and thereby “discovers a new, richer self” (114). 7. Carol Coulter argues that in Ireland “Family bonds are still close, and the extended family still a source of strength to most people. If the family is looked at more critically in light of the revelations of child abuse, it is done within the context of a widespread attachment to the family” (277). Enright says herself in an interview, “As a mother, I
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 99
think the bond between mother and child is stronger than any other. But in cultural terms I think Irish people can never leave their families” (Russle Interview para. 16).
ABSTRACTS
The Gathering lends itself to closer psychoanalytic study because the text’s exploration of sexual trauma is simultaneously an investigation of the inevitable human trauma of the split subject, as articulated by Jacques Lacan and his antecedents. Lacan’s ideas help to explain the inseparability of language and sex in Enright’s text, thereby illuminating the depth and complexity of narrator Veronica Hegarty’s struggles against and within language and sexuality in the wake of her brother’s death.
The Gathering se prête à une étude psychanalytique parce que le texte se présente comme l’exploration d’un traumatisme sexuel qui est à la fois une réflexion sur le traumatisme du sujet clivé propre à chaque être humain, comme l’ont défini Jacques Lacan et ses prédécesseurs. Les idées de Lacan aident à expliquer l’inséparabilité du langage et du sexe dans le texte d’Enright, mettant ainsi en lumière la profondeur et la complexité du conflit contre et à travers la sexualité et le langage auquel est confrontée la narratrice Veronica Hegarty à la suite de la mort de son frère.
INDEX
Mots-clés: Enright Anne, sexualité, trauma, littérature et psychanalyse Keywords: Enright Anne, literature and psychoanalysis, sexuality, trauma
AUTHOR
SARAH C. GARDAM Temple University
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 100
Mme de Staël’s Cosmopolitan Imaginary and Sydney Owenson’s Early Novels
Evgenia Sifaki
1 This paper considers three of Sydney Owenson’s early novels: The Wild Irish Girl: a National Tale (1806) 1, which established the conventions of the genre mostly associated with her name, the “Irish National tale”, Woman or: Ida of Athens (1809) and The Missionary: an Indian Tale (1811) 2, which transfer the basic generic conventions and concerns of the national tale outside the territory of Ireland. Just like the Wild Irish Girl, the later novels exploit the legacy of the eighteenth-century sentimental tour, which they integrate into a basic romance plot structure; they engage historical and political questions, such as imperialist violence and the resistance of the oppressed, both directly and through displacement onto the narration of a passionate albeit contentious romantic encounter between a privileged colonial male traveller and a colonised, indigenous woman 3.
2 Here these texts are read in the context of an ongoing theoretical as well as vehement political debate, which sets universal values (variously construed) against those of an ethnocentric nationalism and propounds an anti-essentialist notion of subjectivity relative to multiple cultural affiliations against the Romantic nationalist assumption of an exclusionary identity dependent on ethnic origins and religious traditions. Furthermore, I employ Pierre Macherey’s elaborations on Germaine de Staël’s ideas concerning transnational and transcultural relations in his important essay “A cosmopolitan imaginary: the literary thought of Mme de Staël” 4, to elucidate Sydney Owenson’s complex conjoining of nationalism and cosmopolitanism and conclude that even though she does project herself as an Irish patriot her texts effectively undermine the German Romantic faith in the so called Volksgeist. An appreciation of the literary affinity and mutual admiration between Owenson and De Staël is required for a better understanding of their respective projects (De Staël’s Delphine was published in 1803 and Owenson’s The Wild Irish Girl, which had impressed De Staël much, in 1806, that is, a year before the publication of Corinne ou l’Italie, while Woman or: Ida of Athens can be read
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 101
as Owenson’s tribute to Corinne) 5. The two writers have a lot in common; nation and gender are continually staged and performed throughout their texts, reiterating and challenging at once tacitly normalising and naturalising discourses. Owenson’s heroines, like De Staël’s, are famously audacious performers or even “actresses”, but so are her male heroes, a fact that has been underestimated, I think, by recent criticism. Both writers produced texts that blend creatively historical reality and fiction and both employed a distinctively “feminine” kind of rhetoric as a means to express a quintessentially public and political voice.
3 It is interesting to note how critics today project onto Owenson’s early nineteenth- century texts a late twentieth-century critical debate over, on the one hand, the problem of the increasingly violent manifestations of resurgent nationalisms and, on the other hand, the fear that “the current celebration of cosmopolitanism by the political left is […] too often entangled with an implicit endorsement of global capitalism”.6 In an article about the Wild Irish Girl, Elmer Andrews, for example, holds Owenson responsible for sectarian violence in the North of Ireland. His position is that in the nationalist discourse of the 1970s and 1980s in Belfast or Derry you hear played out […] the old clamant sound-track of Romantic Ireland, the old ancestral myth of origin, a spiritual heroics […] expressive of the Hegelian notion of an inner essence or spirit which has lent itself to and become the justification for nothing less than a declaration of war. For at the heart of the conflict in the North […] is a political theology, the paradigms of which were laid down in Lady Morgan’s originative literary stereotyping of a myth of Irishness 7.
4 Other critics, however, like Kathryne Kirkpatrick, stress the significance of this novel’s ending, the marriage of an English Protestant to an Irish Catholic, and argue that an essentialist definition of Irishness “is radically challenged by a marriage which will produce children of mixed, English and Irish ancestry”.8 More recently, Ann Mellor places Owenson’s novel in the context of several works by British women writers of the Romantic period, to argue that the persistent theme of “international, interfaith and inter-racial marriages” in their work is no less than the manifestation of a consciousness that is “profoundly cosmopolitan” though “deeply buried in their texts”: Confronted with national wars, doctrinal religious battles, and the racial prejudice underpinning the African slave trade and the East India Company’s depredations in India, Malaysia and China, many British women writers of the Romantic period suggested a radical solution to such internecine struggles. This solution – so profoundly cosmopolitan and so deeply buried in their texts that it has hitherto received little attention – was this. If one is a “citizen of the world”, “in all climes the same”, then one manifests that consciousness not only theoretically, as a matter of political ideology, but also physically and emotionally, as a matter of sexual practice, a sexual practice that produces hybridized children. Enduring international, interfaith and inter-racial marriages – these become the hallmarks of a truly cosmopolitan subjectivity, what I am calling an “embodied cosmopolitanism 9”.
5 Mellor’s article is important because it historicizes effectively the literary texts she examines. But a third type of response to The Wild Irish Girl hints at the dangers of, so to speak, romanticising cosmopolitanism, overlooking its allegedly ideological function as a cover-up of aggressive, imperialist, capitalist expansion; for Lisa Moore (following Fredric Jameson’s re-casting into literary form of the Marxist definition of ideology as “false consciousness”), in the last analysis, romance in Owenson’s The Wild Irish Girl turns into “the narrative device of resolving political conflict and muffling political violence by directing our attention to a transcendent experience of desire, the union
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 102
between two lovers of different nationalities 10”. The symbolic use of international and interfaith marriages in Romantic fiction may actually be no more than a mark of imperialism’s achievement of hegemonic status.
6 So how can one novel produce such different, opposed readings? To answer this question, it is necessary, in the first place, to investigate further the historical context of Owenson’s input to the conceptualisation of nationalism and cosmopolitanism. Today we generally assume that these terms are oppositional, but, as Pheng Chea reminds us, that was not the case in the eighteenth century, because both the usage of term “cosmopolitanism” in the context of the work of the French philosophes and the elaborations of the cosmopolitical by Immanuel Kant are “formulated too early to take into account the role of nationalism in the transition between the age of absolutism and the age of liberalism. […] The original antagonist of Kant’s cosmopolitanism is therefore absolutist statism.” And he continues: In the initial moment of its historical emergence, nationalism is a popular movement distinct from the state it seeks to transform in its own image. Thus, before the nation finds its state, before the tightening of the hyphen between nation and state that official nationalism consummates, the ideals of cosmopolitanism and European nationalism in its early stirrings are almost indistinguishable. As late as 1861, Giuseppe Mazzini would emphasize that the nation is the only historically effective threshold to humanity: “In labouring according to the true principles for our Country we are labouring for Humanity; our Country is the fulcrum of the lever which we have to wield for the common good 11.”
7 So it is not surprising to find the co-habitation of particularist-nationalist imperatives with universalist and cosmopolitan premises in texts written in the early nineteeth century. Owenson’s writing belongs, indeed, to a continuum with today’s political debate on nationalism vs. cosmopolitanism, but it is important not to read her work anachronistically. Her passionate, imaginary identification with the plea of oppressed peoples clashes systematically with the violence of the imperialist state: for example, as Sylvia Bordoni rightly observes, the narrator of Woman or: Ida of Athens (a novel programmatically written to support the Greek national uprising against Ottoman rule) makes clear that “had Greece been a free and independent country, Ida would not have been an ardent patriot 12”. That is to say, conditions of freedom would render nationalism an obsolete ideology, while the central figure of Ida, the female patriot in this novel, is constructed primarily as a form of resistance. Additionally, in Woman, elaborations on “patriotism” and arguments for Greek independence positively converge with the interests of humanity at large. This is clearly manifest in her position against religious intolerance and for a universal “religion of the heart”, which is most vehemently argued by the Greek revolutionary Osmyn, in his dispute with those of his compatriots who support an alliance of the Greek revolutionary movement with the Greek Orthodox church. He fears that such an alliance will both cause the persecution of various Christian heresies in Greece and also turn the revolution, effectively, into a kind of crusade against Islam. This is the end of his long speech: What are the countless distinctions in opinions merely speculative, and unconnected with the moral or physical good of the human species, which dare assume the name of religions, and obstinately assert the obvious impossibility, that each is in itself infallible? What are they in his eyes, who knows no religion but that which is of the heart, which in theory is so comprehensible, in practice so divine? (Vol. III, 83-83)
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 103
8 Woman contains an exposition of Owenson’s theory of nationalism, which, though programmatic, is also interestingly ambiguous; it embodies the paradox Benedict Anderson describes as “the objective modernity of nations to the historian’s eye vs. their subjective antiquity in the eyes of nationalists” and anticipates her elaboration of “competing nationalisms”, which Julia Wright has located in Owenson’s later Irish tale, The O’ Briens and the O’ Flahertys: a National Tale. Wright distinguishes in that novel two competing versions of nationalism; the first, which she terms “antiquarian”, “fulfils the conditions of the […] commonly called romantic nationalism” and is “at odds with modernity because of its investment in antiquity”; the second, which she terms “inaugural nationalism”, emphasises, on the contrary, “the necessity of decisively breaking from the past. Inaugural nationalism is not based on derivation or evolution, but transformation – especially revolutionary or apocalyptic transformation 13”. Antiquarian and inaugural nationalism in Woman compete for prevalence within the same character, Osmyn, who is frequently used by Owenson as her mouthpiece.
9 In the first place, the figure of Osmyn, the idealised hero, symbolises, precisely, a power, “that resembled omnipotence itself, capable of a transformation that appeared like an effort of the magical art” (Vol. IV 35). We learn that he is a foundling, who lived in a monastery until he was five, then became a Turkish slave for twelve years, later he disappears and then re-appears, for the most part sliding in and out of the plot in disguise, only to save Ida and her family from danger. His various guises include that of a Turkish guard, a Janissary or a Janissary hidden beneath a Dervish robe and even “in the habit of an Armenian” (Vol II 78). In fact, he has served as a Janissary for two whole years, during which he had an illicit love affair with the daughter of the local Aga, the Governor of Athens.
10 Ida’s father is against her marriage to Osmyn, because of his dubious origin as “an alien, whom none e’er knew but as the purchased slave of Achmet-Aga” (Vol III 45). There is also an interesting scene in the mountains where the Greek partisans initially refuse Osmyn the leadership, once more because he is an alien and a slave: “No alien leader! – no slave! – no foundling for our chief!” they “vehemently cry”; but at that point, they are threatened by the approach of a Turkish armed force, and Osmyn proves himself the bravest and most reliable leader in the face of danger. The patriots change their mind: “‘We call upon you […], to direct and lead us’ cried the general voice. ‘Do you’, he exultingly returned, ‘for myself alone do you elect me?’” (Vol III 85, 87, 88). First he makes sure that they elect him for his individual charisma, regardless of his origin, and that they also accept his position that the national cause should not identify with any one particular religion. And then, he reveals his true origin, as the grandson of a noble Athenian. So the tale falls back to the premises of romantic nationalism, as Osmyn’s heroic quality proves intrinsic to his ancient origin. However, he never changes his typically Turkish name (his original Greek name, Theodorus, is mentioned only once in the whole of the four volumes), and his many impressive performances, as a Turk and a Muslim, crucial to the development of the plot, haunt the novel and disrupt the homogeneity of his Greekness. Despite the conventional outcome of his personal story, which collapses the difference between ancient and modern Greece, the figure of Osmyn retains its power to provoke incongruent cultural references, and thus it both confirms and undermines essentialist nationalist stereotypes. Contrary to critics who dismiss the revolutionary Osmyn as Ida’s own
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 104
“creation”, the outcome of her schooling and propaganda14, I argue that he rather resembles Owenson’s polysemous female heroines.
11 Frequently, in Owenson’s work, the alliance of the national, transnational and universal is marked by productive tension, a dynamic field of interrelated and, at times, incompatible features and ideas, which is inscribed, in the first place, in her experimentation with genre and characteristic invention of narrative devices. An example is provided by the settings of her stories: the island of Inismore, Athens and Kashmir serve a double purpose; passionate romance transforms them into Utopias, ideal no-places of love and freedom, explicitly compared to the lost Eden before the Fall, and hence defying equally both the claims of colonialist appropriation and any nationalist right to ownership. At the same time, they are historicised carefully and meticulously, if not always convincingly, through the amassment of an awesome amount of historical and geographical information and also information about local traditions and culture, art, music, dance, and so on; thus, they are represented as places with a unique cultural physiognomy and concrete social and political problems. Ireland and India emerge as oppressed and colonised nations with a long history and important cultural legacies that deserve respect and admiration; Greece as the place where an oppressed people is in the process of developing an empowering nationalist discourse. Critics generally assume that Owenson dislocates political conflicts such as religious intolerance and imperialist aggression from her main sphere of interest, nineteenth- century Ireland, and addresses them in the contexts of other places or historical periods, such as Ottoman Greece, or seventeenth-century Portugal and India 15. In addition to the project of appealing for the cause of Ireland though, Owenson systematic conjoining of universal values with concrete, irreducible cultural manifestations, amounts to much more that a mere universalisation of the particular; in the last analysis, it involves a generous effort to understand and sympathise with other peoples and civilisations.
12 The romance trope itself (which by definition assumes universal values) is adapted and transformed into a way of bringing about cultural exchange; the lovers, who belong to different and even hostile nations, become involved in a communication that epitomises what Amanda Anderson calls “expansively inclusionary cosmopolitanism[s] [where] universalism finds expression through sympathetic imagination and intercultural exchange 16”. Also, the fact that these novels are generically hybrids, since Owenson’s fiction is conjoined to, and disrupted by, a plethora of references and citations from mainly non-English European sources, such as travel and historiographical texts, often quoted in the original French or Italian, can be read as an example of what Pierre Macherey calls “a shattered aesthetic of the disparate 17”.
13 Macherey’s reading of De Staël provides a useful perspective for approaching Owenson; he reads, for example the Anglo-Italian Corinne’s incessant role-playing as an artist, as the means whereby she displays and concurrently explains the “characteristic values of quite alien sensibilities”, English or Italian, which “complement one another, mingle without merging and project their virtues outwards without renouncing the particular identity that constitutes them, and without corrupting it”. In Mme de Staël’s texts, Macherey argues, A new culture is born after having undergone the ordeal of a linguistic, ideological and poetic migration. It facilitates comparisons and exchanges between elements that were originally quite foreign to one another by bringing them together on the basis of their reciprocal foreigness (p. 21).
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 105
14 Glorvina, the famous Wild Irish Girl, is, precisely, a perfect illustration of what Macherey calls a “composite character”. Just like Mme de Staël’s Delphine and Corinne, she embodies the theoretical preoccupations just quoted. Glorvina has been notably recorded in literary history as a national character who expresses spontaneously a form of ancient, Gaelic Irishness. But, as Thomas Tracy insightfully observes, the princess Glorvina is much more than that. She is a powerful political ruler feared by her Irish subjects even more than her father the prince, because of her so-called “great learning”, which aligns her character with Enlightenment thought and more specifically “with the radical views of Mary Wollstonecraft 18”, as in the following extract, where Father John, Glorvina’s teacher, exposits the principles that had guided his educational practices: I only threw within [Glorvina’s] power of acquisition [he explains], that which could tend to render her a rational, and consequently a benevolent being; for I have always conceived an informed, intelligent, and enlightened mind, to be the best security for a good heart (TWIG 79).
15 Then again, even though Glorvina has undergone a vigorous education of the intellect, she is concurrently constructed as a character through her reading of mainly French, but also German Romantic novels such as “La Nouvelle Heloise, de Rousseau – the unrivalled Lettres sur la Mythologie,” de Moustier – the “Paul et Virginie” of St Pierre – the Werter of Göethe – the Dolbreuse of Loasel, and the Attila of Chateaubriand” (TWIG 144) 19. These have been given to her by her lover Horatio, the English narrator, who at this point serves blatantly as the mouthpiece of Owenson herself and explains that Glorvina should read these novels so “that she may know herself, and the latent sensibility of her soul”. And he continues: Let our English novels carry away the prize of morality from the romantic fictions of every other country; but you will find they rarely seize on the imagination through the medium of the heart; and as for their heroines, I confess that though they are the most perfect of beings, they are also the most stupid. Surely, virtue would not be the less attractive for being united to genius and the graces’ (TWIG 144).
16 It is worth noting that the above quotation clearly indicates Owenson’s strong sense of belonging to a European rather than an English literary milieu.
17 Both Glorvina and Ida of Athens are, indeed, rational women with a mind that is (as the narrator of Woman puts it) “dependent on itself – […] accustomed to rely upon its own resources for support and aid under every pressure” (WOIOA IV, 76); but they equally rely on their sheer, forceful physical presence, their enchanting sexuality, manifest in body language, facial expressions, artistic creativity, dancing, singing, and so on. This is, for example, how Glorvina’s singing is described: ‘She can sigh, she can weep, she can smile, over her harp. The sensibility of her soul trembles in her song, and the expression of her rapt countenance harmonizes with her voice” (TWIG 146). The fact is that Glorvina’s character is composed of conflictual ideological components, Enlightenment and Romantic. To these, we should add the multiple literary references she invokes in the mind of the English narrator. Heather Braun, in a recent reading of this novel that is different but compatible to mine, observes that Responding to her appearance, Mortimer envisions Glorvina as a floating apparition, a playful nymph, a sexualised Egyptian Alma and a hideous monster. Such a chaotic “heroic” concoction demonstrates how foreign and familiar, ancient and modern, dangerous and domestic can reside in a single body and, by extension, in a single nation 20.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 106
18 The point here is that the national character Glorvina should not be reduced to and explained away as merely an expression of an Irish Volksgeist. Her many aspects, English, Irish and French, Enlightenment and Romantic, cultural and literary, incomplete and inadequate in themselves, synthesise a non-organic whole. As a consequence, the composite figure of the Irish Glorvina simultaneously reproduces and undermines Irish stereotypes, while her composite femininity disrupts and dislocates the boundaries of established categories of gender. We can associate the figure of Glorvina then, with De Staël’s “composite characters”, and the new cosmopolitan culture they establish, according to Macherey, which breaks with the notion of the Volksgeist and represents another kind of synthesis, that very “compositionality” itself, a kind of whole which does not totalize its elements, as expressions of an inner essence or spirit, (in which case we would have the impossibility of an equally exclusionary, homogeneous “universalism”), but holds them together in their irreducible reciprocal foreignness - which, according to Macherey, is the very condition of the possibility of their mutual comparisons and exchanges. It is also the basis for the educational processes that are central to Owenson’s national tales.
19 Education in a language and a culture other than one’s own is extremely important in Owenson’s work. Glorvina, Ida and Ida’s lover, Osmyn, are educated in various European languages and Enlightenment thought. The English Mortimer is educated systematically in Irish language and literature; Hilarion, the Portuguese missionary, studies with a Brahmin teacher even before he travels to India, so the ground is already prepared for him to receive further education on Hinduism by the woman he loves, the Hindu priestess Luxima, while, of course, introducing her to Christian values at the same time. Julia Wright has shown that Hilarion and Luxima acquire a profound understanding of Hinduism and Christianity respectively but without actually and truly converting (Luxima is christened in order to marry Hilarion, but only nominally). The lovers in the National tale educate one another in their respective cultures; in fact, the progression of their relationship, for the most part, coincides with the course of this mutual education, which enriches their characters, but, crucially, without corrupting them. In the scene of Luxima’s death, the Christian cross she is wearing, covered with blood, recedes into the background and into insignificance while she holds tight on her Hindu rosary, sending a clear message that she dies a Hindu. Hilarion understands perfectly and exclaims: “Oh Luxima, are we to be eternally disunited then?” Maybe Hilarion worries that the two of them will not end up in the same place after death. But if their relationship worked in the course of the novel to some extent, it is because the cultural and religious limits that kept them apart simultaneously united them by establishing the conditions of mutual communication.
20 The outcome of the romance, which is usually controversial, firstly depends on whether and to what extent it is possible to imagine a truly egalitarian marriage of equal minds; furthermore, the progress of the romantic relationship in the national tale always allegorises a redistribution of power between coloniser and colonised and so it depends on the historical and political conjuncture that embeds the love story. This means that Owenson’s texts never endorse any form of withdrawal into a private enclave of imagination and feeling – she takes pains to place her heroines in the domain of public life and discourse. After all, this is the quintessence of her female national characters: they may act out an impersonation of their nations, and they certainly speak on behalf of their nations, so their involvement in the public sphere
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 107
and discourse is foregrounded. In The Wild Irish Girl, “She reimagines the [Union of England and Ireland] as […] a transformation of the political dispensation in the future 21”. In Woman, Ida faces a choice of lovers, who also represent and perform their own gendered nations: a presumptuous English traveller is enchanted and educated by her into an understanding of Greece, but he, nevertheless, proves incapable of combining desire with respect; the barbarous and lecherous Ahmet Aga is obsessed with her, but marriage to him amounts to slavery and imprisonment in a harem. She marries the Greek Osmyn and they move to Russia, the incubator of revolutionary societies, where they are going to work together to prepare the Greek national revolution. They will have a happy family, but this marriage does not confine Ida to the domestic sphere, because their common revolutionary cause makes possible a marriage of equals based on both politics and passion, and as such it also provides a means whereby the strict divide of private and public life is diminished. The tragic ending of The Missionary is blamed on the coloniser’s violence and barbarity. It is seventeenth- century Spanish Inquisition which in this text blatantly symbolises colonial power that murders Luxima. The Missionary exemplifies the thesis of Ann Mellor that frequently in literary texts by women of the Romantic period “the cosmopolitan ideal of religious and international harmony through romance is thwarted primarily by western chauvinism – sexual, religious, and national 22”.
21 It is wrong, however, to assume that the ending condenses fully the meaning of the National tale. Owenson’s novels invite us instead to concentrate on those moments of narration, description or character construction, where ambiguity, contradiction and paradox reveal the limits of those institutionalised naturalising and normalising discourses that regulate violent, oppressive politics and sexual politics.
NOTES
1. Sydney Owenson, Lady Morgan, The Wild Irish Girl, (1806) ed. Kathryne Kirkpatrick. Oxford University Press, 1999. 2. Sydney Owenson, Woman: or Ida of Athens (Four Volumes). London, Longman, 1809; Sydney Owenson, The Missionary: An Indian Tale (1811), ed. Julia Wright, Broadview Press, 2002. 3. For more on Owenson’s contribution to the development of the national tale see Katie Trumpener, Bardic Nationalism: The Romantic Novel and the British Empire, Princeton University Press, 1997, p. 128-156 and Ina Ferris, The Romantic National Tale and the Question of Ireland, Cambridge University Press, 2002. 4. Pierre Macherey, The Object of Literature, trans. David Macey, Cambridge University Press, 1995, p. 13-37. [A quoi pense la littérature, Presses Universitaires de France, 1990]. 5. For a comparative reading of Corinne ou l’Italie and Woman or: Ida of Athens see Evgenia Sifaki, “A Gendered Vision of Greekness: Lady Morgan’s Woman or: Ida of Athens.”
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 108
Vassiliki Kolokotroni & Efterpi Mitsi (eds.), Women Writing Greece: Essays on Hellenism, Orientalism and Travel, Rodopi, 2008, pp. 55-75. 6. Craig Calhoun, “The Class Consciousness of Frequent Travellers: Towards a Critique of Actually Existing Cosmopolitanism.” Steven Vertovic & Robin Cohen (eds.) Conceiving Cosmopolitanism - Theory, Context, and Practice, Oxford University Press, 2002, p. 92. 7. Elmer Andrews, “Aesthetics, Politics, and Identity: Lady Morgan’s The Wild Irish Girl”, Canadian Journal of Irish Studies 12, 1987, p. 8. Quoted in Kathryne Kirkpatrick, “Introduction” to her edition of Sydney Owenson, Lady Morgan, The Wild Irish Girl, ibid., p. VII-XVIII, p. XIV.
8. Kathryne Kirkpatrick, “Introduction”, ibid., p. XVII. 9. Ann K. Mellor, “Embodied Cosmopolitanism and the British Romantic Woman Writer”, European Romantic Review, 17/ 3, July 2006, p. 289-300, p. 292. 10. Lisa L. Moore “Acts of Union: Sexuality and Nationalism, Romance and Realism in the Irish National Tale”, Cultural Critique 44, Winter 2000, p. 113-144, p. 118. 11. Pheng Chea, “Introduction, Part II”. Pheng Chea & Bruce Robbins (eds.), Cosmopolitics: Thinking and Feeling Beyong the Nation, University of Minnesota Press, 1998, p. 20-40, p. 25. Chea quotes from Mazzini’s The Duties of Man. 12. Sylvia Bordoni, “Lord Byron and Lady Morgan”, The Centre for the Study of Byron and Romanticism, University of Nottingham, 2006. URL: [http:// byron.nottingham.ac.uk]. 13. Julia Wright, “‘The Nation Begins to Form’: Competing Nationalisms in Morgan’s The O’Brien’s and the O’Flahertys”, ELH 66/4, 1999, p. 939-963, p. 941. 14. See Sylvia Bordoni, ibid. and Malcolm Kelsall, “Reading Orientalism: Woman or: Ida of Athens”, Review of National Literatures and World Report 1, New Series, 1998, p. 11-20. 15. For relevant discussions see Hepworth Dixon, Lady Morgan’s Memoirs Vol 1, London 1862, p. 321 and Julia Wright’s “Introduction” to her edition of The Missionary: an Indian Tale, ibid., p. 9-57. 16. Amanda Anderson, “Cosmopolitanism, Universalism, and the Divided Legacies of Modernity”. Pheng Chea & Bruce Robbins (eds.), op. cit., p. 265-289, p. 268. 17. As Wright puts it, “Owenson’s version of India is de-anglocentered. Owenson directs her audience to an overtly cosmopolitan body of scholarship in which firsthand accounts from a variety of national perspectives, rather than British scholarship, are given priority”. Julia Wright, “Introduction” to The Missionary: an Indian Tale, op. cit., p. 51. 18. Thomas Tracy, “The Mild Irish Girl: Domesticating the National Tale”, Éire-Ireland 39/1&2, 2004, p. 81-109, p. 97. 19. Here some of Owenson’s references to European novels (i.e. The Sorrows of Young Werther) and novelists (Joseph-Marie Loasel) are misspelled; the most important mistake is in the title of the novel by René Chateaubriand, Atala. This passage illustrates a paradox in her literary idiom, which combines an impressive number of references to literary and non-literary sources with some degree of unreliability. It is also interesting as an awkward blend of French and English. 20. Heather Braun, “The Seductive Masquerade of The Wild Irish Girl”, Irish Studies Review 13/1, 2005, p. 33-43, p. 35-36. 21. Thomas Tracy, ibid., p. 82.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 109
22. Ann Mellor, ibid., p. 294.
ABSTRACTS
Sydney Owenson’s early novels, The Wild Irish Girl: a National Tale (1806), Woman or: Ida of Athens (1809) and The Missionary: an Indian Tale (1811), displace the question of imperialist violence onto the narration of a passionate albeit contentious romantic encounter between a privileged colonial male traveller and a colonised, indigenous woman. This paper argues that her manipulation of the Romance trope and construction of “national character” (which is comparable to the way Mme De Staël creates her fictional heroines) inscribe a dynamic, productive tension between discourses of nationalism, universalism and cosmopolitanism.
Les premiers romans de Sydney Owenson, The Wild Irish Girl: a National Tale (1806), Woman or: Ida of Athens (1809) et The Missionary, an Indian Tale (1811), déplacent la question de la violence impériale sur le récit de la rencontre romantique, passionnée et pourtant antagoniste, entre un voyageur mâle, colonial et privilegié et une femme indigène. Le présent article montre, que la manipulation de la trope du roman et de la construction du « caractère national » par Sydney Owenson (qui est comparable à la manière dont Mme De Staël crée ses propres héroïnes de fiction) inscrit une tension dynamique et productive entre les discours du nationalisme, de l’universalisme et du cosmopolitisme.
INDEX
Keywords: Morgan Lady, national identity, Owenson Sydney, imperialism/colonialism, history and fiction Mots-clés: Morgan Lady, Owenson Sydney, identité nationale, impérialisme/colonialisme, histoire et fiction
AUTHOR
EVGENIA SIFAKI Greek Open University
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 110
Quelle poésie de la sortie de guerre en Irlande du Nord ? L’exemple de Breaking News de Ciaran Carson (2003) et The State of the Prisons (2005) de Sinéad Morrissey
Catherine Conan
1 Pour la plupart des historiens de la province, les accords de Belfast, dits du Vendredi Saint, d’avril 1998 signent la fin officielle des Troubles en Irlande du Nord, dont les violents incidents de l’été 1969 constituaient le point de départ. La question posée au romancier Glenn Patterson par un journaliste londonien au lendemain du cessez-le-feu paramilitaire de 1994 (« what on earth are you going to write about, now that the story has been taken away from you? 1») acquiert après 1998 une pertinence et une nécessité encore plus grandes. En effet, les accords d’avril 1998, approuvés par référendum par une majorité relativement large au nord et écrasante au sud 2 ont donné à la population de l’île tout entière et à la communauté internationale l’impression qu’une page de l’histoire irlandaise était en train de se tourner.
2 La période qui suit un conflit armé peine à se définir, car elle succède au temps fort de la guerre, qui structure l’appréhension globale du déroulement historique (on parle d’« avant-guerre » et d’« après-guerre »). Dans le domaine poétique, Edna Longley fait remarquer que les années de guerre au vingtième siècle ont vu l’émergence de formes d’écriture souvent radicales, mais d’une fécondité durable 3, au point d’affirmer que toute poésie constitue en elle-même une forme d’engagement comparable à la guerre 4. Ceci ne va pas sans soulever un certain nombre de questions dans l’Irlande du Nord d’après 1998 : si la légitimité de la poésie nord-irlandaise tombait sous le sens durant les Troubles, et si alors le lien entre poésie et guerre pouvait aller de soi 5, il n’en va plus de même une fois le conflit terminé.
3 Bien évidemment, la fin officielle d’un conflit armé, quelle que soit la légitimité que l’on veut lui accorder, ne signifie pas pour autant l’instauration immédiate d’un régime de
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 111
paix et de « normalité » politique et sociale. Il est sans doute possible de considérer que, après 1998, l’Irlande du Nord entre dans une période que l’on peut qualifier de « sortie de guerre ». Notion émergée récemment et qui a supplanté celle d’« après-guerre », la sortie de guerre vise à rendre compte de manière dynamique de périodes traditionnellement décrites comme des contrepoints fades et flous à la guerre 6. La sortie de guerre est un terme surtout employé dans l’historiographie récente des deux guerres mondiales, et il n’est pas question de placer les Troubles nord-irlandais sur la même échelle de magnitude. Néanmoins, certaines des caractéristiques des périodes dites de sortie de guerre peuvent éclairer les enjeux de la reconstruction politique, sociale et culturelle en Irlande du Nord.
4 L’apport principal de l’histoire encore balbutiante des sorties de guerre est l’impossibilité d’une rupture nette entre temps de guerre et temps de paix, en raison de « la persistance, en temps de paix, de constructions idéologiques forgées en temps de guerre […] en réalité, la sortie de guerre est fondamentalement une période violente, où travaillent, souterrainement ou ouvertement, les représentations haineuses forgées durant le conflit 7 ». Cependant, la composante essentielle dans notre propos de la sortie de guerre est la notion de démobilisation culturelle, notion empruntée par Bruno Cabanes à John Horne 8, dont les composantes principales sont l’abandon de la violence et la réhabilitation de la figure de l’autre. On peut supposer que la poésie, qui est l’une des manifestations culturelles les plus visibles en Irlande du Nord, rassemble et réfracte dans ses thèmes et dans ses formes les tensions propres à l’après-Troubles. Cette période se présente comme fondamentalement ambivalente, voire contradictoire puisqu’elle donne le recul nécessaire à une vision d’ensemble (le « bird’s eye view » qui était impossible au narrateur de Carson dans The Irish for No 9). Les observateurs de la société sont tentés d’adopter une attitude rétrospective dans le but de dégager les lignes de force propres au conflit. D’un autre côté, la sortie de guerre, tout particulièrement dans le cas d’un conflit qui oppose (opposait ?) deux communautés vivant sur le même territoire, contraint à inventer les modalités de la réconciliation et du vivre ensemble. Sur le plan littéraire, la sortie de guerre apparaît comme propice à la fois à un approfondissement et une estimation globale de thématiques qui structuraient la représentation des Troubles, mais aussi à l’émergence de nouvelles formes et de nouvelles voix poétiques. L’objectif de cet article est d’examiner, au travers de deux recueils publiés en 2003 et 2005, comment la poésie (notamment urbaine) d’après 1998 peut participer à un processus de démobilisation culturelle en Irlande du Nord et à la mise en histoire des Troubles.
5 Afin de déterminer quelques-unes des caractéristiques d’une poétique de la sortie de guerre en Irlande du Nord, on a retenu deux poètes dont les rapports pourraient à eux seuls illustrer une problématique de la rupture et de la continuité dans la poésie nord- irlandaise d’après 1998. En effet, une génération entière sépare Ciaran Carson de Sinéad Morrissey, le premier ayant commencé à écrire à peu près au moment où naissait la seconde. Ciaran Carson a publié The New Estate en 1976 avant de s’imposer comme la voix majeure de la poésie urbaine nord-irlandaise de l’enlisement du conflit qui a suivi l’échec des accords de Hillsborough en 1985, avec The Irish for No (1987) et Belfast Confetti (1991), puis First Language (1994). Après s’être essayé à la fin des années 1990 et au début des années 2000 à d’autres exercices comme la traduction de poètes français, l’autobiographie ou le roman, il revient à la poésie en 2003 avec Breaking News, qui rassemble les premiers poèmes qu’il ait écrits depuis les accords de Belfast. Comme on le verra, la forme utilisée dans Breaking News présente à première vue un contraste
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 112
surprenant avec celle à laquelle il avait habitué ses lecteurs, tout particulièrement depuis The Irish for No.
6 Avec Nick Laird ou Leontia Flynn, Sinéad Morrissey est l’une des voix poétiques émergées depuis la fin des Troubles. Née en 1972 à Portadown, elle révèle un talent extrêmement précoce puisqu’elle reçoit le Patrick Kavanagh Award à l’âge de dix-huit ans. Elle vit successivement au Japon et en Nouvelle-Zélande avant de retourner en Irlande du Nord dans la seconde moitié des années 1990. Elle y publie son premier recueil, There Was a Fire in Vancouver (1996), puis Between Here and There (2002), dont la première partie est consacrée à l’Irlande du Nord et la seconde au Japon, et enfin The State of the Prisons (2005), dont il sera plus particulièrement question ici 10. Sur le plan technique, la poésie de Sinéad Morrissey est caractérisée par l’utilisation de formes traditionnelles, strophes régulières et structures toutes en limpidité. C’est la clarté grammaticale de son écriture qui distingue Sinéad Morrissey : à l’opposé des images voluptueuses et de la syntaxe déconcertante d’une Medbh McGuckian, Morrissey pratique une poésie dépouillée et intellectuelle qui explique plus qu’elle n’évoque. Sa poésie s’écrit souvent avec la conscience d’être l’objet d’une interprétation de la part du lecteur, dont elle anticipe et contredit les réflexes :
And I find myself back – to the womb, most obviously, but even better than that – to the film I played in my head as a child (SP, 12)
7 La conscience affichée de la banalité de certaines images poétiques (« our classroom windows / would be crying, as usual ») la conduit souvent à en utiliser d’incongrues (« Sometimes childlessness, stretching out into the ether // like a plane » [« Contrail »]). Ajoutée à la fréquence des images empruntées à une conception médicale et anatomique du corps, cette tendance n’est pas sans évoquer l’écriture des poètes métaphysiques.
8 Malgré la génération qui les sépare, les visions poétiques de Carson et Morrissey forment un ensemble particulièrement cohérent, et sont par plusieurs aspects très proches. Leurs poésies sont résolument urbaines, et font de Belfast le centre de leur univers. Les deux poètes travaillent également au sein du Seamus Heaney Centre for Poetry de Queen’s University. Si le choix d’auteurs peut paraître trop restrictif, on se souviendra que le propos du présent article n’est pas d’offrir un panorama de la poésie nord-irlandaise d’après 1998 mais de montrer en quoi certaines de ses manifestations articulent des problématiques spécifiques à la sortie de guerre. En effet, la caractéristique essentielle qui rapproche Carson et Morrissey est la réflexion sur la guerre, les images qu’elle évoque et sa constitution en récit, rendue possible par la sortie de guerre et qui l’éclaire en retour. Afin d’examiner les manifestations poétiques de la démobilisation culturelle chez ces deux auteurs, on étudiera dans un premier temps les continuités et ruptures thématiques et formelles entre les deux recueils retenus et une « tradition » nord-irlandaise de la représentation des Troubles. Dans un second temps, on se penchera plus spécifiquement sur l’écriture de la guerre et de sa signification dans l’histoire, au travers de parallèles dressés dans les deux recueils entre l’Irlande du Nord et certains des conflits majeurs des dix-neuvième et vingtième siècles. Ils conduisent à la mise en place d’une méditation sur la guerre qui fait de cette poésie un instrument privilégié de l’explicitation des enjeux culturels de l’après-1998.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 113
9 La persistance de schémas idéologiques propres à la période des Troubles apparaît de manière singulièrement claire dans l’utilisation, voire la récurrence obsessionnelle de thèmes et motifs que la critique nord-irlandaise a identifiés comme caractéristiques de la littérature de la province en guerre. La fréquence de l’utilisation de ces constantes littéraires est d’autant plus remarquable chez Sinéad Morrissey, dont la voix arrive tout juste à maturité au démarrage du processus de paix, et ayant vécu avant cela loin de l’Irlande du Nord. On retrouve chez la jeune femme les thèmes, déjà présents par exemple chez le Carson de The Irish for No et Belfast Confetti, de la division ou de la fragmentation territoriale, de l’étrangeté paradoxale de l’univers domestique et des relations familiales, de l’exil et de la tension entre l’ici et l’ailleurs, du silence, et de la violence faite aux corps.
10 La vision de l’espace articulée dans The State of the Prisons est directement inspirée par la fragmentation territoriale entamée (à Belfast en particulier) avant les Troubles et exacerbée par les trois décennies de conflit. Cela est suggéré dès l’abord par le jeu de mots du titre, qui fait référence à un rapport sur la déliquescence des prisons et hôpitaux anglais publié par John Howard en 1777 mais constitue également une définition de l’Irlande du Nord, à nouveau dotée après 1998 d’un parlement autonome. En effet, The State of the Prisons présente en grande majorité des espaces cloisonnés, propices à l’isolement ou à la régression. Plusieurs poèmes présentent ainsi des variations sur le motif du nid ou de la matrice, qui génère tour à tour la rêverie enfantine ou la solitude du grand âge.
11 Dans « Forty Lengths », le narrateur trouve un refuge à l’absurdité du monde sous l’eau de la piscine. La division spatiale entre le monde aquatique et celui de la surface est exprimée dès l’ouverture du poème au moyen de la distinction temporelle entre l’avant et l’après-invention des lunettes de piscine :
Before goggles, the pool was a catch of beleaguered heads being raced against each other by omnipotence. (SP, 12)
12 L’image des têtes sans corps glissant à la surface de l’eau renforce l’impression d’imperméabilité, d’incommunicabilité entre l’espace aérien qui est celui du narrateur, et l’espace aquatique, dénué d’existence dans ces deux vers. Cependant, l’accession de la conscience humaine aux profondeurs de la piscine ne constitue pas la révélation d’un niveau plus élevé de réalité. Tout dans le texte indique qu’il s’agit d’une régression :
But now that I, too, have been strapped back and capped like a pre-war flying enthusiast Shoulders to the rear, the aerodynamic necessity Of not having hair – (SP, 12)
13 Le mouvement général de ces vers s’effectue vers l’arrière (« back », « rear »), et le narrateur se retrouve entraîné dans un avant qui, de manière révélatrice, se mesure par référence à la guerre. Comme dans le premier diptyque, tous les verbes d’action sont à la voix passive, suggérant un sujet inerte, captif (« strapped ») et dépossédé (« not having »). Sous l’eau, les yeux enfermés dans les lunettes voient un refuge, une illusion de clarté et de certitude :
[…] I see how solidly we occur under water.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 114
Now all the world’s a blur, except for down here In this makeshift polar enclosure where I follow one white-limbed swimmer after another to the wall. (SP, 12)
14 Si le monde de la surface est flou, les allers-retours des nageurs s’apparentent à une procession sans fin de spectres rendus pathétiques par l’espace confiné. Ces âmes en peine n’en restent pas moins des êtres inscrits dans le processus historique et politique, comme en atteste l’emploi en fin de vers du terme « enclosure ». La vision déformée des nageurs, prise par ceux-ci pour la réalité, se présente comme une allégorie de la condition nord-irlandaise, finalement très proche de l’image du poisson rouge tournant en rond dans son bocal qui était au centre du roman de Glenn Patterson intitulé Fat Lad (1993) 11.
15 De la même manière, le silence, qui était un passage obligé de la littérature des Troubles depuis le « Whatever you say, say nothing » de Heaney, s’impose dès l’ouverture de The State of the Prisons comme l’un des thèmes centraux. « Flight », le premier poème du recueil, met en scène une voix impossible. La narratrice est prisonnière d’un « scold’s bridle », mécanisme utilisé aux dix-septième et dix-huitième siècles pour torturer les femmes acariâtres, constitué d’une espèce de casque muni d’une langue de fer que l’on introduit dans la bouche de la victime et qui l’empêche d’émettre le moindre son. Le plus souvent, l’appareil est muni d’une chaîne au moyen de laquelle la malheureuse est promenée dans les rues par son mari, afin de servir d’exemple aux autres. Le crime de la narratrice de « Flight » est d’être royaliste en 1651, pendant le Commonwealth de Cromwell. Le poème parvient à mettre en relation de manière particulièrement habile un grand nombre de thèmes caractéristiques de la poésie des Troubles, et à leur conserver une pertinence dans l’après-1998.
16 L’introduction d’une citation de England’s Grievance Discovered de Ralph Gardiner en épigraphe pose la question du rapport entre fiction et témoignage historique, et introduit les thèmes de l’oppression et de la captivité reflétés dans le corps du poème. L’ouvrage de Gardiner est en effet un plaidoyer adressé au parlement de Cromwell en guise de protestation contre le monopole exercé par la corporation de Newcastle sur le commerce maritime sur la Tyne. Il aurait été écrit lors d’un séjour de son auteur en prison. La figure de Cromwell en tyran et le thème de la domination masculine suggèrent la relation coloniale, à laquelle le poème résiste cependant en gardant au premier plan l’oppression et la réduction au silence de la femme. C’est seulement à la fin du poème que s’impose le lien avec l’Irlande du Nord, quand le silence est montré comme cause première de la division et de la souffrance (« I have torn my face / In two by swallowing silence », SP, 3).
17 La répétition obsessionnelle de figures imposées de la littérature de la guerre dans un recueil publié sept ans après les accords de Belfast tendrait alors à indiquer que l’Irlande du Nord peine à envisager les modalités de son renouvellement littéraire – ou à revoir à la baisse l’importance politique réelle du Vendredi Saint. Il est en tout cas certain que les questions de mémoire et de pardon nécessaires à la réconciliation sont bien souvent non encore résolues, et restent centrales dans l’Irlande du Nord des années 2000.
18 En recyclant les thèmes centraux de la littérature de la guerre, la poésie cherche sans doute à indiquer que si les Troubles sont officiellement terminés, leur mise en histoire
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 115
par l’intégration et l’attribution d’une signification positive dans un récit historique global reste encore à faire. On peut considérer les méditations de Ciaran Carson et de Sinéad Morrissey sur le thème de la guerre, et les explorations de conflits européens et asiatiques du vingtième siècle comme une tentative de définition de la place des Troubles dans l’histoire du monde contemporain.
19 Il importe de préciser dès l’abord que les contrées lointaines sont, chez Carson comme chez Morrissey, vues comme des représentations, images visuelles reçues sur un écran ou témoignages de seconde main. Ainsi même dans l’évocation de grands espaces subsiste l’impression de confinement ou de malaise claustrophobe propre à l’Irlande du Nord. Carson précise à la fin de Breaking News qu’il a repris, souvent mot pour mot, les reportages de guerre de William Howard Russell. De fait, les seuls poèmes du recueil qui ne soient pas constitués de quelques mots épars dans l’espace de la page sont ceux dans lesquels Carson emprunte ses mots à Russell, ainsi qu’à William Carlos Williams dans une réécriture de « The Forgotten City ». L’influence du poète américain dans Breaking News s’étend cependant bien au-delà de « The Forgotten City », les vers minimalistes et les poèmes constitués d’une seule phrase de Williams ayant manifestement fourni un modèle à Carson. On pense tout particulièrement à « Perpetuum mobile: The City 12 », qui a pu entrer en résonance avec la vision de la ville développée par Carson depuis The Irish for No. Quant à Sinéad Morrissey, elle entame sa section sur la Chine par une injonction à accrocher au mur un écran, car le pays qu’elle entend montrer, dit-elle, n’existe pas. Par la suite, les paysages chinois sont vus par la vitre d’un train qui devient miroir quand la nuit tombe (« Windows have turned into mirrors the length of the train ») ou le hublot d’un avion (« The Gobi from Air »). Chez les deux poètes, le paysage est une image, qui est elle-même un miroir renvoyant à l’observateur ses attentes et ses contradictions.
20 Dans Breaking News, la guerre de Crimée fonctionne comme le double imaginaire de Belfast durant les Troubles, comme si la première contenait la clef qui permettrait de donner un sens à la seconde. On sait que la ville de Belfast porte la marque de l’empire britannique dans les noms de ses rues, qui commémorent ses grandes batailles ou ses personnages historiques. La superposition de ce réseau textuel et mémoriel sur la topographie de Belfast, et l’apparition d’un univers parallèle ainsi suggéré ont constitué une source d’inspiration majeure pour Carson dans The Irish for No et Belfast Confetti. Dans Breaking News, la texture de Belfast au présent semble se déliter, ou s’effriter sous le regard du lecteur, tandis que l’hypotexte impérial britannique de la capitale nord-irlandaise finit par occuper le premier plan. Le jeu de mots dans le titre du recueil exprime cette dualité : l’actualité nord-irlandaise se fracture (Breaking News) pour laisser entrevoir l’urgence d’une mise en perspective historique, qui acquiert une actualité brûlante. Dans Breaking News, Carson se glisse dans les interstices d’une ville qui se fissure pour en explorer une part de l’inconscient politique. Chacun des deux chronotopes – Belfast au présent et guerres coloniales britanniques – laisse entrevoir l’autre en filigrane. Cependant cette relation de transparence mutuelle n’aboutit en aucun cas à la constitution d’une linéarité historique. La mise en place de ce récit fictif est en effet constamment dérangée par son « reste », ce qui ne peut y trouver place mais qui est au centre de la poésie de Carson, c’est-à-dire l’horreur nue, absurde et insignifiante de la violence et de la guerre.
21 Dans Breaking News, Belfast est représentée comme une ville en guerre, peuplée de soldats ou de paramilitaires recréant l’atmosphère de surveillance perpétuelle qui était
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 116
celle de « Intelligence » dans Belfast Confetti. Les hélicoptères, signe distinctif de Belfast en guerre, sont encore omniprésents dans Breaking News. En particulier, « Blink » met en scène une société paranoïaque au sens où chaque élément enregistré doit faire sens et s’inscrire dans un récit de connaissance totale :
the bits and pieces being matched as everyone identifies with this or that their whereabouts being watched (BN, 20)
22 La rime riche matched/watched exprime le caractère obsessionnel d’une conscience qui se contraint à ressasser les mêmes fragments d’expérience. La récurrence maladive du même apparaît dans les emprunts directs de Carson à ses poèmes des Troubles, dans « Blink » (« sucked back // at the touch of the / rewind button » étant presque une citation verbatim de « Question Time 13 », poème en prose de Belfast Confetti, mais également à plusieurs autres reprises tout au long de Breaking News. Ainsi, les lames de rasoir Wilkinson Sword dans « Shop Fronts » étaient-elles déjà contemplées machinalement par deux soldats dans « Queen’s Gambit 14 ». La version carsonienne de « The Forgotten City » intègre un fragment directement emprunté à « 33333 » :
[…] I passed a crematorium called Roselawn, pleasant cul-de-sacs and roundabouts with names I never knew existed (BN, 37) We stop at an open door I never knew existed 15
23 La compulsion de répétition suggère que la paix au fond doit rester un horizon d’attente car elle menace de réduire le poète au silence. En ce sens, on peut interpréter les poèmes minimalistes de Breaking News comme l’expression du tarissement progressif du flot de discours et d’informations qui constituait le conflit nord-irlandais. La paix se présente donc comme paradoxale et impossible dans la mesure où la conscience paranoïaque du narrateur de Carson est incapable d’imaginer la fin de la guerre : elle conçoit l’absence de signal lié à la situation de guerre comme le signe d’une menace encore plus grande car dissimulée.
24 La paix est même décrite avec humour comme une anomalie dans « The Forgotten City », qui est chez Williams comme chez Carson un poème de guerre. La préface par l’auteur de The Wedge, recueil publié en 1944 et où parut « The Forgotten City » s’ouvre en effet par la phrase « The war is the first and only thing in the world today 16 ». Comme dans le texte de Williams, le narrateur découvre à la faveur d’un détour imprévu un quartier de la ville et des habitants dont il ne soupçonnait pas l’existence. Cependant, les circonstances de cette découverte sont chez Carson plus explicitement politiques, comme en témoigne sa modification de la fin du second vers de Williams. Le complément circonstanciel « the day of the hurricane » devient en effet « a day of the last disturbances » et se trouve ramené au premier vers. De plus, le narrateur n’est pas
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 117
en voiture comme chez Williams, mais à bicyclette, ce qui a pour effet de créer un lien intertextuel avec « Question Time 17 », poème en prose de Belfast Confetti où le poète est arrêté par des activistes républicains lors d’une promenade à vélo dans les rues de son enfance. Dans la suite du poème, le narrateur découvre un quartier dont les habitants semblent issus d’une autre époque (« wearing hats and overcoats »), presque des fantômes comme le suggère le jeu de mots « this / grave people » et qui bizarrement vivent en paix. Il se promet de revenir étudier cette population invisible et étonnante :
How did they get cut off in this way from the stream of bulletins, so under-represented in our parliaments and media when so near the troubled zone, so closely surrounded and almost touched by the famous and familiar? (BN, 37)
25 Carson exprime là un phénomène déjà mis en valeur par les écrivains de la fin des Troubles (on pense notamment à la satire de Robert McLiam Wilson dans Eureka Street), c’est-à-dire l’impossibilité en Irlande du Nord d’avoir une existence en dehors de la représentation médiatique, et, après 1998, politique. La paix apparaît ainsi comme une enclave irréelle, hors du temps, qui affleure à peine dans le processus historique et ne se découvre que fugitivement, à la faveur d’un accident. Dans Breaking News, la paix n’a pas de place dans l’histoire, qui n’acquiert de sens que dans le récit des guerres, qui constituent les seuls véritables événements historiques.
26 L’assimilation en poésie des reportages de guerre de William Howard Russell a pour effet de montrer le caractère illusoire de la signification accordée à la guerre en tant qu’événement historique. Les témoignages directs des guerres coloniales peuvent donner à l’empire une impression de réalité (au travers des noms propres de villes et de personnalités militaires) et de cohésion (par les efforts concertés des troupes britanniques). Cependant, le récit de la guerre en tant qu’environnement, puis condition psychologique, et enfin existentielle, devient dans la réécriture de Russell par Carson, destructeur de la réalité, puis du récit lui-même.
27 Les nombreuses accumulations dans la plupart des sections de « The War Correspondent » créent un univers où l’intelligence classificatrice perd pied. La désolation est suggérée non par l’absence mais par la surabondance d’éléments arrachés à leur contexte, privés du sens qu’ils ont les uns par rapport aux autres. Dans « Dvno », la troisième section de « The War Correspondent », c’est l’idée de classification et de nomenclature des entités qui devient absurde. Le poème est structuré par deux accumulations qui se font face, la première celle des essences d’arbres repérées aux alentours de Dvno et la seconde celle de noms de vaisseaux britanniques. Bien que les éléments listés soient très proches et semblent constituer une taxonomie cohérente, le lecteur de la poésie des Troubles se souvient que la zootaxie est le moyen choisi par Michael Longley dans « The Ice-cream Man » pour évoquer la mort et l’absence. L’assassinat du marchand de glaces y est évoqué au moyen de deux accumulations, celle des parfums des glaces qu’il vendait, et celle des espèces de fleurs sauvages du Burren 18. Chez Carson, l’énumération d’essences végétales a en outre pour effet de suggérer un univers onirique pseudo-keatsien dont le caractère illusoire est souligné par la morbidité grotesque de la seconde énumération :
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 118
and by night in the harbour phosphorescent bodies float up from the murky bottom to drift moonward past the fleet like old wooden figureheads, bobbing torsos bolt upright. Tiger, Wasp, Bellerophon, Niger, Arrow, Terrible, Vulture, Viper, Albion, Brittania, Trafalgar, Spitfire, Triton, Oberon: these are vessels I remember. (BN, 49)
28 L’image horrifiante des noyés comparés à des figures de proue inverse la relation de figuration symbolique habituelle. Les symboles orgueilleux de la nation acquièrent une chair pourrissante, et dans l’énumération qui suit, l’image de l’empire ne se construit pas mais au contraire se délite, sombre dans l’insignifiance. L’énumération se présente comme de l’anti-langage au sens où s’y défait l’image de la nation que le récit était censé construire.
29 De fait, la guerre en elle-même reste – comme la paix – un phénomène indicible, et les poèmes de « The War Correspondent » n’en décrivent que l’attente, ou les conséquences. Ainsi « Tchernaya » raconte comment les soldats tuent le temps (« they went at night to kill / time) à défaut de l’ennemi en attendant la bataille de Tchernaya, s’occupant à la chasse ou à toutes sortes de jeux. La guerre s’écrit dans et par ses intervalles et temps morts, et la bataille en elle-même devient au fond non nécessaire : « long before the battle of Tchernaya, / we had each two or three life-stories to tell. » (BN, 54).
30 Dans ces circonstances, le moment le plus chargé de sens est peut-être l’intuition rétrospective de l’imminence de la guerre, comme le suggèrent les poèmes, tous deux inspirés par des tableaux, « Théodore Géricault, Farrier’s Signboard, 1814 » et « Edward Hopper, Early Sunday Morning, 1939 ». En concluant le premier poème par « this is the year / before Waterloo », Carson invite à le relire comme une prémonition de la bataille où s’est définitivement défait l’empire napoléonien. Au travers de la figure mi-Vulcain, mi-cavalier de l’Apocalypse du maréchal-ferrant, le poème met en œuvre une conception paranoïde de l’art et de l’histoire : l’artiste visionnaire matérialise symboliquement la guerre à venir, et défait d’avance le sens que le récit historique pourrait lui accorder. Dans « Edward Hopper, Early Sunday Morning, 1939 », la prémonition se fait encore plus précise et menaçante, le poète interprétant une ombre qui traverse le tableau de part en part mais dont la source se trouve hors-cadre comme celle de la guerre imminente :
Beyond the frame immeasurably long another shadow falls from what
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 119
we cannot see to what we cannot see dawn before the War (BN, 44)
31 Cette fois, le poète articule une vision véritablement paranoïaque du sujet dans l’histoire, pris au piège dans l’obscurité de sa condition historique et incapable du recul nécessaire pour interpréter les signes annonciateurs de la guerre, qui ne peuvent être lus que rétrospectivement. Au fond, seul l’éloignement historique permet de déterminer a posteriori la position d’un instant donné, avant, pendant, ou après une guerre. Tous les exemples cités tendent à indiquer qu’à l’instant présent, la guerre existe toujours, mais hors champ.
32 C’est la même vision qui transparaît dans The State of the Prisons, dont les poèmes consacrés à des paysages, événements ou personnages non-irlandais effectuent une déconstruction de l’opposition entre guerre et paix particulièrement pertinente dans l’Irlande du Nord d’après 1998. L’apparente banalité des scènes de la vie quotidienne chinoise vues depuis les fenêtres d’un train prend des accents de violence et de désolation :
Blackness falls clean as a guillotine on the children in pairs by the trackside, and then again on the man and his son who will walk all afternoon into evening before they are home. We enter Sichuan without rupturing any visible line of division, though dinner at five is brimming with chillies: dried and diced and fried with the seeds inside, while the extraordinary Sichuan pepper balloons into flavour under our tongues. And all along darkness is gathering itself in. I see a boy and a woman lit up by the flare of a crop fire, but can no longer believe in them. (SP, 25).
33 Le monde de l’autre côté de la vitre est en guerre, mais les visions d’exode et d’incendie n’atteignent que de manière fugace la conscience de la narratrice, tout occupée à la richesse des sensations internes à son expérience. En ce sens, ce passage reprend la métaphore de Louis MacNeice dans « Snow 19 », qui regarde tomber la neige de l’autre côté de la vitre mais se satisfait du parfum des roses et de la mandarine à l’intérieur. Cet écho est sans doute conscient, les graines des piments répondant aux pépins de la mandarine de MacNeice. De plus, la neige est bien présente dans les paysages chinois, quoiqu’elle apparaisse dans une autre section de « China 20 ».
34 Si le monde est le spectacle d’une guerre, la tâche du poète consiste à le représenter sans relâche sur les écrans intérieurs de ses lecteurs, ou, dans les termes des terroristes de « Migraine », « There is a war, they said, somewhere off the map from where you are, /and we will bring it to you ». Le poème s’inspire de la prise d’otages dans le théâtre de Moscou le 23 octobre 2002 par un groupe d’une quarantaine de séparatistes tchétchènes. Les images de ce drame se télescopent et se reflètent dans la migraine de la narratrice.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 120
« Migraine » donne à la vision du monde comme représentation de la guerre son illustration la plus saisissante en renversant la perspective : la guerre n’est plus circonscrite à la scène de théâtre, c’est le théâtre tout entier, acteurs et spectateurs, qui est en guerre, et la distinction entre eux n’a plus lieu d’être. Même spectateur, chacun est acteur d’un spectacle de guerre de niveau supérieur dont il ne maîtrise pas les codes. La prise d’otages du théâtre de Moscou, en rendant cela visible, provoque l’ouverture d’un gouffre où les repères s’abîment :
The leader’s face went slack from the left side, as though his cheekbone cracked and slithered free of him, weeping gunshot. Then a tangle of darkness like a Rorschach blot where his expression had been, opening inward… (SP, 44)
35 Les événements politiquement et symboliquement marquants de l’histoire récente sont utilisés par Morrissey pour faire de la guerre la métaphore de la précarité existentielle, conséquence de l’incapacité de la conscience à se percevoir dans l’histoire. Ainsi l’effondrement des tours jumelles du 11 septembre 2001 dans « The Wound Man » ouvre-il une brèche dans la linéarité du temps historique qui permet à la narratrice de convoquer Federico García Lorca comme figure de l’impuissance humaine dans l’histoire :
[…] had you survived, Federico, say, Franco’s henchmen, or the war that was to open like a demon from his person, or the later war, and all the intervening years between that fall of faith and this, what would you think? […] we shiver on the brink of an ending, and a war stretches in front of us, we stand where you stood. (SP, 37)
36 Dans ce passage, la guerre en tant qu’événement historique structurant une histoire nationale s’efface peu à peu pour devenir l’expression de l’angoisse ressentie face au présent (« the brink // of an ending »), instant de basculement perpétuel vers un avenir par définition non connu, phénomène dont la conscience aiguë peut être vue comme caractéristique de la période dite « postmoderne 21 ». Les références à la guerre civile espagnole, puis à la seconde guerre mondiale, sont non seulement implicites, mais données uniquement à titre d’illustration (« say ») et finalement interchangeables (« or […]/or »). Fusillé dans les premiers jours de la guerre civile, quand toutes les issues au conflit étaient encore possibles et quand la conclusion était loin d’être en vue, Lorca devient dans « The Wound Man » le symbole d’une terreur née de l’ignorance d’un sujet victime de l’histoire, au sens où il est incapable d’envisager sa place dans le processus historique.
37 Ainsi, l’apparente absence de renouvellement de la poésie nord-irlandaise d’après 1998, le recyclage, voire le ressassement de figures imposées de l’écriture poétique des Troubles qu’on a pu mettre en évidence dans les deux recueils envisagés ici n’est-il pas le signe d’un aveuglement des poètes face aux réalités politiques. Morrissey et Carson ne cherchent pas tant à traiter de manière différente des thèmes aujourd’hui plus ou moins rebattus qu’à jeter un regard rétrospectif critique sur les Troubles, ce
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 121
qu’indiquent les clins d’œil de Carson dans Breaking News à sa poésie antérieure. Ce faisant, il met en doute la renaissance politique réelle que représentent les accords de Belfast, mais de manière plus cruciale, les deux poètes engagent une réflexion sur la signification réelle de la guerre, rendue nécessaire par la sortie de guerre.
38 L’arrêt officiel des hostilités amène la poésie à interroger le rôle de la guerre à la fois dans l’histoire et dans sa propre écriture. En effet, la guerre (ou la bataille) est la composante la plus marquante de l’ « histoire événementielle », qui suppose la linéarité du récit historique : l’événement est « ce qui, en survenant, fait avancer l’action, […] une variable de l’intrigue 22 ». La problématisation du concept de guerre dans la poésie met en doute la conviction que l’action avance, ou que l’histoire va quelque part. La fin des Troubles a pour conséquence de contraindre la poésie à effectuer une séparation – de plus en plus marquée à mesure que progresse la normalisation institutionnelle – entre la guerre comme péripétie et comme expression d’une angoisse existentielle, deux aspects qui se confondaient du temps du conflit. Après 1998, les deux pôles, bien que plus distants, continuent à interagir et la distinction est explorée par le biais de références aux guerres des deux siècles passés. Dans les interstices d’une guerre- spectacle, puis étape du schéma narratif d’un récit de cohésion nationale, la poésie fait transpirer une vision trans-historique de la guerre comme « reste » (ce qui n’a pas sa place dans le simulacre des récits nationaux), réel qui est à la fois son moteur et son objectif.
NOTES
1. « Once the peace process began, shortly between me finishing [Black Night at Big] Thunder Moutain and it coming out [in 1995], we got our ceasefires. At this stage, I started getting phone calls from journalists in England, asking me the third big question: what on earth are you going to write about now that the story has been taken away from you? », « Talks by Glenn Patterson, Anne Devlin and Colm Toíbín », in Brian Cliff and Éibhear Walshe (eds.), Representing the Troubles: Text and Images 1970-2000, Dublin, Four Courts Press, 2004, p. 15-18, p. 17. 2. 71 % des votants étaient en faveur des accords en Irlande du Nord, lors d’un scrutin qui a connu un taux de participation record de plus de 80 %. Au sud de la frontière, malgré un taux de participation plus faible (57 %), les accords ont été ratifiés par près de 95 % des votants. 3. « The making of modern poetry from, say, 1910 to 1920, evidently coincided with troubled times in Europe, Britain, Ireland. Wilfred Owen’s imaginative crash-course telescoped and epitomized other developments. » Edna Longley, Poetry and the Wars, Tarset, Bloodaxe, 1986, p. 9. 4. « Perhaps ‘war’, not ‘history’ or ‘politics’, covers the broadest imaginative contingencies; indicating that poetry engages – as poetry – on many battlegrounds. » Ibid., p. 10.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 122
5. Après avoir évoqué une « 23-year war in Northern Ireland », Neil Corcoran conclut l’introduction de The Chosen Ground en écrivant : « The chosen ground of the poet’s writing is always already the given ground of violence and realpolitik, a burial-ground. » Neil Corcoran (ed.), The Chosen Ground: Essays on the Contemporary Poetry of Northern Ireland, Bridgend, Seren Books, 1992, p. 11. 6. Voir Bruno Cabanes et Guillaume Piketty, « Sortir de la guerre : jalons pour une histoire en chantier », Histoire @ Politique. Politique, culture, société, 3, novembre- décembre 2007, p. 1-8. 7. Ibidem, p. 1-2. 8. La démobilisation culturelle se présente comme « la déprise de la violence dans les relations internationales comme au sein des sociétés belligérantes, la poussée de l’idéal pacifiste dans les représentations collectives. […] Au niveau des combattants, cette évolution des mentalités passe notamment par une lente réhabilitation de l’ennemi qui n’apparaît plus alors comme exclusivement le responsable, mais aussi comme une victime de la violence de la guerre. » Bruno Cabanes, La Victoire endeuillée : la sortie de guerre des soldats français (1918-1920), Paris, Seuil, 2004, p. 12. 9. « In all these years, don’t ask me what was in there: that would take/A bird’s eye view », « Box », The Irish for No, Loughcrew, Gallery Press, 1987, p. 43. 10. Dans le corps de l’article, on utilisera les titres abrégés BN et SP. 11. Glenn Patterson, Fat Lad, London, Minerva, 1993. 12. William Carlos Williams, Selected Poems, New York, New Directions, 1969, p. 78-84. 13. « [T]he surge of funerals and parades, swelling and accelerating, time-lapsed, sucked back into nothingness by the rewind button » (« Question Time », Belfast Confetti Belfast Confetti , p. 57-63, p. 58). 14. « Queen’s Gambit », Belfast Confetti, p. 33-40, p. 33. 15. « 33333 », The Irish for No, p. 39. 16. William Carlos Williams, The Collected Later Poems, New York, Random House, 1950, p. 3. 17. « Question Time », Belfast Confetti, p. 57-63. 18. Michael Longley, Collected Poems, London, Jonathan Cape, 2006, p. 192. 19. Louis MacNeice, Collected Poems, London, Faber, 1966, p. 30.w 20. Conjure the Yangtze and the Yellow River And bring them a matter of hours together On the same train line and both of them seen Through semi-darkness on a flickering screen Which is and is not a window. Blow Over the waters to buckle them. Add snow. (SP, 23) 21. « At present there may be an inclination to view ourselves as waiting at the end of an ideological phase », Sean O’Brien, The Deregulated Muse, Tarset, Bloodaxe, 1998, p. 9. 22. Paul Ricœur, La mémoire, l’histoire, l’oubli, Paris, Seuil, 2000, p. 313.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 123
RÉSUMÉS
Cet article se propose d’examiner deux exemples de la production poétique nord-irlandaise d’après 1998, et de déterminer en quoi leur écriture interroge les changements politiques intervenus depuis les accords du vendredi saint, et les enjeux de son propre renouvellement. Si les thèmes traités dans Breaking News et The State of the Prisons sont classiques de la littérature des Troubles, la réflexion mise en place sur le rôle de la guerre dans l’histoire et dans l’écriture poétique creuse les fondations d’une littérature de l’après-Troubles.
This paper offers a critical reading of two collections of poetry written after 1998. Its aim is to discuss how Breaking News and The State of the Prisons respond to the political changes inaugurated by the Good Friday Agreement, and their own need for literary renewal. Although the thematic concerns of these two collections still hard back to the Troubles era, their investigation of the role of war in both history and the writing of poetry lays the basis of a post-Troubles literature.
INDEX
Mots-clés : Carson Ciaran, poésie, Morrissey Sinéad, Irlande du Nord - conflit, Irlande du Nord - post-conflit Keywords : Carson Ciaran, poetry, Northern Ireland - conflict, Morrissey Sinéad, Northern Ireland - post-conflict
AUTEUR
CATHERINE CONAN Université de Brest
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 124
Links to Pagan Ritual in Medieval Irish Literature
David A. Hutchison
Introduction
1 This article uncovers links to pagan Irish rites which can be deduced from excerpts in the form of lists from medieval literature. There are three presented here: from Aidedh Ferghusa Maic Léti 1 (Death of Fergus Mac Leide, c. 1100 A.D.), from Buile Shuibhne 2 (Frenzy of Suibhne, 17th-century manuscripts 3), and from the Book of Leinster (Lebar na Núachongbála, 11th century 4). It is seen in all cases that, when list items are rendered in a language ancestral to Irish (henceforth termed Goidelic) and recited in order, poems result which describe pagan rituals. This Goidelic is reconstructed on the basis of Indo- European linguistics and well-known sound laws governing the evolution of the Irish tongue. It will be seen that the Goidelic language used herein has much the same grammatical structure evinced by early ogam inscriptions in Ireland and even by Gaulish itself. Furthermore, the prosody and scansion of these Goidelic poems match features seen in a Gaulish inscription datable to c. 0-300 A.D. discovered at Chamalières, France in 1971.
2 The Goidelic dialect of the poetry reconstructed below seems more archaic than the Irish ogam inscriptions of 300-600 A.D. and will be shown to date to the first two centuries of the Common Era 5. We will also notice some recurring features in the rites described therefrom: • The desired outcome of the rite is stated only in the vaguest terms, if at all. • Each poem constitutes a recitation addressed to the deity by a “witness” or “master of ceremonies” acting on behalf of other participants. Reciprocally, it is hoped that the godhead will observe the ceremony and grant the wishes of the celebrants. • Duality in the ritual is readily apparent; e.g., a sacred double fire, or rituals and declarations at two sites, etc.6. • Each poem emphasizes that the rite takes place at a sacred locale where the wishes of the performers ought not to be refused. Such locales may be boundaries between natural
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 125
elements; e.g., the crest of a hill (boundary between earth and sky), a beach or shoreline (boundary between earth and water), or a path between the two.
Inscription at Chamalières, France
3 In 1971, a Gaulish inscription was discovered on a tablet in a stream bed at Chamalières, near Clermont-Ferrand amongst other votive objects. The inscription ends with four lines of poetry, perhaps a chant or song. Descriptions and attempted decipherments of the tablet are many. The one used here follows [Henry, 1984] 7, who offers this translation and transliteration of the final four-line poem:
Gaulish (0-300 A.D.):
English translation:
• When [the god Maponos] had bound [the oath], what was small will become great. I straighten what is crooked. • In time to come8 I shall see it so happen through this [magical] song inscription. • I am preparing them for the oath (3 times). • Swear!
Reconstruction and Background:
4 The preamble (not shown here) to this Gaulish ritual poem mentions one Floros Nigrinos, who styles himself as adgarios (literally, “pleader”), a title which designates him as master of ceremonies (cf. O. Ir. gair-, “call”). The god Maponos is mentioned by name to whom Nigrinos acts as a witness (cf. line 2: Exops pissiiumi, literally, “In time to come I shall see…”) visualizing the desired outcome. Note that there is only the vaguest notion in the inscription of what that outcome might be, other than Meion, ponc sesit, buet-id ollon.
5 The Gaulish phrase ponc sesit, “once he [the god Maponos] has bound it”, contains the notion of binding an oath or constraining events to come through ritual. We note P. Henry’s final paragraph: … All of the cham [sic] is highly dynamic or performative, particularly [the poem lines], which visualize the desired effects taking shape in the future. At the very end the adgarios can he heard marshalling the oathmakers and exhorting them to swear in order to set the chain of desired events in motion.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 126
Scansion:
6 The first three lines of the poem show six accents per line, mainly on the penultimate syllable 9. The exception is the relative pronoun ison, which is followed by the object pronoun son. The latter acts as an enclitic and draws the accent to the syllable immediately preceding10. Hence the accentuation isón on the last syllable. We now can see that the final successive vowels in line 1’s cadence, namely e-u-a-i-o fan out to accented vowels in the second line:
Line 1: …Regu-c cambion.
Line 2: Exops pissiiumi isoc canti risu ison …
7 The first three lines show repeated vowel sequences:
Line 1: o-o-e: Meion ponc sesit … ollon. Regu-c
Line 2: i-i-u-i-o: … pissiiumi isoc …canti risu ison …
Line 3: u-e-e-u-i-i: Luge dessumiiis (3 times)
8 It is also seen that rhyming accented syllables in some feet in line 1 are matched by identical or similar syllables after the accent in the same feet in line 2:
Line 1, 1st, 2nd and 5th feet accent e: Meion … sesit … Regu-c
Line 2, 1st, 2nd and 5th feet lead to –xo/-so: Exops pissiiumi isoc … ison son
9 Likewise, the i-rhyme in line 2’s fourth and sixth feet is matched by the syllable –on after the main accent in the same feet in line 1:
Line 2, 4th and 6th feet accent i: …risu … bissiet
Line 1, 4th and 6th feet lead to –on: …ollon … cambion
10 One should also note that an ABBA vowel sequence at the start of line 1 (e-o-o-e: Meion ponc sesit…) is matched by a similar sequence at the close of the second line: (i-o-o-i: …ison son bissiet).
11 Thus we can see the following prosodic features in the poem: • Fixed number of accents or feet per line, except for a foreshortened final line. • Fanning out of successive cadence vowels in line 1 to accented syllables in the following line. • Repeating successive vowel sequences in each line.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 127
• Rhyming accented vowels in one line matched at the same feet by identical or similar syllables after the accent in another line. • ABBA vowel sequence at a certain position (i.e., number of feet from the start) in one line followed by a similar ABBA sequence at the opposite position (i.e., same number of feet from the end) of the next.
12 We shall see all of these in the Goidelic examples reconstructed below.
13 3. Iubdán’s Lay to Fer Dédh
14 In Ulster, Leprechaun King Iubdán spies Fer Dédh, the fire servant of King Fergus, heaving a log onto the fire bound round by woodbine. Iubdán implores him to spare that tree, and proceeds with this lay:
15 Middle Irish, c. 1100 A.D (1st six lines lettered for subsequent analysis).
a) A fhir fhadós teine sac Fergus na fled:
b) Ar muir ná ar tír sna loisc ríg na fed.
c) Airdrí feda Fáil sim nach gnáth sreth sluaig:
d) Ní fann in feidm ríog ssníom im gach crann cruaid.
e) Dá loisce in fid fann sbud mana gréch nglonn:
f) Ro sia gábad renn snó bádad trén tonn.
Ná loisc aball án sna ngéc faroll fæn:
Fid man gnáth bláth bán slám cháich na cenn chæm.
Deorad draigen dúr sfid nach loiscenn sær:
Gáirid elta én strén a chorp cid cæl.
Ná loisc sailig saír sfid deimin na nduan:
Beich na bláth ac deol smian cáich in cró cæm.
Cærthann fid na ndruad sloisc cæmchrann na gcær:
Sechain in fid fann sno loisc in call cæm.
Uinnsenn dorcha a dath sfid luaite na ndroch:
Echlasc lám lucht ech sa cruth ac cládh chath.
Crom feda déin dris sloisc féin in ngéir nglais:
Fennaid gerraid cois ssrengaid nech ar ais.
Bruth feda dair úr só nach gnáth nech seim:
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 128
Tinn cenn tís ó a dhúil stinn súil ó a ghrís ghéir.
Na fern urbadb fheda sin crann as teo i ngliaid:
Losc go derb do deoin sin fern is in sciaig.
Cuilenn loisc a úr scuilenn loisc a críon:
Gach crann ar bith becht scuilenn as dech díob.
Trom dana rúsc ruad scrann fírghona ar fíor:
Loisc co mbeith na gual seich na sluag a síod.
Cid na fharrad fæn sbéithe ba blad buan:
Loisc go deimin derb scainnle na mbalg mbuan.
Léig síos madat maith scrithach ruad na rith:
Loisc co mall co moch scrann ‘sa barr ar crith.
Sinnser feda fois sibar na fled fis:
Déna ris anois sdabcha donna dis.
Da derntá mo thoil sa Fhir Dédh dil:
Dot anam dot chorp sní bud olc a fhir.
16 The method by which we shall proceed is to list all the bolded Irish tree names in a table, render each in Goidelic and recite them in order. For example, the first two trees mentioned are the woodbine and apple, respectively féithlenn and aball in Irish. Goidelic reconstructions of these would be Weitis (w)*l*nas and abal(n)a (see the included Glossary), with bracketed consonants w and n possibly no longer pronounced, even at this early stage in the language. Running these words together approximates the first line of the Goidelic poem about to be reconstructed: Wete swela nassa b(w)alæn, “Observe the turns [of the fire drills] which may bind good fortune”. A more complete discussion appears subsequently.
Table 1. List from M. Ir. Poem, Translated to Goidelic
M. Ir. in Poem English Actual O. Ir. Goidelic
ríg na fed, woodbine féithlenn weitis (w)*l*nas a Airdrí feda Fáil
aball apple aball abal(n)a
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 129
draigen blackthorn draigen dragenas
sailig willow sail salihs
cærthann rowan cærthenn kairatinas
call hazel coll koslas
uinnsenn ash uinnius, uinnsiu osnis(t)iu
dris briar muin(e) moni / moniwian
dair oak daur darus
fern alder fern wernas
sciaig whitethorn scé squiat-
cuilenn holly cuilenn kolinas
trom elder trom trusmas
béithe birch béithe betwias
crithach aspen crithach, crithech krit*kas
ibar yew eo iwas
a. See Carl Marstrander, “Hibernica”, p. 410, shows Indo-Eur. examples of names for woodbine.
Goidelic Poem Concerning Waterside Ritual (scansion at right):
1. Wete swela snassa bwalæn11 /* /* /* /*
2. Trâg(e)i in æssei sau wliska ei raddei; /* /* /* /
3. (Y)an naskûs læssowous snis(t)ui monu * /* /** /* /
4. In torous wernæs sko(m)wii ad kouli; * /* /* /** /
5. (Y)an nastri (y)ouhsmi sadsfehtwiei ahsei * /* / /** /*
6. Qritou (y)akkias sseiw* ahsei. /* /** / /*
English Translation:
• Observe the turns [of the fire drills] which may bind good fortune • To/At the strand in the path from the bough around the offering: • I then bind at two lights12 to the promenade by the deed • Within two fire drills the posts as a way to the two woodpiles.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 130
• Then let the joinder [i.e., of the fire drills] be bound that there should appear on the axis • The shape of a balm 13 during the ritual activity at the marsh.
17 The above Goidelic ritual poem makes use of a clever pun: the word ahsei can mean both “on the axis 14” or “at the marsh”. Elision takes place (unbolded vowels) whenever a final open syllable collides with an initial vowel in a subsequent word. Exceptions occur (a) before nouns (but not connectives or conjunctions) beginning with possible initial y or its remnant; e.g., (y)ouhsmi, (b) after any word starting a declarative sentence 8, possibly after a connective such as (y)an, “then”15.
Reconstruction and Background:
18 It is seen that (a) féithlenn, “woodbine” appears as such only in the preamble before the lay, (b) two other list elements use synonyms: dris, “briar” replaced by O. Ir. muin(e), ibar, “yew” by eo.
19 Clearly the setting of the Goidelic poem is the water’s edge, or boundary between land and liquid. This boundary is deemed imbued with magical significance, within whose presence no request should be denied. The rites indicated include time-honoured offerings cast into a lake or bog. From ancient times and over many settings, the archaeology and documentation within Celtic realms has constantly borne this out. Examples include the votive offerings at Lake La Tène near Neuchâtel, Switzerland 16, Toulouse, Lynn Cerig Bach in Wales, Loch Beg and Loch na Séad in Ireland 17.
20 The remainder of the Goidelic poem deals with the “deed” within two fire drills, undoubtedly a human or animal sacrifice, and associates this repeatedly with various forms of the verb “bind”: nassa bwalæn, “that may bind good fortune”, naskûs læssowous, “I bind at the two lights [fires] …”, nastri (y)ouhsmi, “let the joinder [of the fire drills] be bound/constrained …”. The central idea is that the desires of whoever presides as master on behalf of his devotees must come to pass by virtue of the proper ritual having been performed at the sacred locale.
Comparison of M. Ir. and Goidelic Poems:
21 Some of the verse lines in M. Ir. prove apt for the associated lines in the Goidelic poem. For example, when Iubdán admonishes Ar muir ná ar tír, “Whether afloat or ashore …”, he foreshadows the upcoming introduction of line 2, Trâg(e)i, “to/at the strand”. The apple tree na ngéc faroll fæn, “of spreading and low-sweeping bough”, matches the Goidelic phrase in line 2: au wliska ei raddei, “bough around the offering”. Still within Goidelic line 2, the blackthorn is described as Deorad “wanderer”, suiting the word æssei, “in the path”. The M. Ir. lines concerning the willow end mian cáich in cró cæm “All love the little cage”. But cró could also mean “barn” or “enclosure”. Indeed, the above-mentioned au wliska ei raddei, “bough around the offering” constitutes a sacred enclosure demarcated from the real world prior to offering. Alder, deemed teo i ngliaid “hottest in the fight”, matches Goidelic line 4: wernæs ko(m)wii ad kouli, “posts …way to the two woodpiles” (for sacred fires). Finally, the birch tree covers the Goidelic phrase adsfehtwiei ahsei, “that there should appear [a flame as balm] on the axis”. The latter notion contains the essence of the Celtic fire rite, that the flames drive out witches and bad spirits and so improve the luck of the people. Consider this description of the Scots highland Beltane fire from John Ramsay, laird of Ochtertyre:
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 131
… This fire had the appearance of being immediately derived from heaven, and manifold were the virtues ascribed to it. They esteemed it a preservative against witchcraft, a sovereign remedy against malignant diseases, both in the human species and in cattle; and by it the strongest poisons were supposed to have their nature changed 18.”
Scansion:
22 Unaccented syllables at the front of any line should be considered as the end of the previous line. As such, it becomes apparent that line 2 reverses the scansion of line 1, line 4 that of line 3, and line 6 that of line 5, as shown in the numbered feet below:
Line 1: (1) /* (2) /* (3) /* (4) /* Line 2: (4) /* (3) /* (2) /* (1) /* 19
Line 3: (1) /* (2) /** (3) /* (4) /* Line 4: (4) /* (3) /* (2) /** (1) /*
Line 5: (1) /* (2) / (3) /** (4) /* Line 6: (4) /* (3) /** (2) / (1) /*
Rhyme:
23 Each couplet shows identical or nearly identical end rhyme:
Lines 1-2, a-a/æ: …bwalæn / …raddei / (Y)an …
Lines 3-4, o-i: …monu / In …kouli 20
Lines 5-6, a-ei: … ahsei / … ahsei
24 It is also seen that the final vowel sequence of any line fans out to successive accented vowels in the next one:
Lines 1-2, a/â-æ: …bwalæn: / Trâg(e)i in æssei …
Lines 2-3, a-a/æ: …raddei / (Y)an naskûs læssowous …
Lines 3-4, o-ui/ …monu / In torous wernæs … we:
Lines 4-5, a-ou- nastri (y)ouhsmi adsfehtwiei …ad kouli / (Y)an ia: …
…adsfehtwiei ahsei / Qr itou (y)akkias Lines 5-6, i-a-ei: seiw* …
25 Certain vowel sequences repeat throughout each line, at times through to the beginning of the next:
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 132
Line 1-2, a-a/æ-a/â: … swela nassa bwalæn / Trâg(e)i
Line 2, a-(e)i-a-ei 21: Trâg(e)i in æssei …wliska ei raddei
Line 3-4, o-ou/u-i: …læssowous nis(t)ui monu / In
Line 4, o/ou-i-a: …ko(m)wii ad kouli / (Y)an
Line 5-6, a-e/ei-i: …adsfehtwiei ahsei / Qritou
26 Finally, when certain feet in a line possess identical or similar syllables after the accent, another line in the poem sees those same feet accent the same vowels. Recall that k, t immediately after n or s are equivalent to g, d respectively.
Line 1, 2nd, 4th foot leads to -la/æn: …swela nassa … bwalæn
Line 6, 2nd, 4th foot accents a: …(y)akkias … ahsei
Line 2, 1st, 3rd foot leads to –g(e)i/-kei: …Trâg(e)i … wliska ei
Line 5, 1st, 3rd foot accents a: …nastri … adsfehtwiei
Line 3, 3rd, 4th foot leads to -ui: …nis(t)ui monu / In
Line 4, 3rd, 4th foot sequence o-i-a: …ko(m)wii ad kouli / (Y)an
27 In the entire discussion above, diphthong æ is seen to be everywhere equivalent to a, thus predating the Irish ogam inscriptions. Nevertheless, diphthongs au and ou are coming together: kouli, “two wood piles” instead of original *kauli. (See Glossary).
Scansion and Prosody in the Later Irish Poem:
28 In this section, we analyze the lettered line groups in the late M. Ir. poetry above in comparison with the corresponding numbered lines of the reconstructed Goidelic poem. Unlike other trees, six whole lines in Iubdán’s Lay are devoted to the woodbine. Upon inspection, we readily see that these lines have a structure mimicking that of the Goidelic poem in many ways. Note that when a “fifth” or “sixth” foot in a 4-foot Goidelic verse line is mentioned, this denotes the first or second foot in the subsequent line:
Line a, 3rd, 4th and 5th feet accent 22 e: …teine ac Fergus na fled
Line 1, 3rd, 4th and 5th feet accent a/â: …nassa bwalæn / Trâg(e)i
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 133
Line a, 2nd and 4th feet lead to –s: …fhadós …Fergus
Line 1, 2nd and 4th feet lead to –la/æn: …swela nassa bwalæn
Line b, 2nd and 4th feet accent í: …tír …ríg
Line 2, 2nd and 4th feet accent a/æ: …æssei …raddei
Line b, 1st and 4th feet lead to –na/á: Ar muir ná …ríg na
Line 2, 1st and 4th feet lead to –(e)i…n: Trâg(e)i in …raddei / (Y)an
Line d, 3rd and 4th feet accent ío: …ríog sníom
Line 4, 3rd and 4th feet accent o: …ko(m)wii ad kouli
Line e, 1st and 6th feet accent o: Dá loisc …nglonn
Line 5, 1st and 6th feet accent a: (Y)an nastri …/…(y)akkias
Line e, 3rd and 4th feet accent a: …fann bud mana
Line 5, 3rd and 4th feet accent a: …adsfehtwiei ahsei
Line e, 3rd and 6th feet lead to –nn: …fann …nglonn
Line 5, 3rd and 6th feet lead to –i…a…s: …adsfehtwiei ahsei /…(y)akkias
Line f, 2nd and 4th feet accent á: …gábad …bádad
Line 6, 2nd and 4th feet accent a: …(y)akkias …ahsei
Line f, 1st four accented vowels i-á-e-a: Ro sia gábad renn no bádad …
Line 6, accented vowels i-a-ei-a: Qritou (y)akkias seiw* ahsei
29 At times, the “lead to” sequence in the M. Ir. and Goidelic poems includes elements of a subsequent accented syllable:
Line c, 1st and 2nd feet lead to –f: Airdrí feda Fáil
Line 3, 1st and 2nd feet lead to –(o)us: (Y)an naskûs læssowous
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 134
Line c, 4th and 5th feet lead to –ths: …gnáth sreth sluaig
Line 3, 4th and 5th feet lead to –ui/we: …monu / In torous wernæs
Line d, 1st and 5th feet lead to –nn: …fann …crann
Line 4, 1st and 5th feet lead to –r…ou…s: In torous .../(Y)an nastri (y)ouhsmi
Line f, 2nd and 4th feet lead to ad: …gábad …bádad
Line 6, 2nd and 4th feet lead to sei: …(y)akkias seiw* ahsei
30 All of the above evidence shows that the structure of some form of the original Goidelic poem was borne in mind when the M. Ir. poem or its forerunner was constructed. It also proves that pagan prosodic features from the continent survived in Ireland until that time.
Recapitulation:
31 The above Goidelic poem describes a ritual performed at the water’s edge. Duality of sacrifice is maintained “at two (fire) lights”, “by the deed / Within two fire drills”). Repeated use of the verb “bind” (nassa, naskûs, nastri) portrays a hoped-for constraint on the future outcome which includes a successful kindling of the sacrificial pyre. Furthermore, the structure of the first six lines of the M. Ir. poem shows many features in common with the Goidelic verse.
Eulogy for the Natural Beauty of Glen Bolcáin
32 Suibhne praises the beauty of his surroundings at Glen Bolcáin in three stanzas. The Goidelic poem reconstructed therefrom deals with propitiatory rituals performed near a well.
Irish23:
a) Uisge Ghlinne Bolcáin báin, seisteacht re a énlaith iomláin,
b) A shrotha millsi nach mall, sa innsi ocus 24 a abhann.
c) A chuilenn cliuthar’s a choill, sa duille, a dreasa, a dercoinn,
d) A sméra áille uagha, sa chna, a áirne ionnúara,
e) Iomad a chúan fo chrannuibh, sbúiredhach a dham nallaidh,
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 135
f) A uisci iodhan gan gheis. sNí liom-sa robá miosgais.
33 Close attention must be paid in this instance to the declension of each bolded item in the above three stanzas, as these are reproduced in list from which the Goidelic poem is reconstructed.
Table 2. Item List from Poem25
From M. Ir. Poem English Actual O. Ir. Goidelic
uisge water uisceNS udeskia-NS
énlaithOP birds énaibhOP etnisuLP a
shrothaNP streams srothaNS srutowesNP
innsiNP islands insiNP enis(t)îsNP
abhannNP rivers abann, aibinnNP abonesNP
chuilennNS holly cuilennNS kolinasNS
choillNP hazels cuillNP kosliNP
duilleNP leaves duilneNP doliniaNP b
dreasaNP brambles drissiNP dre(h)s(t)îsNP
dercoinnNP acorns dercoinnNP derwuggonesNP
sméraNP berries sméraNP sme(y)erâsNP
chnaNP nuts cnoiNP knowesNP
áirneNP sloes áirneNP agriniaNP
chúanGP packs of hounds cuanGP kounanGP
damhGP stags damhGP damanGP
uisciNS water uisceNS udeskia-NS
a. Indo-Eur. locative plural for o-decl. is usually reconstructed as *–oisu (cf. Skt. vrkesu, “among wolves”). The unaccented diphthong oi becomes i in Celtic, e.g., i-suffix of o-decl. Hence the reconstructed –isu suffix.
b. Indo-Eur. nouns denoting diminutives or smaller portions of larger entities usually take the neuter gender; e.g., Germ. neuter nouns in –chen (e.g., das Mädchen, “maiden”). So suffix –inion (plural –inia) creates neuter nouns. Neuter plurals of these evolved the ending –ne in post-apocope Irish and came to be transferred to the ia-decl. with feminine gender; e.g., duil(n)e, áirne, etc.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 136
Goidelic Poem Concerning Well Ritual:
I. Recall that final vowels of the first non-conjunction word in any declarative sentence do not elide. As a result of –nk->-gg-, we likely have a pronunciation (Y)a’-ggwrinu…, approximating the first two syllables of list item agrinia. II. Goidelic change of unaccented –es->-is- may not yet have taken place.
English Translation:
• He has offered thorn(s) from the withe that would be cleansed from the first of the waters • From the path at/from the river of a complement of fish at the declarations of two feasts. • To the net may you bind for sure that which we may partake by the two ends [of the sacred path] which you watch; • Then I purchase, hard by the interval [between the two path “ends” of line 3.], a favour(?) from the folk in the bier of the waters.
Reconstruction and Background:
34 Ireland continues the ancient European custom of reverence for sacred wells, as described by Lady Wilde 26. Although these rites smack of bygone paganism, it is important to realize that their devotees perform them in Christ’s name in the most devout manner. In fact many of the Irish wells so used are consecrated to known saints: In the parish of Killady, county Cork, is St. Ita’s Well, where “rounds” are still paid. An oblong hole in the ground not far distant is called “St. Ita’s Bed”, where, if child- bearing women roll themselves, they will not suffer the pains of childbirth 27.
35 Yet the rites performed have antecedents which definitely predate Christianity. In the quid-pro-quo world of the ancient supernatural, the ritual must include an offering to placate the ambient deities. Pliny the Younger proves this notion’s antiquity with the following passage from Epistles: The spring emerges … and … opens out to the view with a broad expanse, clear and transparent, so that you are able to view and count the small coins thrown into it 28…
36 In place of coins, the Goidelic poem describes an offering of thorn(s) from an encompassing withe dressing a well likely alongside a stone monument perhaps referred to figuratively as “bier of the waters”. There are some additional clues as to the season of this ritual: “the first of the waters” (either the initial skimming of the well or of May dew at Beltane, both thought of as highly curative for a wide range of ailments). More insightful is the ending of line 2, declarations of two feasts. This is
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 137
reminiscent of the Scots Highland Beltane ritual whereby the bannoch bread is offered in two stages: in the first stage, bannoch pieces are presented to beneficial spirits, imploring them to protect and bestow good fortune; the second offering is to the harmful forces such as predatory animals (“This to thee, O Fox. Spare thou my lambs…”) 29. In Irish myth (Lebor Gabala Érenn 30), when the Milesians reach Ireland, their archdruid Amairgin recites two declarations of the bounty of Ireland: one when first reaching the Irish shore (“I am a wind on the sea, / I am a wave of the ocean…”) and the second after banishment by the Túatha Dé Danann into a storm beyond the ninth wave (“I seek the land of Ireland / Forceful the fruitful sea …”). As with the Highland bannoch offering, the appropriate occasion is Beltane31.
37 The poem above closes with a deliberate purchase of godly favour or unnamed wish at the extremities of the sacred path or interval (tisi, adga(y)ei). Such boons can only be granted at auspicious locales, in this case the two ends (er(s)aus) of this path trod by the participants. In the final line, the verb kon-awi- constitutes part of an exhortation for the deity to observe (cf. initial verb Wete in the previous section) the ritual and grant its desired outcome.
Scansion and Prosody:
38 As before, unaccented syllables at the start of any line are to be regarded as final syllables of the previous one. The metre after any cæsura either repeats what appears before it (line 1: /* /* /*, line 2: / /* /*, line 3: /* /** /*) or reverses it (line 4: /** /* /* followed by its inverse /* /* /**).
39 We can also see instances where rhyming feet in one line are matched elsewhere in the poem by another line whose feet culminate in or lead to identical or similar syllables:
Line 1, 2nd & 4th feet accent i: … squiæ(n/s) … nihstra …
Line 2, 2nd & 4th feet lead to –n*s: … abon eiskan lîni adsquous32 …
Line 3, 3rd & 4th feet accent e: … derw* … kon-(y)a- esmo …
Line 4, 3rd & 4th feet end in -*n: … won(d)*n dâma in …
Line 3, 3rd & 5th feet end in –kon: … derw* kon-… er(s)aus kon-…
Line 4, 3rd & 5th feet accent o/aw: … won(d)*n … awędd(*) …
40 The latter provides important evidence for dating the poem. It shows that the altering of diphthong au to ou has already taken place. Since this feature has been dated in Britain to the late first century A.D., it would seem that this is the earliest possible era for the composition of the stanza 33.
41 If we choose squiæs, “thorns” (favouring udeskias) over singular squiæn, then some additional correspondences appear in lines 1 and 2:
Line 1, 2nd & 5th syllable end in –æs w/-esu: … squiæs weiti … towes(t)u …
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 138
Line 2, 2nd & 5th syllable accent a: … abon(*) … adsquous …
42 As in the previous section and also at Chamalières, each line shows repeating vowel sequences:
Lines 1-2, e/ei-e/ie-i: …weiti nihstra … eni / Ehs tisi
Line 2, i/î-ia-o/ou: …tisi abon(*) lîni adsquous
Line 3, a-ei/e-e/ei-e: …adreihses derw* kon-(y)a-esmo ei er(s)aus
Line 4, a-a-ei/i: …adga(y)ei … dâma in
43 A vowel sequence at the start of the first line replicates itself as a sequence of accented vowels further on:
44 Line 1, initial vowel sequence ou-e-i-æ-ei-i:
Oude squiæ(-n/-s) weiti …
45 Lines 1-2, accented vowel sequence ow-e-i-a-ei-î:
… towes(t)u eni / Ehs tisi abon(*) eiskan lîni …
46 Finally, end rhyme is apparent between line 1 and 4 and between lines 2 and 3. However, as in the later 17th century Irish poem, unaccented syllables rhyme with accented ones and vice versa. In the case of line 1, the rhyme continues into the following line.
Lines 1-2, e-i-i-a: … eni / Ehs tisi abon(*) …
Line 4, e-i-i-a: … awędd(*) iskia(-n/-s).
47 We also obtain the following end rhyme between lines two to four:
Lines 2-3, ou-i-au-î-u: … adsquous wlidau / Lînui
Lines 3-4, aw-î-a-i-ù: … kon-(y)*-awîs / (Y)an qrinu …
48 The above match is possible if (a) au/aw has developed to ou and (b) unaccented a of conjunction (y)an (older *(y)on) is equivalent to o.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 139
Scansion and Prosody in the Later Irish Poem:
49 The later Irish excerpt above shows the matching of rhyming feet in a line with identical consonants or syllables after the accent in the same feet of the line before or after 34. There are indeed correspondences between the M. Ir. and Goidelic poems. Some examples here illustrate the process:
Line a, 2nd and 4th feet lead to -n: …Ghlinne …báin
Line b, 2nd and 4th feet accent i: …millsi …innsi
Line a, 1st and 5th feet lead to –s: Uisge …eisteacht
Line 1, 1st and 5th feet lead to –es: Oude squiæ(-s?/-n?) …towes(t)u
Line b, 1st and 5th feet accent o: …shrotha ...ocus
Line 2, 1st and 5th feet accent a: abon(*) …adsquous
Line c, 2nd and 5th feet lead to –sa: …cliuthar ‘sa …dreasa
Line d, 2nd and 5th feet accent ái: …áille …áirne
Line 4, 2nd and 5th feet accent a: …adga(y)ei …awędd(*)
Line c, 5th and 6th feet accent e: …dreasa, a dercoinn
Line d, 5th and 6th feet lead to –r: …áirne ionnúara
Line e, 4th and 6th feet lead to –dh: …búiredhach …n-allaidh
Line f, 4th and 6th feet accent io: ...liom-sa …miosgais
Line e, 3rd and 6th feet accent a: …chrannuibh …n-allaidh
Line f, 3rd and 6th feet lead to –s: …gheis …miosgais
Recapitulation:
50 The setting appears to be a well-side ritual, matching the death setting of Suibhne himself. However, there is further allusion to the season and links to spring rites. Also in evidence is a request to the godhead expressly perpetrated at betwixt-and-between locales; i.e., the land-water and water-sky boundaries. Once again we perceive duality in the ceremony (“declarations at two feasts”, “at two ends (of the sacred path)”).
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 140
Amairgin’s Lay at the Shore of Ireland
51 Amairgin Glúngel (White Knee), archdruid of the sons and tribe of Míl Espáne, retires his people beyond the ninth wave from Ireland, abiding by the judgment of Mac Cuill, Mac Cecht and Mac Gréne, the three kings of the Túatha Dé Danann. Unbeknownst to Míl’s people, the wizards of the Túatha raise a mighty tempest. It is only becalmed when Amairgin places his right foot upon the Irish shore and recites this lay (from Book of Leinster with similar variants from Lebor Gabala Érenn):
Irish35:
a) Am gæth i mmuir (ar domni)36. sAm tond trethan (i tír)37.
b) Am fúaimm mara. sAm dam secht nd[í]rend 38. sAm séig i n-aill.
c) Am dér gréne. sAm caín (lubæ)39. sAm torc ar gail.
d) Am hé i llind. sAm loch i mmaig. sAm brí a ndaí.
e) Am brí dánæ. sAm gæ40 i fodb feras fe[o]chtu.
f) Am dé delbas do chind codnu.
52 …
53 The above is an initial excerpt which proceeds in a more verbose manner through two more verses. However, by tabulating those nouns tagged in lines beginning Am (“I am”), we can derive the following Goidelic fragment.
Table 3. Item List from Poem 41
From Poem English Actual O. Ir. Goidelic
gæthNS wind gæthNS goitaNS
tondNS wave tondNS tundaNS
maraGS sea maraGS maro(y)osGS
damNS stag, ox damNS damasNS
séigNS hawk senénNS a senetnasNS
gréneGS sun gréneGS greisnisasGS b
lubæGP plant lubæGP lobianGP
torcNS boar torcNS t(w)orkasNS
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 141
héNS salmon éNS esahsNS
llindOS pool lindOS lindeiLS
lochNS lake lochNS or OS lokuNS, lokouLS
mmaigOS plain maigOS magisLS
bríNS height bríNS brîhsNS
dánæGP art dán(æ) GP dånanGP c
gæNS spear gæNS gaisanNS d
déNS god déNS deiwasNS
a. Noun séig (O. Ir. sebacc) is actually derived from Anglo-Saxon heafoc and cannot have a Goidelic antecedent. See Rudolf Thurneysen, “A Grammar of Old Irish” for an explanation of the replacement of the initial consonant of loanwords by s. The native Ir. word is senén, lit. “old bird”.
b. We find in this poem that unaccented –es- has already become –is-; e.g., ogam TOWISAKI (<*towestaki).
c. Originally neut. o-stem. See Glossary.
d. Originally neut. o-stem, cf., Lat gaesum. See Glossary.
Goidelic Poem Concerning Waterside and Beltane Ritual:
English Translation:
• A sea wave was surrounding the folk of storms on two sides: • [The side] of the gathering of two herbs of the sun; [and the side of] two piglets where [the god] shall seek upon the flagstone • Beyond two comely kine, the battle din from the track that the god shall find.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 142
Reconstruction and Background:
54 Once again, duality of sacrifice is readily apparent at the description of two distinct rites: the gathering of two sacred plants at the waterside likely for Beltane, and the animal offerings on land. In more recent Irish folk custom, the former usually took the form of rowan and marsh marigold. The latter rite again splits into two, or quadruple sacrifice: two piglets on one side and two cows (calves?) on the other. Note the use of the flagstone to denote the advent of a king or conquering deity 42 (in this case “King Summer” or his human representative).
Scansion and Prosody:
55 We continue the habit of counting unaccented syllables at the end of the line as part of the previous one. The cæsura either divides the line symmetrically (line 1: (1)* (2)/* (3)/* (4)/*, followed by (4)/* (3)/* (2)/* (1)*; line 2: (1)/** (2)/* (3)/*, followed by (3)/* (2)/* (1)/**) or into repeating metres (line 3: / /* /* twice). Taken as a whole, line 2 is seen to reverse the scansion of line 1:
Line 1: (1)* (2)/* (3)/* (4)/* (5)/* (6)/* (7)/**
Line 2: (7)/** (6)/* (5)/* (4)/* (3)/* (2)/* (1)*
56 We can also see instances where feet which rhyme accented vowels in one line are matched in the next by the same feet containing similar syllables after the accent:
Line 1, 1st and 5th feet accent i/î: Ko(m)-wita …sînan
Line 2, 1st and 5th feet lead to –sas/sâhs: Greisnisas …sisâhs
Line 2, 5th and 6th feet accent i: ...sisâhs sflind(e)i
Line 1, 5th and 6th feet lead to –na/-no: …sînan tenowous 43
57 It is also evident that vowel sequences (including elided ones) in the cadence of the first two lines repeat themselves in the subsequent line:
Lines 1-2, i/î-a-e-o-ou:
…sînan tenowous / …lobiau e(n)towou
Lines 2-3, â/a-i-ei/i-a/æ-a/æ -oi/ai:
…sisâhs sflind(e)i / Al(n)a koimou agis bristæn ængwa îhsæn …
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 143
58 Finally, ABBA vowel sequences appear in all lines. One should note that equivalences are allowed here; i.e., unaccented a and o, a and æ, etc.
Lines 1-2, last and 1st feet ABBA vowel sequences e-o-o-e, i-a44-o-i:
…tenowous / Greisnisas lobiau …
59 The last line also shows an ABBA vowel sequence at the second and third feet:
Line 3, a-i-i-æ: …agis bristæn…
Scansion and Prosody in the Later Irish Poem:
60 In this section, we analyze the lettered line groups in the late poetry shown above. When we do this, we see that patterns of construction and rhyme seen in the later Irish verse match similar constructs in the Goidelic poem at the same lines and feet. We include here the phrases ar domni (domun?), i tír present only in the Book of Leinster, and the word lubæ without which line c makes little sense. Here are some examples, with lettered lines from the later Irish excerpt, and numbered ones from Goidelic:
Line a, 1st and 5th feet accent (a)eth: …gæth …trethain
Line 1, 1st and 5th feet accent i/î: Ko(m)-wita …sînan
Line a, 3rd and 4th feet accent o: …domni …tond
Line 1, 3rd and 4th feet accent a/â: …maro(y)os …dâmæn
Line b, 1st and 5th feet lead to –m(m): …fúaimm …nd[í]rend. Am
Line 2, 1st and 5th feet lead to –sa(h)s: Greisnisas …sisâhs
Line b, 5th and 6th feet accent e/é: …ndrenn …séig
Line 2, 5th and 6th feet accent i: …sisâhs sflind(e)i
61 Certain additional rhyme patterns suggest that the original stanza after which the later Irish poem was fashioned was not the early form given above, but instead a later version datable to the end of the period of ogam inscriptions (5th century). For example, if we allow tunda, Greisnisas, lobiau, sflind(e)i to evolve into tunna, Grênnia, lobio, slinni respectively, the following additional matches are achieved:
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 144
Line a, 2nd and 6th feet lead to –r: …muir …tír
Line 1, 2nd and 6th feet lead to –na/-no: …tunna …tenowo(u)s
Line b, 1st, 2nd, 6th feet lead to –m: …fúaimm mara. Am ..n-aill / Am
Line 2, 1st, 2nd, 6th feet lead to –io/-ia: Grênnia lobio …slinni / Al(n)a
62 Rendering line c’s caín in its more archaic form cáin, we achieve a near rhyme with final word gail. A similar near rhyme between bristæn and deiwas (or their later equivalents) is found in Goidelic line 3:
Line c, 3rd, 6th feet accent –ái/ai: …cáin …gail
Line 3, 3rd, 6th feet accent (e)i: …bristæn …deiwas
63 All of the above analysis proves a persistence of ancient prosody into medieval times. In this case, however, it seems that a version of the above Goidelic poem lasted till the end of the pagan period, with all its subsequent vowel and consonant alterations. This later form served as a basis for the construction of Amairgin’s lay.
Recapitulation:
64 Once again, the Goidelic poem describes dual rites, including the gathering of two sacred herbs by the waterside, matched by two double animal offerings on land. As before, the deity is exhorted to observe (literally “seek” and “find”) the flagstone where ritual combat takes place, likely between “King Summer” and a winter scapegoat. Because unaccented –es- and –is- have become equivalent, the above poem likely postdates prior examples; e.g., late 2nd or 3 rd century, with at least one version surviving later.
Summary
65 We have seen how poetry preserved in medieval Irish manuscripts contains lists which, when rendered in a Goidelic dialect and recited in order, describe pagan rituals known or inferred from folklore or ancient sources. These rites are led by a master of ceremonies who intercedes on behalf of the celebrants, and it is he who recites the poetry reconstructed above.
66 This Goidelic dialect seems more archaic than any evidence from ogam inscriptions 45: • Sibilant clusters –sl-, -sm-, –sn- and perhaps –st-46 are preserved. • Consonant s never drops at the end of a word or between vowels. • Syllable *an before t or k has not yet developed into long ê. The evidence instead shows a vowel here reconstructed as æ which rhymes most often with other a-syllables. Likewise, older *-ans, *-âns becomes –æs.
Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 145
• Final syllable –an has not yet become –en. Instead, we reconstruct –æn, which tends, as above, to rhyme usually with other a-syllables. • Noun cases other than genitive are preserved. This includes distinct locative 47 (sing. –(e)i or –ou for u-decl., du. –aus, -ous, pl. –su), dative, ablative and possibly instrumental. By O. Ir., these are merged into a single oblique case.
67 On the other hand, there are these similarities with the ogam inscriptions: • Clusters –nk-, -nt- are already pronounced –gg-, -dd- respectively. • Unaccented short o and a are equivalent. • Diphthongs –au-, –ou- and vowel –o- rhyme with one another. This seems a step towards the levelling of all diphthongs, as found in ogam inscriptions. • On occasion, -ou- is found where more archaic –au- is expected. This feature is datable in Britain to the late 1st century A.D.48
68 The balance of the evidence suggests a date of second century A. D. for the reconstructed Goidelic poetry in this article. There would then be a close match in age with the famous map of Ireland given in Ptolemy’s Geographia 49. At least one tribe shows the typical ogam-style alteration o>a in unaccented syllables: USDIAE (Gk. F0 F0 F0 F0 F0 F0 F0 CF F5 F3 E4 E9 E1 E9 ). Similar final syllables also occur in the more northern tribe ROBOGDII, matching O. Ir. adjectival ending –aidhe, -dhae 69 We would be naïve to suppose that the sound laws and dialectal peculiarities described above apply universally over all Ireland in the second century. But we can be more specific concerning the locale. Aside from unaccented o>a noted in the tribe name USDIAE, we also note EDROS (Ir. Beann Éadair) showing –nt->-dd-. This would suggest a location of East Central Ireland for the focus of the ritual settings shown in this article. Recall that this is where Roman material has been unearthed dating to the first and second centuries A. D. Lambay Island is typical in this respect, showing a grave in British style with Roman artifacts. Perhaps we should regard the Roman goods as being borne to Ireland by British and continental Celts promulgating European ideas and bringing Irish ritual more in line with them. NOTES 1. Standish H. O’Grady, Silva Gadelica, T. P. Cross, C. H. Slover, Ancient Irish Tales, Caitlín & John Matthews, The Encyclopedia of Celtic Wisdom, p. 359-376. 2. Thomas P. Cross, Clark H. Slover, Ancient Irish Tales, J. G. O’Keefe, D. Nutt, Adventures of Suibhne Geilt, web site [http://www.ucc.ie/celt/published/G302018/]. 3. Three 17th to 18th century manuscripts: p. 82a-95b, paper manuscripts in the Royal Irish Academy: written between 1671 and 1674 by Daniel O’Duigenan; p. 131-180, paper manuscripts in the Royal Irish Academy: written in 1721-1722 by Tomaltach Mac Muirghiosa; Brussels 3410, folia 59a-61b, paper manuscripts is in the Royal Library, Brussels, written by Michael O’Clery, 1629. Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 146 4. Sources: Dublin, Trinity College Library, Manuscript 1339 (H 2.18, Book of Leinster) T. K. Abbott and E. J. Gwynn (eds.) Catalogue of Irish Manuscripts in the Library of Trinity College Dublin (Dublin 1921) 158-161; R. I. Best, Osborn Bergin, M. A. O’Brien and Anne O’Sullivan (eds.) The Book of Leinster, formerly Lebar na Núachongbála (6 volumes) (Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies 1954-1983). Digitized at [http://www.ucc.ir.celt/ published/G800011A/index.html]. 5. For reconstruction of Goidelic, consider the following articles and texts: Anders Ahlquist, “Relative Endings of the Old Irish Simple Verb”, Ériu, Vol. 36, p. 137-142, 1985; Warren Cowgill, “Origin of the Insular Celtic Conjunct and Absolute Vernal Inflexions”, Flexion und Wortbildung (ed. H. Rix), p. 40-70, Wiesbaden, 1975a; Warren Cowgill, “Two Further Notes on the Origin of the Insular Celtic Absolute and Conjunct Verb Endings”, Ériu, Vol. 26, p. 27-52, 1975b; Warren Cowgill, “On the Prehistory of the Celtic Passive and Deponent Inflexion”, Ériu, Vol. 34, p. 73-111, 1983; Warren Cowgill, “On the Origin of the Absolute and Conjunct Verbal Inflexions of Old Irish”, Grammatische Kategorien: Funktion und Geschichte (ed. N. Schlerath), Wiesbaden, 1985; Kenneth H. Jackson, Language and History in Early Britain, Edinburgh University Press, Edinburgh, 1953; Julius Pokorny, Indogermanisches Etymologisches Wörterbuch, Bern, 1949-59; Peter Schrijver, “The Development of Primitive Irish *aN before Voiced Stop”, Ériu, Vol. 42, p. 13-25, 1991; Rudolf Thurneysen, A Grammar of Old Irish, Dublin Institute for Advanced studies, Dublin, 1946; Joseph Vendryes, Lexique Étymologique de l’Irlandais Ancien, Dublin, 1959; Calvert Watkins, “On the Pre-History of the Celtic Verb Infliction”, Ériu, Vol. 26, p. 1-22, 1969. 6. Alwyn & Brinley Rees, Celtic Heritage, p. 162-163 for Roman and Indian Brahmin rites. Also cf., Amairgin’s two incantations to call forth the fertility of Ireland for the Milesians. 7. Patrick L. Henry, “The Gaulish Inscription of Chamalières”, Études Celtiques, Vol. 21, p. 141-150, 1984. 8. Literally, “Beyond sight” or “Beyond the eye”. Lat. ab oculo, a direct translation, becomes Fr. aveugle, “blind”. 9. In the Auvergne ( Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 147 18. Sir James G. Frazer, The Golden Bough, p. 618. 19. The final syllable of the last foot of lines 2 and 4 is actually the conjunction (y)an, “then” at the start of lines 3 and 5 respectively. Likewise the final syllable of line 3 is really the initial preposition in of line 4. 20. Elided vowels do not vanish. But they meld into any succeeding one, and therefore can take part in rhymes. 21. As at Chamalières, elided vowels may be included in the sequence. 22. Umlauting and consonant classes are ignored, so that; e.g., loisc shares an accented vowel with glonn. 23. Lines here given after each cæsura appear as separate lines in the manuscript. Line pairs are thus grouped together and lettered for the sake of subsequent analysis. 24. Appears as agus in the manuscript. Ocus is the older version, and provides the rhyme. 25. List members are superscripted to indicate case and number; e.g., NS = nominative singular, NP = nominative plural, OS = oblique singular, GP = genitive plural, LP = locative plural, etc. 26. Lady Wilde, Irish Mystic Charms and Superstitions, p. 69-71. 27. W. G. Wood-Martin, Traces of the Elder Faith in Ireland, p. 89. 28. Iona Opie, Moira Tatem, A Disctionary of Superstitions, p. 439. 29. Sir James G. Frazer, The Golden Bough, p. 619. 30. The modern spelling, Leabhar Gabhála Eireann, as opposed to Lebar or Lebor, etc., usually refers to more recent rescensions of the widely used manuscript. 31. Caitlín & John Matthews, Encyclopedia of Celtic Wisdom, p. 11-15. 32. It is permissible to extend as far as the accented syllable in the following foot, as in these two examples. 33. Cf. previous instances of kouli, supported by rhyme, in place of more archaic *kauli. 34. In O. Ir. poetry, final words in a line may avoid rhyme, but instead share an identical consonant after the accent; e.g., tír/ …lár. German analysts; e.g., Bergin, Thurneysen, etc. referred to this as Assonanz, or in English, assonant rhyme. 35. Lines here given after each cæsura appear as separate lines in the manuscript. Lines are thus grouped together into sections of at least six accented words or feet and lettered for the sake of subsequent analysis. 36. This phrase only in Book of Leinster. Perhaps should be read doman or domun? 37. Ibid. 38. The more common version of this word is either drenn or dreng. 39. In Lebor Gabala Érenn and most other versions, but not Book of Leinster. 40. In Book of Leinster as gai, but gæ elsewhere. 41. As above, case and number are indicated in superscripts; e.g., NS for nominative singular. 42. See Togbail Bruidne Dá Derga (Taking of Dá Derga’s Hostel), where two stones, Blocc and Bluiccne come apart to allow the chariot of the true king to pass. In like manner, the Symplegades or Cynæan Rocks permit Jason and the Argonauts to pass through the Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 148 Bosphorus. The renowned Lia Fáil at Tara provides an Irish exemplar, while the royal stone at Scone and the Dál Ríata coronation stone at Dunadd are two Scottish examples. 43. As seen previously, unaccented a and o are equivalent. 44. We have already seen how unaccented a and o are equivalent. 45. R. R. Brash, The Ogam-Inscribed Monuments of the Gaedhil in the British Isles. Note: Most ogam inscriptions occur in southwest Ireland and are datable from 300-600 A.D. 46. Consider the town of Cashel (Ir. Caiseal) derived from Lat. castellum, “small fort”. This toponym shows that the first two syllables of the Latin word were borrowed as is and later subjected to the well-known Ir. sound law –st->-ss-,-s-. The earliest Roman objects discovered in or near Ireland, at Drumanagh, Lambay Island and Tipperary date to the first and second centuries A. D. For Roman material in Ireland, please consult the following texts: Nick Constable, Karen Farrington, Ireland, p. 54; Peter Harbison, Pre- Christian Ireland, p. 180-182. 47. Compare Gaul. in Alixie, “in Alesia”, Celtiberian loc. sing. article somei distinct from dat. sing. somui. Possible i-decl. loc. sing. –i seen in Gaul. phrase Pape boudi, “in each victory”. For du. cf., Skt. –yôh F0 50. Cf. Gk. adjectival suffix 2D –οιδLs, –οιδ] ABSTRACTS This article uncovers links to pagan Irish rites which can be deduced from excerpts in the form of lists from medieval literature. There are three presented here: from Aidedh Ferghusa Maic Léti (Death of Fergus Mac Leide, c. 1100 A.D.), from Buile Shuibhne (Frenzy of Suibhne, 17th century manuscrits), and from the Book of Leinster (Lebar na Núachongbála, 11th century). It is seen in all cases that, when list items are rendered in a language ancestral to Irish (henceforth termed Goidelic) and recited in order, poems result which describe pagan rituals. This Goidelic is Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 149 reconstructed on the basis of Indo-European linguistics and well-known sound laws governing the evolution of the Irish tongue. It will be seen that the Goidelic language used herein has much the same grammatical structure demonstrated by early ogam inscriptions in Ireland and even by Gaulish itself. Furthermore, the prosody and scansion of these Goidelic poems match features seen in a Gaulish inscription datable to c. 0-300 A.D. discovered at Chamalières, France in 1971. We will also notice some recurring features in these poems: (a) The desired outcome is stated only in the vaguest terms, if at all. (b) Each poem constitutes a recitation addressed to the god or goddess by a “witness” or “master of ceremonies” acting on behalf of other participants. (c) Duality in the ritual is readily apparent; e.g., a sacred double fire, or rites and recitations at two sites, etc. (d) A sacred locale is emphasized before the deity where the wishes of the performers ought not to be refused. Cet article révèle des liens avec des rites païens irlandais qui peuvent être déduits de la lecture de fragments de littérature médiévale présentés sous forme de listes. Trois sont présentés ici : Aidedh Ferghusa Maic Léti (La mort de Fergus Mac Leide, vers 1100 après J.-C.), Buile Shuibhne (La Folie de Suibhne, manuscripts du xviie siècle), et du Livre de Leinster (Lebar na Núachongbála, xie siècle). Dans chaque cas, on s’aperçoit que lorsque les éléments de la liste sont traduits dans une langue plus ancienne que l’Irlandais (que l’on nommera le Goidelic) et récités dans l’ordre, on découvre des poèmes décrivant des rites païens. Le Goidelic est reconsitué sur la base de la linguistique de l’Indo-européen et de lois phonétiques bien connues sous-tendant l’évolution de la langue irlandaise. On verra que la langue Goidelic utilisée ici a une structure très comparable à celle dévoilée par les premières inscriptions ogam et même par le Gaulois. De plus, la prosodie et la scansion de ces poèmes goidelic ont des traits communs avec ceux repérés dans une inscription gauloise datée de 0-300 après J.-C. et découverte à Chamalières en 1971. Nous remarquerons aussi quelques traits récurrents dans ces poèmes : (a) Le but désiré n’est révélé qu’en termes très vagues, ou pas du tout. (b) chaque poème constitue une récitation adressée à un dieu ou une déesse par un “témoin” agissant au nom d’autres participants. (c) Une dualité du rituel est très apparente : c’est-à-dire, un double feu sacré, ou une recitation dans deux sites, etc. (d) Un lieu sacré est mis en évidence devant la divinité, où les vœux des pratiquants ne devraient pas être refusés. INDEX Keywords: tales and legends, linguistics, Middle-Ages, poetry, poetry - prosody, languages in Ireland - Goidelic, paganism Mots-clés: contes et légendes, poésie - prosodie, Moyen-Age, paganisme, langues en Irlande - Goidelic, poésie Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 150 Comptes rendus de lecture Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 151 Plays and Controversies. Theatre and Globalization. Interactions: Dublin Theatre Festival 1957-2007 Modern Irish Theatre Martine Pelletier RÉFÉRENCE Ben Barnes, Plays and Controversies. Abbey Theatre Diaries 2000-2005, Dublin, Carysfort Press, 2008, 459 p., ISBN 978-1-904505-38-4 Patrick Lonergan, Theatre and Globalization. Irish Drama in the Celtic Tiger Era, Basingstoke, Palgrave MacMillan, 2008, 248 p., ISBN 978-0-230-21428-6, €55.00 Nicholas Grene & Patrick Lonergan, with Lilian Chambers (eds), Interactions: Dublin Theatre Festival 1957-2007, Dublin, Carysfort Press, 388 p., ISBN 978-1-904505-36-5, €25.00 Mary Trotter, Modern Irish Theatre, Cambridge & Malden, Polity Press, 2008, 233 p., ISBN 978-0-7456-3343-5, £15.99 1 Ben Barnes a été directeur artistique de l’Abbey Theatre de 2000 à 2005, succédant à Patrick Mason qui occupait ce poste depuis 1994, et cédant la place à Fiach MacConghail courant 2005. Le poste de directeur artistique d’une institution nationale aussi éminente et emblématique que l’Abbey est, on s’en doute, un travail à temps plein et une mission qui peut s’avérer ingrate. Dans le journal tenu de 2000 à 2004 publié ici par Carysfort Press, Barnes raconte le quotidien de ses activités : le travail de programmation et en particulier le développement de collaborations à l’international, le travail de mise en scène et les relations parfois houleuses avec acteurs et auteurs, les projets de réforme de l’Abbey, incluant la rénovation des structures de direction et le projet de déménagement ou d’extension du théâtre. 2 Le titre même, Plays and Controversies, manifeste clairement les difficultés qui caractérisèrent son mandat. Sous la plume alerte et souvent un rien encline à Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 152 l’autosatisfaction ou à l’apitoiement sur soi-même de Barnes, on prend mieux la mesure de l’éventail très (trop) large des missions de ce théâtre et de l’insuffisance des financements publics en regard des attentes. Si les dix-huit premiers mois de ce journal sont dominés par le dossier immobilier et le projet de nouveau bâtiment pour l’Abbey, aboutissant pour des raisons complexes mêlant le politique et le médiatique, à l’échec du projet d’implantation sur le site de Grand Canal Harbour, Barnes nous permet ensuite de vivre le centenaire de l’Abbey de l’intérieur avec force détail sur la programmation de Abbeyonehundred et les nouvelles controverses entourant cet événement. Une partie du programme dut être annulée du fait de spectateurs moins nombreux que prévus et de sponsors privés dont la générosité n’atteignit pas le niveau espéré. Le conseil d’administration décida peu judicieusement, pendant un déplacement à l’étranger de Barnes, d’annoncer des licenciements forçant le directeur artistique à revenir précipitamment défendre son poste en pleine tourmente. Barnes écrit avec franchise et le parti pris revendiqué de ne pas modifier ce qui avait été écrit à la lumière des événements ultérieurs, mais d’interpoler des commentaires rétrospectifs, permet de garder l’élan de l’écriture et de la pensée originale, amertume, colère et enthousiasme compris et non tempérés… Parmi les atouts de ce témoignage qui séduira nécessairement les spécialistes de politique culturelle et d’histoire du théâtre irlandais figurent les pages consacrées par Barnes à ses mises en scène pour l’Abbey ou au Canada, qui jettent une intéressante lumière sur son processus de création, son rapport au texte, aux productions antérieures et aux équipes artistiques avec qui il travaille en étroite collaboration. 3 Comme on pouvait s’en douter, certaines des controverses présentées de première main par Ben Barnes apparaissent dans l’excellent ouvrage de Patrick Lonergan sur la mondialisation et son impact sur le théâtre irlandais contemporain. Le prolifique Lonergan cherche, à travers son étude novatrice, à comprendre comment la mondialisation affecte les « industries créatives » et en particulier le théâtre irlandais, jetant par là un nouvel éclairage sur les contraintes multiples et parfois contradictoires qui émergent du témoignage de Ben Barnes. L’objectif est clairement exprimé : « To analyse and clarify the relationship between social change arising from globalization, and the different modes of theatre production that have emerged as a result of those changes. » L’ouvrage est structuré en quatre parties, « Globalization and Theatre: Definitions and Contexts » ; «Globalization and National Theatres » ; « Globalization and Cultural Exchanges » et enfin « Imagining Globalization ». Les différentes étapes du raisonnement sont appuyées sur la lecture de productions, auteurs ou textes importants des années 1990 à 2005, en particulier Stones in his Pockets de Marie Jones, Dancing at Lughnasa et The Home Place de Brian Friel, The Plough and the Stars dans deux productions, 1991 et 2002, The Shaughran de Boucicault dans la production de 2004, Angels in America de Tony Kushner, le théâtre de Martin McDonagh ou encore The Sugar Wife de Liz Kuti. Lonergan analyse comment, dans un monde où la culture est de plus en plus fréquemment soumise aux même impératifs de profit que les autres activités économiques, la mobilité et les circuits internationaux, les évolutions dans les styles de management et le rapport à la culture ont un impact fort sur la création artistique et la réception des œuvres et productions. Au fil de ses différents chapitres, Lonergan parvient à aborder nombre des auteurs majeurs par le biais de sa problématique. Ainsi le succès phénoménal et mondial de Martin McDonagh est analysé en terme du mélange caractéristique d’éléments de culture élitiste et populaire, générant une adhésion qui transcende les frontières nationales, permettant la mobilité totale de Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 153 l’œuvre, caractéristique première de la mondialisation : « The social “core’ of a globalized society is defined by mobility, the periphery by stasis. » D’où la mobilité croissante des productions et le succès du « celebrity casting » ou de la représentation théâtrale comme « événement » ou « expérience ». Lonergan propose également de lier la résurgence et le succès de la forme monologique à la compression chronologique qu’elle suppose (en lien direct avec la mobilité accélérée et la compression temps/espace associée à la mondialisation) ainsi qu’à la montée de l’individualisme. The Sugar Wife de Liz Kuti paraît apporter « an ethical response to globalization », amenant le public à comprendre que si la mondialisation est un phénomène qu’il semble difficile et sans doute peu souhaitable de bloquer, il nous reste la capacité de déterminer à quels usages nous souhaitons l’employer, en tant que spectateurs et créateurs mais aussi en tant qu’individus et citoyens. Les œuvres et l’activité théâtrales peuvent exploiter les nouveaux circuits, les attitudes générées par la mondialisation, ou orchestrer une critique de ce phénomène. C’est à ce titre que Lonergan salue la production controversée de The Plough and the Stars par Gary Hynes à l’Abbey en 1991 avec son accent mis sur la pauvreté des personnages et le rapport à la violence au Nord, tandis qu’il juge la production de cette même pièce par Barnes toujours à l’Abbey en 2002 plus neutre, moins soucieuse d’interroger les évolutions de la société irlandaise contemporaine. Le livre démontre avec brio la nécessité de faire évoluer le discours critique lui-même, quitte à s’éloigner du modèle post-colonial qui domine les études irlandaises depuis plusieurs décennies, afin de prendre en compte la mondialisation et de permettre au critique de médier entre les publics de théâtre locaux et les productions théâtrales mondialisées. La mondialisation et la commercialisation peuvent nous paraître fort éloignés des paradigmes critiques traditionnels mais Lonergan démontre avec brio et un zèle certain qu’ils offrent des modèles explicatifs dérangeants mais parfaitement adaptés à la période actuelle. 4 Interactions: Dublin Theatre Festival 1957-2007, fruit du quatrième colloque organisé par l’équipe de l’Irish Theatrical Diaspora project à Dublin en 2007, adopte une perspective plus longue, survolant les près de cinquante éditions du Festival de Théâtre de Dublin (DTF) et en analysant les débuts, les moments forts, les évolutions récentes. Le volume publié par Carysfort Press est structuré en deux volets. Le premier rassemble des articles sur divers aspects des cinquante ans du festival, s’ouvrant sur la lecture très personnelle et passionnante que fait Thomas Kilroy du festival et de son influence sur son propre développement en tant que dramaturge et se refermant sur l’analyse originale de Fintan O’Toole quant aux contradictions entre les objectifs affichés du Festival et son évolution vers une manifestation capable de remettre en cause le status quo politique, faisant écho à la thèse de Patrick Lonergan. Les divers contributeurs abordent de multiples aspects de l’histoire du DTF comme par exemple la controverse autour de The Rose Tatoo et des questions de sexualité ou de rapport au religieux normatif en général, l’impact du festival sur la programmation des théâtres et des compagnies indépendantes, certaines productions phares venues de l’étranger (Russie, Australie), la contribution des metteurs en scène et celle de Patrick Mason en particulier, la floraison de « sous-festivals », la place du théâtre en langue irlandaise. Les articles dans leur diversité explorent la tension entre l’objectif initial, promouvoir la culture irlandaise tout en en retirant certains gains économiques, et l’impact sur la production théâtrale irlandaise de l’ouverture à l’étranger caractéristique de ces périodes festivalières, par l’accueil de troupes, visions et valeurs venues d’ailleurs et susceptibles d’influencer les créations « autochtones » en profondeur. La seconde Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 154 partie de l’ouvrage est une ressource extrêmement précieuse, élaborée avec un parti pris documentaire : donner la liste complète des pièces produites chaque année dans le cadre du Dublin Theatre Festival avec un essai introductif rédigé sous forme de témoignage par des responsables ou acteurs du DTF aux quatre périodes clé : 1957-1970 ; 1971-1985 ; 1986-1994 et enfin 1995-2008. Après les volumes Irish Theatre on Tour et Irish Theatre in England eux aussi parus chez Carysfort Press, et Théâtres de France et d’Irlande : Influences et Interactions numéro spécial d’Etudes Irlandaises, Interactions: Dublin Theatre Festival 1957-2007 est une nouvelle contribution de premier plan à l’histoire et à la critique du théâtre en Irlande. 5 Il revient à Mary Trotter de prendre un recul plus important encore dans son excellente étude du théâtre irlandais, de 1891 à 2007. La perspective adoptée est celle d’une histoire culturelle, associant les évolutions historiques, sociales et politiques de la société irlandaise et le développement de formes théâtrales capables de les exprimer, les analyser et les mettre en cause ou en crise : «This book traces the history of Irish drama over the long twentieth century as a communal and community-building art form », l’accent étant délibérément placé sur le rôle joué par le théâtre d’un point de vue institutionnel plutôt que sur des lectures plus littéraires de textes canoniques ou moins connus. Les quatre grands chapitres, organisés chronologiquement, font alterner des éléments sur le contexte historique, sur l’histoire théâtrale et des analyses plus poussées de certaines pièces identifiées comme pertinentes ou représentatives. Ainsi la première partie (« Performing the Nation, 1891-1916 ») met l’accent sur la place prise par le théâtre dans l’activisme nationaliste et la lutte pour l’indépendance : « A national tradition of great playwriting and acting became a nationalist dramatic movement. » La seconde partie s’attache à l’institutionnalisation de l’Abbey Theatre pendant la période 1916-1948 dans le cadre de la création de l’État Libre d’Irlande et aux tensions inévitables entre les objectifs initiaux de l’Abbey, artistiques et critiques, et le rôle que le nouvel état entendait voir jouer par cette institution. La troisième partie, « Rewriting tradition, 1948-1980 » montre un théâtre irlandais qui continue d’être « a laboratory for investigating cultural crisis and imagining new solutions » tant face aux évolutions de la République que face aux troubles d’irlande du Nord. « Re-imagining Ireland, 1980-2007 » clôt l’étude en adoptant une approche thématique face au foisonnement de cette troisième vague de création théâtrale largement caractérisée par une révision, une réécriture critique ou parodique de formes anciennes par le biais de formes dramaturgiques plus rugueuses, moins conventionnelles, et l’émergence de préoccupations nouvelles à l’ère du Tigre celte, nous ramenant aux considérations de Lonergan sur le nouvel environnement économique, social politique et culturel qui est celui de l’Irlande de ces vingt dernières années. Les auteurs incontournables sont bien présents (Walsh, O’Rowe, McPherson, Bolger, Carr, McDonagh…) et les analyses demeurent d’une grande clarté et qualité malgré une concision parfois extrême, imposée par format de l’ouvrage et la densité du sujet. 6 Tout au long de son livre, Mary Trotter se montre particulièrement attentive aux femmes dramaturges et au rôle qu’elles ont joué et qui fut parfois négligé ou sous- évalué ; on appréciera en particulier que la place accordée à Field Day et à Charabanc soit globalement comparable, ce qui est rarement le cas dans d’autres ouvrages. Le parti pris culturel plus que littéraire ou théâtral (en termes d’analyses de la représentation par exemple), entraîne le refus de privilégier certains textes ou auteurs en leur octroyant un espace nettement plus important ; Mary Trotter préfère brosser un tableau raisonné le plus exhaustif possible et renvoyer le lecteur à la critique Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 155 existante pour poursuivre sa découverte de dramaturges, textes ou compagnies. Les bons ouvrages retraçant l’histoire du théâtre irlandais ne manquent pas (Morash, Murray, Grene, Pilkington, Roche avec une seconde édition remise à jour qui vient de paraître…) mais le livre de Mary Trotter, même si il n’offre pas de perspectives véritablement innovantes, trouvera sa place au sein des études existantes de par la qualité de son écriture, sa clarté, sa cohérence, son attention au développement des compagnies et troupes théâtrales dans un environnement socio-économique et politique spécifique, son souci de replacer les textes identifiés comme importants dans un ensemble solidement structuré et finement analysé. 7 À leurs diverses manières, en usant de genres et styles fort différents et provenant de perspectives critiques et artistiques variées, les quatre ouvrages soulignent les défis lancés au théâtre irlandais, y compris par la mondialisation, un peu plus de cent ans après la fondation de l’emblématique théâtre national de l’Abbaye, sans négliger les atouts dont les créateurs disposent pour y faire face. Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 156 A Little Book of Hours Jessica Stephens RÉFÉRENCE John F. Deane, A Little Book of Hours, Manchester, Carcanet Press, 2009 1 La prière : « a new heart create in me O Lord/That the bones which you have broken may/A while, rejoice » (24) Dans The Book of Hours, le poète, John F. Deane, égrène prières et méditations. Parfois il pose son regard sur des détails – un papillon immobile au soleil (18), le reflet de la lumière, grise et verte, dans un port (23), l’églantier qui se drape de rose (43)… – et il est alors en prise directe avec l’énergie (l’Esprit ?) qui anime la Création. Parfois le poète pratique sa propre exégèse : il s’approprie des personnages de l’Ancien et du Nouveau Testament – Saul, David, Bethsabée, Ruth, Myriam, Marie… – et tisse sa trame poétique autour d’eux. Parfois récit biblique et récit personnel alternent, se mêlent et se complètent. La parole liturgique s’élève et résonne dans le choix des mots, la cadence et même les structures syntaxiques (« mercy on us, forgiveness and space in which to turn » 33) de ces vers qui se prêtent à la psalmodie. 2 La régénération : « Times I feel/My very bones become so light » (73) Tout au long du recueil, le poète oscille entre la pesanteur et la grâce : le corps, matière lourde et pesante, peut être régénéré et se faire aérien et léger ; l’incarnation, le péché, l’aimée perdue font place à un amour reconnu et retrouvé, le Verbe qui donne vie et forme à l’écriture, l’amour, encore, qui rend réel. The Book of Hours dit ou plutôt réinterprète la communion avec le divin, lorsque celui-ci bouleverse, transforme et convertit le vieil homme en un homme nouveau. 3 L’origine : « to find the source » (40) Tout comme sur une carte ancienne, le poète inscrit ses propre “stations” (« Mappa Mundi » 41-42) sur les pages de son livre des heures. Il chemine vers l’origine. Et l’origine est à chercher dans les embruns qui balayent Achill Island, l’île où le poète est né, mais aussi dans les gouttes de pluie qui vivifient les os secs du corps ; c’est le père qui sort, nu, des eaux froides de l’Atlantique mais également la mère, la beauté et le Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 157 désir, la naissance du poète, la résurrection. Et c’est sur un désir de régénération que le poète clôt son recueil, en formulant un souhait… Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 158 Points West Catching the Light Clíona Ní Ríordáin REFERENCES Gerald Dawe, Points West, Oldcastle: The Gallery Press, 2008, ISBN 978-1-85235-446-6. Gerald Dawe, Catching the Light: Views and Interviews, Cliffs of Moher, Salmon Poetry, 2008, ISBN 978-1-903392-90-4. 1 Critics are often fascinated by the relationship between a poet’s poetic oeuvre and their prose writings. The publication, by Salmon Poetry, of a book of essays and interviews by Gerald Dawe alongside his latest poetry collection, issued by Gallery Press, allows one to verify the connections yet again. Gerald Dawe’s prose writings are preceded by a quotation taken from WG Sebald’s Austerlitz: “There is something illusionistic and illusory about the relationship of time and space as we experience it in travelling which is why whenever we come home from elsewhere we never feel quite sure if we have been really abroad’. Dawe’s essays and interviews guide us through space and time. We journey through his childhood home in North Belfast, eavesdropping on the rhythms of his grandmother’s soirées; we see the poète-en-devenir surrounded by the Penguins and anthologies that she used for elocution lessons. We become acquainted with Dawe’s musical heroes (Van Morrisson looms large) and he explains how “Ireland’ initially represented traditional music for him and not “the poetry of any Group’ (19). The volume also usefully reproduces interviews with Dawe that have been published elsewhere .The autobiographical essays and interviews are accompanied by a number of essays on poet avatars, Sassoon, Kerouac, Michael Hartnett. Overall the sense of life as a journey and the primacy of travel, both physical and intellectual, emerge as key preoccupations. 2 It is no surprise then when we check to see “how the poetry’s going’ that the same concerns swim up to meet us. “Points West’, the title poem of the collection, has a quotation from Patrick Leigh Fermor as an epigraph (11), and the Peloponnese landscape serves as background for some of the poems. We travel near and far in the collection, to unnamed islands and the banks of the Moy. However both home and Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 159 elsewhere are rendered strange in these poems. The most mundane of domestic objects become unheimlich, from the line “My trousers draped over the bed/look very different this morning’ in the poem “Day in the Life’, to the meditation on the other kind of life that “takes over’ (24) in the rooms “left behind’ in the poem “The Pleasure Boats’. There is a daydreaming/nightmarish quality to many of the poems in this technically accomplished collection. The poet refuses to be anchored in the mundane and urges us as “Fellow travellers’ (46/7) to experience the phenomenon of the “disconnect’ where we fall “down a steep chasm,/between here and now” (48). Gerald Dawe, both in his poetry and prose, leads us ailleurs to unexpected places and, as readers, we are happy to follow him. Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 160 The Poems of James Stephens Claude Fierobe RÉFÉRENCE The Poems of James Stephens, collected and edited by Shirley Stevens Mulligan, with an introduction by A. Norman Jeffares, Gerrards Cross, Colin Smythe, 2006, XLII + 343 p., ISBN 10 : 0-86140-333-9 1 Ce livre rassemble tous les poèmes, y compris donc ceux que Stephens avait omis ou écartés pour la publication des Collected Poems (1954). Le travail de l’éditeur est remarquable et fournit donc un excellent outil de travail : ordre chronologique par recueil et version révisée des poèmes, conformes aux souhaits de l’auteur ; préface rédigée par Stephens avant sa mort en 1950 ; indication en note des textes exclus en 1954 ; ajout d’une rubrique « Additional poems » ; absence salutaire de commentaires (« I have not glossed any poems, because I feel that Stephen’s poetry is readily accessible to the thoughtful reader ») ; liste des Collected Poems de 1954 ; index des titres ; index des premiers vers. On découvre ainsi une pensée et une manière qui sont bien analysées par A. Norman Jeffares, certes mouvantes toutes deux, mais fidèles aux préoccupations majeures d’un esprit singulièrement lucide. Insurrections (1909) traduit la révolte de la jeunesse contre l’injustice et la pauvreté ; The Hill of Vision (1912), dans l’ombre de Blake, interroge le rapport de l’homme à Dieu ; Songs from the Clay (1913) célèbre la nature et la sagesse qui la gouverne ; Seumas Beg, The Rocky Road to Dublin (1915) mêle évocations de Dublin et peurs enfantines ; Reincarnations (1918), traduit les poèmes en irlandais de O’Bruadair, O’Rahilly et Raftery, et lie avec une émotion intense la misère du poète actuel au déclin du barde gaélique ; Little Things (1924) s’attache bien sûr aux « petites choses » qui, de la lune à l’oiseau, de la pomme au papillon, forment la trame du quotidien ; après A Poetry Recital and Other Poems (1925), Strict Joy (1931) tisse de longues variations sur la création poétique ; les poèmes brefs et introspectifs de Kings and the Moon (1931) sondent l’intellect au-delà du sensible. Amour (« The Brute », « Nora Criona »), humour (« A Glass of Beer »), pauvreté (« The Tramp’s Dream »), Dublin (« Grafton Street », « York Street »), Dieu et la religion (« The Lonely God », « Mac Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 161 Dhoul »), la nature (« The Goat Paths »), rôle et destin du poète (« Skim Milk », « Strict Care, Strict Joy ») : tels sont les thèmes principaux qui se croisent et s’enrichissent mutuellement dans une production dont les Additional Poems soulignent, si besoin était, l’extraordinaire diversité, de fond comme de forme. Les influences sont nombreuses : Browning, Blake, mais aussi Milton et les Romantiques, ou encore Yeats, et bien sûr les poètes en langue irlandaise. Mais Stephens interprète et « réincarne. » Ses meilleurs poèmes sont simples, directs, pleins d’énergie, fruits de la nécessité : « Say, I’ve done/A useful thing/As Your servant/Ought to do. » Titre de ce poème ? « I am Writer ». Qui pourrait en douter en lisant ce beau livre ? Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 162 Irish Poetry after Feminism Clíona Ní Ríordáin REFERENCES Justin QUINN (ed.), Irish Poetry after Feminism, Princess Grace Irish Library Lectures 10, London, Colin Smythe, 2008, ISBN 978-0-86140-467-4 1 This book of essays has emerged from a symposium organised in September 2006 by Justin Quinn in the Princess Grace Library in Monaco where a number of academics, and poet academics were brought together to discuss the issue of Irish poetry after feminism. Such a stimulating and controversial topic was bound to be hotly debated, and in his introductory remarks Justin Quinn clarifies and justifies each term. His aim in organising the event was to assess the challenge feminism has presented for “the craft and tradition of poetry” (12). The volume is composed of eight essays and a poem by Derek Mahon. The symposium format was obviously very conducive to exchange and dialogue. Some of the essays in the collection continue the polemical conversations that animated the symposium. It is clear that people disagreed as to the impact and value of feminism and also differed in their view of the role of the poet and the function of art. 2 Moynagh Sullivan applies a hermeneutics of gender to existing historiographical narratives of Irish poetry. Peter McDonald’s vigorously argued response claims that Sullivan’s perspective leaves little space for the male writer and takes Sullivan to task for ideological certainties that are difficult to engage with. Caitriona Clutterbuck’s essay offers an interesting synthesis of the positions adopted by the various participants, while proposing her own analysis of the situation, seeing feminism and Irish poetry as “natural allies” (54). Selina Guinness too gives voice to the discussions that prevailed in Monaco, pinpointing the concerns raised by those who feel that feminist readings of poetry in their gendered orientation show too little regard for poetic quality and tradition. Yet Guinness goes on to show, in her discussion of “The Annotated House”, that the analysis facilitated by feminism does make an important contribution to the debate. Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 163 3 Elsewhere, readings of the work of individual poets are proposed. Fran Brearton analyzes “First Principles” by Derek Mahon, a poem which appeared in his début collection and has since disappeared from the Mahon canon. It is reprinted in this volume of essays, allowing the reader to assess Mahon’s engagement with gender politics and to question, as Brearton does, the reasons for such an excision. In a volume where Irish poetry and feminism are mentioned in the same breath, Eavan Boland’s work is frequently cited, most notably by David Wheatley in his stimulating reading of Samuel Beckett’s poetry. Wheatley questions Boland’s combining of the roles of woman and poet and feels that her poetry has suffered as a result. Lucy Collins turns her attention to a younger generation of Irish poets in her study of poems by Sinéad Morrissey and Vona Groarke. Leontia Flynn, who belongs to that younger generation of poets, offers a reading of Medhb McGuckian’s poem “The Sofa”, which she considers to be feminist in its “resistance to an inherited opinion” (82). 4 As a reader, one comes away from this thought-provoking collection of essays with two regrets. The first is the absence of Edna Longley’s contribution to the symposium; her incisive comments are reported by many of the essay writers. Her distinctive voice is missed. The second regret is that the print run of the volume is limited to 250 copies. Perhaps both could be rectified with a second edition? Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 164 Literarisierung einer gespaltenen Stadt Angela Vaupel REFERENCES Stephanie SCHWERTER, Literarisierung einer gespaltenen Stadt. Belfast in der nordirischen “Troubles Fiction” vom Realismus zur Karnevalisierung, Trier, WVT 2007, 285 p., ISBN 978-3-884769-53-9 1 Stephanie Schwerter’s book on the representation of Belfast as a divided space and segregated territory as described within northern Irish “Troubles fiction” is a valuable study. It is valuable for a range of reasons: Schwerter provides her readers with a thorough synopsis of the historical and socio-cultural background of the Northern Ireland conflict as well as with an introduction to the literary genre of Troubles fiction and its diverse sub-genres, which form an integral part of modern Irish literature. Furthermore, the author analyses and puts into context a number of recent literary publications which so far had not been discussed, and she dedicates an entire chapter to the specific female experience of the conflict as reflected within women’s writing about the “Troubles”. In her thesis, Schwerter focuses on and convincingly outlines a more recent development in the literary representation of Belfast from the realistic to the carnivalistic which she links in with the northern Irish peace process. 2 As the main urban centre of the bloody conflict between Protestants and Catholics in the North of Ireland, Belfast has become the focus of many publications on “the Troubles”, and has fascinated many writers. In particular during the 1980s and ‘90s, many novels got published which describe the impact of the conflict on people’s everyday life. Most of these narratives take place in and around Belfast as the epicentre of the violence. In her analyses Schwerter observes that the narrative representation of Belfast shifts from a sombre and realistic display of Belfast as a “noir city” in the 1970s and ‘80s to a somewhat grotesque, ironic and “carnivalistic” (Bakhtin, 1984) representation of the city which, according to Schwerter, goes hand in hand with the northern Irish politics of détente that eventually led to the “Good Friday Agreement” of 1998. Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 165 3 The book’s structure is six clearly divided sections that refer to relevant theories, methods and research from which Schwerter develops her arguments: The first section explores “Troubles fiction” as a sub-genre of northern Irish prose. It introduces authors and text from a total of 13 representatively selected novels, gives an update of the contemporary academic research on the subject, explains theoretical issues in the representation of urban space – the city – in sociology and modern literature (with particular regard to Burton Pike’s concept of “real city versus world city”; p. 25), and the view of the city as a social complex. 4 The second section of the study deals primarily with the matter of ethnic and cultural identity as perceived by the different communities in Belfast and Northern Ireland. Clear definitions of the political camps (Unionists and Loyalists; Nationalists and Republicans), a brief introduction to the origins of northern Irish paramilitary organizations, a description of Belfast’s topography as “a town of divisions and borders” (p. 62), and a careful “interpretation” of linguistic peculiarities help the reader to find his/her way through the maze of a (post-) conflicted northern Irish society. 5 A detailed analysis of the narrative representation of Belfast within the various sub- genres of Troubles fiction forms the principal subject of the third section and the centre of this book: Schwerter identifies the Troubles thriller as the dominant sub-type, “composed to entertain rather than enlighten” (p. 78), with its display of violence as the prominent element in city-representation. The problems regarding the development of an emancipated female gender-identity within an ideologically indoctrinated patriarchal society is the key aspect of a thorough examination of the female experience of the conflict. Here, Schwerter looks at the often different kind of experiences of women with a working class or middle class background, of the (working) mother or the female teenager (in particular with the “love-across-the- barricades-novel” as a hybrid sub-type of women’s writing of the Troubles, p. 142-45). 6 The development of a positive image of Belfast is the common characteristic of the “carnivalistic” novels (thrillers) written by “Troubles writers” since the 1990s. This positive view on Belfast and Northern Ireland is closely linked to progressive developments within the peace process and a reduction in violent attacks. New formats and styles for an innovative approach regarding the representation of cityscapes in Troubles fiction developed and represent the most significant feature of contemporary northern Irish fiction. The humorous display of “the Troubles” – which does not mean ridiculing its violence or the victims but rather aims at (stereo-) typical descriptions of the two main communities and their representatives – undermines the local society and authorities. The authors of these narratives break with the “traditional” mono- perspective discourse of the conflict by adopting stylistic tools such as polyvalence and multi-perspectives. With this and their use of humour and irony, the writers succeed in a demystification of the conflict and its ideologically motivated causes. 7 The book’s final sections provide a synopsis of the developmental stages in Troubles fiction (including Belfast’s image as a segmented urban complex) from “realism to carnivalism”, and a discussion of possible modes of development for this type of literature in a post-conflict context. With regard to the end of the “armed struggle” in the North of Ireland (as referred to by the IRA in its declaration of 26 September 2005), Schwerter wonders whether the genre of Troubles fiction has become obsolete or will it start focusing on ways to come to terms with the violent past and its traumas? What Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 166 seems to be clear though is that in the “post-ceasefire-novels” too, Belfast and its citizens are at the thematic heart of many of these texts and will most likely continue to fascinate visitors and writers alike. 8 To conclude, Schwerter’s book on the literary representation of Belfast as a divided city is a most interesting and thematically broad study which is aimed at academics and students in the fields of Irish Studies, Conflict Studies, Modern Irish Literature, and Cultural Studies as well as of interest for the general educated reader. The text is very “readable”, well-researched and original. However because it is written in German (and not translated into English as yet) it might not reach the wide audience it deserves – a pity! Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 167 Madness and Murder Nathalie Sebbane RÉFÉRENCE Pauline M. PRIOR, Madness and Murder: Gender, Crime and Mental Disorder in Nineteenth Century Ireland, Dublin, Irish Academic Press, 2008, 258 p., ISBN 978-071-652-9378 and 9385 1 L’ouvrage de Pauline M. Prior, préfacé par sa cousine Angela Bourke, auteure du remarquable The Burning of Bridget Cleary, a pour ambition de mettre à jour les liens ambigus et très étroits qui existaient entre les notions de crime et de folie au dix- neuvième siècle en Irlande. Il nous invite à suivre l’évolution des débats idéologiques autour du crime et du châtiment et de leurs interactions avec les troubles mentaux, ou folie comme on l’appelait à l’époque. 2 Prior explique qu’à l’origine, elle avait envisagé d’utiliser les archives du Central Criminal Asylum, qui a ouvert ses portes à Dundrum en 1850, pour raconter les histoires d’hommes et de femmes qui, accusés d’homicides volontaires ou involontaires, avaient néanmoins été jugés « plus fous que mauvais » et avaient séjourné dans cette institution. 3 L’ouvrage est organisé en deux parties. La première est précisément relative au contexte et l’auteure y analyse les rapports entre criminalité et folie d’une part et criminalité et genre d’autre part. Dans le contexte de la première moitié du dix- neuvième siècle, un très grand nombre de crimes étaient relatifs à la terre et à des disputes agraires et pauvreté et criminalité étaient indissociables. À cet effet, il est tout à fait singulier que les oeuvres de Michel Foucault ne soient à aucun moment signalées dans cette partie consacrée à la folie, à la criminalité et au châtiment. 4 Dans la seconde partie de son ouvrage, Prior aborde des catégories spécifiques de crimes : les hommes qui ont tué de femmes, les femmes qui ont tué des enfants, les femmes qui ont tué des hommes et les meurtres commis par plusieurs membres de la même famille. Dans chacune de ces catégories, elle montre, à la lumière de témoignages Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 168 des autorités policières, judiciaires mais également grâce aux témoignages des accusés, comment le système judiciaire utilisait la notion de folie et de déraison pour placer des individus à Dundrum au lieu de les envoyer en prison. À n’en pas douter, l’argument fut utilisé à l’excès dans bien des cas et il répondait à des exigences économiques propres à l’époque. L’ouvrage apporte un éclairage nouveau sur la question des infanticides et met en lumière un des nombreux paradoxes de la société irlandaise en matière de genre et du traitement des femmes. En effet, si ladite société n’hésitait pas à exclure et rejeter les femmes ayant un enfant illégitime, les tribunaux se montraient particulièrement cléments lorsqu’il s’agissait de juger et condamner ces femmes. Prior nous révèle que, selon la loi, les femmes reconnues coupables d’infanticide étaient passibles de la peine de mort. Or, aucune d’entre elles ne fut exécutée en Irlande pour ce crime. La peine était commuée en emprisonnement, notamment dans l’institution de Dundrum, et bien souvent, les femmes en ressortaient quelques années plus tard et bon nombre d’entre elles émigraient. En effet, les magistrats considéraient que ces femmes n’étaient pas dans leur état normal lorsqu’elles avaient commis ce crime et que l’emprisonnement n’était pas une punition adéquate. La complexité du châtiment était liée à la nature même du crime ainsi qu’à la nature de la société. 5 Importante contribution à l’histoire des femmes en Irlande, cet ouvrage est également très intéressant du point de vue de la méthodologie puisque Prior utilise des sources jusque-là inexplorées, notamment les archives de l’institution de Dundrum, les procès verbaux des procès, et les dossiers du ministère de la justice. Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 169 Knock Catherine Maignant RÉFÉRENCE Eugene HYNES, Knock – The Virgin’s Apparition in Nineteenth Century Ireland, Cork, Cork University Press, 2008, 368 p., ISBN 978-1-85918-440-0 1 Le 21 août 1879 vers les sept heures du soir, un groupe d’une quinzaine de villageois de Knock (Co Mayo), est témoin de l’apparition, devant le pignon de l’église paroissiale, de la Vierge Marie, de saint Joseph et d’un personnage d’abord décrit comme un évêque, puis identifié à saint Jean-Baptiste. À leur droite, un autel surmonté d’un agneau et d’une croix complète la vision. Cet épisode, à l’origine d’un pèlerinage toujours d’actualité en notre début de XXIe siècle, est pour Eugene Hynes le point de départ d’une enquête minutieuse visant à donner un sens à la toute première manifestation mariale en Irlande. 2 L’auteur signe, avec Knock, un ouvrage pionnier, tant du point de vue du sujet que de l’approche retenue, des hypothèses et des postulats méthodologiques défendus. Il y exploite également des sources jusque-là négligées et propose au lecteur un voyage au cœur de l’histoire du catholicisme irlandais de la fin du XIXe siècle avec les outils et les théories fournis par la sociologie moderne. Car l’auteur est avant tout un sociologue, qui fait œuvre d’historien en prenant à rebours les thèses classiques relatives à la « révolution dévotionnelle » en Irlande. Selon lui, c’est en reconstituant dans tous ses aspects le contexte local vécu par les témoins que nous avons une chance de comprendre un phénomène pour lequel l’explication institutionnelle apparaît peu convaincante. 3 Eugene Hyne examine ainsi successivement les croyances et superstitions de la région, la place du prêtre et l’impact sur Knock des événements contemporains : la croisade de l’archevêque McHale, la famine, la guerre des terres, la modernisation des pratiques induites par le contexte économique, l’évolution des structures d’autorité, enfin, qu’il situe au cœur de son processus explicatif. Plus qu’un ouvrage sur l’apparition mariale, Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 170 Knock se lit donc comme une étude de cas qui permet de mettre en perspective toute l’histoire de l’Irlande de l’époque concernée. 4 Il s’agit d’un livre très riche, qui pose soigneusement les questions de méthode, rappelle systématiquement l’état de la recherche sur les questions évoquées et discute les postulats en présence. Il se fonde sur des sources originales qui mettent en avant de manière très vivante les gens du peuple plutôt que l’Église ou Rome. Les manipulations sont aussi habilement démontées et la représentation finale de la vision brillamment expliquée. Beaucoup d’idées reçues se trouvent ainsi bousculées et la lecture est extrêmement stimulante, même si les conclusions auxquelles Eugene Hynes aboutit ne sont pas toutes convaincantes et si la fin se révèle un peu décevante. Le sujet même, toutefois, en est la cause principale, puisque, à défaut de pouvoir démontrer une supercherie, il porte en lui les limites de tout système explicatif rationnel. Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 171 Michael Davitt Olivier Coquelin RÉFÉRENCE John DEVOY, Michael Davitt: From the Gaelic American, edited by Carla King and W. J. Mc Cormack, Dublin, University College Dublin Press, Classics of Irish History, 2008, 168 p., ISBN 978-1-904558-73-6, 20 € 1 Publié dans la collection « Classics of Irish History » par Carla King – grande spécialiste de Michael Davitt – et W. J. Mc Cormack, cet ouvrage retrace l’histoire d’une collaboration entre deux grandes figures du nationalisme irlandais au XIXe siècle : John Devoy (1842-1928), dirigeant du Clan na Gael – pendant américain de l’Irish Republican Brotherhood (IRB) –, et Michael Davitt (1846-1906), séparatiste et agitateur agraire. Une collaboration qui devait aboutir à la création de la Land League en 1879, via un « nouveau départ » dont ils furent les véritables géniteurs, et qui visait à unir les diverses forces nationalistes, fenians et home rulers inclus, dans un même combat pour la restauration d’un parlement autonome à Dublin, en guise d’objectif minimal. Sauf que l’union ainsi envisagée n’avait de chance de s’accomplir qu’à la faveur d’un programme de réformes agraires seule à même, selon Devoy et Davitt, de transcender les différentes obédiences nationalistes, et de mobiliser massivement la paysannerie irlandaise autour de leurs desseins politiques. 2 Les 17 chapitres qui composent l’œuvre de Devoy parurent d’abord en feuilleton dans son journal, The Gaelic American, au lendemain de la mort de Davitt en mai 1906. “What were Devoy’s intentions in publishing this account of Michael Davitt’s career?”, s’interrogent King et Mc Cormack dans leur introduction (p. 10). Un élément de réponse apparaît dès le premier chapitre : la série d’articles de Devoy a pour ambition de rétablir une vérité malmenée par une certaine presse irlandaise et britannique quant au parcours de Davitt. Lequel parcours servit d’argument pour dénigrer la stratégie fenian de la « force physique » au profit d’une agitation constitutionnelle supposée plus efficace. Or Devoy contredit les assertions selon lesquelles Davitt aurait renoncé à son idéal républicain pour embrasser la cause d’un Home Rule, qu’il voyait en Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 172 réalité comme une étape vers son but suprême. Il en veut pour preuve le testament laissé par Davitt – dont certains extraits sont publiés dans le présent ouvrage – dans lequel il déclare, entre autres, n’avoir jamais renié son idéal d’une Irlande complètement indépendante. En fait, poursuit Devoy, Davitt n’aura fait que mettre ses desseins séparatistes en sommeil, au cours de ces longues années consacrées à l’agitation constitutionnelle, avant de les sortir de leur léthargie vers la fin de son existence. C’est donc la carrière de Davitt, en tant que fenian, que Devoy esquisse par la suite : où sont relatées sa personnalité, ses relations avec les fenians orthodoxes de l’IRB, ses négociations avec Charles Parnell, sa contribution à l’élaboration du « nouveau départ » et au lancement de la Land League en 1879. À ces éléments biographiques viennent se greffer d’autres problématiques non dénuées d’intérêt : le républicanisme sous-jacent de Parnell, les doutes de l’auteur quant au fait que Davitt aurait échafaudé le « nouveau départ » et la Land League lors de son séjour carcéral de 1870-77… Le tout est enrichi de commentaires des éditeurs, en notes de fin, destinés à rectifier ou à nuancer certains propos de Devoy, lorsque cela se justifie. 3 Cet ouvrage s’avère donc un outil indispensable pour tout étudiant et chercheur désireux d’explorer l’histoire du « nouveau départ » et la genèse de la Land League, à travers le regard et le témoignage de l’un des grands acteurs de l’époque. Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 173 How Ireland Voted 2007 Julien Guillaumond RÉFÉRENCE Michael GALLAGHER et Michael MARSH, (eds), How Ireland Voted 2007: The Full Story of Ireland’s General Election, Basingstoke et New York, Palgrave Macmillan, 2008, XLIX + 259 p., ISBN : 978-0-230-20198-9, £ 14,01 1 Ce sixième opus de la série des How Ireland Voted (lancée en 1987) s’attache à comprendre, dans une perspective comparative, comment se sont déroulées les élections législatives de 2007 et comment peuvent s’expliquer ses résultats (formation d’un gouvernement tripartite) alors qu’existait une alternative à la coalition sortante, que l’on s’attendait à voir une montée des petites formations politiques, que l’on relevait comme préoccupations principales à la sortie des urnes des thèmes comme la santé, la criminalité et l’économie, et que la situation économique se caractérisait par un net ralentissement de la croissance du PIB (2002-2007) contrairement aux années précédentes (1997-2002). 2 L’ouvrage obéit à un rituel savamment établi depuis le premier numéro et se divise en deux parties. La première porte plus généralement sur le contexte préélectoral et retrace son évolution depuis 2002, replaçant l’élection de 2007 dans une perspective plus large (chap. 1) avant de se consacrer, pour la première fois, à un examen et à une évaluation des promesses économiques et sociales faites par les différents partis politiques en cherchant à voir si celles-ci ont ou pas été tenues et si les engagements préélectoraux d’autres partis ont été poursuivis par le gouvernement sortant (chap. 2). La stratégie politique de chaque parti ainsi que leur processus respectif de sélection des candidats (chap. 3 et 4) font l’objet d’un examen séparé qui clôt cette partie avec les témoignages de candidats à l’issue de l’élection (chap. 5). La seconde partie s’intéresse aux résultats et aux profils des députés irlandais (chap. 6), analyse la structure du vote et la distribution des voix selon les différents partis, offrant au passage plusieurs hypothèses quant au maintien de Fianna Fáil au pouvoir (chap. 7). Les contributions suivantes étudient successivement le rôle et l’importance des sondages d’opinion en Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009 174 comparant les élections de 2002 et 2007 (chap. 8) ainsi que, autre nouveauté, la pertinence des organismes de pari comme concurrents sérieux aux instituts de sondages pour prédire les éventuels résultats (chap. 9). L’ouvrage se termine sur le rôle et l’influence des médias dans la campagne électorale, analysant la fréquence avec laquelle les thèmes électoraux apparaissent au fil de la campagne ainsi que l’évocation des affaires financières (Bertiegate) qui touchent le Premier ministre, Bertie Ahern (chap. 10), les résultats des élections sénatoriales comparés à ceux des législatives (chap. 11), les tractations pour la formation d’un nouveau gouvernement (chap. 12) ainsi qu’une réévaluation de la place de Fianna Fáil dans le système politique irlandais depuis les dernières décennies (chap. 13). À cela s’ajoutent une chronologie des événements avant et après l’élection ainsi qu’une série de photos des différentes personnalités prises pendant la campagne et des nombreuses affiches électorales qui, sélectionnées avec soin, semblent en dire encore plus sur les attentes électorales des Irlandais en 2007. Des annexes complètent cette étude et offrent les résultats complets du scrutin, une liste des élus et des membres du gouvernement ainsi que des précisions sur le système électoral irlandais et sur la législation relative aux dépenses de campagne. En plongeant le lecteur au cœur du processus démocratique irlandais, cet ouvrage parvient parfaitement à retracer les enjeux essentiels ainsi que l’atmosphère des législatives de 2007 et offre des clés indispensables pour comprendre la société irlandaise actuelle. Études irlandaises, 34.1 | 2009