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ACT TWO
Scene 2
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Time : September, 1829.
Place : Collins's gaol cell.
(Collins is seated at table writing. He is hunched at his task, and worn.
There are yells and shrieks from below.)
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COLLINS
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Forty-five weeks -- forty-five weeks! Two score and five weeks
ago -- no, dammit. Forty-five weeks ago the Canadian Freeman was incarcerated
in this cell. Forty-five weeks -- forty-five -- forty -- Forte dux felflat
in guttere. What would old Master Nyhan think of his star pupil now! And
who the hell recognizes Latin any more, or cares? In York! (resumes writing.)
Forty-five weeks. Winter, spring, summer, fall. It's a big chunk in a
man's life. Does anybody give a damn? Does anybody really give a damn?
Is the name Francis Collins still spoken in York, in Markham, in Perth,
in Kingston, in Niagara on the Lake, in Montreal, and beyond?
Forty-five weeks. A crop has been sown, grown, and reaped. And what is
my fate? There were demonstrations on my behalf, in York, in Perth, in
Kingston. There were petitions drawn up and sent from every centre in
the Province. And Parliament spoke on my behalf. Parliament petitioned
the King. But the King is far away, across the sea, across the ocean,
in another country. And people say the King is mad, that the King doesn't
even know what is happening under his own nose, under his own royal nose,
even in London.
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CHANT
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(from below) The King is mad; ha, ha, ha, ha! The King is
mad; ha, ha, ha, ha!
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COLLINS
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Quiet! Quiet! Am I never to have quiet again? Not one minute's
peace!
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CHANT
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Yes, Mr. Collins; yes, Mr. Collins. Quiet, Mr. Collins; quiet,
Mr. Collins (laughter and shrieks.)
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COLLINS
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They say the King is sick and forgetful. What, in the name
of all that is holy, does the King know of Francis Collins? And, even if
he does know of Francis Collins, what does he care?
"Put not your trust in Princes." But a man has to trust in
someone, in some thing; in God, in destiny, yes -- even in Kings gone
mad, and being mad may yet do right.
Forty-five weeks of waiting; forty-five weeks of patience. And if no
message comes; if Parliament's petition lies unanswered, another forty-five
weeks, and another, and another. (Gets up from table and walks around.)
Was it worth it, Francis Collins? Was it worth it? Does anybody really
give a damn? (Shrieks and curses from below.)
Oh God, am I to be driven mad, to become like these poor unfortunates?
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CHANT
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Driven mad, driven mad, driven mad. (Grows louder.) Driven
mad, driven mad, driven mad. (Laughter and shrieks. Collins starts, paces.)
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COLLINS
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Am I going mad?
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CHANT
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Going mad, going mad, going mad. (Laughter)
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COLLINS
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Which is better -- to go mad or be hanged on a gallows high?
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CHANT
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Mad or be hanged, mad or be hanged, mad or be hanged.
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VOICE
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(from below) What he wants is another hanging!
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SECOND VOICE
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What he wants is another Sheila.
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THIRD VOICE
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Sheila be hanged.
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CHANT
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Sheila be hanged, Sheila be hanged, Sheila be hanged - (rising
tone) - Sheila be hanged; Sheila be hanged -- (Collins whirls, like a madman.)
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COLLINS
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(yelling) Be quiet! Be quiet! Hold your tongues!
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CHANT
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We'll hang Ann Collins on an old oak tree --
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COLLINS
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(demented) God! God! God!
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CHANT
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(changing) God, God, God. There's no God; there is no God;
there is no --
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COLLINS
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(sobbing) Yes, there is a God; yes, there is; yes there is.
There has to be a God!
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CHANT
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Forty-five weeks, forty-five weeks, forty-five weeks. No God,
no God, no God. Driven mad, driven mad, driven mad. Going mad, going mad,
going mad. Francis Collins is going mad, going mad, going mad; Francis Collins
is going mad; now what do you think of that! (Chant fades, silence falls;
Collins is on his knees, head in hands. Light grows dimmer.)
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COLLINS
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Dear God - not my will. It's not easy. I wish, dear God I wish I could
pray. Dear God, I don't know what to say -- how to say it -- (sounds of
footsteps in corridor.)
(Enter Jarvis, with Baldwin. They halt on seeing Collins on his knees,
facing away from them.)
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COLLINS
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Dear God, it isn't easy, but thy will be done. If I'm to go
mad --
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BALDWIN
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Francis --
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COLLINS
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-- what about Ann --
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BALDWIN
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Francis! (Collins turns slowly.) Francis, good news. (Producing
paper) Look, it's come. Here! Look, it's your release. The King has remitted
the rest of your sentence! And you won't have any conditions attached.
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COLLINS
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The King -- a pardon?
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CHANT
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A pardon from the King; a pardon from the King!
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BALDWIN
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No, Francis, not a pardon, just clemency. But you're a freeman
again, a Canadian freeman. Francis, you have won. You have beaten them,
the Family Compact. They can't keep you in gaol for ever and ever. You've
beaten the whole damn lot!
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CHANT
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Francis Collins is free - e -- Francis Collins is free - e
--
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COLLINS
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Poor devils. Yes, I am free, but they --
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CHANT
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Francis Collins is free - e -- Francis Collins is free - e
--
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JARVIS
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I'll soon settle their hash for them. Bloody women! Quiet
you bitches! Quiet! (exits hollering "Quiet I say.")
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CHANT
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Francis Collins is free-e; Francis Collins is free -e; Francis
Collins is free --
(tapers off as Jarvis is heard to shout "I'll give you a touch of
the whip if that's what you want!")
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BALDWIN
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Come, Francis. Let's go home. Let's go home to Ann.
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CHANT
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Home to Ann; home to Ann; home to Ann.
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COLLINS
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Yes, Robert; let's go home. (They turn to exit.) You know,
maybe we could stop by Jordan's Hotel on the way. Forty-five weeks, and
I'm as dry as a cork, a cork in an empty bottle!
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(As curtain falls slowly the beat of the bodhran resumes, and the balladeer
intones the last two verses of "The Ballad of Francis Collins")
The Family Compact is dead, boys,
The Family Compact is gone.
But the spirit of Collins lives on, boys,
The spirit of Collins lives on.
Now we have freedom of speech, boys,
Now we can write as we please.
So to Francis Collins give praise, boys,
To Francis Collins give praise.
He continues:
Francis Collins died in the cholera epidemic of 1834, as did his wife
Ann and daughter Mary. His daughter Frances Liberta, who was conceived
in York Gaol, grew up to become Sister Maurice of the Congregation of
Notre Dame in Montreal and Mother Superior of the Mount Saint Bernard
Institution in Nova Scotia. She died in 1910 at the age of eighty-one.
Goodnight.
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