As the scene opens Tyrone and Mary enter the living room from the back parlor. James Tyrone has his arm about her waist as he compliments her on the twenty pounds she has gained. Mary replies that if she is not careful she'll get too fat and teases him about the enormous breakfast he just ate.
Comment:
The setting is the living room of James Tyrone's
summer home on a morning in August 1912. Before
a word is spoken the audience gains certain impressions
about Mary and James Tyrone. O'Neill's description
of them, their manner of entrance, and their few
words at the beginning of this scene, all contribute
to the over-all effect which the play will or
should have on the audience.
O'Neill describes Mary as being fifty-four, with
a young, graceful figure, a pale but once-attractive,
Irish face, and thick pure white hair. She is
extremely nervous and her once beautiful hands
are never still. Her dress and hair are attractively
styled and her voice is soft. But her most appealing
quality is the simple, unaffected charm of a "shy
convent-girl youthfulness she has never lost -
an innate unworldly innocence." The description
which we are given is so completely and thoughtfully
wrought that each aspect of it
should be examined carefully. Having been described
as an attractive middle-aged woman we would perhaps
conclude that Mary had endured few hardships during
her life-physical, mental, or financial. Her demeanor,
speech, and dress are all appropriate to a woman
who has a successful husband and who has, therefore,
had the time and money necessary to enjoy the
"finer things in life." But there is
a disconcerting note.
Mary's extreme nervousness and pale face belie
the healthy figure. And when James tells her she's
"a fine armful now," because of the
twenty pounds she's gained, we realize she must
have been ill. O'Neill calls attention to her
hands and notes that "one avoids looking
at them, the more so because one is conscious
she is sensitive about their appearance and humiliated
by her inability to control their nervousness
which draws attention to them." Again and
again throughout the play attention is called
to the hands since Mary's inability to "control"
their shaking is not only a symbolic but also
a physical manifestation of her inability to control
what she does and why she does it.
Throughout the play attention is also called to
the "convent-girl" quality of the mother.
This quality of "unworldly innocence"
is perhaps attractive, but rather out-of-place;
endearing, and at the same time ironic; appealing,
but nonetheless unrealistic for a wife and mother.
As the play develops we begin to realize that
Mary's concern with the "might-have-been"
seems to be in many ways both directly and indirectly
responsible for the present plight of the whole
family.
Because Long Day's Journey is autobiographical
we had best comment briefly about the physical
description of Mary which O'Neill here gives us.
According to biographers who interviewed those
who knew the O'Neill family at this time, the
description of Mary Tyrone closely duplicates
their recollections of Mary Ellen Quinlan O'Neill,
Eugene O'Neill's mother. The adjectives used to
describe her are perhaps most significant since
they reveal the "idealized" way in which
the author "saw" his mother: graceful
figure, aonce pretty face, sensitive lips, pure
white hair, once beautiful hands, soft and attractive
voice, simple, unaffected charm.
James Tyrone is sixty-five but looks ten years
younger; he is remarkably good looking with the
"air" of an actor about him. His clothes
are shabby and threadbare-he is dressed for gardening
and doesn't care how he looks. He radiates health
and self-assurance. A little later we learn he
is at times inclined toward a sentimental melancholy
and rare flashes of intuitive sensibility.
The fact that James is sixty-five but looks ten
years younger would indicate that the years had
been good to him and his way of life had agreed
with him. As a popular actor, "a matinee
idol," he evidently enjoyed life on and off
the stage. Because he has been successful, his
pride in himself and what he has done is evident
in his speech and bearing. But O'Neill notes that
he is by nature and preference a simple, unpretentious
man. The description of James Tyrone's clothes
prepare us somewhat for a point the author is
going to comment on throughout the play - the
father's inclination towards stinginess.
Again alluding to the autobiographical element,
the description of the father is not as "glowing"
as that of the mother. No derogatory comments
are made, but the description is somewhat tentative
and qualified. The author shows a grudging respect
for the father, James Tyrone, the same that he
showed for his father, James O'Neill. Another
indication of this respect might be the use of
Tyrone instead of James when designating the father's
speeches throughout the play. The descriptions
of the two (the stage parent and thereal-life
parent) are again almost identical.
The manner of Mary and Tyrone's entrance and their
conversation helps the audience to understand
them and their relationship. The playful hug which
he gives Mary as they enter the living room is
both affectionate and protective. The love and
affection they feel for one another is indicated
throughout the play, and, in the things he says
and does, Tyrone seems to be trying to protect
Mary. Their "small talk" about her getting
too fat and about his digestion at first belies
the tension they both feel - and the specter which
hovers over the Tyrone household.
Mary's paleness is the first discordant element
introduced into the play and of itself is of little
importance. But Tyrone's first speech complimenting
Mary on the twenty pounds she gained indicates
she has been ill. The comment about her lack of
appetite at breakfast indicates the husband's
continued concern. Somehow the conversation is
too gay and trivial, too casual and unimportant.
At this point in the play there is only the very
slightest undercurrent of concern, unrest, and
anxiety - but this will grow in intensity as the
play and the day progress.
From the dining room the voices of Jamie and Edmund
are heard. Mary comments that the hired girl,
Cathleen, must be waiting to clear the table;
Tyrone comments that they are probably hatching
some scheme to get money from him. They discuss
his speculations in real estate but, hearing a
fit of coughing, the conversation turns to Edmund's
"summer cold."
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