inspires absolute confidence. He knows how to be severe at times----
JACQUES. You're mistaken about that; that's only simple brute force. Go
to the Zoo: the ostrich, the boa constrictor, the rhinoceros, all
produce the same effect on you as your Albert----
HENRIETTE. My Albert? My Albert? Oh, I don't appropriate him so quickly
as all that. His qualifications as censor are not yet entirely
demonstrated.
[JACQUES _rises and approaches_ HENRIETTE, _who maintains an air of
cold dignity_.
JACQUES. For heaven's sake, Henriette, stop this nonsense!
HENRIETTE. What nonsense?
JACQUES. Tell me you are only playing with me. That you only wanted to
put my love to the test! To make me jealous! To torture me! You have
succeeded. Stop it, for heaven's sake----
HENRIETTE. My dear friend, I'm very sorry for you. I wish I could help
you, but I cannot. I have given you a perfect description of the husband
I want, and I am heart-broken that you bear so remote a resemblance to
him.
JACQUES. Only promise you will think over your decision.
HENRIETTE. It is better to stop right now.
JACQUES. Don't send me away like this. Don't----
HENRIETTE. I might give you false hopes. I have only to tell you that I
shall never consent to be the wife of a man who cannot be the severest
of censors.
JACQUES. [_Kneeling._] I beg you!
HENRIETTE. No, no, no, Jacques! Spare me that. [_A telephone rings in
the next room._] There's the 'phone----
JACQUES. Don't go!
[HENRIETTE _rises hastily and goes to door_. JACQUES _tries for a
moment to stop her_.
HENRIETTE. I must go. Go away, I tell you. I'll be furious if I find you
here when I come back.
JACQUES. Henriette!
HENRIETTE. [_Coming down_ L. _to table_.] Not now! Please, Jacques.
[_Exit._]
JACQUES. I can't leave it that way. I am the husband who will make her
happy. But how? That is the question. [_Pause._] Ah, Albert!
[_Enter_ ALBERT. _He shakes hands with_ JACQUES.
ALBERT. How are you, rival?
JACQUES. [_Gravely._] My friend, we are no longer rivals.
ALBERT. How's that?
JACQUES. I have just had a talk with Henriette; she refuses to marry
either one of us.
ALBERT. Did she mention me?
JACQUES. Casually.
[_Both sit down_, ALBERT _on sofa_, JACQUES _on chair near it_.
ALBERT. What did she say?
JACQUES. Oh, I wouldn't repeat it; it wouldn't be friendly.
ALBERT. I _must_ know.
JACQUES. Very well, then--she said that you had not succeeded--nor had
I--to find the way to her heart. Between you and me, we've got a
high-minded woman to deal with, a philosopher who detests flattery. It
seems you have been in the habit of paying her compliments----
ALBERT. I never pay compliments.
JACQUES. Whatever you did, she didn't like it. Moreover--since you want
the whole truth--you seem to her a bit--ridiculous.
ALBERT. Pardon?
JACQUES. The very word: ridiculous. She wants a husband who will act as
a sort of conscience pilot. Evidently, you haven't appealed to her in
that capacity.
ALBERT. Sometimes I used to be rather sharp with her----
JACQUES. You did it too daintily, perhaps; you lacked severity. I'll
wager you smiled, instead of scowled--that would have been fatal!
ALBERT. I don't understand.
JACQUES. Henriette is a singular woman; to get her, you have to tell her
that you don't like her--her pride demands it. Tell her all her bad
qualities, straight from the shoulder.
ALBERT. [_Feeling himself equal to the task._] Don't worry about that!
[_Rises and walks about._] I know women love to be told things straight
out.
JACQUES. I'm not the man for that; nor are you, I suppose?
ALBERT. No? Jacques, I'm awfully obliged to you; you've done me a good
turn----
JACQUES, Don't mention it----
ALBERT. You want to do me one more favor?
JACQUES. [_Devotedly._] Anything you like!
ALBERT. Promise me you'll never let Henrietta know that you told me
this?
JACQUES. I promise; but why?
ALBERT. You know she has to understand that my behavior toward her is in
character. Natural, you see.
JACQUES. Oh, you're going at it strenuously.
ALBERT. I am.
JACQUES. Your decision honors you.
ALBERT. Let's not have Henriette find us together. Would you mind
disappearing?
JACQUES. With pleasure. I'll look in later and get the news.
[JACQUES _rises_.
ALBERT. Thanks, Jacques.
JACQUES. Good-by, Albert.
[_Exits after shaking hands cordially with_ ALBERT.
HENRIETTE. [_Re-entering as_ ALBERT _assumes a rather severe attitude_.]
How are you? [_Pause._] Have you seen Jacques?
ALBERT. [_With a determined air._] No, Henriette. Thank God!
HENRIETTE. Why?
ALBERT. Because it pains me to see men in your presence whom you care
nothing for.
HENRIETTE. [_Delighted._] You don't like that?
[_Sitting down on sofa._
ALBERT. No, I don't. And I'd like to tell you----
HENRIETTE. About my relations with Jacques?
ALBERT. Oh, he's not the only one.
HENRIETTE. Heaps of others, I suppose?
ALBERT. [_Sits on chair near sofa._] You suppose correctly; heaps.
HENRIETTE. Really?
ALBERT. You are a coquette.
HENRIETTE. You think so?
ALBERT. I am positive.
HENRIETTE. I suppose I displease you in other ways, too?
ALBERT. In a great many other ways.
HENRIETTE. [_Really delighted._] How confidently you say that!
ALBERT. So much the worse if you don't like it!
HENRIETTE. Quite the contrary, my dear Albert; you can't imagine how you
please me when you talk like that. It's perfectly adorable.
ALBERT. It makes very little difference to me whether I please you or
not. I speak according to my temperament. Perhaps it is a bit
authoritative, but I can't help _that_.
HENRIETTE. You are superb.
ALBERT. Oh, no. I'm just myself.
HENRIETTE. Oh, if you were only the----
ALBERT. I haven't the slightest idea what you were about to say, but
I'll guarantee that there's not a more inflexible temper than mine in
Paris.
HENRIETTE. I can easily believe it. [_Pause._] Now tell me in what way
you think I'm coquettish.
[_Sitting on edge of sofa in an interested attitude._ ALBERT _takes
out cigarette, lights and smokes it_.
ALBERT. That's easy; for instance, when you go to the theatre, to a
reception, to the races. As soon as you arrive the men flock about in
dozens; those who don't know you come to be introduced. You're the
talking-stock of society. Now I should be greatly obliged if you would
tell me to what you attribute this notoriety?
HENRIETTE. [_Modestly._] Well, I should attribute it to the fact that I
am--agreeable, and pleasant----
ALBERT. There are many women no less so.
HENRIETTE. [_Summoning up all her modesty to reply._] You force me to
recognize the fact----
ALBERT. And I know many women fully as pleasant as you who don't flaunt
their favors in the face of everybody; _they_ preserve some semblance of
dignity, a certain air of aloof distinction that it would do you no harm
to acquire.
HENRIETTE. [_With a gratitude that is conscious of its bounds._] Thanks,
thanks so much. [_Drawing back to a corner of the sofa._] I am deeply
obliged to you----
ALBERT. Not at all.
HENRIETTE. In the future I shall try to behave more decorously.
ALBERT. Another thing----
HENRIETTE. [_The first signs of impatience begin to appear._] What?
Another thing to criticise?
ALBERT. A thousand! [_Settling himself comfortably._
HENRIETTE. Well, hurry up.
ALBERT. You must rid yourself of your excessive and ridiculous
school-girl sentimentality.
HENRIETTE. I wonder just on what you base your statement. Would you
oblige me so far as to explain that?
ALBERT. With pleasure. I remember one day in the country you were in
tears because a _poor_ little mouse had fallen into the claws of a
_wretched_ cat; two minutes later you were sobbing because the _poor_
cat choked in swallowing the _wretched_ little mouse.
HENRIETTE. That was only my kindness to dumb animals. Is it wrong to be
kind to dumb animals?
[_She is about to rise when_ ALBERT _stops her with a gesture_.
ALBERT. That would be of no consequence, if it weren't that you were of
so contradictory a nature that you engage in the emptiest, most
frivolous conversations, the most----
HENRIETTE. [_Slightly disdainful._] Ah, you are going too far! You make
me doubt your power of analysis. I am interested only in noble and high
things----
ALBERT. And yet as soon as the conversation takes a serious turn, it's
appalling to see you; you yawn and look bored to extinction.
HENRIETTE. There you are right--partly.
ALBERT. You see!
HENRIETTE. [_Sharp and even antagonistic._] Yes, I have that unfortunate
gift of understanding things before people have finished explaining
them. While the others are waiting for the explanation, I can't wait,
and I fly on miles ahead----
ALBERT. Hm--that sounds probable; I sha'n't say anything more about that
just now. But while I'm on the subject, I have more than once noticed
that you are guilty of the worst vice woman ever possessed----
HENRIETTE. And what, if you please?
ALBERT. Vanity.
HENRIETTE. I vain? Oh, you're going too far!
ALBERT. [_Unruffled._] Not a word! Every time I tell you a fault, you
twist it round to your own advantage. Whereas you are really worse----
HENRIETTE. [_Rising and gathering her skirts about her with virtuous
indignation._] You are rude! I suppose you would find fault with me if I
considered myself more polite than the person whom I have the honor to
address?
ALBERT. I hope you don't intend that remark as personal.
HENRIETTE. I certainly do.
[_She crosses to the other side of the stage and sits down._ ALBERT
_rises and goes up to her_.
ALBERT. Henriette! No! [_Laughing._] I see your trick.
HENRIETTE. What do you mean?
ALBERT. You can't deceive me by pretending to be angry. You wanted to
see whether I could withstand your temper. Let us now proceed to the
next chapter: your manner of dressing.
HENRIETTE. [_Now really outraged._] My manner of dressing? You dare!
[HENRIETTE _crosses_ L. _Front_, ALBERT _following her_.
ALBERT. Yes, that will be enough for to-day----
HENRIETTE. And then you'll begin again to-morrow!
ALBERT. Yes.
HENRIETTE. And do you think for one minute that I'll listen to you while
you insult me to my face? _You_ are the vain one, to think you can come
to that! _You_ are the frivolous one, _you_ are the----
ALBERT. [_Slightly perturbed._] Be careful what you say!
HENRIETTE. I'll take care of that. Let me tell you that you are a
detestable cynic. You are disgustingly personal; always dwelling on
details, on the least----
ALBERT. Which is as much as calling me a fool?
HENRIETTE. Just about. You would be if you didn't read your morning
paper regularly; so regularly that I know in advance exactly what you
are going to say to me during the day.
ALBERT. Why not call me a parrot?
HENRIETTE. That would flatter you, for you don't speak as well as a
parrot; a parrot's memory never gets clouded, a parrot has at least the
common politeness to----
ALBERT. [_Between his teeth._] I won't stand for this. I wonder how you
could have endured me so long if you thought me such a fool.
HENRIETTE. I believed you harmless.
ALBERT. Are you aware that you have wounded me cruelly?
HENRIETTE. _You_ have wounded _me_. Thank heaven, though, we had this
discussion! Now I'll know how to conduct myself toward you in the
future.
ALBERT. Thank heaven for the same thing! It was high time! I grieve to
think that only last night I had fully made up my mind to ask you to be
my wife!
HENRIETTE. My dear friend, if you ever do so, I shall show you the door
immediately.
[_Enter_ JACQUES _hurriedly_. HENRIETTE _runs to him as for
protection_.
JACQUES. What's all this noise? What's the matter?
HENRIETTE. Oh, Jacques--I'm so glad you've come.
ALBERT. Just in time! You put an end to our pleasant little tête-à-tête.
JACQUES. But what's happened?
HENRIETTE. Well, monsieur here----
ALBERT. No, it was mademoiselle who----
[HENRIETTE _and_ ALBERT _each take an arm of_ JACQUES _and bring
him down-stage_ C. _His attention is constantly shifting from one
to the other, as they address him in turn._
HENRIETTE. Just think, Jacques----
ALBERT. Jacques, she had the audacity to----
HENRIETTE. Stop! I'm going to tell him first----
JACQUES. You're both too excited to explain anything. Albert, you take a
little stroll and cool off.
ALBERT. [_Retreating toward the door._] Charmed.
HENRIETTE. Then I can draw a free breath.
JACQUES. [_To_ ALBERT.] I'll fix up things while you're away.
ALBERT. [_To both._] I won't give in.
HENRIETTE. Neither will I.
JACQUES. Tut, tut!
ALBERT. Good-day, mademoiselle.
HENRIETTE. Good-day.
JACQUES. Good-day, Albert.
[_Exit_ ALBERT.
HENRIETTE. Thank goodness, we're rid of him!
JACQUES. [_Sympathetically._] Tell me all about it.
HENRIETTE. [_Sits down on sofa, inviting_ JACQUES _by a gesture to do
the same. He sits beside her._] That man invented the most abominable
things about me; criticised me to my face!
JACQUES. He did!
HENRIETTE. It was so ridiculous--makes me sick to think about it.
JACQUES. My dear Henriette, don't think about it. Albert must have
behaved like a brute to make you so angry.
HENRIETTE. Yes, don't you think so? _You_ think I'm right?
JACQUES. [_Loyally._] Of course I do.
HENRIETTE. [_At her ease once more._] You encourage me, Jacques.
JACQUES. When I saw you were angry I said to myself at once: "Henriette
is right."
HENRIETTE. Really?
JACQUES. I said it because I knew you were by nature peace-loving and
considerate----
HENRIETTE. [_With profound conviction._] Well, I think that's the least
that could be said of me.
JACQUES. In any event, you are always tactful, you always----
HENRIETTE. _You_ know me, Jacques!
JACQUES. I flatter myself. I felt instinctively you couldn't be wrong.
You have always been so admirably poised, so unfailingly considerate.
HENRIETTE. [_With perfect simplicity._] Frankly now, do I ever lose my
temper with you?
JACQUES. [_In good faith._] Never. With me you are always patient,
gracious, modest----
HENRIETTE. But I remember, a little while ago, I made you suffer----
JACQUES. Yes, I was unhappy. But "if after every storm comes such a
calm"----
HENRIETTE. It was all my fault. You understand me; you are truly a
friend.
JACQUES. Nothing more?
[_Rising, but standing near her._ HENRIETTE _blushingly looks down
at her shoe_.
HENRIETTE. Oh----
JACQUES. Prove that you mean that sincerely.
HENRIETTE. What have I to do? [_Same business._
JACQUES. Place your future in my hands; marry me.
HENRIETTE. [_With downcast eyes._] I was just thinking about it. [_Same
business, but with repressed joy._
JACQUES. [_About to embrace her._] Ah!
HENRIETTE. Wait!
[_Complete metamorphosis. Her joy is still present, but it has
taken on a playful, serio-comic aspect. Rising and putting her hand
in his._
JACQUES. Why do you hesitate?
HENRIETTE. Jacques, do you remember what I told you not long ago?
JACQUES. Yes.
HENRIETTE. In spite of that, are you quite sure that I am not vain or
coquettish?
JACQUES. I am certain.
HENRIETTE. You are also firmly resolved to be my moral guide, critic,
helper?
JACQUES. [_Stolid as ever._] I am.
HENRIETTE. I make one condition.
JACQUES. Name it.
HENRIETTE. On your word of honor?
JACQUES. On my word of honor. Tell me.
HENRIETTE. Will you swear to tell me, without pity, every time you find
me at fault? Swear.
JACQUES. I swear.
HENRIETTE. Then you have my promise.
JACQUES. [_As they embrace._] Dearest!
CURTAIN
THE DEACON'S HAT
BY
JEANNETTE MARKS
_The Deacon's Hat_ is reprinted by special arrangement with Miss
Jeannette Marks and with Little, Brown and Company, Boston, the
publisher of _Three Welsh Plays_, from which this play is taken. All
rights reserved. For permission to perform address the author in care
of the publisher.
JEANNETTE MARKS
Jeannette Marks, well-known essayist, poet, and playwright, was born in
1875 at Chattanooga, Tennessee, but spent her early life in
Philadelphia, where her father, the late William Dennis Marks, was
professor of dynamics in the University of Pennsylvania and president of
the Edison Electric Light Company. She attended school in Dresden, and
in 1900 was graduated from Wellesley College. She obtained her master's
degree from Wellesley in 1903. Her graduate studies were continued at
the Bodleian Library and at the British Museum. Since 1901 she has been
on the staff of the English Department at Mount Holyoke College, South
Hadley, Massachusetts. Her chief courses are Nineteenth Century Poetry
and Play-writing.
Miss Marks's interest in Welsh life is the result of her hiking several
summers among the Welsh hills and valleys. She became intimately
acquainted with Welsh peasant life. It is said that Edward Knobloch,
well-known dramatist, on one of her homeward voyages from one of her
summer outings in Wales, pointed out to Miss Marks the dramatic
possibilities of the material she had thus acquired. _Three Welsh Plays_
was the result. Two of these plays, without the author's knowledge, were
entered in 1911 for the Welsh National Theatre prize contest. To her
credit, the plays won the prize. The complete volume appeared in 1917.
_The Deacon's Hat_ is a fine study of the life of the common folk of
Wales.
CHARACTERS
DEACON ROBERTS, _a stout, oldish Welshman_
HUGH WILLIAMS, _an earnest, visionary young man who owns Y Gegin_
NELI WILLIAMS, _his capable wife_
MRS. JONES, _the Wash, a stout, kindly woman who wishes to buy soap_
MRS. JENKINS, _the Midwife, after pins for her latest baby_
TOM MORRIS, _the Sheep, who comes to buy tobacco and remains to pray_
THE DEACON'S HAT[I]
SCENE: _A little shop called Y Gegin (The Kitchen), in Bala, North
Wales._
TIME: _Monday morning at half-past eleven._
_To the right is the counter of Y Gegin, set out with a bountiful
supply of groceries; behind the counter are grocery-stocked
shelves. Upon the counter is a good-sized enamel-ware bowl filled
with herring pickled in brine and leek, also a basket of fresh
eggs, a jar of pickles, some packages of codfish, a half dozen
loaves of bread, a big round cheese, several pounds of butter
wrapped in print paper, etc., etc._
_To the left are a cheerful glowing fire and ingle._
_At the back center is a door; between the door and the fire stands
a grandfather's clock with a shining brass face. Between the clock
and the door, back centre, is a small tridarn [Welsh dresser] and a
chair. From the rafters hang flitches of bacon, hams, bunches of
onions, herbs, etc. On either side of the fireplace are latticed
windows, showing a glimpse of the street. Before the fire is a
small, round, three-legged table; beside it a tall, straight-backed
chair._
_Between the table and left is a door which is the entrance to Y
Gegin and from which, on a metal elbow, dangles a large bell._
_At rise of curtain Hugh Williams enters at back centre, absorbed
in reading a volume of Welsh theological essays. He is dressed in a
brightly striped vest, a short, heavy cloth coat, cut away in
front and with lapels trimmed with brass buttons, swallowtails
behind, also trimmed with brass buttons, stock wound around his
neck, and tight trousers down to his boot-tops._
_Neli Williams, his wife, a comely, capable young woman, busy with
her knitting every instant she talks, is clad in her market
costume, a scarlet cloak, and a tall black Welsh beaver. Over her
arm is an immense basket._
NELI. [_Commandingly._] Hughie, put down that book!
HUGH. [_Still going on reading._] Haven't I just said a man is his own
master, whatever!
NELI. Hughie, ye're to mind the shop while I'm gone!
HUGH. [_Patiently._] Yiss, yiss.
NELI. I don't think ye hear a word I am sayin' whatever.
HUGH. Yiss, I hear every word ye're sayin'.
NELI. What is it, then?
HUGH. [_Weakly._] 'Tis all about--about--the--the weather whatever!
NELI. Ye've not heard a word, an' ye're plannin' to read that book from
cover to cover, I can see.
HUGH. [_A little too quickly._] Nay, I have no plans....
[_He tucks book away in back coat pocket over-hastily._
NELI. Hugh!
HUGH. [_Weakly._] Nay, I _have_ no plans whatever!
NELI. [_Reproachfully._] Hugh--_ie_! 'Twould be the end of sellin'
anythin' to anybody if I leave ye with a book whatever! Give me that
book!
HUGH. [_Obstinately._] Nay, I'll no read the book.
NELI. Give me that book!
HUGH. [_Rising a little._] Nay. I say a man is his own master whatever!
NELI. [_Finding the book hidden in his coat-tail pocket._] Is he? Well,
I'll no leave ye with any masterful temptations to be readin'.
HUGH. Ye've no cause to take this book away from me.
NELI. [_Opens book and starts with delight._] 'Tis Deacon Roberts's new
book on "The Flamin' Wickedness of Babylon." Where did ye get it?
HUGH. [_Reassured by her interest._] He lent it to me this morning.
NELI. [_Resolutely._] Well, I will take it away from ye this noon till I
am home again whatever!
HUGH. [_Sulkily._] Sellin' groceries is not salvation. They sold
groceries in Babylon; Deacon Roberts says so.
NELI. [_Looking at book with ill-disguised eagerness._] I dunno as
anybody ever found salvation by givin' away all he had for nothin'! 'Tis
certain Deacon Roberts has not followed that way.
HUGH. [_Still sulkily._] A man is his own master, I say.
NELI. [_Absent-mindedly, her nose in the book._] Is he? Well, indeed!
HUGH. [_Crossly._] Aye, he is. [_Pointedly._] An' I was not plannin' to
give away the book whatever.
NELI. [_Closing volume with a little sigh, as for stolen delights, and
speaking hastily._] An' I am not talkin' about acceptin' books, but
about butter an' eggs an' cheese an' all the other groceries!
HUGH. Aye, ye'll get no blessin' from such worldliness.
NELI. [_Absent-mindedly._] Maybe not, but ye will get a dinner from that
unblessed worldliness an' find no fault, I'm thinkin'. [_Her hand
lingering on the book, which she opens._] But such wonderful theology!
An' such eloquence! Such an understandin' of sin! Such glowin' pictures
of Babylon!
HUGH. Aye, hot! I tell ye, Neli, there's no man in the parish has such a
gift of eloquence as Deacon Roberts or such theology. In all Wales ye'll
not find stronger theology than his.
NELI. Ye have no need to tell me that! [_Looking for a place in which to
hide the book until she returns._] Have I not a deep an' proper
admiration for theology? Have I not had one minister an' five deacons
an' a revivalist in my family, to say nothin' at all of one composer of
hymns?
HUGH. Yiss, yiss. Aye, 'tis a celebrated family. I am no sayin' anythin'
against your family.
NELI. Then what?
HUGH. [_Pleadingly._] Deacon Roberts has great fire with which to save
souls. We're needin' that book on Babylon's wickedness. Give it back to
me, Neli!
NELI. Oh, aye! [_Looks at husband._] I'm not sayin' but that ye are
wicked, Hugh, an' needin' these essays, for ye have no ministers and
deacons and hymn composers among your kin.
HUGH. [_Triumphantly._] Aye, aye, that's it! That's it! An' the more
need have I to read till my nostrils are full of the smoke of--of
Babylon.
NELI. [_Absent-mindedly tucking book away on shelf as she talks._] Aye,
but there has been some smoke about Deacon Roberts's reputation which
has come from some fire less far away than Babylon.
HUGH. What smoke?
NELI. [_Evasively._] Well, I am thinkin' about my eggs which vanished
one week ago to-day. There was no one in that mornin' but Deacon
Roberts. Mrs. Jones the Wash had come for her soap an' gone before I
filled that basket with eggs.
HUGH. [_Watching her covertly, standing on tiptoe and craning his neck
as she stows away book._] Yiss, yiss!
NELI. [_Slyly._] Ask Deacon Roberts if cats steal eggs whatever?
HUGH. [_Repeating._] If cats steal eggs, if cats steal eggs.
NELI. Aye, not if eggs steal cats.
HUGH. [_Craning neck._] Yiss, yiss, if eggs steal cats!
NELI. Hugh--_ie_! Now ye'll never get it correct again! 'Tis if cats
steal eggs.
HUGH. [_Sulkily._] Well, I'm no carin' about cats with heaven starin'
me in the face.
[NELI _turns about swiftly with the quick, sudden motions
characteristic of her, and_ HUGH _shrinks into himself. She shakes
her finger at him and goes over to kiss him._
NELI. Hughie, lad, ye're not to touch the book while I am gone to
market.
HUGH. Nay, nay, certainly not!