and James Ryan? Bartley Fallon was here this morning listening to red
Jack Smith's wife, Kitty Keary that was! Listening to her and
whispering with her! It was she started the fight so!
SHAWN EARLY. She must have followed him from her own house. It is
likely some person roused him.
TIM CASEY. I never knew, before, Bartley Fallon was great with Jack
Smith's wife.
MRS. TULLY. How would you know it? Sure it's not in the streets they
would be calling it. If Mrs. Fallon didn't know of it, and if I that
have the next house to them didn't know of it, and if Jack Smith
himself didn't know of it, it is not likely you would know of it, Tim
Casey.
SHAWN EARLY. Let Bartley Fallon take charge of her from this out so,
and let him provide for her. It is little pity she will get from any
person in this parish.
TIM CASEY. How can he take charge of her? Sure he has a wife of his
own. Sure you don't think he'd turn souper and marry her in a
Protestant church?
JAMES RYAN. It would be easy for him to marry her if he brought her to
America.
SHAWN EARLY. With or without Kitty Keary, believe me it is for America
he's making at this minute. I saw the new magistrate and Jo Muldoon of
the police going into the post-office as I came up--there was hurry on
them--you may be sure it was to telegraph they went, the way he'll be
stopped in the docks at Queenstown!
MRS. TULLY. It's likely Kitty Keary is gone with him, and not minding
a sheet or a wake at all. The poor man, to be deserted by his own
wife, and the breath hardly gone out yet from his body that is lying
bloody in the field! [_Enter MRS. FALLON._]
MRS. FALLON. What is it the whole of the town is talking about? And
what is it you yourselves are talking about? Is it about my man
Bartley Fallon you are talking? Is it lies about him you are telling,
saying that he went killing Jack Smith? My grief that ever he came
into this place at all!
JAMES RYAN. Be easy now, Mrs. Fallon. Sure there is no one at all in
the whole fair but is sorry for you!
MRS. FALLON. Sorry for me, is it? Why would anyone be sorry for me?
Let you be sorry for yourselves, and that there may be shame on you
forever and at the day of judgment, for the words you are saying and
the lies you are telling to take away the character of my poor man,
and to take the good name off of him, and to drive him to destruction!
That is what you are doing!
SHAWN EARLY. Take comfort now, Mrs. Fallon. The police are not so
smart as they think. Sure he might give them the slip yet, the same as
Lynchehaun.
MRS. TULLY. If they do get him, and if they do put a rope around his
neck, there is no one can say he does not deserve it!
MRS. FALLON. Is that what you are saying, Bridget Tully, and is that
what you think? I tell you it's too much talk you have, making
yourself out to be such a great one, and to be running down every
respectable person! A rope, is it? It isn't much of a rope was needed
to tie up your own furniture the day you came into Martin Tully's
house, and you never bringing as much as a blanket, or a penny, or a
suit of clothes with you and I myself bringing seventy pounds and two
feather beds. And now you are stiffer than a woman would have a
hundred pounds! It is too much talk the whole of you have. A rope is
it? I tell you the whole of this town is full of liars and schemers
that would hang you up for half a glass of whisky. [_Turning to go._]
People they are you wouldn't believe as much as daylight from without
you'd get up to have a look at it yourself. Killing Jack Smith indeed!
Where are you at all, Bartley, till I bring you out of this? My nice
quiet little man! My decent comrade! He that is as kind and as
harmless as an innocent beast of the field! He'll be doing no harm at
all if he'll shed the blood of some of you after this day's work! That
much would be no harm at all. [_Calls out._] Bartley! Bartley Fallon!
Where are you? [_Going out._] Did anyone see Bartley Fallon? [_All
turn to look after her._]
JAMES RYAN. It is hard for her to believe any such a thing, God help
her! [_Enter BARTLEY FALLON from right, carrying hayfork._]
BARTLEY. It is what I often said to myself, if there is ever any
misfortune coming to this world it is on myself it is sure to come!
[_All turn round and face him._]
BARTLEY. To be going about with this fork and to find no one to take
it, and no place to leave it down, and I wanting to be gone out of
this--Is that you, Shawn Early? [_Holds out fork._] It's well I met
you. You have no call to be leaving the fair for a while the way I
have, and how can I go till I'm rid of this fork? Will you take it and
keep it until such time as Jack Smith--
SHAWN EARLY [_backing_]. I will not take it, Bartley Fallon, I'm very
thankful to you!
BARTLEY [_turning to apple stall_]. Look at it now, Mrs. Tarpey, it
was here I got it; let me thrust it in under the stall. It will lie
there safe enough, and no one will take notice of it until such time
as Jack Smith--
MRS. TARPEY. Take your fork out of that! Is it to put trouble on me
and to destroy me you want? putting it there for the police to be
rooting it out maybe. [_Thrusts him back._]
BARTLEY. That is a very unneighborly thing for you to do, Mrs. Tarpey.
Hadn't I enough care on me with that fork before this, running up and
down with it like the swinging of a clock, and afeard to lay it down
in any place! I wish I never touched it or meddled with it at all!
JAMES RYAN. It is a pity, indeed, you ever did.
BARTLEY. Will you yourself take it, James Ryan? You were always a
neighborly man.
JAMES RYAN [_backing_]. There is many a thing I would do for you,
Bartley Fallon, but I won't do that!
SHAWN EARLY. I tell you there is no man will give you any help or any
encouragement for this day's work. If it was something agrarian now--
BARTLEY. If no one at all will take it, maybe it's best to give it up
to the police.
TIM CASEY. There'd be a welcome for it with them surely! [_Laughter._]
MRS. TULLY. And it is to the police Kitty Keary herself will be
brought.
MRS. TARPEY [_rocking to and fro_]. I wonder now who will take the
expense of the wake for poor Jack Smith?
BARTLEY. The wake for Jack Smith!
TIM CASEY. Why wouldn't he get a wake as well as another? Would you
begrudge him that much?
BARTLEY. Red Jack Smith dead! Who was telling you?
SHAWN EARLY. The whole town knows of it by this.
BARTLEY. Do they say what way did he die?
JAMES RYAN. You don't know that yourself, I suppose, Bartley Fallon?
You don't know he was followed and that he was laid dead with the stab
of a hayfork?
BARTLEY. The stab of a hayfork!
SHAWN EARLY. You don't know, I suppose, that the body was found in the
Five Acre Meadow?
BARTLEY. The Five Acre Meadow!
TIM CASEY. It is likely you don't know that the police are after the
man that did it?
BARTLEY. The man that did it!
MRS. TULLY. You don't know, maybe, that he was made away with for the
sake of Kitty Keary, his wife?
BARTLEY. Kitty Keary, his wife! [_Sits down bewildered._]
MRS. TULLY. And what have you to say now, Bartley Fallon?
BARTLEY [_crossing himself_]. I to bring that fork here, and to find
that news before me! It is much if I can ever stir from this place at
all, or reach as far as the road!
TIM CASEY. Look, boys, at the new magistrate, and Jo Muldoon along
with him! It's best for us to quit this.
SHAWN EARLY. That is so. It is best not to be mixed in this business
at all.
JAMES RYAN. Bad as he is, I wouldn't like to be an informer against
any man. [_All hurry away except MRS. TARPEY, who remains behind her
stall. Enter MAGISTRATE and POLICEMAN._]
MAGISTRATE. I knew the district was in a bad state, but I did not
expect to be confronted with a murder at the first fair I came to.
POLICEMAN. I am sure you did not, indeed.
MAGISTRATE. It was well I had not gone home. I caught a few words here
and there that roused my suspicions.
POLICEMAN. So they would, too.
MAGISTRATE. You heard the same story from everyone you asked?
POLICEMAN. The same story--or if it was not altogether the same,
anyway it was no less than the first story.
MAGISTRATE. What is that man doing? He is sitting alone with a
hayfork. He has a guilty look. The murder was done with a hayfork!
POLICEMAN [_in a whisper_]. That's the very man they say did the act;
Bartley Fallon himself!
MAGISTRATE. He must have found escape difficult--he is trying to
brazen it out. A convict in the Andaman Islands tried the same game,
but he could not escape my system! Stand aside--Don't go far--have the
handcuffs ready. [_He walks up to BARTLEY, folds his arms, and stands
before him._] Here, my man, do you know anything of John Smith?
BARTLEY. Of John Smith! Who is he, now?
POLICEMAN. Jack Smith, sir--Red Jack Smith!
MAGISTRATE [_coming a step nearer and tapping him on the shoulder_].
Where is Jack Smith?
BARTLEY [_with a deep sigh, and shaking his head slowly_]. Where is
he, indeed?
MAGISTRATE. What have you to tell?
BARTLEY. It is where he was this morning, standing in this spot,
singing his share of songs--no, but lighting his pipe--scraping a
match on the sole of his shoe--
MAGISTRATE. I ask you, for the third time, where is he?
BARTLEY. I wouldn't like to say that. It is a great mystery, and it is
hard to say of any man, did he earn hatred or love.
MAGISTRATE. Tell me all you know.
BARTLEY. All that I know--Well, there are the three estates; there is
Limbo, and there is Purgatory, and there is--
MAGISTRATE. Nonsense! This is trifling! Get to the point.
BARTLEY. Maybe you don't hold with the clergy so? That is the teaching
of the clergy. Maybe you hold with the old people. It is what they do
be saying, that the shadow goes wandering, and the soul is tired, and
the body is taking a rest--The shadow! [_Starts up._] I was nearly
sure I saw Jack Smith not ten minutes ago at the corner of the forge,
and I lost him again--Was it his ghost I saw, do you think?
MAGISTRATE [_to POLICEMAN_]. Conscience-struck! He will confess all
now!
BARTLEY. His ghost to come before me! It is likely it was on account
of the fork! I to have it and he to have no way to defend himself the
time he met with his death!
MAGISTRATE [_to POLICEMAN_]. I must note down his words. [_Takes out
notebook._] [_To BARTLEY._] I warn you that your words are being
noted.
BARTLEY. If I had ha' run faster in the beginning, this terror would
not be on me at the latter end! Maybe he will cast it up against me at
the day of judgment--I wouldn't wonder at all at that.
MAGISTRATE [_writing_]. At the day of judgment--
BARTLEY. It was soon for his ghost to appear to me--is it coming after
me always by day it will be, and stripping the clothes off in the
night time?--I wouldn't wonder at all at that, being as I am an
unfortunate man!
MAGISTRATE [_sternly_]. Tell me this truly. What was the motive of
this crime?
BARTLEY. The motive, is it?
MAGISTRATE. Yes; the motive; the cause.
BARTLEY. I'd sooner not say that.
MAGISTRATE. You had better tell me truly. Was it money?
BARTLEY. Not at all! What did poor Jack Smith ever have in his pockets
unless it might be his hands that would be in them?
MAGISTRATE. Any dispute about land?
BARTLEY [_indignantly_]. Not at all! He never was a grabber or grabbed
from anyone!
MAGISTRATE. You will find it better for you if you tell me at once.
BARTLEY. I tell you I wouldn't for the whole world wish to say what it
was--it is a thing I would not like to be talking about.
MAGISTRATE. There is no use in hiding it. It will be discovered in the
end.
BARTLEY. Well, I suppose it will, seeing that mostly everybody knows
it before. Whisper here now. I will tell no lie; where would be the
use? [_Puts his hand to his mouth, and MAGISTRATE stoops._] Don't be
putting the blame on the parish, for such a thing was never done in
the parish before--it was done for the sake of Kitty Keary, Jack
Smith's wife.
MAGISTRATE [_to POLICEMAN_]. Put on the handcuffs. We have been saved
some trouble. I knew he would confess if taken in the right way.
[_POLICEMAN puts on handcuffs._]
BARTLEY. Handcuffs now! Glory be! I always said, if there was ever any
misfortune coming to this place it was on myself it would fall. I to
be in handcuffs! There's no wonder at all in that. [_Enter MRS.
FALLON, followed by the rest. She is looking back at them as she
speaks._]
MRS. FALLON. Telling lies the whole of the people of this town are;
telling lies, telling lies as fast as a dog will trot! Speaking
against my poor respectable man! Saying he made an end of Jack Smith!
My decent comrade! There is no better man and no kinder man in the
whole of the five parishes! It's little annoyance he ever gave to
anyone! [_Turns and sees him._] What in the earthly world do I see
before me? Bartley Fallon in charge of the police! Handcuffs on him!
Oh, Bartley, what did you do at all at all?
BARTLEY. Oh, Mary, there has a great misfortune come upon me! It is
what I always said, that if there is ever any misfortune--
MRS. FALLON. What did he do at all, or is it bewitched I am?
MAGISTRATE. This man has been arrested on a charge of murder.
MRS. FALLON. Whose charge is that? Don't believe them! They are all
liars in this place! Give me back my man!
MAGISTRATE. It is natural you should take his part, but you have no
cause of complaint against your neighbors. He has been arrested for
the murder of John Smith, on his own confession.
MRS. FALLON. The saints of heaven protect us! And what did he want
killing Jack Smith?
MAGISTRATE. It is best you should know all. He did it on account of a
love affair with the murdered man's wife.
MRS. FALLON [_sitting down_]. With Jack Smith's wife! With Kitty
Keary!--Ochone, the traitor!
THE CROWD. A great shame, indeed. He is a traitor, indeed.
MRS. TULLY. To America he was bringing her, Mrs. Fallon.
BARTLEY. What are you saying, Mary? I tell you--
MRS. FALLON. Don't say a word! I won't listen to any word you'll say!
[_Stops her ears._] Oh, isn't he the treacherous villain? Ohone go
deo!
BARTLEY. Be quiet till I speak! Listen to what I say!
MRS. FALLON. Sitting beside me on the ass car coming to the town, so
quiet and so respectable, and treachery like that in his heart!
BARTLEY. Is it your wits you have lost or is it I myself that have
lost my wits?
MRS. FALLON. And it's hard I earned you, slaving, slaving--and you
grumbling, and sighing, and coughing, and discontented, and the priest
wore out anointing you, with all the times you threatened to die!
BARTLEY. Let you be quiet till I tell you!
MRS. FALLON. You to bring such a disgrace into the parish. A thing
that was never heard of before!
BARTLEY. Will you shut your mouth and hear me speaking?
MRS. FALLON. And if it was for any sort of a fine handsome woman, but
for a little fistful of a woman like Kitty Keary, that's not four feet
high hardly, and not three teeth in her head unless she got new ones!
May God reward you, Bartley Fallon, for the black treachery in your
heart and the wickedness in your mind, and the red blood of poor Jack
Smith that is wet upon your hand! [_Voice of JACK SMITH heard
singing._]
The sea shall be dry,
The earth under mourning and ban!
Then loud shall he cry
For the wife of the red-haired man!
BARTLEY. It's Jack Smith's voice--I never knew a ghost to sing
before--It is after myself and the fork he is coming! [_Goes back.
Enter JACK SMITH._] Let one of you give him the fork and I will be
clear of him now and for eternity!
MRS. TARPEY. The Lord have mercy on us! Red Jack Smith! The man that
was going to be waked!
JAMES RYAN. Is it back from the grave you are come?
SHAWN EARLY. Is it alive you are, or is it dead you are?
TIM CASEY. Is it yourself at all that's in it?
MRS. TULLY. Is it letting on you were to be dead?
MRS. FALLON. Dead or alive, let you stop Kitty Keary, your wife, from
bringing my man away with her to America!
JACK SMITH. It is what I think, the wits are gone astray on the whole
of you. What would my wife want bringing Bartley Fallon to America?
MRS. FALLON. To leave yourself, and to get quit of you she wants, Jack
Smith, and to bring him away from myself. That's what the two of them
had settled together.
JACK SMITH. I'll break the head of any man that says that! Who is it
says it? [_To TIM CASEY._] Was it you said it? [_To SHAWN EARLY._] Was
it you?
ALL TOGETHER [_backing and shaking their heads_]. It wasn't I said it!
JACK SMITH. Tell me the name of any man that said it!
ALL TOGETHER [_pointing to BARTLEY_]. It was him that said it!
JACK SMITH. Let me at him till I break his head! [_BARTLEY backs in
terror. Neighbors hold JACK SMITH back._]
JACK SMITH [_trying to free himself_]. Let me at him! Isn't he the
pleasant sort of a scarecrow for any woman to be crossing the ocean
with! It's back from the docks of New York he'd be turned [_trying to
rush at him again_], with a lie in his mouth and treachery in his
heart, and another man's wife by his side, and he passing her off as
his own! Let me at him, can't you. [_Makes another rush, but is held
back._]
MAGISTRATE [_pointing to JACK SMITH_]. Policeman, put the handcuffs on
this man. I see it all now. A case of false impersonation, a
conspiracy to defeat the ends of justice. There was a case in the
Andaman Islands, a murderer of the Mopsa tribe, a religious
enthusiast--
POLICEMAN. So he might be, too.
MAGISTRATE. We must take both these men to the scene of the murder. We
must confront them with the body of the real Jack Smith.
JACK SMITH. I'll break the head of any man that will find my dead
body!
MAGISTRATE. I'll call more help from the barracks. [_Blows POLICEMAN's
whistle._]
BARTLEY. It is what I am thinking, if myself and Jack Smith are put
together in the one cell for the night, the handcuffs will be taken
off him, and his hands will be free, and murder will be done that time
surely!
MAGISTRATE. Come on! [_They turn to the right._]
[THE CURTAIN.]
MUSIC FOR THE SONG IN THE PLAY
THE RED-HAIRED MAN'S WIFE
Spreading the News.
I thought, my first love, there'd be but one house
be-tween you and me, And I thought
I would find your-self coax-ing
my child on your knee. O-ver the tide
I would leap with the leap of a swan,
Till I came to the side
of the wife of the red-haired man.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
The idea of this play first came to me as a tragedy. I kept seeing as
in a picture people sitting by the roadside, and a girl passing to the
market, gay and fearless. And then I saw her passing by the same place
at evening, her head hanging, the heads of others turned from her,
because of some sudden story that had risen out of a chance word, and
had snatched away her good name.
But comedy and not tragedy was wanted at our theatre to put beside the
high poetic work, _The King's Threshold_, _The Shadowy Waters_, _On
Baile's Strand_, _The Well of the Saints_; and I let laughter have its
way with the little play. I was delayed in beginning it for a while,
because I could only think of Bartley Fallon as dull-witted or silly
or ignorant, and the handcuffs seemed too harsh a punishment. But one
day by the seat at Duras a melancholy man who was telling me of the
crosses he had gone through at home said--"But I'm thinking if I went
to America, it's long ago to-day I'd be dead. And it's a great expense
for a poor man to be buried in America." Bartley was born at that
moment, and, far from harshness, I felt I was providing him with a
happy old age in giving him the lasting glory of that great and
crowning day of misfortune.
It has been acted very often by other companies as well as our own,
and the Boers have done me the honor of translating and pirating it.
WELSH HONEYMOON[38]
By JEANNETTE MARKS
[Footnote 38: Copyright, 1912, 1916, 1917, by Jeannette
Marks. The professional and amateur stage rights of this play
are strictly reserved by the author. Application for
permission to produce the play should be made to the author,
who may be addressed in care of the publishers, Little, Brown
and Company, Boston. All rights reserved.]
Jeannette Marks, playwright, poet, essayist, and writer of short
stories, was born in 1875 at Chattanooga, Tennessee. She grew up in
Philadelphia, however, where her father was a member of the faculty of
the University of Pennsylvania. Her education in this country was
supplemented by a sojourn at a school in Dresden. She took her first
degree at Wellesley College in 1900, and her master's degree there in
1903. Her graduate studies were pursued at the Bodleian Library and at
the British Museum. Since 1901 she has taught English literature at
Mount Holyoke.
The play here reprinted, _Welsh Honeymoon_, was one of the two--the
other was her _The Merry, Merry Cuckoo_--that won the Welsh National
Theatre First Prize for the best Welsh plays in November, 1911, the
year after Josephine Preston Peabody had carried off the palm at
Stratford-on-Avon.
She writes in her preface to _Three Welsh Plays_, the collection from
which _Welsh Honeymoon_ is drawn:
"'Poetry' and 'song' are words which convey, better than any other two
words could, the priceless gifts of the Welsh people to the world.
With their love for music, for beauty, for the significance of their
land and its folklore, their inherent romance in the difficult art of
living, they have transformed ugliness into beauty, turned loneliness
into speech, and ever recalled life to its only permanent possessions
in wonder and romance.
"Curiously enough, the Welsh, rich in poetry and music, have been
almost altogether devoid of plays. But no one who has read those first
Welsh tales in the 'Mabinogion' (c. 1260) could for an instant think
the Cymru devoid of the dramatic instinct. The Welsh way of
interpreting experience is essentially dramatic. _The Dream of Maxen
Wledig_, _The Dream of Rhonabwy_, both from the 'Mabinogion,' are
sharply dramatic, although then and later Welsh literature remained
practically devoid of the play form. Experience dramatized is, too,
that Pilgrim's Progress of Gwalia: 'Y Bardd Cwsg' (1703).
"Every gift of the Welsh would seem to promise the realization some
day of a great national drama, for they have not only the gift of
poetry and the power to seize the symbol--short cut through
experience--which can, even as the crutch of Ibsen's Little Eyolf,
lift a play into greatness; they have, also, natures profoundly
emotional and yet intellectually critical. They are, humanly speaking,
perfect tools for the achievement of great drama. But it is a drab
journey from those 'Mabinogion' days of wonder, coarse and crude as
they were in many ways, yet intensely vital, through the 'Bardd Cwsg'
to Twm o'r Nant (1739-1810) the so-called 'Welsh Shakespeare,' whose
Interludes might, with sufficient worrying, afford delectation to the
rock-ribbed Puritanism which has stood, as much as any other
oppression, in the way of Gwalia's full development of her genius for
beauty.
"It was, then, a significant moment when 'The Welsh National Theatre'
came into existence with so powerful a patron as Lord Howard de
Walden, lessee of the Haymarket, and Owen Rhoscomyl (Captain Owen
Vaughan) and other gifted Welsh literati for its sponsors. And it did
not seem an insignificant moment to one person, the playwright of _The
Merry Merry Cuckoo_ and _Welsh Honeymoon_, when she learned through
her friendly agent, Curtis Brown of London, that she had received one
of the Welsh National Theatre's first prizes (1911)."
Jeannette Marks's interest in Wales is the result of a number of
holidays spent in wandering through its highways and byways. Books of
hers like _Through Welsh Doorways_ and _Gallant Little Wales_ bespeak
an affectionate intimacy with homes and inhabitants. In the last
named, especially, the chapters called "Cambrian Cottages" and "Welsh
Wales" contain material that is highly illuminating in connection with
the interpretation of her plays. Edward Knobloch, the playwright, is
said to have pointed out to the author the dramatic situations
inherent in her short stories and sketches, a suggestion which bore
fruit in _Three Welsh Plays_.
The first performance of _Welsh Honeymoon_ was given by the American
Drama Society in Boston in February, 1916. It has also been produced
by the Boston Women's City Club, the Vagabond Players in Baltimore,
the Hull House Players in Chicago, and the Prince Street Players in
Rochester.
WELSH HONEYMOON[39]
CHARACTERS
VAVASOUR JONES.
CATHERINE JONES, _his wife_.
EILIR MORRIS, _nephew of Vavasour Jones_.
MRS. MORGAN, _the baker_.
HOWELL HOWELL, _the milliner_.
[Footnote 39: PRONUNCIATION OF WELSH NAMES