the Scotch _loch_.
2 _dd_ = English _th_, roughly, in brea_th_e.
3 _e_ has, roughly, the sound of _ai_ in d_ai_ry.
4 _f_ = English _v_.
5 _ff_ = English sharp _f_.
6 _ll_ represents a sound intermediate between _the_ and _fl_.
7 _w_ as a consonant is pronounced as in English; as a
vowel = _oo_.
8 _y_ is sometimes like _u_ in b_u_t, but sometimes like _ee_
in gr_ee_n.
NOTE: _The author will gladly answer questions about
pronunciation, costuming, etc., etc._]
_PLACE._--_Beddgelert, a little village in North Wales._
_A Welsh kitchen. At back, in center, a deep ingle, with two hobs and
fire bars fixed between, on either side settles. On the left-hand side
near the fire a church; on the right, in a pile, some peat ready for
use. Above the fireplace is a mantel on which are set some brass
candlesticks, a deep copper cheese bowl, and two pewter plates. Near
the left settle is a three-legged table set with teapot, cups and
saucers for two, a plate of bread and butter, a plate of jam, and a
creamer. At the right and to the right of the door, is a tall, highly
polished, oaken grandfather's clock, with a shining brass face; to the
left of the door is a tridarn. The tridarn dresser is lined with
bright blue paper and filled with luster china. The floor is of beaten
clay, whitewashed around the edges; from the rafters of the peaked
ceiling hang flitches of bacon, hams, and bunches of onions and herbs.
On the hearth is a copper kettle singing gaily; and on either side of
the fireplace are latticed windows opening into the kitchen. Through
the door to the right, when open, may be seen the flagstones and
cottages of a Welsh village street; through latticed windows the
twinkling of many village lights._
_It is about half after eleven on Allhallows' Eve in the village of
Beddgelert._
_At rise of curtain, the windows of kitchen are closed; the fire is
burning brightly, and two candles are lighted on the mantelpiece.
VAVASOUR JONES, about thirty-five years old, dressed in a striped
vest, a short, heavy blue coat, cut away in front, and with
swallowtails behind, and trimmed with brass buttons, and somewhat
tight trousers down to his boot tops, is standing by the open door at
the right, looking out anxiously on to the glittering, rain-wet
flagstone street and calling after someone._
VAVASOUR[40] [_calling_]. Kats, Kats, mind ye come home soon from
Pally Hughes's!
[Footnote 40: The _a_'s are broad throughout, i. e., Kats is
pronounced Kaats; Vavasour is Vavasoor: _ou_ is oo.]
CATHERINE [_from a distance_]. Aye, I'm no wantin' to go, but I must.
Good-by!
VAVASOUR. Good-by! Kats, ye mind about comin' home? [_There is no
reply, and VAVASOUR looks still further into the rain-wet street. He
calls loudly and desperately._] Kats, Kats darlin', I cannot let you
go without tellin' ye that--Kats, do ye hear? [_There is still no
reply and after one more searching of the street, VAVASOUR closes the
door and sits down on the end of the nearest settle._]
VAVASOUR. Dear, dear, she's gone, an' I may never see her again, an'
I'm to blame, an' she didn't know whatever that in the night--[_Loud
knocking on the closed door; VAVASOUR jumps and stands irresolute._]
The devil, it can't be comin' for her already? [_The knocking grows
louder._]
VOICE [_calling_]. Catherine, Vavasour, are ye in?
VAVASOUR [_opening the door_]. Aye, come in, whoever ye are. [_MRS.
MORGAN, the Baker, dressed in a scarlet whittle and freshly starched
white cap beneath her tall Welsh beaver hat, enters, shaking the rain
from her cloak._]
MRS. MORGAN. Where's Catherine?
VAVASOUR. She's gone, Mrs. Morgan.
MRS. MORGAN. Gone? Are ye no goin'? Not goin' to Pally Hughes's on
Allhallows' Eve?
VAVASOUR [_shaking his head and looking very white_]. Nay, I'm no
feelin' well.
MRS. MORGAN. Aye, I see ye're ill?
VAVASOUR. Well, I'm not ill, but I'm not well. Not well at all, Mrs.
Morgan.
MRS. MORGAN. We'll miss ye, but I must hurryin' on whatever; I'm late
now. Good-night!
VAVASOUR [_speaking drearily_]. Good-night! [_He closes the door and
returns to the settle, where he sits down by the pile of peat and
drops his head in his hand. Then he starts up nervously for no
apparent cause and opens one of the lattice windows. With an
exclamation of fear, he slams it to and throws his weight against the
door. Calling and holding hard to the door._] Ye've no cause to come
here! Ye old death's head, get away! [_Outside there is loud pounding
on the door and a voice shouting for admittance. VAVASOUR is obliged
to fall back as the door is gradually forced open, and a head is
thrust in, a white handkerchief tied over it._]
HOWELL HOWELL [_seeing the terror-stricken face of VAVASOUR_]. Well,
man, what ails ye; did ye think I was a ghost? [_HOWELL HOWELL, the
Milliner, in highlows and a plum-colored coat, a handkerchief on his
hat, enters, stamping off the rain and closing the door. He carefully
wipes off his plum-colored sleeves and speaks indignantly._] Well,
man, are ye crazy, keepin' me out in the rain that way? Where's
Catherine?
VAVASOUR [_stammering_]. She's at P-p-p-ally Hughes's.
HOWELL HOWELL. Are ye no goin'?
VAVASOUR. Nay, Howell Howell, I'm no goin'.
HOWELL HOWELL. An' dressed in your best? What's the matter? Have ye
been drinkin' whatever?
VAVASOUR [_wrathfully_]. Drinkin'! I'd better be drinkin' when
neighbors go walkin' round the village on Allhallows' Eve with their
heads done up in white.
HOWELL HOWELL. Aye, well, I can't be spoilin' the new hat I have,
that I cannot. A finer beaver there has never been in my shop. [_He
takes off the handkerchief, hangs it where the heat of the fire will
dry it a bit, and then, removing the beaver, shows it to VAVASOUR,
turning it this way and that._]
VAVASOUR [_absent-mindedly_]. Aye, grand, grand, man!
HOWELL HOWELL. What are ye gazin' at the clock for?
VAVASOUR [_guiltily_]. I'm no lookin' at anything.
HOWELL HOWELL. Well, indeed, I must be goin', or I shall be late at
Pally Hughes's. Good-night.
VAVASOUR. Good-night. [_He closes the door and stands before the
clock, studying it. While he is studying its face the door opens
slowly, and the tumbled, curly head of a lad about eighteen years of
age peers in. The door continues slowly to open. VAVASOUR unconscious
all the while._] 'Tis ten now. Ten, eleven, twelve; that's three hours
left, 'tis; nay, nay, 'tis only two hours left, after all, an' then--
EILIR MORRIS [_bounding in and shutting the door behind him with a
bang_]. Boo! Whoo--o--o!
VAVASOUR [_his face blanched, dropping limply on to the settle_]. The
devil!
EILIR MORRIS [_troubled_]. Uch, the pity, Uncle! I didn't think, an'
ye're ill!
VAVASOUR. Tut, tut, 'tis no matter, an' I'm not ill--not ill at all,
but Eilir, lad, ye're kin, an'--could ye promise never to tell?
EILIR MORRIS [_who thinks his uncle has been drinking, speaks to him
as if he would humor his whim_]. Aye, Uncle, I'm kin, an' I promise.
Tell on. What is it? Are ye sick?
VAVASOUR [_drearily_]. Uch, lad, I'm not sick!
EILIR MORRIS. Well, what ails ye?
VAVASOUR. 'Tis Allhallows' Eve an'--
EILIR MORRIS. Aren't ye goin' to Pally Hughes's?
VAVASOUR [_moaning and rising_]. Ow, the devil, goin' to Pally
Hughes's while 'tis drawin' nearer an' nearer an'--Ow! 'Tis the night
when Catherine must go.
EILIR MORRIS. When Aunt Kats must go! What do you mean?
VAVASOUR. She'll be dead to-night at twelve.
EILIR MORRIS [_bewildered_]. Dead at twelve? But she's at Pally
Hughes's. Does she know it?
VAVASOUR. No, but I do, an' to think I've been unkind to her! I've
tried this year to make up for it, but 'tis no use, lad; one year'll
never make up for ten of harsh words, whatever. Ow! [_Groaning,
VAVASOUR collapses on to the settle and rocks to and fro, moaning
aloud._]
EILIR MORRIS [_mystified_]. Well, ye've not been good to her, Uncle,
that's certain; but ye've been different the past year.
VAVASOUR [_sobbing_]. Aye, but a year'll not do any good, an' she'll
be dyin' at twelve to-night. Ow! I've turned to the scriptures to see
what it says about a man an' his wife, but it'll no do, no do, no do!
EILIR MORRIS. Have ye been drinkin', Uncle?
VAVASOUR [_hotly_]. Drinkin'!
EILIR MORRIS. Well, indeed, no harm, but, Uncle, I cannot understand
why Aunt Kats's goin' an' where.
VAVASOUR [_rising suddenly from the settle and seizing EILIR by the
coat lapel_]. She's goin' to leave me, lad; 'tis Allhallows' Eve
whatever! An' she'll be dyin' at twelve. Aye, a year ago things were
so bad between us, on Allhallows' Eve I went down to the church porch
shortly before midnight to see whether the spirit of your Aunt Kats
would be called an'--
EILIR MORRIS. Uncle, 'twas fair killin' her!
VAVASOUR. I wanted to see whether she would live the twelve months
out. An' as I was leanin' against the church wall, hopin', aye, lad,
prayin' to see her spirit there, an' know she'd die, I saw somethin'
comin' 'round the corner with white over its head.
EILIR MORRIS [_wailing_]. Ow--w!
VAVASOUR. It drew nearer an' nearer, an' when it came in full view of
the church porch, it paused, it whirled around like that, an' sped
away with the shroud flappin' about its feet, an' the rain beatin'
down on its white hood.
EILIR MORRIS [_wailing again_]. Ow--w!
VAVASOUR. But there was time to see that it was the spirit of
Catherine, an' I was glad because my wicked prayer had been answered,
an' because with Catherine dyin' the next Allhallows', we'd have to
live together only the year out.
EILIR MORRIS [_raising his hand_]. Hush, what's that?
VAVASOUR. 'Tis voices whatever. [_Both listen, EILIR goes to the
window, VAVASOUR to the door. The voices become louder._]
EILIR MORRIS. They're singin' a song at Pally Hughes's. [_Voices are
audibly singing:_]
Ni awn adre bawb dan ganu,
Ar hyd y nos;
Saif ein hiaith safo Cymru,
Ar hyd y nos;
Bydded undeb a brawdgarwch
Ini'n gwlwm diogelwch,
Felly canwn er hyfrydwch,
Ar hyd y nos.
Sweetly sang beside a fountain,
All through the night,
Mona's maiden on that mountain,
All through the night.
When wilt thou, from war returning,
In whose breast true love is burning,
Come and change to joy my mourning,
By day and night?
VAVASOUR. Aye, they're happy, an' Kats does not know. I went home that
night, lad, thinkin' 'twas the last year we'd have to live together,
an', considerin' as 'twas the last year, I might just as well try to
be decent an' kind. An' when I reached home, Catherine was up waitin'
for me an' spoke so pleasantly, an' we sat down an' had a long
talk--just like the days when we were courtin'.
EILIR MORRIS. Did she know, Uncle?
VAVASOUR [_puzzled_]. Nay, how could she know. But she seems
queer,--as if she felt the evil comin'. Well, indeed, each day was
sweeter than the one before, an' we were man an' wife in love an'
kindness at last, but all the while I was thinkin' of that figure by
the churchyard. Lad, lad, ye'll be marryin' before long,--be good to
her, lad, be good to her! [_VAVASOUR lets go the lapels of EILIR's
coat and sinks back on to the settle, half sobbing. Outside the roar
of wind and rain growing louder can be heard._]
VAVASOUR [_looking at the clock_]. An' here 'tis Allhallows' Eve
again, an' the best year of my life is past, an' she must die in an
hour an' a half. Ow, ow! It has all come from my own evil heart an'
evil wish. Think, lad, prayin' for her callin'; aye, goin' there,
hopin' ye'd see her spirit, an' countin' on her death!
EILIR MORRIS [_mournfully_]. Aye, Uncle, 'tis bad, an' I've no word to
say to ye for comfort. I recollect well the story Granny used to tell
about Christmas Pryce; 'twas somethin' the same whatever. An' there
was Betty Williams was called a year ago, an' is dead now; an' there
was Silvan Griffith, an' Geffery, his friend, an' Silvan had just time
to dig Geffery's grave an' then his own, too, by its side, an' they
was buried the same day an' hour.
VAVASOUR [_wailing_]. Ow--w--w! [_At that moment the door is blown
violently open by the wind; both men jump and stare out into the dark
where only the dimmed lights of the rain-swept street are to be seen,
and the very bright windows of Pally Hughes's cottage._]
EILIR MORRIS. Uch, she'll be taken there!
VAVASOUR. Aye, an', Eilir, she was loath to go to Pally's, but I could
not tell her the truth.
EILIR MORRIS. Are ye not goin', Uncle?
VAVASOUR. Nay, lad, I cannot go. I'm fair crazy. I'll just be stayin'
home, waitin' for them to bring her back. Ow--w--w!
EILIR MORRIS. Tut, tut, Uncle, I'm sorry. I'll just see for ye what
they're doin'. [_EILIR steps out and is gone for an instant. He comes
back excitedly._]
VAVASOUR [_shouting after him_]. Can ye see her, lad?
EILIR MORRIS [_returning_]. Dear, they've a grand display, raisins an'
buns, an' spices an' biscuits--
VAVASOUR. But your Aunt Kats?
EILIR MORRIS. Aye, an' a grand fire, an' a tub with apples in it an'--
VAVASOUR. But Catherine?
EILIR MORRIS. Aye, she was there near the fire, an' just as I turned,
they blew the lights out.
VAVASOUR. Blew the lights out! Uch, she'll be taken there whatever!
EILIR MORRIS. They're tellin' stories in the dark.
VAVASOUR. Go back again an' tell what ye can see of your Aunt Kats,
lad.
EILIR MORRIS. Aye.
VAVASOUR [_shouting after him_]. Find where she's sittin', lad--make
certain of that.
EILIR MORRIS [_running in breathless_]. They're throwin' nuts on the
fire--
VAVASOUR. Is she there?
EILIR MORRIS. I'm thinkin' she is, but old Pally Hughes was just
throwin' a nut on the fire an'--
VAVASOUR [_impatiently_]. 'Tis no matter about Pally Hughes whatever,
but your Aunt Kats, did--
EILIR MORRIS. There was only the light of the fire; I did not see her,
but I'll go again.
VAVASOUR. Watch for her nut an' see does it burn brightly.
EILIR MORRIS [_going out_]. Aye.
VAVASOUR [_calling after_]. Mind, I'm wantin' to know what she's
doin'. [_He has scarcely spoken the last word when a great commotion
is heard: a door across the street being slammed to violently, and the
sound of running feet. VAVASOUR straightens up, his eyes in terror on
the door, which CATHERINE JONES throws open and bursts through._]
VAVASOUR [_holding out his arms_]. Catherine, is it really ye!
[_CATHERINE, after a searching glance at him, draws herself up.
VAVASOUR draws himself up, too, and then stoops to pick up some peat
which he puts on the fire, and crosses over to left and sits down on
the settle near the chimney, without having embraced her. CATHERINE's
face is flushed, her eyes wild under the pretty white cap she wears, a
black Welsh beaver above it. She is dressed in a scarlet cloak, under
this a tight bodice and short, full skirt, bright stockings, and clogs
with brass tips. Her apron is of heavy linen, striped; over her breast
a kerchief is crossed, and from the elbows down to the wrist are full
white sleeves stiffly starched._]
CATHERINE. Yiss, yiss, 'twas dull at Pally's--very dull. My nut didn't
burn very brightly, an'--an'--well, indeed, my feet was wet, an' I
feared takin' a cold.
VAVASOUR. Yiss, yiss, 'tis better for ye here, dearie. [_Then there is
silence between them. CATHERINE still breathes heavily from the
running, and VAVASOUR shuffles his feet. While they are both sitting
there, unable to say a word, the door opens without a sound, and
EILIR's curly head is thrust in. A guttural exclamation from him makes
them start and look towards the door, but he closes it before they can
see him. CATHERINE then takes off her beaver and looks at VAVASOUR.
VAVASOUR opens his mouth, shuts it, and opens it again._]
VAVASOUR [_desperately_]. Did ye have a fine time at Pally's?
CATHERINE. Aye, 'twas gay an' fine an'--an'--yiss, yiss, so 'twas an'
so 'twasn't.
VAVASOUR [_his eyes seeking the clock_]. A quarter past eleven, uch!
Katy, do ye recall Pastor Evan's sermon, the one he preached last New
Year?
CATHERINE [_also glancing at the clock_]. Sixteen minutes after
eleven--yiss--yiss--
VAVASOUR [_catching CATHERINE's glance at the clock_]. Well,
Catherine, do--
CATHERINE. Yiss, yiss, I said I did whatever. 'Twas about inheritin'
the grace of life together.
VAVASOUR. Kats, dear, wasn't he sayin' that love is eternal, an'
that--a man--an'--an'--his wife was lovin' for--for--
CATHERINE [_glancing at the clock and meeting VAVASOUR's eyes just
glancing away from the clock_]. Aye, lad, for ever-lastin' life! Uch,
what have I done?
VAVASOUR [_unheeding and doubling up as if from pain_]. Half after
eleven! Yiss, yiss, dear, didn't he say that the Lord was mindful of
us--of our difficulties, an' our temptations an' our mistakes?
CATHERINE [_tragically_]. Aye, an' our mistakes. Ow, ow, ow, but a
half hour's left!
VAVASOUR. Do ye think, dearie, that if a man were to--to--uch!--be
unkind to his wife--an' was sorry an' his wife--his wife dies, that
he'd be--be--
CATHERINE [_tenderly_]. Aye, I'm thinkin' so. An', lad dear, do ye
think if anythin' was to happen to ye to-night,--yiss, _this_
night,--that ye'd take any grudge against me away with ye?
VAVASOUR [_stiffening_]. Happen to _me_, Catherine? [_VAVASOUR
collapses, groaning. CATHERINE goes to his side on the settle._]
CATHERINE [_in an agonized voice_]. Uch, dearie, what is it, what is
it, what ails ye?
VAVASOUR [_slanting an eye at the clock_]. Nothin', nothin' at all.
Ow, the devil, 'tis twenty minutes before twelve whatever!
CATHERINE. Lad, lad, what is it?
VAVASOUR. 'Tis nothin', nothin' at all--'tis--ow!--'tis just a little
pain across me.
CATHERINE [_her face whitening as she steals a look at the clock and
puts her arm around VAVASOUR_]. Vavasour, lad dear, is that the wind
in the chimney? Put your arm about me an' hold fast.
VAVASOUR [_both hands across his stomach, his eyes on the clock_].
Ow--ten minutes!
CATHERINE [_shaking all over_]. Is that a step at the door?
VAVASOUR [_unheeding_].'Tis goin' to strike now in a minute.
CATHERINE [_her eyes in horror on the clock_]. Five minutes before
twelve!
VAVASOUR [_almost crying, his eyes fixed on the clock's face_]. Uch,
the toad, the serpent!
CATHERINE [_her face in her hands_]. Dear God, he's goin' now!
VAVASOUR [_covering his eyes_]. Uch, the devil! Uch, the gates of
hell! [_CATHERINE cries out. VAVASOUR groans loudly. The clock is
striking: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten,
Eleven, Twelve! The last loud clang vibrates and subsides. Through a
chink in her fingers CATHERINE is peering at VAVASOUR. Through a
similar chink his agonized eyes are peering at her._]
CATHERINE [_gulping_]. Uch!
VAVASOUR. The devil!
CATHERINE [_putting out her hand to touch him_]. Lad, dear! [_They
embrace, they kiss, they dance madly about. Then they do it all over
again. While they are doing this, EILIR opens the door again and
thrusts in his head. He stares open-eyed, open-mouthed at them, and
leans around the side of the door to see what time it is, saying
audibly "five minutes past twelve," grunts his satisfaction, and
closes the door._]
VAVASOUR [_mad with joy_]. Kats, are ye here, really here?
CATHERINE [_surprised_]. Am _I_ here? Tut, lad, are _ye_ here?
VAVASOUR [_shrewdly_]. Yiss, that is are we _both_ here?
CATHERINE [_perplexed_]. Did ye think I wasn't goin' to be?
VAVASOUR [_suppressed intelligent joy in his eyes_]. No--o, not that,
only I thought, I thought ye was goin' to--to--faint, Kats. I thought
ye looked like it, Kats.
CATHERINE [_the happiness on her face vanishing, sinks on to the
nearest settle_]. Uch, I'm a bad, bad woman, aye, Vavasour Jones, a
_bad_ woman!
VAVASOUR [_puzzled, yet lightly_]. Nay, Kats, nay!
CATHERINE [_desperately and almost in tears_]. Ye cannot believe what
I must tell ye. Lad, a year ago this night I went to the church porch,
hopin', aye, prayin', ye'd be called, that I'd see your spirit
walkin'.
VAVASOUR [_starting and recovering himself_]. Catherine, ye did that!
CATHERINE [_plunging on with her confession_]. Aye, lad, I did, I'd
been so unhappy with the quarrelin' an' hard words. I could think of
nothin' but gettin' rid of them.
VAVASOUR [_in a tone of condemnation and standing over her_]. That was
bad, very bad indeed!
CATHERINE. An' then, lad, when I reached the church corner an' saw
your spirit was really there, _really_ called, an' I knew ye'd not
live the year out, I was frightened, but uch! lad, I was glad, I was
indeed.
VAVASOUR [_looking grave_]. Catherine, 'twas a terrible thing to do!
CATHERINE [_meekly_]. Yiss, I know it now, but I didn't then. I was
hard-hearted, an' I was weak with longin' to escape from it all. An'
when I ran home I was frightened, but uch! lad, I was glad, too, an'
now it hurts me so to think of it. Can you no comfort me?
VAVASOUR [_grudgingly, but not touching CATHERINE's outstretched
hand_]. Aye, well, I could, but, Kats, 'twas such a terrible thing to
do!
CATHERINE. Yiss, yiss, ye'll never be able to forgive me, I'm
thinkin'. An' then when ye came in from the lodge, ye spoke so
pleasantly to me that I was troubled. An' now the year through it has
grown better an' better, an' I could think of nothin' but lovin' ye,
an' wishing' ye to live, an' knowin' I was the cause of your bein'
called. Uch, lad, _can_ ye forgive me?
VAVASOUR [_slowly_]. Aye, I can, none of us is without sin; but,
Catherine, it was wrong, aye, aye, 'twas a wicked thing for a woman to
do.
CATHERINE [_still more meekly_]. An' then to-night, lad, I was
expectin' ye to go, knowin' ye couldn't live after twelve, an' ye
sittin' there so innocent an' mournful. An' when the time came, I
wanted to die myself. Uch!
VAVASOUR [_sitting down beside her and putting an arm about her as he
speaks in a superior tone of voice_]. No matter, dearie, now. It _was_
wrong in ye, but we're still here, an' it's been a sweet year, yiss,
better nor a honeymoon, an' all the years after we'll make better nor
this. There, there, Kats, let's have a bit of a wassail to celebrate
our Allhallows' honeymoon, shall we?
CATHERINE [_starting to fetch a bowl_]. Yiss, lad, 'twould be fine,
but, Vavasour, can ye forgive me, think, lad, for hopin', aye, an'
prayin' to see your spirit called, just wishin' that ye'd not live the
year out?
VAVASOUR [_with condescension_]. Kats, I can, an' I'm not layin' it up
against ye, though 'twas a wicked thing for ye to do--for anyone to
do. Now, darlin', fetch the bowl.
CATHERINE [_starting for the bowl again but turning on him_].
Vavasour, how does it happen that the callin' is set aside, an' that
ye're really here? Such a thing has not been in Beddgelert in the
memory of man.
VAVASOUR [_with dignity_]. I'm not sayin' how it's happened, Kats, but
I'm thinkin' 'tis modern times whatever, an' things have changed--aye,
indeed, 'tis modern times.
CATHERINE [_sighing contentedly_]. Good! 'Tis lucky 'tis modern times
whatever!
[THE CURTAIN.]
RIDERS TO THE SEA[41]
By JOHN MILLINGTON SYNGE
[Footnote 41: Copyright, 1916, by L. E. Bassett. Reprinted by
special arrangement with John W. Luce & Company, Boston.
Acting rights in the hands of Samuel French, 28 West 38
Street, New York.]
"He was of a dark type of Irishman, though not black-haired. Something
in his air gave one the fancy that his face was dark from gravity.
Gravity filled the face and haunted it, as though the man behind were
forever listening to life's case before passing judgment.... When
someone spoke to him he answered with grave Irish courtesy. When the
talk became general he was silent.... His manner was that of a man too
much interested in the life about him to wish to be more than a
spectator. His interest was in life, not in ideas." In these words,
John Masefield gives his first impressions of John Millington Synge,
whom he met at a friend's house, in London, in January, 1903.