Part 19

"'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

1 _ch_ has, roughly, the same sound as in German or in 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!