Part 17
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!
NELI. And ye're to be on the lookout for Mrs. Jones the Wash, for Mrs. Jenkins the Midwife--Jane Elin has a new baby, an' it'll be needin' somethin'. [_Pointing to counter._] Here is everythin' plainly marked. Ye're no to undersell or give away anythin.' D'ye hear?
HUGH. Aye, I hear!
NELI. An' remember where the tobacco is, for this is the day Tom Morris the Sheep comes in.
HUGH. Aye, in the glass jar.
NELI. Good-by. I will return soon.
HUGH. [_Indifferently._] Good-by.
[NELI _leaves by door at back centre. Immediately_ HUGH _steals toward the shelves where she hid the book_.
NELI. [_Thrusting head back in._] Mind, Hughie lad, no readin'--nay, not even any theology!
HUGH. [_Stepping quickly away from shelves and repeating parrotlike._] Nay, nay, no readin', no sermons, not even any theology!
NELI. An' no salvation till I come back!
[_She smiles, withdraws head, and is gone._ HUGH _starts forward, collides clumsily with the counter in his eagerness, knocks the basket of eggs with his elbow, upsetting it. Several eggs break. He shakes his head ruefully at the mess and as ruefully at the counter. He finds book and hugs it greedily to him._
HUGH. [_Mournfully._] Look at this! What did I say but that there was no salvation sellin' groceries! If Neli could but see those eggs! [_He goes behind counter and gets out a box of eggs, from which he refills the basket. The broken eggs he leaves untouched upon the floor. He opens his volume of sermons and seats himself by a little three-legged table near the fire. He sighs in happy anticipation. Hearing a slight noise, he looks suspiciously at door, gets up, tiptoes across floor to street door, and locks it quietly. An expression of triumph overspreads his face._] Da, if customers come, they will think no one is at home whatever, an' I can read on! [_He seats himself at little three-legged table, opens volume, smooths over its pages lovingly, and begins to read slowly and halting over syllables._] The smoke of Ba-by-lon was hot--scorchin' hot. An' 'twas filled with Ba-ba-ba-baal stones, slimy an' scorchin' hot also----
[_There is the sound of feet coming up the shop steps, followed by a hand trying the door-knob._ HUGH _looks up from his sermons, an expression of innocent triumph on his face. The door-knob is tried again, the door rattled._
[_Then some one rings the shop door-bell._
MRS. JONES THE WASH. [_Calling._] Mrs. Williams, mum, have ye any soap? [_No answer. Calling._] Mrs. Williams! Mrs. Williams!
[HUGH _nods approvingly and lifts his volume to read_.
MRS. JONES THE WASH. Where are they all whatever? I will just look in at the window, [_A large, kindly face is anxiously flattened against the window. At that_ HUGH _drops in consternation under the three-legged table_.] Uch, what's that shadow skippin' under the table? No doubt a rat after the groceries. Mrs. Williams, mum, Mrs. Williams! Well, indeed, they're out.
[_She pounds once more on the door with a heavy fist, rings, and then goes. Suddenly the door back centre opens, and_ NELI WILLIAMS _appears_.
NELI. [_She does not see_ HUGH _and peers around for him_.] What is all that bell-ringing about?
[HUGH _crawls out from under the table_.
HUGH. Hush, she's gone!
NELI. [_Amazed, and whispering to herself._] Under the table!
HUGH. [_Rising and putting up his hand as a sign for her to keep silent._] Nay, 'twas Mrs. Jones the Wash come to buy her soap whatever!
NELI. Aye, well, why didn't she come in whatever?
HUGH. [_Whispering._] I locked the door, Neli, so I could finish readin' those essays whatever! An' then she looked in at the window, an' I had to get under the table.
NELI. [_Indignantly._] Locked the door against a customer, an' after all I said! An' crawled under a table! Hugh Williams, your wits are goin' quite on the downfall!
HUGH. [_In a whisper._] Aye, but Neli, those essays--an' I thought ye had gone to market.
NELI. I had started, but I came back for my purse. Put down that book!
HUGH. Aye, but, Neli----
NELI. [_Angrily._] Much less of heaven an' much more of earth is what I need in a husband! Ye have sent away a customer; very like Mrs. Jones the Wash after soap will go elsewhere.
HUGH. Aye, but Neli....
[_Steps are heard approaching._
NELI. Get up! Some one is coming.
[HUGH _gets up very unwillingly_.
HUGH. [_Whispering still._] Aye, but Neli....
NELI. [_Angrily._] Put down that book, I say! [_She crunches over some eggshells._] Eggs? Broken?
HUGH. [_Putting down book._] Aye, Neli, my elbow an' the eggs in Babylon....
NELI. [_Sarcastically._] Aye, I see beasts in Babylon here together--doleful creatures smearin' one an' sixpence worth of eggs all over the floor. An' a half-dozen eggs gone last week. [_Wiping up eggs._] An' I'm to suppose Babylon had something to do with that half-dozen eggs, too? They were put in the basket after Mrs. Jones the Wash had left whatever, an' before Deacon Roberts came.
HUGH. Neli, I did not say----
NELI. [_Still angrily._] Well, indeed, unlock that door!
HUGH. [_Going to unlock door._] But, Neli....
NELI. [_Disappearing through door back centre._] Not a word! Your mind has gone quite on the downfall--lockin' doors against your own bread and butter an' soap.
HUGH. [_Unlocking door sullenly._] But, Neli, salvation an' soap....
NELI. [_Snappily._] Salvation an' soap are as thick as thieves.
HUGH. But, Neli, a man is his own master.
NELI. Yiss, I see he is!
[NELI _goes out, slamming door noisily_.
HUGH. Dear anwyl, she seems angry!
[HUGH _opens street door left just as_ NELI _goes out through kitchen, by door back centre_. DEACON ROBERTS _enters the door_ HUGH _has unlocked. He looks at_ HUGH, _smiles, and goes over to counter in a businesslike way. He is a stout man, dressed in a black broadcloth cutaway coat, tight trousers, a drab vest, high collar and stock, woollen gloves, a muffler wound about his neck and face, and a tall Welsh beaver hat. Under his arm he carries a book._
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Speaking affectionately, pulling off his gloves, putting down book on counter, and beginning eagerly to touch the various groceries._] Essays on Babylon to-day, Hughie lad?
HUGH. [_Looking about for_ NELI _and speaking fretfully_.] Nay.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Unwinding his muffler._] Ye look as if ye had been in spiritual struggle.
HUGH. [_Drearily._] I have.
DEACON ROBERTS. Well, indeed, Hughie, 'tis neither the angel nor the archfiend here now, nor for me any struggle except the struggle to both live an' eat well--ho! ho! _an'_ eat well, I say--in Bala. [_Laughs jovially._] Ho! ho! not bad, Hughie lad--live _an'_ eat in Bala!
HUGH. [_Patiently._] With that muffler around your head, deacon, ye are enough to frighten the devil out of Babylon.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Unwinding last lap of muffler._] Yiss, yiss, Hughie lad. But I dunno but ye will understand better if I call myself, let us say the angel with the sickle--ho! ho!--not the angel of fire, Hughie, but the angel with the sharp sickle gatherin' the clusters of the vines of the earth. [_Sudden change of subject._] Where is Neli?
HUGH. [_Vacantly._] I dunno--yiss, yiss, at market.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Chuckling._] Dear, dear, at market--a fine day for marketing! An' my essays on the Flamin' Wickedness of Babylon, Hughie lad, how are they? Have ye finished them?
HUGH. Nay, not yet.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Looking over counter, touching one article after another as he mentions it._] Pickled herrin'--grand but wet! Pickles--dear me, yiss, Neli's--an' good! Butter from Hafod-y-Porth--sweet as honey! [_He picks up a pat of butter and sniffs it, drawing in his breath loudly. He smiles with delight and lays down the butter. He takes off his hat and dusts it out inside. He puts his hat back on his head, smiles, chuckles, picks up butter, taps it thoughtfully with two fingers, smells it and puts down the pat lingeringly. He lifts up a loaf of_ NELI WILLIAMS'S _bread, glancing from it to the butter_.] Bread! Dear me! [_His eyes glance on to codfish._] American codfish [_picks up package and smacks his lips loudly_], dear _anwyl_, with potatoes--[_reads_] "Gloucester." [_Reaches out and touches eggs affectionately._] Eggs--are they fresh, Hugh?
HUGH. [_Dreamily._] I dunno. But I broke some of them. They might be! [_Looks at floor._
DEACON ROBERTS. _Were_ they fresh?
HUGH. I dunno.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Sharply._] Dunno? About _eggs_?
[_Picks up egg._
HUGH. [_Troubled._] Neli's hens laid them.
DEACON ROBERTS. I see, Neli's hens laid 'em, an' you broke 'em! Admirable arrangement! [_Putting down the egg and turning toward the cheese, speaks on impatiently._] Well, indeed then, were the hens fresh?
HUGH. [_More cheerful._] Yiss, I think. Last week the basket was grand an' full of fresh eggs, but they disappeared, aye, they did indeed.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Starts._] Where did they go to?
HUGH. [_Injured._] How can I say? I was here, an' I would have told her if I had seen, but I did not whatever. Neli reproves me for too great attention to visions an' too little to the groceries.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Chuckling._] Aye, Hughie lad, such is married life! Let a man marry his thoughts or a wife, for he cannot have both. I have chosen my thoughts.
HUGH. But the cat----
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Briskly._] Aye, a man can keep a cat without risk.
HUGH. Nay, nay, I mean the cat took 'em. I dunno. That's it--{SPACE}[HUGH _clutches his head, trying to recall something_.] Uch, that's it! Neli told me to remember to ask ye if ye thought eggs could steal a cat whatever.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Puzzled._] Eggs steal a cat?
HUGH. [_Troubled._] Nay, nay, cats steal an egg?
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Startled and looking suspiciously at_ HUGH.] Cats? What cats?
HUGH. [_With solemnity._] Aye, but I told Neli I'm no carin' about cats with heaven starin' me in the face. Deacon Roberts, those essays are grand an' wonderful.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Relieved._] Yiss, yiss! Hughie lad, theology is a means to salvation an' sometimes to other ends, too. But there's no money in theology. [_Sighs._] And a man must live! [_Points to corroded dish of pickled herring, sniffing greedily._] Dear people, what beautiful herrin'! [_Wipes moisture away from corners of his mouth and picks up a fish from dish, holding it, dripping, by tail._] Pickled?
HUGH. [_Looking at corroded dish._] Tuppence.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Shortly._] Dear to-day.
HUGH. [_Eyeing dish dreamily._] I dunno. Neli----
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Eyes glittering, cutting straight through sentence and pointing to cheese._] Cheese?
HUGH. A shillin', I'm thinkin'.
DEACON ROBERTS. A shillin', Hugh? [DEACON ROBERTS _lifts knife and drops it lightly on edge of cheese. The leaf it pares off he picks up and thrusts into his mouth, greedily pushing in the crumbs. Then he pauses and looks slyly at_ HUGH.] Was it sixpence ye said, Hugh?
HUGH. [_Gazing toward the fire and the volume of essays._] Yiss, sixpence, I think.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Sarcastically._] Still too dear, Hugh!
HUGH. [_Sighing._] I dunno, it might be dear. [_With more animation._] Deacon, when Babylon fell----
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Wipes his mouth and, interrupting_ HUGH, _speaks decisively_.] No cheese. [_He removes his tall Welsh beaver hat, mops off his bald white head, and, pointing up to the shelves, begins to dust out inside of hatband again, but with a deliberate air of preparation._] What is that up there, Hughie lad?
HUGH. [_Trying to follow the direction of the big red wavering forefinger._] Ye mean that? A B C In-fants' Food, I think.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Giving his hat a final wipe._] Nay, nay, not for me, Hughie lad! Come, come, brush the smoke of burnin' Babylon from your eyes! In a minute I must be goin' back to my study, whatever. An' I have need of food!
[HUGH _takes a chair and mounts it. The_ DEACON _looks at_ HUGH'S _back, puts his hand down on the counter, and picks up an egg from the basket. He holds it to the light and squints through it to see whether it is fresh. Then he turns it lovingly over in his fat palm, makes a dexterous backward motion and slides it into his coat-tail pocket. This he follows with two more eggs for same coat-tail and three for other--in all half a dozen._
HUGH. [_Dreamily pointing to tin._] Is it Yankee corn?
DEACON ROBERTS. [_To Hugh's back, and slipping in second egg._] Nay, nay, not that, Hughie lad, that tin above!
HUGH. [_Absent-mindedly touching tin._] Is it ox tongue?
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Slipping in third egg and not even looking up._] Ox tongue, lad? Nay, nuthin' so large as that.
HUGH. [_Dreamily reaching up higher._] American condensed m-m-milk? Yiss, that's what it is.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Slipping in fourth egg._] Condensed milk, Hughie? Back to infants' food again.
HUGH. [_Stretching up almost to his full length and holding down tin with tips of long white finger._] Kippert herrin'? Is it that?
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Slipping in fifth egg._] Nay, nay, a little further up, if you please.
HUGH. [_Gasping, but still reaching up and reading._] Uto--U-to-pi-an Tinned Sausage. Is it that?
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Slipping in sixth egg with an air of finality and triumph, and lifting his hat from the counter._] Nay, nay, not that, Hughie lad. Why do ye not begin by askin' me what I want? Ye've no gift for sellin' groceries whatever.
HUGH. [_Surprised._] Did I not ask ye?
DEACON ROBERTS. Nay.
HUGH. What would Neli say whatever? She would never forgive me.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Amiably._] Well, I forgive ye, Hughie lad. 'Tis a relish I'm needin'!
HUGH. [_Relieved._] Well, indeed, a relish! We have relishes on that shelf above, I think. [_Reaches up but pauses helplessly._] I must tell Neli that these shelves are not straight.
[_Dizzy and clinging to the shelves, his back to the_ DEACON.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Picking up a pound of butter wrapped in print paper._] Is it up there?