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A play by J. M. Synge |
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In The Shadow Of The Glen |
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Title: In The Shadow Of The Glen Author: J. M. Synge [More Titles by Synge] First performed at the Molesworth Hall, Dublin, October 8th, 1903.
A PLAY IN ONE ACT
Cottage kitchen; turf fire on the right; a bed near it against the wall with a body lying on it covered with a sheet. A door is at the other end of the room, with a low table near it, and stools, or wooden chairs. There are a couple of glasses on the table, and a bottle of whisky, as if for a wake, with two cups, a teapot, and a home-made cake. There is another small door near the bed. Nora Burke is moving about the room, settling a few things, and lighting candles on the table, looking now and then at the bed with an uneasy look. Some one knocks softly at the door. She takes up a stocking with money from the table and puts it in her pocket. Then she opens the door.) TRAMP Good evening to you, lady of the house. NORA. TRAMP. NORA. TRAMP. NORA. TRAMP Is it departed he is? NORA. TRAMP It's a queer look is on him for a man that's dead. NORA He was always queer, stranger, and I suppose them that's queer and they living men will be queer bodies after. TRAMP. NORA I was afeard, stranger, for he put a black curse on me this morning if I'ld touch his body the time he'ld die sudden, or let any one touch it except his sister only, and it's ten miles away she lives in the big glen over the hill. TRAMP It's a queer story he wouldn't let his own wife touch him, and he dying quiet in his bed. NORA. (She pulls back a bit of the sheet.) TRAMP. NORA Maybe cold would be no sign of death with the like of him, for he was always cold, every day since I knew him,--and every night, stranger,-- (she covers up his face and comes away from the bed); TRAMP God rest his soul. NORA Maybe that would do you better than the milk of the sweetest cow in County Wicklow. TRAMP. (He drinks.) NORA TRAMP. NORA. TRAMP I've walked a great way through the world, lady of the house, and seen great wonders, but I never seen a wake till this day with fine spirits, and good tobacco, and the best of pipes, and no one to taste them but a woman only. NORA. TRAMP There's no offence, lady of the house? NORA. TRAMP I knew rightly. (He lights his pipe so that there is a sharp light beneath his haggard face.) NORA I'm thinking many would be afeard, but I never knew what way I'd be afeard of beggar or bishop or any man of you at all. (She looks towards the window and lowers her voice.) TRAMP It is surely, God help us all! NORA You're saying that, stranger, as if you were easy afeard. TRAMP Is it myself, lady of the house, that does be walking round in the long nights, and crossing the hills when the fog is on them, the time a little stick would seem as big as your arm, and a rabbit as big as a bay horse, and a stack of turf as big as a towering church in the city of Dublin? If myself was easily afeard, I'm telling you, it's long ago I'ld have been locked into the Richmond Asylum, or maybe have run up into the back hills with nothing on me but an old shirt, and been eaten with crows the like of Patch Darcy--the Lord have mercy on him--in the year that's gone. NORA You knew Darcy? TRAMP. NORA TRAMP. NORA God spare Darcy, he'ld always look in here and he passing up or passing down, and it's very lonesome I was after him a long while (she looks over at the bed and lowers her voice, speaking very clearly,) (A short pause; then she stands up.) NORA. TRAMP. NORA Far down, stranger? TRAMP. (She fills the kettle and puts it on the fire.) NORA. TRAMP. NORA I'm going a little back to the west, stranger, for himself would go there one night and another and whistle at that place, and then the young man you're after seeing--a kind of a farmer has come up from the sea to live in a cottage beyond--would walk round to see if there was a thing we'ld have to be done, and I'm wanting him this night, the way he can go down into the glen when the sun goes up and tell the people that himself is dead. TRAMP It's myself will go for him, lady of the house, and let you not be destroying yourself with the great rain. NORA. (She puts a shawl over her head.) TRAMP Maybe if you'd a piece of a grey thread and a sharp needle--there's great safety in a needle, lady of the house--I'ld be putting a little stitch here and there in my old coat, the time I'll be praying for his soul, and it going up naked to the saints of God. NORA There's the needle, stranger, and I'm thinking you won't be lonesome, and you used to the back hills, for isn't a dead man itself more company than to be sitting alone, and hearing the winds crying, and you not knowing on what thing your mind would stay? TRAMP It's true, surely, and the Lord have mercy on us all! (Nora goes out. The Tramp begins stitching one of the tags in his coat, saying the "De Profundis" under his breath. In an instant the sheet is drawn slowly down, and Dan Burke looks out. The Tramp moves uneasily, then looks up, and springs to his feet with a movement of terror.) DAN Don't be afeard, stranger; a man that's dead can do no hurt. TRAMP I meant no harm, your honour; and won't you leave me easy to be saying a little prayer for your soul? (A long whistle is heard outside.) DAN Ah, the devil mend her.... Do you hear that, stranger? Did ever you hear another woman could whistle the like of that with two fingers in her mouth? (He looks at the table hurriedly.) TRAMP Is it not dead you are? DAN. TRAMP What will herself say if she smells the stuff on you, for I'm thinking it's not for nothing you're letting on to be dead? DAN. (bitterly) (Crying out impatiently.) (Tramp gives him the glass.) DAN Go over now to that cupboard, and bring me a black stick you'll see in the west corner by the wall. TRAMP Is it that? DAN. TRAMP Is it herself, master of the house, and she a grand woman to talk? DAN. (He takes the stick in his hand.) (He stops to listen.) TRAMP There's a voice speaking on the path. DAN. (He covers himself up hastily.) TRAMP Have no fear, master of the house. What is it I know of the like of you that I'ld be saying a word or putting out my hand to stay you at all? (He goes back to the fire, sits down on a stool with his back to the bed and goes on stitching his coat.) DAN Stranger. TRAMP Whisht, whisht. Be quiet I'm telling you, they're coming now at the door. (Nora comes in with Micheal Dara, a tall, innocent young man behind her.) NORA. TRAMP. NORA. TRAMP. NORA Go over now and pull down the sheet, and look on himself, Micheal Dara, and you'll see it's the truth I'm telling you. MICHEAL. (He sits down on a stool next the table facing the tramp. Nora puts the kettle on a lower hook of the pot hooks, and piles turf under it.) NORA Will you drink a sup of tea with myself and the young man, stranger, or (speaking more persuasively) TRAMP. (He takes a drink from his glass which he has beside him.) (He goes on stitching. Nora makes the tea.) MICHEAL That's a poor coat you have, God help you, and I'm thinking it's a poor tailor you are with it. TRAMP. (Nora comes back to the table.) NORA Let you not mind him at all, Micheal Dara, he has a drop taken and it's soon he'll be falling asleep. MICHEAL. NORA There's no one can drive a mountain ewe but the men do be reared in the Glen Malure, I've heard them say, and above by Rathvanna, and the Glen Imaal, men the like of Patch Darcy, God spare his soul, who would walk through five hundred sheep and miss one of them, and he not reckoning them at all. MICHEAL Is it the man went queer in his head the year that's gone? NORA. TRAMP That was a great man, young fellow, a great man I'm telling you. There was never a lamb from his own ewes he wouldn't know before it was marked, and he'ld run from this to the city of Dublin and never catch for his breath. NORA He was a great man surely, stranger, and isn't it a grand thing when you hear a living man saying a good word of a dead man, and he mad dying? TRAMP. (He puts the needle under the collar of his coat, and settles himself to sleep in the chimney-corner. Nora sits down at the table; their backs are turned to the bed.) MICHEAL. I heard tell this day, Nora Burke, that it was on the path below Patch Darcy would be passing up and passing down, and I heard them say he'ld never past it night or morning without speaking with yourself. NORA. It was no lie you heard, Micheal Dara. MICHEAL NORA It's in a lonesome place you do have to be talking with some one, and looking for some one, in the evening of the day, and if it's a power of men I'm after knowing they were fine men, for I was a hard child to please, and a hard girl to please (she looks at him a little sternly), MICHEAL Was it a hard woman to please you were when you took himself for your man? NORA MICHEAL That's true, Nora, and maybe it's no fool you were, for there's good grazing on it, if it is a lonesome place, and I'm thinking it's a good sum he's left behind. 28 NORA I do be thinking in the long nights it was a big fool I was that time, Micheal Dara, for what good is a bit of a farm with cows on it, and sheep on the back hills, when you do be sitting looking out from a door the like of that door, and seeing nothing but the mists rolling down the bog, and the mists again, and they rolling up the bog, and hearing nothing but the wind crying out in the bits of broken trees were left from the great storm, and the streams roaring with the rain. MICHEAL What is it ails you, this night, Nora Burke? I've heard tell it's the like of that talk you do hear from men, and they after being a great while on the back hills. NORA It's a bad night, and a wild night, Micheal Dara, and isn't it a great while I am at the foot of the back hills, sitting up here boiling food for himself, and food for the brood sow, and baking a cake when the night falls? (She puts up the money, listlessly, in little piles on the table.) (holding out her hand}, (She pauses.) MICHEAL. That's three pounds we have now, Nora Burke. NORA. And saying to myself another time, to look on Peggy Cavanagh, who had the lightest hand at milking a cow that wouldn't be easy, or turning a cake, and there she is now walking round on the roads, or sitting in a dirty old house, with no teeth in her mouth, and no sense and no more hair than you'ld see on a bit of a hill and they after burning the furze from it. MICHEAL. NORA. MICHEAL. NORA Why would I marry you, Mike Dara? You'll be getting old and I'll be getting old, and in a little while I'm telling you, you'll be sitting up in your bed--the way himself was sitting--with a shake in your face, and your teeth falling, and the white hair sticking out round you like an old bush where sheep do be leaping a gap. (Dan Burke sits up noiselessly from under the sheet, with his hand to his face. His white hair is sticking out round his head.) NORA It's a pitiful thing to be getting old, but it's a queer thing surely. It's a queer thing to see an old man sitting up there in his bed with no teeth in him, and a rough word in his mouth, and his chin the way it would take the bark from the edge of an oak board you'ld have building a door.... God forgive me, Micheal Dara, we'll all be getting old, but it's a queer thing surely. MICHEAL. (he puts his arm round her}, (Dan sneezes violently. Micheal tries to get to the door, but before he can do so, Dan jumps out of the bed in queer white clothes, with his stick in his hand, and goes over and puts his back against it.) MICHEAL. (Crosses himself, and goes backward across the room.) DAN. Now you'll not marry her the time I'm rotting below in the Seven Churches, and you'll see the thing I'll give you will follow you on the back mountains when the wind is high. MICHEAL Get me out of it, Nora, for the love of God. He always did what you bid him, and I'm thinking he would do it now. NORA Is it dead he is or living? DAN It's little you care if it's dead or living I am, but there'll be an end now of your fine times, and all the talk you have of young men and old men, and of the mist coming up or going down. (He opens the door.) TRAMP It's a hard thing you're saying for an old man, master of the house, and what would the like of her do if you put her out on the roads? DAN. (To Nora.) (He pauses: she looks round at Micheal.) MICHEAL There's a fine Union below in Rathdrum. DAN. NORA What way will yourself be that day, Daniel Burke? What way will you be that day and you lying down a long while in your grave? For it's bad you are living, and it's bad you'll be when you're dead. (She looks at him a moment fiercely, then half turns away and speaks plaintively again.) DAN. (Pointing to the door.) TRAMP. Maybe himself would take her. NORA. TRAMP. DAN. TRAMP We'll be going now, lady of the house--the rain is falling, but the air is kind and maybe it'll be a grand morning by the grace of God. NORA. TRAMP. DAN. Go out of that door, I'm telling you, and do your blathering below in the glen. (Nora gathers a few things into her shawl.) TRAMP Come along with me now, lady of the house, and it's not my blather you'll be hearing only, but you'll be hearing the herons crying out over the black lakes, and you'll be hearing the grouse and the owls with them, and the larks and the big thrushes when the days are warm, and it's not from the like of them you'll be hearing a talk of getting old like Peggy Cavanagh, and losing the hair off you, and the light of your eyes, but it's fine songs you'll be hearing when the sun goes up, and there'll be no old fellow wheezing, the like of a sick sheep, close to your ear. NORA. (She goes towards the door, then turns to Dan.) (She goes out with the Tramp. Micheal is slinking after them, but Dan stops him.) DAN. MICHEAL And it's very dry I am, surely, with the fear of death you put on me, and I after driving mountain ewes since the turn of the day. DAN I was thinking to strike you, Micheal Dara, but you're a quiet man, God help you, and I don't mind you at all. (He pours out two glasses of whisky, and gives one to Micheal.) DAN. MICHEAL. (They drink.) CURTAIN. [The end] GO TO TOP OF SCREEN |