by J. M. Synge
PEGEEN — [to crowd.] — Go on now and don’t destroy him and he drenching with sweat. Go along, I’m saying, and have your tug-of-warring till he’s dried his skin.
CROWD. Here’s his prizes! A bagpipes! A fiddle was played by a poet in the years gone by! A flat and three-thorned blackthorn would lick the scholars out of Dublin town!
CHRISTY — [taking prizes from the men.] — Thank you kindly, the lot of you. But you’d say it was little only I did this day if you’d seen me a while since striking my one single blow.
TOWN CRIER — [outside, ringing a bell.] — Take notice, last event of this day! Tug-of-warring on the green below! Come on, the lot of you! Great achievements for all Mayo men!
PEGEEN. Go on, and leave him for to rest and dry. Go on, I tell you, for he’ll do no more. (She hustles crowd out; Widow Quin following them.)
MEN — [going.] — Come on then. Good luck for the while!
PEGEEN — [radiantly, wiping his face with her shawl.] — Well, you’re the lad, and you’ll have great times from this out when you could win that wealth of prizes, and you sweating in the heat of noon!
CHRISTY — [looking at her with delight.] — I’ll have great times if I win the crowning prize I’m seeking now, and that’s your promise that you’ll wed me in a fortnight, when our banns is called.
PEGEEN — [backing away from him.] — You’ve right daring to go ask me that, when all knows you’ll be starting to some girl in your own townland, when your father’s rotten in four months, or five.
CHRISTY — [indignantly.] Starting from you, is it? (He follows her.) I will not, then, and when the airs is warming in four months, or five, it’s then yourself and me should be pacing Neifin in the dews of night, the times sweet smells do be rising, and you’d see a little shiny new moon, maybe, sinking on the hills.
PEGEEN [looking at him playfully.] — And it’s that kind of a poacher’s love you’d make, Christy Mahon, on the sides of Neifin, when the night is down?
CHRISTY. It’s little you’ll think if my love’s a poacher’s, or an earl’s itself, when you’ll feel my two hands stretched around you, and I squeezing kisses on your puckered lips, till I’d feel a kind of pity for the Lord God is all ages sitting lonesome in his golden chair.
PEGEEN. That’ll be right fun, Christy Mahon, and any girl would walk her heart out before she’d meet a young man was your like for eloquence, or talk, at all.
CHRISTY — [encouraged.] Let you wait, to hear me talking, till we’re astray in Erris, when Good Friday’s by, drinking a sup from a well, and making mighty kisses with our wetted mouths, or gaming in a gap or sunshine, with yourself stretched back unto your necklace, in the flowers of the earth.
PEGEEN — [in a lower voice, moved by his tone.] — I’d be nice so, is it?
CHRISTY — [with rapture.] — If the mitred bishops seen you that time, they’d be the like of the holy prophets, I’m thinking, do be straining the bars of Paradise to lay eyes on the Lady Helen of Troy, and she abroad, pacing back and forward, with a nosegay in her golden shawl.
PEGEEN — [with real tenderness.] — And what is it I have, Christy Mahon, to make me fitting entertainment for the like of you, that has such poet’s talking, and such bravery of heart?
CHRISTY — [in a low voice.] — Isn’t there the light of seven heavens in your heart alone, the way you’ll be an angel’s lamp to me from this out, and I abroad in the darkness, spearing salmons in the Owen, or the Carrowmore?
PEGEEN. If I was your wife, I’d be along with you those nights, Christy Mahon, the way you’d see I was a great hand at coaxing bailiffs, or coining funny nick-names for the stars of night.
CHRISTY. You, is it? Taking your death in the hailstones, or in the fogs of dawn.
PEGEEN. Yourself and me would shelter easy in a narrow bush, (with a qualm of dread) but we’re only talking, maybe, for this would be a poor, thatched place to hold a fine lad is the like of you.
CHRISTY — [putting his arm round her.] — If I wasn’t a good Christian, it’s on my naked knees I’d be saying my prayers and paters to every jackstraw you have roofing your head, and every stony pebble is paving the laneway to your door.
PEGEEN — [radiantly.] If that’s the truth, I’ll be burning candles from this out to the miracles of God that have brought you from the south to-day, and I, with my gowns bought ready, the way that I can wed you, and not wait at all.
CHRISTY. It’s miracles, and that’s the truth. Me there toiling a long while, and walking a long while, not knowing at all I was drawing all times nearer to this holy day.
PEGEEN. And myself, a girl, was tempted often to go sailing the seas till I’d marry a Jew-man, with ten kegs of gold, and I not knowing at all there was the like of you drawing nearer, like the stars of God.
CHRISTY. And to think I’m long years hearing women talking that talk, to all bloody fools, and this the first time I’ve heard the like of your voice talking sweetly for my own delight.
PEGEEN. And to think it’s me is talking sweetly, Christy Mahon, and I the fright of seven townlands for my biting tongue. Well, the heart’s a wonder; and, I’m thinking, there won’t be our like in Mayo, for gallant lovers, from this hour, to-day. (Drunken singing is heard outside.) There’s my father coming from the wake, and when he’s had his sleep we’ll tell him, for he’s peaceful then. [They separate.]
MICHAEL — [singing outside] — The jailor and the turnkey They quickly ran us down, And brought us back as prisoners Once more to Cavan town. [He comes in supported by Shawn.] There we lay bewailing All in a prison bound.... [He sees Christy. Goes and shakes him drunkenly by the hand, while Pegeen and Shawn talk on the left.]
MICHAEL — [to Christy.] — The blessing of God and the holy angels on your head, young fellow. I hear tell you’re after winning all in the sports below; and wasn’t it a shame I didn’t bear you along with me to Kate Cassidy’s wake, a fine, stout lad, the like of you, for you’d never see the match of it for flows of drink, the way when we sunk her bones at noonday in her narrow grave, there were five men, aye, and six men, stretched out retching speechless on the holy stones.
CHRISTY — [uneasily, watching Pegeen.] — Is that the truth?
MICHAEL. It is then, and aren’t you a louty schemer to go burying your poor father unbeknownst when you’d a right to throw him on the crupper of a Kerry mule and drive him westwards, like holy Joseph in the days gone by, the way we could have given him a decent burial, and not have him rotting beyond, and not a Christian drinking a smart drop to the glory of his soul?
CHRISTY — [gruffly.] It’s well enough he’s lying, for the likes of him.
MICHAEL — [slapping him on the back.] — Well, aren’t you a hardened slayer? It’ll be a poor thing for the household man where you go sniffing for a female wife; and (pointing to Shawn) look beyond at that shy and decent Christian I have chosen for my daughter’s hand, and I after getting the gilded dispensation this day for to wed them now.
CHRISTY. And you’ll be wedding them this day, is it?
MICHAEL — [drawing himself up.] — Aye. Are you thinking, if I’m drunk itself, I’d leave my daughter living single with a little frisky rascal is the like of you?
PEGEEN — [breaking away from Shawn.] — Is it the truth the dispensation’s come?
MICHAEL — [triumphantly.] Father Reilly’s after reading it in gallous Latin, and “It’s come in the nick of time,” says he; “so I’ll wed them in a hurry, dreading that young gaffer who’d capsize the stars.”
PEGEEN — [fiercely.] He’s missed his nick of time, for it’s that lad, Christy Mahon, that I’m wedding now.
MICHAEL — [loudly with horror.] — You’d be making him a son to me, and he wet and crusted with his father’s blood?
PEGEEN. Aye. Wouldn’t it be a bitter thing for a girl to go marrying the like of Shaneen, and he a middling kind of a scarecrow, with no savagery or fine words in him at all?
MICHAEL — [gasping and sinking on a chair.] — Oh, are
n’t you a heathen daughter to go shaking the fat of my heart, and I swamped and drownded with the weight of drink? Would you have them turning on me the way that I’d be roaring to the dawn of day with the wind upon my heart? Have you not a word to aid me, Shaneen? Are you not jealous at all?
SHANEEN — [In great misery.] — I’d be afeard to be jealous of a man did slay his da.
PEGEEN. Well, it’d be a poor thing to go marrying your like. I’m seeing there’s a world of peril for an orphan girl, and isn’t it a great blessing I didn’t wed you, before himself came walking from the west or south?
SHAWN. It’s a queer story you’d go picking a dirty tramp up from the highways of the world.
PEGEEN — [playfully.] And you think you’re a likely beau to go straying along with, the shiny Sundays of the opening year, when it’s sooner on a bullock’s liver you’d put a poor girl thinking than on the lily or the rose?
SHAWN. And have you no mind of my weight of passion, and the holy dispensation, and the drift of heifers I am giving, and the golden ring?
PEGEEN. I’m thinking you’re too fine for the like of me, Shawn Keogh of Killakeen, and let you go off till you’d find a radiant lady with droves of bullocks on the plains of Meath, and herself bedizened in the diamond jewelleries of Pharaoh’s ma. That’d be your match, Shaneen. So God save you now! [She retreats behind Christy.]
SHAWN. Won’t you hear me telling you...?
CHRISTY — [with ferocity.] — Take yourself from this, young fellow, or I’ll maybe add a murder to my deeds to-day.
MICHAEL — [springing up with a shriek.] — Murder is it? Is it mad yous are? Would you go making murder in this place, and it piled with poteen for our drink to-night? Go on to the foreshore if it’s fighting you want, where the rising tide will wash all traces from the memory of man. [Pushing Shawn towards Christy.]
SHAWN — [shaking himself free, and getting behind Michael.] — I’ll not fight him, Michael James. I’d liefer live a bachelor, simmering in passions to the end of time, than face a lepping savage the like of him has descended from the Lord knows where. Strike him yourself, Michael James, or you’ll lose my drift of heifers and my blue bull from Sneem.
MICHAEL. Is it me fight him, when it’s father-slaying he’s bred to now? (Pushing Shawn.) Go on you fool and fight him now.
SHAWN — [coming forward a little.] — Will I strike him with my hand?
MICHAEL. Take the loy is on your western side.
SHAWN. I’d be afeard of the gallows if I struck him with that.
CHRISTY — [taking up the loy.] — Then I’ll make you face the gallows or quit off from this. [Shawn flies out of the door.]
CHRISTY. Well, fine weather be after him, (going to Michael, coaxingly) and I’m thinking you wouldn’t wish to have that quaking blackguard in your house at all. Let you give us your blessing and hear her swear her faith to me, for I’m mounted on the spring-tide of the stars of luck, the way it’ll be good for any to have me in the house.
PEGEEN [at the other side of Michael.] — Bless us now, for I swear to God I’ll wed him, and I’ll not renege.
MICHAEL — [standing up in the centre, holding on to both of them.] — It’s the will of God, I’m thinking, that all should win an easy or a cruel end, and it’s the will of God that all should rear up lengthy families for the nurture of the earth. What’s a single man, I ask you, eating a bit in one house and drinking a sup in another, and he with no place of his own, like an old braying jackass strayed upon the rocks? (To Christy.) It’s many would be in dread to bring your like into their house for to end them, maybe, with a sudden end; but I’m a decent man of Ireland, and I liefer face the grave untimely and I seeing a score of grandsons growing up little gallant swearers by the name of God, than go peopling my bedside with puny weeds the like of what you’d breed, I’m thinking, out of Shaneen Keogh. (He joins their hands.) A daring fellow is the jewel of the world, and a man did split his father’s middle with a single clout, should have the bravery of ten, so may God and Mary and St. Patrick bless you, and increase you from this mortal day.
CHRISTY AND PEGEEN. Amen, O Lord!
[Hubbub outside.]
[Old Mahon rushes in, followed by all the crowd, and Widow Quin. He makes a rush at Christy, knocks him down, and begins to beat him.]
PEGEEN — [dragging back his arm.] — Stop that, will you. Who are you at all?
MAHON. His father, God forgive me!
PEGEEN — [drawing back.] — Is it rose from the dead?
MAHON. Do you think I look so easy quenched with the tap of a loy? [Beats Christy again.]
PEGEEN — [glaring at Christy.] — And it’s lies you told, letting on you had him slitted, and you nothing at all.
CHRISTY — [clutching Mahon’s stick.] — He’s not my father. He’s a raving maniac would scare the world. (Pointing to Widow Quin.) Herself knows it is true.
CROWD. You’re fooling Pegeen! The Widow Quin seen him this day, and you likely knew! You’re a liar!
CHRISTY — [dumbfounded.] It’s himself was a liar, lying stretched out with an open head on him, letting on he was dead.
MAHON. Weren’t you off racing the hills before I got my breath with the start I had seeing you turn on me at all?
PEGEEN. And to think of the coaxing glory we had given him, and he after doing nothing but hitting a soft blow and chasing northward in a sweat of fear. Quit off from this.
CHRISTY — [piteously.] You’ve seen my doings this day, and let you save me from the old man; for why would you be in such a scorch of haste to spur me to destruction now?
PEGEEN. It’s there your treachery is spurring me, till I’m hard set to think you’re the one I’m after lacing in my heart-strings half-an-hour gone by. (To Mahon.) Take him on from this, for I think bad the world should see me raging for a Munster liar, and the fool of men.
MAHON. Rise up now to retribution, and come on with me.
CROWD — [jeeringly.] There’s the playboy! There’s the lad thought he’d rule the roost in Mayo. Slate him now, mister.
CHRISTY — [getting up in shy terror.] — What is it drives you to torment me here, when I’d asked the thunders of the might of God to blast me if I ever did hurt to any saving only that one single blow.
MAHON — [loudly.] If you didn’t, you’re a poor good-for-nothing, and isn’t it by the like of you the sins of the whole world are committed?
CHRISTY — [raising his hands.] — In the name of the Almighty God....
MAHON. Leave troubling the Lord God. Would you have him sending down droughts, and fevers, and the old hen and the cholera morbus?
CHRISTY — [to Widow Quin.] — Will you come between us and protect me now?
WIDOW QUIN. I’ve tried a lot, God help me, and my share is done.
CHRISTY — [looking round in desperation.] — And I must go back into my torment is it, or run off like a vagabond straying through the Unions with the dusts of August making mudstains in the gullet of my throat, or the winds of March blowing on me till I’d take an oath I felt them making whistles of my ribs within?
SARA. Ask Pegeen to aid you. Her like does often change.
CHRISTY. I will not then, for there’s torment in the splendour of her like, and she a girl any moon of midnight would take pride to meet, facing southwards on the heaths of Keel. But what did I want crawling forward to scorch my understanding at her flaming brow?
PEGEEN — [to Mahon, vehemently, fearing she will break into tears.] — Take him on from this or I’ll set the young lads to destroy him here.
MAHON — [going to him, shaking his stick.] — Come on now if you wouldn’t have the company to see you skelped.
PEGEEN — [half laughing, through her tears.] — That’s it, now the world will see him pandied, and he an ugly liar was playing off the hero, and the fright of men.
CHRISTY — [to Mahon, very sharply.] — Leave me go!
CROWD. That’s it. Now Christy. If them two set fighting, it will lick the world.
> MAHON — [making a grab at Christy.] — Come here to me.
CHRISTY — [more threateningly.] — Leave me go, I’m saying.
MAHON. I will maybe, when your legs is limping, and your back is blue.
CROWD. Keep it up, the two of you. I’ll back the old one. Now the playboy.
CHRISTY — [in low and intense voice.] — Shut your yelling, for if you’re after making a mighty man of me this day by the power of a lie, you’re setting me now to think if it’s a poor thing to be lonesome, it’s worse maybe to go mixing with the fools of earth. [Mahon makes a movement towards him.]
CHRISTY — [almost shouting.] — Keep off... lest I do show a blow unto the lot of you would set the guardian angels winking in the clouds above. [He swings round with a sudden rapid movement and picks up a loy.]
CROWD — [half frightened, half amused.] — He’s going mad! Mind yourselves! Run from the idiot!
CHRISTY. If I am an idiot, I’m after hearing my voice this day saying words would raise the topknot on a poet in a merchant’s town. I’ve won your racing, and your lepping, and...
MAHON. Shut your gullet and come on with me.
CHRISTY. I’m going, but I’ll stretch you first. [He runs at old Mahon with the loy, chases him out of the door, followed by crowd and Widow Quin. There is a great noise outside, then a yell, and dead silence for a moment. Christy comes in, half dazed, and goes to fire.]
WIDOW QUIN — [coming in, hurriedly, and going to him.] — They’re turning again you. Come on, or you’ll be hanged, indeed.
CHRISTY. I’m thinking, from this out, Pegeen’ll be giving me praises the same as in the hours gone by.
WIDOW QUIN — [impatiently.] Come by the back-door. I’d think bad to have you stifled on the gallows tree.
CHRISTY — [indignantly.] I will not, then. What good’d be my life-time, if I left Pegeen?
WIDOW QUIN. Come on, and you’ll be no worse than you were last night; and you with a double murder this time to be telling to the girls.
CHRISTY. I’ll not leave Pegeen Mike.
WIDOW QUIN — [impatiently.] Isn’t there the match of her in every parish public, from Binghamstown unto the plain of Meath? Come on, I tell you, and I’ll find you finer sweethearts at each waning moon.
