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Review of ‘THE WELL OF THE SAINTS’.
J. M. Synge. Court Theatre. June.
Jill: Eh ! Glory be to God and here we are, Jack. And isn't it a
grand thing for a woman to be
sitting on a velvet seat, and she with her man beside her in a boiled
shirt and all.
Jack: Whist! woman, when I tell ye—they'll be after pulling
up the curtain, and it's myself
will be destroyed entirely if you do be talking in the one ear,
and the music do be
sounding in the other, and the actors speaking like the saints of
God with fine beautiful
voices on them, or like the little cherubs of heaven, maybe, and
they warm with the
milk of Mary.
Jill: (Astonished) What will the women be after Jack? the way they
do be sitting with their
necks and their chests on them as naked as a bucket of peeled potatoes.
I'm thinking the
women of England are strange creatures, and they hiding their little
bits of heads under
a great fullness of hair, and bits of ribbons, and bits of feathers
or a square of auld net,
maybe, the way the birds of the air might be nesting on the top
of them, and they not
noticing surely.
Jack: Do you be looking at the men, Jill ? I'm after thinking they
do be spending the long day
sitting in their offices and combing their hair with a fine tooth
comb, and it dipped in
oil the way it lays as fiat on their heads as the grass of the field
when you've been lying
on it in the hollow night, maybe dreaming of Helen of Troy, or maybe
fornicating with
.....
Audience: Sh ! Sh !
Jill: Whist yourself! For we're not heeding you at all. Let you
be looking on the stage now.
Jack: It's a fine Irish place you'll be seeing this night. (Curtain
rises.') Oh ! God help me ! that's
a bit of a green tree, and it rising out of the boards of the floor.
It's a miracle, surely.
And what will the old people be doing the way they do be sitting
on a little bench ?
Jack: There's a man coming. He's after speaking with them.
Jill: And three girls. They do be walking like yellow hens and they
fearful of the grain we'll
be throwing them.
(Loud laughter of audience.)
Jack: Do you hear that yourself? Ah now, I'm a distracted man.
It's the joke I missed
entirely.
Jill: It will be the auld man with the woman's skirt on him.
(Curtain falls.)
Programme girl: Tea, coffee, chocolates, ices, lemonade.
Jill: Would you be having us getting our deaths, sitting out with
first a hot stomach, and
then a cold stomach on us ? Get away now with your bit of an apron,
that's not big
enough for a decent woman to wipe her nose into, and the cap on
your head like the
holder to a tea kettle.
Jack: Ask her if she's after knowing of the name of the tune that
they're playing, for it's a
wonderful, beautiful tune, and my two feet dancing to it like the
buds of May in a
breeze.
Jill: I'll not be asking her anything. You've no need to look at
her waist Jack Tiger, an it's a
poor thing surely for a woman to be so small in the middle of her
body, the way she
might swallow a fish bone, and cut herself into two halves entirely.
(Curtain rises.)
Jack: Now, if that isn't the same auld man, and he cutting an
auld thorn, and the young man
cursing and swearing at his holy years.
Jill: D'you see, his auld woman is after passing him, and she not
noticing him at all. It's a
fine—sad play, I'm thinking.
Jack: Let you keep watching. There's the girl coming, and she with
a pail in her hands. Eh !
now what will be happening! They're having a power of talk I'm thinking,
and they all
getting in one place, and raising their voices.
Jill: I'm thinking there'll be blood shed, Jack Tiger. God protect
us, they're going away
again. It's a disappointed woman I am.
(Loud laughter of audience.)
Jack: Did you hear that yourself? Now can you tell me what they're
laughing at—and you
with nothing but your woman's wits to save you from the powers of
hell.
Jill: It will be the auld man, and him walking like a pint of whisky.
(Curtain falls.)
Jack: Well, a play's a queer thing for upsetting a man. It's a
queer thing—I'd live to this night
to be yawning at the likes of it, but if it's yawning I am for a
short while, I'll soon be
sleeping myself.
Jill: Put on your coat, Jack Tiger. You can be standing up then,
and having a great stretch of
your muscles, and the people not knowing at all. It's fine care
I'll be taking that you'll
not put me to shame.
Jack: Whist, woman! Your head's been near dropping down the last
half of an hour.
(Curtain rises.)
Now, the Lord have mercy on us both if it isn't all beginning
again from where it
began before, surely ?
Jill: Where will the auld man be Ah! here he comes. They do be sitting
together again. Do
you mark that —they're all coming back again. There'll be
blood shed this time,
surely.
Jack: There's little use expecting, with the auld one with the woman's
skirt, preaching at
them and praying. Have you got your hat on, woman ? The auld ones
are going, and
we'll be going too.
Jill: The saints of God preserve us ! Have you got the outside key
of our door, Jack Tiger ?
Jack: Don't be making game of me—an it's a hard thing for
a man with his eyes the only
part of him that's not asleep, to be asked foolish questions. You've
got it yourself.
Jill: I'll be letting you know that I haven't, Jack Tiger !
?The audience : Sh! Sh !
Jill: Oh! it's the last time I'll be seeing a play at all.
(Loud laughter of the audience.)
Jack: The curse of black night upon you, woman!—And you
making me miss the last joke
with your foolish talk about the key !
Jill: Keep off myself, Jack Tiger! It's roaring crying I'll be,
and the next minute not ended.
(The curtain falls.)
THE TWO TIGERS. |
