Inside.
The front benches are occupied by Rustic Youths, who beguile the tedium of waiting by smoking short clays, and trying to pull off one another's caps.
First Youth (examining the decorative Shakspearian panels on the proscenium.) They three old wimmin be a-pokin' o' that old nipper, 'ooever he be.
[The "old nipper" in question is, of course, MACBETH.
Second Youth. Luk up at that 'un tother side—it's a Gineral's gho-ast a-frightenin' th' undertaker (A subject from "Hamlet") They've gi'en over dancin' outside—they'll be beginning soon. (The company descend the steps, and pass behind the scenes.) We shall see proper 'ere, we shall.
[The Curtain draws up, and reveals a small stage, with an inclined sheet of glass in a heavy frame in front; behind this glass is the Cottage Home of MARIA MARTIN.
Maria (coming out of Cottage, and speaking in an inaudible tone). At last—WILLIAM CORDER—to make me his wife—I know not why—strange misgiving 'as come over me.
[She is unfeelingly requested to speak up.
William Corder (whose villany is suggested at once by his wearing a heavy silver double watch-chain, with two coins appended, and no neck-tie—enters left). Yes, MARIA, as I have promised, I will take you to London, and make you my wife—but first meet me in disguise to-night, and in secret, at the Red Barn.
[MARIA is understood to demur, but finally agrees to the rendezvous, and retires into the Cottage. Old Mr. MARTIN comes out in a black frock-coat, and a white waistcoat—he has no neck-tie either, but the omission, in his case, merely suggests a virtuous economy. He feebly objects to MARIA being married in London, but admits that, "Perhaps he has no right to interfere with WILLIAM's arrangements," and goes indoors again. WILLIAM retires, and the scene changes to a 'very small street, which is presently invaded by a very large Comic Countryman, called "TIM," who is engaged to MARIA's sister NANNY.
Tim. They tell I, as how the streets o' Lunnon be paved wi' gold, and I be goin' 'oop to make ma fortune, I be.
[NANNY comes in and bribes him to remain by the promise of "cold pudden with plenty of gravy." Comic business, during which every reference to "cold pudden" (and there are several) is received with roars of laughter. WILLIAM CORDER, on the ingenious plea that he wishes to take some flowers up to London, borrows a spade and pickaxe from TIM, to whom it appears he owes ninepence, which he promises—like the villain he is—to repay "the very next time he sees him in Church."
William (going off with a flourish and a Shakspearian couplet).
My mind's made up. Hence all thoughts that are good!
Crimes once commenced, Must. End in—blood! [Act drop.
A Female Spect. They don't seem in no 'urry to come to th' Gho-ast part, seemin'ly.
Her Swain. Ye wudn't have 'em do th' Gho-ast afoor th' Murder, wud ye?
ACT II.—The interior of the Red Barn. WILLIAM discovered digging MARIA's grave in his shirt-sleeves, and thereby revealing that his shirt-front is as false as his heart. He announces that "Nothing can shake him, now, from his pre-determined purpose," and that "the grave gapes for its coming victim."
Enter MARIA, disguised in a brown bowler hat and a very tight suit of tweed "dittoes," in which she looks very like the "Male Impersonator" at a Music-hall. The Audience receive her with derision and the recommendation to go and get her hair cut.
Maria. Here am I in disguise at the Red Barn. And yet something seems to whisper to me that danger is near. WILLIAM, where, where are you?
William (coming out of a corner). 'Ere, MARIA, 'ere! (Aside.) Now to 'url my victim to an early grave! (Aloud.) 'Ave you obeyed my instructions and avoided notice?
Maria. I have. Whenever I saw anyone approaching, I hid behind a hedge and ducked in the ditch.
William (with sombre approval). That was most discreet on your part, MARIA. No one saw you come in, and no one will ever see you go out. Be'old your open grave!
[After some pleading from MARIA, a desperate struggle takes place—that is, they catch one another's wrists, and walk up and down together. MARIA calls upon her Mother's spirit, whereupon a very youthful Angel is seen floating above the couple.
The Female S. (triumphantly). Theer now—theer ain't bin no murder yet, and theer's th' Gho-ast sure enough!
Swain (who is not going to own that he is mistaken). That ain't naw Gho-ast!
Female S. What is it, then?
Swain. Why, it's the "De-cep-ti-o Vissus," as was wrote up outside.
[The Guardian Angel vanishes; WILLIAM gets a spade, and aims at MARIA, who takes it away, and strikes him; he is then reduced to the pick-axe, but she wrests this from him too, and hits him in the face with it. He pulls her coat off, and her hair down—but she escapes from him a third time—on which he snatches up a pistol, and fires it.
William (with unreasonable surprise). Great Evans! What 'ave I done? I, am become a Murderer! The shot 'as taken effect! See, she staggers this way! (Which MARIA does, to die comfortably in WILLIAM's arms.) I 'ave slain the only woman who ever truly loved me; and I know not whether I loved her most while living, or hate her most now she's dead! (The Curtain falls, leaving WILLIAM with this nice point still unsolved, and the Audience profoundly unmoved by the tragedy, and evidently longing for more of the Comic Countryman.)
ACT III.—Interior of Old MARTIN's Cottage. He attempts to forget his anxiety about his daughter—who he fears, with only too much reason, has come to an untimely end—by going to sleep in a highly uncomfortable position on a kitchen-chair. The Murder is re-enacted in a vision, in dumb-show. The form of MARIA appears in the tweed suit, and urges him to search for her remains in the Red Barn.
Old Martin (awaking). I have 'ad a fearful dream, and I am under the impression that MARIA has been foully murdered in the Red Barn.
[He calls the Comic Countryman to help him "to commence a thorough investigation"—which he does, in a spirit of rollicking fun befitting the occasion, as the Scene changes to the Red Barn.
Old M. (finding the spade). What's this? A spade—and, by its appearance, it 'as recently been used, for there are marks of blood upon it! I now begin to be afraid my dream will come true.
[Roars of laughter when the Comic C. discovers the body, and implores it to "say summat!" Change of Scene. WILLIAM CORDER discovered At Home, in a long perspective of pillars and curtains, ending in a lawn and fountain.
William (moodily). 'Tis now exactly twelve months since MARIA MARTIN was done to death by these 'ands. Since then, I have married a young, rich, and beautiful wife—and yet I am not 'appy.
[Enter Old MARTIN, who, by the simple method of changing his hat and coat, has now become a Bow-street Officer; he puts questions to WILLIAM, who at once betrays himself, and has to be searched. As a pair of pistols exactly resembling one that was left in the Red Barn, are found in his coat-tail pockets; his guilt is conclusively proved, and he is led away. The next Scene shows him in the Condemned Cell, resolving to sleep away his few remaining hours on a kitchen-chair. He has a vision of MARIA in tweeds, who exhorts him to repent. Old MARTIN, who is now either the Governor of the Gaol or the Hangman, enters to conduct him to the scaffold, and on the way he is met—to the joy of the Audience—by the Comic, C., who duns him for the ninepence. WILLIAM shakes his head solemnly, points to the skies, and passes on. The Comic C. then goes to sleep in a chair and has a vision on his own account, in which he beholds the apotheosis of MARIA—still in the suit of dittoes—and piloted by a couple of obviously overweighted Angels; and also the last moments of WILLIAM CORDER, who, as he stands under an enlarged "Punch" gibbet, pronounces the following impressive farewell before disappearing through a trap.
Ye Youth, be warned by my Despair!
Avoid bad women, false as they are fair. (This is just a little hard on poor MARIA by-the-way.)
Be wise in time, if you would shun my fate,
For oh! how wretched is the man who's wise too late!
[And with this the Drama comes to an end, and the Comic Countryman begs the Audience to give the performance a good word to their friends outside.