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Title: 'And So Ad Infinitum' (The Life of the Insects)
- An Entomological Review, in Three Acts, a Prologue and an Epilogue
Author: Čapek, Karel, Capek, Josef
Language: English
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*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "'And So Ad Infinitum' (The Life of the Insects)
- An Entomological Review, in Three Acts, a Prologue and an Epilogue" ***
of North Carolina at Chapel Hill and the Online Distributed
Transcriber’s Notes:
Underscores “_” before and after a word or phrase indicate _italics_
in the original text.
Equal signs “=” before and after a word or phrase indicate =bold=
in the original text.
Small capitals have been converted to SOLID capitals.
Typographical errors have been silently corrected.
‘And so _ad infinitum_’
(_The Life of the Insects_)
An Entomological Review, in Three Acts
a Prologue and an Epilogue
BY
THE BROTHERS ČAPEK
The authorized translation from the Czech
by Paul Selver
FREELY ADAPTED FOR THE ENGLISH STAGE
BY NIGEL PLAYFAIR AND CLIFFORD BAX
‘So, Naturalists observe, a flea
Has smaller fleas that on him prey;
And these have smaller still to bite ’em,
And so proceed _ad infinitum_.’
DEAN SWIFT.
HUMPHREY MILFORD
OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS
LONDON EDINBURGH GLASGOW COPENHAGEN
NEW YORK TORONTO MELBOURNE CAPE TOWN
BOMBAY CALCUTTA MADRAS SHANGHAI
1923
PRINTED IN ENGLAND
AT THE OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS
BY FREDERICK HALL
SCENES
PAGE
PROLOGUE: _In the Woods_ 5
ACT I: _The Butterflies_ 8
ACT II: _Creepers and Crawlers_ 24
ACT III: _The Ants_ 44
EPILOGUE: _Death and Life_ 63
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
(IN THE ORDER OF THEIR APPEARANCE)
A TRAMP
A LEPIDOPTERIST
CLYTIE ─┐
OTTO │
FELIX ├─ _Butterflies_
IRIS │
VICTOR ─┘
A CHRYSALIS
MR. BEETLE
MRS. BEETLE
ANOTHER BEETLE
ICHNEUMON FLY
HIS DAUGHTER
MR. CRICKET
MRS. CRICKET
A PARASITE
OTHER CREEPERS AND CRAWLERS
THE BLIND TIMEKEEPER ─┐
THE CHIEF ENGINEER │
THE SECOND ENGINEER │
AN INVENTOR │
A MESSENGER ├─ _Ants_
A SIGNAL OFFICER │
A JOURNALIST │
A PHILANTHROPIST │
THE COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF OF THE YELLOWS, &C. ─┘
FIRST ─┐
SECOND ├─ _Moths_
THIRD ─┘
FIRST SNAIL
SECOND SNAIL
A WOODCUTTER
A WOMAN
SCHOOL CHILDREN
PROLOGUE
THE TRAMP _is discovered, stretched out in
sleep; a bottle at his side_. BUTTERFLIES
_flutter across the scene_.
_Enter a_ LEPIDOPTERIST _with a net_.
_Lepidopterist._ There they go, there they go! Fine specimens! _Apatura
Iris_—_Apatura Clythia_—light-blue butterflies and the Painted Lady.
Wait a minute—I’ll get you! That’s just it—they won’t wait, the silly
creatures. Off again.... Hullo—somebody here. They’re settling on him.
Now! Carefully. Slowly. Tiptoe! One, two, three!
[_A butterfly settles on the tip of
the_ TRAMP’S _nose. The_ LEPIDOPTERIST
_makes a dab with his net_.
_Tramp._ ‘Ullo! What yer doin’? Ketchin’ butterflies?
_Lepidopterist._ Don’t move! Careful now! They’re settling again. Funny
creatures—they’ll settle on mud, on any sort of garbage, and now
they’re settling on you.
_Tramp._ Let ’em go. They’re ’appy.
_Lepidopterist._ Idiot! I’ve lost them, confound you! There they go,
there they go!
_Tramp._ It’s a shime—it is, reely.
[_The_ LEPIDOPTERIST _rushes out_, R.
_The_ TRAMP _stretches his arms, takes
a pull at the emptied bottle, yawns, staggers
to his feet and drops down again_.
(_Speaking to the audience_) All right—all right! Don’t you worry. I
’aven’t ’urt myself! I know what you think—you think I’m screwed—some
of you! Rotten observation—low visibility—that’s what you’re
suffering from. You didn’t catch me staggering, did you? I fell like
a tree—like a hero! I was rehearsing, that’s what I was doing—the
fall of man! The fall of man! There’s a picture for yer! Ah, you little
flowers—_you_ didn’t think I was drunk, did you? You’ve too much
respect for me! I’m a man, that’s what I am—a lord of creation! A
great thing to be, I tell yer! ‘Now then, pass along there, my man!’
That’s what they say to me. It’s wonderful! ‘Clear up that rubbish
heap, my man, and I’ll give you a tanner, my man.’ It’s a fine thing to
be a man. (_He succeeds in getting his balance._)
_Enter the_ LEPIDOPTERIST, R.
_Lepidopterist._ Two,—splendid Nymphalidae!
_Tramp._ No offence, mister, but why’jer catch them when they’re all so
’appy playing?
_Lepidopterist._ Playing, you call it. I’m afraid you haven’t the
scientific mind, my friend. It’s the overture to the natural system
by which Nature keeps up the balance of the population—that’s what
you call ‘playing’. The male pursues the female; the female allures,
avoids—selects—the eternal round of sex!
_Tramp._ What will you do with them when you catch them?
_Lepidopterist._ What shall I do? Well, each insect must be identified,
recorded and assigned a place in my collection. The butterfly must be
carefully killed, and then carefully pinned, and properly dried, and
care must be taken that the powder is not rubbed off. And it must be
protected against dust and draught. A little cyanide of potassium.
_Tramp._ And what’s it all for?
_Lepidopterist._ Love of nature—if you loved nature as much as I did,
my man—Careful—didn’t I tell you—they’re off again. Never mind, I’ll
get you, see if I don’t.
[_Exit._
_Tramp._ ’E’s clever, that there bloke. And as for me,
P’raps I am screwed; but if I _am_, ’oo cares?
That ain’t the only reason why I see
Everythink double, everythink in pairs.
Them little birds up there ... I see yer plain!
Tweet-weety-weet ... Lord! ’ow they bill and coo,
As yer might say. Them butterflies again,
What sport they ’ave—’ow prettily they woo!
Love’s what they want. Some day they’ll get it, p’raps:
Everythink does—or mostways everythink ...
(S’pose _you’d_ a girl who loved all kinds of chaps—
Wouldn’t _you_ damn yerself, and take to drink?)
Well, ’ere’s the world, and though I’m down and out,
It’s worth while learnin’ what it’s all about.
ACT I
THE BUTTERFLIES
_A hill. Many flowers and bright-coloured cushions.
In the C. a small table or bar, with high seats and
coloured glasses containing cold drinks and straws._
_Tramp._ I say—I say! It’s a bit of all right. What price the ’Eath
now? Paradise—that’s what it is,—Paradise! And don’t it smell nice!
Odi Colone, not ’alf.
CLYTIE _runs in laughing, followed by_ OTTO.
_Otto._ I love you, Clytie.
[_Exeunt._
_Tramp._ Butterflies! That’s what they are. Butterflies, playin’. I’d
like to stay ’ere and watch ’em if I wasn’t so—Never mind; they can
kick me out if they like. I’ll lie down ’ere, comfortable.—’Pon my
soul, I will. (_He takes and arranges the cushions_) (_Sleepily_) All
right—that’s what it is; all right.
_Enter_ FELIX—_a poet butterfly_.
_Felix._ (_Ecstatically_) Iris! Iris! Where are you, Iris? If only I
could find a rhyme for you!
All I desire is
Beautiful Iris ...
No, that’s wretched, commonplace.
The star to whom my thoughts aspire is
Iris, Iris, radiant Iris.
That’s no better. I know! She will reject my passion and I shall then
produce an exquisite lament. For instance,—
If only thou wert ill, hard-hearted Iris!
Then I could melt thee with my kind inquiries ...
[_Laughter behind._
Listen! Iris! (_He stands at the side, burying his face in his hands._)
IRIS _enters, followed by_ VICTOR.
_Iris._ All alone, Felix? And so picturesquely mournful?
_Felix._ You, Iris? I didn’t think—
_Iris._ Why aren’t you over there? So many pretty little flappers—
_Felix._ You know very well, Iris—they don’t interest me.
_Iris._ Poor little fellow—why not?
_Victor_ (_a lady-killer_). You mean, they don’t interest you _yet_!
_Felix._ They interest me no longer.
_Iris._ Do you hear that, Victor? That’s a nice thing to say to
my face. Come here, you rude little man. Sit down close to me....
No,—close. You don’t call that close, do you? Tell me, my precious,
don’t women really interest you any longer?
_Felix._ No—I’m weary of them.
_Iris._ (_With a sigh_) Oh, you men—you’re such cynics. You have your
fun—as much fun as you can get—and then you say (_imitating_) ‘I’m
weary of them’. It’s a terrible thing to be a woman.
_Victor._ Why?
_Iris._ _We_ never grow tired of love. Have you had a terrible past,
Felix? When did you first fall in love?
_Felix._ I don’t know. I forget. It was so long ago. I was a schoolboy.
_Victor._ Ah, you were still a caterpillar. Gobbling up all the leaves.
_Iris._ A little kitty kitty kitty caterpillar. Was she dark and
beautiful?
_Felix._ As beautiful—
_Iris._ As what?
_Felix._ As beautiful as you.
_Iris._ And did she love you?
_Felix._ I don’t know. I never spoke to her.
_Iris._ Good heavens! What did you do to her then?
_Felix._ I looked at her from afar.
_Victor._ Sitting on a green leaf?
_Felix._ And wrote poems, letters—my first novel.
_Victor._ It’s appalling the number of leaves a caterpillar uses up.
_Iris._ Don’t be nasty, Victor. Look, his eyes are full of tears.
_Victor._ Tears? Poor little cry-baby.
_Felix._ They’re not, they’re not!
_Iris._ Let me see—look into my eyes quickly.
_Victor._ One, two, three, four—Ah! I knew he couldn’t hold out any
longer.
_Iris._ What’s the colour of _my_ eyes, Felix dear?
_Felix._ Blue—like heaven.
_Iris._ Yours are brown—golden-brown. I don’t care for blue eyes,
they’re so cold. Poor Clytie has green eyes, hasn’t she? Do you like
Clytie’s eyes, Felix?
_Felix._ Clytie’s? I don’t know. Yes—she has beautiful eyes.
_Iris._ Oh, but her legs are dreadfully thick! You’re such bad judges
of women, you poets.
_Victor._ Have you read the last poem that Felix published? It came out
in the Spring Anthology.
_Iris._ Read it me, quickly.
_Felix._ No, no, I won’t let you read it to her. It’s bad—it’s
old—I’ve passed that stage long ago.
_Victor._ It’s called ‘The Eternal Life’.
_Felix._ You’re not to read it,—really!
_Victor._ (_Reads_)
There’s nothing true. The earth and sky
Were false when first created;
And you and I will surely lie
When love is consummated.
_Iris._ That’s witty, isn’t it, Victor? How did you think of it? What’s
consummated, Felix?
_Victor._ From the Latin ‘consummare’. It means that Love
has—ahem—achieved its aim.
_Iris._ What aim?
_Victor._ Well—the usual one.
_Iris._ Oh, how shocking, Felix. I’m afraid of you. Is Latin always so
immoral?
_Felix._ Don’t, Iris. It’s such a bad poem.
_Iris._ Why, bad?
_Felix._ There’s no real passion in it.
_Iris._ Victor, you will find my fan in the garden.
_Victor._ Oh, don’t let _me_ disturb you.
[_Exit._
_Iris._ Quick, Felix—tell me the truth. You can tell me everything.
_Felix._ Iris, Iris—how can you bear him? That fop, that silk-hatted
satyr!
_Iris._ Victor?
_Felix._ How foully he thinks of love, of you, of everything.
_Iris._ Poor Victor—he’s so soothing. No, Felix, talk about poetry.
I’m fond of poetry....
‘Were false when first created’
Felix, you’re frightfully clever....
‘When love is consummated’
Tell me, Felix, poets are dreadfully, hideously, passionate, aren’t
they?
_Felix._ Oh, Iris, I’ve grown out of what’s in that poem a long time.
_Iris._ If only that Latin word wasn’t so coarse. I can stand anything,
anything, but it mustn’t have a horrid name. Felix, you must be tender
and delicate with women. If I were to let you kiss me, you wouldn’t
give me a horrid name, would you?
_Felix._ Iris, I wouldn’t dare to kiss you.
_Iris._ Be brave, little boy. Faint heart never won—Tell me, whom did
you write that poem to? To Clytie?
_Felix._ No, no, no.
_Iris._ To whom, then?
_Felix._ To nobody, upon my honour, to nobody; or rather, to all the
women in the world.
_Iris._ Good gracious! All the women in the——Felix, you’re a terrible
rake. But you _must_ let me know one thing—who’s your (_whispering_)
ladybird now?
_Felix._ You won’t tell any one—you really won’t?
_Iris._ No.
_Felix._ I haven’t got one.
_Iris._ What?
_Felix._ Not yet—I swear it. (_Very simply._)
_Iris._ Oh what a naughty fib! How many women have you told the tale
to? I see through you, Felix. You’re a dangerous man.
_Felix._ Iris, dear, don’t laugh at me. I’ve had awful experiences—in
my imagination. Terrible disappointments. Love-affairs without
number—but only in my dreams. Dreams are the poet’s life. I know all
women, and I’ve not known one—I swear it, Iris.
_Iris._ Then why do you say you are tired of women?
_Felix._ Oh, Iris, every one disparages the thing that he loves best.
_Iris._ Do you mean dark women? You love Clytie—the cat.
_Felix._ No—dreams, eternal dreams.
_Iris._ You have such passionate eyes, Felix. You’re awfully clever.
What are you thinking about now?
_Felix._ About you. Woman is a riddle.
_Iris._ Guess it then. But not too roughly, please.
_Felix._ I cannot see into the depths of your eyes.
_Iris._ (_Crossly_) Oh, then look somewhere else.
_Felix._ Iris, I—
_Iris._ I’m in a queer mood to-day. How stupid it is to be a woman. I
should like to be a man,—to kiss, to tempt, to overcome. Oh, Felix, I
should make such a fearfully passionate man. I should—I should seize
everything I wanted, brutally, savagely. What a pity you aren’t a girl.
Let’s pretend, shall we? You be Iris, and I’ll be your Felix.
_Felix._ No, Iris—it’s too dangerous to be Felix. I couldn’t let you.
It means desiring something, desiring something—
_Iris._ (_In a whisper_) Oh, Felix, not something—everything!
_Felix._ There is something greater than desiring everything.
_Iris._ Is there? What is it?
_Felix._ Desiring the impossible.
_Iris._ (_Coldly and crossly_) Oh, of course, you’re perfectly right.
You’re always right—so right. What can be keeping Victor so long?
Would you mind calling him?
_Felix._ Iris, I haven’t offended you? I haven’t said too much?
_Iris._ No—I shouldn’t call it too much!
_Felix._ To desire the unattainable. Iris, I was mad to talk to you
like that.
_Iris._ Or at least impolite. Really, you know, you’re rather crude, my
little man. When you’re in the company of ladies, you shouldn’t behave
as if you were longing for something that isn’t there.
_Felix._ The unattainable _is_ there.
_Iris._ (_Looking round from her mirror_) Where?
_Felix._ Your image, Iris.
_Iris._ My image? Have you fallen in love with my image? Look, my image
has heard you. Kiss it quickly.
_Felix._ It is as unapproachable as you.
_Iris._ Am I unapproachable? How do you know?
_Felix._ If I didn’t know that, I shouldn’t love you.
_Iris._ But must one always be unapproachable?
_Felix._ There is no true love except in the unapproachable.
_Iris._ Do you think so? What about
‘shall surely lie
When love is’—
_you_ know!
_Felix._ Don’t, Iris—not again.
_Iris._ Make a poem for me, quickly. Something passionate.
_Felix._ Now that at last we have met,
Think you I care what may follow?
Let me be snared in a net,
Let me be snapped by a swallow—
I shall have tasted of bliss,
I shall have flown where the fire is.
Ah, could we die in a kiss,
Beautiful exquisite Iris!
_Iris._ How perfect!
_Clytie._ (_Outside_) Iris! Iris!
_Iris._ That tiresome Clytie—with that awful hanger-on of hers—just
as we—
_Enter_ CLYTIE.
_Clytie._ Fancy, Iris—Otto says—Oh, you’ve got Felix here. How are
you, Felix? Iris, you’ve been teasing him—he’s blushing.
_Enter_ OTTO.
_Otto._ Got you now, Clytie—Oh, I beg your pardon. How do you do,
Iris? How are you, my boy?
[FELIX _sits down, sighing_.
_Iris._ You’re out of breath, Clytie.
_Clytie._ Otto has been chasing me.
_Otto._ She flew away, so I _had_ to follow her.
_Enter_ VICTOR.
_Victor._ Quite a little party.
_Clytie._ (_Drinking_) Oh, I’m so thirsty.
_Iris._ Take care of yourself, dearest. Victor, see how thin she’s
become again. You’re looking terrible—you really are.
_Clytie._ Thank you, darling. You will be a mother to me, won’t you?
_Victor._ Were you at the Garden Party yesterday?
_Clytie._ Yesterday? Pooh—that’s ancient history.
_Victor._ Marvellous weather.
_Iris._ (_To_ CLYTIE) Just a moment, dearest. What have you
been doing? Your bodice is torn.
_Clytie._ Thank you, darling.—Felix! You look so sad. What’s the
matter with you, my precious?
_Felix._ I’m thinking.
_Clytie._ Thinking? What do you keep thinking about?
_Felix._ Men’s minds were given them to use.
_Clytie._ And women’s?
_Felix._ To misuse.
_Iris._ Oh, isn’t that good, Felix!
_Clytie._ The nasty little fellow hates me.
_Victor._ Be careful, Clytie—that’s the first step towards love.
_Otto._ Eh, what’s that?
_Iris._ Felix and love? The idea! Why he wrote something about
women—wait....
_Felix._ Iris, how can you! Don’t!
_Iris._ There’s nothing true. The earth and sky
Were false when first created;
And you and I will surely lie
When love is consummated.
_Clytie._ Will surely what?
_Iris._ ‘Surely lie’, dearest.
_Victor._ Felix, you scoundrel—how many women have you lied to?
_Otto._ ‘And you and I will surely lie’—I see! Of course! ha, ha—very
good.
_Iris._ ‘When love is consummated.’
_Clytie._ Wait—Otto’s going to laugh again.
[_He does so._
_Iris._ Felix is awfully clever. None of you could find a rhyme for
‘Iris’.
_Clytie._ Oh, couldn’t we!
Sometimes Iris,
A wicked liar is.
_Felix._ Oh, stop it, stop it!
_Otto._ Ha, ha! That’s splendid. Iris,—liar is.
_Iris._ Darling, you have such strange ideas about poetry. But you’ll
never guess what a beautiful rhyme Felix made to my name. Guess.
_Victor._ Give it up.
_Clytie._ You must tell us.
_Iris._ (_Triumphantly_) ‘Fire is!’
_Victor._ What?
_Iris._ ‘I shall have flown where the fire is!’
_Otto._ Ha, ha, ha! ‘Fire is’,—that’s jolly clever.
_Iris._ Oh, you’re horrid. You’ve no sense of art or poetry, or
anything. I’ve no patience with you.
_Victor._ The rhymes of our little friend Felix
Are sweet as the honey a bee licks.
_Iris._ Splendid, Victor. You’re frightfully witty.
_Clytie._ Heavens, Victor’s managed to produce a rhyme.
_Otto._ ‘Felix—bee licks’—that’s good, damn good.
_Victor._ Poetry—what is it but lying and fooling?
_Iris._ Oh no, it stirs the feelings. I’m fearfully fond of it.
_Otto._ Ha! Blotto!
_Clytie._ Who’s blotto?
_Otto._ Rhymes with Otto. Good—eh, what?
_Iris._ You’re terribly clever, Otto.
_Otto._ Lovely star!
_Iris._ Where? What do you mean?
_Otto._ That’s the beginning of a poem.
_Clytie._ (_Yawning_) Oh, do stop talking this literary stuff. I’m fed
up with it.
_Victor._ (_Aside to_ IRIS) Not so much as I’m fed up with her!
_Iris._ _Are_ you? Are you really, Victor? I feel like kissing you.
Catch me—catch me if you can.
[_She runs off, and_ VICTOR _after her_.
_Clytie._ What a fright! What a figure!—Felix!
_Felix._ Yes?
_Clytie._ How ever could you fall in love with _her_?
_Felix._ With whom?
_Clytie._ With that dowdy thing!
_Felix._ Whom do you mean?
_Clytie._ Iris, of course.
_Felix._ I? What can you be thinking of? That was over—long ago.
_Clytie._ I understand. Iris is so awfully ignorant—and such thick
ankles. Oh, Felix, at your age we have so many illusions about women.
_Felix._ I haven’t, Clytie. I passed that stage when I was a boy.
_Clytie._ No, Felix, you don’t know women. Sit here beside me—no,
closer. You’ve no idea what they’re like—their minds, their souls,
their bodies. You’re so young.
_Felix._ Oh, if I were! I’ve had so much experience.
_Clytie._ You _must_ be young—it’s the fashion. To be young, a
butterfly, and a poet—Is there anything more beautiful in the world?
_Felix._ It is not beautiful; it is an agony. The fate of the young is
to suffer, and of a poet to suffer a hundredfold.
_Clytie._ It’s the fate of a poet to be terribly happy. Ah, Felix, you
remind me of my first love.
_Felix._ Who was he?
_Clytie._ Nobody—I forget. None of my lovers was the first. Ah, that
Victor! I _hate_ men. Let’s be friends, Felix—like two girls together.
_Felix._ Like two girls?
_Clytie._ Love’s nothing to you. Love’s so common. I want something
special, something pure, something new.
_Felix._ A poem.
_Clytie._ (_Doubtfully_) Yes, that’ll do—You see how much I like you.
_Felix._ Listen!
She came in the blue Spring weather,
Gay as a foxglove is;
And our two hearts rhymed together,
And our lips were one in a kiss.
_Clytie._ What’s that?
_Felix._ A poem—the beginning.
_Clytie._ And how does it go on?
_Felix._ I’ll bring you the end in a minute. But I outgrow my work so
quickly that when I reach the end I may have to alter the beginning.
_Clytie._ (_In disgust_) Bah! (_To_ OTTO) Now then, can’t you
leave your moustache alone?
_Otto._ Love me, Clytie.
_Clytie._ Visitors are requested not to touch.
_Otto._ Love me, Clytie.
_Clytie._ Otto, you’re so irresistibly handsome.
_Otto._ I love _you_ madly.
_Clytie._ I know—I know. Say ‘ninety-nine’.
_Otto._ Ninety-nine.
_Clytie._ Say it again.
_Otto._ Ninety-nine.
_Clytie._ How it rumbles in your chest—like thunder. Otto, you’re
fearfully strong, aren’t you?
_Otto._ Cly-Cly-Cly——
_Clytie._ What’s the matter now?
_Otto._ Love me, Clytie.
_Clytie._ Oh, don’t be tiresome.
_Otto._ Love me, love me now!
_Clytie._ (_Flying off_) Wait, wait, wait—don’t be impatient.
_Otto._ (_After her_) Love me, Clytie!
[_Exeunt._
_Tramp._ There now—that poor male insec’! Well, I’m blest—
Goin’ ’alf balmy for them flighty things!...
As fer that kind of female—why, she’s jest
A man-trap ’idden be’ind two silky wings.
[CLYTIE _flying in from the other side, and
powdering herself at the mirror_.
_Clytie._ Whew! Just managed to get away from him, only just!
_Tramp._ Ho! ’Igh Society, what? Powder yer nose,
Strip to yer waist—and let the _rest_ show through!
Put it blunt-like—Lord Alf and Lady Rose
Be’ave exactly like them insec’s do.
_Clytie._ Are you a butterfly?
[TRAMP _throws his cap at her as if to catch her_.
Aren’t you a butterfly?
_Tramp._ I’m a man.
_Clytie._ What’s that? Is it alive?
_Tramp._ Well, in a manner o’ speakin’, lady.
_Clytie._ (_Flying up to him_) Can it love?
_Tramp._ Oh yus. Reg’lar butterfly.
_Clytie._ How thrilling you are! Why do you have black down on your
face? And—oh, it pricks!
_Tramp._ Down! that’s scrub. ’Aven’t shaved for a fortnight, I ’aven’t.
_Clytie._ There’s a fragrance in the air about you.
_Tramp._ Stale baccy—that’s what it is.
_Clytie._ So delicious—so new!
_Tramp._ (_Throwing cap again_) Shoo, yer ’ussy!
_Clytie._ (_Flying away_) Chase me, chase me!
_Tramp._ Oh, you baggage, you.
_Clytie._ (_Approaching_) Let me come near you. You are so unusual.
_Tramp._ I’ve met the likes of you afore, I ’ave. (_Catches her hands_)
I’ve ’eld ’er ’ands like this, and told ’er if she’d smile at me I’d
let ’er go—and then I let ’er go. Better for me and better for ’er, if
I’d killed ’er straight off. (_Lets her go_) ’Ere, sling yer ’ook. I
don’t want yer.
_Clytie._ (_Flying away to mirror_) How strange you are!
_Tramp._ Oh, yer strumpet, you, yer painted ’arlot!
_Clytie._ (_To him again_) Say it again, say it again, so strange, so
coarse—I——
_Tramp._ Garn—yer white-faced ’arridan! Isn’t that enough for yer?
_Clytie._ I love you, I love you!
_Tramp._ Go—get a move on. I ’ate the sight of yer.
_Clytie._ Oh, you wretch! (_She returns to the mirror._)
_Iris._ (_Running, out of breath_) Something to drink—quick!
_Clytie._ Where have you been?
_Iris._ On the hill-tops—it was so hot.
_Clytie._ Where did you leave Victor?
_Iris._ Victor? Who’s Victor?
_Clytie._ Why, you went off with him.
_Iris._ Oh yes, of course—but that was only fun. I remember now.
Something awfully funny happened. It’ll make you scream. He kept
running after me—ha, ha, ha.
_Clytie._ Why did you leave him?
_Iris._ I’m telling you. He kept running after me, and suddenly—ha,
ha, ha. A bird flew along and ate him up!
_Clytie._ You don’t say!
_Iris._ As true as I’m standing here. I thought I should have died.
(_She bursts into laughter and buries her head in the cushions._)
_Clytie._ What _is_ the matter with you?
_Iris._ Oh, those men!
_Clytie._ Do you mean Victor?
_Iris._ No—Otto. Victor was eaten by a bird. Just fancy—immediately
after, up came your Otto. Oh, the look in his eyes—all on fire—and
then—ha, ha, ha!
_Clytie._ What then?
_Iris._ He came after me. ‘Love me, Iris,’ he said, ‘love me, love me.’
_Clytie._ Well, did you?
_Iris._ Ha, ha! Guess again. ‘Love me, Iris, love me!’
_Felix._ (_Flying in with a pen in his hand_) Here it is, Clytie,
listen!
She came in the light Spring weather,
Gay as a jonquil is——
[_Iris laughs hysterically._
What’s the matter?
_Iris._ What a vulgar fellow! I could have strangled him.
_Clytie._ Otto?
_Felix._ Listen, Clytie—
And our two hearts rhymed together
And our lips were one in a kiss.
She said, ‘How strange to discover
The lessons a kiss can teach!
You have turned a child to a lover
As a peach-flower turns to a peach.’
_Iris._ Is my hair horribly untidy?
_Clytie._ Horribly. Let me, darling—Beast!
_Iris._ You’re angry, aren’t you? (_Imitating_) Otto loves wonderfully.
_Enter_ OTTO.
_Otto._ I love you, Iris.
_Iris._ Catch me if you can.
[_Exit._
_Otto._ I love _you_, Clytie.
_Clytie._ Follow me, follow me.
[_Exeunt._
_Felix._ Wait, wait!
_Tramp._ Fool!
_Felix._ Who’s that? Somebody, anyway. I’ll read _you_ the end.
I answered ‘But each new-comer
Is only supreme for an hour....’
_Tramp._ (_Striking at him with his cap_) Shoo!
_Felix._ (_Flying about_)
I answered ‘But each new-comer
Is only supreme for an hour.
The fruit may fall with the summer
But Spring will renew the flower.’
ALL THE BUTTERFLIES _enter fluttering_.
_Tramp._ Butterflies! Nice _birds_ them butterflies!
_CURTAIN._
ACT II
CREEPERS AND CRAWLERS
SCENE: _A sandy hillock—Various holes, &c._
BEETLES _are quarrelling over a_ CHRYSALIS, _which is
seized first by one then the other_.
_Chrysalis._ The whole world is bursting into blossom. I am being born.
_Tramp._ (_Raising his head—he is lying half asleep_) How much?
_Chrysalis._ The Great Adventure begins.
_Tramp._ Right oh! (_Settles down again._)
[_Pause._
_Mr. Beetle._ (_Behind the scenes_) What yer getting at?
_Mrs. Beetle._ (_Behind the scenes_) Me?
_Mr. Beetle._ Yes, you—you lump of rubbish.
_Mrs. Beetle._ Silly swine.
_Mr. Beetle._ Fathead.
_Mrs. Beetle._ Fathead yourself—mind where you’re going.
_They enter, rolling a huge ball of dirt._
_Mr. Beetle._ It’s all right, isn’t it?
_Mrs. Beetle._ I’m all of a tremble.
_Mr. Beetle._ Our capital—that’s what it is—our lovely
capital—careful—careful.
_Mrs. Beetle._ Can’t be too careful with our capital—our little pile.
_Mr. Beetle._ How we’ve saved and scraped and toiled and moiled to come
by it.
_Mrs. Beetle._ Night and morning, toiled and moiled and saved and
scraped.
_Mr. Beetle._ And we’ve seen it grow and grow, haven’t we, bit by
bit—our little ball of blessedness.
_Mrs. Beetle._ Our very own it is.
_Mr. Beetle._ Our very own.
_Mrs. Beetle._ Our life’s work.
_Mr. Beetle._ Smell it, old woman—pinch it—feel the weight of it.
Ours—ours.
_Mrs. Beetle._ A godsend.
_Mr. Beetle._ A blessing—straight from Heaven—capital—capital.
_Chrysalis._ Eternal night is breaking:
The universe is waking:
One minute, just one minute
And I—_I_—shall be in it.
_Mrs. Beetle._ Husband.
_Mr. Beetle._ What is it, old woman?
_Mrs. Beetle._ Ha, ha, ha!
_Mr. Beetle._ Ha, ha, ha! Wife!
_Mrs. Beetle._ What is it, old man?
_Mr. Beetle._ Ha, ha! It’s fine to own something—property—the dream
of your life, the fruit of your labours.
_Mrs. Beetle._ Ha, ha, ha!
_Mr. Beetle._ I’m off my head with joy—I’m going balmy.
_Mrs. Beetle._ Why?
_Mr. Beetle._ With worry. Now we’ve got our little pile that we’ve so
looked forward to, we’ve got to work and work and work to make another
one.
_Mrs. Beetle._ Why another one?
_Mr. Beetle._ Silly—so that we can have two, of course.
_Mrs. Beetle._ Two? Quite right—quite right—two.
_Mr. Beetle._ Just fancy—two—at least two, say three. Every one who’s
made his pile has to make another.
_Mrs. Beetle._ So that he can have two?
_Mr. Beetle._ Yes, or three.
_Mrs. Beetle._ Husband.
_Mr. Beetle._ Well, what is it?
_Mrs. Beetle._ I’m scared—S’posin’ some one was to steal it from us.
_Mr. Beetle._ What?
_Mrs. Beetle._ Our capital—our little pile—our all in all.
_Mr. Beetle._ Our pi-ile—My gawd—don’t frighten me.
_Mrs. Beetle._ We oughtn’t to roll it about with us till we’ve made
another one, dearie, did we?
_Mr. Beetle._ I’ll tell you what—we’ll invest it—In—vest it—store
it up—bury it. That’s what we’ll do—nice and deep—nice and deep.
_Mrs. Beetle._ I hope nobody finds it.
_Mr. Beetle._ Eh, what’s that? Finds it—No, of course they won’t. Our
little bit of capital.
_Mrs. Beetle._ Our nest-egg—Oh, bless me—I hope no one does—our
little all.
_Mr. Beetle._ Wait—stay here and watch it—Watch it careful—don’t let
your eyes off it, not for a minute—Capital—Capital.
_Mrs. Beetle._ Where yer off to?
_Mr. Beetle._ To look for a hole—a little hole—a deep hole—deep and
narrer to bury it in—out of harm’s way—Careful—Careful.
[_Exit._
_Mrs. Beetle._ Husband—husband, come back—wait a bit—I’ve found
one—such a nice hole—Husband! He’s gone! If I could only look into
it—No, I mustn’t leave yer. But only a peep—Here, stay here good and
quiet, darling. Hubby’ll be back soon—in half a jiff, half a jiff—So
long, keep good—half a ji—
_Enters the lair of the_ ICHNEUMON FLY.
_Chrysalis._ Oh, to be born—to be born—into the great new world.
_Enter a_ STRANGE BEETLE.
_Strange Beetle._ They’ve gone—now’s my chance. (_Rolls pile away._)
_Tramp._ ’Ere, mind where yer going to.
_Strange Beetle._ Mind yer feet.
_Tramp._ What’s that yer rolling?
_Strange Beetle._ Ha, ha! That’s my capital—my little pile, my all.
_Tramp._ Bit niffy, ain’t it?
_Strange Beetle._ Eh?
_Tramp._ It smells.
_Strange Beetle._ Capital don’t smell—Off you go, my precious—This
way, my little all, my nest-egg, my capital.
[_Exit._
_Mrs. Beetle._ Oh dear, oh dear. That’s somebody’s house, that is—We
can’t put you there, my jewel. Oh, where’s it gone to? Where’s it gone
to? My little pile—where’s it gone to?
_Tramp._ Why, not ’arf a minute—
_Mrs. Beetle._ (_Rushing at him_) Thief—thief—What ’ave you done with
my pile?
_Tramp._ I’m telling yer.
_Mrs. Beetle._ Here, give it back—yer wretch.
_Tramp._ Just this minute a gentleman rolled it away over there.
_Mrs. Beetle._ What gentleman? Who?
_Tramp._ A pot-bellied fellow, a fat, round chap.
_Mrs. Beetle._ My husband?
_Tramp._ A feller with an ugly mug and crooked feet.
_Mrs. Beetle._ That’s my husband.
_Tramp._ His capital he said it was.
_Mrs. Beetle._ That’s him—he must have found a hole—Husband—My
precious—Darling! Where is the blasted fool?
_Tramp._ That’s where he rolled it to.
_Mrs. Beetle._ Coo-eh! Couldn’t he have called me? Husband, my
precious! I’ll learn yer—Our capital—our all—our little pile.
[_Exit._
_Tramp._ Them butterflies was gay
And foolish, yer might say:
But these ’ere beetles—lumme,
They _do_ work, anyway!
So, ’ere’s to wish ’em luck—
Though gatherin’ balls of muck
Is jest about as rummy
As anythink I’ve struck.
_Chrysalis._ O universe, prepare! O space, expand! The mightiest of all
happenings is at hand.
_Tramp._ What’s that?
_Chrysalis._ I’m being born.
_Tramp._ That’s good—And what are you going to be?
_Chrysalis._ I don’t know—I don’t know—Something great.
_Tramp._ Ah ha!
_Chrysalis._ I’ll do something extraordinary—I’m being born.
_Tramp._ What _you_ want’s life, my son.
_Chrysalis._ When half a minute’s gone,
Something immense, unbounded,
Will happen here.
_Tramp._ Go on!
_Chrysalis._ I shall do something great!
_Tramp._ What?
_Chrysalis._ When I change my state,
The world will be astounded!
_Tramp._ Well—’urry up. I’ll wait.
[_Enter_ ICHNEUMON FLY, _dragging the corpse
of a_ CRICKET _to its lair_.
_Ichneumon Fly._ Look, larva, daddy’s bringing you something nice.
_Enters his lair._
_Chrysalis._ (_Shouting_)
The torment of my birth
Is tearing the whole earth.
She groans to set me free——
_Tramp._ Then get a move on. See?
_Ichneumon Fly._ (_Returning_) No, no, daughter, you must eat. You
mustn’t come out—it wouldn’t do at all. Daddy’ll soon be back and
he’ll bring you something nice. What would you like, piggywiggy?
_Enter_ LARVA.
_Larva._ Daddy, I’m bored here.
_Ichneumon Fly._ Ha, ha! That’s a nice thing to say. Give daddy a
kiss—Daddy’ll bring you something tasty. Would you like a follow of
cricket? Ha, ha—not a bad idea.
_Larva._ I’d like—I don’t know what I’d like.
_Ichneumon Fly._ She doesn’t know what she’d like, bless her little
heart. I’ll find something you’ll like—Ta-ta! Daddy must go to work
now—Daddy must go a hunting and fetch something for his popsy-wopsy.
Ta-ta! Go back now, poppet, and wait for your din-din. Ta-ta!
[_Exit_ LARVA.
_Ichneumon Fly._ (_To Tramp_) Who are you?
_Tramp._ I?
_Ichneumon Fly._ Are you edible?
_Tramp._ Yes, I don’t think.
_Ichneumon Fly._ (_Sniffing_) No—not fresh enough—Who are you?
_Tramp._ Oh, any sort of skunk, I am.
_Ichneumon Fly._ (_Bowing_) Pleased to meet you. Any family?
_Tramp._ Not as I am aware of.
_Ichneumon Fly._ Did you see her?
_Tramp._ ’Er? Who?
_Ichneumon Fly._ My Larva. Charming, eh? Smart child—And how she
grows, and what a twist she’s got. Children are a great joy, aren’t
they?
_Tramp._ I’ve ’eard ’em well spoken of.
_Ichneumon Fly._ Well, of course they are, you take it from me—One who
knows. When you have them, at least you know what you’re working for.
That’s life, that is. Children want to grow, to eat, to laugh, to
dance, to play, don’t they? Am I right?
_Tramp._ Children want a lot.
_Ichneumon Fly._ Would you believe it, I take her two or three crickets
every day. Do you think she eats them all up? No—Only the titbits—A
splendid child, eh?
_Tramp._ I should say so.
_Ichneumon Fly._ I’m proud of her—real proud. Takes after me—just
like her daddy, eh? Ha, ha! And here I stand gossiping, when I ought to
be at work. Oh, the fuss and the running about—Up early, home late,
but as long as you’re doing it for some one worth doing it for, what
does it matter? Am I right?
_Tramp._ I suppose you are.
_Ichneumon Fly._ A pity you aren’t edible, isn’t it? It is, really. I
must take her something, you know, mustn’t I? You see that yourself,
don’t you? (_Fingering_ CHRYSALIS.)
_Chrysalis._ I proclaim the re-birth of the world.
_Ichneumon Fly._ Ah! You aren’t ripe yet—Pity.
_Chrysalis._ I shall inspire—I shall create.
_Ichneumon Fly._ It’s a great responsibility to bring up children—A
great worry, isn’t it? Feeding the poor little mites, paying for their
education and putting them out into the world. That’s no trifle, I
can tell you. Well, I must be off now—Au revoir—Pleased to have met
you—Ta-ta, my chicken—Be good!
[_Exit._
_Tramp._ This ’as me fairly beat. That fly destroys
The cricket jest to feed ’is girls and boys;
But that pore ’armless cricket found life sweet,
Same as ’e does.—No! Nature ’as me beat!
_Larva._ (_Crawling out of hole_) Daddy! Daddy!
_Tramp._ So you’re the Larva. Let’s have a look at you.
_Larva._ How ugly you are!
_Tramp._ Am I? Why?
_Larva._ I don’t know—Oh, how bored I am! I want—I want——
_Tramp._ What yer want?
_Lama._ I don’t know. Yes I do—To tear up something—Something
alive—that wriggles.
_Tramp._ ’Ere, what’s come over yer?
_Larva._ Ugly—ugly—ugly! (_Crawls away._)
_Tramp._ Where’s Mr. Manners?—Blowed if I’d feed a daughter
Like ’er. Perliteness—that’s what _I’d_ ’ave taught ’er.
_Enter_ MR. BEETLE.
_Mr. Beetle._ (_Calling_) Come along, old girl. I’ve found a hole.
Where are you? Where’s my pile? Where’s my wife?
_Tramp._ Your wife? Do you mean that old harridan? That greasy fat
bundle of rags?
_Mr. Beetle._ That’s her—Where’s my pile?
_Tramp._ That old tub in petticoats?
_Mr. Beetle._ That’s her—that’s her—She had my pile—What’s she done
with my pile?
_Tramp._ Why, your beauty went to look for you.
_Mr. Beetle._ Did she? Where’s my pile?
_Tramp._ That great ball of muck?
_Mr. Beetle._ Yes, yes. My nest-egg—my savings—my capital. Where’s my
beautiful pile? I left my wife with it.
_Tramp._ Some gentleman rolled it away over there. Your wife wasn’t
here at the time.
_Mr. Beetle._ Where was she? Where is she?
_Tramp._ She went after him. She thought it was you. She kept shoutin’
for yer.
_Mr. Beetle._ I’m not asking about her. Where’s my pile, I say?
_Tramp._ Gentleman rolled it away.
_Mr. Beetle._ Rolled it away? My pile? Gawd in ’eaven! Catch him. Catch
him. Thief! Murder! All my little lot. All I’ve saved. They’ve killed
me, they’ve done me in. Who cares about my wife? It’s my pile they’ve
taken. Help—stop thief! Murder!
_Tramp._ Ha, ha, ha!
Crikee! ’E don’t want pleasure
But jest to pile up treasure;
And when the old sly copper—
Death—come and nabs ’im proper,
’E’ll still be like a nigger
Sweatin’ to make it bigger,
Still ’eavin’ and still puffin’ ...
And what’s he gained? Why, nuffin’!
_Mr. Cricket._ (_Off stage_) Look out, darling—take care you don’t
stumble. Here we are—here we are. Oopsidaisy! This is where we
live—this is our new little home. Careful—You haven’t hurt yourself,
have you?
_Enter_ MR. _and_ MRS. CRICKET.
_Mrs. Cricket._ No, Cricket, don’t be absurd.
_Mr. Cricket._ But darling, you must be careful—When you’re
expecting—And now open the peephole—look—How do you like it?
_Mrs. Cricket._ Oh, darling, how tired I am!
_Mr. Cricket._ Sit down, darling, sit down. My popsy must take great
care of herself.
_Mrs. Cricket._ What a long way—And all the move! Oh, men never know
half the trouble moving is.
_Mr. Cricket._ Oh darling, come, come—Look, darling, look.
_Mrs. Cricket._ Now don’t get cross, you horrid man.
_Mr. Cricket._ I won’t say another word, really I won’t. Fancy, Mrs.
Cricket won’t take care of herself, and in her state too—What do you
think of her?
_Mrs. Cricket._ You naughty man—how can you joke about it?
_Mr. Cricket._ But darling, I’m so happy. Just fancy, all the little
crickets, the noise, the chirping—(_Imitates the noise and laughs._)
_Mrs. Cricket._ You—you silly boy—wants to be a great big Daddy, eh?
_Mr. Cricket._ And don’t you want to be a Mummy too?—my Popsy?
_Mrs. Cricket._ Yes’m does! Is this our new home?
_Mr. Cricket._ Our little nest. Commodious little villa residence.
_Mrs. Cricket._ Will it be dry? Who built it?
_Mr. Cricket._ Why, goodness me, another Cricket lived here years ago.
_Mrs. Cricket._ Fancy, and has he moved?
_Mr. Cricket._ Ha, ha—Yes, he’s moved. Don’t you know where to? Guess.
_Mrs. Cricket._ I don’t know—What a long time you take saying
anything—Do tell me, Cricket, quickly.
_Mr. Cricket._ Well, yesterday a bird got him—Snap, snip, snap. So
we’re moving into his house. By Jove, what a slice of luck!
_Mrs. Cricket._ Gobbled him up alive? How horrible!
_Mr. Cricket._ Eh? A godsend for us. I did laugh. Tralala, &c. We’ll
put up a plate. (_Puts up plate with ‘Mr. Cricket, musician’_) Where
shall we put it? More to the right? Higher?
_Mrs. Cricket._ And you saw him eaten?
_Mr. Cricket._ I’m telling you—like that—snap, snip!
_Mrs. Cricket._ Horrible! Cricket, I have such a queer feeling.
_Mr. Cricket._ Good heavens—Perhaps it’s—no, it couldn’t be, not yet!
_Mrs. Cricket._ Oh dear, I’m so frightened.
_Mr. Cricket._ Nothing to be frightened of, dear—Every lady——
_Mrs. Cricket._ It’s all very well for you to talk—Cricket, will you
always love me?
_Mr. Cricket._ Of course, darling—Dear me, don’t cry—come, love.
_Mrs. Cricket._ Show me how he swallowed him—Snip, snap.
_Mr. Cricket._ Snip, snap.
_Mrs. Cricket._ Oh, how funny! (_Has hysterics._)
_Mr. Cricket._ Well, well. There’s nothing to cry about. (_Sits beside
her_) We’ll furnish this place beautifully. And as soon as we can run
to it, we’ll put up some——
_Mrs. Cricket._ Curtains?
_Mr. Cricket._ Curtains, of course! How clever of you to think of it.
Give me a kiss.
_Mrs. Cricket._ Never mind that now—Don’t be silly.
_Mr. Cricket._ Of course I’m silly. Guess what I’ve brought?
_Mrs. Cricket._ Curtains!
_Mr. Cricket._ No, something smaller—Where did I——?
_Mrs. Cricket._ Quick, quick, let me see.
[MR. CRICKET _takes out a rattle_.
Oh, how sweet, Cricket! Give it to me.
_Mr. Cricket._ (_Sings_)
When Dr. Stork had brought their child,
Their teeny-weeny laddy,
All day about the cradle smiled
His mumsy and his daddy:
And ‘Cricket, cricket, cricket,
You pretty little thing’—
Is now the song that all day long
They sing, sing, sing.
_Mrs. Cricket._ Lend it me, darling—Oh, daddy—I’m so pleased. Rattle
it.
_Mr. Cricket._ Darling.
_Mrs. Cricket._ (_Singing_) Cricket, cricket, cricket!
_Mr. Cricket._ Now I must run round a little,—let people know I am
here.
_Mrs. Cricket._ (_Singing_)
And ‘Cricket, cricket, cricket,
You pretty little thing ...’
_Mr. Cricket._ I must get some introductions, fix up orders, have a
look round. Give me the rattle, I’ll use it on my way.
_Mrs. Cricket._ And what about me? I want it.
_Mr. Cricket._ Very well, darling.
_Mrs. Cricket._ You won’t leave me long——
_Mr. Cricket._ Rattle for me if you want me. And I expect a neighbour
will be coming along. Have a chat with him, about the children, and all
that, you know.
_Mrs. Cricket._ You bad boy.
_Mr. Cricket._ Now darling, be careful. Won’t be long, my pet.
[_Runs off._
_Mrs. Cricket._ (_Rattles_) Hush-a-bye—cricket—on the tree top!
Cricket! I feel frightened.
_Tramp._ Don’t you be frightened, mum. You’ll ’ave an easier time than
most ladies, by the look of yer.
_Mrs. Cricket._ Who’s there, a beetle?—You don’t bite?
_Tramp._ No.
_Mrs. Cricket._ And how are the children?
_Tramp._ Ah,—now you’re askin’! Rum, ’ow
Yer question ’urts me, some’ow;
For, beg your pardon, Madam—
Fact is, I’ve never ’ad ’em.
_Mrs. Cricket._ Oh, dear, haven’t you any children? That’s a pity.
(_Shakes rattle_) Cricket! Cricket! And why did you never marry, beetle?
_Tramp._ Well, some’s too selfish, maybe,
To want a wife and baby ...
Oh, ’strewth, what do I care now?—
She wouldn’t ’ave me! There now.
_Mrs. Cricket._ Yes! Yes! You men _are_ troublesome. (_Rattles_)
Cricket! Cricket! Cricket!
_Chrysalis._ In me, in me, in me,
The future strives to be!
_Tramp._ Oh, buck up!
_Chrysalis._ I will accomplish such deeds.
_Enter_ MRS. BEETLE.
_Mrs. Beetle._ Isn’t my husband here? Oh, the stupid man. Where is our
pile?
_Mrs. Cricket._ Your pile? Can we play with it? Do let me see it.
_Mrs. Beetle._ It’s nothing to play with, it’s our future, our
nest-egg, our capital. My husband, the clumsy creature, has gone off
with it.
_Mrs. Cricket._ Oh dear, I hope he hasn’t run away from you.
_Mrs. Beetle._ And where is yours?
_Mrs. Cricket._ He’s away on business. Cricket! Cricket!
_Mrs. Beetle._ Fancy him leaving you all alone like that, poor thing,
and you—(_Whispers_)—aren’t you?
_Mrs. Cricket._ Oh dear!
_Mrs. Beetle._ So young, too. And aren’t you making a pile?
_Mrs. Cricket._ What for?
_Mrs. Beetle._ A pile—for you and him and your family. That’s for your
future—for your whole life.
_Mrs. Cricket._ Oh no, all I want is to have my own little home, my
nest, a little house of my very own. And curtains, and children, and my
Cricket. That’s all.
_Mrs. Beetle._ How can you live without a pile?
_Mrs. Cricket._ What should I do with it?
_Mrs. Beetle._ Roll it about with you everywhere. There’s nothing like
a pile for holding a man.
_Mrs. Cricket._ Oh no, a little house.
_Mrs. Beetle._ A pile, I tell you.
_Mrs. Cricket._ A little house.
_Mrs. Beetle._ Pretty little innocence! I’d like to stay with you, but
I must be going.
_Mrs. Cricket._ And I wanted to hear all about your children.
_Mrs. Beetle._ I don’t want to bother over no children. My pile, that’s
all I want, my pile!
[_Exit._
_Mrs. Cricket._ Oh, what an old frump! I don’t wonder her husband’s
run away from her. (_Sings a snatch of the song_) I’ve such a queer
feeling. Snip! Snap! That’s what he did to him—Snip!
ICHNEUMON FLY _enters_.
_Ichneumon Fly._ Ha, ha! (_He murders_ MRS. CRICKET _and drags
her to his lair_.)
_Tramp._ Oh, murder!
_Ichneumon Fly._ Daughter, daughter! Chicken! (_Singing_) ‘Open your
mouth and shut your eyes and see what some one’ll send you.’
_Tramp._ ’E’s killed ’er, and I stood like a bloomin’ log! Didn’t utter
a sound she didn’t and nobody ran to ’elp her!
_Enter_ PARASITE.
_Parasite._ Bravo! Comrade, just what I was thinking.
_Tramp._ To die—like that—so young, so ’elpless.
_Parasite._ Just what I was thinking. I was looking on all the time. I
wouldn’t do a thing like that, you know. I wouldn’t really. Every one
wants to live, don’t they?
_Tramp._ Who are you?
_Parasite._ I, oh nothing much, I’m a poor man, an orphan. They call me
a parasite.
_Tramp._ How can any one dare to kill like that!
_Parasite._ That’s just what I say. Do you think he needs it? Do you
think he’s hungry like me? Not a bit of it. He kills to add to his
larder, what’s three-quarters full already. He collects things he does,
hangs ’em up to dry, smokes ’em, pickles ’em. It’s a scandal, that’s
what it is, a scandal. One’s got a store while another’s starving. Why
should he have a dagger, and me only my bare fists to fight with, and
all over chilblains too—aren’t I right?
_Tramp._ I should say so.
_Parasite._ There’s no equality, that’s what I say. One law for the
rich—another for the poor! And if I was to kill anything, I couldn’t
eat it—not satisfactorily, I can’t chew properly, my jaw’s too weak.
Is that right?
_Tramp._ I don’t ’old with killin’, no’ow.
_Parasite._ My very words, Comrade, or at least, hoarding shouldn’t
be allowed. Eat your fill and ’ave done with it. Down with larders!
Storing things is robbin’ those who haven’t nowhere to store. Eat your
fill and have done with it and then there’d be enough for all, wouldn’t
there?
_Tramp._ _I_ dunno——
_Parasite._ Well, I’m tellin’ yer, aren’t I? Down with——
_Ichneumon Fly._ (_Re-entering_) Eat it up, baby, eat it up. Choose
what you like. Have you got a nice daddy? Eh?
_Parasite._ Good afternoon, my lord.
_Ichneumon Fly._ How d’ye do? Edible? (_Sniffing._)
_Parasite._ Oh no, you’re joking, guv’nor, why me?
_Ichneumon Fly._ Get out, you filthy creature. What d’ye want here,
clear off.
_Parasite._ I’m movin’, your worship; no offence, captain. (_Cowers._)
_Ichneumon Fly._ (_To_ TRAMP) Well, did you see that neat
piece of work, eh? It’s not every one who could do that. Ah, my
boy, that’s what you want—brains, expert knowledge, enterprise,
imagination, initiative—and love of work, let me tell you.
_Parasite._ That’s what I say.
_Ichneumon Fly._ My good man, if you want to keep alive, you’ve got to
fight your way. There’s your future, there’s your family. And then you
know there must be a certain amount of ambition. A strong personality
is bound to assert itself.
_Parasite._ That’s what I say, sir.
_Ichneumon Fly._ Of course, of course. Make your way in the world. Use
the talent that’s in you, that’s what I call a useful life.
_Parasite._ Absolutely, your grace ’its it every time.
_Ichneumon Fly._ Hold your tongue, you filthy creature. I’m not talking
to you.
_Parasite._ No, of course you weren’t, my lord, beg your pardon, I’m
sure.
_Ichneumon Fly._ And how it cheers you up when you do your duty like
that. ‘Do the job that’s nearest, though it’s dull at whiles.’ When you
feel that, you feel that you are not living in vain. ‘Life is _real_,
life is earnest, life is not an empty dream.’ Well, good afternoon,
sir, I must be off again! ‘The daily round, the common task!’ So long!
[_Exit._
_Parasite._ The old murderer. Believe me, it was all I could do, not
to fly at his throat! Yes, sir, I’ll work too if need be, but why
should I work when somebody else has more than he can consume? I’ve got
initiative—but I keep it here. (_Pats stomach_) I’m ’ungry, that’s
what I am, ’ungry, that’s a pretty stage of things, isn’t it?
_Tramp._ Anything for a piece of meat.
_Parasite._ That’s what I say. Anything for a piece of meat, and the
poor man’s got nothing. It’s against nature. Every one should have
enough to eat, eh? Down with work!
_Tramp._ (_Shaking rattle_) Poor creature, poor creature!
_Parasite._ That’s it. Every one’s got a right to live.
[_Rattle and chirping in reply._
_Mr. Cricket._ (_Enters, rattling_) Here I am, my pet, here I am, my
darling. Where are you, my precious? Guess what hubby’s brought you.
_Ichneumon Fly._ (_Behind him_) Aha!
_Tramp._ Look out—look out!
_Parasite._ Don’t interfere, mate—don’t get mixed up in it. What must
be, must be.
_Mr. Cricket._ Mummy!
_Ichneumon Fly._ (_Kills him_) Larva, look what your kind daddy’s
bringing you now.
_Tramp._ Oh, Gawd in Heaven—’ow can you stand by and see it?
_Parasite._ Just what I say. That’s the third cricket he’s had already,
and me nothing. And that’s what we poor working men are asked to put up
with.
_Ichneumon Fly._ (_Re-entering_) No, no, kiddy, I’ve no time. Daddy
must go back to work. Eat, eat, eat. Quiet now, I’ll be back in an hour.
[_Exit._
_Parasite._ It’s more than I can stand—dirty old profiteer! What
injustice! I’ll show ’im, that I will. Just you wait! (_Trembling_)
’E’s not coming back, is ’e? Keep cave! I must just ’ave a look.
_Tramp._ Thank ’eaven! These ’eathen insec’s may be vile,
But man—man’s diff’rent. Folks like me an’ you
Work ’ard, real ’ard, and makes our little pile ...
Blast! I’m all mixed. _That’s_ what them beetles do.
It’s what I say—_man_ ’as ideals and dreams
And fam’ly love. ’Is purpose—put it plain—
Is keepin’ up the race ..., ’Ullo, though,—seems
I’ve got them crickets fairly on the brain.
Bold—that’s what man is: resolute, yer might s’y.
If ’e wants more, ’e does ’is neighbour in ...
O ’Ell! That makes ’im like this murd’rous fly ...
But, there you are, ’oo can think straight on gin?
_Chrysalis._ I feel something great—something great.
_Tramp._ What jer call great?
_Chrysalis._ To be born, to live!
_Tramp._ All right, little chrysalis—I won’t desert yer.
_Parasite._ (_Rolling out of the_ FLY’S _lair, and
hiccoughing_) Ha, ha, ha! Hup—that—ha, ha, hup—the old
miser—hup—kept a larder—hup—for that white-faced daughter of his.
Hup—ha, ha. I feel quite—hup—I think I’m going to bust—damn the
hiccoughs! It’s not every one who’d eat as much as that—hup. I’m not a
common man, eh, mate?
_Tramp._ And ’ow about the Larva?
_Parasite._ Oh, I’ve gobbled her up too, hup. For what we ’ave received
may the—hup.
_Tramp._ Gah! Bleedin’ Bolshie!
ACT III
THE ANTS
_Tramp._ It’s like this ’ere ... What’s wrong about
Them insec’s, if yer think it out,
Is, they’ve no feller-feelin’. Each
Jest for ’isself is what _they_ preach.
_Chrysalis._ Listen to me, listen to me—
The whole world will soon be free!
_Tramp._ Thinks ’e’s the world, ’e does ... My ’at!
These insec’s all be’aves like that—
Ridic’lous creatures! Jest can’t see
’Ow small they looks to you and me ...
They make me tired.... I’d give my clay
(Gospel, I would) to get away.
Man! These ’ere insec’s never dream
Of workin’ to some general scheme.
_Chrysalis._ The crowning hour approaches. Lo,
The universe begins to glow!
_Tramp._ (_Jumping up_)
Gorblimey, if I ’aven’t struck
The truth! Now, there’s a bit o’ luck.
Insec’s won’t work together. Man
Will. ’E can form a general plan.
There’s something great in ’im what fights
And perishes for the nation’s rights.
[_Sits down._
_Chrysalis._ My wings are coming. See, they spread
Beyond the vast suns overhead!
_Tramp._ I’ve ’it it! That’s what makes men great—
Givin’ their lives up for the State!...
Man’s not ’alf noble—put it straight!
’Ere what’s that bitin’ me? Blimey, there’s another of ’em—S’truth,
I’ve sat on an Ant heap—’undreds and thousands—that’s what they are
playing at—’undreds and thousands!
[_In the meanwhile the Curtain rises and displays the Ant Heap.
In the Centre sits a_ BLIND ANT _who counts continuously_: ANTS
_with sacks, beans, shovels, &c., run across in time to his
counting_.
_Blind Ant._ One, two, three, four—one, two, three, four.
_Tramp._ What’s that? What yer counting for, old boy?
_Blind Ant._ One, two, three, four—
_Tramp._ What’s this ’ere? A warehouse or a factory, isn’t it? Hi,
what’s it for?
_Blind Ant._ One, two, three, four—
_Tramp._ What’s this factory for, I’m asking—why’s this blind feller
countin’? Ah, he’s giving them the time. They all move in time as he
counts, one, two, three, four. Like machines—Bah, it makes my head
swim.
_Blind Ant._ One, two, three, four—
_Enter_ CHIEF ENGINEER.
_Chief Engineer._ Quicker, quicker, one, two, three, four—
_Blind Ant._ (_More quickly_) One, two, three, four—one, two, three,
four.
[_They all move more quickly._
_Tramp._ What’s that? I’m asking yer, sir, what’s this ’ere factory?
_Chief Engineer._ What’s your business?
_Tramp._ Business?
_Chief Engineer._ From which of the Ants?
_Tramp._ I’m a human man, that’s what I am. Ants indeed!
_Chief Engineer._ This is an Ant realm. What do you want here?
_Tramp._ ’Avin’ a look.
_Chief Engineer._ Do you want work?
_Tramp._ Shouldn’t mind.
SECOND ENGINEER _rushes in_.
_2nd Engineer._ A discovery! A discovery!
_Chief Engineer._ What is it?
_2nd Engineer._ A new method of speeding up. Don’t count one, two,
three, four—count _blank_, two, three, four—blind fellow, hullo!
_Blind Ant._ One, two, three, four—
_2nd Engineer._ Wrong: Blank, two, three, four.
_Blind Ant._ Blank, two, three, four. Blank, two, three,
four—(ALL _move more quickly_).
_Tramp._ Not so fast—Makes me feel giddy.
_2nd Engineer._ Who are you?
_Tramp._ Stranger in these parts!
_2nd Engineer._ Where from?
_Chief Engineer._ From the humans—Where’s the Human Ant Heap?
_Tramp._ What?
_Chief Engineer._ Where’s the Human Ant Heap?
_Tramp._ Oh, over there, and over there. Everywhere.
_2nd Engineer._ Ha, ha! Everywhere! Fool!
_Chief Engineer._ Are there any humans?
_Tramp._ Yes. They’re called the lords of creation, that’s what they’re
called.
_2nd Engineer._ Ha, ha! Lords of creation!
_Chief Engineer._ We are the lords of creation.
_2nd Engineer._ Ha, ha! Masters of the world!
_Chief Engineer._ We’re the masters of the world.
_2nd Engineer._ The Ant Realm!
_Chief Engineer._ The largest Ant State!
_2nd Engineer._ A World Power!
_Chief Engineer._ The largest Democracy!
_Tramp._ What’s that?
_Chief Engineer._ The world must obey us!
_2nd Engineer._ All have to work—all for _Her_.
_Chief Engineer._ As _She_ orders.
_Tramp._ Who’s Her?
_Chief Engineer._ The whole of the State. The Nation!
_Tramp._ Why, that’s just the same as us! M.P.’s we ’ave and Boro’
Councillors, that’s democracy—’Ave yer got Boro’ Councillors?
_Chief Engineer._ No, we have the whole.
_Tramp._ And who speaks for the whole?
_2nd Engineer._ Ha, ha! He knows nothing.
_Chief Engineer._ The one who orders. She who only issues commands.
_2nd Engineer._ She abides in the law—she is nowhere else.
_Tramp._ And who gives you your orders?
_Chief Engineer._ Reason.
_2nd Engineer._ Law.
_Chief Engineer._ The interests of the State.
_2nd Engineer._ That’s it—that’s it—
_Tramp._ I like that—all for the whole, and the whole for all.
_Chief Engineer._ For its majesty.
_2nd Engineer._ And against its enemies.
_Tramp._ What’s that? Against whom?
_Chief Engineer._ Against all.
_2nd Engineer._ We are surrounded by enemies.
_Chief Engineer._ We defeated the Black Ants—
_2nd Engineer._ And starved out the Brown—
_Chief Engineer._ And subjugated the Greys, and only the Yellows are
left; we must starve out the Yellows—
_2nd Engineer._ We must starve them all out.
_Tramp._ Why?
_Chief Engineer._ In the interests of the whole.
_2nd Engineer._ The interests of the whole are the highest.
_Chief Engineer._ Interests of race—
_2nd Engineer._ Industrial interests—
_Chief Engineer._ Colonial interests—
_2nd Engineer._ World interests—
_Chief Engineer._ Interests of the world.
_2nd Engineer._ Yes, yes, that’s it.
_Chief Engineer._ All interests are the whole’s.
_2nd Engineer._ Nobody may have interests but the whole.
_Chief Engineer._ Interests preserve the whole.
_2nd Engineer._ And wars nourish it.
_Tramp._ Ah, you’re warlike Ants.
_2nd Engineer._ He knows nothing.
_Chief Engineer._ Our Ants are the most peaceful Ants.
_2nd Engineer._ A nation of peace.
_Chief Engineer._ A labour State.
_2nd Engineer._ They only wish for world power—
_Chief Engineer._ Because they wish for world peace—
_2nd Engineer._ In the interest of their peaceable output—
_Chief Engineer._ And in the interests of progress.
_2nd Engineer._ In the interest of their interests, when we rule over
the world.
_Chief Engineer._ We shall conquer time, we wish to reign over time.
_Tramp._ Over what?
_Chief Engineer._ Time. Time is greater than space.
_2nd Engineer._ Time has never been mastered.
_Chief Engineer._ The master of Time will be master of all!
_Tramp._ Slowly, for the love of Mike, slowly, let me think—
_Chief Engineer._ Speed is the master of Time.
_2nd Engineer._ The taming of time—
_Chief Engineer._ He who commands speed will rule over time.
_2nd Engineer._ Blank, two, three, four—blank, two, three, four—
_Blind Ant._ (_More quickly_) Blank, two, three, four—blank, two—
_Chief Engineer._ We must quicken the speed.
_2nd Engineer._ The speed of output.
_Chief Engineer._ The Peace of Life—
_2nd Engineer._ Every movement must be quickened.
_Chief Engineer._ Shortened—
_2nd Engineer._ Calculated—
_Chief Engineer._ To a second—
_2nd Engineer._ To the _n_th of a second—
_Chief Engineer._ So as to save time—
_2nd Engineer._ So as to increase the output—
_Chief Engineer._ Work had been too slow—labour must be carried out
unsparingly—
_2nd Engineer._ Ruthlessly—
_Tramp._ And what’s the hurry, anyway?
_Chief Engineer._ The interests of the whole.
_2nd Engineer._ It is a question of output—question of power.
_Chief Engineer._ Peaceful competition.
_2nd Engineer._ We are fighting the battle of peace.
_Blind Ant._ Blank, two, three, four—
[AN OFFICIAL _approaches the_ TWO ENGINEERS
_and makes a report_.
_Tramp._ Blank, two, three, four! Yer _must_ go quicker. Why,
If I was countin’, ’stead o’ you, _I_’d make them vermin fly.
Quicker, quicker, quicker! We men are jest like you,—
We’re all for speed. I tell yer, we’re countin’ quicker, too;
And if we rush to ruin, we’ll ’ave ourselves to thank,—
So wake up, ole blind feller. On with yer countin’! Blank—
_Blind Ant._ Two, three, four—
_Chief Engineer._ Faster—faster—
[AN ANT _collapses with his load and moans_.
_2nd Engineer._ Tut, tut! What’s that? Get up.
_Another Ant._ (_Next to him, bending over_) Dead!
_Chief Engineer._ One, two—carry him away, quick.
_2nd Engineer._ He died honourably in the cause of speed.
_Chief Engineer._ How are you lifting him? Too slowly, you’re wasting
time. Drop him. Now head and feet together. Blank, two, three—wrong,
drop him again. Head and feet—blank, two, three, four—take him
away—blank, two, blank, two, blank—
_2nd Engineer._ Two, three, four—quicker.
_Tramp._ Anyhow, he died quick enough—
_Chief Engineer._ Work, work, he who possesses more, must work more.
_2nd Engineer._ He requires more—
_Chief Engineer._ He has more to defend—
_2nd Engineer._ And more to gain.
_Chief Engineer._ We are a nation of peace—peace means work.
_2nd Engineer._ And work, strength.
_Chief Engineer._ And strength, war.
_2nd Engineer._ Yes, yes.
_Enter_ INVENTOR, _groping_.
_Inventor._ Out of my way—step aside.
_2nd Engineer._ Our inventor—
_Inventor._ Take care, take care. Don’t touch my head. It is glass, it
is brittle. It is greater than I am; keep out of the way, or it will
burst, smash, bang. Step aside.
_2nd Engineer._ How goes it?
_Inventor._ It hurts me, it’s going to burst. It may knock against the
walls—bang! I can’t get my hands round it. I can scarcely carry it.
Look out, do you hear? Whew, whew!
_Chief Engineer._ What’s in it?
_Inventor._ A machine—a new machine in my head. Oh, oh, a huge
machine. Out of the way, out of the way, I’m carrying a machine.
_Chief Engineer._ What sort of a machine?
_Inventor._ A war machine. A vast machine, a huge one. The swiftest,
most effective crusher of lives. The forefront of progress, the acme of
science. Whew, whew, do you hear it? Ten thousand, a hundred thousand
dead! Whew, whew, it keeps on working. Two hundred thousand dead—whew,
whew, whew, whew!
_Chief Engineer._ (_To_ TRAMP) A genius, eh?
_Inventor._ Oh, oh, what pain, my head’s splitting—out of the way, out
of the way, don’t knock against me—whew, whew, whew!
[_Exit._
_Chief Engineer._ A vast intellect. The greatest of Scientists.
_2nd Engineer._ Nothing serves the State so much as Science.
_Chief Engineer._ Great is Science, and it will prevail—there will be
war.
_Tramp._ Why war?
_Chief Engineer._ Because we shall have a new war machine.
_2nd Engineer._ Because we still need a bit of the world.
_Chief Engineer._ A bit of the world from the Birch tree to the Pine
tree.
_2nd Engineer._ The road between the two blades of grass—
_Chief Engineer._ The only open road to the South—
_2nd Engineer._ A question of prestige.
_Chief Engineer._ And trade.
_2nd Engineer._ The rights of nationality.
_Chief Engineer._ We or the Yellows—
_2nd Engineer._ Never was war more honourable or urgent—
_Chief Engineer._ Than the war we must fight.
_2nd Engineer._ We are prepared.
_Chief Engineer._ We have only to find a _casus belli_.
_Blind Ant._ Blank, two, three, four—
[_A gong._
_Chief Engineer._ What’s that?
_Voice._ (_Outside_) A messenger! A messenger!
_Enter_ MESSENGER.
_Messenger._ I beg to announce myself. From the G.H.Q. Southern Army.
_Chief Engineer._ Good.
_Messenger._ In accordance with our instructions, we crossed the
frontier of the Yellows—
_Chief Engineer._ What then?
_Messenger._ The Yellows captured me and took me to their
Commander-in-Chief—
_Chief Engineer._ And—?
_Messenger._ Here is his letter—
_Chief Engineer._ Show it me. ‘The Government of the Yellow Ants calls
upon the Ant Realm within three months to withdraw their Army lying
between the Birch Tree and the Pine Tree between the two blades of
grass.’
_2nd Engineer._ Listen to him.
_Chief Engineer._ ‘This territory comprises the historical, vital,
industrial, general, and military interests of our state, so that it
rightly belongs to us.’
_2nd Engineer._ An insult, an insult, we shall not tolerate it!
_Chief Engineer._ ‘Meanwhile we are giving orders to our Army to
mobilize.’ War, war, at last!
_2nd Engineer._ At last a war is forced upon us.
_Chief Engineer._ To arms!
ANOTHER MESSENGER _runs on_.
_2nd Messenger._ The Yellows are marching across our frontier—
_Chief Engineer._ To arms! To arms!
_2nd Messenger._ Mobilization—to arms!
_Both Messengers._ To arms! To arms!
[_Alarm sirens—from all sides the_ ANTS
_scramble into the_ ANT HEAP.
_Blind Ant._ Blank, two, three, four—blank, two, three, four—
[_Increasing din within._
_Tramp._ It does yer good to see ’em pass,
Prepared to shed their blood—
And jest for ’alf a yard o’ mud,
Between two blades o’ grass.
It does yer good to see ’em all
So ’andsome and so spry.
They’re not afraid to up and die—
They’ve ’eard the Nation’s call.
It makes yer think o’ them ole scenes,
With star-shells over ’ead,
The night we left a thousan’ dead—
And keptured two latrines.
Now, fellers, dig yerselves right in,
And stay there till yer bust.
Them Yellers wants your yard o’ dust,
And don’t you let ’em win!
_Chrysalis._ They call, they shout, they beat their drums.
The world wakes. The great moment comes!
[_Beating of drums_—ANTS _transform themselves
into_ SOLDIERS. CHIEF ENGINEER
_becomes_ COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF.
_Tramp._ Now, that’s what trainin’ does. You’re smart lads.
Put it there!
Crumbs! if you’re half the ant I takes yer for, I swear
You’ll cop that bit o’ land afore the Yellers cop it—
But ’ere’s the brass ’ats comin’. I guess I’d better
’op it.
_Chief Engineer._ Soldiers! We find ourselves compelled to call you
to the colours. A wicked enemy has treacherously attacked us, for the
purpose of outwitting our peaceable preparations. At this great hour I
have been appointed Dictator.
_2nd Engineer._ Three cheers for the Dictator—Shout boys, or——
_Soldiers._ Hip, hip, hooray!
_Chief Engineer._ (_Saluting_) Thank you! You have responded to the
gravity of the moment. Soldiers, we are fighting for life and liberty.
_2nd Engineer._ And for the greatness of our State.
_Chief Engineer._ And for the greatness of our State. We shall wage war
for the interest of civilization and our military honour. Soldiers, I
am with you to the last drop of my blood.
_2nd Engineer._ Long live our beloved Commander-in-Chief!
_Soldiers._ Long live our Commander-in-Chief!
_Chief Engineer._ I know my soldiers. They will fight until the final
victory. Long live our gallant men. Hurrah!
_Soldiers._ Hurrah! Hurrah!
_Chief Engineer._ (_To 2nd_ ENGINEER) The First and Second
Divisions will attack frontally. The Fourth will envelope the Pine
Wood, and break into the Ant Heap of the Yellows. Women and children to
be slaughtered—Third Division in reserve—no quarter!
[SECOND ENGINEER _salutes_.
May God assist us in this. Soldiers, ’shun! Right turn—quick march!
[_Drums._
One, two! War forced upon us—one, two, one, two! In the name of
Justice! No quarter! For your hearths and homes! One, two, one, two!
We are only defending ourselves. War on the world. For a Greater
Home Country. One, two—a ruthless enemy. Will of the Nation! To
battle—strike hard. Historical claims. Brilliant spirit of the Army.
One, two, one, two!
[_Fresh_ TROOPS _march past_.
Good luck, soldiers, I shall be behind you—Well done the fifth! The
conquerors of the Pine Trees. A mighty epoch, to victory—conquer the
world, magnificent daring—one, two! Well done, Seventh! Beat them,
soldiers, the Yellow are cowards. Hack your way through, burn, destroy,
heroes!
_Enter_ MESSENGER.
_Messenger._ The Yellows have invaded the stretch of country between
the roots of the Pine Tree and the Stone——
_Chief Engineer._ Entirely according to plan. Faster, soldiers, one,
two, War forced on us for honour and glory, needs of the State, no
conception of Justice; soldiers show your bravery, victory is ours,
greatest moment in history. Quick march, quick march, quick march!
[_Big bang in the distance._
The battle is beginning. Up with the reserves.
[_Looks through the telescope._
_Blind Ant._ Blank, two, three, four—blank—
[_Increasing din._
_Chrysalis._ Wild voices of the world, be dumb!
Your woes are at an end. I come!
_Chief Engineer._ Reserves stand to! (_To 2nd_ ENGINEER) Issue
a report.
_2nd Engineer._ (_In a loud voice_) The battle has begun at last,
under favourable weather conditions. Our heroic men are fighting in
magnificent spirits.
_Chief Engineer._ Right turn, quick march!—one, two, one, two—faster
boys!
_Enter_ MESSENGER.
_Messenger._ Our right wing is retreating. The Fifth Regiment is
completely destroyed.
_Chief Engineer._ According to plan. Sixth Regiment replace them.
_Tramp._ Ho, yuss!... There was other reports that began
‘The Regiment was butchered—accordin’ to plan!’
And after ’is battle, ’e’ll go round and scan
The corpses, all ’eaped up—‘accordin’ to plan’.
_Enter_ STRETCHER-BEARERS _with wounded_.
_A Wounded Man._ The fifth Regiment, our regiment—we’re all destroyed.
Stop! Stop!
[_Telegraph instrument clatters._
_Signal Officer._ (_Reading dispatch_) ‘Fifth regiment destroyed. We
await orders.’
_Chief Engineer._ Sixth take its place. (_To 2nd_ ENGINEER)
Issue a report.
_2nd Engineer._ The battle is developing successfully. The Fifth
Regiment especially distinguished itself, heroically repelling all
attacks, whereupon it was relieved by the Sixth.
_Chief Engineer._ Bravo! I will decorate you with the steel Cross.
_2nd Engineer._ Thank you. I am only doing my duty.
_Journalist._ (_Approaching with note-book_) I am a journalist; shall
we announce a victory?
_Chief Engineer._ Yes. Successful operations. Thanks to our plans
prepared years ago. The admirable spirit of our forces—irresistible
advance—the enemy demoralized.
_Journalist._ We—we—we——
_Chief Engineer._ Eh?
_Journalist._ We will print everything.
_Chief Engineer._ Good. We rely upon the cooperation of the Press.
Don’t forget the admirable spirit.
_Journalist._ The Press is performing its d-duty!
[_Exit._
_Enter_ PHILANTHROPIST _with collecting-box_.
_Philanthropist._ Help the wounded! All for the wounded! Gifts for the
wounded. Give to the wounded. Help for the cripples.
_Chief Engineer._ Second Division attack—it must break through
whatever the sacrifice.
_Philanthropist._ For our heroes—help your brothers—help for the
wounded.
_Tramp._ War for the wounded! Coppers for their wounds.
_Philanthropist._ Help for the wounded—give to the cripples.
_Tramp._ (_He tears off a button and puts it in the collecting-box_)
All for the wounded! My last button for the war!
_Another Wounded Man._ Oh! Put me out of my misery, do!
_Philanthropist._ Aid the wounded.
[_Telegraph instrument again._
_Signal Officer._ The right wing of the Yellows is retreating.
_Chief Engineer._ Pursue them. Finish them off. Don’t bother about
prisoners.
_2nd Engineer._ The enemy retiring in confusion. Our regiments in
defiance of death, dogging his footsteps with splendid daring.
_Chief Engineer._ Fourth Levy!
_Signal Officer._ The fourth regiment has invested the Pine Tree and
has made a rear attack on the Ant Heap of the Yellows—the garrison is
slaughtered.
_Chief Engineer._ Raze it to the ground—finish off the civilians.
_Signal Officer._ The enemy is overwhelmed—they have evacuated a foot
of the furze bush.
_Chief Engineer._ Victory is ours. (_Falls on knees and removes
his helmet_) Great god of the Ants, thou hast granted victory to
thy servants. I appoint thee honorary Colonel. (_Jumps up_) Third
Division forward, all reserves forward—no prisoners. Forward! (_Again
on his knees_) Righteous god of strength, thou knowest that our
holy cause—(_Jumps up_) After them—after them—attack them—hunt
them down—slaughter everybody. The empire of the world is settled.
(_Kneels_) God of the Ants, in this significant hour—(_Prays
silently._)
_Tramp._ (_Bending over him softly_) Empire of the World! You miserable
Ant you, you call this bit of clay and grass the world? This dirty
little patch of soil? If I was to trample down all thus ’ere Ant ’eap
of yours and you with it, d’yer think these ’ere trees above yer would
notice it? Not they!
_Chief Engineer._ Who are you?
_Tramp._ Only a voice. Though yesterday p’r’aps I was a soldier on
another ant heap. What yer think of yerself, conqueror of the world?
Feel big enough? Don’t that ’eap of corpses seem too small—for your
glory, yer miserable image?
_Chief Engineer._ (_Rising_) I disregard you entirely—I proclaim
myself Emperor!
_Signal Officer._ The Second Division is asking for reinforcements. Our
troops seem exhausted.
_Chief Engineer._ They must hold out. Shoot down defaulters.
_Signal Officer._ The Third Division has been thrown into confusion.
_An Ant._ (_Escapes across stage_) We’re running away!
_Chief Engineer._ Mobilize the nation!
_A Shout._ No! No! Back, back!
_Piercing cry._ Save yourselves!
_Chief Engineer._ Send the unfit to the front—every one must go!
_Soldier._ They’re beating us, run!
_Two Soldiers._ They’ve surrounded us—escape!
_A Soldier._ To the West. Escape to the West!
_Soldiers._ They’ve surrounded us from the West—run to the East!
_Chief Engineer._ Back! To your places—to the front. Face to West.
_Crowd._ (_From_ R.) Escape,—they’re hunting us down. To the
East.
_Crowd._ (_From_ L.) To the West, out of the way, they’re here!
[_The two streams begin to fight._
_Chief Engineer._ (_Shouting at them_) Back, cowards! You cattle—I am
your Emperor.
_A Soldier._ Lie down. (_Runs him through_) Escape!
_2nd Engineer._ (_Runs in wounded_) They’ve taken the city. Put out the
lights.
_The Yellows._ (_Penetrating from both sides_) Hurrah! Hurrah! The Ant
Heap is ours!
[_Lights go out: confusion._
_2nd Engineer._ Fight! Fight! Ah!
_Yellow Leader._ Into the passages after them—spare nobody, slaughter
all the men.
_Shouts of slaughtered men._ Ah! Ah!
_Blind Ant._ Blank, two—blank, two—blank, two.
_Yellow Leader._ After them—murder—murder them all.
[_The din becomes more remote._
_Blind Ant._ Blank, two—blank, two—blank, two—
_Yellow Leader._ Light!
[_Lights are lit—the foreground is
empty—corpses piled everywhere._
Excellent, Yellows. All are slaughtered.
_Tramp._ Chuck it, General!
_Yellow Leader._ The victory of the Yellows. The victory of justice and
progress. Ours is the path between the two blades of grass. The world
belongs to us Yellows. I proclaim myself Ruler of the Universe.
_Chrysalis._ I—I—I——
_Yellow Leader_ (_on his knees_). Most righteous god of the Ants—thou
knowest that we fight only for justice, our victory, our national
honour, our commercial interests.
_Tramp._ (_Rushes out, kicks him over, and grinds him into pieces with
his boot_) Bah! Yer insec’, yer insec’!
EPILOGUE
DEATH AND LIFE
SCENE: _Interior of the forest. Pitch-black night.
The_ TRAMP _sleeping in the foreground_.
_Tramp._ (_Speaking in his sleep_) Chuck it, General! (_Wakes_) Been
nappin’, ’ave I? Crumbs, I feel cold. I’m sick—shiverin’ all over....
Where am I? Can’t see me ’ands, it’s so bloomin’ dark.... ’Oo’s that
speakin’?... (_Shouting_) ’Ullo! ’oo’s talkin’?... Nothin’—no one
anywhere. Gawd! I’m skeered. Where’s the sky got to? There ain’t no
sky! Can’t be dead, can I? Feel sick enough. For ’eaven’s sake, a bit
of light—jest a glimmer!
_A Voice._ Wait, wait. The light is coming.
_Tramp._ I can ’ear voices—everywhere, voices! ’Ark!
_Voice of Ant-Soldier._ I’m wounded.... I’m thirsty.
_Voice of Ant-Commander._ Army of Occupation, advance!
_Voice of Mr. Beetle._ My pile! Where’s my little pile?
_Voice of a Butterfly._ Iris! Iris!
_Tramp._ Give us a bit of light! I’m skeered!
_Voice of Cricket._ Another cricket lived here a long time ago.
Careful, mumsy, careful!
_Voice of Ichneumon Fly._ Aha! Got them!
_Voice of Ant-Soldier._ Water, water!
_Voice of Ant-Commander._ And see that you take no prisoners.
_Voice of a Butterfly._ Iris! Iris!
_Voice of Mr. Beetle._ My pile! Where’s my lovely pile?
_Tramp._ What’s ’ere? A flint! If only I could strike a spark from it,
jest one, one little spark o’ light!
[_He strikes it upon another stone. Sparks
burst forth. The forest is lit up._
Thank ’eaven, ’ere’s light!
_Voices._ Escape! escape!
_Chrysalis._ Who is that calling me? I come, I come!
[MUSIC.
My wings begin to sever:
My outer sheath is torn ...
_Voices of Moths._ (_Rapidly coming near and nearer_)
Into it, into it, into it! Wing your flight
Into the ecstasy, into the heart of the light!
_Chrysalis._ I shall have life for ever;
I shall at last be born!
[MOTHS _in a bevy fly into the midst
of the light. They whirl round._
_Moths._ Into it, into it, into it! Wing your flight
Into the ecstasy, into the heart of the light!
_Tramp._ What are _you_? Moths? What yer want? Is it life?
_First Moth._ (_Separating from the others_) Ah ...! (_Stands still_)
We are struck from the dark
And again we expire.
Each is a spark
Of an infinite fire....
[_She falls dead._
_Chorus._ And to flash from the forge for a moment,
and perish, is all our desire.
_Tramp._ Why’s she dead? She didn’t want to die.
_Second Moth._ (_Separating, &c._) Ah ...! (_Stands still_)
We are drops on the crest
Of a fountain that leaps—
[_She falls dead._
_Third Moth._ (_Separating_)
We dance without rest
And return to the deeps,—
_Chorus._ For life is eternal, and rises from death
where you think that it sleeps.
_Third Moth._ Life is eternal. It cannot fail.
All hail to life—
[_Falls dead._
_Moths._ All hail, all hail!
_Tramp._ Life and death—seems they’re both good if we know how to
treat ’em. I’m a battered old moth, I am, but I’ll dance with yer! All
hail to life!
_Moths._ All hail, all hail!
[MOTH _after_ MOTH _falls dead_.
_Tramp._ Butterflies, beetles, moths, and men—why can’t we all live
’appy together? The world’s big enough, and life could be ’appy for
everythink—if we ’ad a bit o’ sense.
_Moths._ All hail, all hail!
_Chrysalis._ (_Shrieking_) Out of my way! Behold!
[_She rends her husk and leaps forth as a_ MOTH.
_Tramp._ What? You, Chrysalis? Reely born?
_Chrysalis-Moth._ (_Whirling_) Ah! (_Stands still_)
O light! O love! O! ecstasy
Of being! Life has entered _me_!
_A Few Last Moths._ Eternal life—all hail to thee!
[_They fall dead._
_Chrysalis-Moth._
Hearken, O heaven! O earth, give ear!
I will proclaim a mystery here.
I will solve all things. I will tell
The whole world’s meaning. Hearken well....
[_She falls dead._
_Tramp._ (_Kneeling by the dead_ CHRYSALIS) Dead. She’s dead
too. Pore Chrysalis—and you ’ad sich ’opes. What was yer going to say?
I wonder! They don’t seem skeered o’ death, these little mites don’t.
Life’s a rapture to them, and death’s a rapture. It’s queer. Pore
little mites—all done for....’Ere—what’s this? My turn, is it? Get
off my chest, damn yer! I won’t die. ’Aven’t I jest learned ’ow to live
and let live? Gawd, I feel sick. I can’t be dyin’? It can’t ’ave come
to me?... Chuck it—yer stranglin’ me. I know ’oo it is—you’re Death.
Yer want to count me out—_I_ know. Take that!
_Enter_ TWO SNAILS.
_First Snail._ Thtop—Thome one’s makin’ a noith.
_Second Snail._ Come back, come back.
_Tramp._ That’s for you, rattlebones! You felt that, eh? ’Ere, get yer
knee off my chest—I only want to live. I won’t give yer my life, yer
old skull and crossbones yer.—Ow! It’s ’is foot on my head.
[_Falls._
_First Snail._ I thay, thnail.
_Second Snail._ What?
_First Snail._ ’E’th thtruggling with death.
_Second Snail._ We’ll have a look, eh?
_Tramp._ Let me live—what will it matter to you? Only this once—till
to-morrow. Let me breathe—stop, don’t strangle me—I don’t want to
die—I ’aven’t enjoyed life yet—not ’alf—
[_Falls._
_First Snail._ What fun, eh?
_Second Snail._ I thay, thnail!
_First Snail._ What?
_Second Snail._ He’th done for.
_Tramp._ You strangle a man when ’e’s down, do you, coward? Stop, let
me tell you—all I want’s another moment—let me live—go away—I’ve
more to tell you—I’ve learned how to live.
_First Snail._ Well, it’th all up with him.
_Second Snail._ Oh dear, oh dear! What a mithfortune! How we shall mith
him, my dear.
_First Snail._ What are you talkin’ about? It’s nothing to do with uth.
_Second Snail._ That’s what people thay when thomebody dies.
_First Snail._ Oh yeth. Well, we won’t futh about it.
_Second Snail._ No! No! Ith the way of the world.
_Dawn_—BIRDS _awaken_.
_Enter_ WOODCUTTER.
_Woodcutter._ (_Singing_)
‘As I went down to Shrewsbury Town
I came by luck....’
(_He sees the_ TRAMP’S _corpse_) Hallo—what’s this? Boozed,
is he? Here—wake up, mate. My word! he’s dead. Poor old chap.... Well,
anyway, he’ll have no more trouble.
_Enter a_ WOMAN, _carrying a new-born baby_.
_Woman._ Morning, Peter Wood. Why, whatever’s the matter?
[_Church bells._
_Woodcutter._ He’s dead.
_Woman._ Dead? Who is it?
_Woodcutter._ Only a tramp by the look of him.
_Woman._ It gives me a turn. It’s bad luck, you know. Here am I taking
my sister’s baby to be baptized, and—ugh!
_Woodcutter._ One’s born and another dies. No great matter, missus.
_Woman._ It means bad luck.
_Woodcutter._ What’s death? There’s always people enough. (_Chucking
the baby under the chin_) Gi-gi-gi-gigg, baby! Wait till you’re grown
up.
_Woman._ I hope he’ll be better off than we are, that’s all. These
taxes!
_Woodcutter._ Plenty of work—that’s what he’ll need.
[_Voices of_ SCHOOL CHILDREN _approaching_.
_Woman._ Here come the girls on their way to school. Quick, Peter
Wood—cover up that! They mustn’t see it, poor dears.
_Enter some_ SCHOOL CHILDREN. _They file across the stage singing_:
‘As I went down to Shrewsbury Town,
I came by luck on a silver crown:
And what shall I buy with that, said I,
What shall I buy in Shrewsbury Town?
As I went down to Shrewsbury Town
I saw my love in a dimity gown:
And all so gay I gave it away,
I gave it away—my silver crown.’
[_During the song one little girl gives a flower to the baby.
This, after the singers have left the stage, the_ WOMAN
_takes and lays on the body of the_ TRAMP.
CURTAIN.
The Quest Society.
SPRING SESSION, 1923.
OPEN MEETINGS.
Thursday Evenings at 8.30.
AT 27, CLAREVILLE GROVE: STUDIOS 3 AND 4
(_Hereford Square, close to Gloucester Road Station._)
=April 26.= ‘Minos not Tut-ankh-amen.’
VACHER BURCH, M.A.
=May 10.= ‘The Quest in Islám’ (Presidential Address).
REYNOLD A. NICHOLSON, M.A., Litt.D., LL.D.
=May 24.= ‘Will and the New Psychology.’
Mrs. RHYS DAVIDS, M.A., Litt.D.
=June 7.= ‘Remarks on the Transcorporation Doctrine.’
G. R. S. MEAD, Editor of ‘The Quest.’
=June 21.= ‘The Subconscious Background of the Vale
Owen Script on the Spirit-world.’
D. F. DE L’HOSTE RANKING, M.A., LL.D., F.R.S.L.
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