'And So Ad Infinitum' (The Life of the Insects)&#10;An Entomological Review, in Three Acts, a Prologue and an Epilogue

The Tramp is discovered, stretched out in sleep; a bottle at his side. Butterflies flutter across the scene.

Lepidopterist. There they go, there they go! Fine specimens! Apatura Iris—tura 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.

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.

Lepidopterist. Idiot! I’ve lost them, confound you! There they go, there they go!

[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 [Pg 6] ’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.)

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!

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 [Pg 7] 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.

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.

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.

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.

Felix. (Ecstatically) Iris! Iris! Where are you, Iris? If only I could find a rhyme for you!

That’s no better. I know! She will reject my passion and I shall then produce an exquisite lament. For instance,—

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?

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.

Iris. We never grow tired of love. Have you had a terrible past, Felix? When did you first fall in love? [Pg 10]

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?

Iris. Oh, but her legs are dreadfully thick! You’re such bad judges of women, you poets. [Pg 11]

Victor. Have you read the last poem that Felix published? It came out in the Spring Anthology.

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.

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. Oh, how shocking, Felix. I’m afraid of you. Is Latin always so immoral?

Iris. Poor Victor—he’s so soothing. No, Felix, talk about poetry. I’m fond of poetry....

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?

Iris. Be brave, little boy. Faint heart never won—Tell me, whom did you write that poem to? To Clytie?

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?

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 [Pg 13] 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. You have such passionate eyes, Felix. You’re awfully clever. What are you thinking about now?

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. (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?

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.

Iris. My image? Have you fallen in love with my image? Look, my image has heard you. Kiss it quickly.

Iris. That tiresome Clytie—with that awful hanger-on of hers—just as we—

Clytie. Fancy, Iris—Otto says—Oh, you’ve got Felix here. How are you, Felix? Iris, you’ve been teasing him—he’s blushing.

Otto. Got you now, Clytie—Oh, I beg your pardon. How do you do, Iris? How are you, my boy?

Iris. Take care of yourself, dearest. Victor, see how thin she’s become again. You’re looking terrible—you really are.

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?

Otto. ‘And you and I will surely lie’—I see! Of course! ha, ha—very good.

Iris. Darling, you have such strange ideas about poetry. But you’ll never guess what a beautiful rhyme Felix made to my name. Guess.

Iris. Oh, you’re horrid. You’ve no sense of art or poetry, or anything. I’ve no patience with you.

Clytie. (Yawning) Oh, do stop talking this literary stuff. I’m fed up with it.

Iris. Are you? Are you really, Victor? I feel like kissing you. Catch me—catch me if you can.

Clytie. I understand. Iris is so awfully ignorant—and such thick ankles. Oh, Felix, at your age we have so many illusions about women.

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.

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.

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.

Clytie. Love’s nothing to you. Love’s so common. I want something special, something pure, something new.

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?

Clytie. How it rumbles in your chest—like thunder. Otto, you’re fearfully strong, aren’t you?

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.

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. (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? [Pg 22]

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.

Iris. I’m telling you. He kept running after me, and suddenly—ha, ha, ha. A bird flew along and ate him up!

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.)

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!

Beetles are quarrelling over a Chrysalis, which is seized first by one then the other.

Mr. Beetle. Our capital—that’s what it is—our lovely capital—careful—careful.

Mr. Beetle. How we’ve saved and scraped and toiled and moiled to come by it.

Mr. Beetle. And we’ve seen it grow and grow, haven’t we, bit by bit—our little ball of blessedness.

Mr. Beetle. Smell it, old woman—pinch it—feel the weight of it. Ours—ours.

Mr. Beetle. Ha, ha! It’s fine to own something—property—the dream of your life, the fruit of your labours. [Pg 26]

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.

Mr. Beetle. Just fancy—two—at least two, say three. Every one who’s made his pile has to make another.

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.

Mr. Beetle. Eh, what’s that? Finds it—No, of course they won’t. Our little bit of capital.

[Pg 27] 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.

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.

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—

Strange Beetle. Capital don’t smell—Off you go, my precious—This way, my little all, my nest-egg, my capital.

[Pg 28] 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?

Mrs. Beetle. (Rushing at him) Thief—thief—What ’ave you done with my pile?

Mrs. Beetle. That’s him—he must have found a hole—Husband—My precious—Darling! Where is the blasted fool?

Mrs. Beetle. Coo-eh! Couldn’t he have called me? Husband, my precious! I’ll learn yer—Our capital—our all—our little pile.

[Pg 29] Chrysalis. O universe, prepare! O space, expand! The mightiest of all happenings is at hand.

Ichneumon Fly. (Returning) No, no, daughter, you must eat. You [Pg 30] 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?

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.

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!

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?

Ichneumon Fly. Well, of course they are, you take it from me—One who [Pg 31] 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?

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?

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?

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.)

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!

Lama. I don’t know. Yes I do—To tear up something—Something alive—that wriggles.

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—that’s her—She had my pile—What’s she done with my pile?

Mr. Beetle. Yes, yes. My nest-egg—my savings—my capital. Where’s my beautiful pile? I left my wife with it.

[Pg 33] Tramp. Some gentleman rolled it away over there. Your wife wasn’t here at the time.

Tramp. She went after him. She thought it was you. She kept shoutin’ for yer.

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!

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?

Mr. Cricket. But darling, you must be careful—When you’re expecting—And now open the peephole—look—How do you like it?

[Pg 34] 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. 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?

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. I don’t know—What a long time you take saying anything—Do tell me, Cricket, quickly.

[Pg 35] 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!

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. It’s all very well for you to talk—Cricket, will you always love me?

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——

Mr. Cricket. Curtains, of course! How clever of you to think of it. Give me a kiss.

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.

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. (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. Oh, dear, haven’t you any children? That’s a pity. (Shakes rattle) Cricket! Cricket! And why did you never marry, beetle?

Mrs. Cricket. Yes! Yes! You men are troublesome. (Rattles) Cricket! Cricket! Cricket!

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. Beetle. Fancy him leaving you all alone like that, poor thing, and you—(Whispers)—aren’t you?

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. Roll it about with you everywhere. There’s nothing like a pile for holding a man.

[Pg 39] Mrs. Beetle. Pretty little innocence! I’d like to stay with you, but I must be going.

Mrs. Beetle. I don’t want to bother over no children. My pile, that’s all I want, my pile!

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. Ha, ha! (He murders Mrs. Cricket and drags her to his lair.)

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!

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?

Parasite. I, oh nothing much, I’m a poor man, an orphan. They call me a parasite.

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?

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?

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?

Ichneumon Fly. (Re-entering) Eat it up, baby, eat it up. Choose what you like. Have you got a nice daddy? Eh?

[Pg 41] Ichneumon Fly. Get out, you filthy creature. What d’ye want here, clear off.

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.

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.

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.

Ichneumon Fly. Hold your tongue, you filthy creature. I’m not talking to you.

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!

[Pg 42] 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?

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!

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.

Parasite. Don’t interfere, mate—don’t get mixed up in it. What must be, must be.

Ichneumon Fly. (Kills him) Larva, look what your kind daddy’s bringing you now.

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.

[Pg 43] 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.

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. [Pg 44] 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?

Parasite. Oh, I’ve gobbled her up too, hup. For what we ’ave received may the—hup.

’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.

Tramp. What’s this ’ere? A warehouse or a factory, isn’t it? Hi, what’s it for?

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 [Pg 46] counts, one, two, three, four. Like machines—Bah, it makes my head swim.

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. Blank, two, three, four. Blank, two, three, four—(All move more quickly).

Tramp. Yes. They’re called the lords of creation, that’s what they’re called.

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. And subjugated the Greys, and only the Yellows are left; we must starve out the Yellows—

2nd Engineer. In the interest of their interests, when we rule over the world.

Chief Engineer. Work had been too slow—labour must be carried out unsparingly—

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—

[Pg 52] 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.

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!

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.

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!

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!

Messenger. In accordance with our instructions, we crossed the frontier of the Yellows—

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.’ [Pg 54]

Chief Engineer. ‘This territory comprises the historical, vital, industrial, general, and military interests of our state, so that it rightly belongs to us.’

Chief Engineer. ‘Meanwhile we are giving orders to our Army to mobilize.’ War, war, at last!

[Beating of drums— Ants transform themselves into Soldiers. Chief Engineer becomes Commander-in-Chief.

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.

Chief Engineer. (Saluting) Thank you! You have responded to the gravity of the moment. Soldiers, we are fighting for life and liberty. [Pg 56]

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.

Chief Engineer. I know my soldiers. They will fight until the final victory. Long live our gallant men. 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!

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!

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!

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!

2nd Engineer. (In a loud voice) The battle has begun at last, under favourable weather conditions. Our heroic men are fighting in magnificent spirits.

Messenger. Our right wing is retreating. The Fifth Regiment is completely destroyed.

A Wounded Man. The fifth Regiment, our regiment—we’re all destroyed. Stop! Stop!

Signal Officer. (Reading dispatch) ‘Fifth regiment destroyed. We await orders.’

2nd Engineer. The battle is developing successfully. The Fifth Regiment especially distinguished itself, heroically repelling all attacks, whereupon it was relieved by the Sixth.

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.

Chief Engineer. Good. We rely upon the cooperation of the Press. Don’t forget the admirable spirit.

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.

Tramp. (He tears off a button and puts it in the collecting-box) All for the wounded! My last button for the war!

2nd Engineer. The enemy retiring in confusion. Our regiments in defiance of death, dogging his footsteps with splendid daring.

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.

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!

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!

[Pg 61] Signal Officer. The Second Division is asking for reinforcements. Our troops seem exhausted.

Chief Engineer. (Shouting at them) Back, cowards! You cattle—I am your Emperor.

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!

Yellow Leader. Into the passages after them—spare nobody, slaughter all the men.

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.

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’!

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!

Voice of Cricket. Another cricket lived here a long time ago. Careful, mumsy, careful!

Tramp. What’s ’ere? A flint! If only I could strike a spark from it, jest one, one little spark o’ light!

Chorus. And to flash from the forge for a moment, and perish, is all our desire.

Chorus. For life is eternal, and rises from death where you think that it sleeps.

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!

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.

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!

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.

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—

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.

Second Snail. Oh dear, oh dear! What a mithfortune! How we shall mith him, my dear.

(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.

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. 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. Here come the girls on their way to school. Quick, Peter Wood—cover up that! They mustn’t see it, poor dears. [Pg 69]

[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.

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LONDON	EDINBURGH	GLASGOW	COPENHAGEN
NEW YORK	TORONTO	MELBOURNE	CAPE TOWN
BOMBAY	CALCUTTA	MADRAS	SHANGHAI
1923

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

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

President:	Mrs. C. A. F. Rhys Davids, M.A., D.Litt.
Vice-Presidents:	William F. Barrett, F.R.S.;
	Rev. Prof. A. Caldecott, D.Litt., D.D.;
	G. R. S. Mead, B.A. (Chairman);
	Edmond Holmes, M.A.
Hon. Treasurer:	H. J. Page, F.C.A.
Hon. Secretary:	Mrs. L. M. Mead.
Hon. Ass. Secretary:	Miss M. Gordon Gibson.
Hon. Librarian:	Miss E. M. Worthington.

Past Presidents:	1909-1919 G. R. S. Mead;
	1919-1920 Rev. Prof. A. Caldecott, D.Litt., D.D.;
	1920-1921 Sir William F. Barrett, F.R.S.;
	1921-1922 Edmond Holmes, M.A.

The Project Gutenberg eBook of 'And So Ad Infinitum' (The Life of the Insects)

‘And so ad infinitum’
(The Life of the Insects)

PROLOGUE

ACT I
THE BUTTERFLIES

ACT II
CREEPERS AND CRAWLERS

ACT III
THE ANTS

EPILOGUE
DEATH AND LIFE

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE

The Project Gutenberg eBook of 'And So Ad Infinitum' (The Life of the Insects)

‘And so ad infinitum’ (The Life of the Insects)

PROLOGUE

ACT I THE BUTTERFLIES

ACT II CREEPERS AND CRAWLERS