by Alfred Jarry
(The turnkeys come and bolt all the doors.)
SCENE VI
The palace at Moscow.
THE EMPEROR ALEXIS and his court, BORDURE
CZAR ALEXIS. Was it you, infamous adventurer, who helped to murder our cousin Wenceslaus ?
BORDURE. Sire, forgive me. I was dragged into it in spite of myself by Papa Turd.
ALEXIS. What a liar ! Anyway, what do you want ?
BORDURE. Papa Turd pretended I was conspiring against him, and threw me in prison. I succeeded in escaping, and spurred my horse five days and nights across the steppes to come and beg your gracious mercy.
ALEXIS. What do you bring as a token of your submission ? BORDURE. My free sword and a detailed plan of the fortress of Thorn.
ALEXIS. I accept the sword, but by Saint George, burn the plan ! I don’t want to owe my victory to treachery.
BORDURE. One of Wenceslaus’ sons, Prince Buggerlaus, escaped alive. I’ll do anything to restore him to the throne.
ALEXIS. What rank did you hold in the Polish army ?
BORDURE. Captain of the 5th regiment of Wilnauer dragoons and of a company of mercenaries in the pay of Papa Turd.
ALEXIS. Good. I appoint you second-lieutenant in the 10th Cossack regiment, and beware if you turn traitor ! But fight well, and you shall be rewarded.
BORDURE. It’s not courage I lack, Sire.
ALEXIS. That is well. Disappear from my presence.
[He goes.
SCENE VII
TURD’S council-chamber.
PAPA TURD, MAMA TURD, COUNCILLORS OF PHYNANCE
PAPA TURD. Gentlemen, the meeting is now open. Try to listen carefully and keep calm. First we’re going to deal with the subject of phynances. After that we’ll talk about a little system I’ve invented for bringing good weather and conjuring rain.
A COUNCILLOR. Very good indeed, Master Turd.
MAMA TURD. What a blockhead !
PAPA TURD. Madam of my pshit, take care. I won’t put up with any more of your nonsense. – Well then, gentlemen, I will inform you that the phynances are going fairly well. Every morning a considerable number of dogs in woollen stockings pour into the streets, and the dognappers are doing fine. On all sides one can see burning houses, and people bending under the weight of our phynance.
THE COUNCILLOR. And the new taxes, Master Turd, how are they going ?
MAMA TURD. Not at all. The tax on marriage hasn’t brought in more than eleven cents, and Papa Turd is chasing people all over the place to make them get married.
PAPA TURD. Blood and money ! Horn of my strumpot ! Madam financier, haven’t I years to speak with and you a mouth to hear me ? (Burst of laughter.) Or rather, no ! You’re the one that’s making me make mistakes ! You’re to blame for my stupidity ! Now turdhorn ! . . . (A MESSENGER enters.) Now what does he want ? Beat it, louse, or I’ll fix you good with beheading and with twisting of the legs.
[MESSENGER leaves.
MAMA TURD. There ! he’s gone now, but he dropped a letter.
PAPA TURD. You read it. Either I’m losing my mind, or else I don’t know how to read. Hurry up, buggerlet, this ought to be from Bordure.
MAMA TURD. Precisely. He says the Czar received him very well, that he’s going to invade your dominions and re-establish Buggerlaus, and that you will be killed.
PAPA TURD. Hoo ! Hah ! I’m scared ! Ooh, I’m scared ! I’m at death’s door. Oh, poor man that I am. What’s to become of me, God in heaven ? This wicked man is going to kill me. Saint Anthony and all the rest of the saints, protect me ! I’ll pay cash. I’ll even burn candles to you. God almighty, what’s to be done ? (He weeps and sobs.)
MAMA TURD. There’s only one way out, Papa Turd.
PAPA TURD. What’s that, my love ?
MAMA TURD. War !!
ALL. Praise God ! That’s the honorable thing to do !
PAPA TURD. Oh sure, that way I’ll get beaten even worse.
FIRST COUNCILLOR. Come on ! Let’s go and mobilize the army . . .
SECOND. And assemble the provisions . . .
THIRD. And prepare the artillery and the fortifications . . .
FOURTH. And raise the money to pay the troops.
PAPA TURD. No, by Jesus ! I’ll kill you, you I won’t hand out any money. And that’s another thing - before I was paid to make war. Now I have to do it at my own expense. No, by my green candle ! Since you’re all so set on it, by all means let’s have war, but don’t let’s pay out a cent.
ALL. Hurray for war !
SCENE VIII
The encampment before Warsaw.
[At right, a mill with a usable window.
At left, rocks. Backdrop showing the ocean.
THE POLISH ARMY (one soldier) enters, led by GENERAL LASKY
SONG OF THE ARMY
My tunic has two, three, four buttons,
Five buttons !
Six, seven, eight buttons,
Nine buttons !
Ten, ’leven, twelve buttons,
Thirteen buttons !
My tunic has thirteen, fourteen, fifteen buttons,
Sixteen buttons !
Eighteen, nineteen, twenty buttons,
Twenty buttons !
Twenty-one, two, three buttons,
Thirty buttons !
My tunic has thirty buttons, forty buttons,
. . . ty buttons !
Forty-three, four, five buttons,
five buttons !
Sixty-eight, nine, ten buttons.
ten buttons !
My tunic has fifty million buttons,
million buttons . . .
GENERAL LASKY. Company . . . halt ! Left . . . face ! Front! Right . . . dress ! Eyes front. At ease. Men, this stuff some sources sling about Poland wanting to stay out of war, and not wanting to fight, is a crock of pshit ! Polanders love to fight. Never forget that. You’re military men, and military men make the best soldiers. So to do sentry-duty honorably and victoriously, rest the weight of your body on your right foot, and start off rapidly with your left. ’Ten-tion ! Left by the left flank . . . pshit ! Company . . . forward . . . guide right . . . march ! One two, one two . . .
THE ARMY, with LASKY at its flank, marches off cheering :]
SOLDIERS and CHAMPIONS. Hurray for Poland ! Hurray for Papa Turd !
PAPA TURD [entering with casque and cuirass]. Hey, Mama Turd, hand me down my swagger-stick and breast-plate. Pretty soon I’m going to be so loaded down I won’t be able to run if they chase me.
MAMA TURD. Pfui, what a coward !
PAPA TURD. Hey ! my pshit-sword is running away and the money-crook is uncrooking ! All this junk is getting in my way. I’ll never be ready, and the Russians are advancing and want to kill me.
A SOLDIER. Master Turd, you’re losing your yard-scissors.
PAPA TURD. I’m gonna kill ya with my pshit-hook and mug-knife.
MAMA TURD. Oh my, how handsome he looks with his helmet and breast-plate. You’d think he was an armed pumpkin.
PAPA TURD. [Our Champions are also of great importance, but not nearly as handsome as when I was King of Aragon. Like skinned things, or a diagram of the circulation of the venous and arterial blood, the financial bile oozed out of them through holes, and crept in through fistulas of gold and copper. They were numbered too, and I led them in battle with a halter from which hung funeral leads. How happily the women aborted before them, because the babies would be born like them. – And the coprophagous porkers vomited in horror.] And now I’m going to get on my horse. Gentlemen, bring on the money-go-mare.
MAMA TURD. Papa Turd, your horse won’t be able to carry you. It hasn’t eaten anything for five days, and it’s nearly dead.
PAPA TURD. How do you like that! They’re making me pay a dime a day for this nag, and she can’t carry me. Turdhorn ! Either you’re kidding me or you’re robbing me. (MAMA TURD blushes, and lowers her eyes.) All right, get me another beast, but I won’t go on foot. Hornstrumpot ! (CHAMPION GYRON [in blackface] leads in an en
ormous horse.) Thank you, faithful Gyron. (He pats the horse.) Ho, ho . . . Now I’m getting on. Oh ! I better sit down. I’m falling off ! (The horse starts.) Help ! Stop the horse ! God almighty, I’m liable to fall off and get killed !!!
(He disappears into the wings.)
MAMA TURD. What an imbecile. (She laughs.) Oh, he’s up again ! No, he’s down.
PAPA TURD (re-entering on horseback). Fizzihorn ! I’m half dead. But it doesn’t matter. It’s war ! I’m going to war, and I’ll kill everybody. Anybody steps out of line - watch out ! I’ll fix ’im with twisting of the nose and teeth, and extraction of the tongue.
MAMA TURD. Good luck, Mr. Turd !
PAPA TURD. I forgot to tell you. I’m making you regent. But I’m taking the account-book with me, and God help you if you rob me. And I’m leaving Champion Gyron to help you. Farewell, Mama Turd. [Let huswifery appear; keep close thy buggle-boe.]
MAMA TURD. Goodbye, Papa Turd. Kill the Czar good.
PAPA TURD. Positively. Twisting of the nose and teeth, extraction of the tongue, insertion of the little swagger stick in the years.
(Fanfare. The army marches off.)
SCENE IX
MAMA TURD, CHAMPION GYRON
MAMA TURD (alone). Now that this overgrown puppet is gone, we can get down to business : to kill Buggerlaus and seize all the treasures of Poland. [Here, Gyron, come and help me.
CHAMPION GYRON. To do what, Mistress ?
MAMA TURD. Everything ! My husband wants you to take his place while he’s at war. So tonight . . .
CHAMPION GYRON. Oh, Mistress !
MAMA TURD. Don’t blush, my dear. In the first place, on you it’s invisible. But before anything else, give me a hand carting away these treasures.
(Patter song, spoken very quickly as they carry the treasures off:)
MAMA TURD (picking up a chamber-pot)
Now first to my astonished eyes,
The pole, the pole, the Polish prize !
CHAMPION GYRON
In this reindeer skin she got out of bed,
The poor dear queen who now is dead !
MAMA TURD
The spitting image, top to toe,
Of my missing spouse that I love so.
CHAMPION GYRON
Oh the empty bottles, we say and sing,
And the good old days of the Bastard King.
MAMA TURD (picking up a clysterpump)
Oh the winding, twining old hookah
That they built for Queen Marie Leczinska.
CHAMPION GYRON
The papers hidden in a pumpkin head
To defend the state from the dirty Red.
MAMA TURD (picking up a little broom)
And the whisk-broom used by the Queen’s Navee
To help Great Poland sweep the sea.
MAMA TURD. Aiee ! I hear a noise ! Papa Turd is coming back ! So soon ?! Quick, run !
They run away, letting the treasures fall.]
ACT IV
SCENE I
The crypt of the ancient kings of Poland in the cathedral of Warsaw.
MAMA TURD, alone
MAMA TURD. Now, where is this treasure ? Not a single stone rings hollow. All the same, I did count thirteen flagstones from the tomb of Ladislaus the Great going along the wall, and there’s nothing here. Someone must have deceived me. No, here it is ! This stone rings hollow. To work, Mama Turd ! That’s it, we’ll unbed this stone. It holds fast. We’ll use the end of the money-crook – it will serve its purpose this time. There ! There’s the gold in the midst of the bones of kings. Into the bag, now, all of it ! Oh ! what was that noise ? In these old vaults, can anything still live ? No, it’s nothing. Hurry now. Take everything. This gold will be better off in daylight than among the graves of bygone princes. Put back the stone. Now what ? – again that noise ! This place gives me the horrors. I’ll get the rest of the gold some other time - I’ll come back tomorrow.
A VOICE (rising from the tomb of JAN SIGISMUND). Never, Mama Turd !
(MAMA TURD runs away terrified, carrying off the stolen gold through a secret door.)
SCENE II
The town square in Warsaw.
BUGGERLAUS and his partisans, PEOPLE and SOLDIERS
BUGGERLAUS. Forward, my friends ! Long live Wenceslaus and Poland ! That old blackguard, Papa Turd, is gone. No one is left but the old witch, Mama Turd, and her knight. I offer to march at your head, and re-establish the race of my forefathers.
ALL. Hurrah for Buggerlaus !
BUGGERLAUS. And I’ll revoke all the taxes established by that terrible Papa Turd.
ALL. Hooray ! ! Let’s go. We’ll rush the palace, and wipe out the whole brood.
BUGGERLAUS. Aha ! Here comes Mama Turd down the palace steps with her guards.
MAMA TURD. What is it you want, gentlemen ? – Oh !! it’s Buggerlaus ! (The crowd starts throwing stones.)
FIRST GUARD. All the windows are broken.
SECOND GUARD. Holy Saint George, they got me !
THIRD GUARD. Holy Moses, I’m dying !
BUGGERLAUS. Keep throwing stones, my friends !
CHAMPION GYRON. Hey ! So that’s how it is ! (He unsheathes his sword and rushes in, wreaking terrible carnage.)
BUGGERLAUS. Have at you ! On guard, cowardly bumpkin !
(They fight.)
CHAMPION GYRON. I’m done for !
BUGGERLAUS. Victory, my friends ! And now for Mama Turd ! (Trumpets are heard.) Great! Here come the Nobles. Hurry, seize the evil harpy !
THE OTHERS. Yes, until we can throttle the old bandit himself !
(MAMA TURD runs away, followed by all the Poles. Shots, and showers of stones.)
SCENE III
The Polish army on the march in the Ukraine.
PAPA TURD [enters dragging a long bridle]. Blasthole ! leg-o’ -god ! sowbelly ! We’re perishing. We’re dying of thirst and tiredness. Honorable Soldier, have the kindness to carry our phynance-box, and you, Honorable Lancer, take charge of the pshit-shears and physic-stick to lighten our person, because, I repeat, we’re dying of fatigue. (The soldiers obey.)
PILE. Hey ! Mister ! It’s funny the Russians don’t show up.
PAPA TURD. It is regrettable that the state of our phynance doesn’t permit us to have transportation to match our size; because, for fear of demolishing our nag, we’ve come the whole way on foot, dragging (the horse now appears) our horse by the bridle. But when we get back to Poland, we will invent by means of our knowledge of pataphysics, and aided by the enlightenment of our councillors, [an automobile to carry our horse, and] an aeroplane to transport the whole army.
COCCYX. Here comes Nicholas Rensky all of a rush.
PAPA TURD. What’s bothering that guy ?
RENSKY. All is lost, Sire ! The Poles have rebelled, Gyron [has disappeared] and Mama Turd has fled to the mountains taking with her all the treasures and phynance of the realm.
PAPA TURD. Already !!! Bird of night, beast of misfortune, owl in gaiters ! Where did you dredge up this nonsense ? Oh well, from bad to worse. And who did it ? Buggerlaus, I bet. Where are you coming from ?
RENSKY. From Warsaw, noble Sire.
PAPA TURD. Boy of my pshit, if I believed you I’d make the whole army retrace its steps. But, honored youth, there’s more feathers than brains in your head. You’ve dreamt foolishness. Back to the front, my boy. The Russians aren’t too far off, and soon we’ll have to attack with everything we’ve got – pshit, physic, and phynance.
GENERAL LASKY. Papa Turd, wouldn’t you say you see the Russians on the plain ?
PAPA TURD. My god, the Russians ! That does it ! If I thought I could still get away – but no, we’re on a height and exposed on all sides.
THE ARMY. The Russians ! The enemy !
PAPA TURD. Come, gentlemen, let us take our positions for the battle. We’re going to stay on this hill and never commit the stupidity of coming down off it. I’ll stay in the middle like a living citadel, and the rest of you will gravitate around me. I must
beg of you to cram your muskets with as many balls as they’ll hold, because 8 balls can kill 8 Russians and that’s just so many more I won’t have on my back. We’ll put the infantry at the bottom of the hill to receive the Russians and kill them a little, the cavalry behind to throw themselves into the confusion, and the artillery around the windmill here to fire into the heap. As for us, we’ll stay inside the windmill and fire through the window with our phynance-pistol. Across the door we’ll put our physic-stick, and anyone who tries to get in – watch out for the pshit-hook !
OFFICERS. Your orders, Sir Turd, shall be obeyed.
PAPA TURD. Fine. Everything is taken care of. We’re going to win. What time is it ? [Sound-effect: Cuckoo ! three times.]
GENERAL LASKY. Eleven o’clock.
PAPA TURD. All right, let’s go to lunch. The Russians won’t attack before noon. Honorable General, tell the soldiers to take a fast crap and intone the Phynance Song.
SOLDIERS and CHAMPIONS
God save our Papa Turd,
Our gracious Phynancier
Bing, bing, bing, bing.
Bing, bing, bing, bing.
Bing, bing – bazink !
[LASKY. ’Ten-tion ! Right face – left face. Form a circle. Two steps forward . . . Hump ! (THE ARMY marches out. Trumpet flourish. PAPA TURD begins to sing, THE ARMY coming back for the Chorus at the end of the first stanza.)
CHANSON POLONAISE
PAPA TURD : Now when I sip
My little brown jug,
It’s down the hatch
With a glug glug glug !
Chorus : Glug glug glug, glug glug glug.
PAPA TURD : When thirst pursues,