by Alfred Jarry
PAPA TURD (beginning to wake up). And get Mama Turd ! Cut off her years !
MAMA TURD. My God ! Where am I ? I must be losing my mind ! But no, heavens above !—
Praise the Lord, I thank I see
Little Papa Turd asleep near me!
Softly now. — Well, my fat old codger, did you sleep well ?
PAPA TURD. Very poorly ! He was good and tough, that bear ! Combat of the ravenous and the cartilaginous. But the hungry have completely eaten up and devoured the stringy, as you’ll see when daylight comes. D’you hear, noble Champions ?
MAMA TURD. What’s he babbling about ? He’s even stupider than when he left. Who’s he talking to ?
PAPA TURD. Pile, Coccyx. Answer me, pshit-sack, where are you ? Oh ! I’m scared. And yet, someone spoke. Who spoke ? I don’t suppose it was the bear. Is he back again ? He’s going to eat me ! Pshit ! Where are my matches ? Oh, I lost them in battle.
MAMA TURD (aside). We’ll take advantage of the situation and the dark. We’ll pretend to be a ghost, and make him promise to pardon our pilferings.
PAPA TURD. But by Saint Anthony, someone is speaking! Leg-o’-god ! Hang me if they’re not.
MAMA TURD (in a great hollow voice). Yes, Master Turd, someone does, in fact, speak. And that archangel’s trumpet which shall draw the dead from their ashes and the ultimate dust will not speak otherwise ! Give ear to this stern voice. It is the voice of the Archangel Gabriel, who can give only good advice.
PAPA TURD. You don’t say.
MAMA TURD. Do not interrupt me or I shall fall silent, and that means your ass in a sling.
PAPA TURD. Oh, my strumpot ! I’ll be quiet, I won’t say another word. Continue, Madame Apparition.
MAMA TURD. We were saying, Master Turd, that you’re a fat old codger.
PAPA TURD. Very fat, as a matter of fact, it’s true.
MAMA TURD. Goddam it, shut up !
PAPA TURD. Oh ! but angels don’t swear.
MAMA TURD (aside). Pshit ! (Continuing.) You are married, Mr. Turd ?
PAPA TURD. Absolutely, and to the vilest of shrews.
MAMA TURD. You’re trying to say that she’s a charming woman.
PAPA TURD. A horror. She has fangs all over. One doesn’t know how to take her.
MAMA TURD. You must take her with kindness, honored Turd, and if you do you’ll see that she’s at least the equal of Venus in Paradise.
PAPA TURD. Who did you say had lice ?
MAMA TURD. You aren’t listening, Mr. Turd. Lend us a more attentive ear. (Aside.) But I must hurry. Day is breaking. — Mr. Turd, your wife is adorable and delightful. She hasn’t a single fault.
PAPA TURD. You’re mistaken. There isn’t a single fault she hasn’t got.
MAMA TURD. Silence ! Your wife has never been unfaithful to you.
PAPA TURD. I’d like to see the man that would want her. What a harpy !
MAMA TURD. She doesn’t drink.
PAPA TURD. Not since I took the key to the cellar. Before that she was drunk by eight in the morning, and stank of brandy. Now that she stinks of heliotrope she doesn’t smell any worse. It’s all the same to me. But now I’m the only one that can get drunk.
MAMA TURD. Stupid fool ! Your wife doesn’t steal your gold.
PAPA TURD. No ? That’s funny.
MAMA TURD. She doesn’t pinch one penny.
PAPA TURD. As witness our noble and unfortunate money-go-mare, who, not being fed for three months, had to do the entire campaign dragged by the bridle across the Ukraine. Also, he died on the job, poor beast!
MAMA TURD. All this is false. Your wife is a saint, and you, what a monster you are !
PAPA TURD. All this is true. My wife is a slut, and what a piece of tripe you are !
MAMA TURD. Take care, Papa Turd !
PAPA TURD. Yes, that’s true. I forgot who I was talking to. I didn’t say a word.
MAMA TURD. You killed Wenceslaus.
PAPA TURD. Well it wasn’t my fault, you know. Mama Turd wanted me to.
MAMA TURD. You killed Boleslaus and Ladislaus.
PAPA TURD. So much the worse for them. They wanted to hit me.
MAMA TURD. You broke your promise to Bordure, and then you killed him too.
PAPA TURD. I’d rather it was me that was king in Lithuania than him. But right now you can see it isn’t either of us. At least, you can see it isn’t me.
MAMA TURD. There’s only one way for all your sins to be forgiven.
PAPA TURD. What is it ? I’m willing to become a holy man. I want to be a bishop, and see my name in the calendar.
MAMA TURD. You must forgive Mama Turd for having pilfered a little gold.
PAPA TURD. Aha ! So that’s it ! I’ll forgive her when she gives it all back, and when I’ve walloped her good, and when she brings my money-go-mare back to life.
MAMA TURD. He’s crazy on the subject of that horse. Oh, I’m lost ! It’s getting light.
PAPA TURD. Well, anyway, I’m glad to know for sure that my dear wife has been robbing me. I have it now on the highest authority. Omnis a Deo scientia, which means : Omnis, all ; a Deo, knowledge ; scientia, comes from God. That explains the mystery. But Madame Apparition is silent. What can I do to cheer her up ? What she was saying is very amusing. Hmm, it’s getting to be morning. Christ Almighty ! Now by my money-go-mare, it’s Mama Turd !
MAMA TURD (brazenly). That’s not true. I’ll excommunicate you !
PAPA TURD. Carrion!
MAMA TURD. Atheist !
PAPA TURD. Oh, this is too much. I see perfectly well that it’s you, you stupid bitch ! What the devil are you doing here ?
MAMA TURD. Gyron is dead and the Poles chased me out.
PAPA TURD. It was the Russians chased me. Birds of a feather flock together.
MAMA TURD. I’d say this bird met up with a jackass.
PAPA TURD. Well in a minute she’s going to meet up with a palmipede. (He throws THE BEAR on her.)
MAMA TURD (falling in a heap under the weight of THE BEAR). Oh, God ! How awful! Oh, I’m dying! I’m suffocating ! It’s biting me ! It’s swallowing me ! It’s digesting me !
PAPA TURD. It’s dead, imbecile. But now that you mention it, maybe it isn’t ! Oh Lord ! no, it isn’t dead ! Run for our lives ! (Getting back up on his rock.) Our Father who art in heaven . . .
MAMA TURD (disentangling herself). Well, where is he ?
PAPA TURD. Oh. Lord ! She’s still here. Stupid creature, isn’t there any way of getting rid of her ? — Is the bear dead ?
MAMA TURD. Stupid yourself, you jackass ! He’s stone cold already. How did he get here ?
PAPA TURD (confused). I don’t know. Oh yes, now I know. He wanted to eat Pile and Coccyx, and I killed him with one blow of the Pater Noster.
MAMA TURD. Pile, Coccyx, Pater Noster ! What’s this all about ? He’s crazy, my finance !
PAPA TURD. I’m telling the exact truth, and you’re the one that’s crazy, you bloody ass !
MAMA TURD. Tell me the story of your campaign, Papa Turd.
PAPA TURD. Oh, Lord no ! It’s too long. All I know is that in spite of my incontestable valiance, everybody beat me.
MAMA TURD. What, even the Poles ?
PAPA TURD. They were shouting : Long live Wenceslaus and Buggerlaus ! I thought they were going to tear me to pieces. Oh, the madmen ! And then they killed Rensky.
MAMA TURD. I don’t give a damn ! Did you know that Buggerlaus killed Champion Gyron ?
PAPA TURD. I don’t give a damn ! And then they killed poor Lasky.
MAMA TURD. I don’t give a damn !
PAPA TURD. Oh, now, wait a minute ! C’mere, you carrion ! Get down on your knees before your lord and master. (He grabs her and throws her on her knees.) You’re going to undergo capital punishment.
MAMA TURD. Oh, mercy, Master Turd !
PAPA TURD. Mercy, nothing ! Are you finished ? Then I’ll begin : twisting of the nose, pulling out of the hair, penetration of the little tip of wood into the years,
extraction of the brains through the heels, laceration of the posterior, partial or even total suppression of the spinal marrow - if that’s any way of removing the spininess of the character — not to mention the lancing of the floating kidney, and finally the grand beheading à la Saint John the Baptist, the whole drawn from the most sacred Scriptures of both the Old Testament and the New, set in order, corrected and perfected by yours truly, the here-present Master of Phynance. How does that suit you, chucklehead ? (He begins to lacerate her.)
MAMA TURD. Mercy, Master Turd !
(Loud noise at the entrance to the cave.)
SCENE II
THE SAME. Enter BUGGERLAUS
BUGGERLAUS (rushing into the cave with his soldiers). Forward, my friends ! Up with Poland !
PAPA TURD. Oh, oh ! Just a moment, Mr. Polander. Wait till I’m through with Madame my better half.
BUGGERLAUS (striking him). Take that, coward, beggar, bully, infidel, Mohammedan !
PAPA TURD (blow for blow). Take that ! Polack, drunkard, bastard, dastard, hussard, tartard, scabbard, snothard, savoyard, Communist !
MAMA TURD (hitting him too). Take that! capon, porkon, felon, histrion, scullion, rascaglion, Polack!
(The soldiers throw themselves on the TURDS, who defend themselves as best they can.)
PAPA TURD. Gad ! they’re beating us hollow.
MAMA TURD. What feet these Polacks have !
PAPA TURD. Now by my green candle, isn’t this ever going to end ? Another one ! Oh, if I only had my money-go-mare !
BUGGERLAUS. Hit ‘em ! Hit ’em again !
VOICES (offstage) :
God save our Papa Turd,
Our gracious Phynancier . . .
PAPA TURD. Hurray ! They’re here ! Here come the Turds-men. Forward, Gentlemen of Phynance, come on ! We need you !
(Enter THE CHAMPIONS, who throw themselves into the fray.)
COCCYX. Out you go, Polacks !
PILE. Hey ! Mister Phynance ! We meet again. Forward ! Press forward ! To the door ! Once outside, all we have to do is run for it.
PAPA TURD. Yes, I’m good at that. — Oh ! he hit me !
BUGGERLAUS. My God ! I’m wounded !
STANISLAS LECZINSKI. It’s nothing, Sire.
BUGGERLAUS. No, I’m only stunned.
JAN SOBIESKI. Hit ‘em ! Keep hitting ’em ! They’re getting away, the scoundrels !
COCCYX. We’re almost there ! Follow me, boys. In consequeynt of the fact thatte I see daylight.
PILE. Courage, Sir Turd !
PAPA TURD. Oh yes, I’m filling my pants — with courage. Forward, hornstrumpot ! Murdder ‘em, massacre ’em, skin ’em alive, draw blood ! Turdhorn ! Ah, they’re falling back.
COCCYX. There’s only two left guarding the door.
PAPA TURD (knocking them down with THE BEAR). One ! . . . and two ! Oof ! here I am, outside ! All right, the rest of you, let’s go ! Follow me, and fast!
SCENE III
The backdrop shows the province of Livonia covered with snow.
THE TURDS and their suite in flight.
PAPA TURD. Well, I guess they’ve given up trying to catch us.
MAMA TURD. Yes, Buggerlaus has gone to get himself crowned.
PAPA TURD. I certainly don’t envy him that crown.
MAMA TURD. And you’re right, Papa Turd. [You’d do better to come with me. This is not a peaceful country. Let’s leave. Let’s profit by the fact that we’re on the seashore, and board the first ship out. But where to go ?
PAPA TURD. Where to go, Mama Turd ? Quo vadimus ? That’s easy - to France ! . . . That’s where we’ll live from now on, Mama Turd.
MAMA TURD. Bravo, Papa Turd. On, to France!
PAPA TURD. I see a ship approaching. We’re saved ! ]
(They disappear into the distance.)
SCENE IV
The bridge of a ship running close to shore on the Baltic.
On the bridge, PAPA TURD and all his crew.
THE CAPTAIN. Ah, what a fine breeze !
PAPA TURD. Yes, we’re sailing along with a rapidity bordering on the miraculous, and that’s a fact. We must be making at least a million knots an hour, and the nice thing about these knots is that once they’re made they can’t be unmade. Of course, it’s true we have the wind in the poop.
PILE. What an imbecile !
(A squall comes up. The ship dips and churns up the sea.)
PAPA TURD. Oh, my God ! We’ve capsized ! Everything is upside down. Hey, Captain, the boat is sinking !
THE CAPTAIN. Everybody to leeward. Furl the foresail !
PAPA TURD. Oh, for God’s sake, no ! Don’t all rush to one side. That’s most imprudent. Suppose the wind should suddenly change — we’ll all go to the bottom and the fish’ll eat us.
THE CAPTAIN. Don’t pull in ! Press close and full.
PAPA TURD. Hey, sure pull in ! Pull in ! I’m in a hurry, you hear me ? It’s your fault, you louse of a captain, if we don’t pull in. We should have been there long ago. All right, I’ll take over now. Clear the tack ! Heave to, for God’s sake ! Drop the anchor. Tack about ! Fore ! Aft ! Hoist the sails, drop the sails ! Helm up, helm down, helm in the middle ! You see ? — everything is going fine. Now heave to in the trough of the sea, and that’ll be perfect.
(They all roar. The breeze freshens.)
THE CAPTAIN. Haul in the standing-jib and take a reef in the tops’l !
PAPA TURD. That’s it! That’s good ! You hear, Mr. Crew ? Haul in the standing jock and take a crap in the focs’l. (They die laughing. A wave washes on board.) Oh, what a deluge ! This is what comes of the orders I gave.
MAMA TURD (to PILE). Delightful, this navigation.
(A second wave washes over.)
PILE (drowning). I renounce Satan and all his pumps !
PAPA TURD. Ho, boy ! Get us a drink.
(All sit and drink.)
MAMA TURD. Ah, how delightful it will be to see beautiful France once more — our old friends, our castle of Mount-dragon.
PAPA TURD. Yes, we’ll soon be there. And right now we’re coming to the castle of Elsinore.
PILE. How happy I’ll be to see my beloved Spain again.
COCCYX. Yes, and we’ll amaze our countrymen with tales of our marvellous adventures.
PAPA TURD. Oh, absolutely. And as for me, I’m going to have myself appointed Master of Phynance at Paris.
MAMA TURD. That’s right ! — Oh ! what hit us ?
COCCYX. It’s nothing. We’re just rounding the point at Elsinore.
PILE. And now our noble barque hurls itself full sail over the dark waves of the Northern Sea.
PAPA TURD. That wild, inhospitable sea that washes the shores of Germany — so called because all the inhabitants are cousins-german.
MAMA TURD. Now that’s what I call erudition. They say it’s a very beautiful country.
PAPA TURD. Yes, gentlemen, but however beautiful it may be, it can’t compare with Poland. Because if there weren’t any Poland, there wouldn’t be any Poles !
THE END