SCENE.--_The Fields near a Country Village; a Copse close by. Time--After
the Revolution_.
[_Enter_ CITIZEN (_late_ JUSTICE) NUPKINS. _He looks cautiously about to
right and left, then sits down on the ground_.]
_C. N_. Now I think I may safely take a little rest: all is quiet here.
Yet there are houses in the distance, and wherever there are houses now,
there are enemies of law and order. Well, at least, here is a good thick
copse for me to hide in in case anybody comes. What am I to do? I shall
be hunted down at last. It's true that those last people gave me a good
belly-full, and asked me no questions; but they looked at me very hard.
One of these times they will bring me before a magistrate, and then it
will be all over with me. I shall be charged as a rogue and a vagabond,
and made to give an account of myself; and then they will find out who I
am, and then I shall be hanged--I shall be hanged--I, Justice Nupkins!
Ah, the happy days when _I_ used to sentence people to be hanged! How
easy life was then, and now how hard! [_Hides his face in his hands and
weeps_.
[_Enter_ MARY PINCH, _prettily dressed_.]
_M. P_. How pleasant it is this morning! These hot late summer
mornings, when the first pears are ripening, and the wheat is nearly
ready for cutting, and the river is low and weedy, remind me most of the
times when I was a little freckle-faced child, when I was happy in spite
of everything, though it was hard lines enough sometimes. Well, well, I
can think of those times with pleasure now; it's like living the best of
the early days over again, now we are so happy, and the children like to
grow up straight and comely, and not having their poor little faces all
creased into anxious lines. Yes, I am my old self come to life again;
it's all like a pretty picture of the past days. They were brave men.
and good fellows who helped to bring it about: I feel almost like saying
my prayers to them. And yet there were people--yes, and poor people
too--who couldn't bear the idea of it. I wonder what they think of it
now. I wish, sometimes, I could make people understand how I felt when
they came to me in prison, where all things were so miserable that,
heaven be praised! I can't remember its misery now, and they brought
Robert to me, and he hugged me and kissed me, and said, when he stood
away from me a little, "Come, Mary, we are going home, and we're going to
be happy; for the rich people are gone, and there's no more starving or
stealing." And I didn't know what he meant, but I saw such a look in his
eyes and in the eyes of those who were with him, that my feet seemed
scarcely on the ground; as if I were going to fly. And how tired out I
was with happiness before the day was done! Just to think that my last-
born child will not know what to be poor meant; and nobody will ever be
able to make him understand it. [NUPKINS _groans_.] Hilloa! What's the
matter? Why, there's a man ill or in trouble; an oldish man, too. Poor
old fellow! Citizen, what's the matter? How can I help you?
_C. N_. (_jumping up with a howl_). Ah, they are upon me! That dreadful
word "citizen"! (_Looks at_ M. P. _and staggers back_). Oh, Lord! is
it? Yes, it _is_--the woman that I sentenced on that horrible morning,
the last morning I adorned the judicial bench.
_M. P_. What _is_ the matter? And how badly you're dressed; and you
seem afraid. What _can_ you be afraid of? If I am not afraid of the
cows, I am sure you needn't be--with your great thick stick, too. (_She
looks at him and laughs, and says aside_, Why to be sure, if it isn't
that silly, spiteful old man that sentenced me on the last of the bad
days before we all got so happy together!) (_To_ N.) Why, Mr.
Nupkins--citizen--I remember you; you are an old acquaintance: I'll go
and call my husband.
_C. N_. Oh, no! no! don't! _please_ don't!--(_Aside_: There, there, I'm
done for--can I run away?--No use--perhaps I might soften her. I used to
be called eloquent--by the penny-a-liners. I've made a jury cry--I
think--let me try it. Gentlemen of the Jury, remember the sad change in
my client's position! remember.--Oh, I'm going mad, I think--she
remembers me) (_Kneels before her_) Oh, woman, woman, spare me! Let me
crawl into the copse and die quietly there!
_M. P_. Spare you, citizen? Well, I could have spared you once, well
enough, and so could many another poor devil have done. But as to dying
in the copse, no, I really can't let you do that. You must come home to
our house, and we'll see what can be done with you. It's our old house,
but really nice enough, now; all that pretty picture of plenty that I
told you about on that day when you were so hard upon me has come to
pass, and more.
_C. N_. Oh, no! I can't come!
_M. P_. Oh, yes; you can get as far as that, and we'll give you
something to eat and drink, and then you'll be stronger. It will really
please me, if you'll come; I'm like a child with a new toy, these days,
and want to show new-comers all that's going on. Come along, and I'll
show you the pretty new hall they are building for our parish; it's such
a pleasure to stand and watch the lads at work there, as merry as grigs.
Hark! you may hear their trowels clinking from here. And, Mr. Nupkins,
you mustn't think I stole those loaves; I really didn't.
_C. N_. Oh, dear me! Oh, dear me! She wants to get me away and murder
me! I won't go.
_M. P_. How _can_ you talk such nonsense? Why, on earth, should I
murder you?
_C. N_. (_sobbing_). Judicially, judicially!
_M. P_. How silly you are! I really don't know what you mean. Well, if
you won't come with me, I'm off; but you know where to go when you want
your dinner. But if you still owe me a grudge, which would be very silly
of you, any of the people in the houses yonder will give you your food.
[_Exit_.
_C. N_. There! She's going to fetch some ferocious revolutionaries to
make an end of me. It's no use trying to stop her now. I will flee in
another direction; perhaps I shan't always meet people I've sentenced.
[_As he is going he runs up against_ WILLIAM JOYCE, _once_ SOCIALIST
ENSIGN, _entering from the other side_.
_William Joyce_. Hilloa, citizen! look out! (_looking at him_) But I
say, what's the matter with you? You are queerly rigged. Why, I haven't
seen a man in such a condition for many a long day. You're like an
ancient ruin, a dream of past times. No, really I don't mean to hurt
your feelings. Can I do anything to help you?
[C. N. _covers his face with his hands and moans_.
_W. J_. Hilloa! Why, I'm blessed if it isn't the old bird who was on
the bench that morning, sentencing comrade Jack! What's _he_ been doing,
I wonder? I say, don't you remember me, citizen? I'm the character who
came in with the red flag that morning when you were playing the last of
your queer games up yonder. Cheer up, man! we'll find something for you
to do, though you have been so badly educated.
_C. N_. Spare me, I entreat you! Don't let it be known who I am, pray
don't, or I shall certainly be hanged. Don't hang me; give me hard
labour for life, but don't hang me! Yes, I confess I was Judge Nupkins;
but don't give me up! I'll be your servant, your slave all my life; only
don't bring me before a magistrate. They are so unfair, and so hard!
_W. J_. Well, what do you think of a judge, old fellow?
_C. N_. That's nearly as bad, but not quite; because sometimes there's a
cantankerous blackguard on the jury who won't convict, and insists on
letting a man off. But, please, pray think better of it, and let it be a
private matter, if you must needs punish me. I won't bring an action
against you, whatever you do. Don't make it a judicial matter! Look
here, I'll sign a bond to be your servant for ever without wages if you
will but feed me. I suffer so from not having my meals regularly. If
you only knew how bad it is to be hungry and not to be sure of getting a
meal.
_W. J_. Yes, Nupkins; but you see, I _do_ know only too well--but that's
all gone by. Yet, if you had only known that some time ago, or let's
say, guessed at it, it might have been the better for you now.
_C. N_. (_aside_; Oh, how jeering and hard he looks!) Oh, spare me, and
don't send me to the workhouse! You've no idea how they bully people
there. I didn't mean to be a bad or hard man; I didn't indeed.
_W. J_. Well, I must say if you meant to be anything else, you botched
the job! But I suppose, in fact, you didn't mean anything at all.--So
much the worse for you. (_Aside_: I must do a little cat and mouse with
him).
_C. N_. Oh, spare me, spare me! I'll work so hard for you. Keep it
dark as to who I am. It will be such an advantage you're having me all
to yourself.
_W. J_. Would it, indeed? Well, I doubt that.
_C. N_. Oh, I think so. I really am a good lawyer.
_W. J_. H'm, that would be rather less useful than a dead jackass--unless
one came to the conclusion of making cat's meat of you.
_C. N_. (_aside_, Oh, I'm sick at heart at his hinted threats). Mr.
Socialist, don't you see I could put you up to all sorts of dodges by
which you could get hold of odds and ends of property--as I suppose you
have some sort of property still--and the titles of the land must be very
shaky just after a revolution? I tell you I could put you up to things
which would make you a person of great importance; as good as what a lord
used to be.
_W. J_. (_aside_, Oh, you old blackguard! What's bred in the bone won't
come out of the flesh. I really must frighten the old coward a little;
besides, the council _has_ got to settle what's to be done with him, or
the old idiot will put us to shame by dying on our hands of fright and
stupidity.) (_To_ N.) Nupkins, I really don't know what to do with you
as a slave; I'm afraid that you would corrupt the morals of my children;
that you would set them quarrelling and tell them lies. There's nothing
for it but you must come before the Council of our Commune: they'll meet
presently under yonder tree this fine day.
_C. N_. No, no, don't! Pray let me go and drag out the remainder of a
miserable existence without being brought before a magistrate and sent to
prison! You don't know what a dreadful thing it is.
_W. J_. You're wrong again, Nupkins. I know all about it. The stupid
red tape that hinders the Court from getting at the truth; the
impossibility of making your stupid judge understand the real state of
the case, because he is not thinking of you and your life as a man, but
of a set of rules drawn up to allow men to make money of other people's
misfortunes; and then to prison with you; and your miserable helplessness
in the narrow cell, and the feeling as if you must be stifled; and not
even a pencil to write with, or knife to whittle with, or even a pocket
to put anything in. I don't say anything about the starvation diet,
because other people besides prisoners were starved or half-starved. Oh,
Nupkins, Nupkins! it's a pity you couldn't have thought of all this
before.
_C. N_. (_aside_: Oh, what terrible revenge is he devising for me?) (_to_
W. J.) Sir, sir, let me slip away before the Court meets. (_Aside_: A
pretty Court, out in the open-air! Much they'll know about law!)
_W. J_. Citizen Nupkins, don't you stir from here! You'll see another
old acquaintance presently--Jack Freeman, whom you were sending off to
six years of it when the red flag came in that day.--And in good time
here he is.
[_Enter_ JACK FREEMAN, _sauntering in dressed in a blouse, smoking, a
billycock on his head, and his hands in his pockets_.
_W. J_. There's your judge, Citizen Nupkins! No, Jack, you needn't take
your hands out of your pockets to shake hands with me; I know your ways
and your manners. But look here! (_pointing to_ NUPKINS).
_J. F_. Why, what next? There's no mistaking him, it's my old
acquaintance Mr. Justice Nupkins. Why you seem down on your luck,
neighbour. What can I do to help you?
[NUPKINS _moans_.
_W. J_. (_winking at_ FREEMAN). You've got to try him, Jack.
_J. F_. Why, what has he been doing? (_Aside_, I say, old fellow, what
game are you up to now?)
_W. J_. Doing? why nothing. That's just it; something must be done with
him. He must come before the council: but I'm afraid he's not of much
use to anyone. (_Aside_, I say, Jack, he is a mere jelly of fear: thinks
that we are going to kill him and eat him, I believe. I must carry it on
a little longer; don't spoil all my fun.)
_J. F_. (_Aside_, _to_ W. J.) Well, certainly he deserves it, but take
care that he doesn't die of fear on your hands, Bill. (_Aloud_) Well,
the council will meet in a minute or two, and then we will take his case.
_C. N_. (_to_ J. F.) Oh, sir, sir, spare me and don't judge me! I'll be
servant to you all my life!
_W. J_. Why Nupkins, what's this? You promised to be a servant to _me_!
_J. F_. Citizen Nupkins, I really must say thank-you for nothing. What
the deuce could I do with a servant? Now don't you trouble yourself; the
council will see to your affairs. And in good time here come the
neighbours.
[_Enter the Neighbours_, ROBERT PINCH, MART PINCH, _and others_.
_W. J_. Now for it, Nupkins! Bear your own troubles as well as you used
to bear other peoples', and then you'll do very well.
JACK FREEMAN _takes his seat on the ground under the tree, the others
standing and sitting about him_: WILLIAM JOYCE _makes a show of guarding_
NUPKINS, _at which the neighbours look rather astonished; but he nods and
winks to them, and they see there is some joke toward and say nothing_.
_J. F_. Well, neighbours, what's the business to-day?
_1st Neighbour_. I have to report that three loads of that oak for the
hall-roof have come to hand; it's well-seasoned good timber, so there
need be no hitch in the building now.
_2nd Neighbour_. Well, chairman, we sent off the wool to the
north-country communes last week, and they are quite satisfied with it.
Their cloth has come to hand rather better than worse than the old
sample.
_3rd Neighbour_. I have to report that the new wheel at the silk mill is
going now, and makes a very great improvement. It gives us quite enough
power even when the water is small; so we shan't want a steam-engine
after all.
_J. F_. When do we begin wheat harvest?
_3rd Neighbour_. Next Thursday in the ten-acre; the crop is heavy and
the weather looks quite settled; so we shall have a jolly time of it.
_J. F_. Well, I'm glad I know in good time; for I never like to miss
seeing the first row of reapers going into the corn. Is there anything
else?
_W. J_. Well, there's one troublesome business, chairman (_looks_ _at_
C. N., _who trembles and moans_). There's that dog we caught, that
thief, that useless beast. What is to be done with him?
_C. N_. (_Aside_, That's me! that's me! To think that a justice should
be spoken of in such language! What am I to do? What am I to do?)
_2nd Neighbour_. Well, chairman, I think we must shoot him. Once a
thief always a thief, you see, with that kind of brute. I'm sorry,
because he has been so badly brought up; and though he is an ugly dog, he
is big and burly; but I must say that I think it must be done, and as
soon as possible. He'll be after the girls if we don't do it at once!
_C. N_. (_Aside_: What! have they got hold of that story, then?)
_J. F_. Well, neighbours, what's to be said? anybody against it? Is
this unpleasant business agreed to?
_All_. Agreed, agreed.
_J. F_. Well, then, let the dog be shot. Bill, it's your turn for an
ugly job this time: you must do it.
_W. J_. Well, if it must be, it must. I'll go and get a gun in a
minute.
_C. N_. Oh, God! to think of their disposing of a fellow-man's life with
so little ceremony! And probably they will go and eat their dinners
afterwards and think nothing of it. (_Throwing himself on his knees
before_ JACK FREEMAN.) Oh, your Socialist worship! Oh, citizen my lord!
spare me, spare me! Send me to prison, load me with chains, but spare my
life!
_J. F_. Why, what ails the man? Chains! we don't use chains for that
sort of thing. They're good to fasten up boats with, and for carts, and
such like; so why should we waste them by ornamenting you with them? And
as to prison, we can't send you to prison, because we haven't got one.
How could we have one? who would be the jailer? No, no; we can't be
bothered with you in prison. You must learn to behave decently.
_C. N_. What! have you no punishment but death, then? O! what am I to
do? what am I to do?
_1st Neighbour_. Do? Why, behave decently.
_C. N_. But how can I behave decently when I'm dead? (_Moans_.)
_2nd Neighbour_. But, neighbour, you must die some time or another, you
know. Make the most of your time while you are alive.
_C. N_. Have you the heart to say such things to a man whom you are
going to shoot in a few minutes? How horrible! Oh, look here! if you
haven't got a prison, build one for me! or make one out of a cellar, and
lock me up in it; but don't shoot me--don't!
_W. J_. Well, old acquaintance, to want a prison all to your own cheek!
This is individualism, with a vengeance! It beats Auberon Herbert. But
who is going to shoot you?
_C. N_. Why, you. He said shoot the dog (_weeping_).
_W. J_. Well, citizen, I must say that either your estimate of yourself
is modest, or your conscience is bad, that you must take that title to
yourself! No; it _is_ a bad business, but not so bad as that. It's not
you that we're going to shoot, but a poor devil of a dog--a real dog,
with a tail, you know--who has taken to killing sheep. And I'm sorry to
say that social ethics have given me the job of shooting him. But come,
now, you shall do it for me: you used to be a great upholder of capital
punishment.
_C. N_. But what are you going to do with me, then? How are you going
to punish me?
_J. F_. Punish you? how can we punish you? who do you think is going to
do such work as that! People punish others because they like to; and we
don't like to. Once more, learn to live decently.
_G. N_. But how _am_ I to live?
_J. F_. You must work a little.
_C. N_. But what at, since you object to lawyers?
_J. F_. Look round you, friend, at the fields all yellowing for
harvest,--we will find you work to do.
_C. N_. (_Aside_: Ah, I see. This means hard labour for life, after all.
Well, I must submit. Unhappy Nupkins! _To_ FREEMAN) But who is to
employ me? You will have to find me a master; and perhaps he won't like
to employ me.
_J. F_. My friend, we no more have masters than we have prisons: the
first make the second. You must employ yourself: and you must also
employ something else.
_C. N_. What? I don't understand.
_J. F_. Mother Earth, and the traditions and devices of all the
generations of men whom she has nourished. All that is for you, Nupkins,
if you only knew it.
_C. N_. I still do not comprehend your apologue.
_J. F_. No? Well, we must put aside abstractions and get to the
concrete. What's this, citizen? (_showing a spade_.)
_C. N_. That is an instrument for effodiation.
_J. F_. Otherwise called a spade. Well, to use your old jargon,
citizen, the sentence of this court is that you do take this instrument
of effodiation, commonly called a spade, and that you do effodiate your
livelihood therewith; in other words, that you do dig potatoes and other
roots and worts during the pleasure of this court. And, to drop jargon,
since you are so badly educated our friend Robert Pinch--Mary's
husband--will show you how to do it. Is that agreed to, neighbours?
_All_. Agreed, agreed.
_W. J_. (_rather surlily_). I don't think he will get on well. Now he
knows we are not going to serve him out, he is beginning to look sour on
us for being happy. You see, he will be trying some of his old lawyers'
tricks again.
_J. F_. Well, Bill, it won't much matter. He can't hurt us; so we will
hope the best for him.
_M. P_. Should we hurt his feelings by being a little merry in his
presence now?
_J. F_. Well, I think we may risk it. Let those of you who are not too
lazy to dance, as I am, do so to the tune that sprang up at the dawn of
freedom in the days of our great-grandfathers.
[_They dance round_ CITIZEN NUPKINS, _singing the following words to the
tune of the_ "_Carmagnole_":
_What's this that the days and the days have done_?
_Man's lordship over man hath gone_.
_How fares it, then, with high and low_?
_Equal on earth, they thrive and grow_.
_Bright is the sun for everyone_;
_Dance we, dance we the Carmagnole_.
_How deal ye, then, with pleasure and pain_?
_Alike we share and bear the twain_.
_And what's the craft whereby ye live_?
_Earth and man's work to all men give_.
_How crown ye excellence of worth_?
_With leave to serve all men on earth_.
_What gain that lordship's past and done_?
_World's wealth for all and every one_.
[FREEMAN _and_ NUPKINS _come to the front_.
* * * * *
_J. F_. Well, Nupkins, you see you have got the better of us damned
Socialists after all. For in times past you used to bully us and send us
to prison and hang us, and we had to put up with it; and now you and
yours are no longer masters, there _are_ no masters, and there is nobody
to bully you. How do you like it, old fellow? (_clapping him on the
shoulder_.)
_C. N_. (_bursting into tears_). A world without lawyers!--oh, dear! oh,
dear! To think that I should have to dig potatoes and see everybody
happy!
_J. F_. Well, Nupkins, you must bear it. And for my part, I can't be
very sorry that you feel it so keenly. When scoundrels lament that they
can no longer be scoundrels for lack of opportunity, it is certain that
THE TABLES ARE TURNED.