PROLOGUE
Overture; forest sounds, roaring of lions, Christian hymn faintly.
A jungle path. A lion’s roar, a melancholy suffering roar, comes from
the jungle. It is repeated nearer. The lion limps from the jungle on
three legs, holding up his right forepaw, in which a huge thorn sticks.
He sits down and contemplates it. He licks it. He shakes it. He tries
to extract it by scraping it along the ground, and hurts himself worse.
He roars piteously. He licks it again. Tears drop from his eyes. He
limps painfully off the path and lies down under the trees, exhausted
with pain. Heaving a long sigh, like wind in a trombone, he goes to
sleep.
Androcles and his wife Megæra come along the path. He is a small, thin,
ridiculous little man who might be any age from thirty to fifty-five.
He has sandy hair, watery compassionate blue eyes, sensitive nostrils,
and a very presentable forehead; but his good points go no further; his
arms and legs and back, though wiry of their kind, look shrivelled and
starved. He carries a big bundle, is very poorly clad, and seems tired
and hungry.
His wife is a rather handsome pampered slattern, well fed and in the
prime of life. She has nothing to carry, and has a stout stick to help
her along.
MEGAERA.
(_suddenly throwing down her stick_) I won’t go another step.
ANDROCLES.
(_pleading wearily_) Oh, not again, dear. What’s the good of stopping
every two miles and saying you won’t go another step? We must get on to
the next village before night. There are wild beasts in this wood:
lions, they say.
MEGAERA.
I don’t believe a word of it. You are always threatening me with wild
beasts to make me walk the very soul out of my body when I can hardly
drag one foot before another. We haven’t seen a single lion yet.
ANDROCLES.
Well, dear, do you want to see one?
MEGAERA.
(_tearing the bundle from his back_) You cruel beast, you don’t care
how tired I am, or what becomes of me (_she throws the bundle on the
ground_): always thinking of yourself. Self! self! self! always
yourself! (_She sits down on the bundle_).
ANDROCLES.
(_sitting down sadly on the ground with his elbows on his knees and his
head in his hands_) We all have to think of ourselves occasionally,
dear.
MEGAERA.
A man ought to think of his wife sometimes.
ANDROCLES.
He can’t always help it, dear. You make me think of you a good deal.
Not that I blame you.
MEGAERA.
Blame me! I should think not indeed. Is it my fault that I’m married to
you?
ANDROCLES.
No, dear: that is my fault.
MEGAERA.
That’s a nice thing to say to me. Aren’t you happy with me?
ANDROCLES.
I don’t complain, my love.
MEGAERA.
You ought to be ashamed of yourself.
ANDROCLES.
I am, my dear.
MEGAERA.
You’re not: you glory in it.
ANDROCLES.
In what, darling?
MEGAERA.
In everything. In making me a slave, and making yourself a
laughing-stock. Its not fair. You get me the name of being a shrew with
your meek ways, always talking as if butter wouldn’t melt in your
mouth. And just because I look a big strong woman, and because I’m
good-hearted and a bit hasty, and because you’re always driving me to
do things I’m sorry for afterwards, people say “Poor man: what a life
his wife leads him!” Oh, if they only knew! And you think I don’t know.
But I do, I do, (_screaming_) I do.
ANDROCLES.
Yes, my dear: I know you do.
MEGAERA.
Then why don’t you treat me properly and be a good husband to me?
ANDROCLES.
What can I do, my dear?
MEGAERA.
What can you do! You can return to your duty, and come back to your
home and your friends, and sacrifice to the gods as all respectable
people do, instead of having us hunted out of house and home for being
dirty, disreputable, blaspheming atheists.
ANDROCLES.
I’m not an atheist, dear: I am a Christian.
MEGAERA.
Well, isn’t that the same thing, only ten times worse? Everybody knows
that the Christians are the very lowest of the low.
ANDROCLES.
Just like us, dear.
MEGAERA.
Speak for yourself. Don’t you dare to compare me to common people. My
father owned his own public-house; and sorrowful was the day for me
when you first came drinking in our bar.
ANDROCLES.
I confess I was addicted to it, dear. But I gave it up when I became a
Christian.
MEGAERA.
You’d much better have remained a drunkard. I can forgive a man being
addicted to drink: its only natural; and I don’t deny I like a drop
myself sometimes. What I can’t stand is your being addicted to
Christianity. And what’s worse again, your being addicted to animals.
How is any woman to keep her house clean when you bring in every stray
cat and lost cur and lame duck in the whole countryside? You took the
bread out of my mouth to feed them: you know you did: don’t attempt to
deny it.
ANDROCLES.
Only when they were hungry and you were getting too stout, dearie.
MEGAERA.
Yes, insult me, do. (_Rising_) Oh! I won’t bear it another moment. You
used to sit and talk to those dumb brute beasts for hours, when you
hadn’t a word for me.
ANDROCLES.
They never answered back, darling. (_He rises and again shoulders the
bundle_).
MEGAERA.
Well, if you’re fonder of animals than of your own wife, you can live
with them here in the jungle. I’ve had enough of them and enough of
you. I’m going back. I’m going home.
ANDROCLES.
(_barring the way back_) No, dearie: don’t take on like that. We can’t
go back. We’ve sold everything: we should starve; and I should be sent
to Rome and thrown to the lions—
MEGAERA.
Serve you right! I wish the lions joy of you. (_Screaming_) Are you
going to get out of my way and let me go home?
ANDROCLES.
No, dear—
MEGAERA.
Then I’ll make my way through the forest; and when I’m eaten by the
wild beasts you’ll know what a wife you’ve lost. (_She dashes into the
jungle and nearly falls over the sleeping lion_). Oh! Oh! Andy! Andy!
(_She totters back and collapses into the arms of Androcles, who,
crushed by her weight, falls on his bundle_).
ANDROCLES.
(_extracting himself from beneath her and slapping her hands in great
anxiety_) What is it, my precious, my pet? What’s the matter? (_He
raises her head. Speechless with terror, she points in the direction of
the sleeping lion. He steals cautiously towards the spot indicated by
Megæra. She rises with an effort and totters after him_).
MEGAERA.
No, Andy: you’ll be killed. Come back.
_The lion utters a long snoring sigh. Androcles sees the lion and
recoils fainting into the arms of Megæra, who falls back on the bundle.
They roll apart and lie staring in terror at one another. The lion is
heard groaning heavily in the jungle._
ANDROCLES.
(_whispering_) Did you see? A lion.
MEGAERA.
(_despairing_) The gods have sent him to punish us because you’re a
Christian. Take me away, Andy. Save me.
ANDROCLES.
(_rising_) Meggy: there’s one chance for you. It’ll take him pretty
nigh twenty minutes to eat me (_I’m rather stringy and tough_) and you
can escape in less time than that.
MEGAERA.
Oh, don’t talk about eating. (_The lion rises with a great groan and
limps towards them_). Oh! (_She faints_).
ANDROCLES.
(_quaking, but keeping between the lion and Megæra_) Don’t you come
near my wife, do you hear? (_The lion groans. Androcles can hardly
stand for trembling_). Meggy: run. Run for your life. If I take my eye
off him, its all up. (_The lion holds up his wounded paw and flaps it
piteously before Androcles_). Oh, he’s lame, poor old chap! He’s got a
thorn in his paw. A frightfully big thorn. (_Full of sympathy_) Oh,
poor old man! Did um get an awful thorn into um’s tootsums wootsums?
Has it made um too sick to eat a nice little Christian man for um’s
breakfast? Oh, a nice little Christian man will get um’s thorn out for
um; and then um shall eat the nice Christian man and the nice Christian
man’s nice big tender wifey pifey. (_The lion responds by moans of
self-pity_). Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Now, now (_taking the paw in his
hand_) um is not to bite and not to scratch, not even if it hurts a
very, very little. Now make velvet paws. That’s right. (_He pulls
gingerly at the thorn. The lion, with an angry yell of pain, jerks back
his paw so abruptly that Androcles is thrown on his back_). Steadeee!
Oh, did the nasty cruel little Christian man hurt the sore paw? (_The
lion moans assentingly but apologetically_). Well, one more little pull
and it will be all over. Just one little, little, leetle pull; and then
um will live happily ever after. (_He gives the thorn another pull. The
lion roars and snaps his jaws with a terrifying clash_). Oh, mustn’t
frighten um’s good kind doctor, um’s affectionate nursey. That didn’t
hurt at all: not a bit. Just one more. Just to show how the brave big
lion can bear pain, not like the little crybaby Christian man. Oopsh!
(_The thorn comes out. The lion yells with pain, and shakes his paw
wildly_). That’s it! (_Holding up the thorn_). Now it’s out. Now lick
um’s paw to take away the nasty inflammation. See? (_He licks his own
hand. The lion nods intelligently and licks his paw industriously_).
Clever little liony-piony! Understands um’s dear old friend Andy Wandy.
(_The lion licks his face_). Yes, kissums Andy Wandy. (_The lion,
wagging his tail violently, rises on his hind legs and embraces
Androcles, who makes a wry face and cries_) Velvet paws! Velvet paws!
(_The lion draws in his claws_). That’s right. (_He embraces the lion,
who finally takes the end of his tail in one paw, places that tight
around Androcles’ waist, resting it on his hip. Androcles takes the
other paw in his hand, stretches out his arm, and the two waltz
rapturously round and round and finally away through the jungle_).
MEGAERA.
(_who has revived during the waltz_) Oh, you coward, you haven’t danced
with me for years; and now you go off dancing with a great brute beast
that you haven’t known for ten minutes and that wants to eat your own
wife. Coward! Coward! Coward! (_She rushes off after them into the
jungle_).