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GEORGE BERNARD SHAW >> Androcles and the Lion
This etext was produced by Eve Sobol, South Bend, Indiana, USA
ANDROCLES AND THE LION
BERNARD SHAW
1912
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 Megaera 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 Megaera. 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 Megaera, 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 Megaera)
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).
ACT I
Evening. The end of three converging roads to Rome. Three
triumphal arches span them where they debouch on a square at the
gate of the city. Looking north through the arches one can see
the campagna threaded by the three long dusty tracks. On the east
and west sides of the square are long stone benches. An old
beggar sits on the east side of the square, his bowl at his feet.
Through the eastern arch a squad of Roman soldiers tramps along
escorting a batch of Christian prisoners of both sexes and all
ages, among them one Lavinia, a goodlooking resolute young woman,
apparently of higher social standing than her fellow-prisoners. A
centurion, carrying his vinewood cudgel, trudges alongside the
squad, on its right, in command of it. All are tired and dusty;
but the soldiers are dogged and indifferent, the Christians
light-hearted and determined to treat their hardships as a joke
and encourage one another.
A bugle is heard far behind on the road, where the rest of the
cohort is following.
CENTURION (stopping) Halt! Orders from the Captain. (They halt
and wait). Now then, you Christians, none of your larks. The
captain's coming. Mind you behave yourselves. No singing. Look
respectful. Look serious, if you're capable of it. See that big
building over there? That's the Coliseum. That's where you'll be
thrown to the lions or set to fight the gladiators presently.
Think of that; and it'll help you to behave properly before the
captain. (The Captain arrives). Attention! Salute! (The soldiers
salute).
A CHRISTIAN (cheerfully) God bless you, Captain.
THE CENTURION (scandalised) Silence!
The Captain, a patrician, handsome, about thirty-five, very cold
and distinguished, very superior and authoritative, steps up on a
stone seat at the west side of the square, behind the centurion,
so as to dominate the others more effectually.
THE CAPTAIN. Centurion.
THE CENTURION. (standing at attention and saluting) Sir?
THE CAPTAIN (speaking stiffly and officially) You will remind
your men, Centurion, that we are now entering Rome. You will
instruct them that once inside the gates of Rome they are in the
presence of the Emperor. You will make them understand that the
lax discipline of the march cannot be permitted here. You will
instruct them to shave every day, not every week. You will
impress on them particularly that there must be an end to the
profanity and blasphemy of singing Christian hymns on the march.
I have to reprimand you, Centurion, for not only allowing this,
but actually doing it yourself.
THE CENTURION. The men march better, Captain.
THE CAPTAIN. No doubt. For that reason an exception is made in
the case of the march called Onward Christian Soldiers. This may
be sung, except when marching through the forum or within hearing
of the Emperor's palace; but the words must be altered to "Throw
them to the Lions."
The Christians burst into shrieks of uncontrollable laughter, to
the great scandal of the Centurion.
CENTURION. Silence! Silen-n-n-n-nce! Where's your behavior? Is
that the way to listen to an officer? (To the Captain) That's
what we have to put up with from these Christians every day, sir.
They're always laughing and joking something scandalous. They've
no religion: that's how it is.
LAVINIA. But I think the Captain meant us to laugh, Centurion. It
was so funny.
CENTURION. You'll find out how funny it is when you're thrown to
the lions to-morrow. (To the Captain, who looks displeased) Beg
pardon, Sir. (To the Christians) Silennnnce!
THE CAPTAIN. You are to instruct your men that all intimacy with
Christian prisoners must now cease. The men have fallen into
habits of dependence upon the prisoners, especially the female
prisoners, for cooking, repairs to uniforms, writing letters, and
advice in their private affairs. In a Roman soldier such
dependence is inadmissible. Let me see no more of it whilst we
are in the city. Further, your orders are that in addressing
Christian prisoners, the manners and tone of your men must
express abhorrence and contempt. Any shortcoming in this respect
will be regarded as a breach of discipline.(He turns to the
prisoners) Prisoners.
CENTURION (fiercely) Prisonerrrrrs! Tention! Silence!
THE CAPTAIN. I call your attention, prisoners, to the fact that
you may be called on to appear in the Imperial Circus at any time
from tomorrow onwards according to the requirements of the
managers. I may inform you that as there is a shortage of
Christians just now, you may expect to be called on very soon.
LAVINIA. What will they do to us, Captain?
CENTURION. Silence!
THE CAPTAIN. The women will be conducted into the arena with the
wild beasts of the Imperial Menagerie, and will suffer the
consequences. The men, if of an age to bear arms, will be given
weapons to defend themselves, if they choose, against the
Imperial Gladiators.
LAVINIA. Captain: is there no hope that this cruel persecution--
CENTURION (shocked) Silence! Hold your tongue, there.
Persecution, indeed!
THE CAPTAIN (unmoved and somewhat sardonic) Persecution is not a
term applicable to the acts of the Emperor. The Emperor is the
Defender of the Faith. In throwing you to the lions he will be
upholding the interests of religion in Rome. If you were to throw
him to the lions, that would no doubt be persecution.
The Christians again laugh heartily.
CENTURION (horrified) Silence, I tell you! Keep silence there.
Did anyone ever hear the like of this?
LAVINIA. Captain: there will be nobody to appreciate your jokes
when we are gone.
THE CAPTAIN (unshaken in his official delivery) I call the
attention of the female prisoner Lavinia to the fact that as the
Emperor is a divine personage, her imputation of cruelty is not
only treason, but sacrilege. I point out to her further that
there is no foundation for the charge, as the Emperor does not
desire that any prisoner should suffer; nor can any Christian be
harmed save through his or her own obstinacy. All that is
necessary is to sacrifice to the gods: a simple and convenient
ceremony effected by dropping a pinch of incense on the altar,
after which the prisoner is at once set free. Under such
circumstances you have only your own perverse folly to blame if
you suffer. I suggest to you that if you cannot burn a morsel of
incense as a matter of conviction, you might at least do so as a
matter of good taste, to avoid shocking the religious convictions
of your fellow citizens. I am aware that these considerations do
not weigh with Christians; but it is my duty to call your
attention to them in order that you may have no ground for
complaining of your treatment, or of accusing the Emperor of
cruelty when he is showing you the most signal clemency.
Looked at from this point of view, every Christian who has
perished in the arena has really committed suicide.
LAVINIA. Captain: your jokes are too grim. Do not think it is
easy for us to die. Our faith makes life far stronger and more
wonderful in us than when we walked in darkness and had nothing
to live for. Death is harder for us than for you: the martyr's
agony is as bitter as his triumph is glorious.
THE CAPTAIN (rather troubled, addressing her personally and
gravely) A martyr, Lavinia, is a fool. Your death will prove
nothing.
LAVINIA. Then why kill me?
THE CAPTAIN. I mean that truth, if there be any truth, needs no
martyrs.
LAVINIA. No; but my faith, like your sword, needs testing. Can
you test your sword except by staking your life on it?
THE CAPTAIN (suddenly resuming his official tone) I call the
attention of the female prisoner to the fact that Christians are
not allowed to draw the Emperor's officers into arguments and put
questions to them for which the military regulations provide no
answer. (The Christians titter).
LAVINIA. Captain: how CAN you?
THE CAPTAIN. I call the female prisoner's attention specially to
the fact that four comfortable homes have been offered her by
officers of this regiment, of which she can have her choice the
moment she chooses to sacrifice as all well-bred Roman ladies do.
I have no more to say to the prisoners.
CENTURION. Dismiss! But stay where you are.
THE CAPTAIN. Centurion: you will remain here with your men in
charge of the prisoners until the arrival of three Christian
prisoners in the custody of a cohort of the tenth legion. Among
these prisoners you will particularly identify an armorer named
Ferrovius, of dangerous character and great personal strength,
and a Greek tailor reputed to be a sorcerer, by name Androcles.
You will add the three to your charge here and march them all to
the Coliseum, where you will deliver them into the custody of the
master of the gladiators and take his receipt, countersigned by
the keeper of the beasts and the acting manager. You understand
your instructions?
CENTURION. Yes, Sir.
THE CAPTAIN. Dismiss. (He throws off his air of parade, and
descends down from the perch. The Centurion seats on it and
prepares for a nap, whilst his men stand at ease. The Christians
sit down on the west side of the square, glad to rest. Lavinia
alone remains standing to speak to the Captain).
LAVINIA. Captain: is this man who is to join us the famous
Ferrovius, who has made such wonderful conversions in the
northern cities?
THE CAPTAIN. Yes. We are warned that he has the strength of an
elephant and the temper of a mad bull. Also that he is stark mad.
Not a model Christian, it would seem.
LAVINIA. You need not fear him if he is a Christian, Captain.
THE CAPTAIN (coldly) I shall not fear him in any case, Lavinia.
LAVINIA (her eyes dancing) How brave of you, Captain!
THE CAPTAIN. You are right: it was silly thing to say. (In a
lower tone, humane and urgent) Lavinia: do Christians know how to
love?
LAVINIA (composedly) Yes, Captain: they love even their enemies.
THE CAPTAIN. Is that easy?
LAVINIA. Very easy, Captain, when their enemies are as handsome
as you.
THE CAPTAIN. Lavinia: you are laughing at me.
LAVINIA. At you, Captain! Impossible.
THE CAPTAIN. Then you are flirting with me, which is worse. Don't
be foolish.
LAVINIA. But such a very handsome captain.
THE CAPTAIN. Incorrigible! (Urgently) Listen to me. The men in
that audience tomorrow will be the vilest of voluptuaries: men in
whom the only passion excited by a beautiful woman is a lust to
see her tortured and torn shrieking limb from limb. It is a crime
to dignify that passion. It is offering yourself for violation by
the whole rabble of the streets and the riff-raff of the court at
the same time. Why will you not choose rather a kindly love and
an honorable alliance?
LAVINIA. They cannot violate my soul. I alone can do that by
sacrificing to false gods.
THE CAPTAIN. Sacrifice then to the true God. What does his name
matter? We call him Jupiter. The Greeks call him Zeus. Call him
what you will as you drop the incense on the altar flame: He will
understand.
LAVINIA. No. I couldn't. That is the strange thing, Captain, that
a little pinch of incense should make all that difference.
Religion is such a great thing that when I meet really religious
people we are friends at once, no matter what name we give to the
divine will that made us and moves us. Oh, do you think that I, a
woman, would quarrel with you for sacrificing to a woman god like
Diana, if Diana meant to you what Christ means to me? No: we
should kneel side by side before her altar like two children. But
when men who believe neither in my god nor in their own--men who
do not know the meaning of the word religion--when these men drag
me to the foot of an iron statue that has become the symbol of
the terror and darkness through which they walk, of their cruelty
and greed, of their hatred of God and their oppression of man--
when they ask me to pledge my soul before the people that this
hideous idol is God, and that all this wickedness and falsehood
is divine truth, I cannot do it, not if they could put a thousand
cruel deaths on me. I tell you, it is physically impossible.
Listen, Captain: did you ever try to catch a mouse in your hand?
Once there was a dear little mouse that used to come out and play
on my table as I was reading. I wanted to take him in my hand and
caress him; and sometimes he got among my books so that he could
not escape me when I stretched out my hand. And I did stretch out
my hand; but it always came back in spite of me. I was not afraid
of him in my heart; but my hand refused: it is not in the nature
of my hand to touch a mouse. Well, Captain, if I took a pinch of
incense in my hand and stretched it out over the altar fire, my
hand would come back. My body would be true to my faith even if
you could corrupt my mind. And all the time I should believe more
in Diana than my persecutors have ever believed in anything. Can
you understand that?
THE CAPTAIN (simply) Yes: I understand that. But my hand would
not come back. The hand that holds the sword has been trained not
to come back from anything but victory.
LAVINIA. Not even from death?
THE CAPTAIN. Least of all from death.
LAVINIA. Then I must not come back either. A woman has to be
braver than a soldier.
THE CAPTAIN. Prouder, you mean.
LAVINIA (startled) Prouder! You call our courage pride!
THE CAPTAIN. There is no such thing as courage: there is only
pride. You Christians are the proudest devils on earth.
LAVINIA (hurt) Pray God then my pride may never become a false
pride. (She turns away as if she did not wish to continue the
conversation, but softens and says to him with a smile) Thank you
for trying to save me from death
THE CAPTAIN. I knew it was no use; but one tries in spite of
one's knowledge.
LAVINIA. Something stirs, even in the iron breast of a Roman
soldier!
THE CAPTAIN. It will soon be iron again. I have seen many women
die, and forgotten them in a week.
LAVINIA. Remember me for a fortnight, handsome Captain. I shall
be watching you, perhaps.
THE CAPTAIN. From the skies? Do not deceive yourself, Lavinia.
There is no future for you beyond the grave.
LAVINIA. What does that matter? Do you think I am only running
away from the terrors of life into the comfort of heaven? If
there were no future, or if the future were one of torment, I
should have to go just the same. The hand of God is upon me.
THE CAPTAIN. Yes: when all is said, we are both patricians,
Lavinia, and must die for our beliefs. Farewell. (He offers her
his hand. She takes it and presses it. He walks away, trim and
calm. She looks after him for a moment, and cries a little as he
disappears through the eastern arch. A trumpet-call is heard from
the road through the western arch).
CENTURION (waking up and rising) Cohort of the tenth with
prisoners. Two file out with me to receive them. (He goes out
through the western arch, followed by four soldiers in two
files).
Lentulus and Metellus come into the square from the west side
with a little retinue of servants. Both are young courtiers,
dressed in the extremity of fashion. Lentulus is slender,
fair-haired, epicene. Metellus is manly, compactly built, olive
skinned, not a talker.
LENTULUS. Christians, by Jove! Let's chaff them.