Chapter VI: Foreword

I have admired tragedy from my earliest days. I believe I must have acted in it in the nursery--at least the scenes I have in my mind appeared to me to be tragic at the time, although it was not of my own will that I participated in them. The occasions, for instance, when I was stood in the corner for misconduct at table, or thrashed by my big brother for my "cheek," or dosed with castor oil by the doctor for "mulligrubs," all stand out in my memory as tragic, and no doubt prepared me to appreciate tragedy later on as a fine art.

As soon as I went to school I found still more extended opportunities for studying that art. Tragedy dogged my footsteps and marked me for her own from the first. I was bullied; that was bad enough. I was caned; that was worse. I had to learn Latin verbs; that was worst of all. I was a practised tragedian at seven. Acts one, two, and three were performed as a rule once a day, and now and then encored.

The worst of it was that the person who got most of the applause was not the wretched actor, but the author. I was quite overlooked. This convinced me early that it is more profitable to make tragedies for other people to act than to act in them oneself; and at a tender age, therefore, I set before myself the profession of a tragic author.

For long enough, however, I had to wait my inspiration. I was kept so busy in the capacity of actor (from which my special talents would not permit me to retire as early as I should myself have wished) that it was comparatively late in life--I mean I had turned twelve--before the grand idea of writing a tragedy dawned in my ardent breast. Even then it was destined to simmer for three or four years, owing to pressure of other work and the still more pressing lack of a subject.

Meanwhile, however, I read tragedies ardently. I read Shakespeare, more or less, and admired him rather, although I could see his weak points, and thought him considerably overrated. I had also read the nursery rhymes carefully, and most of the harrowing stories of history and fiction, particularly the latter. I had, moreover, recently made a tragic acquaintance with the Greek Drama in the person of a scoundrel called Aeschylus, whose sickening lucubrations I was forced to learn by heart, and now and then to copy out, a hundred lines at a time, till I grew to detest him.

All these circumstances combined decided me to write a tragedy on my own account; which, while following Shakespeare in his good points, should avoid his weaknesses, which should embody the best features of the nursery rhymes, and which should avoid like poison the shockingly debased style of Aeschylus.

After mature reflection I hit upon a theme which I flattered myself was original and suggestive. Shakespeare had kept off it, and it was after Aeschylus' time; and as far as I knew I was the first to clothe it in a tragic garb. I refer to the story of Romulus and Remus. It was classical, sanguinary, and sounded well on a title-page. Besides, as very little was known about it, there was plenty of scope for original treatment, and no one could say whether I was wrong in my facts, because no one was in a position to contradict me. In addition to that, as the story related to boys and athletic sports (both of which subjects I knew something about), it seemed the very theme of a good tragedy, which might make my name immortal, and rank to all generations as an English classic.

It might have, but somehow it didn't. However, I have kept the copy still, and this book shall be the fortunate medium of introducing the tragedy to the world.

In case any of my readers, as is possible, should be unacquainted with the story of Romulus and Remus, let me say that I believe (but am not quite sure) that they were two twin brothers, both boys, left orphans at an early age, and nursed by a stepmother in the shape of a wolf. They were subsequently discovered, and having grown to manhood, it occurred to Romulus to build Rome. For this modest undertaking Remus chaffed his brother, and practised the high jump over his walls, naturally damaging them considerably. Whereupon Romulus knocked him on the head, and lived happily ever afterwards.

This, briefly, is the story. Now for the tragedy:--

Romulus and Remus; Or, Catching Him On The Hop.

(The sub-title was a concession to the democratic tastes of the present generation, who like to have their curiosity excited without being told too much.)

_Dramatis Persona_.

Men. Romulus (a boy). Remus (his brother). John (a shepherd). Faustulus (a policeman).

Women. A Wolf. Mary Ann (a maiden of forty).

_Chorus, Soldiers, Sailors, Volunteers, Bricklayers, Boys, Maidens, and Lictors_.

_Act I_.

Scene I.--A Wood near Rome.

_Enter She-wolf with two boys in her mouth, John following_.

_John_. She-monster, tell me, what have you got there?

_Wolf_. Two kids, my John; and dinner-time is near.

_Rom. and Rem._ Oh my! alas! help! hi! Will no one hear?

_John (smacking his lips_). Say, gentle Lupus, where didst find them both?

_Wolf_. Listen! I'll tell you while you lay the cloth.

(_Sings_).

I'm a wolf, I'm a wolf, in this big lonely wood,
And I live in a hole in a tree,
And I daily prowl forth in my free, hungry mood
To look for my dinner and tea.
I never object to the wing of a man,
Or a tender young lamb gives me joy;
But what I like best is a slice off the breast,
Or the leg, or the arm, of a boy.
To-day I'm in luck, as you plainly may see
By the morsels that kick in my maw;
Fetch a knife, fork, and spoon, John, for you and for me.
Dinner's ready! Young boys taste best raw.

_Rom._
Oh, impious monster, hold thy howling jaw!
And you, John, to your flocks return once more.
Forbear to talk of eating me and Remus,
You ugly, wicked, ill-conditioned schemers.

1. Here I should remark that to be strictly accurate my tragedy should be called a tragic opera. It abounds in songs calculated to stir familiar chords in the breasts of a popular and juvenile audience.

2. It may here be objected that my heroes are at this time only a few weeks old. But instances of precocious children (especially in tragic drama) are not unheard of; and after careful inquiry the author is not satisfied that in the present case the young persons in question did not speak fluently. Allowance must, of course, be made for youthful inexperience in the matter of rhymes.

_Remus_.
D'you hear, you cads? Shut up, and let us be.
You shall not dine off Romulus and me!

_John (in alarm_).
Upon my word! What if the boys are right?
Friend Lupus, thanks--I'd rather not to-night.

_Wolf (scornfully_).
What? Do you funk it? Well, I call that rough.

_John_.
Fact is, I can't help thinking they'd taste tough.

_Rom. and Rem. (excitedly_).
We would! we would! we're awful tough to eat;
We're only skin and bone and gristle; and no meat.
(_They sing_).
Two little kids from nurse are we,
Skinny as two kids can be;
Never a bite since yesterday,
Two little kids from nurse.

Dropped we were by our cruel ma
(With full consent of our awful pa)
Into the stream of the river Tiber -
Two little kids from nurse.

We were nearly drowned, when the stream stood still
And left us dry (and hungry) till
This old she-wolf came to take her fill
Of two little kids from nurse.
You let us be, or we'll tell our ma,
And she'll inform our awful pa;
If he comes round, you'll catch a Tartar--
Two little kids from nurse.

_Wolf (turning pale_).
Your words alarm me! Gentle lads, behold,
I'll be your nurse until you're two years old.
Then if you have not found your pa or ma,
I will adopt you. What say you?

_Rom. and Rem._.
Hurrah!

_John_.
So now that's settled, let's chant one more strain,
And after that I'll to my home again.

Song.

_Rom._.
Who ran to gulp me where I lay,
And took me in her mouth away,
And talked of eating me to-day?
The she-wolf.

_Rem._.
Who scrunched my arm and clawed my side,
And would not heed me when I cried,
But whispered, "Won't he taste prime fried?"
The she-wolf.

_John_.
Who wouldn't spare two pretty boys,
Until they kicked and made a noise?
Who ever thus her time employs?
The she-wolf.

_Wolf_.
Who's not as bad as people say?
Who's going to nurse you night and day,
And wash your face and help you play?
The she-wolf?

(_Exeunt dancing_.)

Scene II.

The Same. Six Years Later.

_Enter Romulus and Remus, fighting with boxing-gloves. The wolf knitting and looking on and encouraging_.

_Wolf_.
Your little hands were never made
To black each other's eyes,
And yet you do it very well
For youngsters of your size.
Keep down your guard. Good! Hit out fair,
That's one for Remus' nose!
Ha, Romulus, you caught it there
(Keep steady with your toes!).
Don't lose your tempers--it's not right.

The author's motive in thus lightly treating the opening scenes of his hero's career is to postpone the gloom of the tragedy to a later period.

Time! Let 'em blow a bit.
My! how I like to see 'em fight!
It sends me, in a fit.

(_Has a fit and suddenly exit_)

_Rom. (discovering her absence_).
Alas, my brother! orphans once again,
We're left in this lone world of woe and pain.
Our step-dame's gone, and left us no address.
What's to be done? We're in a pretty mess.

_Rem_.
Let's sit and howl, and howl till some one hears.
You do the howling, and I'll do the tears.

(_They sit and howl for twenty minutes_)

_Enter Faustulus (an old, old policeman_).

_Faust._.
Oh dear, what can the matter be?
Romulus, Remus, _what_ can the matter be?
Remus, Romulus, what _can_ the matter be?
Why do you sit there and howl?
You really do make such a horrible noise,
You naughty, bad, dirty-faced blubbering boys!
Why don't you run home to your ma and your toys?
Come, clear out of this, and move on.

_Rom. (screwing his knuckles into his eyes_).
We 'ain't got no home and we 'ain't got no ma,
We 'ain't got no notion whose childer we are,
And our old nuss has sloped without saying "Ta ta."
Bo-ho and bo-hoo and bo-how!

_Faust, (starts and drops his truncheon_).
Why, these are the lost 'uns! My eyes and my stars!
Wasn't Ilia your ma's name, and your pa's name was Mars?
There's a dollar reward for who finds you, my dears!
Hurra and hurroo and hooray!

(_They all rejoice and sing_.)

It will be perceived that in addressing a policeman Romulus adopts a mode of speech which a person accustomed to deal with the lower orders would more readily understand than classical English.

_Chorus_. Oh, what a surprise!
Won't they open their eyes?
To see us two back? Oh, and won't they look black?
Oh, what a surprise!

_Faust_. The fact is, young gents, if you'll excuse me addressing you in prose, which I ain't a heddicated cove myself, but my gal's 'usband's uncle was a schoolmaster, only he caught cold in 'is eyes and went on the pension; very comfortable his place is in the harmsouses, which they do keep them neat and tidy enough to make one afeared to step over the door, and being long steps, 'tain't so easy for an old chap as 'as spent forty-three years come next Michaelmas in the country's service, bar six months for the dropsy and four for a broken leg, all on account of a homblibus slipping to the horf side and ketching me--

_Rem_. Never mind about all that. What is the fact?

_Faust_. Ah, I forgot. The fact is, young gents, if you'll--

_Rom_. Go on, go on, or we'll kick you.

_Faust_. The fact is, young gents, as I was saying when you threatened to kick me, you've been rather shabbily used. There's a chap of the name of Amulius. Know him?

_Rom. and Rem_. What, our uncle? Rather.

_Faust. Well_--[you'll find all about it in Smith's Classical Dictionary]--the fact is, it's 'im as done it. It's 'im as chucked yer into the river. I 'elped 'im--no, no, I don't mean that--I was passing by and see 'im at it.

_Rom. (kicking him_). You did? Why didn't you get us out?

_Faust, (rubbing his leg_). Don't do that; it hurts. Why, it was this way. When I married my old woman about forty years ago, I said to myself, says I, if ever I grow up to be a man, I shall either go into the force or else take to the sheep-farming. Oh, young gentleman, if you kick me again I shall arrest you for assault. Really I will.

_Rom. and Rem._. Cut your story short. What about Amulius?

_Faust_. Only he's collared your crowns--that's all. Don't mention it. Take my advice and go and crack his. _Rom. and Rem_. Certainly. We'll do it at once.

(_They do it at once_)