Chapter XII: Act II

_A scene shrouded in gloom, symbolising the sad plight of the
bereaved husbands. Possibly rain is falling, and the wind
whistling, and perhaps black clouds cover the sky; but very
likely it just seems so. At any rate, the gloom is horrible.
The_ mise en scène _should suggest that the husbands are
plunged in grief and would like to be relieved of it._

_As the curtain rises the disposition of the characters is as
follows: At the sides, in two symmetrical groups, a part of
the SABINE MEN are engaged in gymnastic exercises. As they
move their arms they repeat with rapt attention_: “Twenty-five
minutes’ daily drill will banish every pain and ill.” _In the
middle of the stage, on a long bench, sit in a row the husbands
who have children. Each one holds a baby in his arms. Their
heads droop wearily to one side and their attitudes dramatise
despair. It is a distressing picture. For a long time nothing
is heard but the ominous, barely audible whisper_: “Twenty-five
minutes’ daily drill——”

_Enter ANCUS MARTIUS, exhibiting from a distance a letter._

MARTIUS. The address, Sabines! The address of our wives! The address, gentlemen, the address!

HUSHED VOICES. Hear! Hear! The address! The address! We have the address!

_ANCUS MARTIUS quickly takes from his pocket a little bell and
jingles it._

VOICES. Silence! Silence!

MARTIUS. Gentlemen, Sabines, history will not reproach us either for dilatoriness or indecision. Neither dilatoriness nor indecision are traits of the Sabine, whose stormy, impetuous character can scarcely be restrained by the flood-gates of reason and experience. Recall, plundered husbands, whither we rushed on the memorable morning which followed the memorable night when those brigands basely kidnapped our hapless wives. Do you recall, Sabines, whither our nimble legs carried us, devouring space, annihilating all obstacles, and filling the land with din. Come, recall, gentlemen!

_The SABINES maintain a timid silence._

MARTIUS. Come, come, recall, gentlemen!

A TIMID VOICE. Proserpina, Proserpina, my darling! Where art thou? O-o-o-oh!

_The SABINES, in rapt silence, gaze at the mouth of the
speaker._

ANCUS MARTIUS. [_Without waiting for an answer, cries impressively_] To the Information Bureau! That’s where. But recall, gentlemen, our grief. That effete institution as yet knew nothing and gave us no correction of their previous addresses. And, having for a whole week replied to our inquiries with ever the same cruel irony, it finally responded in these burning words [_he reads_]: “Left for parts unknown.” But, Sabines, did we rest satisfied? Recall.

_SABINES maintain silence._

MARTIUS. No, we did not rest satisfied. Here is a dry but eloquent enumeration of our achievements in these brief eighteen months. We have inserted advertisements in all reputable newspapers, with promises of reward to the finder. We have summoned all the prominent astrologers, and every night from their observation of the stars they have sought to divine the address of our hapless wives——

A TIMID VOICE. Proserpina, my darling, o-o-o-oh!

MARTIUS. Not only have we sacrificed one thousand chickens, geese, and ducks, but we have disembowelled all the cats in our endeavours by the inspection of birds and animals to determine the portentous address. But, alas, through the will of the gods our superhuman efforts have been frustrated! Recall, Sabines— However, it’s not necessary. I will only add that neither experimental nor theoretical science has given us an answer. Even the constellations, to which our gaze was turned with sorrowful inquiry, though they deigned to reply, were no more definite than the Information Bureau: Left, left, left! Whither? For parts unknown!

_Subdued weeping among the SABINES._

A TIMID VOICE. Proserpina! Oh! Proserpina!

MARTIUS. Yes, Sabines, a strange answer to receive from the constellations when one considers that from their point of vantage the whole universe is visible. But I continue with pride the enumeration of our achievements. Recall, gentlemen, what our learned jurists were doing while the astrologers were conjecturing from the stars. Come, now, recall!

_The SABINES maintain silence._

MARTIUS. Come, recall, gentlemen. It’s strenuous work talking to you. You stand like statues; by Heaven, you do! I am sure you remember, only you are modest about speaking. Come, now, gentlemen; come, come, come, recall! What were our jurists doing while——

A TIMID VOICE. Proserpina, o-o-o-oh! o-o-o-oh!

MARTIUS. Silence, there! Why are you eternally dragging in your Proserpina? Well, I will help you, gentlemen. Do you remember why we are practising gymnastics? Come, come!

A TIMID VOICE. [_From the back row_] To develop our muscles.

MARTIUS. To be sure, and very well said. And now, why do we need muscles? Come, come, answer up! Gentlemen, you wear one’s patience completely out. Jog your memories. Why do we need muscles, Sabines?

A HESITATING VOICE. To fight with.

MARTIUS. [_Raising his arms to heaven in despair_] Ye Heavens! “To fight with!” And I hear that from a Sabine, a friend of the law, a patron of order, the only genuine example of a legal conscience in the world! “To fight with!” I am ashamed of this ruffianly breach of etiquette appropriate only to the brigand Romans, the base kidnappers of our absolutely legal wives.

A TIMID VOICE. Oh, Proserpina, Proserpina!

MARTIUS. Hold your tongue, will you? Proserpina, indeed! Just when we are getting down to general principles you must come in with your maundering about Proserpina! But I see, gentlemen, that this bereavement has somewhat dimmed your usually brilliant memories, and so I repeat in brief: We need muscles in order that, having learned the address and entered upon our march against the Romans—do you understand?—we may be able to carry the entire distance the heavy code of laws, the collection of enactments and decisions on appeal, and also—do you understand now?—the four hundred volumes of investigations which our jurists have compiled on the question of the legality of our marriages—eh, do you understand?—and on the illegality of kidnapping. Our weapons, Sabines, are the justice of our cause and a clear conscience. We will prove to the base kidnappers that they _are_ kidnappers, and to our wives we will prove that they were kidnapped, and Heaven will shudder; for now that the address is found, it’s all up with the Romans. Look! [_He shakes the letter and the SABINES, standing on tiptoe, peek at it_] Here is a registered letter signed “A Repentant Kidnapper.” In it some unknown friend expresses repentance for his thoughtless crime. He assures us that he will no longer kidnap, and prays that fate may have mercy upon him. The name is undecipherable—blurred by a big blot where, apparently, tears have fallen. There, gentlemen! That is the power of conscience! He also informs us, by the way, that the hearts of our wives are broken——

A TIMID VOICE. Proserpin——

MARTIUS. Please listen, will you? Between you and your Proserpina I cannot get a word in edgewise. Proserpina, you must remember, is a mere detail, and yet at a time when we are all with such enthusiasm working out general problems, when we are formulating a plan—I’ll tell you about it presently—when we are preparing for victory or death, you whine for some insignificant Proserpina or somebody. In the name of the assembly, I call you to order. And now, gentlemen, forward! Attention! Form in rank and file! Come, step lively, gentlemen! Oh, this is maddening! You cannot even yet distinguish right from left. Where are you going? Where are you going? Halt! [_He seizes a SABINE who is out of line and instructs him_] In order to learn which your right foot is, you must stand still and look at me. Now place yourself with your face to the north—or, no, with your face to the south and your back to the east. Now, where is your face? Man, that is not your face, that is your back. See, here is your face; can’t you understand? Oh, this is intolerable! If you want to know which your right foot is, look at your neighbour. Now, gentlemen, which of you have penknives? Turn your pockets inside out. Good. Toothpicks? Leave them behind. Not a suggestion of violence, gentlemen; nothing that pricks or cuts. Our weapons are a clear conscience and the justice of our cause. Now each one of you take up a volume of the laws and investigations. Good! They ought to be bound, but we’ll attend to that later. Now you see what muscles are for! Very good, very good. Trumpeters to the front! Remember, you’re to play “The March of the Plundered Husbands.” Forw— Hold on! Do you remember how to march?

_The SABINES remain silent._

MARTIUS. You don’t? Well, I will remind you. Two steps forward, one step backward; two steps forward, one step backward. The first two steps are designed to indicate, Sabines, the unquenchable fire of our stormy souls, the firm will, the irresistible advance. The step backward symbolises the step of reason, the step of experience and of the mature mind. In taking that step we ponder the outcome of our acts. In taking it we also maintain, as it were, a close bond with tradition, with our ancestors, with our great past. History makes no leaps, and we, Sabines, at this great moment, we are history. Trumpeters, trumpet!

_The trumpets emit a doleful wail, which, now convulsively
lurching forward and now smoothly and gently swaying backward,
carries with it the whole army of plundered husbands. Taking
two steps forward and one step backward, they slowly pass
across the stage._

_The curtain falls. The trumpets blare wearily and the second
scene passes into the third._

The St. Petersburg theatre, “The Convex Mirror,” very
successfully adapted for this scene the air of the
“Marseillaise.” In the first two measures the trumpets sounded
boldly and triumphantly, while in the succeeding measure they
emitted a kind of belch as mournful as it was distressing.