Ubu Roi Read online

  PAPA TURD. Oh, my dear friend, it’s nothing. Take home your barrel of gold, Michael ; and as for the rest of you, divide up that other barrel. Everybody take one piece at a time until there aren’t any left.

  ALL. Hurray for Michael Feodorovitch ! Long live Papa Turd !

  PAPA TURD. And now, my friends, come and eat. Today I throw open the gates of my palace. Will you do me the honors of my table ?

  PEOPLE. Let’s go ! Let’s go ! Long live Papa Turd ! He’s the best king of all !

  (They enter the palace. The noise of their orgy continues till morning. The curtain falls.)

  ACT III

  SCENE I

  The palace.

  PAPA TURD, MAMA TURD

  PAPA TURD. Now, by my green candle, here I am, king in this country. I already have a magnificent indigestion, and pretty soon they’re going to bring in my great big cape.

  MAMA TURD. What’s it made of, Papa Turd ? It’s all very well to be king, but we have to economize.

  PAPA TURD. Madam my female, the cape is made of sheepskin with a clasp and frogs of dog-hide.

  MAMA TURD. Why, that’s lovely. But it’s even lovelier to be king.

  PAPA TURD. Yes, you were right all along, Mama Turd.

  MAMA TURD. We owe a great deal to the Duke of Lithuania.

  PAPA TURD. To who ?

  MAMA TURD. Why, Captain Bordure.

  PAPA TURD. Do me a favor, Mama Turd : don’t talk to me about that dummy. Now that I don’t need him any more, he can go scratch his ass. He’ll never get that duchy.

  MAMA TURD. You’re making a great mistake, Papa Turd. He’ll turn against you.

  PAPA TURD. Pooh ! Too bad about him. I don’t give any more of a damn for that little crumb than for Buggerlaus.

  MAMA TURD. Hm, you think you’ve seen the last of Buggerlaus ?

  PAPA TURD. Blood and money ! absolutely. What do you think he could do to me, that fourteen-year-old kid ?

  MAMA TURD. Papa Turd, mind what I’m telling you. You must try to win over Buggerlaus by your generosity.

  PAPA TURD. What ! More money to hand out ? Once and for all, no ! You already made me throw away more than twenty-two million.

  MAMA TURD. It’s on your own head, Papa Turd. He’ll cook your goose.

  PAPA TURD. Oh well, you’ll be in the pot with me.

  MAMA TURD. Listen to me, one last time. I am positive young Buggerlaus will carry it off. After all, he thinks he has justice on his side.

  PAPA TURD. Oh, crap ! Isn’t injustice just as good as justice ? You annoy me, Mama Turd. I’m going to cut you to bits !

  [MAMA TURD runs away, pursued by TURD.

  [PAPA TURD, alone. – Hornstrumpot ! I’ll start by grabbing all the phynance. Then I’ll kill everybody and leave. Here’s two that are dead already. Lucky there’s a trapdoor to throw them in. One ! Two ! The others will follow soon enough.]

  SCENE II

  The great hall of the palace.

  PAPA TURD, MAMA TURD, OFFICERS and SOLDIERS ; GYRON, PILE, COCCYX; NOBLES in chains, FINANCIERS, MAGISTRATES, HERALDS. [In the cellar, THE DEBRAINING MACHINE.

  SUBTERRANEAN NOISES. Kneading the glottises and larynges of the jaw without a palate,

  How fast the printer prints!

  The sequins tremble like the windmill’s vanes,

  The leaves fall, in the teasing of the wind.

  The jaw of the skull without brains chews up the stranger’s brain,

  Sundays, on the hill, to the sound of fifes and drums,

  Or on red-letter days, in the endless cellars of the palace.

  Unfolding and explaining, the Debraining Machine,

  How fast, how fast, the printer prints ! ]

  PAPA TURD. Bring in the crate of Nobles and the hook for Nobles and the sword for Nobles and the box of Nobles ! And then – bring in the Nobles !

  (The NOBLES are brutally shoved in.)

  MAMA TURD. For heaven’s sake, Papa Turd, restrain yourself.

  PAPA TURD. I have the honor to inform you that for the enrichment of the realm I’m going to have the Nobles executed and seize all their property.

  NOBLES. Horrors ! Help, people and soldiers !

  PAPA TURD. Bring in the first Noble, and pass me my Noble-hook. Those that are condemned to death I’ll put through the trapdoor and they’ll tumble into the sub-cellars of Pinchpork and Moneybag, where their brains will be removed by the printing-press. (To the NOBLE.) Who are you, stupid ?

  FIRST NOBLE. Count of Vitebsk.

  PAPA TURD. What’s your income ?

  FIRST NOBLE. Three million bagels.

  PAPA TURD. Condemned ! (He grabs the NOBLE with the hook and puts him down the hole.)

  MAMA TURD. What vile ferocity !

  PAPA TURD. Second Noble, who are you ? (The NOBLE says nothing.) You going to answer, stupid ?

  SECOND NOBLE. G-G-G-Grand Duke of Posen.

  PAPA TURD. Fine ! fine ! That’s all I want to know. In the trap ! — Third Noble, who are you ? And what an ugly mug you’ve got.

  THIRD NOBLE. Duke of Cortland and of the cities of Riga, Ravel, and Mitau.

  PAPA TURD. Splendid ! splendid ! You haven’t anything else ?

  THIRD NOBLE. Nothing.

  PAPA TURD. Then, in the trap ! — Fourth Noble, who are you ?

  FOURTH NOBLE. Prince of Podolia.

  PAPA TURD. What’s your income ?

  FOURTH NOBLE. I’m bankrupt.

  PAPA TURD. For that dirty word, you go in the trap. — Fifth Noble, who are you ?

  FIFTH NOBLE. Margrave of Thorn, Palatine of Polackia.

  PAPA TURD. That’s not much. Haven’t you anything else ?

  FIFTH NOBLE. It’s enough for me.

  PAPA TURD. Sure, better little than nothing. In the trap ! — What are you snivelling about, Mama Turd ?

  MAMA TURD. You’re so bloodthirsty, Papa Turd.

  PAPA TURD. Bah, I’m getting rich. I think I’ll have them read me MY list of MY properties. Herald, read me MY list of MY properties.

  THE HERALD. Earldom of Sandomir . . .

  PAPA TURD. Begin with the principalities, you stupid bugger !

  THE HERALD. Principality of Podolia, Grand-Duchy of Posen, Duchy of Cortland, Earldom of Sandomir, Earldom of Vitebsk, Palatinate of Polackia, Margraviate of Thorn.

  PAPA TURD. What else ?

  THE HERALD. That’s all.

  PAPA TURD. Whaddya mean, that’s all ? Oh, all right, let’s get on with the Nobles. Seeing that it’s taking so long to get rich, I’m going to have the whole bunch of them killed. That way I’ll get all their vacant holdings. All right, throw the rest of the Nobles in the trap. (The NOBLES are piled into the trap.) Come on, hurry up. Now I want to make laws.

  SEVERAL. That, we’ll have to see.

  PAPA TURD. First of all I’m going to reform justice, after which we’ll proceed to the finances.

  SEVERAL MAGISTRATES. We are opposed to any change whatsoever.

  PAPA TURD. Pshit ! From now on, the magistrates don’t get paid.

  MAGISTRATES. And what will we live on ? We’re poor.

  PAPA TURD. You can have the fines you levy, and the property of whoever you condemn to death.

  FIRST MAGISTRATE. Horrors !

  SECOND. Infamy!

  THIRD. Scandal!

  FOURTH. Shame !

  ALL. We refuse to judge under those circumstances.

  PAPA TURD. In the trap with the magistrates !

  (They struggle in vain.)

  MAMA TURD. Oh my ! What are you doing, Papa Turd ? Who’s to render justice now ?

  PAPA TURD. Me ! You’ll see how well things’ll go.

  MAMA TURD. Yes, that’ll be just dandy.

  PAPA TURD. Aw, shut up, big-mouth ! — And now, gentlemen, we shall proceed to matters of finance.

  FINANCIERS. There’s nothing to change.

  PAPA TURD. Whaddya mean ? I want everything changed ! First of all, I’m keeping half the taxes.

  FINANCIERS. That’s all ?

/>   PAPA TURD. Gentlemen, we’ll put a ten percent tax on all property, another on commerce and industry, a third on marrying, a fourth [on not marrying, and a fifth] on dying — fifteen cents apiece.

  FIRST FINANCIER. But that’s idiotic, Papa Turd.

  SECOND FINANCIER. It’s absurd.

  THIRD FINANCIER. It hasn’t got head or tail.

  PAPA TURD. Aha ! you’re trying to screw me. In the trap with the financiers ! (They stuff the FINANCIERS in.)

  MAMA TURD. But really, Papa Turd, what kind of a king are you ? You’re murdering everybody.

  PAPA TURD. Ah, pshit !

  MAMA TURD. No more justice, no more finance . . .

  PAPA TURD. Fear nothing, my sweet child. I’ll go from village to village myself, and collect the taxes. — [Pshit ! In the trap ! Bring in whoever’s left of these eminent persons. (Procession of notables of the moment, and text ad lib.) You who so strangely resemble a well-known horseman in the park — in the trap ! And you, Mr. Chief of Police, with all due respect to you - in the trap ! In the trap with this English minister, and so as not to make anyone jealous, throw in a French minister too — it doesn’t matter who. And you, notable antisemite — in the trap ! And you, antisemitic Jew ; and you, reverend priest; and you, Mr. Apothecary ; and you, Mr. Censor ; and you, mister — in the trap ! Wait, here’s a song-writer, got in with the wrong key. We’ve had enough of him — in the trap ! Oh, oh ! he isn’t a song-writer, he’s a story-writer for the newspapers. What does it matter ? It’s the same old song. In the trap ! All right, everybody in the trap ! In the trap ! In the trap ! Hurry up - in the trap ! In the trap ! In the trap ! ]

  [Ad lib. from the translation credited to “Jane Warren do Arnold Devree” (Judith Malina and Julian Beck) presented at the Cherry Lane Theatre, New York, August 1952, with Mungi Moskowitz as Ubu : ]

  PAPA UBU. Oh, Shit ! Into the trap. And all the important personages, into the trap . . . You, who look like a famous critic for a highly respectable newspaper, into the trap. And you, Chief of Police, into the trap ; and you, cop on the beat, into the trap. Russian Delegate to the U.N., into the trap. And to prove that we’re not prejudiced, American Delegate to the U.N. into the trap. Anybody and everybody into the trap. Anti-Semites, into the trap. Semites, into the trap. Dentists, into the trap. Child actors, into the trap. Psychoanalysts, psychoneurotics, psychopathics, and Fuller-brush-men, into the trap. The whole world into the trap. Mayor Impellitteri, into the trap. Winston Churchill, into the trap. Ernest Hemingway, into the trap. Miss Rheingold, into the trap. Jean-Louis Barrault, into the trap. e. e. cummings and Arthur Godfrey, into the trap. Frank Lloyd Wright and Napoleon, into the trap. Shirley Temple and Salvador Dali, into the trap. Harry Truman, into the trap. Esther Williams, into the trap. Mrs. George Washington Cavanaugh and Jean Cocteau, into the trap. General MacArthur, into the trap. Giselle, into the trap. Sister Kenny and Djuna Barnes, into the trap. Thomas Dewey and John Dewey and Admiral Dewey, into the trap. Brooks Atkinson, into the trap. Maxwell Bodenheim, into the trap. Eleanor Roosevelt and Louis Armstrong, into the trap. Perle Mesta, Pearl Bailey, Pearl Buck, into the trap. Mahatma Ghandi, into the trap. The waiters at Chumleys, into the trap. Pope Pius XII into the trap. Johnny Ray, into the trap. Jean Marais, into the trap. Adam and Eve and Rita Hayworth and Mohammed, into the trap. Gilbert and Sullivan, into the trap. Truman Capote and Tennessee Williams and Paul Bowles and Carson McCullers, into the trap. Cardinal Spellman, into the trap. Joe Gould, into the trap. Mary Martin and T. S. Eliot, into the trap. Cecil Beaton and Judge Medina, into the trap. Jesus Christ and Walter Chrysler, into the trap. Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis, into the trap. Merce Cunningham, into the trap. Ezra Pound and Maxwell Anderson, into the trap. Hamlet, into the trap. Reinhold Niebuhr, into the trap. The San Remo Cafe, into the trap. Helen Hayes and Ilse Koch, into the trap. Eugene O’Neill, into the trap. Dylan Thomas and Norman Thomas and Thomas Mann, into the trap. Greta Garbo, into the trap. Santa Claus and Santayana, into the trap. Dagmar, into the trap. Judy Garland, into the trap. Paul Goodman and Jane Russell, into the trap. Queen Juliana, Queen Elizabeth, the Queen of Spades, Butterfly McQueen and all the Queens, into the trap. Matisse and Bette Davis, into the trap. Gertrude Stein and Kirsten Flagstad, into the trap. Sigmund Rhee and Sigmund Freud, into the trap. Tallulah Bankhead and Wilhelm Reich, into the trap. Igor Stravinsky, into the trap. Milton Berle and Walter Winchell, into the trap. Martha Graham and Betty Grable, into the trap. Pablo Picasso and Clark Gable, into the trap. Hopalong Cassidy, Bernarr McFadden, Margaret O’Brien and Elsa Maxwell, into the trap. David Ben Gurion and George Balanchine, into the trap. Alfred Jarry, into the trap. (myself - almost - into the trap.) Irving Berlin, into the trap. Anthony Eden and Li’l Abner and Pogo and J. Edgar Hoover, into the trap. Willie McGee, into the trap. Bing Crosby and W. H. Auden, into the trap. Al Capone, into the trap. Faustina, into the trap. Cecil B. De Mille, into the trap. John Ashbery, into the trap. Marshall Tito and Joe Palooka, into the trap. Billie Graham and Jimmy Durante, into the trap. Bonnie Prince Charlie and Francis Renault, into the trap. Sugar Ray Robinson and Lady Mendl, into the trap. Senator Kefauver, into the trap. Dr. Kinsey and Whistler’s Mother, into the trap. Dorothy Thompson and Abraham Lincoln, into the trap. Charlie Chaplin and John the Baptist, into the trap. Judith Malina and Julian Beck, into the trap. Haile Selassie and Bertrand Russell, into the trap. The Trapp Family, into the trap. John Garfield, into the trap. Bernard Baruch, into the trap. Willie Sutton, into the trap. Paul Robeson and The Virgin Mary and Fleur Cowles, into the trap. Henry Luce and Marion Davies, into the trap. The D.A.R. and the Trappist Monks, into the trap. Rabbi Stephen S. Wise and Grandma Moses, into the trap. Sophie Tucker and John Cage, into the trap. Karen Horney and General Eisenhower, into the trap. Alfred Einstein and Eva Peron, into the trap. Robert Service, Civil Service, Diaper Service, and all the boys in the Service, into the trap !

  SCENE III

  A peasants’ hovel on the outskirts of Warsaw.

  Several PEASANTS are assembled.

  A PEASANT (coming in). Did you hear the big news? The king is dead, and the dukes too ; and Prince Buggerlaus got away to the mountains with his mother. And furthermore, Papa Turd has seized the throne.

  ANOTHER. Yes, and here’s something else. I just came from Cracow, and I saw them carting away the bodies of more than three hundred nobles and five hundred magistrates that they killed, and it seems they’re going to double the taxes and Papa Turd is going to come and collect it in person.

  ALL. God almighty ! What will become of us ? Papa Turd is a terrible swine, and they say his wife is horrible.

  [Trenzendous knocking at the door.]

  A PEASANT. Listen ! Wouldn’t you say that someone is knocking at the door ?

  A VOICE (outside). Hornstrumpot ! Open up ! Now by my pshit, by Saint John, Saint Peter, and Saint Nicholas, open up ! Blood and money ! Hornducats ! I’ve come for the taxes !

  (The door is stove in. TURD comes through the hole, followed by his troop of penny-pinchers.)

  SCENE IV

  PAPA TURD. Which one of you is the oldest ? (A PEASANT steps forward.) What’s your name ?

  THE PEASANT. Stanislas Leczinski.

  PAPA TURD. Well then, hornstrumpot, listen carefully or these gentlemen will cut off your years. So are you going to listen to me ?

  STANISLAS. But Your Excellency hasn’t said anything yet.

  PAPA TURD. Whaddya mean ! I’ve been talking for an hour. Do you think I came here to preach to the wilderness ?

  STANISLAS. Such a thought is the farthest from my mind.

  PAPA TURD. Now then, I’ve come to tell you and direct you and inform you that you have to produce and show your cash immediately, or you’ll be massacred. Hey there, noble snot-noses of Phynance, trundle in the honey-wagon. (They bring in the wagon.)

  STANISLAS. Sire, we are down on the register for only one hundred and fifty-two bagels, which we’ve already paid six weeks ago come Michaelmas.

  PAPA TURD. That’s
very possible, but I’ve changed the government and I’ve had it announced in the newspapers that all the taxes have to be paid twice, and three times those that will be designated later. With this system I’ll make my fortune in a hurry ; then I’ll kill everybody and leave.

  PEASANTS. Mercy, Master Turd ! Have pity on us. We’re just poor people.

  PAPA TURD. Frig that. Pay.

  PEASANTS. But we can’t. We have paid.

  PAPA TURD. Pay ! Or I’ll have to discipline you with torture and uncoupling of the neck from the head ! Hornstrumpot, I am the king, surely ?

  ALL. Oh, so that’s how it is ! To arms ! Up with Buggerlaus, by the grace of God King of Poland and Lithuania !

  PAPA TURD. Forward, gentlemen of Phynance ! Do your duty. (A fight ensures. The house is destroyed, and old STANISLAS flees alone across the plains. TURD stays behind to pick up the money.)

  SCENE V

  A dungeon in the fortress of Thorn.

  BORDURE in chains, PAPA TURD

  PAPA TURD. Ah, citizen, that’s how it is. You wanted me to pay you what I owed you, and when I wouldn’t you revolted. You plotted against me, and here you are – in the trap. Hornducats ! Not bad, eh ? The trick is so neatly turned you ought to find it very much to your taste.

  BORDURE. Take care, Papa Turd. In the five days you’ve been king, you’ve committed more crimes than it would take to damn all the saints in Paradise. The blood of a king and of his nobles cry vengeance, and their cries will be heard.

  PAPA TURD. Eh, my dear friend, you’ve got a well-oiled tongue ! I don’t doubt that if you should escape, complications might set in, but I don’t believe the dungeons of Thorn have ever given up any of the fine young men entrusted to them. And so, good night, sleep tight, and keep your legs crossed, because the rats here dance a very pretty sarabande. [He goes.