The Collected Plays of George Bernard Shaw - 60 Titles in One Edition (Illustrated Edition). GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

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      CETEWAYO. Are these anæmic dogs the English people?

      LUCIAN. Mislike us not for our complexions,

       The pallid liveries of the pall of smoke

       Belched by the mighty chimneys of our factories,

       And by the million patent kitchen ranges

       Of happy English homes.

      CETEWAYO. When first I came

       I deemed those chimneys the fuliginous altars

       Of some infernal god. I now perceive

       The English dare not look upon the sky.

       They are moles and owls: they call upon the soot

       To cover them.

      LUCIAN. You cannot understand

       The greatness of this people, Cetewayo.

       You are a savage, reasoning like a child.

       Each pallid English face conceals a brain

       Whose powers are proven in the works of Newton

       And in the plays of the immortal Shakespear.

       There is not one of all the thousands here

       But, if you placed him naked in the desert,

       Would presently construct a steam engine,

       And lay a cable t’ th’ Antipodes.

      CETEWAYO. Have I been brought a million miles by sea

       To learn how men can lie! Know, Father Webber,

       Men become civilized through twin diseases,

       Terror and Greed to wit: these two conjoined

       Become the grisly parents of Invention.

       Why does the trembling white with frantic toil

       Of hand and brain produce the magic gun

       That slays a mile off, whilst the manly Zulu

       Dares look his foe i’ the face; fights foot to foot;

       Lives in the present; drains the Here and Now;

       Makes life a long reality, and death

       A moment only! whilst your Englishman

       Glares on his burning candle’s winding-sheets,

       Counting the steps of his approaching doom.

       And in the murky corners ever sees

       Two horrid shadows, Death and Poverty:

       In the which anguish an unnatural edge

       Comes on his frighted brain, which straight devises

       Strange frauds by which to filch unearnéd gold,

       Mad crafts by which to slay unfacéd foes,

       Until at last his agonized desire

       Makes possibility its slave. And then —

       Horrible climax! All-undoing spite! —

       Th’ importunate clutching of the coward’s hand

       From wearied Nature Devastation’s secrets

       Doth wrest; when straight the brave black-livered man

       Is blown explosively from off the globe;

       And Death and Dread, with their white-livered slaves

       O’er-run the earth, and through their chattering teeth

       Stammer the words “Survival of the Fittest.”

       Enough of this: I came not here to talk.

       Thou say’st thou hast two white-faced ones who dare

       Fight without guns, and spearless, to the death.

       Let them be brought.

      LUCIAN. They fight not to the death,

       But under strictest rules: as, for example,

       Half of their persons shall not be attacked;

       Nor shall they suffer blows when they fall down,

       Nor stroke of foot at any time. And, further,

       That frequent opportunities of rest

       With succor and refreshment be secured them.

      CETEWAYO. Ye gods, what cowards! Zululand, my Zululand:

       Personified Pusillanimity

       Hath ta’en thee from the bravest of the brave!

      LUCIAN. Lo, the rude savage whose untutored mind

       Cannot perceive self-evidence, and doubts

       That Brave and English mean the selfsame thing!

      CETEWAYO. Well, well, produce these heroes. I surmise

       They will be carried by their nurses, lest

       Some barking dog or bumbling bee should scare them.

      Cetewayo takes his state. Enter Paradise

      LYDIA. What hateful wretch is this whose mighty thews

       Presage destruction to his adversaries?

      LORD WORTHINGTON. ’Tis Paradise.

      LYDIA. He of whom Cashel spoke?

       A dreadful thought ices my heart. Oh, why

       Did Cashel leave us at the door?

      Enter Cashel

      LORD WORTHINGTON. Behold!

       The champion comes.

      LYDIA. Oh, I could kiss him now,

       Here, before all the world. His boxing things

       Render him most attractive. But I fear

       Yon villain’s fists may maul him.

      WORTHINGTON. Have no fear.

       Hark! the king speaks.

      CETEWAYO. Ye sons of the white queen:

       Tell me your names and deeds ere ye fall to.

      PARADISE. СКАЧАТЬ