Adam the Creator/Scene 1
I
the world must be destroyed!
Adam:
Six minutes to twelve. I’ve posted it up all over the town on placards and leaflets, but you see, not a soul has come. (Looks at his watch.) I’ll tell you what it is. There have been so many fools and charlatans already who wanted to save the world that not a soul takes you seriously when you want to destroy the world. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this will be a unique production. On the stroke of twelve there will be given for the first and last time the amusing piece called “The End of the World”, composed and staged by the great and misunderstood author and inventor, Adam by name. (He bows.) The Great are always alone. Oh well, it doesn’t matter. (Looks at his watch.) I should have liked to have the whole petty, miserable human race here, and to fling in their faces my terrible accusation and sentence. Of course, you would all have fallen on your knees and implored: Adam, save us! But I, standing by this gun, would only have said: This is the end! The world must be destroyed. (Looks at his watch.) They are not coming. So much the worse for them. The world is not worth saving. The Cannon of Negation is loaded to the muzzle. (He takes the cloth off the Cannon of Negation.) My beautiful Cannon! what are gunpowder and dynamite compared with a human No? The way I have collected together all kinds of negations and saved up all sorts of contradictions! What quantities of things I read and what debates I waged till I made myself the master of negation! (Looks at his watch.) Let’s begin! But first of all I’ll just read through my Manifesto, as I have taken the trouble to write it.
[He takes the folded Manifesto out of his pocket, clears his throat and begins to read.
“In the name of the one and only liberating Anarchy———”
—that sounds well; it’s brief and vigorous—
“notice is hereby given of the destruction of the world. Reasons: All order is violence. Religion is a fraud. Private life is prejudice. Laws are fetters for slaves. All government is tyranny. The sole reply to this state of affairs is a thundering NO!
“We———”
—really I should have said ‘I', because I have found no fit disciple among these wretched bourgeois; but ‘We’ always sounds better—
“We proclaim all order, all customs and institutions bad, null, and void; we proclaim that every effort to improve or change the world order is cowardly compromise; we proclaim that everything is bad—life is a bad habit, humanity is weakness, patience is a crime, and the worst of all are sympathy and tolerance.”
A Policeman (who has come up slowly in the meantime):
Hi, sir!
Adam (looking up):
What’s that?
Policeman:
Don’t shout like that or I shall have to take you up.
Adam:
Look here, as a free man I can say what I like. But, anyway, I have written and preached it hundreds of times already, and all to no purpose. It’s useless for me to repeat it.
[He puts the crumpled Manifesto into his pocket.
Policeman:
You can say it, sir, but you mustn’t bawl it like that. What have you got there?
Adam:
The Cannon of Negation.
Policeman:
Have you got a licence?
Adam:
For what? Negation?
Policeman:
No, but to set it up on that plot of land.
Adam:
I don’t care a rap about licences.
Policeman:
Then pack it up and see that I don’t find you here again, or you’ll have to pay a fine. Have it cleared off in an hour’s time.
Adam:
In an hour? Say in half a minute! Everything will be gone in one minute, you world police, you! Don’t you want to know what I mean by that?
Policeman:
You’d better go home, sir!
Exit.
Adam:
The world’s last moment and he spoils it like that! Shame! Now, if he had only said something great! It’s all bad! bad! bad! I deny everything! (A clock strikes.) Twelve o’clock! Ding, dong! This is the end! Now to send it flying! One! Two! Now I must press—Ding! Wait a minute! Dong!—(The striking stops.) Stopped striking already? And I couldn’t let it off! What a shame! (Another clock strikes.)
Good! Now, world, miserable world, your last hour is striking! Ding, dong! Here goes!
[He presses a button in the gun. Terrific report, clatter, and roar: Adam falls on the ground: complete darkness. The wind gives a long-drawn howl. Crashing and banging. All theatrical noises are in action.
Good God! I’m dead! Help!
[The noise dies down and suddenly stops. Pause. A dim, grey light begins to shine. The ugly twilight shows that all the scenery has disappeared. There is only the desolate earth with a high bank and a hopelessly desolate horizon.]
I’m not dead? Then it wasn’t the end of the world? (He gets up.) Where am I? Here is the Cannon of Negation . . . But there used to be houses here before! And there was washing hanging here! The houses have gone! Everything—everything’s gone! Then it is the end of the world after all! And I am still alive! Oh, I forgot to deny myself! But otherwise it is the end of the world; that’s quite clear. (He falls on his knees.) I have saved the world, for I have destroyed it! (A pause.) This is idiotic; I felt as if I ought to pray! (He gets up.) I think I’ll have a look at what it’s like . . . after the end of the world! (He looks all round.)
Of tragic glow, mad pictures of destruction.
I’d hoped for cyclones, comets, lava, floods,
And, frankly, much more outcry and lament.
I thought that it would be God knows how fine
And that the world must end in splendid terror;
And this was merely like a lamp snuffed out.
Even the world’s end I imagined better.
To spoil it like that! Shame! It just went out—
And nothing more, as if the end of the world
Weren’t worth a scrap of show. Now I, my word!
I would have got the show up differently,
And added terror, uproar, tragic tones.
[Fireworks of lightning and some ruddy flames. He looks about him.
Ruins, destruction, smoke of smouldering beams,
Wreckage of crushed machines and pillared churches;
And instead, nothing, empty nothingness—
Really one would have thought that something more
Would be left over. This shows very clearly
That nothing is worth nothing, if it were
Worth something, then that something would be left.
There, aren’t I right?
[He looks round.
No shard or cinder, not a rag or corpse,
No sign of something human which might ask,
Aggrieved: “Look here, what’s this? what’s happened to us?”
And I’d have said: “Yes, it was I did this,
I answer for it, I denied the world
And I destroyed it with my dreadful cannon;
For crushing reasons this thing had to be———”
Pity I’ve no one here to tell it to.
This boundless nothing is a little cold.
I really did think something would be left
After mankind, let’s say at least a post
For one to lean against, or something human
That I’d demolish all over again—
Ugh! It’s quite chilly in this grey, blank space.
My negative perhaps was rather stronger
Than I intended. One could not have dreamed
A sweeping Slavic No would work like that.
There’s courage for you, what?—Hullo! d’you hear?
Hullo!—No, no one answers. Finish! Triumph!
The Universe unpeopled! Pity, though,
That no one saw how quickly it was done.
Such things, you know, are not seen every day.
Hullo, hullo! No, no one. Anyone else
Would have been boasting, “I denied the world;
See here now, it was I denied the world,
I—I it was.” Hullo! d’you hear? hullo!
What, can’t I even have an audience?
There’s pettiness for you! Empty, idle world.
Then, what’s the use of superhuman exploits?
Hullo! No, not a soul. The world is dead.
Negation finished. It was really stupid
To take it quite so literally. Dead,
Dead is the world. Yes, it was badly made
And I’ve abolished it. A pity, though,
That the end wasn’t more of success.
[The Eye of God shines out up above. Thunder.
The Voice of God:
Adam, what have you done?
Adam:
I beg your pardon? Who spoke? Is there someone here?
The Voice of God:
What have you done?
Adam (proudly):
Can’t you see? I have denied the world.
The Voice of God:
What have you done, Adam?
Adam (looking up):
Christ in heaven! It’s the voice of God!
[He falls on his knees, covering his face.
The Voice of God:
Why have you done this?
Adam:
I—I thought———
Adam, why have you done this?
Adam:
Because the world was badly and unjustly made. For instance———
The Voice of God:
Create it anew yourself.
Adam:
I? How? Why?
The Voice of God:
Show what you can do.
Adam:
Why should I have to create?
The Voice of God:
As a penalty.
Adam:
Create? But how? And what from?
The Voice of God:
From the clay on which you are kneeling.
Adam:
I am filled with terror!
The Voice of God:
It is terrible to create. Rise!
Adam:
Lord, have mercy on me!
Adam, create!
[Thunder. The light goes out.
Adam:
What’s that? (He gets up and dusts his knees.) It’s easy to say create a new world; but how? I say, how do you do it?—Not a word. He’s off now, no one knows where.—H’m, he is not exactly talkative. I really imagined him quite different. I thought that he simply wasn’t; but if he really is, he might say a bit more about it. I could have proved to him point by point what was wrong with the world. Hullo! Our Father! He’s gone.
Anyone could have done that, just to come and give the order: Now make the world over again! and then sneak off. As if it were for me to create! What I’m here for is to judge and deny the world; that is my right, and that’s the reason why I’ve got brains in my head, isn’t it? But creating’s different; I’d be a fool to try that. Naturally I should have created the world differently from its very foundations, and better too! I’d have explained to him, chapter and verse, what the world ought to be like. But if he doesn’t want to listen, all right. It’s quite to my taste that there should be nothing.
[He sits down on the heap of clay.
Nonsense. I’ve been dreaming. Of course, it was only hallucination. As if one could create life out of clay! It’s clear he has no idea of modern biology. No organism can be born from clay; any more than fleas can be born from dust. Those are old wives’ tales. One minute, a little experiment.
Chary mary bufry fary! (He breathes on the clay. Let there be fleas! (He opens his hands.) Now, what—Good lord! It’s jumping! (He starts up.) Fleas!! Now they’ll come on to me! (He shuts his fist and holds it far away from him, shouting excitedly.) That’s a funny sort of joke, to create me a handful of fleas! What am I to do with them now? Hullo!—Not a word. My God! when you come to think of it. I created these fleas myself! (He clasps his hands.) I can create! I have created live fleas! (Scratches himself.) It’s really so. I hadn’t one before. I have made myself a creator. A Creator by my own will and might! He, who has the strength to destroy, is able to create, too. (Scratches himself.) They’re flourishing all right. When you come to think of it, a flea is a wonder of creation. It manages to jump so amazingly.—Just let someone try to copy me! And when you think that I can create as many of them as I like! (He stands over the heap of clay.) No, wait. If I can create fleas I can create other things, too, flies and mice and elephants—or a megatherium! How many legs has a megatherium? It doesn’t matter. I might make one with thirteen legs. Or a cow with wings. Or I might create——— It simply makes my head go round! (Scratches himself.) It’s a tremendous sensation, to be a creator!
[Concentrating all his forces.
Adam, think! What you create must be something better than the ramshackle business that there was before. Just show how it ought to be! (He looks up at the sky.) Lord, tell me, what ought I to create? No answer. Obviously he’s afraid to show himself. If he’d only left me a bigger heap of clay! That little heap won’t be enough for all I feel I could do. If I only knew what, though.
No, no; I don’t want human beings! Not likely! I have denied them, and that’s enough. Human beings are superseded. Something higher! Something new! Let it be, for instance——— No; let’s think of something which is not a human being. Let us give ourselves up to inspiration. Let us shut our eyes, and, with boundless creative force, call up the picture ofsomething which is not a miserable human being. Now.
[He shuts his eyes and stands like a post. Pause.
It’s really idiotic. I can think of nothing but kangaroos. A kangaroo reading a book. Or a kangaroo on a motor-cycle. That would be like a circus: special number, The Creator of the world with his performing kangaroos. No, that absolutely won’t do. Let’s start again. Ready—go! (Pause.) It’s as if it were done purposely. Now, I keep on seeing seals, balancing lamps and balls on their noses. I oughtn’t to have thought of a circus. Something else! . . . (Pause.) This is a devil of a job, creating something new. (He gives the clay a kick.) Make something by yourself, Clay of Creation! Now then! I shall just watch and see what crawls out of you—Nothing; it doesn’t even stir. It can’t produce even a worm, the wretched barren mud!
(With sudden inspiration.) I’ve got it! Let’s go forward; let’s skip this monkey-stage of human beings! Let’s make some higher being: let’s create a Superman! Let him know neither weakness nor pity; let him be without prejudice, fetter, fear, or slavish impulses. My God, this is a stupendous moment! Let him be strong, a born ruler; eagle’s gaze fixed on the sun; prince of the heights, and no longer a dweller in the plains! So be it. Amen!
[He kneels down by the heap of clay.
Anyway, it’s only an experiment, isn’t it? We’ll just see what can be done.
[He hurls himself on his work.
To superhuman heights! Oh, godlike task!
To rise above the low and bestial
And slavish lot of man! Higher! Climb higher!
Surpass what was! Man, satiate with man,
Begins to create gods.—I wish I knew
How I should make his legs.—You shall be great
And free; shall deny God. With a strong hand
You shall break through the closed and narrow circle
Of the old life; unhesitatingly
And proudly seize command over yourself.
[He pauses in his work.
But why the devil must it be a man?
I can be man, at any rate at first;
Whether we’ll need one later I don’t know.
By the creation of a woman I
Inaugurate creation’s festival;
I, the new Adam, kneel to fashion Eve.
[He takes off his coat and models in the clay.
O rapture! Superhuman Super-life
I will create, in passion of creating
I plunge ecstatic hands into the clay.
The miracle of life itself, behold,
Is forming in the clay; no slave of sex,
No woman, but a goddess. You shall not
Be under man’s dominion, but shall be
Mistress of your own lot; not given to man
As prey but to be reverenced by him.
—Pile on some more clay here and mould it well.
Damn it! There’s contours for you if you like!—
Break the base bonds of false morality.
Do not be under passion’s yoke; do not
Be faithful slavishly. You shall not hatch
And breed up children, neither toil and moil;
But cleave the armour of false prejudice
With free and glorious breast.—Yes, and to show
That she’s a superwoman, I must make
Her breasts a trifle large.—O ecstasy
Of man and of Creator! This divine
Harvest of charms reveals, while I create
Rapturously, a new and higher order.
—You see what use one’s love affairs can be.
One knows what beauties one should give a Goddess.—
Be tawny as a lioness, fair as corn.
—I always did prefer a blonde, you know.—
Be without bond or weakness, flaw or fault.
Done! (He gets up.) Eve, arise! She’s really just my style.
Goddess, awake! Rise, new and finer woman!
You’d never think creating’s such hard work.
Come, don’t lie like a statue!—Not a movement.
Ah, I’ve not given her the breath of life.
[He puts on his coat and breathes on her.
Eve, thou who’rt beauty, strength, and woman, thou
Miracle most divine, see, the creator
Has kissed thy forehead with the breath of life.
Live!
[The desolate landscape is lit up with sunshine.
Eve (raising herself):
Ah!
Adam (in rapture):
It’s come to life! Then I do know how to do it! Eve, are you really alive?
Eve (getting up):
Who calls me?
Adam:
I, your creator. I salute you on my knees, divine creation!
Eve:
Stay on your knees.
Adam:
Yes, in rapture over you. How beautiful you are!
Eve:
Who are you? You are all smeared with dirty earth.
Adam:
That is the clay of creation. I am Adam, the father of life. This is a tremendous moment. Eve, give me your hand.
Eve:
When you have washed. Go farther away.
Adam (stands perplexed):
What? Haven’t you anything to say to me?
Eve (pointing):
The sun!
Adam:
Well, what about it?
Eve:
It is high.
Adam:
I’ve known that a long time.
Eve:
You are not fit to raise your eyes to us.
Adam:
To whom, pray?
Eve:
To me and to the sun, you pitiful monstrosity.
Adam:
Pitiful mons——— Eve! Do you know who I am?
Eve:
Some unclean creature. You have crooked legs and dirty hands. Perhaps you are some slave or other.
Adam:
And who are you, I’d like to know?
Eve:
I am the miracle of life.
Adam:
Who told you that?
Eve:
A voice within me. I am a Goddess.
Adam:
Look here! Even the voice within you you got from me.
Eve:
Your voice is odious. A nobler voice sings within me.
Adam:
And what does it sing?
Eve:
That would not be understood by a low slave like you. It sings that I am tawny as a lioness, fair as corn.
Adam:
What next?
Eve:
That I am without bond or weakness, flaw or fault.
Adam:
Well I never!
Eve:
That I shall not hatch and breed up children, neither toil and moil, but cleave the armour of false prejudice with free and glorious breast.
Adam:
Yes, that is how I wanted you. Eve, do be mine!
Eve:
Away with you! It’s not for you that I am here!
Adam:
What do you mean?
Eve:
I shall not be under man’s dominion but shall be mistress of my own lot; not given to man as prey but to be reverenced by him.
Adam:
I’d like to know who told you all this!
Eve:
The voice within me.
Adam:
Quite correct, but you mustn’t take it so literally, you know. I created you for myself. You will be my wife, Eve.
Eve:
I am not under passion’s yoke.
Adam:
This is not a yoke at all, you silly. Listen: there’s nothing in the world I wouldn’t do for you.
Eve:
I am no slave of sex.
Adam:
No, no; I know that. Look here, Eve; we two are alone on earth, and loneliness is a frightful thing. Be a little kind to me. What harm can it do you?
Eve:
I know neither weakness nor pity.
Adam:
Nor do I. (Drawing himself up proudly.) Look here! Who destroyed the world? I did. Who created you? I did. Who is master of the world now? I am. I need only say the word and you belong to me. No, no; stop a minute! I am only telling you this; I know you are free. But there are one or two things to be considered. . . . I gave you life, and that puts you under a certain obligation. A woman can make it up to one so easily.
Eve:
I am a woman of a new and different kind.
Adam:
All right, all right; that’s enough about it! Tell me what you want, then. What am I to do with you?
Eve:
You can worship me, slave!
Adam:
All right, I will! And what will you do?
Eve:
Down on your knees; I am going to the mountains.
Adam:
The mountains? Why to the mountains? What are you going after there?
Eve:
The peaks and freedom, base creature.
Adam:
No; stay here-please stay here. I can’t go to the mountains just now; you see I have got to create from this heap of clay. You sit down by me and watch. I can create anything I like—fleas and gods and heroes, everything you can think of. And you shall be my inspiration—that is the time-honoured calling of woman. What shall I create for you? Command me!
Eve:
I am not interested in your dirty dabbling in the clay.
Adam:
Dirty dabbling? Why, what can be greater than to create?
Eve:
To be free!
[She turns to go.
Adam:
I say, do wait! Where are you going?
Eve:
Up to the peaks!
[She goes out.
Adam:
To the devil with your peaks! Stay with me, do you hear? Don’t go off and leave me here like this! Wait a bit! I’ve got to create the world here! Eve! Confound her! She goes off and leaves me here to dabble in this infernal clay! A fellow’s so lonely when he creates!— But, I say, wait for me, Eve! I’m coming after you!
Eve (behind the scenes):
Higher! Climb higher!
Adam:
Anywhere you like! Wait for me, Eve! I’m coming at top speed!
[He rushes out after her.
Curtain