Man, Lord of Machinery

ROMAIN ROLLAND.

Part 2. In Which the Rebellious Monsters Are Vanquished and Peace Restored

ACT 111. The Exodus of Terror

FOUR scenes, describing the four principal moments of the ascent of the hounded crowd to the mountain tops.

SCENE I. The men, in flight before the machines, debouch from a wide pass to a high plateau, encircled and overhung by steep and rocky mountains.

A lake of clear, vivid green fills the back of the scene. We see a torrent falling precipitously down the rocky slope at the left, emptying into the lake, from which it reappears and flows away at the right to the valley below. The whole plateau is in shadow. The sunshine bathes the mountain peaks and cliffs to about half their height.

The caravan sinks down, exhausted. It is composed of men, women, children, domestic animals and a few antiquated machines, whose presence will be explained later. The number of the fugitives has not yet been materially decreased. But the confusion is indescribable, and they are all in a dolorous condition. The President's hat has lost its glory. The Fair Hortense is like a great goose—no longer very white—mournfully beating its wings; she wearies with her complaints those to whom she fastens herself and who now treat her with complete indifference. Every man is for himself. The prominent officials waste their breath in mutual recriminations. The labors of centuries of civilization are quickly disappearing under the stress of misery.

Yet, at various points in the scene before us, assemble in little knots the people with a greater power of resistance.

Felicite Pilon has by this time taken a position of importance. A capable woman and unafraid, she has rallied about her a small group of resolute people. We see her issuing orders here and there, distributing jobs without regard to rank, putting to work the snobs, the officials, the President himself, and the Fair Hortense. This last, cold-shouldered by the others, whom she bores to death, attaches herself to Felicite, follows her about, and becomes humble and subdued to ingratiate her.

Marteau Pilon, with his workmen and Rominet, is working to organize some sort of defense. They attempt to put in order the old machines which have remained faithful—the old-fashioned engines, ridiculous on their tiny

*The first installment of Man, Lord of Machinery appeared in the July number of Vanity Fair. It is concluded in this issue.

rollers, with great bellies and stove-pipe chimneys, who cannot endure the sight of the new steel monsters.

Aviette amuses herself by training for the battle some of the animals (dogs and horses) whose lot is thrown with the men. She has been accompanied from the beginning by a huge dog which she adores, who never leaves her side. This dog helps her to round up the other animals.

IN the meantime a group of women, directed by Felicite, has gone to draw water from the lake. Other people and some of the animals gather at its edge to drink or to bathe. Suddenly we see them all draw back with cries of fear. From the bottom of the lake slowly emerge great tentacles, then a periscope, and finally a huge Hydroplane, which takes flight into space. This apparition is followed by another no less impressive. On the right of the scene, in the direction of the pass through which came the caravan, appears slowly, very slowly, above the rocky barrier, the head of some gigantic monster. It remains indefinite in outline, and is consequently the more terrifying. It is a scout of the army of the Machines, hot in pursuit of the race of Man. These, who had thought their traces covered, are seized anew with panic. They flee toward the nearest egress—an opening in the wall of rocks—which proves, to their consternation, to be only the entrance to a great cave on the left. We see them rushing into it, while through the pass on the right appears the vanguard of the Machines. The old superannuated machines and a few domestic animals move forward to meet them, in a brave effort to bar their way. Some old workmen, almost as old as these faithful machines, are unwilling to part from them: they remain to cheer them on, under the leadership of Marteau Pilon.

Nota Bene. The scene changes before the fight begins. We see only one incident: the long neck of a machine, like that of a pleisaurus, arching over the front ranks of the defenders, snatches up a dog and swings him far up among the crags of the mountain tops and deposits him gently upon an isolated rock.

SCENE II. The interior of the cave.

The refugees manage hermetically to close every opening to the cave. This done, they fancy themselves safe, hidden and forgotten.

A few persons stand looking through narrow cracks in the wall; and we see, through their eyes, the arrival of the Machines upon the plateau so lately evacuated. They hold their breath; no one dares to move. . . .

Suddenly dull blows are heard in the rocky wall behind them. . . . They shudder, listen, hear nothing more, are reassured, and lie down again. . . . Again blows, louder this time. . . . Then silence. . . . And slowly, slowly, long stems of steel push their way through the rock!

It is a PERFORATING MACHINE. . . . The prisoners leap back. The greater number run to the further end of the cave. The bravest try to break off the steel antennae—to repel the invader. But from under their feet other points emerge: it is a STEEL DRILL. The crowd is filled with indescribable terror, and there is a mad rush to get out of the cave, which had been blocked up with such care only a few moments before. All trace of civilization has disappeared. The humans howl, claw, stamp under foot the women and children in their scramble to get out. . . .

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We now have proof of the energy and ability of Fé1icité Pilon. By dint of her solid fists and a strong stick, and ably seconded by Aviette, Rominet and— who would believe it?—by the Fair Hortense, made brave by fear and example, who now smacks smartly the faces of her erstwhile adorers, she reaches the entrance to the cave and stands there, revolver in hand, forcing the crazed herd to allow the weaker ones to pass first. All the staunch-hearted folk, including the President, rally to her and obey her commands.

SCENE III. The miserable crowd, now greatly reduced in number, climbs the steep cliff to reach the top of the hills.

At this point, a series of cinematographic episodes show the exploits or the capers of the climbers. We see some accomplishing gymnastic miracles, among them grave and important personages who have never before done any gymnastics whatever and to whom fear seems to give wings; some who help each other with long ribbons of extended arms, as in the Deluge of Girodet; and, finally, some who lose their foothold and fall backward out of sight. As they climb, we see the machines at the bottom of the mountain, preparing to follow them.

SCENE IV. The top of the mountain. A high, uneven plateau, surrounded by precipices.

More and more reduced in numbers— of the crowd of the beginning there remain only a few dozen people—the fugitives are huddled into a narrow space. Not far from them, driven by their common terror, appear here and there among the rocks and stunted trees some wild animals: a wolf, a number of badgers, a few hares, a chamois, a bear, an enormous serpent—another scene from the Deluge.

The unhappy group stares out upon the immense panorama. We see them on the crest of the rocks. Then we see, through their eyes, the panorama below.

On one side are the precipices, the dizzy slopes which have just been ascended; in the distance beyond, the destroyed fields and towns. On the other, the sea, bathing the foot of the mountain range. And everywhere machines and more machines. . . . Above, below, in the air, and in the sea. Airplanes, hydroplanes, tanks, railroad trains, all sorts and varieties of machine. And all in frenzied activity, which is, however, not specifically aimed at the destruction of man, but on the contrary, having no definite object, is only a Delirium tnovens grotesquely menacing the earth. . . .

The refugees are prostrated, incapable of action or of thought. Even those energetic ores whom we have previously noticed are worn out. Almost all of them are lying on the ground and refuse to move. The pursuit, moreover, seems to have slowed down. But a burlesque incident makes them jump to their feet—a little FUNICULAR suddenly pokes its nose over the edge of the plateau. . . . The first fright over, they perceive that the little fool, satisfied with its effect, has plunged down the cliff again, only immediately to repeat its whimsical exploit, and so on indefinitely, each time announcing its arrival by a ridiculous clanging of electric bells. In the end, they give it a few sound kicks to drive it away.

The strain has been slightly relieved by the incident; and the fugitives, now thoroughly awakened, scramble to their feet. They are surprised at the relative calm which prevails, and lean over the edge to look below. The President, about whom linger few vestiges of his past splendor, but who has not entirely lost his grandiloquent attitudes, leans over so awkwardly that he falls with a dive and disappears. The little crowd presses to the edge to watch. They see him roll over and over like a ball and finally land at the bottom, Heaven knows how! with all his bones intact; only to be seized at once by the Machines. What will they do with him? What will they do with the other stragglers, men, women and children, whom they have already captured or whom they are now pursuing? Crush them, doubtless? What a hideous fate! The crowd at the top (most of them) turn away from the sight. ... But those who continue to watch suddenly exclaim. The machines are not killing their prisoners. They seem to be giving them orders, to demand something of them. . . . What can it be?

The Master, Marteau Pilon, claps his hands; he has understood. The Machines, tired, worn, need men to care for them and to put them in order. Quickly he starts down the mountainside. He will try to destroy them.

And Rominet, and Aviette with her dog, hasten to follow the Master.

ACT IV. The Glorious Destruction of the Machines by the Genius of Man

CENE I. We arc again at the bottom, on the plateau with the lake at the back, at the foot of the sleep cliffs. We see the camp of the army of the Machines.

The monsters force the men whom they have captured to serve them: to oil them, to rub them down, to polish them. The President is among these. He is ordered to crawl under the belly of a huge machine. To do what? ... He does not know, for he is still incapable of understanding anything whatever. . . . And his steel despot scolds, smokes, spits, shakes him rudely. He comes out on all fours, black as a chimney-sweep.

At this moment appear Marteau Pilon and the two young people, climbing down the cliff. The Machines, his daughters, greet him with triumphant brayings.

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Each one of the hardy trio sets to work in different fashion to take the enemy by surprise.

Aviette, having patted and cajoled some of the beautiful machines, springs bravely on the back of a runaway motor and subdues it with the aid of her big dog, who barks around it and frightens it out of its wits. (Heroic-comic scene, in which the redoubtable machine is terrified by the onrush of the dog and, by habit, swerves perilously to avoid him.)

Rominet craftily unscrews parts from one or two machines, under pretext of cleaning them, and leaves them lying piteously on their sides, furious and raging, but unable to rise.

As for Marteau Pilon, the Machines who need him and know his power to help them show him a certain consideration. But they remain cool and distant. They suspect him and his cleverness!

Marteau Pilon is astute in his method. He sows discord among the Machines. Proud and stupid as they are, they admire themselves and long to be admired by others. He therefore shows admiration for some, to excite the jealousy of the others. He persuades them that they are the most beautiful, the strongest, that to them belongs the supreme authority. Rominet seconds him, by imitating his tactics in the group of jealous machines. Soon they are at each other's throats. War is declared among them. We see them neighing, lowing, bounding, kicking, firing. They rush upon one another. When the fight begins, Marteau Pilon escapes with Aviette and Rominet, and they climb again up the steep face of the cliff.

The spectator finds himself once more on the mountain top, above the battle, the better to see.

Airplanes against hydroplanes, tanks and engines of war against machines of peace, giant cranes, mechanical saws, perforators, etc.—we see them seize each other and roll upon the rocky slopes, or come crashing through the air, disemboweled, smashed, blown up, or sunk to the bottom of the seas.

At the will of the producer, we may pass from the skies, where the airplanes are locked like bees in combat, to the bottom of the seas where the submarines transpierce each other like sharks.

And the three victors, Marteau Pilon, Aviette and Rominet, having reached the top of the cliff, are greeted with delirious joy by the little band of survivors.

LAST scene. Epilogue and Apotheosis:

Comico-poetic pastoral, in the style of the two Orph&es (Gluck's and Offenbach's), but with ultramodern music.

A wide fertile plateau. Harvests and ploughed fields.

A rescued humanity is busy with the work of the fields under the direction of Félicité Pilon, the unquestioned sovereign. The Fair Hortense milks the cows. The President wears wooden shoes; and, pitchfork in hand, in the fashion of Neptune, he builds up a hayrick. He is in his true element: his peasant nature can unfold at last.

It is the evening of a fine summer day. The end of a cycle of labor is being marked by rustic celebrations. At sunset the wagons laden with hay return to the village, in the midst of dancing and songs. Men and women are decked with garlands of flowers and wheat, which are more or less becoming to their style of beauty. We recognize among them the erstwhile people of fashion and the officials of the first scene. They join hands in simple folk-dances.

The President, becoming more rustic every moment, a wreath of daisies on his brow, is hoisted onto the highest millstone. Standing there, he delivers an oration which is the counterpart of his earlier one. The self-same images, then brought forward for contempt, are now exalted. And, as before, we see these images thrown upon the screen:

1. HUMANITY, GENTLEMEN, HAS REACHED THE SUMMIT OF LIGHT . . .

2. WHAT A CONTRAST, GENTLEMEN!

. . . YESTERDAY . . . MISERABLE BEINGS BOUND BY THE IRON LAWS OF SCIENTIFIC BARBARISM, BY THE CIVILIZATION OF THE MACHINES . . .

(At the very name "Machines" the audience rises in horrified indignation. The President himself displays the most violent excitement: as the saying goes, he has been "fed up" with them! On the screen pass flocks of men and women, led to pasture by the Machines, or harnessed to gigantic tasks: the building of Pyramids, the feeding of great blast-furnaces . . . pictures in which the principal Machine, the real undertaker of the enterprise, seems a Pharaonic despot whom the Men have to carry, serve and nourish.)

3. TODAY . . . FREE SONS OF THE EARTH, ADORNED WITH HER GIFTS . . . DRINKING AT HER GENEROUS BREASTS FILLED WITH MILK AND WINE.

A vision of Cockaigne.

4. THE COURSE OF HUMAN PROGRESS Is LIKE A RIVER. WE ASCEND FROM THE MUDDY DELTA TO THE LIMPID SPRING, GUSHING FROM THE PURE HEART OF THE UNSULLIED HEIGHTS . . .

5. AT THE BEGINNING, MOVEMENT, PERPETUAL MOVEMENT ... A CIVILIZATION OF INSANITY, CITIES OF MADMEN ... AT THE SHINING APOTHEOSIS, THE TRANQUILLITY OF THE SAGE, WATCHING HIS FLOCKS AND PIPING ON HIS REED.

Sentimental panegyric of pastoral life in an idyllic and archaic setting.

6. LET US WELCOME, GENTLEMEN, THIS MAGNIFICENT VISION!

7. MAY IT BE TO US AN EARNEST OF THE SUBLIME FUTURE WHICH LIES BEFORE Us, WHEN MAN SHALL BE THE PEER OF THE BLESSED BEASTS, WHO GRAZE THROUGH THEIR HAPPY LIFE, UNDISTURBED BY THOUGHT! ...

Apogee of Progress and of human genius.

After which the dances resume their swing. The President seats himself on the millstone and blows vigorously if tunelessly into an Alpine horn.

While Aviette and Rominet, walking in the distance, are oblivious to everything but love's young dream, afar off, in the lovely dusk, a flute unfolds a suave melody in the manner of Debussy.

ONE man only has remained apart from the festivities, seated on a rock overlooking the valley, a rasped and intense expression on his face. It is Marteau Pilon, the ex-Master of the Machines. He cannot reconcile himself to this life of nature, this life without machines! (Already in the preceding scene, we saw him examine contemptuously and then throw down with disgust a rake which someone was handing him.) He talks to himself and gesticulates. He is tense, like Rodin's Penseur, or the Ugolini of Carpeaux. He draws feverishly, covering the surrounding stones with geometrical figures and calculations. The two young people, who have spied him as they walked, steal up behind him and watch him, laughing, over his shoulder. . . .

And suddenly we see, projected against the gold of the sunset sky, the formidable shadows of Machines far more monstrous than those of yore, the dreams of the Inventor, which petrify with admiration Aviette and Rominet. . . .

(The song of the flute is sharply interrupted in the middle of a phrase. We hear a distant thundering, arid the brazen-throated roa> of giant engines.)

The finished cycle begins anew. . . . THE END