Woman’s Voice
My sunshade!
Man’s Voice
[Through the cracking of the whip.] Gee up!
The Manager
The wagon to the jingling of the harness rattles off, jolting out ditties. A turn in the road cuts off the unfinished song.—They are gone, quite gone. The performance can begin.
Some philosophers would say there was not a soul left, but we humbly believe that there are hearts. Man in leaving does not take with him all drama. One can laugh and suffer without him. [He listens again.]
Ardently humming, a velvety bumblebee hovers—then is still; he has plunged into a flower—Let us begin. Pray note that Aesop’s hump to-night does duty as prompter’s box!
The members of our company are small, but—[Calling toward the flies.] Alexander! [To the audience.] He is my chief machinist. [Calling again.] Let it down!
A Voice
[From the flies.] It’s coming, sir!
Manager
We have lowered between the audience and the stage an invisible screen of magnifying glass—
But there the violins are tuning up: Scraping of crystal bows, picking of strings!—Hush! Let the footlights now leap into brightness, for at a signal from their little leader the crickets’ orchestra have briskly fallen to!
Frrrt! The bumblebee emerges from the flower, shaking the yellow dust—A Hen comes on the scene as in La Fontaine’s fable. A Cuckoo calls, as in Beethoven’s symphony.