War With the Newts

by Karel Čapek

  Monsieur le Maire, Monsieur Paul Mallory (the great poet), Mme Maria Dimineanu (the delegate of the International Institute for Intellectual Cooperation), the Director of the Institute for Mediterranean Studies and other official personages have taken their seats on the dais. By the side of the dais is the lectern for the lecturer and behind it - well yes, it really is a bath tub. An ordinary bath tub such as you might find in a bathroom. And two officials are now leading that shy creature in the long cape to the dais. There is a burst of slightly embarrassed applause. Dr Charles Mercier bows shyly and looks about him uncertainly for somewhere to sit down. ‘Voild, Monsieur,* whispers a functionary, pointing to the bath tub. ‘That’s for you.’ Dr Mercier is clearly very embarrassed but does not know how he can refuse this attentive arrangement; he tries to get into the bath as unobtrusively as possible, but he gets tangled up in his long cape and with a noisy splash falls into the water. The gentlemen on the dais get splashed quite a bit but of course behave as if nothing has happened; someone in the audience giggles hysterically but the gentlemen in the front rows turn their heads disapprovingly and hiss pssst! At that moment Monsieur le Maire et Depute rises to his feet and starts to speak. ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he says, ‘I have the honour to welcome Dr Charles Mercier to our fair city of Nice. Dr Mercier is an outstanding representative of our near neighbours, the denizens of the deep sea.’ (Dr Mercier half emerges from his tub and bows deeply.) ‘This is the first time in the history of civilisation that the sea and the land are joining hands in scientific collaboration. In the past our intellectual life has come up against an impassable barrier: the world ocean. We could cross it, we could sail our ships on it in all directions, but, ladies and gendemen, civilisation was unable to penetrate below its surface. That small piece of land on which mankind lives had hitherto been surrounded by a virgin sea, a wild sea; it had been a beautiful frame but also an age-old divide: on one side a rising civilisation and on the other eternal and unchanging nature. That barrier, dear ladies and gentlemen, is now falling. (Applause) We, the children of this great epoch, have been granted the incomparable happiness to be eye-witnesses to the growth of our spiritual homeland, to watch it cross our shoreline, descend into the sea’s waves, conquer the deep, and link a modern and civilised ocean to our ancient civilised land. What a fantastic experience! (Bravo!) Ladies and gentlemen, only by the emergence of an oceanic culture, whose eminent representative we have the honour to welcome in our midst today, has our planet become truly and wholly civilised.’ (Enthusiastic applause. Dr Mercier rises from his bath and bows.)

  ‘Dear doctor and great scientist’ - Monsieur le Maire et Depute then turned to Dr Mercier who was holding on to the edge of the bath, his gills twitching heavily with emotion - ‘you will be able to pass on to your fellow-countrymen and friends on the sea-bed our congratulations, our admiration and our warmest sympathy. Tell them that in you, our marine neighbours, we welcome the vanguard of progress and education, a vanguard that will, step by step, colonise the boundless regions of the sea and establish a new world of culture on the ocean floor. I can see rising within the depths of the ocean a new Athens and a new Rome; I can see flourishing there a new Paris with submarine Louvres and Sorbonnes, with submarine Triumphal Arches and Tombs of Unknown Warriors, with theatres and boulevards. And permit me to utter my most secret thought: I hope that, facing our beloved Nice, there will arise under the blue waves of the Mediterranean a new glorious Nice, your Nice, its magnificent submarine roads, parks and promenades forming an ornamental edge to our azure coast. We hope to get to know you better, and we hope you will come to know us better; personally, I am convinced that closer scientific and social contacts, such as we are inaugurating this day under such happy auspices, will lead our nations towards ever closer cultural and political co-operation for the good of all mankind, in the interest of world peace, prosperity and progress.’ (Prolonged applause)

  Dr Charles Mercier next rose and tried with a few words to thank the Mayor and Deputy for Nice; but for one thing he was too moved and for another his pronunciation was a little strange so that, from his whole speech, I caught only a few laboriously uttered words; unless I am mistaken they included ‘deeply honoured’, ‘cultural relations’ and ‘Victor Hugo’. After that, evidently very nervous, he hid again in his tub.

  The next speaker was Paul Mallory; what he delivered was not an address but a hymnic poem illumined by a profound philosophy. ‘I am grateful to Destiny,’ he said, ‘that I have lived to see the fulfilment and confirmation of one of mankind’s most beautiful legends. It is a strange confirmation and fulfilment: instead of a mythical Adantis that has sunk beneath the waves we are watching, with amazement, a new Atlantis rising from the deep. Dear colleague Mercier, you, who are a poet of spatial geometry, and your learned friends, are the first ambassadors of that new world which is rising from the sea - not Aphrodite rising from the foam but Pallas Anadyomene. But far more amazing and infinitely more mysterious is the fact that … ‘(the rest is missing).

  24 Preserved among Mr Povondra’s papers is a rather blurred newspaper photograph showing the two Newt delegates climbing the steps from the Quai du Mont Blanc on the shore of Lake Geneva, to make their way to the sitting of the Commission. It would appear therefore that they were officially accommodated in Lake Geneva itself.

  As for the Geneva Commission for the Study of the Newt Question, its important and meritorious work lay chiefly in that it was careful to avoid all controversial political and economic issues. It was permanently in session for a large number of years, with over 500 sittings, at which there was much talk of an internationally unified terminology for the Newts. The fact was that hopeless chaos reigned in that field: alongside the scientific terms Salamandra, Molche, Batrachus and others (terms that they were beginning to regard as rather offensive) a whole string of other titles was proposed. The Newts were to be called Tritons, Neptunids, Tethyds, Nereids, Atlants, Oceanics, Poseidons, Lemurs, Pelagics, Litorales, Bathyds, Abyssides, Hydrions, Zhandemeres (Gens deMer), Soumarins, etc. The Commission for the Study of the Newt Question was to chose the most suitable name from this list of suggestions, and it was zealously and conscientiously absorbed in that task until the very end of the Newt Age. Admittedly, no final or unanimous conclusion was ever reached.

  25 Mr Povondra’s collection also included two or three articles from NdrodniPolitika on today’s youth; presumably he had included them in this phase of Newt civilisation in error.

  26 A gentleman from Dejvice told Mr Povondra that he had gone for a swim off the beach of Katwijk am Zee. He had swum out a good distance when the lifeguard shouted to him to return. The gentleman in question (a Mr Pfihoda, a commission agent) paid no attention and swam further out. The lifeguard thereupon leapt into a boat and paddled after him. ‘Oy there,’ he said to him; ‘you can’t bathe here!’

  ‘And why not?’ asked Mr Pfihoda.

  ‘There are Newts about.’

  ‘I’m not afraid of them,’ Mr Pfihoda protested.

  ‘They’ve got some underwater factories here, or something of the sort,’ the lifeguard growled. ‘Nobody swims here, sir.’

  ‘And why not?’

  ‘The Newts don’t like it.’

  27 This proposal was evidently connected with generous political propaganda: thanks to Mr Povondra’s zeal as a collector we have a highly significant document on the subject. It states literally:

  3

  Mr Povondra Reads the

  Nothing reveals more clearly the passage of time than our children. Where is that young Frankie whom we left (not so long ago, really) pouring over the left-bank tributaries of the Danube?

  ‘Where the devil is that Frankie again?’ Mr Povondra growled, opening up his evening paper.

  ‘You know - same as always,’ said Mrs Povondra, bent over her darning.

  ‘Chasing some girl again,’ Papa Povondra remarked disapprovingly. ‘Damn that boy! Hardly thirty yet and won’t stay home a single evening!�
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  ‘The socks he wears out,’ sighed Mrs Povondra, pulling another hopeless sock over her wooden mushroom. ‘What am I to do with this?’ she asked, contemplating an extensive hole in the heel, its shape reminiscent of Ceylon. ‘Should really throw it away,’ she observed critically, but after some lengthy strategic consideration she resolutely stuck her needle into the southern coast of Ceylon.

  There was a dignified family silence, so dear to Papa Povondra’s heart; only his newspaper rustled, and to it responded a quickly drawn thread.

  ‘Have they got him yet?’ Mrs Povondra inquired.

  ‘Got who?’

  ‘That murderer - man who killed that woman.’

  ‘Not worrying about your murderer,’ Mr Povondra growled with some distaste. ‘It says here that tension has broken out between Japan and China. Now that’s a serious matter. Over there it’s always a serious matter.’

  ‘I don’t believe they’ll catch him now,’ Mrs Povondra opined.

  ‘Catch who?’

  ‘That murderer. When a fellow kills a woman they hardly ever catch him.’

  ‘Japan doesn’t like to see China regulating the Yellow River. That’s politics for you. So long as that Yellow River’s a nuisance out there, flooding every other moment and causing hunger in China, well that weakens China, see? Lend me those scissors, Mother, I’m cutting it out.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it says here that 2 million Newts are working on the Yellow River.’

  ‘That’s a lot, isn’t it?’

  ‘You can say that again! But I bet the Americans are paying for it all. That’s why the Mikado would like to employ his own Newts there. - Why, just look at that!’

  ‘What does it say then?’

  ‘It’s the Petit Parisien saying that France won’t put up with it. Too right! I wouldn’t put up with it either.’ ‘What wouldn’t you put up with?’

  ‘Italy enlarging the island of Lampedusa. That’s a terribly important strategic base, see? From Lampedusa the Italians could threaten Tunis. Petit Parisien says that Italy would like to turn that Lampedusa into a full-size naval base. Said to have 60,000 armed Newts there. Makes you think, don’t it? Sixty thousand, that’s three divisions, Mother. I’m telling you, something’s going to happen in that Mediterranean one day. Gimme them, I’m cutting it out.’

  Ceylon, meanwhile, was disappearing under Mrs Povondra’s industrious fingers: it had now shrunk to the size of Rhodes.

  ‘And England too,’ Papa Povondra meditated; ‘she’s in for trouble too. Someone’s been saying in the House of Commons that Great Britain’s lagging behind other countries in these underwater constructions. That other colonial powers are feverishly constructing new shorelines and continents, while the British Government, with its conservative mistrust of the Newts - That’s the truth, Mother. Those English are terribly conservative. I knew a footmen from the British Legation once and for the love of God he wouldn’t let a Czech liver sausage pass his lips. Said they didn’t eat that sort of stuff at home and so he wouldn’t eat it here either. No wonder other countries are overtaking them.’ Mr Povondra shook his head gravely. ‘And France is extending her coast at Calais. Now the British papers are raising merry hell that France will be able to fire across the Channel if it gets narrower. That’s all they get out of it. They could extend their own coast at Dover and shoot at France.’

  ‘And why must they shoot at all?’ asked Mrs Povondra.

  ‘You don’t understand these things. These are military considerations. Shouldn’t be surprised if the balloon doesn’t go up there one day. There or somewhere else. Stands to reason, now what with those Newts the world situation is quite different, Mother. Quite different.’

  ‘You think there’ll be a war?’ Mrs Povondra sounded worried. ‘You know, because of our Frankie. Wouldn’t want him to have to go off.’

  ‘War?’ Papa Povondra reflected. ‘There’ll have to be a world war so the states can share out the sea between them. But we’ll remain neutral. Somebody’s got to be neutral so they can supply arms and the like to the others. That’s how it is,’ Mr Povondra decided. ‘But you womenfolk don’t understand.’

  Mrs Povondra pressed her lips together and with rapid stitches completed the liquidation of Ceylon from young Frankie’s sock.

  ‘And to think,’ Papa Povondra spoke up again with barely muted pride, ‘that this threatening situation wouldn’t have come about without me! If I hadn’t taken that captain to see Mr Bondy the whole of history would look different now. Some other doorman mightn’t have let him in even, but I said to myself, I’ll chance it. And now look at the trouble some countries are in because of it, like England or France! And we don’t even know where it all may lead to … ‘Mr Povondra excitedly puffed at his pipe. ‘That’s how it is, my girl. Papers are full of those Newts. Here again … ‘Papa Povondra put down his pipe. ‘Here it says that near the town of Kankesanturai in Ceylon the Newts have raided a village. Seems the natives had killed some Newts there first. The police were called out as well as a company of native troops,’ Mr Povondra read aloud, ‘whereupon a regular exchange of fire developed between Newts and humans. Several soldiers were wounded … ‘Papa Povondra put down his paper. ‘I don’t like the look of it, Mother.’

  ‘Why not?’ Mrs Povondra was surprised. Carefully and with satisfaction she tapped the area where the island of Ceylon had been with the handles of her scissors. ‘Surely there’s nothing to it!’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Papa Povondra burst out and started excitedly to pace the room. ‘But I don’t like the look of it. No, I don’t. An exchange of fire between humans and Newts - no, that shouldn’t be.’

  ‘Maybe those Newts were only defending themselves,’ Mrs Povondra said soothingly and put the socks away.

  ‘That’s just it,’ Mr Povondra muttered uneasily. ‘Once those brutes start to defend themselves it’ll be a sad day. This is the first time they’ve done it … Dammit, I don’t like the look of it!’ Mr Povondra stopped and hesitated. ‘I don’t know, but … maybe I shouldn’t have let that captain in to see Mr Bondy!’

  BOOK THREE

  War With the Newts

  1

  The Massacre on the Cocos Islands

  On one point Mr Povondra was mistaken: the skirmish at Kankesanturai was not the first clash between humans and Newts. The first recorded conflict occurred several years earlier on the Cocos Islands, in the good old days of pirate raids on the salamanders. But even that was not the earliest incident of its kind: in the Pacific ports there had been a good deal of talk of certain regrettable occurrences when the Newts had put up some sort of active resistance even to the regular S-Trade - but then history does not concern itself with such trifles.

  The business on the Cocos or Keeling Islands happened like this. The raiding ship Montrose of the well-known Harriman Pacific Trade Company under Captain James Lindley arrived there on its regular hunt for Newts of the so-called Macaroni type. There was a well-known and rich Newt colony in a bay of the Cocos Islands, established at the time by Captain van Toch but, because of its remote situation, was abandoned, as the saying is, to the care of the Good Lord. No one could accuse Captain Lindley of having been in any way negligent, not even in allowing his crew to go ashore unarmed. (The point is that by then the piratical Newt trade had acquired its regularised form. It is true, of course, that in the early days corsair ships and their crews had been armed with machine-guns, and indeed with field guns, not against the salamanders but against unfair competition from other pirates. On Karakelong Island, a landing party from a Harriman steamship had on one occasion clashed with the crew of a Danish ship whose captain had regarded Karakelong as his hunting ground; on that occasion both parties had settled their old scores, and more particularly their prestige and commercial differences by forgetting the Newt hunt and instead opening up at each other with their rifles and Hotchkisses. The Danes had won on land by making a knife charge, but the Harriman steamship had subsequentl
y fired her guns at the Danish ship and succeeded in sinking her with all hands, complete with Captain Niels. That became known as the Karakelong incident. The authorities and governments of the two countries had to intervene at that time, and pirate ships were henceforward forbidden to use heavy guns, machine-guns or hand-grenades. Moreover, the pirate companies divided the so-called free hunting grounds amongst themselves in such a way that each locality was visited by one particular pirate ship only. That gentleman’s agreement between the big pirates was actually kept and was respected also by lesser piratical entrepreneurs.) But to return to Captain Lindley. He was acting entirely in the spirit of the customary commercial and naval conventions of his day when he sent his men ashore on the Cocos Islands to hunt for Newts armed only with clubs and oars. Indeed the subsequent inquiry fully exonerated the dead captain.

  The landing party which went ashore on the Cocos Islands that moonlit night was commanded by Lieutenant Eddie McCarth, a man with experience of this kind of hunt. It is true that the crowd of Newts he encountered on the shore was unusually large - according to estimates some six or seven hundred strong adult males, whereas he only had sixteen men under his command. But no one can blame him for not abandoning his enterprise, if only because officers and crew of private vessels were customarily paid bonuses based on the number of captured Newts. In their subsequent inquiry the naval authorities found that ‘while Lieutenant McCarth must be held responsible for the unfortunate incident, no one would have acted differently in the given circumstances’. The unfortunate young officer actually displayed considerable prudence in not proceeding with the usual gradual encirclement of the Newts - which in view of the numerical ratio could not have been complete anyway - but instead ordering a sudden charge with the objective of cutting the Newts off from the sea, forcing them towards the centre of the island, and stunning them one by one with their clubs and oars. Unfortunately in the course of the charge the line-abreast of the sailors was broken and nearly two hundred salamanders escaped into the sea. Just as the raiding party was belabouring the Newts it had cut off from the sea the sharp cracks of submarine pistols (the shark guns) rang out at their backs: no one had suspected that these natural wild Newts of the Keeling Islands had been equipped with anti-shark pistols, and it was never discovered who had in fact supplied these weapons to them.