About this book

R.U.R. (Rossum's Universal Robots)

Karel Čapek

ALQUIST. Just a builder. Please sit down. HELENA. Excuse me, gentlemen. Have I done something dreadful? ALQUIST. Not at all, Miss Glory. BUSMAN. (_Handing flowers_) Allow me, Miss Glory. HELENA. Thank you. FABRY. (_Handing candy_) Please, Miss Glory. DOMIN. Will you have a cigarette, Miss Glory? HELENA. No, thank you. DOMIN. Do you mind if I do? HELENA. Certainly not. BUSMAN. Well, now, Miss Glory, it is certainly nice to have you with us. HELENA. (_Seriously_) But you know I’ve come to disturb your Robots for you. (_BUSMAN pulls chair closer._) DOMIN. (_Mocking her serious tone_) My dear Miss Glory-- (_Chuckle_) --we’ve had close upon a hundred saviors and prophets here. Every ship brings us some. Missionaries, Anarchists, Salvation Army, all sorts! It’s astonishing what a number of churches and idiots there are in the world. HELENA. And yet you let them speak to the Robots. DOMIN. So far we’ve let them all. Why not? The Robot remembers everything but that’s all. They don’t even laugh at what the people say. Really it’s quite incredible. HELENA. I’m a stupid girl. Send me back by the first ship. DR. GALL. Not for anything in the world, Miss Glory. Why should we send you back? DOMIN. If it would amuse you, Miss Glory, I’ll take you down to the Robot warehouse. It holds about three hundred thousand of them. BUSMAN. Three hundred and forty-seven thousand. DOMIN. Good, and you can say whatever you like to them. You can read the Bible, recite the multiplication table, whatever you please. You can even preach to them about human rights. HELENA. Oh, I think that if you were to show them a little love. FABRY. Impossible, Miss Glory! _Nothing is harder to like than a Robot._ HELENA. What do you make them for, then? BUSMAN. Ha, ha, ha! That’s good. What are Robots made for? FABRY. For _work_, Miss Glory. One Robot can replace two and a half _workmen_. The human machine, Miss Glory, was terribly _imperfect_. It had to be removed sooner or later. BUSMAN. It was too expensive. FABRY. It was not _effective_. It no longer answers the requirements of _modern engineering_. Nature has no idea of keeping pace with _modern labor_. For example, from a technical point of view, the whole of _childhood_ is a sheer absurdity. So much time lost. And then again-- HELENA. (_Turns to DOMIN_) Oh, no, no! FABRY. Pardon me. What is the real _aim_ of your League--the--the Humanity League? HELENA. Its real purpose is to--to protect the Robots--and--and to insure good treatment for them. FABRY. Not a bad object, either. A machine has to be treated properly. (_Leans back_) _I don’t like damaged articles._ Please, Miss Glory, enroll us all _members_ of your league. (_“Yes, yes!” from all MEN._) HELENA. No, you don’t understand me. What we really want is to--to--_liberate_ the Robots. (_Looks at all OTHERS._) HALLEMEIER. How do you propose to do that? HELENA. They are to be--to be dealt with like human beings. HALLEMEIER. Aha! I suppose they’re to vote. To drink beer. To order us about? HELENA. Why shouldn’t they drink beer? HALLEMEIER. Perhaps they’re even to receive wages? (_Looking at other MEN, amused._) HELENA. Of course they are. HALLEMEIER. Fancy that! Now! And what would they do with their wages, pray? HELENA. They would buy--what they want--what pleases them. HALLEMEIER. That would be very nice, Miss Glory, only there’s nothing that does please the Robots. Good heavens, what are they to buy? You can feed them on pineapples, straw, whatever you like. It’s all the _same_ to them. They’ve no appetite at all. They’ve no interest in anything. Why, hang it all, nobody’s ever yet seen a Robot smile. HELENA. Why--why don’t you make them--happier? HALLEMEIER. That wouldn’t do, Miss Glory. They are only workmen. HELENA. Oh, but they’re so intelligent. HALLEMEIER. Confoundedly so, but they’re nothing else. They’ve no will of their own. No soul. No passion. HELENA. No love? HALLEMEIER. Love? Huh! Rather not. Robots don’t love. Not even themselves. HELENA. No defiance? HALLEMEIER. Defiance? I don’t know. Only _rarely_, from time to time. HELENA. What happens then? HALLEMEIER. Nothing particular. Occasionally they seem to go off their _heads_. Something like epilepsy, you know. It’s called “Robot’s Cramp.” They’ll suddenly sling down everything they’re holding, stand still, gnash their teeth--and then they have to go into the stamping-mill. It’s evidently some breakdown in the mechanism. DOMIN. (_Sitting on desk_) A flaw in the works that has to be removed. HELENA. No, no, that’s the soul. FABRY. (_Humorously_) Do you think that the soul first shows itself by a gnashing of teeth? (_MEN chuckle._) HELENA. Perhaps it’s just a sign that there’s a struggle within. Perhaps it’s a sort of revolt. Oh, if you could infuse them with it. DOMIN. That’ll be remedied, Miss Glory. Doctor Gall is just making some experiments. DR. GALL. Not with regard to that, Domin. At present I am making _pain_ nerves. HELENA. Pain nerves? DR. GALL. Yes, the Robots feel practically no bodily pain. You see, young Rossum provided them with too limited a _nervous_ system. We _must_ introduce _suffering_. HELENA. Why do you want to cause them pain? DR. GALL. For industrial reasons, Miss Glory. Sometimes a Robot does damage to himself because it doesn’t hurt him. He puts his hand into the machine-- (_Describes with gesture_) --breaks his finger-- (_Describes with gesture_) --smashes his head. It’s all the same to him. We must provide them with _pain_. That’s an automatic _protection_ against damage. HELENA. Will they be happier when they feel pain? DR. GALL. On the contrary; but they will be more perfect from a technical point of view. HELENA. Why don’t you create a soul for them? DR. GALL. That’s not in our power. FABRY. That’s not in our interest. BUSMAN. That would increase the cost of production. Hang it all, my dear young lady, we turn them out at such a cheap rate--a hundred and fifty dollars each, fully dressed, and fifteen years ago they cost ten thousand. Five years ago we used to buy the _clothes_ for them. Today we have our own weaving mill, and now we even _export_ cloth five times cheaper than other factories. What do you pay a yard for cloth, Miss Glory? HELENA. (_Looking at DOMIN_) I don’t really know. I’ve forgotten. BUSMAN. Good gracious, and you want to found a Humanity League. (_MEN chuckle._) It only costs a third now, Miss Glory. All prices are today a third of what they were and they’ll fall still lower, lower, like that. HELENA. I don’t understand. BUSMAN. Why, bless you, Miss Glory, it means that the cost of _labor_ has fallen. A Robot, food and all, costs three-quarters of a cent per hour. (_Leans forward_) That’s mighty important, you know. All factories will go pop like chestnuts if they don’t at once buy Robots to lower the cost of production. HELENA. And get rid of all their workmen? BUSMAN. Of course. But in the meantime we’ve dumped five hundred thousand _tropical_ Robots down on the Argentine pampas to grow corn. Would you mind telling me how much you pay a pound for bread? HELENA. I’ve no idea. (_ALL smile._) BUSMAN. Well, I’ll tell you. It now costs two cents in good old Europe. A pound of bread for two cents, and the _Humanity League_-- (_Designates HELENA_) --knows nothing about it. (_To MEN_) Miss Glory, you don’t realize that even _that’s_ too expensive. (_All MEN chuckle._) Why, in five years’ time I’ll wager-- HELENA. What? BUSMAN. That the cost of everything will be a tenth of what it is today. Why, in five years we’ll be up to our ears in corn and--everything else. ALQUIST. Yes, and all the workers throughout the world will be unemployed. DOMIN. (_Seriously. Rises_) Yes, Alquist, they will. Yes, Miss Glory, they will. But in ten years Rossum’s Universal Robots will produce so much _corn_, so much _cloth_, so much everything that things will be practically without price. There will be no poverty. All work will be done by living machines. Everybody will be free from worry and liberated from the degradation of labor. Everybody will live only to _perfect_ himself. HELENA. Will he? DOMIN. Of course. It’s bound to happen. Then the servitude of man to man and the enslavement of man to matter will cease. Nobody will get bread at the cost of life and hatred. The Robots will wash the feet of the beggar and prepare a bed for him in his house. ALQUIST. Domin, Domin, what you say sounds too much like Paradise. There was something _good_ in _service_ and something _great_ in humility. There was some kind of virtue in _toil_ and _weariness_. DOMIN. Perhaps, but we cannot reckon with what is lost when we start out to transform the world. Man shall be _free_ and supreme; he shall have no other aim, no other labor, no other care than to perfect himself. He shall serve neither matter nor man. He will not be a machine and a device for production. He will be _Lord_ of creation. BUSMAN. Amen. FABRY. So be it. HELENA. (_Rises_) You have bewildered me. I should like to believe this. DR. GALL. You are younger than we are, Miss Glory. You will live to see it. HALLEMEIER. True. (_Looking around_) Don’t you think Miss Glory might lunch with us? (_All MEN rise._) DR. GALL. Of course. Domin, ask her on behalf of us all. DOMIN. Miss Glory, will you do us the honor? HELENA. When you know why I’ve come? FABRY. For the League of Humanity, Miss Glory. HELENA. Oh, in that case perhaps-- FABRY. That’s fine. (_Pause_) Miss Glory, excuse me for five minutes. (_Exits R._) HALLEMEIER. Thank you. (_Exits R. with DR. GALL._) BUSMAN. (_Whispering_) I’ll be back soon. (_Beckoning to ALQUIST, they exit._) ALQUIST. (_Starts, stops, then to HELENA, then to door_) I’ll be back in exactly five minutes. (_Exits R._) HELENA. What have they all gone for? DOMIN. To cook, Miss Glory. (_On her L._) HELENA. To cook what? DOMIN. Lunch. (_They laugh; takes her hand_) The Robots do our cooking for us and as they’ve no taste it’s not altogether-- (_She laughs._) Hallemeier is awfully _good_ at grills and Gall can make any kind of sauce, and Busman knows all about omelets. HELENA. What a feast! And what’s the specialty of Mr.--your builder? DOMIN. Alquist? Nothing. He only lays the table. And Fabry will get together a little fruit. Our cuisine is very modest, Miss Glory. HELENA. (_Thoughtfully_) I wanted to ask you something-- DOMIN. And I wanted to ask you something too--they’ll be back in five minutes. (_Looks at door R._) HELENA. What did you want to ask me? (_Sits C._) DOMIN. Excuse me, you asked first. (_Sits L. of her._) HELENA. Perhaps it’s silly of me, but why do you manufacture female Robots when--when-- DOMIN. When sex means nothing to them? HELENA. Yes. DOMIN. There’s a certain demand for them, you see. Servants, saleswomen, stenographers. People are _used_ to it. HELENA. But--but tell me, are the Robots male and female, mutually--completely without-- DOMIN. Completely indifferent to each other, Miss Glory. There’s no sign of any _affection_ between them. HELENA. Oh, that’s terrible. DOMIN. Why? HELENA. It’s so unnatural. One doesn’t know whether to be disgusted or to hate them, or perhaps-- DOMIN. To pity them. (_Smiles._) HELENA. That’s more like it. What did you want to ask _me_? DOMIN. I should like to ask you, Miss Helena, if you will marry me. HELENA. What? (_Rises._) DOMIN. Will you be my wife? (_Rises._) HELENA. No. The idea! DOMIN. (_To her, looking at his watch_) Another three minutes. If you don’t marry me you’ll have to marry one of the other five. HELENA. But why should I?