ARRAM
Well, Subka, what do you say to a ring? 
How prettily it hangs upon the bough! 
See, Subka!

SUBKA
Why, it’s just like Father’s ring!

ARRAM
[Striking a light.]
And now we’ll light the candles.

NANKO
[Clapping his hands and dancing.]
Yes that’s right! 
Light all the little candles on the tree! 
O, doesn’t the pistol shine, doesn’t the ring Glitter!

SUBKA
But O, it is like Father’s ring. 
He had a little piece of Mother’s hair
Plaited inside it, just like that.  It is
My father’s ring!

RADA
No.  There are many others
Just like it, Subka,—­hundreds, hundreds of others.

MICHAEL
And now, what’s in that package over there?

SUBKA
The gramophone!  O, that’s the gramophone! 
That’s Father’s Christmas present to us all.

NANKO
O, what a wonderful man the doctor was. 
Nobody else, in these parts, would have thought
Of buying a gramophone.  Let’s open it!

SUBKA
Yes!  Yes!  And we’ll give Father a surprise. 
It shall be playing a tune when he comes in.

[ARRAM opens the package.  NANKO capers round, rubbing his hands.]

NANKO
O, this will be a merry Christmas Eve. 
There now—­just see how this kind gentleman
Has opened the package for us.  Doesn’t it show
The value of training, military training? 
That’s what we want.  It benefits the health. 
Sets a man up.  Look at old Peter’s legs,
He’s a disgrace to the nation, a disgrace! 
Nobody shoots him, either.  So he spoils
Everything; for you know, you must admit,
Subka, that war means natural selection,
Survival of the fittest, don’t you see? 
For instance, I survive, and you survive;
Don’t we?  So Peter shouldn’t spoil it all. 
They say that all the tall young men in France
Were killed in the Napoleonic wars,
So that most Frenchmen at the present day
Are short and fat.  Isn’t that funny, Subka?
[She laughs.]
Which shows us that tall men are not required
To-day.  So nobody knows.  Perhaps thin legs
Like Peter’s may be useful after all
In aeroplanes or something.  Every ounce
Makes a great difference there.  Nobody knows. 
It’s natural selection, after all. 
Survival of the fittest!  Don’t you see? 
Ah, now the gramophone’s ready.  Make it play
“Proud Nikephor Determined!”

MICHAEL
[Taking out a record.]
Why, look here! 
Here is the tune for Christmas Eve.

ARRAM
[While he speaks he looks to outer door, and draws a curtain over the
window.]
Don’t do it! 
Don’t start it playing if you want to keep
This Christmas party to ourselves, my boy. 
The men are mad with drink and—­other things. 
Look here, Michael, what are we going to do
About this youngster, eh?