Scene Two
NIGHT. A WASTE
(
Enter the King, Princess Alma, with her father's lute on her back, and a circus rider.
)
THE KING.
Have we much further to go, brother, before we come to the place where the beggars' fair is to be held?
THE CIRCUS RIDER.
We shall be there by midnight, at the latest. The real fair does not begin until then. This must be the first time you have made this pilgrimage to the gallows?
THE KING.
It is only a few moons since we joined the strollers, but, nevertheless, we have danced at many a witches' sabbath.
THE CIRCUS RIDER.
It seems to me, brother, somewhere you have unlearned marching. Otherwise you are a robust enough fellow.
THE KING.
(
Sitting down on a boulder.
) My heart beats against my ribs like a caged bird of prey. The road leads up-hill, that takes my breath!
THE CIRCUS RIDER.
We have plenty of time.–Your boy, brother, is very much better on his legs. It's a pity about him! With me he could learn something more profitable than singing street ballads to the lute. Everywhere, that's considered not much better than begging. Let him go with me, brother, if only for half a year! At any rate, it would not be worse for him than following in your footsteps, and I'll make a rider out of him after whom the circus managers will break their necks!
THE KING.
Don't take me for an ass, dear brother; how can you make my boy succeed as a circus rider when you yourself must trudge afoot!
THE CIRCUS RIDER.
You are as suspicious as if you had kegs full of gold at home, while from all appearances you don't remember when you had warm food last! You won't get anywhere that, way! To-night at the beggars' fair we shall meet at least half a dozen circus managers. They gather there to look for artists to appear with them. Then you will see, you poor devil, how they will contend for me and how one will outbid the other! Thank God, I am not so unknown as you, you gutter singers! And if I get my job again, I shall have horses enough for your merry boy to break his neck the first day, if he has the mind!
THE KING.
Tell me, brother, does one find theatre managers too at the beggars' fair?
THE CIRCUS RIDER.
Theatre managers too, certainly. The theatre managers come there from all over the country. Where else would they get their dancers and their clowns! Frankly, brother, it seems very doubtful to me your getting an engagement. You don't look as if you could act a farce.
THE KING.
But there is a higher art, called tragedy!
THE CIRCUS RIDER.
Tragedy, yes, I have heard that name!–I understand nothing about that art, dear brother. I only know that it is miserable poor pay.–(
To Alma.
) Now, my brave lad, doesn't your mouth water for better fodder?–Do you want to learn circus riding with me?
THE KING.
(
Getting up.
) Forward, brother, do not let us miss the beggars' fair. Fortune only offers us her hand once a year!
(Exeunt.)
Scene Three
(Night. The gallows looms in the background. Forward, to the left, is a gigantic boulder, beneath a gnarled oak, which serves the performers as a stage. In front of it flickers a huge bonfire, about which are gathered the spectators, men, women and children, in fantastic raiment.)
(Chorus)
Both in town and country beds,
With their windows tightly fastened, honest folk are drowsing.
Those with no home for their heads
Dance with merry spectres 'neath the gallows tree carousing.
Exiles from the sun's bright light,
Fortune's tracks we still can follow in the dark obscurely,
And are lords in our own sight
While in heaven the friendly stars twinkle quite demurely.
A THEATRE MANAGER.
(
In a bass voice to an actor.
) Show me what you have learned, my worthy young friend.
Hic Rhodus hic salta
! What is your act?
THE ACTOR.
I act the fool, honored master.
THE THEATRE MANAGER.
Then act the fool, young friend, but act him well! Difficile est satiram non scribere! My public is used only to the best!
THE ACTOR.
I will give you a sample of my art at once.
THE THEATRE MANAGER.
If you find favor in my eyes, young friend, you shall have a hundred soldi a month.
Pacta exacta–boni amici
! Go, young friend, and give your proof.
(
The Actor mounts the rock. He is received with hand-clapping and cries of "bravo" by the spectators.
)
THE ACTOR.
(
Breaks first into laughter, then speaks the following lines, accompanying each couplet with a different kind of titter.
)
Count Onofrio was a man
As stupid as a ram,
And he had daughters seven
He wanted paired up even.
Their way no suitor bent his legs.
Rotten eggs! Rotten eggs!
THE AUDITORS.
(
Have interrupted this effort several times with hisses and whistles. At the last words they pelt the actor with clumps of earth, while with shrill whistling they repeat the words.
) Rotten eggs! Rotten eggs!
THE THEATRE MANAGER.
(
Blaring out above the rest of the noise.
) Down with the rascal! A page! The Lord God created him in wrath!
Alea est jacta
!
(
The Actor leaves the rock.
)
(
Chorus.
)
Nor believe not, human brood,
That pursuit of idle dreams fills our whole existence;
Lovers' ways are somewhat crude
When the night wind dead men's bones rattles with persistence!
(
The King, Princess Alma and a Procuress appear on the scene.
)
THE PROCURESS.
Now, ballad singer, how much will you take for that pretty boy of yours?–Listen to the pleasant clang of the goldpieces in my pocket!
THE KING.
Just now a circus rider wanted to buy him from me. Leave me and my boy in peace! I didn't come to the beggars' fair for this. Besides, what can you want with my boy!
THE PROCURESS.
Don't think I am so stupid, ballad singer, that I can't see that your boy is a girl! The sweet child will find a mother in me, more full of love for her than any one in the wide, wide world. (
To Alma
.) Don't tremble so, my pretty little dove! I won't eat you! When one grows up with such a pretty figure and such a round, rosy face, with fresh cherry lips and dark glowing eyes, one sleeps beneath silken covers and not in the open fields. You will not have to play the lute with me. Only to be charming. What pleasanter life can sprightly young blood desire? You will meet ministers of state and barons at my house; you will only have to chose. Have you ever been kissed by a real baron? That tastes better than a tramp's unshaven face!–Look here, ballad singer! Here are two undipped ducats. The girl belongs to me! It's a bargain!
THE KING.
Go snick up, you and your gold!–(
To Alma.
) That fool woman, in her stupidity, really takes you for a girl in boy's clothes! Why aren't you? If you were a girl, there would be no better opportunity than this to rid yourself of the bristly ballad singer! There is nothing worse than passing 'round the hat for pennies. Perhaps you have already gathered pennies thrown you by the compassionate foster-daughters of this worthy dame?! They always have a chance of being forced again into the exalted ranks of burghers' society as worthy members. Our star is not in the ascendant.
THE PROCURESS.
(
To Alma.
) Don't allow this vagabond to set your head whirling, for Heaven's sake, my dear! You don't know how cozy my house is! The whole day you can amuse yourself with a band of the liveliest companions. If the ballad singer won't sell you to me, let's run away from him. Don't be afraid of him! You will be as safe under my protection as if you were surrounded by a whole army corps.
ALMA.
(
Wrenching herself from the Procuress grasp.
) I will speak to him. (
Goes from her to the King. With trembling voice.
) Do you remember, my father, why we came to this beggars' fair?
THE KING.
I know, my child. (
He mounts the rock and is received until dry coughs. Then he speaks in a clear tone, but with inward emotion.
)
I am the ruler over all this land,
By God anointed, but by no one known!
And should I shriek until the mountains bent
That I am ruler over all this land,
The very birds would chirp a mock at me!
What profit then is this, my kingly thought
When hungering I snap with eager teeth,
As in the winter months the starving beasts?
But not to make a plaint of all my woes
Come I, my folk, to you!
THE SPECTATORS.
(
Break into shrill laughter, applaud stormily and cry loudly.
) Da capo! Da capo!
THE KING.
(
Anxiously and with embarrassment.
) Kind audience! My specialty on the stage is great and serious tragedy!
THE SPECTATORS.
(
Laughing loudly.
) Bravo! Bravo!
THE KING.
(
With all the force of his soul.
) What I have just told you is to me the dearest, the holiest thing that I have kept in the depths of my soul until now!
THE SPECTATORS.
(
Give vent to a new storm of approval, from out of which the words can be plainly heard
:) A remarkable comedian! An unusual character actor!
THE THEATRE MANAGER.
(
Who has mounted a rock back of the crowd in order to hear better.
) Finish your monologue, my dear young friend! Or does your poor brain harbor only these few crumbs?–
Si tacuisses, philosophus mansisses!
THE KING.
Very well, then! But I ask you from my heart, kind audience, to give my words the earnest meaning which belongs to them! How shall I succeed in moving your hearts, if you do not believe the plaints which come from my mouth!
THE SPECTATORS.
(
Laugh and applaud enthusiastically.
) What a pose he assumes!–And such droll grimaces!–Go on with your farce!
THE THEATRE MANAGER.
(
Hissing.
) Children! Children! Nothing is worse for the actor than applause! If you succeed in making him overvalue himself, the poor rogue will be capable only of the lowest kind of trash!
Odi profanum vulgus et arceo!
(
To the King.
) Continue, my son! It seems to me as if your parodies might amuse my enlightened public!
THE KING.
(
Seeking by every means to invest his speech with earnestness.
)
I am the ruler! To your knees with you!
What mean these bursts of mad, indecent mirth!
'Tis my own fault that here, in this my realm,
None knows me more. My sentinels slumber,
My doughty warriors serve another's wage.
I lack that highest earthly might, the gold!
Still, ever yet, was there a rightful king
Who spent his time in counting out his coin?
That task he graciously accords to slaves!
The farthing, soiled with sweat of tradesmen's toil
Was never struck with an intent to smirch
The hands of those anointed of the Lord!
THE SPECTATORS.
(
Breaking out into the wildest laughter.
)
Da capo!
–Bravo!–
Da capo!
A THEATRE MANAGER.
This man is a brilliant satirist! A second Juvenal!
THE KING.
(
As before.
)
I am the ruler!–He of you who doubts
Let him stand forth!–I'll prove my claim to him!
I was not wont before to praise myself,
But now the world has robbed me of that pride.
To him who wears a dagger at his hip
I'll teach the art of sinking it with grace
Into his foeman's breast; so that the duel,
From a rude spectacle of sweat and blood,
Becomes as pleasant as an el fen dance
And even death puts on a sweeter garb!–
I am the ruler!–From the herd of barbs
Bring me the wildest of unbroken steeds;
Nor trouble you with saddle nor with bit;
Let him but feel my heels press in his flanks
He'll pant beneath me in the Spanish gait
And from that time be tractable to ride.
I am the ruler! Come unto the feast!
The world is distant with its petty ills,
The evening star illuminates our meal,
From distant arcades mellow songs arise.
The guest may wander through the twilight green
Where, from the shelter of a plashing fall,
The sportive nymphs will lure him with their wiles.
I am the king! Go fetch a maiden here!
Let her be chaste as is the morning dew!
I'll not awake her innocent alarms;
I come a beggar with an empty scrip;
Six steps away from her I'll stand. Warn her
'Gainst wiles of Satan! 'Ere a star grows pale
I'll move, not only body, but her son!
Bring me the truest wife among them all!
She soon shall doubt if loathing or if faith
Is greater pander to the lusts of flesh
And, doubtingly, shall offer me her lips.
I am the king! What child is here as small
In hands and feet, or even in his joints!
With scorn I look upon you as you laugh,
Your feet may jig, your hands may fan the air,
The brains within your skulls are very stale!
So be it!–Will the slimmest maiden here
Venture to dance with me in trial of skill?
She never knew the bloody task of war
And all her joints are quite as small as mine.
(
As nobody offers, to Alma.
) Reach me a torch, my child!
(
Alma takes a glowing brand from the bonfire and hands it to the King. Then, standing at the foot of the rock, she plays a melody on her lute.
)
(
The King gracefully and with dignity dances a few steps of a courtly torch dance, then throws the glowing brand back into the fire.
)
(
The Spectators give vent to prolonged applause.
)
THE ACTOR.
(
Rising from amid the spectators, in a tone of parody.
)
I am the monarch over all this land–
THE SPECTATORS.
Down with the barber's assistant. He has no appreciation! Strike him to earth!
THE THEATRE MANAGER.
Quod licet Jovi, non licet bovi!–(
To the King, who has left the rock.
) I will engage you as ballet master and character actor and offer you a hundred soldi a month.
ANOTHER THEATRE MANAGER.
(
Speaking in a falsetto voice.
) Hundred soldi, hi, hi, hi? A hundred soldi will the skinflint give you?–I wave a hundred and fifty in your face, you rascal! What do you say, hi, hi, hi?–Will you now or won't you?
THE KING.
(
To the First Theatre Manager.
) Don't you think, honored master, that I am rather a tragedian than a comedian?
THE FIRST THEATRE MANAGER.
You haven't the least trace of talent as a tragedian; as character actor, on the contrary, there is no chance of it going ill with you again in this world. Believe me, my dear friend, I know these kings. I have eaten dinner with two of them at once! Your king's monologue is the caricature of a real king and will be valued as such.
THE SECOND THEATRE MANAGER.
Don't let yourself be hoodwinked by this horse dealer, you rascal! What does he know about comedy! I have studied my profession at the universities of Rome and Bologna. How about two hundred soldi, hi, hi, hi?
THE FIRST THEATRE MANAGER.
(
Clapping the King on the shoulder.
) I'll give you three hundred soldi, my dear young friend!
THE SECOND THEATRE MANAGER.
I'll give you four hundred soldi, you dirty rogue, hi, hi, hi!
THE FIRST THEATRE MANAGER.
(
Giving the King his purse.
) Here is my purse! Put it in your pocket and keep it as a souvenir of me!
THE KING.
(
Pocketing the purse.
) Will you engage my boy, too?
THE FIRST THEATRE MANAGER.
Your boy? What has he learned?
ALMA.
I play Punchinello, honored master.
THE FIRST THEATRE MANAGER.
Let me see him at once, your Punchinello.
ALMA.
(
Mounts the rock and speaks in fresh, lively tones.
)
Fortune's pranks are so astounding
That her whims none can foresee;
Sure, I find them so confounding
Smiles nor tears come not to me.
Heaven itself is scarcely steady,
O'er our heads it's turning yet,
Mankind then had best be ready
For a daily somerset.
Mischief, when his legs can trip it
When his arms are pliant still
Is so lovable a snippet
That he's sure of your good will!
THE SPECTATORS.
(
Show their approval.
)
THE FIRST THEATRE MANAGER.
I'll engage this puppy as the youngest Punchinello in the business.–We will wander to-night
per pedes Apostulorum
to Siena, where my company presents tragedy, farce and tragic-comedy. From thence to Modena, to Perugia–
THE KING.
Before we reach Perugia, I shall have to break my contract. I am banished that city under pain of death.
THE FIRST THEATRE MANAGER.
Under what name did that happen to you, my young friend?
THE KING.
I am called Ludovicus.
THE FIRST THEATRE MANAGER.
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