B00ARI2G5C EBOK (15 page)

To spacious cellars, locked of old:

There tankards, plates and vessels of pure gold

All ranged in rows he will behold;

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There ruby-decorated goblets stand

Ready for use; for close at hand

Ancient elixirs still are stored.

Though here—you must believe my expert word—

The wooden staves have long disintegrated,

And yet the tartar crust such wine precipitated

Is now its cask Wine’s noble essence too

Must hide, as gold and jewels do,

Under a cloak of dreadful night.

But here the sage works on undaunted:

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Research is trivialized by too much light,

And night, not day, by mysteries is haunted.

THE EMPEROR
. We want no darkness and no mysteries here;

Whatever is of value must appear

In daylight. In the dark, thieves slip away,

All cows are black and every cat is grey.

If there are pots of gold there, take your plough

And dig them up into the here and now.

MEPHISTOPHELES
. You yourself must take tools and excavate;

Such peasant labour, Sire, will make you great,

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And a whole herd will come to birth

Of golden calves emerging from the earth.

Then with what joy you and your sweetheart may

Be instantly adorned with rich array!

On glittering stones the colours all will dance,

Beauty and majesty alike to enhance.

THE EMPEROR
. At once, at once then! How long must I wait!

THE ASTROLOGER
[
prompted as before]
.

Let me entreat you, Sire, to moderate

Your fierce impatience till the merry feast

Is over! Order serves our purpose best.

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A penitent restraint first reconciles us,

Meriting heaven before earth beguiles us.

Who would enjoy good things, let him be good,

The pleasure-seeker cool his ardent blood;

Who calls for wine, ripe grapes he first must tread;

Who’d sup on wonders, let his faith be fed!

THE EMPEROR
. So let us join in revels and in play!

I see tomorrow is Ash Wednesday.

Till then, in any case, I bid you all

Celebrate a still wilder Carnival!

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[
Trumpets, exeunt
.]

MEPHISTOPHELES
. Merit and fortune interweave as one;

These fools don’t know it. If they ever were

To find the famous Philosophic Stone,

They’d have a stone but no philosopher.

[
A spacious hall with ante-rooms, embellished and decorated for the festivities
.]

A HERALD
. Forget you are in German lands, forget

Dances of Death, of fools and devilry:

These shall not mar our pleasant revelry!

Our noble Emperor, when he set

His course for Rome, and crossed the Alpine heights,

Conquered, for his advantages and your delights,

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A southern realm of gaiety.

There, at the Holy Father’s stool,

He humbly stooped and claimed the right to rule;

A crown was what he went to ask,

But with the crown he brought us back the mask.

Now all are reborn in this garb of jest,

And every worldly man of us is glad

To pull it round his ears and head,

To look a clown and to be antic-mad,

Though under it he’s sane like all the rest.

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I see already how they gather

And part, and fondly come together,

Chorus with chorus as they meet and mix,

As in and out and out and in they go.

Here we shall learn what we already know:

That with its hundred thousand foolish tricks

The world was always a great fool, and still is so.

FLOWER-GIRLS
[
singing, accompanied by mandolines]
.

Siamo belle Florentine:

All our finery we’ve brought,

For we would be
signorine

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Worthy of the German court.

Many flowers we are wearing

On our dark and curly heads,

Silken flakes and silken threads

In their composition sharing,

And their making is a special

Skill, deservedly renowned:

Though their beauty’s artificial,

It will blossom all year round.

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Many colours, tiny pieces,

All arranged in symmetry;

Each one variously pleases,

But the whole is harmony.

Siamo belle giardiniere
,

And with men we’re not contrary:

For in every woman’s heart

Nature is akin to art.

THE HERALD
. Baskets on your heads and arms,

Richly loaded, match your charms;

Show your wares! Let all make haste,

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Each to buy what suits his taste,

That a garden may appear,

Paths and arbours all be here,

Maidens and their merchandise

Crowd into a paradise!

THE FLOWER-GIRLS
. Let us sell, but let us not

Bargain in this pleasant spot.

Buyers shall be plainly told

What they’ll pay and what they’re sold.

AN OLIVE BRANCH IN FRUIT
.

Fruit and flower wage no strife;

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I need envy none of these,

It is not my way of life.

I, the strength of lands and fields,

Am their guarantee of peace

By my steady annual yields.

Let us hope that I shall now

Decorate some noble brow.

A GARLAND OF GOLDEN CORN SHEAVES
.

We are gifts the Earth Goddess sent:

Add us to your jewellery!

This most craved utility

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Also charms as ornament.

A FANTASY GARLAND
. Many-coloured mallows rising

Strangely from the mossy ground!

We are Fashion’s own devising,

Though in Nature seldom found.

A FANTASY BOUQUET
. I am nameless, I was missed

Out of Theophrastus’ list;
*

Yet I hope to enrapture you,

If not all, at least a few.

Who will twine me in her hair

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Lovingly to adorn her there?

Who will raise me to her breast,

Grant me there so sweet to rest?

A CHALLENGE OF ROSEBUDS
.

Let such motley fancies flower

For the fashion of the hour;

Strangest structures be invented,

Though by Nature not intended!

Stems of green and cups of gold

In those tresses all behold—

But we grow unseen, unbidden,

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And when rosebuds first ablaze

Hint at early summer days

You may find us, fresh and hidden;

Such a pleasure who would miss?

Promise and fulfilment: this

Law in Flora’s kingdom binds

Every eye, all hearts and minds.

[
THE FLOWER-GIRLS
prettily arrange their wares in the leafy avenues
.]

GARDENERS
[
singing, accompanied by bass lutes]
.

Flowers that seem to bloom and grow

On your heads their beauties show;

Fruit with living flesh and juices

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Only for itself seduces.

We, the sun-burnt workers, sell you

Cherries, king plums, blushing peaches:

Buy them! for your eyes will tell you

Less than tongue or palate teaches.

Come, this fruit is ripe and sweet;

Taste, for it is good to eat!

Poems to a rose are written,

But an apple must be bitten.

Let us join your pretty labours;

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Richest youth is youth that shares!

We’ll display our mellow wares

In abundance, as good neighbours.

Arbours decked and garlands wound,

Bowers blithe and convolute:

All at once may here be found,

Bud and petals, flower and fruit.

[
Singing in turns and accompanied by guitars and bass lutes, the two choruses continue to offer their wares and to arrange them in a display which mounts higher and higher. A
MOTHER
and
DAUGHTER
enter
.]

THE MOTHER
. When you were but a mite, my lass,

I put you in a bonnet;

Your figure and your little face

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Were pretty as a sonnet.

Even then I saw you as a bride

With a rich husband by your side—

I set my heart upon it.

Ah well; now many a year’s gone by,

Wasted and dissipated.

The wooers come, but off they fly,

And none of them has waited;

And yet you danced and did your best,

With nod and nudge your interest

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Was clearly indicated.

At all our parties, what went wrong

We never could discover—

Forfeits and Third Man all night long,

And all was vain endeavour!

But on a crazy night like this,

Open your legs now, little miss,

And you’ll soon catch a lover.

[
They are joined by a number of pretty young playmates, and all the girls begin gossiping intimately together.
FISHERMEN
and
BIRD-CATCHERS
with nets, rods, lime twigs, and other equipment enter and mix with the pretty girls. Charming dialogues
*
develop as they all by turns try to woo and capture and escape and hold on to each other
.]

HEWERS OF WOOD
[
roughly bursting in]
.

Make way! A clearing!

Space for us, please!

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We’re felling trees;

The timber crashes;

The load we’re bearing

Bumps and bashes.

You must understand

We want praise and esteem:

For if none in the land

Were hard of hand,

Where would they be,

The cream of the cream,

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For all their wit?

They’d freeze, if we

Didn’t sweat, you see;

That’s the nub of it.

PUNCHINELLOS
*
[
performing clumsily, almost inanely]
.

You poor stupid hacks

Born with bent backs!

We are the sly ones,

The work-shy ones.

Dunce-caps sit lightly,

Our garb is flimsy;

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We can be sprightly,

Live by our whimsy,

Leisurely skippers

In comfy slippers.

Through street and square,

Through crowds we go;

We stand and stare,

We shriek and crow

To call each other,

Like eels we slither

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Right through the throng,

And dance together

The mad day long.

Whether you praise us

Or criticize us,

We never bother!

PARASITES
*
[
eagerly fawning]
.

You stout log-bearers

And your near-brothers

The charcoal-burners,

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You are our heroes!

Would not our bowing,

Nodding and scraping,

Flattersome phrasing,

Hot and cold blowing

That bends to fancies

And suits pretences,

Be unavailing

(Though we were given

Supplies unfailing

Of fire from heaven)

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If logs were lacking,

No charcoal setting

The wide hearth blazing,

The hot flames cracking?

There the food’s basted

And seethed and roasted;

The patroned picker,

The true plate-licker,

Smells fish and meats,

And comes to table

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Eager and able

For gastric feats.

A DRUNKARD
[
oblivious]
.

Now I’ll have a jolly day,

Nothing getting in my way!

Look at what I’ve brought along:

High good cheer, a merry song.

So I’ll drink! I’m drinking, drinking:

Come, drink with me, clink-a-clinking!

You back there, come join the fun!

Lift your elbows and it’s done!

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My good wife turns up her nose,

Scolds me for these motley clothes,

Doesn’t find my antics funny,

Tells me I’m a costume-dummy.

But I drink! I’m drinking, drinking:

Drink, my hearties, clink-a-clinking!

All you dummies, this is fun!

Fill your glasses and it’s done!

If I’m lost, why, then I’ve strayed

To a most convenient spot:

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Credit from mine host, if not

From his wife or from the maid.

So I still am drinking, drinking;

Come on, you lot, clink-a-clinking,

Each to each! So on it goes;

Now we’re all drunk, I suppose.

Be such revels where they may,

Let it always end this way!

Let me lie now where I’m lying;

I can’t stand, it’s no use trying.

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CHORUS
. Brothers, let’s be drinking, drinking!

Raise a toast, a-clinking clinking!

This one’s ended on the floor:

Keep your seats or there’ll be more.

[
THE HERALD
announces poets of various kinds: nature poets, bards of chivalry and court life, tender minstrels and rhapsodists. In this throng of miscellaneous competitors none succeeds in making himself heard. One of them slinks past, uttering a few words
.]

A SATIRIST
. If I might do the very thing

To give my poet’s soul some cheer,

I would write and speak and sing

What no one wants to hear.