ALMA.
(Bursting into tears.) Lord God in Heaven! Then you don't want to see me here again!
THE KING.
(Caressingly.) I repay your sacrifice with discontent and ill humor. Thoughts become heavy and sluggish when a man continues talking to himself day in and day out.——Only this I ask of you; when freedom is restored to me, leave me to my fate—not forever, only until I show myself worthy of your greatness of soul.
ALMA.
Oh nevermore! Do not ask me ever to leave you! It is impossible that the future should be as bad as the past!
THE KING.
Not for you. I believe that gladly.
ALMA.
Melancholy has mastered you in this gloom. Your proud heart is almost ready to break. Nothing can be read in your face of the quiet peace you pretend to feel.
THE KING.
I have not seen my face for a year, but I can imagine how ugly it has grown. How my looks must wound your feelings!
ALMA.
Oh, do not talk like that, father!
THE KING.
But you know my imperturbable nature. And now you come in, the only thing to make my happiness complete. It is only to reward you richly and splendidly that I would become a king again.
ALMA.
I hear the jailer! Tell me how I can lighten your sufferings!
THE KING.
(Sinks down on the stool exhausted, half to himself:) What do I lack? How frightful this prison would become if the pleasures of life were admitted here! How can I desire here a beautiful woman, where I cannot even conjure up a recollection of beauty! My couch there is shut during the day. There is no other resting-place, and I lie down there at night as weary as if I had ploughed an acre. And in the morning the clanging bell wakes me from dreams more serene than those I dreamed as a child. (As the door is opened.) When you see me again, my child, you will hear no more complaints. You shall feel as happy with me as if you were outside in your sunny world. Farewell!
ALMA.
Farewell, Father! (She leaves the cell. The door clangs behind her.)
THE KING.
A whole long year vet!——(He goes toward the wall.) I will just count the marks again and see how many remain to be rubbed out.
NIGHT. A WASTE.
(Enter the King, Princess Alma, with her father's lute on her back, and a circus rider.)
(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.)
(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.)
(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 aredrowsing.Those with no home for their headsDance 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 sightWhile 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 manAs stupid as a ram,And he had daughters sevenHe 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 crudeWhen the night wind dead men's bones rattles withpersistence!
(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 bentThat I am ruler over all this land,The very birds would chirp a mock at me!What profit then is this, my kingly thoughtWhen hungering I snap with eager teeth,As in the winter months the starving beasts?But not to make a plaint of all my woesCome 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 kingWho spent his time in counting out his coin?That task he graciously accords to slaves!The farthing, soiled with sweat of tradesmen's toilWas never struck with an intent to smirchThe 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 doubtsLet 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 hipI'll teach the art of sinking it with graceInto his foeman's breast; so that the duel,From a rude spectacle of sweat and blood,Becomes as pleasant as an el fen danceAnd even death puts on a sweeter garb!——I am the ruler!——From the herd of barbsBring me the wildest of unbroken steeds;Nor trouble you with saddle nor with bit;Let him but feel my heels press in his flanksHe'll pant beneath me in the Spanish gaitAnd 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 greenWhere, 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 paleI'll move, not only body, but her son!Bring me the truest wife among them all!She soon shall doubt if loathing or if faithIs greater pander to the lusts of fleshAnd, doubtingly, shall offer me her lips.I am the king! What child is here as smallIn 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 hereVenture to dance with me in trial of skill?She never knew the bloody task of warAnd 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 astoundingThat her whims none can foresee;Sure, I find them so confoundingSmiles nor tears come not to me.Heaven itself is scarcely steady,O'er our heads it's turning yet,Mankind then had best be readyFor a daily somerset.Mischief, when his legs can trip itWhen his arms are pliant stillIs so lovable a snippetThat 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-nightper pedes Apostulorumto 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.
I name you Epaminondas Alexandrion! That was the name of a wonderfully talented comedian who eloped with my wife a short time ago.Nomen est omen!——Come, my children. (Leaves with the King and Alma.)
CHORUS.
Soon the sun will rise in state,Us to scatter for a year; here and there upon the wind,Driven by relentless Fate,To hunt illusive phantoms none of us can ever find.
MARKET PLACE AT PERUGIA.
(In the midst of the market place is a simple stage, from which a flight of steps leads to the spectators' seats, as shown in the above plan. A rope separates the auditorium from the rest of the market place. The back of the stage is curtained off. To the left, a small stairway leads from the stage to a space which serves as a dressing room. The King is kneeling in this space, before a little mirror, making up his face to resemble a majestic kingly mask. He is smooth shaven, is in his shirt sleeves and is clad simply, but richly. Princess Alma sits near him, on an upturned box, with her left foot over her right knee, tuning her lute. She wears a tasteful punchinello's dress, all of white, composed of tights, a close-fitting jacket, trimmed with fur, and a high pointed hat.)
(In the midst of the market place is a simple stage, from which a flight of steps leads to the spectators' seats, as shown in the above plan. A rope separates the auditorium from the rest of the market place. The back of the stage is curtained off. To the left, a small stairway leads from the stage to a space which serves as a dressing room. The King is kneeling in this space, before a little mirror, making up his face to resemble a majestic kingly mask. He is smooth shaven, is in his shirt sleeves and is clad simply, but richly. Princess Alma sits near him, on an upturned box, with her left foot over her right knee, tuning her lute. She wears a tasteful punchinello's dress, all of white, composed of tights, a close-fitting jacket, trimmed with fur, and a high pointed hat.)
THE KING.
Have you chanced to hear, my child, how the advance sale is today?
ALMA.
How can you have any doubts about that? The announcement that you were to appear sold all the seats for to-day's performance by sundown yesterday. Indeed, all Perugia knows already that your art far exceeds anything they saw in Epaminondas Alexandrion hitherto.
THE KING.
At the bottom of my soul, I was never pained before that my laurels increased the fame of another. The assumed name protected me from too mortifying a contact with humanity. Even in my most daring dreams I cannot imagine how I would look today upon a throne. Perhaps, after all, I am fit for something higher in this world than dishing out, day by day, the recollections of vanished pomp to the childish rabble as the copy of real majesty.
ALMA.
In how happy a mood you have been wherever we have played! It even seems to me as if you found our stormy success some slight reward for all the long years of sorrow.
THE KING.
Don't listen to me any longer, my child, or you will lose your joyousness and appear before the public not as a punchinello, but as a spectre from the grave!
ALMA.
Of course, here in the market place of Perugia you must feel uncomfortable.
A PAGE.
(Enters the dressing room carrying an autograph album under his arm.) My mistress, the noble spouse of the honorable Doctor Silvio Andreotti, Attorney General to His Majesty the King, sends me thither. My mistress desires the celebrated artist Epaminondas Alexandrion to place his autograph in this book. My mistress bids me say that the book contains only the autographs of the greatest men. (He hands the book and writing materials to the King.)
THE KING.
(Takes the goose quill and writes, speaking the words aloud as he does so.) "Only simplicity can fathom wisdom," Epaminondas Alexandrion the Second. (Giving back the album.) Present my respects to your noble mistress, the spouse of the Attorney General to the King.
(Exit the page.)
THE KING.
(Making himself ready.) Another wrinkle here, so! ——You, my treasure, indeed, appear to have found happiness in our present calling.
ALMA.
Yes, father! A thousand times, yes! My heart is full of the joy of living, since I see my acting received daily with crowded benches!
THE KING.
It astonishes me how little our environment affects you, although you allow all to believe that they are your equals by birth. You are a lamb among a pack of wolves, each of which has sworn to protect you, because each one grudges you to the others. But wolves remain wolves! And if the lamb does not want to be torn to pieces finally, it must, sooner or later, become a wolf itself.——But don't listen to me! I do not understand what evil spirit influences me today to call down misfortune upon our heads!
ALMA.
Do not believe me capable of such base ingratitude, Father, as to think that the pleasure I find in my work as a punchinello prevents me recollecting with joy the noble pomp in which I passed my childhood!
THE KING.
(Rising with forced composure.) At any rate, I am ready for the very worst!
(As he speaks these words the theatre servants place two golden seats in front of the first row of benches. Immediately after, the Theatre Manager rushes into the dressing room in the greatest excitement.)
THE THEATRE MANAGER.
Alexandrion! Brother! Let me clasp you in my arms! (He embraces and hisses him.) You pearl of dramatic art! Shall I make you speechless with pride!——His Majesty the King is coming to the performance! His Majesty the King of Umbria and His Royal Highness the Crown Prince Filipo! Have you words?! I have had two golden chairs put in front of the first row. The moment their Highnesses seat themselves Punchinello must appear on the stage with a deep bow! So be ready, children!——And you, Alexandrion, apple of my eye, bring to light today all the richest treasures hidden in the depths of your soul! As I (gesture) turn this glove inside out, so do you turn your inside outside! Let our royal auditors hear things such as have not been heard in any theatre since the time of Plautus and of Terence.
THE KING.
(Putting on his jacket.) I was just asking myself whether it might not be better for me to present my royal visitors with something different from my king's farce; perhaps the morning dreams of the old tailor's apprentice, or those of the swineherd. The old tailor's apprentice would give our guests plenty of material for laughter and that is all they expect, while the king's farce might hurt their feelings.
THE THEATRE MANAGER.
Ha, ha! You are afraid of being locked up again forlèse majesté! Nonsense! Give your king's farce! Make it stronger than you have ever played it! If royalty honors us, it is because it wants to see the king's farce! What harm can they do us?Ultra posse nemo tenetur!Well, what did I prophesy to you when I picked you from the scum of the land there at the beggars' fair! Today we perform before crowned heads!Per aspera ad astra!——(Exit.)
(During this scene the spectators' seats have become filled with an aristocratic public; outside the ropes the crowd gathers thickly. During the following words the King dons a royal black beard, puts on his wig, sets the golden crown on his head and throws a heavy purple mantle across his shoulders.)
THE KING.
My head was to fall beneath the headsman's axe in this market place if ever I dared return to Perugia without foreswearing my right to the crown.——Instead of that, how much have I had to foreswear to tread my native soil for the second time! The delight of satisfied revenge; the manly duty of preserving my inheritance for my family; all the good things of earth which fortune lavished on me in my cradle, and now even the naked dignity of human nature which forbids even the slave from offering himself as an entertainment to those condemned along with him!
ALMA.
And a thousand voices praise you as an artist the like of which never spoke to his folk before. How many king's names are forgotten!
THE KING.
I do not value that! Only a day laborer or a place hunter can wear with pride the laurels which spring from earthly misery! But do you know what pride is possible to me in this existence? Called to an inscrutable trial, I struggle here as only one of a million beings. But King Nicola, as king, met death! No one doubts but that he is long beyond the reach of human humiliation. No one asks him now to renounce the dignity conferred on him by God. No shadow disturbs his kingly remembrance! I owe it to this illusion that I am still alive under God's sun. And until the hour of my death no storm shall deprive me of this possession, which, perhaps, I can still dispose of to your advantage! My sceptre! My orb! (He takes both from the property chest.) And now—the—ki-ki-king's farce! (Seized by a sudden pain in the heart, he strives painfully for breath.)
ALMA.
(Rushing to his side.) Jesu, Maria, my father; I can see how marble white you are through your make-up!
THE KING.
A shortness of breath!——It is over.——I have been subject to it since I was in prison——
(King Pietro and Prince Filipo enter the auditorium and take their places in the golden chairs.)
THE THEATRE MANAGER.
(Calling behind the scenes.) On the stage, Punchinello!
THE KING.
(Springing up.) Go! Go! I feel entirely well!
ALMA.
(Seizing a fool's bauble, rushes on the stage, bows, and then declaims in a light, jesting tone.)
I here appear to herald unto youThe coming of a king, who, verily,Was never king.——Groom of the bedchamber is my post to him.I laud him as a demigod, a hero;Give admiration to his wit; praise his clothes;My profit great in offices and gifts.I earnestly desire him length of days;But, should he die and his successor rule——I trust God's grace will spare me from that blow!——Why then, obsequiously, with raptured mienTo the newcomer I shall play my rôle,As is a valet courtier's pious way.But I must cease, for lo, the King is here!
THE KING.
(Enters.) My slumbers have been light throughout the night.
ALMA.
(Bowing, with crossed arms.) Tour people should be made to smart for that!
THE KING.
My people? Made to suffer? When my mindFears I alone should carry all the blame?What more have I achieved than other menThat I am called to rule it o'er my kind!Away from off the steps unto my throne!Slumber forsook my weary eyes last nightBecause I, driven by the power of law,Signed a death warrant when the hour was late!Avaunt, you worm! And never venture moreYour head within the limits of my wrath!
ALMA.
(Turning to the audience.)
You see, respected auditors, how hardIt may be candidly to make one's way!In lack of fitting words for my defence,My plight with resignation I accept.Dejected is my exit through this door,But by another I shall soon return.
(She comes down the stairway toward the audience backward, then sits down, on the steps facing the public.)
THE KING.
(To himself.)
Half my lifetime I have striven nowTo make my eyes more sharp, to clear my wits,That my dear folk might reap the benefit!
ALMA.
(Speaking to the public.)
Instead of that he might do something wise.Who gives him thanks? His people whisper low,His mind is lacking quite in brilliancy,And his sublime example serves as jest!
THE KING.
(With uplifted hands.)
Illuminate me with thy light, O God,That I depart not from thy chosen way,That good and evil I may quickly learn!If thy reflected splendor shine from meThe people cannot blindly mock my rule;Nor inefficiency mislead my steps!
ALMA.
(Springing up.)
I can, however! (She steps upon the stage.)As you see me now,I am a woman, decked with all the charmsTo fan your kingly thoughts into a blaze!The flower of innocence remains unpluckedTo gratify you with its purity.Groaning beneath the weight of majesty,With sublime chastity your wedded bride,You yet may enter Pleasure's magic path.Be ruler! Learn to blush as other men,And do not join the devil's league with death,In profanation of creation's work.'Tis fit the hero and the anchoriteShould pray with deep humility to GodTo sanctify and make them holy beings.Before the Lord shall call you to himselfMay not some earthly bliss be yours by right;Do you not fear to come from Egypt LandWithout a good view of the pyramids!
THE KING.
And should I riot in luxurious ease,Who would protect my folk? Who hear their cry?
ALMA.
That task I willingly would undertake.Since childhood it has been my constant useTo ride a horse unbroken to the bit,To crush his wildness in a frenzied gait.Thy folk shall grow to know no higher lawThan to administer thy joy and gain.
THE KING.
Depart from out my house, you brazen trull,Before I stamp a mark upon your browWith glowing iron!
ALMA.
Once more the lightning!My looks do not find favor in his sight!(Going up to the last step.)My honored hearers, can you tell me nowWhere lies the weakness of this curious king?Else, from his wrathful gestures, much I fearOur farce is apt to change to tragedy!
KING PIETRO.
(To Alma.) You must approach him as minister, or chancellor, and inform him that it is just his wisdom which brings misery upon the land. If he listens to your words, he is nothing but a fool; if he does not listen, you can boldly call him a tyrant!
ALMA.
(Bowing.)
I'll do as you suggest. With all my heartI thank you for your counsel, gracious lord!(She mounts the stage once more; to the King.)With deep dismay, I see Your Majesty'sAugust rule in danger. From every sideThe mob comes streaming to the palace walls.To me, your loyal chancellor, 'tis clear,Instead of shooting down this threatening herd,No better means can now be found to quellTheir spirit than to send them forth to fightAgainst the neighboring principalities.The mob grows weary of the golden hoursAnd frets against the long continued peace;It thirsts for blood, like the wild beast it is.Its drunken lust will crown you conquerorAmid the corpses fallen from its ranks!Heaven itself bestows this last respite.Seize, then, the sword! Else, even in this hour,Yourself may fall with many deadly wounds.
KING PIETRO.
Excellently spoken! (Turning to the Crown Prince.) Do you remember, my son, to what frightful expedients Bernardo Ruccellai wanted to force me when I forbade the citizens to extend the carnival a week? The pretty boy spoke as if he had been there.
(After these words the audience gives vent to short, but energetic, applause.)
PRINCE FILIPO.
The actors are exceptionally good. Let us hear them further, my honored father.
KING PIETRO.
I am most keen to learn what rejoinder my able spokesman will meet up there.
THE KING.
My life!——Take that!——The people's uproar frightsMe not! Before they suffer by my fault,Why let them in their madness slaughter me!In time to come, ensanguined with my blood,They will become a dread unto themselves,And, worshipful, return to Reason's shrine.My death will serve its purpose thousand fold!As payment for your spiteful plan of war,I here dismiss you as my chancellor.Be happy you have 'scaped the headsman's axe!
KING PIETRO.
Kingly words that I should like to have spoken myself! If only one could find a better chancellor so easily! (To Alma.) I am sorry, my young diplomat, that my advice served you so ill.
(Another outburst of applause from the spectators.)
ALMA.
(Turning to the public.)
Once more my well-laid plan has gone astray!——Before, dear sirs, I yet proceed to showHow I can bring this hero to his knees,So that he cries beneath my scornful lash,And whining drags himself unto my feet,A sorry object, broken to his soul,Begging that I shall lift him up againAnd dampening all the dust about with tears,——Before I show my skill in this respect,I ask you to unlace your purses' stringsAnd to bestow a little of your wealthWith open hands upon my humble self.
(She takes two white plates and comes down the steps.)
Merely a pause, respected auditors,A little contribution's all I ask!
(She passes among the rows of spectators, collecting from them, but does not approach the royal entourage. The King wanders about the stage speaking a monologue.)
THE KING.
Conflict on conflict! Should my strength be spent,Death, like a living flame, would rush uncheckedThroughout the confines of the realm!
(To the public.)
An obolus will serve, most honored sirs!
ALMA.
(To a spectator who puts his arm about her waist and attempts to kiss her.)
Oh, fie, good sir, you scarcely are polite!Besides, I'm not a girl; pray keep your place!
THE SPECTATOR.
I never yet saw boyish hand so slim!
THE KING.
(To the public.)
An obolus is quite enough, good sirs!
(To himself.)
Would it were over!——Beyond betterment;I yet await what store of future illsMalicious fortune still may deal to me!
(To the public.)
Only an obolus, good sirs, I ask!
(King Pietro beckons Alma to him and lays a gold piece upon her plate.)
THE KING.
(Bowing his thanks to the audience.)
What is more happy than the artist's soul!Misfortune is a spring of joy to him;He shapes a pleasure from a wild lament.Adversity indeed, may clip his wings,But at the sound of gold he soon recallsHis inborn kinship to humanity.
(Alma returns to the stage and' empties the plates into the King's hand. He estimates the sum quickly, thrusts the money into his purple mantle, then, turning to his daughter, continues.)
THE KING.
Once more, deceptive shape, you dare to treadBefore my eyes. Who are you? Let me know!
ALMA.
I am yourself!
THE KING.
Myself! But I am that!
ALMA.
Which of us two is right will soon appear!Before you, mangled by a beast of prey,There lies a corpse. The blame belongs to you!
THE KING.
I murdered him! How know you of such things?
ALMA.
And do you see the stakes all round about?
THE KING.
That, too, is known to you?
ALMA.
'Tis living flesh,Encased in tow and tar!
THE KING.
His cry of painWas music to my ear! It cost me much!
ALMA.
The living entrails on the altar red,Even today are used by you to moveThe innocent to choice of peace or war!
THE KING.
How came you by such store of frightful facts?In deep repentance now I tear my hair!My royal might seductive proved!
ALMA.
A jest,You're clasping at your quickly beating heart,The while your eyes still shadow forth their greed!
THE KING.
'Tis not a jest!
ALMA.
It is!
THE KING.
Nevertheless,Spare me worse!
ALMA.
Childish bodies, glowing pure,Are made a sacrifice unto your lust,That you may see their tender limbs contort.
THE KING.
No! Nevermore!
ALMA.
You see, you must give way.That shows that you are weak and I am strong!
THE KING.
(Sinking to his knees.)
Have mercy!
ALMA.
Have you ever yetObtained victory in strife with me?
THE KING.
(Weeping.)
Behold my head is bent unto the earthBy pains of hell!
ALMA.
Then pluck up heart again,Torture of innocents will calm your own!
THE KING.
(With trembling voice.)
You beast, you are the stronger of us twain,But grant a brief respite before I heapNew cruelties upon forgotten ones.I crawl like any worm upon the dust.My better self, which I have lost to you,Begs that you do not press your might too far.New victims soon will fall within my clutch;The tongue which has already tasted bloodBeseeches you to save them from its rage.
KING PIETRO.
(Rising from his chair.) You carry your jests somewhat too far up there! What will the foolish multitude think when it sees royal majesty so brought to dust!
ALMA.
(To the public.)
Folly can show the naked truth beneathThe glittering facts on history's page.
(To the King.)
I'll spare you, then.—But first take solemn oathTo cherish good always within your heart!
THE KING.
I swear!
(Looking up in tears.)
You ask me that!——I'm in a maze!Who are you?
ALMA.
I am your dream! Your dæmon!Awake to higher efforts from my ban,I call on you to rise above yourself!
THE KING.
(Rises and runs anxiously up and down.)
And if Methuselah I should outliveThat frightful error I shall ne'er forget!Under the cover of the shamed nightThe torch flares out: Blazing in wild array,Consuming flames run through the heated limbs;Vice sings its victory; lecherous hellIs jubilant; the rising flood of crimeO'erflows its banks; and deeds the gray-haired wastrel,Tortured by flames of lust, could not achieve,Stagger in kinship to the drunken thought!——Oh, take my praise, thou golden light of day!
ALMA.
(To the public.)
With this I make an ending to our play.Your pardon, if its setting troubled you.My sole desire was merely to exploitThat ancient, well-liked acrobatic trick (gesture)By which a man climbs up on his own head.
KING PIETRO.
(To the King.) And you call that a farce, my dear friend?! See, you have brought the tears to my eyes!
THE KING.
(After he has laid aside the crown.) Will your Majesty believe it, our piece has been received everywhere as a harmless farce?
KING PIETRO.
I cannot believe that! Are my subjects so stupid? Otherwise, how can you explain it to me?
THE KING.
I cannot inform your Majesty as to that. Such is life!
KING PIETRO.
Very well, then, if such is life, my people shall not hear you again, until they understand you, for otherwise your play would only undermine the power of my throne. Lay aside your mantle and stand forth before me!
(The King lays aside mantle, beard and wig and descends the steps.)
KING PIETRO.
I cannot appoint a man who has made his living collecting pennies to any office of state. But my royalty shall never prevent me from making a companion of the man whose gifts have moved me to tears. There is a post vacant close to the throne, which I have left unfilled until now, because I did not wish to make a place for folly in a position where even the greatest amount of wisdom is too small. But you shall fill this position. You shall be powerless against the meanest citizen of my state. But your high mental power shall stand between me and my people, between me and the royal chancellors; it shall be allowed to expend itself unpunished upon me and my son. As there on the stage, your soul stood between the ruler and his dark desires, so shall it check my innermost self! I appoint you my court fool! ——Follow me! (He starts to go.)
THE THEATRE MANAGER.
(Wringing his hands and with tears in his eyes, throws himself on his knees before King Pietro.)Moriturus te salutat!Your gracious Majesty's unworthy theatre manager, who single-handed plucked this exceptional tragedian from the gallows, now has his life blighted by your Majesty's gracious choice!
KING PIETRO.
We bestow upon you the privilege of giving performances untaxed for twenty years!
THE KING.
May I inform your Majesty that I am the father of this young girl and that the father will appreciate your goodness even more than the actor if he may hope that his child will no longer need to conceal her true nature.
KING PIETRO.
Was I so deceived! (To Alma.) I do not want to hear your audacious speeches again from a woman's mouth. (To the King.) Let your child follow you! (He leaves the theatre in company with the Prince.)
THE THRONE ROOM.
(The King in court costume. His office of court fool is shown discreetly by a suitable head covering. In his languid hand he holds a short bauble. He appears strangely altered: his pale face is deeply lined and his eyes seem twice as large as formerly.)
(The King in court costume. His office of court fool is shown discreetly by a suitable head covering. In his languid hand he holds a short bauble. He appears strangely altered: his pale face is deeply lined and his eyes seem twice as large as formerly.)
THE KING.
How strange is life! During many years of hardship of every description I felt my bodily strength increase daily. Each sunrise found me brighter in spirits, stronger in muscle. No mishap caused me to doubt the sturdiness of my constitution. And since I have been living here in peace and plenty I am shriveling like an apple in springtime. I feel life going from me step by step and the doctors agree in shrugging their shoulders and saying with long faces that they cannot foresee the outcome.——Did I ever reign in these halls? Every day since I came here I have asked myself the same question, and every day it seems more nonsensical. It is as hard for me to believe as it would be for me to credit anyone who told me that I had lived on another planet. King Pietro is the worthiest prince who ever had a throne, and I am the last person in his realm who would want to change places with him. That is my last word each evening, a word which does not make me dream of the thick prison air, but of the dripping, stormbent, rustling trees, of the gloomy heaths, of the virgin dew on the thick grass, of my journeys from place to place on the stroller's vans, on the tailboards of which I made all hearts waver between pity and respect.——I have noticed an unusual cramp in my left arm for the last few days. It is not gout, it is not the weakness of old age. But before my failing members give way, I have a work to accomplish. Let me complete it, O Fate, so that we may part in friendship! I have cultivated it with all possible care, as the only thing profitable in my life. Or shall I be the dupe again? Perhaps, the eager young hearts really do not need my help? Does egotism make me overestimate by importance in furthering their union? Who will open my eyes to my true merits? Blind I came, must I go so? I go and listen! Later I shall not have to think about the answers. (Exit.)
(Enter King Pietro and Crown Prince Filipo.)
KING PIETRO.
I have made inquiries among the Medici in Florence if they are willing that a daughter of their house should become your wife. I have just received word that the Medici, confident in the permanency of our rule, would welcome such an alliance.
FILIPO.
Before you did that, my respected father, I had distinctly told you that I shall never marry any one but Donna Alma, Alexandrion's daughter!
KING PIETRO.
(In anger.) The daughter of my court fool! You belong back in the shop whence you came!
FILIPO.
Then send me back to the shop, respected father!
KING PIETRO.
Although there can be no doubt of this maiden's virtues, the general welfare of the state demands that you wed a prince's daughter. If you desired to court the daughter of a citizen of Perugia, I might be able to countenance your mesalliance without slapping our own origin in the face. Even then, your choice would be an offense against the state, which would result in party strife and violence among the citizens. But if you chose a queen of obscurist origin for your people, then you show at once that you undervalue the duties of a prince. Who can tell what heirs may spring from such a marriage! Instead of looking forward to your reign with confidence, they will await it with sullen dread, anxiety and insubordination. Did I overcome King Nicola and drive him to an early death that my son should indulge in madness such as cost that monarch his life and throne?! That is the reason I brought Alexandrion here, because he has meditated upon just such serious questions! (Lifting a portière.) Call the fool! Now he shall show me if his wisdom can withstand the call of blood! Now he shall show me if he can follow his own sermons as I do, or if he is only an empty chatterer!
THE KING.
(Entering.) What does my dear lord desire?
KING PIETRO.
I have been beholden to you for advice in the hours of the most frightful danger. Had I not followed freely your advice, so full of watchful and crafty shrewdness, in difficult situations we might today be under foreign rule. Now, however, I require of you a sacrifice which, as the father of your child, you owe the state and our dynasty. Without restraint I allowed your intelligence to rule between me and my own blood, never suspecting how soon I should have to ask you to put it between yourself and your child. The Prince asks me to give him your daughter for his wife!
THE KING.
My child is so far above me that her feet never touch the ground without the seed of happiness blossoming beneath her tread.
KING PIETRO.
I can believe that, but will you order your daughter to reject every offer of the Prince!
FILIPO.
Donna Alma will never obey that order!
KING PIETRO.
Silence!
THE KING.
I can order nothing in this country.
KING PIETRO.
That is true! But you must obey!
THE KING.
That is true! But my daughter need not obey!
KING PIETRO.
Enough of your jests! I am sorry I overprized your wisdom. You understand that your refusal ends your stay here at my court. I am pained to see your calm deliberation forsake you at this pass. You are a bad father, Alexandrion, in not fearing to deprive your child of my good will! In order to protect myself against the reproach of ingratitude, I shall have your salary continued——
THE KING.
Thank you, brother, I need your bounty no longer.
KING PIETRO.
Are you out of your senses?!
THE KING.
I see more clearly than you. You no more than I can prevent the wonderful fulfilment of mighty fate.
KING PIETRO.
Stop your idle babble! I ask you for the last time, will you obey my order? If not, fear my wrath!
THE KING.
It is beyond your power as well as mine!
KING PIETRO.
Very well. My son if he wants may run after you. I banish you and your child for life from this day forth from the land of Umbria, under pain of death in case you return to it!
THE KING.
(Breaks forth in merry laughter.)
FILIPO.
Holy Virgin, what's the matter with him!
KING PIETRO.
(Disconcerted.) It is the laughter of a madman.
THE KING.
(Laughing.) Surely, dear friends, you will permit me to laugh since I have been paid for being foolish.
KING PIETRO.
Give us some explanation of what is passing within you, Alexandrion!
THE KING.
(Raising himself to his full height.) Do you know that you banished me once before, in this very room, from Umbria under pain of death?!
KING PIETRO.
It is impossible fur me to remember all the judgments I have passed!
THE KING.
You passed your first judgment against King Nicola, and I am he!
KING PIETRO.
(Shaken.) It was long to be foreseen that he would come to such an end! (To the King.) Do you want to act a tragic scene for us out of your former occupation?
THE KING.
I, here before you, am King Nicola!
KING PIETRO.
(With apparent anger.) I have nothing to do with imposters. Do you really expect to gain your ends by such thieves' tricks?
THE KING.
I am King Nicola! I am King Nicola!
KING PIETRO.
(To Filipo.) He has had a stroke! God have mercy on his soul!
FILIPO.
His poor child! Merciful Heaven, when she hears of it!
THE KING.
(In the greatest astonishment.) Why are you not overcome with astonishment?——You do not believe me?!——Are you going to ask me to prove what since my downfall I have kept secret only by supernatural strength of soul!
FILIPO.
We believe you, Alexandrion! Let me conduct you to your room. We believe you!
KING PIETRO.
If only your poor heart would grow quiet!
THE KING.
(Anxiously.) No, no, I shall not grow quiet! You do not trust my words! You doubt my reason!——Almighty God, where shall I get witnesses to confirm the truth!——Let my daughter be called! It is high time; I shall not see the light much longer!——Let my daughter be called! I am too weak to fetch her myself.——Let my child be called!——My child!
FILIPO.
I beseech you, Father, do not gratify his wish! The girl will go crazy from anguish if unprepared she sees him in his mind's darkness!
THE KING.
Let my child be called! I have nothing to leave her but her princely ancestry, and now she is about to be cheated of this last possession through my stupendous folly! Who will believe the girl when my eyes are closed! Indeed, there is nothing in me to recall a king! And my pictures, my statues are destroyed! And even if a picture were found, who would accept a resemblance as proof of my monstrous statement! A resemblance in which time has destroyed every trace! Help me, Heavenly Father, in this anguish worse than death!
KING PIETRO.
Have you quite forgotten, my dear Alexandrion, that King Nicola is dead?!
THE KING.
Dead?——How kindly you speak because you think I am mad! Dead?——Where is he buried? I fought against the flood and escaped to land beyond the city walls. But who will believe me! Call my child here! She will advise me, as she has done a hundred thousand times before, with her wisdom.
FILIPO.
I'll hurry and call your own physician, my respected father!
THE KING.
Call my child! My child!
PRINCESS ALMA.
(Rushing in.) My father! Almighty God, I heard your agonizing voice throughout the house!
THE KING.
Am I King Nicola, or am I not?
ALMA.
You are King Nicola, my father. Do not worry! What more can they do to us today?
THE KING.
So you too have gone mad or you are a miserable pretender! They don't believe us! What can we do to prove it to them, so that I may lay my head on the block and thereby give you attestation of your birth?! Send to the prison! There they have the record of the scars on my body. I blasphemed against the king. "Curse the king!" I cried. I was that king!——But where is a man with a normal reason who will believe such adventures! I never thought of that during all these years! Who would carry documents with him when his head had been twice forfeited to the executioner! And have I fathomed the ways of Almighty God more than anyone only to be considered mad in the end!——But such is life! Such is life!
KING PIETRO.
The sight of your sufferings is heartrending, Alexandrion! But your assertion is ridiculous!
ALMA.
He is King Nicola!
FILIPO.
Think what you say, Donna Alma!
ALMA.
He is King Nicola!
THE KING.
Search your brain, my dear, clever child, and see if you cannot find a means of making the truth shine before their eyes like a ray of sunshine!
ALMA. I will bring a host of witnesses, father, as soon as the penalty is taken off your head.
FILIPO.
Was not the name of King Nicola's daughter Alma?
KING PIETRO.
Thousands of children are baptized with princely names!
THE KING.
Do you hear, my child? An infallible proof! Otherwise, I shall yet end my unhappy war with the world in a madhouse and burden your life with the most gruesome of curses, the curse of the ridiculous!
ALMA.
Lead us to the Urselines!
FILIPO.
Can it be possible! The king in his victor's service! ——Speak, my father!——Pardon him!
KING PIETRO.
Be you who you may, I lift every penalty which may hang over you.
THE KING.
And now the proofs, my child! Quick, the proofs! Even if their testimony is as clear as day, it will do as little after my death to help the recognition of your birth as my vain words do now!
ALMA.
The Mother Superior of the Urselines will testify (Frightened.) My father! Jesu, Maria, your look! What are you seeking so helplessly? For God's sake, speak!