Such is Life
TextACT IV
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.)
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 ssundown 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 for lèse 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 you
The 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 mien
To 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 mind
Fears I alone should carry all the blame?
What more have I achieved than other men
That I am called to rule it o'er my kind!
Away from off the steps unto my throne!
Slumber forsook my weary eyes last night
Because I, driven by the power of law,
Signed a death warrant when the hour was late!
Avaunt, you worm! And never venture more
Your head within the limits of my wrath!
ALMA.
(Turning to the audience.)
You see, respected auditors, how hard
It 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 now
To 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 me
The 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 charms
To fan your kingly thoughts into a blaze!
The flower of innocence remains unplucked
To 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 anchorite
Should pray with deep humility to God
To sanctify and make them holy beings.
Before the Lord shall call you to himself
May not some earthly bliss be yours by right;
Do you not fear to come from Egypt Land
Without 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 use
To ride a horse unbroken to the bit,
To crush his wildness in a frenzied gait.
Thy folk shall grow to know no higher law
Than to administer thy joy and gain.
THE KING.
Depart from out my house, you brazen trull,
Before I stamp a mark upon your brow
With 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 now
Where lies the weakness of this curious king?
Else, from his wrathful gestures, much I fear
Our 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 heart
I thank you for your counsel, gracious lord!
(She mounts the stage once more; to the King.)
With deep dismay, I see Your Majesty's
August rule in danger. From every side
The 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 quell
Their spirit than to send them forth to fight
Against the neighboring principalities.
The mob grows weary of the golden hours
And frets against the long continued peace;
It thirsts for blood, like the wild beast it is.
Its drunken lust will crown you conqueror
Amid 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 frights
Me 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 show
How 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 again
And dampening all the dust about with tears,–
Before I show my skill in this respect,
I ask you to unlace your purses' strings
And to bestow a little of your wealth
With 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 unchecked
Throughout 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 ills
Malicious 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 recalls
His 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 tread
Before 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 pain
Was music to my ear! It cost me much!
ALMA.
The living entrails on the altar red,
Even today are used by you to move
The 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 yet
Obtained victory in strife with me?
THE KING.
(Weeping.)
Behold my head is bent unto the earth
By 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 heap
New 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 blood
Beseeches 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 beneath
The glittering facts on history's page.
(To the King.)
I'll spare you, then.—But first take solemn oath
To 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 outlive
That frightful error I shall ne'er forget!
Under the cover of the shamed night
The torch flares out: Blazing in wild array,
Consuming flames run through the heated limbs;
Vice sings its victory; lecherous hell
Is jubilant; the rising flood of crime
O'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 exploit
That 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!