Aria da Capo | Page 2

suppose I do.
PIERROT: As for the rest, I'll teach you how to cry, and how to die, And other little tricks; and the house will love you. You'll be a star by five o'clock . . . that is, If you will let me pay for your apartment.
COLUMBINE: Let you?--well, that's a good one! Ha! Ha! Ha! But why?
PIERROT: But why?--well, as to that, my dear, I cannot say. It's just a matter of form.
COLUMBINE: Pierrot, I'm getting tired of caviar And peacocks' livers. Isn't there something else That people eat?--some humble vegetable, That grows in the ground?
PIERROT: Well, there are mushrooms.
COLUMBINE: Mushrooms! That's so! I had forgotten . . . mushrooms . . . mushrooms. . . . I cannot live with . . . How do you like this gown?
PIERROT: Not much. I'm tired of gowns that have the waist-line About the waist, and the hem around the bottom,-- And women with their breasts in front of them!-- Zut and ehe! Where does one go from here!
COLUMBINE: Here's a persimmon, love. You always liked them.
PIERROT: I am become a critic; there is nothing I can enjoy. . . . However, set it aside; I'll eat it between meals.
COLUMBINE: Pierrot, do you know, Sometimes I think you're making fun of me.
PIERROT: My love, by yon black moon, you wrong us both.
COLUMBINE: There isn't a sign of a moon, Pierrot.
PIERROT: Of course not. There never was. "Moon's" just a word to swear by. "Mutton!"--now _there's_ a thing you can lay the hands on, And set the tooth in! Listen, Columbine: I always lied about the moon and you. Food is my only lust.
COLUMBINE: Well, eat it, then, For Heaven's sake, and stop your silly noise! I haven't heard the clock tick for an hour.
PIERROT: It's ticking all the same. If you were a fly, You would be dead by now. And if I were a parrot, I could be talking for a thousand years!
[Enter COTHURNUS.]
PIERROT: Hello, what's this, for God's sake?-- What's the matter? Say, whadda you mean?--get off the stage, my friend, And pinch yourself,--you're walking in your sleep!
COTHURNUS: I never sleep.
PIERROT: Well, anyhow, clear out. You don't belong on here. Wait for your own scene! Whadda you think this is,--a dress-rehearsal?
COTHURNUS: Sir, I am tired of waiting. I will wait No longer.
PIERROT: Well, but whadda you going to do? The scene is set for me!
COTHURNUS: True, sir; yet I Can play the scene.
PIERROT: Your scene is down for later!
COTHURNUS: That, too, is true, sir; but I play it now.
PIERROT: Oh, very well!--Anyway, I am tired Of black and white. At least, I think I am.
[Exit COLUMBINE.]
Yes, I am sure I am. I know what I'll do!-- I'll go and strum the moon, that's what I'll do. . . . Unless, perhaps . . . you never can tell . . . I may be, You know, tired of the moon. Well, anyway, I'll go find Columbine. . . . And when I find her, I will address her thus: "Ehe, Pierrette!"-- There's something in that.
[Exit PIERROT.]
COTHURNUS: You, Thyrsis! Corydon! Where are you?
THYRSIS: [Off stage.] Sir, we are in our dressing-room!
COTHURNUS: Come out and do the scene.
CORYDON: [Off stage.] You are mocking us!-- The scene is down for later.
COTHURNUS: That is true; But we will play it now. I am the scene. [Seats himself on high place in back of stage.]
[Enter CORYDON and THYRSIS.]
CORYDON: Sir, we are counting on this little hour. We said, "Here is an hour,--in which to think A mighty thought, and sing a trifling song, And look at nothing."--And, behold! the hour, Even as we spoke, was over, and the act begun, Under our feet!
THYRSIS: Sir, we are not in the fancy To play the play. We had thought to play it later.
CORYDON: Besides, this is the setting for a farce. Our scene requires a wall; we cannot build A wall of tissue-paper!
THYRSIS: We cannot act A tragedy with comic properties!
COTHURNUS: Try it and see. I think you'll find you can. One wall is like another. And regarding The matter of your insufficient mood, The important thing is that you speak the lines, And make the gestures. Wherefore I shall remain Throughout, and hold the prompt-book. Are you ready?
CORYDON-THYRSIS: [Sorrowfully.] Sir, we are always ready.
COTHURNUS: Play the play!
[CORYDON and THYRSIS move the table and chairs to one side out of the way, and seat themselves in a half-reclining position on the floor.]
THYRSIS: How gently in the silence, Corydon, Our sheep go up the bank. They crop a grass That's yellow where the sun is out, and black Where the clouds drag their shadows. Have you noticed How steadily, yet with what a slanting eye They graze?
CORYDON: As if they thought of other things. What say you, Thyrsis, do they only question Where next to pull?--Or