The Little Dream | Page 6

the airless night. Without me, little soul, you starve and die,
SEELCHEN. He is speaking for the gentle Sir, and the big world of the Town. It pulls my heart.
THE WINE HORN. My thoughts surpass in number the flowers in your meadows; they fly more swiftly than your eagles on the wind. I drink the wine of aspiration, and the drug of disillusion. Thus am I never dull!
The voices of VIEW OF ITALY, FLUME OF STEAM, and THINGS IN BOOKS are heard calling out together:
"I am Italy, Italy!"
"See me--steam in the distance!"
"O remember, remember!"
THE WINE HORN. Love me, little soul! I paint life fifty colours. I make a thousand pretty things! I twine about your heart!
SEELCHEN. He is honey!
THE FLOWERS ring their bells jealously and cry:
"Bitter! Bitter!"
THE COW HORN. Stay with me, Seelchen! I wake thee with the crystal air.
The voices of COWBELLS and MOUNTAIN AIR tiny out far away:
"Clinkel-clink! Clinkel-clink!"
"Mountain air! Mountain air!"
And THE FLOWERS laugh happily.
THE WINE HORN. Come with me, Seelchen! My fan, Variety, shall wake you!
The voices of VIEW OF ITALY, FLUME OF STEAM and THINGS IN BOOKS chant softly:
"I am Italy! Italy!"
"See me--steam in the distance!"
"O remember, remember!"
And THE FLOWERS moan.
SEELCHEN. [In grief] My heart! It is torn!
THE WINE HORN. With me, little soul, you shall race in the streets. and peep at all secrets. We will hold hands, and fly like the thistle-down.
M. DANDELION. My puff-balls fly faster!
THE WINE HORN. I will show you the sea.
GENTIAN. My blue is deeper!
THE WINE HORN. I will shower on you blushes.
ALPENROSE. I can blush redder!
THE WINE HORN. Little soul, listen! My Jewels! Silk! Velvet!
EDELWEISS. I am softer than velvet!
THE WINE HORN. [Proudly] My wonderful rags!
THE FLOWERS. [Moaning] Of those we have none.
SEELCHEN. He has all things.
THE COW HORN. Mine are the clouds with the dark silvered wings; mine are the rocks on fire with the sun; and the dewdrops cooler than pearls. Away from my breath of snow and sweet grass, thou wilt droop, little soul.
THE WINE HORN. The dark Clove is my fragrance!
THE FLOWERS ring eagerly, and turning up their faces, cry:
"We too, smell sweet."
But the voices of VIEW OF ITALY, FLUME OF STEAM, and THINGS IN BOOKS cry out:
"I am Italy! Italy!"
"See me--steam in the distance!"
"O remember! remember!"
SEELCHEN. [Distracted] Oh! it is hard!
THE COW HORN. I will never desert thee.
THE WINE HORN. A hundred times I will desert you, a hundred times come back, and kiss you.
SEELCHEN. [Whispering] Peace for my heart!
THE COW HORN. With me thou shalt lie on the warm wild thyme.
THE FLOWERS laugh happily.
THE WINE HORN. With me you shall lie on a bed of dove's feathers.
THE FLOWERS moan.
THE WINE HORN. I will give you old wine.
THE COW HORN. I will give thee new milk.
THE WINE HORN. Hear my song!
From far away comes the sound as of mandolins.
SEELCHEN. [Clasping her breast] My heart--it is leaving me!
THE COW HORN. Hear my song!
From the distance floats the piping of a Shepherd's reed.
SEELCHEN. [Curving her hand at her ears] The piping! Ah!
THE COW HORN. Stay with me, Seelchen!
THE WINE HORN. Come with me, Seelchen!
THE COW HORN. I give thee certainty!
THE WINE HORN. I give you chance!
THE COW HORN. I give thee peace.
THE WINE HORN. I give you change.
THE COW HORN. I give thee stillness.
THE WINE HORN. I give you voice.
THE COW HORN. I give thee one love.
THE WINE HORN. I give you many.
SEELCHEN. [As if the words were torn from her heart] Both, both--I will love!
And suddenly the Peak of THE GREAT HORN speaks.
THE GREAT HORN. And both thou shalt love, little soul! Thou shalt lie on the hills with Silence; and dance in the cities with Knowledge. Both shall possess thee! The sun and the moon on the mountains shall burn thee; the lamps of the town singe thy wings. small Moth! Each shall seem all the world to thee, each shall seem as thy grave! Thy heart is a feather blown from one mouth to the other. But be not afraid! For the life of a man is for all loves in turn. 'Tis a little raft moored, then sailing out into the blue; a tune caught in a hush, then whispering on; a new-born babe, half courage and half sleep. There is a hidden rhythm. Change. Quietude. Chance. Certainty. The One. The Many. Burn on--thou pretty flame, trying to eat the world! Thou shaft come to me at last, my little soul!
THE VOICES and THE FLOWER-BELLS peal out.
SEELCHEN, enraptured, stretches her arms to embrace the sight and sound, but all fades slowly into dark sleep.

SCENE III
The dark scene again becomes glamorous. SEELCHEN is seen with her hand stretched out towards the Piazza of a little town, with a plane tree on one side, a wall on the other, and from the open doorway of an Inn a pale path of light. Over the