The Wonder-Working Magician | Page 5

by CLARIN and MOSCON, as poor Scholars, carrying books.
CYPRIAN. In the pleasant solitude?Of this tranquil spot, this thicket?Formed of interlacing boughs,?Buds, and flowers, and shrubs commingled,?You may leave me, leaving also,?As my best companions, with me,?(For I need none else) those books?Which I bad you to bring hither?From the house; for while, to-day,?Antioch, the mighty city,?Celebrates with such rejoicing?The great temple newly finished?Unto Jupiter, the bearing?Thither, also, of his image?Publicly, in grant procession,?To its shrine to be uplifted;--?I, escaping the confusion?Of the streets and squares, have flitted?Hitherward, to spend in study?What of daylight yet may glimmer.?Go, enjoy the festival,?Go to Antioch and mingle?In its various sports, returning?When the sun descending sinketh?To be buried in the waves,?Which, beneath the dark clouds' fringes,?Round the royal corse of gold,?Shine like sepulchres of silver.?Here you'll find me.
MOSCON. Sir, although?Most decidedly my wish is?To behold the sports, yet I?Cannot go without a whisper?Of some few five thousand words,?Which I'll give you in a jiffy.?Can it be that on a day?Of such free, such unrestricted?Revelry, and mirth, and fun,?You with your old books come hither?To this country place, rejecting?All the frolic of the city?
CLARIN. Well, I think my master's right;?For there's nothing more insipid?Than a grand procession day,?Half fandangos, priests, and fiddles.
MOSCON. Clarin, from the first to last,?All your life you've been a trickster,?A smart temporizing toady,?A bold flatterer, a trimmer,?Since you praise the thoughts of others,?And ne'er speak your own.
CLARIN. The civil?Way to tell a man he lies?Is to say he's wrong:-- you twig me,?Now I think I speak my mind.
CYPRIAN. Moscon, Clarin, both I bid ye?Cease this silly altercation.?It is ever thus betwixt ye,?Puffed up with your little knowledge?Each maintains his own opinion.?Go, and (as I've said) here seek me?When night falls, and with the thickness?Of its shadows veils from view?This most fair and wondrous system?Of the universe.
MOSCON. How comes it,?That although you have admitted?'Tis not right to see the feast,?Yet you go to see it?
CLARIN. Simple?Is the answer: no one follows?The advice which he has given?To another.
MOSCON [aside]. To see Livia,?Would the gods that I were winged.?[Exit.
CLARIN [aside]. If the honest truth were told?Livia is the girl that gives me?Something worth the living for.?Even her very name has in it?This assurance: 'Livia', yes,?Minus 'a', I live for 'Livi'.*?[Exit.
[footnote] *This, of course, is a paraphrase of the original, which, perhaps, may be given as an explanation.
"Ilega, 'Livia'.?Al 'na', y se, Livia, 'liviana'."

SCENE II.
CYPRIAN. Now I am alone, and may,?If my mind can be so lifted,?Study the great problem which?Keeps my soul disturbed, bewilder'd,?Since I read in Pliny's page?The mysterious words there written.?Which define a god; because?It doth seem beyond the limits?Of my intellect to find?One who all these signs exhibits.?This mysterious hidden truth?Must I seek for.?[Reads.

SCENE III.
Enter the DEMON, in gala dress. CYPRIAN.
DEMON [aside]. Though thou givest?All thy thoughts to the research,?Cyprian, thou must ever miss it,?Since I'll hide it from thy mind.
CYPRIAN. There's a rustling in this thicket.?Who is there? who art thou?
DEMON. Sir,?A mere stranger, who has ridden?All this morning up and down?These dark groves, not knowing whither,?Having lost my way, my horse,?To the emerald that encircles,?With a tapestry of green,?These lone hills, I've loosed, it gives him?At the same time food and rest.?I'm to Antioch bound, on business?Of importance, my companions?I have parted from; through listless?Lapse of thought (a thing that happens?To the most of earthly pilgrims),?I have lost my way, and lost?Comrades, servants, and assistants.
CYPRIAN. I am much surprised to learn?That in view of the uplifted?Towers of Antioch, you thus?Lost your way. There's not a single?Path that on this mountain side,?More or less by feet imprinted,?But doth lead unto its walls,?As to its one central limit.?By whatever path you take,?You'll go right.
DEMON. It is an instance?Of that ignorance which in sight?Even of truth the true goal misses.?And as it appears not wise?Thus to enter a strange city?Unattended and unknown,?Asking even my way, 'tis fitter?That 'till night doth conquer day,?Here while light doth last, to linger;?By your dress and by these books?Round you, like a learned circle?Of wise friends, I see you are?A great student, and the instinct?Of my soul doth ever draw me?Unto men to books addicted.
CYPRIAN. Have you studied much?
DEMON. Well, no;?But I've knowledge quite sufficient?Not to be deemed ignorant.
CYPRIAN. Then, what sciences know you?
DEMON. Many.
CYPRIAN. Why, we cannot reach even one?After years of studious vigil,?And can you (what vanity!)?Without study know so many?
DEMON. Yes; for I am of a country?Where the most exalted science?Needs no study to be known.
CYPRIAN. Would I were a happy inmate?Of that country! Here our studies?Prove our ignorance more.
DEMON. No figment?Is the fact that without study,?I had the superb ambition?For the first Professor's chair?To compete, and thought to win it,?Having very numerous votes.?And although I failed, sufficient?Glory is it to have tried.?For not always to the winner?Is the fame. If this you doubt,?Name the