 | Uncollected Poems of James Russell Lowell |  |
133
IL PESCEBALLO
Opera Seria: in un Atto
Musica del Maestro Rossibelli-Donimozarti
- Lo Straniero (Tenore)
- Il Cameriere (Basso)
- La Padrona (Soprano)
- Un Corriere, Serve della Locanda, Studenti di Padova
PERSONAGGI
La Scena è in Padova
[_]
[Il Pesceballo (corruzione della voce inglese Fish-ball) è un prodotto della cucina americana, consistente in una combinazione di stoccofisso con patate, fatta nella forma di pallottole, simili alle nostre polpette, e poi fritta. Msgr. Bedini, nel suo Viaggio negli Stati Uniti, c' insegna che la detta pietanza si usa massimamente nella Nuova-Inghiterra, ove, secondo quel venerabile autore, viene specialmente mangiato a colazione nelle domeniche.]
SCENE I
Street in Padua. Chorus of Students of the University, first in the distance, then on the stage.
Hesper doth peer now,
Make we good cheer now,
With the new daylight
Back to the oar!
Make we good cheer now,
With the new daylight
Back to the oar!
We're your true nightlarks!
Truce to all learning
Till, with the morning,
Comes the old bore!
Truce to all learning
Till, with the morning,
Comes the old bore!
Drinking and smoking,
Laughing and joking,
These are what students
Love to the core!
Laughing and joking,
These are what students
Love to the core!
134
We have to study
Flossofies muddy,
'Ologies, 'Onomies,
'Ics by the score!
Flossofies muddy,
'Ologies, 'Onomies,
'Ics by the score!
All the strange lingoes,
Law, too, by jingoes!
Ever new sciences
We must explore!
Law, too, by jingoes!
Ever new sciences
We must explore!
Drinking and smoking,
Laughing and joking,
These are the pleasures
Night hath in store.
[Exeunt.
Laughing and joking,
These are the pleasures
Night hath in store.
SCENE II
The Stranger
Cavatina
Behold thro' shadows loweringThe waning moon slinks cowering!
Dread Fate, my soul o'erpowering,
No more my footsteps dog!
Ah! sweet, ecstatic vision,
Why leave me in derision?
I perish, dream Elysian,
Unless I find some prog!
[He sinks upon a rock, weary, and almost desperate: after a pause, he begins again.
Just Heaven, what splendor greets my aching eyes!
Methinks I see Hope's morning star arise!
Is it some sign transparent, or the moon?
Guide me, ye powers supreme, to some Saloon!
[Exit.
SCENE III
Dining-room of an Eating-House. The Landlady, Waiter, MaidsL.
Pietro, say, are all things ordered right?
There'll be a throng of customers to-night.
135
Bid them come on! we're ready and to spare:
I hear the students singing in the square.
L.
Yes, what a bore! sad customers are they!
W.
Your pardon, Madam, good ones—when they pay.
L.
Howe'er it is, submissive must we be:
Go to the kitchen and the maids o'ersee,
That everything be ready to a T.
[Exit Waiter.
SCENE IV
The Landlady,sola
Aria
How full is life of sorrow
To one that keeps an hostel!
Doomed with each weary morrow
To be upon the go still!
Send me, oh Heaven, some angel
In answer to my moan!
To one that keeps an hostel!
Doomed with each weary morrow
To be upon the go still!
Send me, oh Heaven, some angel
In answer to my moan!
In season and out of season,
I wither here alone,
('Tis a shame, 'tis against all reason,)
Wearing my hands to the bone!
My mind's made up! I'll seize on
Some husband to share my moan!
I wither here alone,
('Tis a shame, 'tis against all reason,)
Wearing my hands to the bone!
My mind's made up! I'll seize on
Some husband to share my moan!
SCENE V
Landlady, WaiterW.
(aside).
Lo, she's alone! no better moment seek!
L.
What is it, Pietro?
W.
Have I leave to speak?
L.
Ah no! I see, the string you're always strumming;
Don't waste your breath,—there's customers a-coming!
W.
Yet hear me! I'm sincere.—D'ye call this humming?
Duet
L.
Alas, too well to me is known
That hopeless song of love and woe.
W.
You cannot hush my anguished moan,
Till you recall that fatal “No!”
136
Thy importunings are in vain,
Cease, cease, these sighs, 'tis wasted pain!
W.
Though thou refuse me yet again,
My love shall wax, but never wane!
L.
Again I say it cannot be;
This hand, this heart, are not for thee!
W.
Again I swear, though cold to me,
This hand, this heart, are thine in fee!
[Exit Landlady.
SCENE VI
In front of the Eating-House. The Stranger knocks.Enter Waiter
W.
Stranger of doubtful aspect, what make you at the door?
Your face with Hunger's I O U's is written o'er and o'er;
Yet much I do suspect me, you haven't nary red;
Here but our clock hath leave to tick! make tracks! vamose! 'nough said!
S.
O gentlemanly waiter, all day have I pursued
A fleeting, fond illusion of broiled and roast and stewed;
I am not Crœsus, 'tis too true, but I my scot can pay!
W.
If that's the case, I ask no more; I pray you step this way,—
Yet first (for I have sorrows, too,) your woeful tale impart!
S.
Waiter of generous soul, I will, although it break my heart!
Cavatina
With love and hunger anguishing,As I in bed was tossing,
There passed a vision languishing,
The murky midnight crossing!
“Arise!” it said, “and follow me!
Follow with dauntless courage!
And find, ere darkness swallow me,
For heart and stomach forage!”
W.
And then?
S.
I followed, then, unterrified,
In hope (yet hope half-scorning)
To see that promise verified,
All night and since this morning!
137
Stopped here before your portal,
And then, like longings mortal,
In cloud-wreaths disappeared!
W.
O stranger, too, unfortunate, thy story starts a tear,
Step in, I prithee, and forget thy sorrows in some beer!
SCENE VII
The Eating-House. Students seated. Waiting-Maids. To them enter the Waiter and StrangerChorus:
Popular Ballad
There was a man went round the town
To hunt a supper up and down.
To hunt a supper up and down.
For he had been right far away,
And nothing found to eat that day.
And nothing found to eat that day.
He finds at last a right cheap place,
And stealeth in with modest pace—
And stealeth in with modest pace—
S.
Now, waiter, bring to me the bill of fare.
(aside)
Ye pangs within, what will not hunger dare?
Aria
W.
Here is the bill of fare, sir,
Of what there is for supper,
Long as the Proverbs of Tupper,—
Command, then, s'il vous plaît!
Of what there is for supper,
Long as the Proverbs of Tupper,—
Command, then, s'il vous plaît!
Soup, with nothing, twenty coppers,
Roast spring-chicken, three-and-nine,
Ditto biled, (but then they're whoppers!)
Fish-balls, luscious, two a dime,
Two a dime, sir, hot and prime, sir,
Fried cod-fish balls, two a dime!
There's the bill, and cash procures ye
Any viand that allures ye;—
Cutlet, pigeon, woodcock, widgeon,
Canvas-backs, if you're a painter,
Plover, rice-birds, (they're your nice birds!)
And, to cut it short, there ain't a
Thing but you can play the lord in,
If you've got the brads accordin'.
Wines? We get 'em right from Jersey;—
Coffee? Our own beans we raise, sir;—
Ices? 'Cept we warmed 'em,—mercy,—
Freeze your tongue too stiff to praise, sir!
Best of all, though, 's the fish-ball, though,
We have made 'em all the fashion;
Come to try 'em as we fry 'em,—
Presto! liking turns to passion!
There we carry off the banner,
'Taint so easy, neither, that ain't,—
But, you see, we've got a patent,—
Do 'em in the Cape Cod manner,—
That's the way to make 'em flavorous!
Fried in butter, tongue can't utter
How they're brown, and crisp, and savorous!
Roast spring-chicken, three-and-nine,
Ditto biled, (but then they're whoppers!)
Fish-balls, luscious, two a dime,
Two a dime, sir, hot and prime, sir,
Fried cod-fish balls, two a dime!
There's the bill, and cash procures ye
Any viand that allures ye;—
Cutlet, pigeon, woodcock, widgeon,
Canvas-backs, if you're a painter,
Plover, rice-birds, (they're your nice birds!)
And, to cut it short, there ain't a
138
If you've got the brads accordin'.
Wines? We get 'em right from Jersey;—
Coffee? Our own beans we raise, sir;—
Ices? 'Cept we warmed 'em,—mercy,—
Freeze your tongue too stiff to praise, sir!
Best of all, though, 's the fish-ball, though,
We have made 'em all the fashion;
Come to try 'em as we fry 'em,—
Presto! liking turns to passion!
There we carry off the banner,
'Taint so easy, neither, that ain't,—
But, you see, we've got a patent,—
Do 'em in the Cape Cod manner,—
That's the way to make 'em flavorous!
Fried in butter, tongue can't utter
How they're brown, and crisp, and savorous!
S.
Peace, waiter, for I starve meanwhile,—but hold:
Bring me one fish-ball, ONE,— (aside)
curst lack of gold!
SCENE VIII
The Stranger, ChorusS.
Moment of horror! crisis of my doom!
Led by the dreadful Shape, I sought this room
With half a dime! A slender sum, and yet
'Twill buy one fish-ball! Down, weak pride, forget
Thy happier—but what prate I? Thought of dread,
If, with one fish-ball, they should not give bread!
Chorus
Beer here! beer here! hallo! waiter!
Think ye we came here to wait?
Jupiter surnamed the Stator,
Never had so slow a gait!
Beer here! beer here! brisk and foaming,
Lager, Burton, Dublin stout!
If you take so long in coming,
One would rather go without!
SCENE IX
Enter WaiterW.
Here's your one fish-ball, sir— (sarcastically)
you ordered one?
S.
Thanks,—and with bread to match, 'twere not ill done.
139
W.
(with fury).
With one single fish-ball, is't bread ye are after?
So wild a presumption provokes me to laughter!
So mad a suggestion proves, out of all question,
Howe'er you the test shun, you're mad as a hornet!
I trample it, scorn it, so mad a suggestion!
It fills me with fury, it dumbs me with rage!
S.
With one dainty fish-ball do you bread refuse me?
It's you are the madman yourself, sir, excuse me!
My wish was immodest? Of men you're the oddest!
In strait-waistcoat bodiced, go hide ye in Bedlam!
Your fish-balls, there, peddle 'em! learn to be modest,
And tempt not a stranger half-starving to rage!
Chorus.
O'er one paltry fish-ball d'ye make such a rumpus?
For gracious' sake, neighbors, we'd rather you'd thump us!
You make such a flare-up, such riot and rear-up,
Our comfort you tear up to rags and to tatters,
Come, settle your matters without such a flare-up,
Or soon you shall suffer a proof of our rage!
SCENE X
Enter LandladyW.
The Mistress comes, and I will all relate.
S.
Oh, Heaven! my dream! (aside)
L.
Resistless stars! my Fate! (aside)
What means, sirs, tell me, this unseemly riot?
These twenty years my house has still been quiet.
All.
Lady!
L.
Peace! Interesting stranger, tell
The tumult's cause, and how it all befell.
S.
I'll furnish voice, if thou'lt find ears as well!
Cavatina
With love and hunger anguishing,As I in bed was tossing,
There came a vision languishing,
The murky midnight crossing!
“Arise!” it said, “and follow me!
Press on with dauntless courage!
And find, ere darkness swallow me,
For heart and stomach forage!”
140
What then!
S.
I followed, then, unterrified,
In hope (yet hope half scorning)
To see the vision verified,
All night and all this morning.
At last the shape mysterious
Stopped here before your portal,
And then, like longings mortal,
It vanished in a fog!
Chorus and Aria
Chorus.
Hurrah for the famous incognito!
Here's marvels beyond exception!
I'd dance, though I had a mahog'ny toe,
To give him a rousing reception!
Ah, if with Cupid's arrow
You tingle to the marrow,
Yield to the sweet distraction
Of instantaneous flame!
L.
Much faith to joy- or sorrow-scopes
My mind has never tendered,
Yet to a gypsy's horoscopes
It instantly surrendered;—
“There comes a noble stranger
In mystery and danger,
At once to seize the sceptre
That sways thy bosom's throne!”
One of the Chorus.
Pardon my rudeness, gentle stranger, do!
All.
And ours!
S.
'Tis done!
Chorus.
Your vision, then?
S.
Proves true!
Trio
W.
Oh bah! confound his visions!
'Twould be a tavern pretty,
If gratis here the city
Could all come in to dine,
Consuming our provisions,
Our fish-balls, and our wine!
141
O, if thou only knewest
To what a deed atrocious
Thou urgest me, ferocious,
My horror would be thine!
Aims such as thou pursuest,
A fiend would sure resign!
S.
That she should prove benignant,
My wildest hope surpasses;
They are but dolts and asses
That doubt my dream divine!
Ah, do not be indignant,
If now I call thee mine!
SCENE XI
Enter a MessengerMess.
Friends, was a stranger here of noble mien?
W.
A stranger, yes.
Mess.
Half-starved? Of garments mean?
W.
Precisely so, and coin of small amount!
Mess.
'Tis he I've sought for years, Carrara's Count!
L.
Art speaking sooth?
Mess.
Of course; why this amaze?
A harsh stepfather turned him out to graze.
An exile long,—mark now the hand of Fate!
The old man's dead, and his'n the estate!
(points to stranger.)
L.
O, joy supreme!
Chorus.
I always told you so!
Mess.
Are you a Paduan? (To stranger.)
S.
No, of Bergamo!
Mess.
Then 'tis the Count!—Your memory recalls
Blithe days of childhood passed in marble halls?
S.
Hanged if it does!
Mess.
'Tis He!!—One further test:
Wear you a locket with the fam'ly crest?
S.
Not I!
Mess.
'Tis He!!!—Yet, might I be so bold,—
Shows your left arm a roseate button-mould?
S.
Not in the least!
Mess.
'TIS HE!!! Conviction strong!
Salute him all!
Chorus.
I thought so all along.
142
L.
Yes, divine (ah, who can doubt it?)
Was thy sweet ecstatic vision!
Thrice divine, for how, without it,
Had I known thy heart so true?
Pietro slight thee? I invite thee;
Order what you like,—I grant it;
Eat up all, and, if you want it,
Empty all the cellar too!
S.
Yes, divine (ah, who can doubt it?)
Was my vision so Elysian!
Thrice divine,—who dares to flout it,
Now that I can call thee mine?
Nought now frights me, She invites me,
All the bill of fare's mine gratis,
And if that should not be satis,
There's the cellar full of wine!
W.
No, a humbug (who can doubt it?)
Was his lying, plund'ring vision!
Take no pay? Give meals without it?
Scorn, my soul, the base idear!
Stuff ye, dead-heads, black-, gray-, red-heads,
Eat whate'er you lay your eyes on!
Gratis eat, and find it pison,
Ending with unlooked-for bier!
L.
Sit down together, then, and eat away!
All.
'Tis sweet to eat and drink when others pay!
| Uncollected Poems of James Russell Lowell | |