Mozart and Saglieri
SCENE THE FIRST.
A Room.
SAGLIERI .
Men say, there is no justice on this earth
And above, there is no justice either!
This is as plain and clear as simplest scale
The love innate of art divine is mine;
And whilst a child, whene'er in our old church
The organ swelled in high and thrilling notes,
I hearkened and drank in the sounds, till tears,
Self-moved but none less sweet, flowed down my cheeks.
From earliest years all pleasures I forswore;
In studies strange to music found no charm;
From them with proud contempt I kept aloof,
And music vowed with all my soul to serve
The trial step was hard, and dull the path
I had to tread. My primal failures soon
I overcame. The simpler handicraft
I made to serve as stepping-stone of art;
Became the common workman; taught my hand
A sure and firm, but pliant, flowing touch,
And gained a nice and precise ear I slew
The sounds, and, like a corpse, dissected them
And when I knew all science had to teach,
Would have of art creative brightest dreams;
Myself began compose, but secretly,
Nor ventured yet to think of glory.
Nay oft, when in my silent cell alone,
Some three days long, unheeding sleep or food,
I had the glow of inspiration felt,
The rapture past, I burned my work, and watched
The notes that were an echo of my soul
Upshrivel fast, and vanish in light smoke
Nay, what say I? When the great master, Gluck,
Appeared to us revealing secrets new,
Secrets divine, profound and ravishing,
Renounced I not whate'er I knew before,
All that I hitherto had loved, believed,
And did I not thence follow in his steps,
Without complaint, like one who strays aside,
And by some traveller is shown the path?
And so, by strength of never-flagging will
And toil, achieved no mean success in art,
That knows no limit. Fame now smiled on me,
And in the hearts of men I found response
And answer to the fancies of my soul
And I was happy, in my work took joy,
Found pleasure in my triumphs and my fame;
Took equal joy in work of other men,
My friends and fellows in the art divine
And all that time not once I felt the pangs
Of grudgng envy; not when Piccini
Adroitly caught the ear of fickle France,
Or Iphigenia's first notes I heard
Who says that Saglieri, in his pride,
Was then the slave of treacherous envy,
Like some foul snake that has been trodden on,
And, living still, in rage all impotent,
Will on his belly crawling, gnaw the dust?
Not one... but now... I myself proclaim it.
I grudge this man his fame am filled with spite!
And where God's justice, if His greatest gift,
Undying genius, be curt refused
To warmest love, and sacrifice of self,
To labour, zeal, and supplicating cries,
And given to illume a trifler's head
With glory's halo? Ah, Mozart! Mozart!
MOZART
And so, hast spied me out? Now, think, I wished
To give a good surprise, and play a trick
SAGLIERI
'Tis thou! Hast long been here?
MOZART
I have just come
With something new that I would have thee hear;
But, passing on my road an alehouse, heard
A fiddler... but no! my Saglieri,
A droller thing, I ween, thou hast ne'er known!
Within the house I heard a fiddler blind
Play, Voi che sapete . Only think!
I could not help myself, have brought him here,
To give a taste of his high art. Here, you!
Come in!
Now, play us something from Mozart!
SAGLIERI .
And thou canst laugh at that?
MOZART .
Why, even so!
And dost thou not thyself feel forced to laugh?
SAGLIERI .
And should I laugh when some sign-painter's man
Of Raphael's Madonna makes his daub?
Or should I laugh because some brainless clown
Has dared burlesque our Dante's mighty verse?
Away, old fool!
MOZART .
One moment, friend: take this,
And please to drink my health.
But as for thee,
I find thee out of humour now. I'll come
A fitter time.
SAGLIERI .
What hast thou brought with thee?
MOZART .
A trumpery nothing! The other night,
As I lay tossing in a sleepless fit,
There came into my head two, three phrases;
I wrote them down this morning, and would hear
Thy verdict on the piece But not just now!
Thou art in no fit mind.
SAGLIERI .
Tell me, Mozart,
When thou wert not a welcome guest? Sit down!
I am all ears.
MOZART .
And now, of some one think;
Whom shall I say?... Well, me... But not so old...
In love, not madly, but a slight attack,
With lady, or male friend... suppose, thyself...
And I'm all gay, when suddenly I see
In dream a coffin, cloud of thickest dark,
Or some weird thing. Now, listen, pray!
SAGLIERI .
And thou,
Mozart, wert hither on thy road with that ,
And yet couldst loiter at a common inn,
And listen to a vagrant fiddler! God!
Mozart, thou art unworthy of thyself!
MOZART .
Well, what? Not bad? So, so?
SAGLIERI .
What depth of thought!
What boldness, and what harmony withal!
Thou art a God, Mozart, and dost not know!
But I and others know!
MOZART .
Bah! As you like;
But, know, your hungry Godship fain would dine.
SAGLIERI .
Let us at the Golden Lion meet.
MOZART .
Agreed,
Agreed! But let me first go home and tell
The wife I shall not dine with her to-day.
SAGLIERI .
I will await thee; so, be sure to come.
I can no longer strive against my fate:
It calls, and I, the chosen one, must check
His proud career; or else, we are undone,
All music's priests and ministers devout,
All, not I alone with my obscure fame.
What good can he achieve, though he should live,
And reach, perchance, yet higher, grander heights?
And does he think thereby to raise our art?
Vain dream! our art, when once he quits the scene,
Will fall again, since he can leave no heir
What good can he bequeath? Like cherubim,
He brings with him from Paradise new strains,
But only that, when he has roused in us,
Poor, helpless children of our prison earth,
Hopes vague and wingless, he may fly away,
And leave us beggars as we were before!
This poison was Isora's dying gift:
Eighteen long years I have kept it hoarded,
Though life has often seemed a worthless boon
When with my unsuspecting foe I sat,
And, gaily feasting, at one board caroused,
I ne'er have yielded to the tempter's voice.
And yet I feel scant love of life, and am
No coward prone to bear the sting of wrong
But still I have deferred the fatal act,
And when the thirst of death most tortured me,
Have thought, why should I die? May be, that life
Will bring me yet the boon so long withheld;
May be, I too shall know those sleepless nights,
When brain is stirred with forms anew inspired;
May be, a second Haydn shall fresh create
A master-work wherein to find full joy.
When feasting with some hated rival-guest,
I thought, I have not found my dearest foe,
May be, some sharper wrong I must endure:
So, wait: and then Isora's gift will serve!
And I was right to wait! I have now found
My dearest foe, and now a second Haydn
Has made me drunk with heavenly rapture!
The hour has come: so, let the gift of love
In friendship's cup this day be boldly thrown!
SCENE THE SECOND.
SAGLIERI .
Wherefore so dull to-day?
MOZART .
I am not dull.
SAGLIERI .
Nay, nay, Mozart! There's something on thine heart
A perfect dinner and superbest wine,
And there thou moping sitst!
MOZART .
I do confess,
My Requiem doth haunt and worry me.
SAGLIERI .
So, busy with a Requiem? Since when?
MOZART .
Some while, three weeks or more. But now a strange...
Have I not told thee?
SAGLIERI .
No.
MOZART .
It happened thus:
One night, three weeks ago, I late came home,
And learned a visitor had called on me.
I know not why, all night I sleepless lay,
And wondered who he was and what he would
The stranger on the morrow came again;
Once more I chanced to be away from home.
The third day I was romping on the floor
With youngest boy, when our maid announced him.
I left the room, and found a stranger dressed
In sable suit, who prayed me write for him
A Requiem, and departed. That day
Began to write, but naught have seen since then,
Or heard of the strange visitor in black.
And I am glad, for it were hard to give
My work away, though finished now it be,
My Requiem. But none the less, I...
SAGLIERI .
What?
MOZART .
I am ashamed, my friend, to tell.
SAGLIERI .
But what?
MOZART .
This visitor unknown disturbs my rest;
By day and night he haunts and follows me,
As though he were my shadow. And e'en now,
It seems that he, a third unbidden guest,
Between us sits.
SAGLIERI .
What childish fears! My friend,
These gloomy fancies banish! Beaumarchais
Was wont to say: Listen, Saglieri,
When muddling thoughts oppress and trouble thee,
At once uncork a bottle of champagne,
Or read my Mariage de Figaro .
MOZART .
Yes, Beaumarchais has ever been thy friend:
'Twas he who wrote the words for thy Tarare ,
A splendid piece of work. There is one air
In gay and merry mood I often hum...
But, Saglieri, is the story true,
That, jealous, he a rival poisoned once?
SAGLIERI .
The tale is false: the man is far too great
A clown to practise such a trade!
MOZART .
Besides,
He is a genius, as thou and I;
Now, genius and ill can ne'er exist
In one and self-same soul. Is that not true?
SAGLIERI .
Thou thinkest so, Mozart?
Well, drink, my friend!
MOZART .
Thy health and our sincerest union!
May Saglieri and Mozart, the friends
Of music, be in heart and soul close knit!
SAGLIERI .
Stay!... Thou hast drunk... and drunk, not waiting me!
MOZART .
Enough! No more!
Listen, Saglieri!
My Requiem!... What, dost thou weep?
SAGLIERI .
These tears
I shed, are both a pleasure and a pain;
As if I had some hardest task fulfilled,
As if the surgeon's knife had clean cut off
A gangrened limb. These tears, my dear Mozart,
But pay no heed to them! Play on, play on,
And drown my soul in sweetest melody!
MOZART .
Would all thus felt the power of sweet sound!
But no! For, then, the world must need, perforce,
Come to an end: then, none would careful be
About the daily wants of sordid life,
And all would make themselves the priests of art.
But, as it is, we are the chosen few,
With scorn neglect the paltry gross of gain,
And live the prophets of the beautiful.
Is it not so?... But sick at heart I feel...
Something ails me... a trifle... I'll go home,
And sleep it off. Adieu!
SAGLIERI .
Farewell!
Thy sleep,
Mozart, shall know no waking! Can it be,
That he is right, and I no genius?
" For genius and ill can ne'er exist
In one and self-same soul " . But that is false!
And how Buonarroti? Or, is that
A stupid legend of the crowd... and he,
Who built the Vatican, no murderer?
A Room.
SAGLIERI .
Men say, there is no justice on this earth
And above, there is no justice either!
This is as plain and clear as simplest scale
The love innate of art divine is mine;
And whilst a child, whene'er in our old church
The organ swelled in high and thrilling notes,
I hearkened and drank in the sounds, till tears,
Self-moved but none less sweet, flowed down my cheeks.
From earliest years all pleasures I forswore;
In studies strange to music found no charm;
From them with proud contempt I kept aloof,
And music vowed with all my soul to serve
The trial step was hard, and dull the path
I had to tread. My primal failures soon
I overcame. The simpler handicraft
I made to serve as stepping-stone of art;
Became the common workman; taught my hand
A sure and firm, but pliant, flowing touch,
And gained a nice and precise ear I slew
The sounds, and, like a corpse, dissected them
And when I knew all science had to teach,
Would have of art creative brightest dreams;
Myself began compose, but secretly,
Nor ventured yet to think of glory.
Nay oft, when in my silent cell alone,
Some three days long, unheeding sleep or food,
I had the glow of inspiration felt,
The rapture past, I burned my work, and watched
The notes that were an echo of my soul
Upshrivel fast, and vanish in light smoke
Nay, what say I? When the great master, Gluck,
Appeared to us revealing secrets new,
Secrets divine, profound and ravishing,
Renounced I not whate'er I knew before,
All that I hitherto had loved, believed,
And did I not thence follow in his steps,
Without complaint, like one who strays aside,
And by some traveller is shown the path?
And so, by strength of never-flagging will
And toil, achieved no mean success in art,
That knows no limit. Fame now smiled on me,
And in the hearts of men I found response
And answer to the fancies of my soul
And I was happy, in my work took joy,
Found pleasure in my triumphs and my fame;
Took equal joy in work of other men,
My friends and fellows in the art divine
And all that time not once I felt the pangs
Of grudgng envy; not when Piccini
Adroitly caught the ear of fickle France,
Or Iphigenia's first notes I heard
Who says that Saglieri, in his pride,
Was then the slave of treacherous envy,
Like some foul snake that has been trodden on,
And, living still, in rage all impotent,
Will on his belly crawling, gnaw the dust?
Not one... but now... I myself proclaim it.
I grudge this man his fame am filled with spite!
And where God's justice, if His greatest gift,
Undying genius, be curt refused
To warmest love, and sacrifice of self,
To labour, zeal, and supplicating cries,
And given to illume a trifler's head
With glory's halo? Ah, Mozart! Mozart!
MOZART
And so, hast spied me out? Now, think, I wished
To give a good surprise, and play a trick
SAGLIERI
'Tis thou! Hast long been here?
MOZART
I have just come
With something new that I would have thee hear;
But, passing on my road an alehouse, heard
A fiddler... but no! my Saglieri,
A droller thing, I ween, thou hast ne'er known!
Within the house I heard a fiddler blind
Play, Voi che sapete . Only think!
I could not help myself, have brought him here,
To give a taste of his high art. Here, you!
Come in!
Now, play us something from Mozart!
SAGLIERI .
And thou canst laugh at that?
MOZART .
Why, even so!
And dost thou not thyself feel forced to laugh?
SAGLIERI .
And should I laugh when some sign-painter's man
Of Raphael's Madonna makes his daub?
Or should I laugh because some brainless clown
Has dared burlesque our Dante's mighty verse?
Away, old fool!
MOZART .
One moment, friend: take this,
And please to drink my health.
But as for thee,
I find thee out of humour now. I'll come
A fitter time.
SAGLIERI .
What hast thou brought with thee?
MOZART .
A trumpery nothing! The other night,
As I lay tossing in a sleepless fit,
There came into my head two, three phrases;
I wrote them down this morning, and would hear
Thy verdict on the piece But not just now!
Thou art in no fit mind.
SAGLIERI .
Tell me, Mozart,
When thou wert not a welcome guest? Sit down!
I am all ears.
MOZART .
And now, of some one think;
Whom shall I say?... Well, me... But not so old...
In love, not madly, but a slight attack,
With lady, or male friend... suppose, thyself...
And I'm all gay, when suddenly I see
In dream a coffin, cloud of thickest dark,
Or some weird thing. Now, listen, pray!
SAGLIERI .
And thou,
Mozart, wert hither on thy road with that ,
And yet couldst loiter at a common inn,
And listen to a vagrant fiddler! God!
Mozart, thou art unworthy of thyself!
MOZART .
Well, what? Not bad? So, so?
SAGLIERI .
What depth of thought!
What boldness, and what harmony withal!
Thou art a God, Mozart, and dost not know!
But I and others know!
MOZART .
Bah! As you like;
But, know, your hungry Godship fain would dine.
SAGLIERI .
Let us at the Golden Lion meet.
MOZART .
Agreed,
Agreed! But let me first go home and tell
The wife I shall not dine with her to-day.
SAGLIERI .
I will await thee; so, be sure to come.
I can no longer strive against my fate:
It calls, and I, the chosen one, must check
His proud career; or else, we are undone,
All music's priests and ministers devout,
All, not I alone with my obscure fame.
What good can he achieve, though he should live,
And reach, perchance, yet higher, grander heights?
And does he think thereby to raise our art?
Vain dream! our art, when once he quits the scene,
Will fall again, since he can leave no heir
What good can he bequeath? Like cherubim,
He brings with him from Paradise new strains,
But only that, when he has roused in us,
Poor, helpless children of our prison earth,
Hopes vague and wingless, he may fly away,
And leave us beggars as we were before!
This poison was Isora's dying gift:
Eighteen long years I have kept it hoarded,
Though life has often seemed a worthless boon
When with my unsuspecting foe I sat,
And, gaily feasting, at one board caroused,
I ne'er have yielded to the tempter's voice.
And yet I feel scant love of life, and am
No coward prone to bear the sting of wrong
But still I have deferred the fatal act,
And when the thirst of death most tortured me,
Have thought, why should I die? May be, that life
Will bring me yet the boon so long withheld;
May be, I too shall know those sleepless nights,
When brain is stirred with forms anew inspired;
May be, a second Haydn shall fresh create
A master-work wherein to find full joy.
When feasting with some hated rival-guest,
I thought, I have not found my dearest foe,
May be, some sharper wrong I must endure:
So, wait: and then Isora's gift will serve!
And I was right to wait! I have now found
My dearest foe, and now a second Haydn
Has made me drunk with heavenly rapture!
The hour has come: so, let the gift of love
In friendship's cup this day be boldly thrown!
SCENE THE SECOND.
SAGLIERI .
Wherefore so dull to-day?
MOZART .
I am not dull.
SAGLIERI .
Nay, nay, Mozart! There's something on thine heart
A perfect dinner and superbest wine,
And there thou moping sitst!
MOZART .
I do confess,
My Requiem doth haunt and worry me.
SAGLIERI .
So, busy with a Requiem? Since when?
MOZART .
Some while, three weeks or more. But now a strange...
Have I not told thee?
SAGLIERI .
No.
MOZART .
It happened thus:
One night, three weeks ago, I late came home,
And learned a visitor had called on me.
I know not why, all night I sleepless lay,
And wondered who he was and what he would
The stranger on the morrow came again;
Once more I chanced to be away from home.
The third day I was romping on the floor
With youngest boy, when our maid announced him.
I left the room, and found a stranger dressed
In sable suit, who prayed me write for him
A Requiem, and departed. That day
Began to write, but naught have seen since then,
Or heard of the strange visitor in black.
And I am glad, for it were hard to give
My work away, though finished now it be,
My Requiem. But none the less, I...
SAGLIERI .
What?
MOZART .
I am ashamed, my friend, to tell.
SAGLIERI .
But what?
MOZART .
This visitor unknown disturbs my rest;
By day and night he haunts and follows me,
As though he were my shadow. And e'en now,
It seems that he, a third unbidden guest,
Between us sits.
SAGLIERI .
What childish fears! My friend,
These gloomy fancies banish! Beaumarchais
Was wont to say: Listen, Saglieri,
When muddling thoughts oppress and trouble thee,
At once uncork a bottle of champagne,
Or read my Mariage de Figaro .
MOZART .
Yes, Beaumarchais has ever been thy friend:
'Twas he who wrote the words for thy Tarare ,
A splendid piece of work. There is one air
In gay and merry mood I often hum...
But, Saglieri, is the story true,
That, jealous, he a rival poisoned once?
SAGLIERI .
The tale is false: the man is far too great
A clown to practise such a trade!
MOZART .
Besides,
He is a genius, as thou and I;
Now, genius and ill can ne'er exist
In one and self-same soul. Is that not true?
SAGLIERI .
Thou thinkest so, Mozart?
Well, drink, my friend!
MOZART .
Thy health and our sincerest union!
May Saglieri and Mozart, the friends
Of music, be in heart and soul close knit!
SAGLIERI .
Stay!... Thou hast drunk... and drunk, not waiting me!
MOZART .
Enough! No more!
Listen, Saglieri!
My Requiem!... What, dost thou weep?
SAGLIERI .
These tears
I shed, are both a pleasure and a pain;
As if I had some hardest task fulfilled,
As if the surgeon's knife had clean cut off
A gangrened limb. These tears, my dear Mozart,
But pay no heed to them! Play on, play on,
And drown my soul in sweetest melody!
MOZART .
Would all thus felt the power of sweet sound!
But no! For, then, the world must need, perforce,
Come to an end: then, none would careful be
About the daily wants of sordid life,
And all would make themselves the priests of art.
But, as it is, we are the chosen few,
With scorn neglect the paltry gross of gain,
And live the prophets of the beautiful.
Is it not so?... But sick at heart I feel...
Something ails me... a trifle... I'll go home,
And sleep it off. Adieu!
SAGLIERI .
Farewell!
Thy sleep,
Mozart, shall know no waking! Can it be,
That he is right, and I no genius?
" For genius and ill can ne'er exist
In one and self-same soul " . But that is false!
And how Buonarroti? Or, is that
A stupid legend of the crowd... and he,
Who built the Vatican, no murderer?
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