Tutti abbiamo il nostro negativo, delle zone d'ombra, o visioni speculari e parliamo d'amore, là, dove io muoio.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Racconto di Natale, Piccole donne di Louisa May Alcott, inglese-italiano
UN LIETO NATALE - Louisa May Alcott
Nella grigia luce del mattino di Natale, la prima a svegliarsi fu Jo; rimase delusa nel vedere che non vi erano calze appese al camino ma, ricordandosi della promessa della mamma, cercò sotto il cuscino e ne trasse un libretto rilegato in rosso. Era la bellissima storia della vita del miglior Uomo che fosse vissuto; Jo la conosceva bene e sapeva che non poteva esistere un miglior libro-guida per un pellegrino in cammino.
Con un allegro "Buon Natale" destò Meg e le ricordò di cercare sotto il cuscino. Anch'essa trovò un libro con la copertina verde e con alcune parole di dedica scritte dalla mamma. Questo, rendeva il dono ancor più prezioso. Poco dopo Beth ed Amy si svegliarono e, frugando sotto i guanciali, trovarono la prima un libro color cenere, la seconda uno color turchino. Le ragazze cominciarono a sfogliare i libri commentandoli, mentre il cielo si tingeva di rosa per il sorgere del sole.
Margherita, malgrado le sue piccole vanità, era molto buona e saggia ed aveva una certa influenza sulle sorelline, specialmente su Jo che le voleva molto bene. - Ragazze - disse Meg, abbracciando con un solo sguardo le quattro testine arruffate - la mamma desidera che noi leggiamo ed amiamo i libri: dobbiamo ubbidire fin da ora.
Così detto cominciò a leggere. Io le passò un braccio attorno alle spalle e iniziò la lettura con la guancia appoggiata a quella della sorella.
- Meg è proprio buona - esclamò Beth commossa. - Vieni, Amy, seguiamo il loro esempio; ti spiegherò le parole che non conosci ed io, se non capirò qualcosa, mi rivolgerò a loro.
- Ho piacere che la copertina del mio libro sia turchina! - disse Amy.
Tutta la casa piombò nel silenzio, interrotto soltanto dal frusciare delle pagine. Intanto il sole inondava la camera, augurando il "Buon Natale" alle quattro testine bionde.
- Dov'è la mamma, Anna? - domandò Meg, dopo una mezz'ora, mentre scendeva le scale insieme a Jo.
- Dio solo lo sa! È venuto un povero a chiedere l'elemosina e dopo essersi informata su ciò che gli abbisognava, è uscita con lui. Non conosco nessuna donna più generosa nel donare cibi ed abiti ai poveri.
- Immagino che tornerà presto: prepara intanto le torte: poi prepariamo il resto, - disse Meg, guardando i regali dentro al paniere.
- Ma dov'è l'acqua di Colonia di Amy?
- L'ha presa lei pochi momenti fa per metterci un nastro o non so quale altra cosa - rispose Jo, saltellando per la casa.
- Sono belli i miei fazzoletti? Anna me li ha lavati e stirati ed io li ho cifrati, - disse Beth guardando le cifre piuttosto irregolari.
- Ma guarda, invece di ricamare "M.M." ha fatto "Mamma"! - esclamò Jo, guardandone uno.
- Ho forse fatto male? Anche Meg ha come cifra una doppia "M" ed io voglio che questi fazzoletti li adoperi soltanto la mamma! - rispose Beth turbata.
- Hai fatto benissimo, tesoro! La mamma sarà molto contenta, - disse Meg lanciando una severa occhiata a Jo e sorridendo a Beth.
- Ho sentito dei passi, presto, nascondiarno i regali! - esclamò Jo concitatamente, ma non era la mamma: era Amy che entrava in gran fretta, tutta confusa nel vedere che le sorelle l'aspettavano già.
- Dove sei stata e cosa nascondi, lì dietro? - chiese Meg molto meravigliata nel constatare che la pigra sorellina era uscita così di buon'ora.
- Non ridere, Jo. Non volevo dirlo a nessuno, ma mi avete scoperto. Sono andata a cambiare la boccetta di profumo con una più grande: ho speso tutti i miei risparmi. Voglio diventare veramente buona.
Amy mostrò la bella bottiglia che avrebbe sostituito quella più piccola ed era così bello ed umile il suo gesto che Meg non potè fare a meno di abbracciarla.
- Stamattina dopo aver letto il libro - mi sono vergognata del mio egoismo. Appena alzata sono uscita per cambiare la boccetta, ma adesso sono contenta perchè il mio regalo è il più bello di tutti - soggiunse Amy.
La porta di casa si chiuse di nuovo e le ragazze fecero sparire rapidamente il paniere sotto il divano.
- Buon Natale, mamma! Buon Natale! Grazie dei libri: abbiamo già cominciato a leggerli e saranno la nostra lettura di ogni mattina - gridarono allegramente le quattro ragazze.
"Buon Natale a voi, figlie mie! Sono contenta che abbiate già iniziato e spero che continuerete. Ma
prima di sederci, devo dirvi una cosa. Poco lontano da qui, una donna ha appena avuto un bimbo. Ne ha già altri sei, che stanno rannicchiati in un unico letto per non gelare. Infatti, non hanno né legna per il fuoco, né qualcosa da mangiare... Bambine mie, vorreste donare loro la vostra colazione come regalo di Natale?"
Per un momento nessuna parlò: avevano un grande appetito poichè attendevano già da un'ora. L'indecisione durò per poco.
- Sono contenta che tu sia arrivata prima che cominciassimo.
- Vengo io ad aiutarti? - chiese Beth con premura.
- Io porto la crema e le focaccine, - soggiunse Amy.
- Sapevo che le mie bambine avrebbero fatto questo piccolo sacrificio - disse sorridendo la signora March. - Verrete tutte con me e quando torneremo faremo colazione con latte, pane, burro.
In pochi minuti tutte furono pronte per uscire. Per loro fortuna, le strade erano deserte e nessuno si meravigliò di quella processione.
La stanza che videro era veramente una stamberga! Il fuoco era spento, le finestre sconquassate; le coperte lacere e in un angolo la madre ammalata col piccolo che strillava. Sotto una vecchia coperta erano sei bambini che, quando videro entrare le fanciulle, sorrisero spalancando gli occhi per la meraviglia.
- Mio Dio! Sono gli angeli che vengono ad aiutarci, - esclamò la povera madre commossa.
- Strani angeli con cappucci e guanti! - esclamò Jo e tutti risero allegramente.
Pochi minuti dopo la stanza aveva mutato aspetto. Anna, che aveva portato la legna da casa, accese il fuoco. Poi, con cappelli vecchi e perfino il suo scialle, chiuse le aperture dei vetri rotti. Intanto la signora March preparava per la madre il tè e una minestra, promettendole nuovi aiuti. Le ragazze preparavano la tavola ed imboccavano i sei bambini, ridendo, chiacchierando e cercando di capire il loro strano modo di parlare. I bambini, tra un boccone e l'altro, le chiamavano "angeli" e questo divertiva molto le ragazze che prima di allora non erano mai state chiamate così, specialmente Jo che, fin dalla nascita, era stata considerata un " sanciopancia ".
Terminata la colazione, tutte tornarono a casa e forse in tutta la città non vi erano quattro fanciulle più liete. - Sono contenta di aver fatto un po' di bene ai nostri simpatici vicini! - esclamò Meg mentre disponeva sulla tavola i doni per la mamma che, in quel momento, stava cercando al piano superiore indumenti per i piccoli Hummel.
Benchè i regali non fossero gran cosa, la tavola così preparata con le rose, i crisantemi e l'edera, faceva un bell'effetto.
Le opere benefiche e la distribuzione dei doni occupò le ragazze per tutta la mattinata; il pomeriggio, invece, trascorse tra i preparativi per la festa di quella sera. Essendo ancora troppo giovani per andare a teatro e non avendo la possibilità di comperare tutto il necessario per le loro rappresentazioni, le ragazze dovevano aguzzare il loro ingegno. Alcune delle loro trovate erano veramente ingegnose: chitarre di cartone colorato, lumi antichi ricavati dalle scatole di burro, abiti di cotonina ornati con diamanti di stagnola, armature di lamina di zinco. Il mobilio della stanza era abituato ad essere messo sossopra per quelle ingenue baldorie. Alle recite erano ammesse solo le bambine, così Jo poteva divertirsi ad impersonare tutte le parti maschili. Essa andava molto orgogliosa di un paio di stivaloni di cuoio che le erano stati regalati da un'amica e di un vecchio fioretto che compariva in tutte le rappresentazioni. L'esiguo numero di attori richiedeva che i principali recitassero varie parti, mutando in tutta fretta gli abiti.
La sera di Natale, su una brandina che fungeva da platea, erano sedute una dozzina di spettatrici: grande era l'attesa davanti al sipario di tela azzurra. Dietro al sipario si udivano fruscii, rumori di passi, un parlare sommesso e le risatine soffocate di Amy, che era in preda ad una grande agitazione.
Finalmente il sipario si alzò e cominciò la " Tragedia musicale ". La scena rappresentava una foresta oscura: qua e là vi erano vasi di piante, un vecchio tappeto verde simulava il prato. Nel fondo vi era una grotta le cui pareti erano fatte con diverse scrivanie; la scena era resa tenebrosa da un fuoco acceso nella caverna su cui bolliva una pentola, sorvegliata da una vecchia strega. L'effetto era grande specialmente quando la strega alzava il coperchio della pentola, lasciando sfuggire sbuffi di denso fumo nero.
Dopo un attimo di pausa, Ugo, il personaggio malvagio della tragedia, entra sbatacchiando la porta, col cappello calato sugli occhi e gli immancabili stivali. Dopo aver camminato un po' per il palcoscenico, comincia a cantare il suo odio per Roderigo, il suo amore per Zara e il proposito di uccidere il primo e di farsi amare dalla seconda.
Il sipario si chiuse tra gli applausi degli spettatori che commentarono l'opera masticando frutta candita.
Colpi di martelli risuonarono per tutto l'intervallo, ma quando il sipario si alzò, nessuno ebbe il coraggio di lamentarsi per il ritardo. Una torre si ergeva fino al soffitto, nel centro vi era una finestrella illuminata, attraverso la quale appariva Zara in un elegante vestito azzurro.
Zara doveva uscire dalla finestra, e stava per metter piede a terra, quando lo strascico della sua veste, impigliandosi nelle finestrelle, fa crollare la torre e seppellisce gli infelici amanti. Dalla platea sorse un urlo generale che presto si tramutò in una risata clamorosa mentre, dalle macerie, uscivano agitandosi due stivaloni gialli e una testolina tutta riccioli che gridava:
- L'avevo detto io! l'avevo detto!
Fortunatamente l'incidente si risolse assai felicemente.
Il terzo atto si svolge nel salone del castello dove è nascosta Agar, pronta ad uccidere Ugo e a liberare i due prigionieri. Sentendolo giungere, essa si nasconde e lo vede preparare le bevande, poi volgersi a un servo e dire:
- Porta queste bevande ai due prigionieri e di che verrò tra poco.
Ma Agar, approfittando di un momento di distrazione del malvagio, sostituisce due coppe innocue a quelle avvelenate. Il servo esce e Ugo, dopo un lungo canto, preso dalla sete beve la coppa contenente il veleno destinato a Roderigo. Dopo vari gesti e contorsioni egli cade morto per terra mentre Agar compie interamente la sua vendetta informandolo di tutto il suo operato con una bellissima romanza.
Il quarto atto rivela come Roderigo, che si credeva abbandonato da Zara, voglia uccidersi. Ma un dolce canto lo informa della fedeltà della sua amata e una chiave lanciata dentro la sua prigione gli permette di liberarla.
Il pubblico applaudì freneticamente e l'applauso sarebbe durato a lungo se non fosse accaduto uno strano incidente. La branda su cui erano seduti gli spettatori si chiuse improvvisamente, soffocando il generale entusiasmo.
Ridevano ancor tutti quando Anna entrò portando gli auguri di Buon Natale da parte della signora March ed invitando tutti ad un piccolo trattenimento. Fu una sorpresa anche per le ragazze; sapevano che la mamma avrebbe offerto qualcosa, ma una cena così bella non l'avevano più veduta dal tempo della lontana ricchezza. C'erano due gelati; uno bianco ed uno rosso; torta, frutta, un vassoio di fondante e, nel centro della tavola, quattro bellissimi mazzi di fiori. Le bambine guardarono meravigliate, poi assalirono la madre di domande:
- Sono le fate? - domandò Amy.
- È il Babbo Natale! - disse Beth.
- È stata la mamma! - esclamò Meg, sorridendo felice.
- Per una volta tanto la zia March ha avuta una buona idea! - esclamò Jo improvvisamente.
- Avete sbagliato! - rispose la signora March. - Ha mandato tutto il Sig. Laurence!
- Il Sig. Laurence? Ma se non ci conosce neppure! - esclamò Meg, stupita.
- Anna ha raccontato ad una delle sue domestiche la nostra spedizione di questa mattina in casa Hummel. La storia lo ha commosso, molti anni fa egli era amico del mio babbo, ed oggi mi ha scritto un bigliettino chiedendomi il permesso di mandarvi qualche ghiottoneria, in onore del giorno di Natale. Non potevo rifiutare ed ecco qui un banchetto che certamente vi ricompenserà del pane e latte di questa mattina.
- È certamente opera del suo nipotino: è un ragazzo molto simpatico e mi piacerebbe di conoscerlo. Credo che anche a lui piacerebbe di fare la nostra conoscenza ma è piuttosto timido, e Meg non mi permette di salutarlo quando lo incontriamo, - disse Jo mentre i piatti dei dolci circolavano e l'allegria aumentava sempre.
- È un ragazzo molto educato e non ho alcuna difficoltà che facciate amicizia con lui; i fiori li ha portati lui, lo avrei invitato volentieri se avessi saputo che cosa stavate combinando lassù. Credo che avrebbe accettato molto volentieri, ma...
- Per fortuna non l'ha fatto! la recita è stato un vero fiasco, ma ne faremo delle altre e avremo occasione di invitarlo: forse potrà anche aiutarci. Non sarebbe bello? - disse Jo con entusiasmo.
- Com'è grazioso il mio mazzo di fiori! - esclamò Meg. - È il primo che ricevo!
- Sì, davvero grazioso, ma io preferisco le rose di Beth. - Così dicendo, la signora March aspirò il profumo delle rose ormai appassite che teneva alla cintura.
Beth l'abbracciò e sussurrò:
- Vorrei mandare qualche rosa anche al babbo, non credo che abbia trascorso un Natale così felice come il nostro!
VERSIONE INGLESE chapter two: Merry Christmas
Jo was the first to wake in the gray dawn of Christmas morning. No stockings hung at the fireplace, and for a moment she felt as much disappointed as she did long ago, when her little sock fell down because it was crammed so full of goodies. Then she remembered her mother's promise and, slipping her hand under her pillow, drew out a little crimson-covered book. She knew it very well, for it was that beautiful old story of the best life ever lived, and Jo felt that it was a true guidebook for any pilgrim going on a long journey. She woke Meg with a Merry Christmas, and bade her see what was under her pillow. A green-covered book appeared, with the same picture inside, and a few words written by their mother, which made their one present very precious in their eyes. Presently Beth and Amy woke to rummage and find their little books also, one dove-colored, the other blue, and all sat looking at and talking about them, while the east grew rosy with the coming day.
In spite of her small vanities, Margaret had a sweet and pious nature, which unconsciously influenced her sisters, especially Jo, who loved her very tenderly, and obeyed her because her advice was so gently given.
Girls, said Meg seriously, looking from the tumbled head beside her to the two little night-capped ones in the room beyond, Mother wants us to read and love and mind these books, and we must begin at once. We used to be faithful about it, but since Father went away and all this war trouble unsettled us, we have neglected many things. You can do as you please, but I shall keep my book on the table here and read a little every morning as soon as I wake, for I know it will do me good and help me through the day.
Then she opened her new book and began to read. Jo put her arm round her and, leaning cheek to cheek, read also, with the quiet expression so seldom seen on her restless face.
How good Meg is! Come, Amy, let's do as they do. I'll help you with the hard words, and they'' explain things if we don't understand, whispered Beth, very much impressed by the pretty books and her sisters, example.
I'm glad mine is blue, said Amy. and then the rooms were every still while the pages were softly turned, and the winter sunshine crept in to touch the bright heads and serious faces with a Christmas greeting.
Where is Mother? asked Meg, as she and Jo ran down to thank her for their gifts, half an hour later.
Goodness only knows. some poor creature came a-beggin', and your ma went straight off to see what was needed. There never was such a woman for givin' away vittles and drink, clothes and firin', replied Hannah, who had lived with the family since Meg was born, and was considered by them all more as a friend than a servant.
She will be back soon, I think, so fry your cakes, and have everything ready, said Meg, looking over the presents which were collected in a basket and kept under the sofa, ready to be produced at the proper time. why, where is Amy's bottle of cologne? she added, as the little flask did not appear.
She took it out a minute ago, and went off with it to put a ribbon on it, or some such notion, replied Jo, dancing about the room to take the first stiffness off the new army slippers.
How nice my handkerchiefs look, don't they? Hannah washed and ironed them for me, and I marked them all myself, said Beth, looking proudly at the somewhat uneven letters which had cost her such labor.
Bless the child! She's gone and put `Mother' on them instead of `M.March'. How funny! cried Jo, taking one up.
Isn't that right? I thought it was better to do it so, because Meg's initials are M.M., and I don't want anyone to use these but Marmee, said Beth;, looking troubled.
It's all right, dear, and a very pretty idea, quite sensible too, for no one can ever mistake now. It will please her very much, I know, said Meg, with a frown for Jo and a smile for Beth.
There's Mother. Hide the basket, quick! cried Jo, as a door slammed and steps sounded in the hall.
Amy came in hastily, and looked rather abashed when she saw her sisters all waiting for her.
Where have you been, and what are you hiding behind you? asked Meg, surprised to see, by her hood and cloak, that lazy Amy had been out so early.
Don't laugh at me, Jo! I didn't mean anyone should know till the time came. I only meant to change the little bottle for a bygone, and I gave all my money to get it, and I'm truly trying not to be selfish any more.
As she spoke, Amy showed the handsome flask which replaced the cheap one, and looked so earnest and humble in her little effort to forget herself that Meg hugged her on the spot, and Jo pronounced her `a trump', while Beth ran to the window, and picked her finest rose to ornament the stately bottle.
You see I felt ashamed of my present, after reading and talking about being good this morning, so I ran round the corner and changed it the minute I was up, and I'm so glad, for mine is the handsomest now.
Another bang of the street door sent the basket under the sofa, and the girls to the table, eager for breakfast.
Merry Christmas, Marmee! Many of them! Thank you for our books. We read some, and mean to every day, they all cried in chorus.
Merry Christmas, little daughters! I'm glad you began at once, and hope you will keep on. But I want to say one word before we sit down. Not far away from here lies a poor woman with a little newborn baby. Six children are huddled into one bed to keep from freezing, for they have no fire. There is nothing to eat over there, and the oldest boy came to tell me they were suffering hunger and cold. My girls, will you give them your breakfasts a Christmas present?
They were all unusually hungry, having waited nearly an hour, and for a minute no one spoke, only a minute, for Jo exclaimed impetuously, I'm so glad you came before we began!
May I go and help carry the things to the poor little children? asked Beth eagerly.
I shall take the cream and the muffins, added Amy, heroically giving up the article she most liked.
Meg was already covering the buckwheat's, and piling the bread into one big plate.
I thought you'd do it, said Mrs. March, smiling as if satisfied. You shall all go and help me, and when we come back we will have bread and milk for breakfast, and make it up at dinnertime.
They were soon ready, and the procession set out. Fortunately it was early, and they went through back streets, so few people saw them, and no one laughed at the queer party.
A poor, bare, miserable room it was, with broken windows, no fire, ragged bedclothes, a sick mother, wailing baby, and a group of pale, hungry children cuddled under one old quilt, trying to keep warm.
How the big eyes stared and the blue lips smiled as the girls went in.
Ach, mein Gott! It is good angels come to us! said the poor woman, crying for joy.
Funny angels in hoods and mittens, said Jo, and set them to laughing.
In a few minutes it really did seem as if kind spirits had been at work there. Hannah, who had carried wood, made a fire, and stopped up the broken panes with old hats and her own cloak. Mrs.March gave the mother tea and gruel, and comforted her with promises of help, while she dressed the little baby as tenderly as if it had been her own. The girls meantime spread the table, set the children round the fire, and fed them like so many hungry birds, laughing, talking, and trying to understand the funny broken English.
Das ist gut! Die Engel-kinder! cried the poor things as they ate and warmed their purple hands at the comfortable blaze.
The girls had never been called angel children before, and thought it very agreeable, especially Jo, who had been considered `Sancho' ever since she was born. That was a very happy breakfast, though they didn't get any of it. And when they went away, leaving comfort behind, I think there were not in all the city four merrier people than the hungry little girls who gave away their breakfasts and contented themselves with bread and milk on Christmas morning.
That's loving our neighbor better than ourselves, and I like it, said Meg, as they set out their presents while their mother was upstairs collecting clothes for the poor Hummels.
Not a very splendid show, but there was a great deal of love done up in the few little bundles, and the tall vase of red roses, white chrysanthemums, and trailing vines, which stood in the middle, gave quite an elegant air to the table.
She's coming! Strike up, Beth! Open the door, Amy! Three cheers for Marmee! cried Jo, prancing about while Meg went to conduct Mother to the seat of honor.
Beth played her gayest march, Amy threw open the door, and Meg enacted escort with great dignity. Mrs. March was both surprised and touched, and smiled with her eyes full as she examined her presents and read the little notes which accompanied them. The slippers went on at once, a new handkerchief was slipped into her pocket, well scented with Amy's cologne, the rose was fastened in her bosom, and the nice gloves were pronounced a perfect fit.
There was a good deal of laughing and kissing and explaining, in the simple, loving fashion which makes these home festivals so pleasant at the time, so sweet to remember long afterward, and then all fell to work.
The morning charities and ceremonies took so much time that the rest of the day was devoted to preparations for the evening festivities. Being still too young to go often to the theater, and not rich enough to afford any great outlay for private performances, the girls put their wits to work, and necessity being the mother of invention, made whatever they needed. Very clever were some of their productions, pasteboard guitars, antique lampshade of old-fashioned butter boats covered with silver paper, gorgeous robes of old cotton, glittering with tin spangles from a pickle factory, and armor covered with the same useful diamond shaped bits left inn sheets when the lids of preserve pots were cut out. The big chamber was the scene of many innocent revels.
No gentleman were admitted, so Jo played male parts to her heart's content and took immense satisfaction in a pair of russet leather boots given her by a friend, who knew a lady who knew an actor. These boots, an old foil, and a slashed doublet once used by an artist for some picture, were Jo's chief treasures and appeared on all occasions. The smallness of the company made it necessary for the two principal actors to take several parts apiece, and they certainly deserved some credit for the hard work they did in learning three or four different parts, whisking in and out of various costumes, and managing the stage besides. It was excellent drill for their memories, a harmless amusement, and employed many hours which otherwise would have been idle, lonely, or spent in less profitable society.
On Christmas night, a dozen girls piled onto the bed which was the dress circle, and sat before the blue and yellow chintz curtains in a most flattering state of expectancy. There was a good deal of rustling and whispering behind the curtain, a trifle of lamp smoke, and an occasional giggle from Amy, who was apt to get hysterical in the excitement of the moment. Presently a bell sounded, the curtains flew apart, and the OPERATIC TRAGEDY began.
A gloomy wood, according to the one playbill, was represented by a few shrubs in pots, green baize on the floor, and a cave in the distance. This cave was made with a clothes horse for a roof, bureaus for walls, and in it was a small furnace in full blast, with a black pot on it and an old witch bending over it. The stage was dark and the glow of the furnace had a fine effect, especially as real steam issued from the kettle when the witch took off the cover. A moment was allowed for the first thrill to subside, then Hugo, the villain, stalked in with a clanking sword at his side, a slouching hat, black beard, mysterious cloak, and the boots. After pacing to and fro in much agitation, he struck his forehead, and burst out in a wild strain, singing of his hatred to Roderigo, his love for Zara, and his pleasing resolution to kill the one and win the other. The gruff tones of Hugo's voice, with an occasional shout when his feelings overcame him, were very impressive, and the audience applauded the moment he paused for breath. bowing with the air of one accustomed to public praise, he stole to the cavern and ordered Hagar to come forth with a commanding, What ho, minion!I need thee!
Out came Meg, with gray horsehair hanging about her face, a red and black robe, a staff, and cabalistic signs upon her cloak. Hugo demanded a potion to make Zara adore him, and destroy Roderigo. Hagar, in a fine dramatic melody, promised both, and proceeded to call up the spirit who would bring the love philter.Hither, hither, from thy home,Airy sprite, I bid thee come!Born of roses, fed on dew,Charms and potions canst thou brew?Bring me here, with elfin speed,The fragrant philter which I need.Make it sweet and swift and strong,Spirit, answer now my song!
A soft strain of music sounded, and then at the back of the cave appeared a little figure in cloudy white, with glitteringwings, golden hair, and a garland of roses on its head. Waving a wand, it sang . . .Hither I come,From my airy home,Afar in the silver moon.Take the magic spell,And use it well,Or its power will vanish soon!
And dropping a small, gilded bottle at the witch's feet, the spirit vanished. Another chant from Hagar produced another apparition, not a lovely one, for with a bang an ugly black imp appeared and, having croaked a reply, tossed a dark bottle at Hugo and disappeared with a mocking laugh. Having warbled his thanks and put the potions in his boots, Hugo departed, and Hagar informed the audience that as he had killed a few of her friends in times past, she had cursed him, and intends to thwart his plans, and be revenged on him. Then the curtain fell, and the audience reposed and ate candy while discussing the merits of the play.
A good deal of hammering went on before the curtain rose again, but when it became evident what a masterpiece of stage carpentry had been got up, no one murmured at the delay. It was truly superb. A tower rose to the ceiling, halfway up appeared a window with a lamp burning in it, and behind the white curtain appeared Zara in a lovely blue and silver dress, waiting for Roderigo. He came in gorgeous array, with plumed cap, red cloak, chestnut love locks, a guitar, and the boots, of course. Kneeling at the foot of the tower, he sang a serenade in melting tones. Zara replied and, after a musical dialogue, consented to fly. Then came the grand effect of the play. Roderigo produced a rope ladder, with five steps to it, threw up one end, and invited Zara to descend. Timidly she crept from her lattice, put her hand on Roderigo's shoulder, and was about to leap gracefully down when Alas! Alas for Zara! she forgot her train. It caught in the window, the tower tottered, leaned forward, fell with a crash, and buried the unhappy lovers in the ruins.
A universal shriek arose as the russet boots waved wildly from the wreck and a golden head emerged, exclaiming, I told you so! I told you so! With wonderful presence of mind, Don Pedro, the cruel sire, rushed in, dragged out his daughter, with a hasty aside . . .
Don't laugh! Act as if it was all right! and, ordering Roderigo up, banished him form the kingdom with wrath and scorn. Though decidedly shaken by the fall from the tower upon him, Roderigo defied the old gentleman and refused to stir. This dauntless example fired Zara. She also defied her sire, and he ordered them both to the deepest dungeons of the castle. A stout little retainer came in with chains and led them away, looking very much frightened and evidently forgetting the speech he ought to have made.
Act third was the castle hall, and here Hagar appeared, having come to free the lovers and finish Hugo. She hears him coming and hides, sees him put the potions into two cups of wine and bid the timid little servant, Bear them to the captives in their cells, and tell them I shall come anon. The servant takes Hugo aside to tell him something, and Hagar changes the cups for two others which are harmless. Ferdinando, the `minion', carries them away, and Hagar puts back the cup which holds the poison meant for Roderigo. Hugo, getting thirsty after a long warble, drinks it, loses his wits, and after a good deal of clutching and stamping, falls flat and dies, while Hagar informs him what she has done in a song of exquisite power and melody.
This was a truly thrilling scene, though some persons might have thought that the sudden tumbling down of a quantity of long red hair rather marred the effect of the villain's death. He was called before the curtain, and with great propriety appeared, leading Hagar, whose singing was considered more wonderful than all the rest of the performance put together.
Act fourth displayed the despairing Roderigo on the point of stabbing himself because he has been told that Zara has deserted him. Just as the dagger is at his heart, a lovely song is sung under his window, informing him that Zara is true but in danger, and he can save her if he will. A key is thrown in, which unlocks the door, and in a spasm of rapture he tears off his chains and rushes away to find and rescue his lady love.
Act fifth opened with a stormy scene between Zara and Don Pedro. He wishes her to go into a convent, but she won't hear of it, and after a touching appeal, is about to faint when Roderigo dashes in and demands her hand. Don Pedro refuses, because he is not rich. They shout and gesticulate tremendously but cannot agree, and Rodrigo is about to bear away the exhausted Zara, when the timid servant enters with a letter and a bag from Hagar, who has mysteriously disappeared. The latter informs the party that she bequeaths untold wealth to the young pair and an awful doom to Don Pedro, if he doesn't make them happy. The bag is opened, and several quarts of tin money shower down upon the stage till it is quite glorified with the glitter. This entirely softens the stern sire. He consents without a murmur, all join in a joyful chorus, and the curtain falls upon the lovers kneeling to receive Don Pedro's blessing in attitudes of the most romantic grace.
Tumultuous applause followed but received an unexpected check, for the cot bed, on which the dress circle was built, suddenly shutup and extinguished the enthusiastic audience. Roderigo and DonPedro flew to the rescue, and all were taken out unhurt, though many were speechless with laughter. the excitement had hardly subsided when Hannah appeared, with Mrs. March's compliments, and would the ladies walk down to supper.
This was a surprise even to the actors, and when they saw the table, they looked at one another in rapturous amazement. It was like Marmee to get up a little treat for them, but anything so fine as this was unheard of since the departed days of plenty. There was ice cream, actually two dishes of it, pink and white, and cake and fruit and distracting French bonbons and, in the middle of the table, four great bouquets of hot house flowers.
It quite took their breath away, and they stared first at the table and then at their mother, who looked as if she enjoyed it immensely.
Is it fairies? asked Amy.
Santa Claus, said Beth.
Mother did it. And Meg smiled her sweetest, in spite of her gray beard and white eyebrows.
Aunt March had a good fit and sent the supper, cried Jo, with a sudden inspiration.
All wrong. Old Mr. Laurence sent it, replied Mrs. March.
The Laurence boy's grandfather! What in the world put such a thing into his head? We don't know him!' exclaimed Meg.
Hannah told one of his servants about your breakfast party. He is an odd old gentleman, but that pleased him. He knew my father years ago, and he sent me a polite note this afternoon, saying he hoped I would allow him to express his friendly feeling toward my children by sending them a few trifles in honor of the day. I could not refuse, and so you have a little feast at night to makeup for the bread-and-milk breakfast.
That boy; put it into his head, I know he did! He's a capital fellow, and I wish we could get acquainted. He looks as if he'd like to know us but he's bashful, and Meg is so prim she won't let me speak to him when we pass, said Jo, as the plates went round, and the ice began to melt out of sight, with ohs and ahs of satisfaction.
You mean the people who live in the big house next door, don't you? asked one of the girls. My mother knows old Mr. Laurence, but says he's very proud and doesn't like to mix with his neighbors. He keeps his grandson shut up, when he isn't riding or walking with his tutor, and makes him study very hard. We invited him to our party, but he didn't come. Mother says he's very nice, though when ever speaks to us girls.
Our cat ran away once, and he brought her back, and we talked over the fence, and were getting on capitally, all about cricket, and so on, when he saw Meg coming, and walked off. I mean to know him some day, for he needs fun, I'm sure he does, said Jo decidedly.
I like his manners, and he looks like a little gentleman, soI've no objection to your knowing him, if a proper opportunity comes. He brought the flowers himself, and I should have asked him in, if I had been sure what was going on upstairs. He looked so wistfully he went away, hearing the frolic and evidently having none of his own.
It's a mercy you didn't , Mother! laughed Jo, looking at her boots. But we'll have another play sometime that he can see. Perhaps he'll help act. Wouldn't that be jolly?
I never had such a fine bouquet before! How pretty it is! And Meg examined her flowers with great interest.
They are lovely. But Beth's roses are sweeter to me, said Mrs.. March, smelling the half-dead posy in her belt.
Beth nestled up to her, and whispered softly, I wish I could send my bunch to Father. I'm afraid he isn't having such a merry Christmas as we are.