He remained one day without speakin, then three days without bein able ta lift his axe. He had, accordin ta the foreman, a wring in da tongue, then a torticollis in da arm. That’s what the foreman said, but I knew better than that, c’m on!
All week long he was out of sorts: no way ta get him ta play a checkers match. He grumbled all alone in his corner, like a man who’d had, with all due respect, his bag of nether sentiments knocked upside down.
So, on New Year’s Eve, the chums felt like dancin again.
“Hurrah, Fifi! Pull out da catgut, then brew us a little caper, ’tis time!” says the boss.
“You oughta move, else you congeal like curds, hey! Are ya ready, chummies?”
“Ay, here we go,” the whole gang say, kickin off their shoes and spittin inta their hands. “Ho! loosen up our adzes!”
I was expecting some arm-twistin ta get the poor cripple ta play again, but nope. He takes out his violin, greases his bow, spits inta his hands in turn, and starts playin da Money Musk.
“Ah, well,” say da dancers, “Enough with da Money Musk! We’re no marionettes.”
“ ’Tis strange.” Fifi scratches his forehead. “I didn’t want ta play this one. So, whadd’ya want? A simple gigue? A hornpipe?”
“A square dance, goodreel me! We need ta shake it tonight!”
“All right!” says Fifi. Then he resumes playin…the Money Musk…
“Listen, Fifi, are ya goin crazy? Or are ya mockin us with yer Money Musk? We’re fed up with da Money Musk, d’ya catch?”
“Scoundrel’s word! Dunno what’s gotten inta me fingers,” says Fifi. “I wanna play a square dance and it turns inta da Money Musk anyway.”
“Ah you feelin like messin with us?”
“Am blowed if Am jokin.”
“Oh, well, then start again—Dammit!—and pay attention, this time.”
C’m on, here’s Fifi stickin it out, bow in one hand and violin in the other, chin pressed against da tailpiece, and both eyes riveted on the E string, he resumes playin.
Everybody yelled, children:
“Whoa!…”
followed by a salvo of swear words. And fer good reason, the confounded Fifi was still playin da Money Musk.
“Sacrebent!” he says. “There’s somethin criminal inside the ding; I swear Am doin all I can ta play a square dance, and then da godditched violin wants ta play da Money Musk only. ’Tis hexed, da piece of crime! Dis is a violin I’ve been playin wi’ fer da last fifteen years. Here’s what gives when you have da devil dance with his spawns…Ya beastly fiddle, yer done insultin me! Go play fer em hussies marionettes!”
And with these words, he grabs the mutinous instrument by the neck and mightily hurls it into da fireplace, where it’d have dissmashed into a thousand shards, fer sure, had we not been there ta snatch it, as the sayin goes, in midair.
Twice, durin that winter, did the poor Fifi Labranche take out his bow ta try playin a scatter of dances, but no way he could scratch that violin and produce anythin except fer the Money Musk.
One last time he set forth ta play some of those good old canticles meant for the white-haired guys among us who amble wicked slow, but nothin doin! The violin got goin of its own accord and played the Money Musk! One can’t be more hexed than that, right?
Finally, it keeped on like that until springtime, when we were floatin down the Ottawa River with our raft of timber, Fifi Labranche had the opportunity ta have his violin blessed by the parish priest from Perrot Island, on one condition: that he would not make them marionettes dance ever again.
It wasn’t that hard ta have him make such a promise, I can tell you that!
Anyways, after the exorcism, everythin worked like in the good ol’ days. Fifi Labranche was able ta play any rigodon, either fashionable or played in the old style.
Here’s what Jos Violon has seen, children, with his own ears!
Oh, well, believe me if you wish, but that depraved Fifi, ta make me look like a damn liar, invariably, never admitted right until the day he died that his violin had be hexed. He said it was a fib he’d come up with ta get rid of those who wanted him ta play at every turn, while he preferred ta play a good checkers game. Now, that is unbelievable! Rest assured nobody could make me believe such nonsense. Because I was there. I’ve seen everything, and if I can’t say that of mesel, everyone will tell you that Jos Violon knows what he’s talkin about.
After all this, the violin, the one Fifi Labranche owned, is still full of life, just like me; ’tis George Boutin, who inherited it. He can show it ta you, if you don’t believe me.
And, ouch-ouch, tobacco-pouch! Far, for, fir, my story ends here!
Paul Scheerbart (1863–1915) was a German science fiction author and artist who is often described as a utopian for the refreshingly original ways in which he tried to truly see a positive future for humankind. Scheerbart was preoccupied with how imagination could influence science and how scientific discoveries could be used creatively. He often used real science in order to make his stories more realistic and to set a clear image in the minds of his audience. With his colored-glass architecture, floating cities, perpetual motion machines, humanoid worms, and use of quantum mechanics in his fiction, Scheerbart was nothing short of a visionary. His most popular works include Glass Architecture (1914), Lesabéndio: An Asteroid Novel (1913), and The Gray Cloth with Ten Percent White (1914). In 1915, Scheerbart strongly opposed the war, and it is rumored that he died of starvation after a hunger strike protesting it. Dance of the Comets was originally meant to be a scenario in one of Richard Strauss’s ballets, but the project was never realized. Beautifully written, it is often read in tandem with Scheerbart’s other short work, The Stairway to the Sun (1903), four fairy tales about morality, each set in its own universe.
Dance of the Comets: An Astral Pantomime in Two Acts
Paul Scheerbart
Translated by W. C. Bamberger
CAST
Three Large Comets
Seven Smaller Stars
The Full Moon
The King
The First Wife of the King
The Second Wife of the King
A Zealous Maid
The Executioner
A Jester
The Wizard
The Poet
Wandering Stars
Harem Women
Hangmen
Minstrels
Courtiers
Servants
ACT 1
THE NIGHTINGALES
MANY BIRDCALLS can be heard—especially those of nightingales—quietly at first, and then growing louder and more raucous.
In the meantime, the curtain slowly rises, and a night sky with countless twinkling stars can be seen. On both sides of the stage, tall rosebush hedges, myrtle, and oleander shrubs gradually become visible. The white floor, irregularly tiled with pointed black stars, extends into the background; the scene gradually grows brighter.
Resting on a marble bench to the right is a poet holding a guitar. The poet has a neat blond beard, but his clothes are brown and gray and look neglected. He looks at the scenery and shakes his head, looks at the audience and is startled—he is a very young and quite foolish poet.
A shooting star slowly moves diagonally across the sky.
The poet hastily rises.
The space is quite dark. Only the white tiles are shining, so the pointed black stars emerge from the tiled floor quite clearly. Quiet music of the spheres is heard. The nightingales can still be heard, but more quietly than before. The poet sits back down on the marble bench and accompanies the music of the spheres with his guitar. A second and a third shooting star cross the sky. The nightingales fall silent.
The music of the spheres suddenly shifts to a hurried, whirling pace, even as it grows
quieter and quieter.
THE JESTER APPEARS
The jester creeps toward the marble bench on tiptoe, startled by the sight of the poet. He puts his forefinger to his mouth to indicate that they must be silent. The nightingales sing, as if from a distance.
The jester is no longer young and hasn’t shaved, and of course as a jester his clothing is brightly colored and checkered and tight-fitting. The jester’s face twitches as if he constantly wants to laugh—and knows he should refrain.
The poet slings his guitar on his back, and the jester takes his place next to the poet on the marble bench. They stare silently into space, where there are glittering stars, between which a number of light-blue, green, and red meteors come trickling through like snowflakes. The music of the spheres has grown calmer and at the same time richer and stronger.
Servants with tall, milk-white octahedral floor lamps that light up everything bring in a number of astronomical and astrological devices—quadrants, astrolabes, a large telescope, and a half-meter-tall, black celestial globe on which stars are indicated by diamonds. The globe is placed in the center of the stage.
The servants all wear white caps in the shape of spiked pentagonal stars; their clothing is elaborately pleated and boldly striped in primary colors.
The astronomical and astrological instruments are placed in front of the shrubs to the right and left.
The instruments gleam, and the globe gleams as well.
A GRIMACING INTERMEZZO
The jester caresses and kisses the instruments and spreads his arms before them with ludicrous rapture. He falls to his knees before the globe and folds his hands in mock prayer. The servants writhe with laughter, but let no sound escape their lips; terrible grimaces distort their faces.
A low rumble sounds through the music of the spheres.
The zealous maid appears in the background.
And what the jester, who remains on his knees before the globe, did out of ridicule, the maid now does with touching but amusing devotion. In her hand she holds a duster of long green feathers as a badge of her station as a maid. As she goes along, she uses the feather duster to clean the instruments.
The squatting servants make more faces. In the end the maid, once she had shown her veneration to all of the instruments, leaps with the help of two servants onto the globe and revolves there in blissful ecstasy, constantly reaching her hands upward as if to draw heaven’s stars down to her.
The maid is wearing a light blue dress that goes down to her knees. The dress is covered with shining silver crescent moons. On her shoulders she wears two shiny silver full moons as epaulets.
The crescent moons, like the full moons, have faces. As headgear the maid wears a white crown of feathers; the feathers sway back and forth. Two shiny silver disk-shaped half-moons—also with faces—form two wings on the maid’s back that follow the curved line of her body.
A servant suddenly jumps out of the bushes with his arms raised and claps his hands.
And all now stand as stiff and sober as poles—the jester and the poet included. The white lamps are two perfectly straight chains of light running to the right and to the left. The maid jumps down from the globe and disappears into the background.
THE KING AND HIS ENTOURAGE
The king appears.
The poet and the jester raise their right arms with their index fingers extended stiffly skyward and bow—this is the usual celestial greeting that is offered at court to the king at every possible opportunity.
The king has light blond curly locks and very little facial hair. He wears a long black velvet coat that goes down to his knees and is held closed by an emerald belt. There are also emeralds on his collar, on the cuffs of his shirt, on the sheath of his sword, and on the upper edges of his polished black boots. An emerald medal in the shape of a jagged star gleams on the right side of his chest, and the largest emeralds of all blaze in the king’s gold crown. The king wears no rings. He, like all the kings of his time, is very satisfied with his environment; his attitude is carefree and a little weary—he is still a very young, very enthusiastic king.
The courtiers who make up the king’s entourage belong to every race on the globe—most are new mixes of races. Because the story is of course set in the distant future, the costumes of the entourage are the freest composites of historical costumes with many fantastic elements: Polish fur hats are worn with Japanese robes, turbans with European frock coats and Scottish britches, Indian-style feathered headdresses with Hungarian hussars’ uniforms, top hats with Chinese Mandarins’ coats, etc., etc.
All of them are wearing brilliant star-shaped medals, some on their shoulder or chest, some on their hat or on their arms. Each—with the exception of the executioner—also carries a curved saber in a scabbard richly set with jewels. Their clothing is all quite colorful, but bright red is scrupulously avoided. Only the executioner wears a bright red cap with a cloth that hangs down in the back to protect his neck; his archaic Spanish top hat is bright red as well; his straight broadsword is in a bright red scabbard. The executioner also stands out because of his black gauntlets, his black complexion, and his pointed black beard.
The executioner is accompanied by the great wizard, walking with great dignity in his tall Assyrian cap and long caftan with broad sleeves. His hat and caftan are decorated with white constellations. From his cap three peacock feathers point upward over his forehead and ears. A long black beard flows down over the wizard’s chest. After the ceremonial welcome of the king, during which a number of courtiers draw fancy lines and flourishes in the air with their right forefingers, mushroom-shaped stools are set out, on which the assembled gradually settle. But many courtiers remain standing near the king.
The music of the spheres plays haltingly.
THE HAREM ARRIVES
The king looks through the large telescope, caresses the celestial globe and the astronomical and astrological instruments, and unconsciously makes a few comic pantomime movements. The servants holding the lamps to the right and left sides bite their lips. Drum and timpani rolls sound from the right and left, and the minstrels emerge from the bushes.
The women of the harem enter from all sides, dancing. They greet the king, who has sat down on the marble bench, in the usual manner, with outstretched right index fingers. The king’s two wives arrive last. They are wearing light green dresses that go down to their knees and are decorated with small golden-tailed comets. Each wife wears her own particular shade of light green.
They both wear crowns of golden comet tails.
Each of the other women of the harem wears a dress of a particular color; they go down to the knee and are trimmed with gold and silver stars and constellations. The women’s dresses are monochrome but very bright, while the clothing of the courtiers is based on muted and tasteful color schemes.
All of the women wear gold or silver crescent moons with faces on their backs as wings and, the two queens excepted, dark stockings and no headdresses. The music of the spheres shifts into a violently whirling and provocative dance tempo.
The courtiers present celestial greetings to the women of the harem as well—but with their left hand and their left little finger.
THE LUNAR GAVOTTE
And the zealous maid comes running from the background like a whirlwind—followed by seven women in lunar Pierrot costumes.
The maid leaps onto the globe and like the seven Pierrots lifts her right index finger toward the heavens and holds it aloft for a long moment.
The maid now puts a hat on her head, a bright silver globe of the full moon with a face; her green feather duster is still in her left hand. The Pierrots—all seven of them in white—have golden full moons the size of a fist as buttons, somewhat larger ones on their shoulders, elbows, and knees and on the heels of their shoes—as well as golden moon hats and golden full moon wings in disk form.
The Pierrots dance a gavotte with the seven women in blue; the shades of blue are diverse, but none are the same as the maid’s dress.
The maid conducts the gavotte using her feather duster as a baton. The minstrels play from the right and left sides by the tall lamps. The courtiers and the remaining women of the harem form a semicircle around the dancers, who frequently bow in the direction of the marble bench where the king sits with the executioner.
At times the king smiles—but it is a tired smile.
THE LEONID POLONAISE
After the maid, with the help of her seven Pierrots, has jumped down from the globe and again replaced her feathered crown with her moon hat, she asks permission to approach the executioner and now invites him to climb onto the globe—which he does, after some show of reluctance and with the help of some of the servants, while the women of the harem—and the Pierrots—remove their moon hats and set comet tails made of feathers on their heads.
All the women of the harem, hereinafter referred to as the shooting stars from the Leonid swarm, hold head-sized mirrors in their right hands that produce small sparkles; they call for the courtiers to present a polonaise. The king does not dance with them. Neither do the wizard, the poet, or the jester, all of whom remain near the king. The executioner looks quite powerless, and everyone smiles at him, but furtively.
The two queens lead the polonaise as the first pair.
The polonaise frequently winds around the globe, sideways and back and forth.
Suddenly, however, the hissing of a great number of comets slanting down from the sky can be heard under the sounds of the spheres; everyone is terribly frightened.
Terror disrupts order, and the polonaise abruptly dissolves as everyone runs to and fro out of fear. As the music of the spheres skitters along nervously the executioner tries to come down from the globe as quickly as possible. Because the servants are caught up in the general confusion the jester has to help the king’s executioner down. The wizard and the poet arrive too late.
The Big Book of Classic Fantasy Page 76