NASCUNTUR POETÆ

NASCUNTUR POETÆ ...

We are gazing into some strange incomprehensible painting of Piero di Cosimo; a world of pale blues and greens; of abrupt peaks in agate and of walled cities; of flying red stags with hounds at their throats; and of lions in tears beside their crowns. On the roads are seen traveling companies, in no haste and often lost in contemplation of the sky. A boy sits on a rock in the foreground. He is listening to the words of a woman dressed in a chlamys that takes on the color of the objects about her.

THE WOMAN IN THE CHLAMYS

In a far valley, boy, sit those who in their lifetime have possessed some special gift of eye or ear or finger. There they sit apart, choosing their successors. And when on the winds toward birth the souls of those about to live are borne past them, they choose the brighter spirits that cry along that wind. And you were chosen.

THE BOY

For what gift, lady, did the choice fall? Am I to mould in clay, or paint? Shall I sing or mime, lady? What choice fell on me and from what master?

THE WOMAN IN THE CHLAMYS

It is enough to know that you were chosen.

THE BOY

What further remains to be done? You have poured on my eyes and ears and mouth the divine ointment; you have laid on my tongue the burning ember. Why do we delay?

THE WOMAN IN THE CHLAMYS

Be not so eager for life. Too soon you will be shaken by breath; too soon and too long you will be tossed in the tumult of the senses.

THE BOY

I am not afraid of life. I will astonish it. Why are we delaying?

THE WOMAN IN THE CHLAMYS

My sister is coming now. Listen to her.

[The woman in the chlamys withdraws and gives place to her sister whose feet stir not the shells upon the path. She wears a robe of deep and noble red and bears in her hands a long golden chain hung about with pendants. Her face is fixed in concentration and compassion, like the face of one taking part in a sacrifice of great moment.]

THE BOY

All is ready. What do you come to do?

THE WOMAN IN DEEP RED

My sister has given you the gifts of pride and of joy. But those are not all.

THE BOY

What gifts remain? I have been chosen. I am ready.

THE WOMAN IN DEEP RED

Those gifts are vain without these. He who carries much gold stumbles. I bring the dark and necessary gifts. This golden chain....

THE BOY

[With mounting fear.]

Your face is shadowed. Draw back, take back all the gifts, if I must accept these also.

THE WOMAN IN DEEP RED

Too late. Too late. You had no choice in this. You must bow your head.

THE BOY

I am trembling. My knees are hot with my tears.

THE WOMAN IN DEEP RED

Since only tears can give sight to the eyes.

[She drops the chain about his neck.]

THE BOY

Then am I permitted to know the meaning of these pendants?

THE WOMAN IN DEEP RED

This is a tongue of fire. It feeds upon the brain. It is a madness that in a better country has a better name.

THE BOY

These are mysteries. Give them no names.

THE WOMAN IN DEEP RED

This is a leaf of laurel from a tree not often plucked. You shall know pride and the shining of the eyes—of that I do not speak now.

THE BOY

And this, lady?

THE WOMAN IN DEEP RED

That is a staff and signifies the journey that awaits you your life long; for you are homeless.

THE BOY

And this ... this is of crystal....

THE WOMAN IN DEEP RED

That is yours alone, and you shall smart for it. It is wonderful and terrible. Others shall know a certain peace and shall live well enough in the limits of the life they know; but you shall be forever hindered. For you there shall be ever beyond the present a lost meaning and a more meaningful love.

THE BOY

Take back the chain. Take back your gifts. Take back life. For at its end what can there be that is worth such pain?

THE WOMAN IN DEEP RED

[Slowly drawing back into the shadow of the wood.]

Farewell, child of the muses, playfellow in the bird-haunted groves. The life of man awaits you, the light laughter and the misery in the same day, in the selfsame hour the trivial and the divine. You are to give it a voice. Among the bewildered and the stammering thousands you are to give it a voice and to mark its meaning. Farewell, child of the muses, playfellow in the bird-haunted....

[The Woman in the Chlamys returns.]

THE WOMAN IN THE CHLAMYS

You must go now. Listen to that wind. It is the great fan of time that whirls on the soul for a season.

THE BOY

Stay a moment. I am not yet brave.

[She leads him into a grotto and the young soul and his chain are lost in the profound shade.]