DJ.
It’s not fair—what should I have said?
Mich.
YOU MADAME, IF OUR SHY BROTHER TOUCHED YOUR FOOT WITH COLD, WHAT WOULD YOUR VOICE THEN BE?
MM.
ICY. I SEE.
Mich.
SO OUR SCHOOL, MY LORDS, WILL BE ZEN & PLATO, & OF ALL DISCIPLINE HUMAN & HEAVENLY. A FREE SCHOOL, AND DAILY:
ONE HOUR BEFORE THE LIGHT SHALL FAIL
FOR TEN SUNCYCLES OUR FIRST COURSE WILL RUN
ICILY SPLUTTERINGLY PEALINGLY GRATINGLY ON.
HAIL, MY FELLOW & BELOVED STUDENTS, HAIL!
—Leaving us exhausted. No, not Wystan:
MY DEARS! IF LETTERS G & K ARE TWINS
PHONETICALLY, WHO INHERITS EARTH?
More riddles? ONE M, 2 E’S & KABRIEL:
THE MEEK Oh come now! IS IT LESSON ONE?
DAZZLING TO SET FORTH INITIALLY
THE WHOLE DESIGN I can’t believe— U’LL SEE
AS WE ENFANTS SAW THE SHY BROTHER. FAR
CRY FROM THE ANGEL OF ANNUNCIATION
TO THIS WALLFELLING TRUMPET BLAST…SHALL I?
Can you? AS WE STOOD BY U WINCING WAITING
MAMAN IN FRILLED BLUE HOUSECOAT RATHER LIKE
COUSINE DOLA IN FT LAUDERDALE
SAW A WEE BLUE FLAME A PILOT LIGHT
Wait, we’re both convulsed by poor old Dola—
NO LAUGHING MATTER WE STOOD IN A SHEET OF FLAME:
DOLA IN HELL A BOSCH THRU ROARING FIRE
THE SHY ONE’S VOICE LICKED HISSING OUT AT US
THEN AT THE SOUND OF MICHAEL’S WHIPPING HIGHER
FLED & WHEN U LET THE LIGHT IN HUDDLED
IN YR COLD HEARTH No color, Michael said.
CALL IT RED THE DARKROOM MASK OF BLACK
Shape? Features? NONE BUT 1000S WRITHED IN IT
DJ: Oh great! And there’s no turning back?
ONE THING MY DEARS: IT HAD NOT COME FOR US.
ANOTHER THING: THE GAMES OF EARTH & SEA!
NOW THAT WAS FUN I MUST SAY
SO SPEAKS THE ETERNAL
PUBLIC SCHOOLBOY JM: Maman didn’t
Like being tossed in air? ON A SEAL’S NOSE?
ENOUGH MY CHILDREN LET US SAVE OUR SHAKEN
WITS FOR WHAT THESE LESSONS WILL DISCLOSE
*
Moving, as we’ve done since Ephraim, from
Romance to Ritual, and from the black
Fustian void of Mirabell, against which
At most one actor strutting in costume
Tantalized us with effects to come,
And the technician of the dark switchboard
Tone by tone tried out his rainbow chord;
Now, with light flooding auditorium
(Our room, seen from the far side of the mirror)
And stage alike, why need we—just because
It “happened” that way—wait till end of scene
For Wystan and Maria’s mise en scène?
Why not now and then incorporate
What David and I don’t see (and they do)
Into the script? Italics can denote
Their contribution. So—ready or not:
The First Lessons: 1
Scene: The schoolroom, once the nursery,
At Sandover, that noble rosebrick manor
Wystan evoked in Mirabell, Book 9.
The name is a corruption of the French
Saintefleur, or the Italian Santofior—
An English branch of that distinguished tree
Through whose high leaves light pulses and whose roots
Rove beyond memory. The schoolroom, then:
Blackboard wall, a dais, little desks
Rorschach’d with dull stains among naively
Gouged initials—MM, WHA,
And others. Star-map, globe and microscope.
A comfy air of things once used and used.
However, (since this room is both itself
And, with the sly economy of dream,
An entrance hall in Athens (Yes, we’re back
Downstairs. It’s cooler here. A frosted-glass
Door opens from the white-hot street. Inside,
Our things: pictures, dining table, walls
Painted this year to match the terracotta,
Almost life-size lady Tony rescued
From a doomed balustrade downtown; who now,
Apple in hand for Teacher, graces a corner;
Under whose smiling supervision sit
Two human figures growing used to it))
Real and Ideal study much as we
—Good luck to them! compatibility.
Dormer windows overlook the moat,
The maze, the gardens, paddock where a lonely
Quadruped is grazing. Round the whole,
Which seems so vast and is not, a high hedge
Stands for the isolating privilege
Of Learning—as we’ll all have felt acutely
By summer’s end. Beyond it can be seen,
Faces uplifted to our quarantine,
A gathering of tiny figures: friends
From the Bureaucracy. That tarnished blur
Like smoke at view’s end, into which they go
Come dusk, hides (one might think) the ghastly semi-
Detached ‘conditions’ of their suburb—though
On fine days clearance comes and, ecstasy!
The Greenwood stretches long miles to the Sea
And only when a door is felt to slam
Does this whole setting shudder in its frame.
Now from downhill—the monastery—ring
Bells. Bells ring. The ceiling seems to rise
As voices, booming, indistinct, are heard.
Enter the Brothers. Not now in baroque
Regalia. They have left this outdoor gear
Properly in the cloakroom, and appear
To screen us round, primary silhouettes,
Dismantlings of an image that well might,
In vivid depth, be more than we could bear.
Only Michael, the photographer,
Remains what he first was—a flesh of light
Engendering theirs. Correction: the Shy One
Glows with an infra-menace all his own.
Mich.
OUR GABRIEL OUR SENIOR BROTHER DOTH GIVE WAY
AND MUTELY GRANTS TO AIRY MICHAEL SWAY,
YET IN OUR CLASSROOM EACH WILL HAVE HIS SAY.
O HAIL & CHEERS ON SUCH A CLOUDY DAY!
WHA.
QUITE NICE, SIR, QUITE!
Mich.
AS SEARCH FOR ENLIGHTENMENT IS OUR OBJECT, LET ME POSE A FIRST, AFFIRMATIVE TEXT:
THE MOST INNOCENT OF IDEAS IS THE IDEA THAT INNOCENCE IS DESTROYED BY IDEAS.
SENIOR SCRIBE, BRIGHT EYES?
WHA.
SIR, GRANTED A DESIGN, WHAT INNOCENCE
COULD EVER BE?
Mich.
MADAME?
MM.
(Suavely) WHAT WAS THE IDEA?
Raph.
I EARTH SAY, UNDER THE MASK OF INNOCENCE WHAT WAS THE VEIN OF IDEA?
Emm.
I WATER SAY, WHAT TIDES OF IDEA WASHED INNOCENCE EVER CLEANER?
Gabr.
I GABRIEL SAY, WHAT STANDS WHEN ALL IDEAS LIE RUIND? IS INNOCENCE FORMING A NEW IDEA?
Mich.
SPEAK, MORTALS.
DJ.
(Gulps) By its nature, innocence recurs?
JM
.
My turn? Oh Lords, I find it hard to have
Ideas while busily transcribing yours.
Mich.
THAT NOT SO INNOCENTLY SAID! DISCUSSION!
MM.
HAS OUR GOD BIOLOGY EVER SET MUCH STORE
BY INNOCENCE? I SAY NO.
Mich.
EXPAND, MADAME.
MM.
SHALL WE TAKE THOSE HAUNTING CENTAURS: LET
LOOSE AT FIRST ON INNOCENT FLAT FIELDS,
IMMORTAL, PASTORAL, UNASSUMING OR
SO I ASSUME. WAS THAT NOT INNOCENCE? YET…
Mich.
SCRIBE?
WHA.
SIR, SO WOMANLY!
I SEE ATLANTIS AS IDEA, A FIRST
PASTURE TO INNOCENCE, AND RAPED BY IT.
Mich.
RAPHAEL, YOU WERE THERE, TELL US. WHEN OUR FATHER BROUGHT YOU FORTH AS TWIN TO THE SEA,
WERE YOU IDEA? INNOCENT OF IDEA?
Raph.
O MICHAEL, WHAT MEMORIES! CAN I REMEMBER?
HE LEANED OVER ME AND, YES, SAID: THINK. AND SO I WELL KNEW I WAS A LIVING THING.
MY TWIN SURROUNDED ME. WE WAITED, YES. WAS IT NOT SO, BROTHER EMMANUEL?
Emm.
AND I THE EXTINGUISHER OF THE FIRST BURNING IDEA FLUNG FROM THE PANTHEON OF SPACE
WAS SUMMONED BY A VOICE: ‘COOL THIS ROUNDED IDEA!’
Mich.
AND SO? SPEAK, CHAOS, OUR SHY ONE.
Gabr.
I AM GOD’S SCION AND HIS NATURE. HE, BALANCER OF CHAOS & CREATION.
THESE, O EASILY MAY THEY NOT BE
CHAOS: INNOCENCE? CREATION: IDEA?
FIRSTBORN WAS CHAOS, THAT I KNOW!
& WHEN THE STEAMING BALL PEERD THROUGH IT I FELL BACK ONE STEP AS OUR FATHER CALLD LIGHT! LIGHT!
AND MY BROTHER MICHAEL SHOWD US THE WORLD. SAY, SLY MICHAEL
His red glow whitening with intensity.
WHY DID YOU TAKE AS TEXT THIS?
WHA.
(Profiting by the hush) ONE LAST ROUND: SIN?
Mich.
A MISTAKE. I, I, I MICHAEL DID NOT MEAN SIN, POET!
WHA.
YET, SIR, SHOULD WE NOT GET DOWN TO IT?
(Isn’t the question, whether innocence
Is lost to guilt or to experience?
Michael—who knows, I daresay, or don’t dare—
Leaves it hanging in his blandest air.)
Mich.
WE SEE A BALL OF COOLING WATERS, THEN AN EMERGING LANDSCAPE. SO FAR, SO GOOD.
LOOK NOW, ARE THEY NOT FOURLEGGED MAMMALS OF IDEA ROAMING IN WHAT MADAME CALLS INNOCENCE?
THEN CAIN & ABEL: IS AMONG THEM THE PERFECTION OF IDEA GONE AWRY?
WHA.
SIR, WAS IT NOT THE CHICKEN OF IDEA
INSIDE THAT INNOCENT COOLING EGG YOU CANDLED?
Mich.
POET?
JM.
You candled Earth—what an idea!
Mich.
HAND?
DJ.
Well, if idea’s destructive, then
Chaos would run things. That’s unthinkable.
Mich.
AH I HAVE A FRIEND! I SEE THE HAND SHADING ME FROM MY SHY BROTHER. ENOUGH FOR ONE DAY.
I WANTED OUR SCHOOL TO BEGIN WITH THE PRIMAL SCENE,
THE SPLITTING OF THOSE HOARY DOGMAS NONE,
NOT EVEN I, CAN YET SHED LIGHT UPON.
WHA.
SIR, WHO CAN?
Mich.
LOOK UP, LOOK UP! WE BEGIN! WE FIND GOD!
Exeunt Michael and his Brothers.
WELL!
Well? WE’LL HUDDLE IN THE DORM TONIGHT
OVER HOT CHOCOLATE If you’re perplexed
Just think of us! I THINK THAT MICHAEL’S TEXT
(Says Wystan after giving stage directions)
PROVOCATIVE PER SE, MAY BE THE ONE
GREAT SUBJECT WE SHALL TACKLE It was the
Original theme; Chaos, Biology,
Those ruling opposites. WAS IT FRATRICIDE
THAT PUTTING DOWN OF CHAOS? Yes, is Chaos
Gabriel? If so, he’s anti-Life
Or Lord of Antimatter—worse! IT’S ALL
AS THE BROCHURE ANNOUNCED A ZENNISH BUSINESS
A SCHOOL OF HARD KNOCKS DJ: Hard to come
Up with useful ideas—I felt like a freshman
In a graduate seminar. I SHD FANCY THEY
WERE TESTING JUST THAT You and Maria passed.
ALAS WE WERE MORE PREPARED NOW (MAY I SAY)
IT WILL GROW LESS INFORMAL THEY WILL LET YOU
OFF THE (M) HOOK
NOT I! ENFANT U GUESSED IT
GABRIEL IS A KIND OF RELATIVE
HE & I’VE FED ON THE SAME DIET
& SO
IT’S A CLOSED CIRCLE A BOCCACCIO
WE 8 AMID TIME’S HOWL SIT TELLING TALL
TALES TO AMUSE & AMAZE & WITH LUCK INSTRUCT US ALL
*
Bells. Enter the Brothers, as before.
Mich.
SPEAK, BROTHER EARTH.
Raph.
SO, MY BITS OF BURIED TREASURE, I HAVE A CAVE,
A POCKET IN A MOUNTAIN CHAIN I LOVE FOR ITS VERY AGEDNESS: MY FIRST WRINKLE, SO TO SPEAK.
The room has darkened. We can read ourselves
Where spines of ancient volumes gleam on shelves.
NOW IN THIS CAVE, SO FAR MY OWN, I LOOK FOR REFRESHMENT OF MY WEIGHTY NATURE,
& OUT OF WINKING STONE SEE WALLS PAINTED BY THE VERY INNOCENCE OF GOD’S DARLING, INFANT MAN
& WHAT DID HE PORTRAY? WHY, HIMSELF, HIS CHILD, HIS WOMAN GIVING UP TO HIM THAT CHILD!
O THE BEAUTY OF THOSE INNOCENT IMAGES LIT BY AN IDEA OF MAN
KNOWING HIMSELF, THERE IN A CAVE, IN A CHASTE WOMB OF HISTORY.
THIS, MY BROTHERS, MY SHADES, & MY DEAR HUMANS, REFRESHES ME.
Mich.
PROCEED, RAPHAEL, ELIJAH. O IS HE NOT WITTY?
Raph.
IT DOES PROCEED
OUT OF ATLANTIS, OUT OF GABRIEL’S FIRE, OUT OF THE CEASELESSLY THINKING MIND OF OUR FATHER,
THIS VERY GREAT MAGIC GIVEN TO ONE CREATURE AT A TIME: THOUGHT.
AND SO THE CAVE, AND SO THE CRANIUM FILLED WITH THE CHURN & THE BUILDING. AH MICHAEL!
EVEN YOU CANNOT ENTER THERE, NO, NONE OF US FOUR, INTO THAT ROOM WHERE GOD’S DARLING HAS EVER RETREATED TO GATHER HIMSELF, TO PIT HIMSELF AGAINST US:
CAVE AFTER CAVE STACKED UPON EACH OTHER, SKULL PILE & SKYSCRAPER,
THE BONE HEAPS OF HUMAN THOUGHT THRUSTING UP, TRAPPED EVER YET EVER MASTER,
O MICHAEL, HAS ANY OF US KNOWN SUCH SLAVERY, SUCH FREEDOM?
INNOCENCE, MICHAEL? YOU & I, MY TWIN, OUR SENIOR SHY ONE, WE ARE INNOCENCE IN THE FACE OF MAN’S ENDEAVORS.
THAT CAVE, THAT TREASURE HOUSE, HOW MY HOARY HEART WANTS IT LEFT UNDEFILED, UNCHASTENED!
YET OUR FATHER HAS SAID: TELL THEM. AND WE OBEY.
Mich.
BROTHER EARTH, SO SERIOUS!
LET US THINK OF THIS AS STEP TWO: FROM PRIMAL TIME & ATLANTIS TO EDEN & THE CAVE. YES.
NOW FELLOW STUDENTS, WHO IS NEXT?
The light, till now predominantly green,
Pales to gently rippling aquamarine.
Emm.
STAKED IN MY SHALLOWS, WHAT? A FLEDGLING OF STORKS?
AND FROM THESE SLIGHT SUPPORTS THEY GAZED INTO ME WHO HAD COME OUT OF ME,
GAZED WITH THE CURIOUS LOOK A CHILD GIVES TO ITS MOTHER.
JM.
People st
anding ankle-deep in water?
Emm.
POET, THEIR LONG GONE HOUSES: THE LAKEDWELLERS WHO FISHED IN ME.
I WAS GIVING THEM SUCK. AH TWIN, THOSE INNOCENT NURSERY DAYS! OUT OF THE CAVES & BACK TO MOTHER’S HOUSE.
WHY? THEIR CAVE INNOCENCE HAD RECEIVED ITS FIRST SHOCKING IDEA: FEAR OF EACH OTHER.
DJ.
They moved to water as we did, that year,
To Stonington, away from the rat race.
Like us, they meant to civilize themselves.
Emm.
AND TO PUT DISTANCE BETWEEN THEMSELVES.
& YOU WOULD SAY, RAPHAEL, THAT THEIR STILTED ROOMS WERE BUT ANOTHER CAVE? I THINK NOT.
I THINK THEY WERE LONGING, WHILE THERE WAS STILL TIME, STILL A CHANCE, TO ESCAPE THAT FEARFUL FORWARD MARCH.
BACK TO OUR FISHLIFE, INNOCENT, CALM & DEEP! THEY KNEW, AH THEY KNEW!
YES, BROTHERS, SHADES, MY OLD LAKEDWELLERS, YOU KNEW, YOU KNOW
THE GRITTY HISTORY SINCE THEN IS ONLY A WASH AWAY FROM INNOCENCE,
BUT SUCH A WASH!
Mich.
YOU UNDERSTAND, GABRIEL? YOU SEE NOW ON WHAT A NERVE I TOUCHED WHEN I TOOK MY TEXT?
Gabr.
I UNDERSTAND, YET LET’S GET ON WITH THE STORY.
IT ENDS, AS WE FOUR KNOW AND THESE FOUR WILL. ON WITH IT, ON.
Mich.
ARE YOU AWARE, DEAR CHILDREN AND, YES, DEAR MASTERS (FOR WHEN MY FATHER CRIED LIGHT! LIGHT! I SPRANG INTO BEING
AS YOUR SERVANT: STEDFAST SUN, STEDFAST DAWN
SHINING ON THE MOUNTAIN, CALLING OUT: IT’S SAFE! IT’S SAFE! NIGHT, CHAOS, BACK! AND AT BREAK OF DAY
THEY PEERED OUT OF THE CAVE, WE STARING EACH AT THE OTHER:
SUN GOD & HIS MASTER, GETTING ON WITH IT) ARE YOU AWARE,
The light by now a diamond clarity.
MASTERS, BROTHERS AND YES, YOU, GABRIEL,
AWARE THAT EARTH & WATER, THESE ARE INNOCENT NATURE,
WHILE I, OH I, MUST BEAR THE BURDEN OF IDEAS?
FOR IN REVEALING TO OUR FATHER THE PRIMAL GLOBE ON WHICH THE WHOLE PLAY WAS TO BE ACTED OUT,
I WAS THE SWITCH, THE TAPPING STAFF, I IT WAS WHO THEN LIT UP THE PLAYERS ON THE STAGE,
AND TWICE CHAOS RANG DOWN THE CURTAIN, AS HE WAITS TO DO AGAIN,
AND AGAIN OUR GREAT DIRECTOR CALLING: CURTAIN UP! LIGHT! LIGHT!
BEGAN THE PLAY AS LIGHT WEPT IN THE WINGS.
JM.
“Wept in the wings”—can I have got that right?
Mich.
AH YES, YOUNG SCRIBE. NEXT CHAOS, YOU WILL, WILL I SAY,
EXPLAIN YOUR ROLE. AND NOW, EMMANUEL,
WEEP ON OUR SCENE, FOR MY LIGHT IS DONE THIS DAY