master—since that’s who he was to me by now. But halfway into the first act, in ones and twos, they all began to leave, with the exception of an audience consisting solely of the manager and me. Even to me, and I’m pretty much an ass where poetry is concerned, the play seemed as if Satan had written it to ensure the total rout and ruin of the poet, who by this time was swallowing hard as he realized his listeners had forsaken him.
This was bad enough, but his prophetic soul foretold yet another disgrace awaiting him. The actors returned, more than twelve of them, and without a word they took hold of this poet of mine and—if not for the intervention of the manager, who shouted and interposed himself—they doubtless would have pantsed him. I was speechless, the manager disgusted, the actors merry, the poet crestfallen. Patiently, wincing a bit, he took his script, clutched it to his breast and muttered, “It’s no use casting pearls before swine.” And with this, his great dignity intact, he was off.
I was so mortified, I couldn’t bring myself to followhim. And I was right not to, because the manager petted me and hugged me so much that I felt obliged to stay, and in less than a month I was a talented physical comedian and farceur. They put a braided muzzle on me and trained me to lunge for anyone in the theater whom they singled out. Since skits generally ended in a slapstick free-for-all, the sketches in this actor-manager’s troupe all wound up with me knocking everybody over and trampling them, which made the ignorant laugh, and my owner rich.
Oh Scipio, who could do justice to all I saw in this and the two other troupes I traveled in? Because the laws of good storytelling forbid me from reducing it to succinct narration, I’ll have to leave it for another day—if we can communicate another day.
You know how long my story has been, and how far-flung my adventures? You know how many roads I’ve traveled and how many masters I’ve had? Well, all you’ve heard is nothing compared to what I observed of these show people, their habits, their lives, customs, exercises, work, laziness, ignorance and cleverness, and countless other things. Some matters I noted are unfit for public consumption and others too good not to tell, but all are worth remembering, so as to disenchant those who worship matinee idols and artificially beautiful special effects.
Scipio
: I understand completely, Berganza, that these new angles keep cropping up and extending your soliloquy, but it occurs to me that you might give it a rest and let it go for another time.
Berganza
: Whatever you say, but listen. I fetched up with one troupe here in Valladolid, where in one skit I suffered a wound that almost killed me. I couldn’t avenge myself at the time because I was muzzled, and afterward, in cold blood, I didn’t want to. Premeditated vengeance smacks of cruelty and a nasty temperament.
I grew tired of the whole calling. It wasn’t so much the work as all the things in it, which cried out for both attention and punishment. Since these matters were easier to deplore than to correct, I decided to avoid the sight of them altogether.
So, like those who give up their vices when they can no longer exercise them, I sought sanctuary—though of course, better late than never. Seeing you one night carrying the lantern with that pious fellow Mahudes, I recognized you as content, and justly employed. Filled with an honorable sort of envy, I resolved to follow your path and, with this good intention, presented myself to Mahudes, who promptly assigned me to this hospital and made me your comrade. What’s happened to me here isn’t too trivial to be worth telling either—especially what I heard from four patients whom fortune and need brought to the hospital in adjacent beds.
Bear with me, for the story is brief. It won’t keep, and it fits here like a glove.
Scipio
: I forgive you, but wind it up. It’s almost daylight.
Berganza
: As
This was bad enough, but his prophetic soul foretold yet another disgrace awaiting him. The actors returned, more than twelve of them, and without a word they took hold of this poet of mine and—if not for the intervention of the manager, who shouted and interposed himself—they doubtless would have pantsed him. I was speechless, the manager disgusted, the actors merry, the poet crestfallen. Patiently, wincing a bit, he took his script, clutched it to his breast and muttered, “It’s no use casting pearls before swine.” And with this, his great dignity intact, he was off.
I was so mortified, I couldn’t bring myself to followhim. And I was right not to, because the manager petted me and hugged me so much that I felt obliged to stay, and in less than a month I was a talented physical comedian and farceur. They put a braided muzzle on me and trained me to lunge for anyone in the theater whom they singled out. Since skits generally ended in a slapstick free-for-all, the sketches in this actor-manager’s troupe all wound up with me knocking everybody over and trampling them, which made the ignorant laugh, and my owner rich.
Oh Scipio, who could do justice to all I saw in this and the two other troupes I traveled in? Because the laws of good storytelling forbid me from reducing it to succinct narration, I’ll have to leave it for another day—if we can communicate another day.
You know how long my story has been, and how far-flung my adventures? You know how many roads I’ve traveled and how many masters I’ve had? Well, all you’ve heard is nothing compared to what I observed of these show people, their habits, their lives, customs, exercises, work, laziness, ignorance and cleverness, and countless other things. Some matters I noted are unfit for public consumption and others too good not to tell, but all are worth remembering, so as to disenchant those who worship matinee idols and artificially beautiful special effects.
Scipio
: I understand completely, Berganza, that these new angles keep cropping up and extending your soliloquy, but it occurs to me that you might give it a rest and let it go for another time.
Berganza
: Whatever you say, but listen. I fetched up with one troupe here in Valladolid, where in one skit I suffered a wound that almost killed me. I couldn’t avenge myself at the time because I was muzzled, and afterward, in cold blood, I didn’t want to. Premeditated vengeance smacks of cruelty and a nasty temperament.
I grew tired of the whole calling. It wasn’t so much the work as all the things in it, which cried out for both attention and punishment. Since these matters were easier to deplore than to correct, I decided to avoid the sight of them altogether.
So, like those who give up their vices when they can no longer exercise them, I sought sanctuary—though of course, better late than never. Seeing you one night carrying the lantern with that pious fellow Mahudes, I recognized you as content, and justly employed. Filled with an honorable sort of envy, I resolved to follow your path and, with this good intention, presented myself to Mahudes, who promptly assigned me to this hospital and made me your comrade. What’s happened to me here isn’t too trivial to be worth telling either—especially what I heard from four patients whom fortune and need brought to the hospital in adjacent beds.
Bear with me, for the story is brief. It won’t keep, and it fits here like a glove.
Scipio
: I forgive you, but wind it up. It’s almost daylight.
Berganza
: As
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