some knave, me who came upon you,
that you dare speak in such a way?
Explain to the high crown right now
how you came here, right here, here and
now. Spit it out! Hey! Will I get
that stammering confession soon,
running circles around my ears?
Prince:
I neither wear a red face, nor
would I stammer as you believe.
Calm yourself down, Father, be still.
I have an announcement to make,
to you, the realm, the world. I am
engaged.
King:
How so?
Prince:
Yes, yes, engaged in every sense,
as one’s words can only convey,
a vow to pledge, so I’m engaged.
King:
Well! To whom?
Prince:
To a miracle who will not
be a miracle. A creature
such that only a girl can be,
but yet like a girl unheard of.
An image before which magic
takes a knee and rubs its blind eyes.
The divine is in the picture,
so it moves, has life, and belongs
to me as I to it. It’s a bond,
my father, not to be broken.
Blood was shared, and in ours no one
will see the sweetest love end.
King:
Come, Chancellor, come!
Prince:
Allow me to kiss your hand, let
love fall down and beg at your feet.
She’s the one I want to be mine,
who’s worth the throne in every sense.
She will be an embellishment
to our dynasty, a sweet joy
in old age. O chase this sunlight
not from the snow of your white head!
This girl you will warm to, and she’ll
enchant you as she enchants me.
King:
Silence, you have no idea
what I think where it concerns you.
Listen up, my son, I can wear
the face of a bull and I would
rather not have you on my horns.
Step aside, here in the black, so
we can have a word in the dark,
quietly resolve our discord.
Prince:
Don’t you want to see her?
King:
I came with her in my mind’s eye,
already caught up in this dream.
I feel quite well disposed toward her,
but don’t take this to mean that now
I’m no longer opposed to you.
Step to the side here and you will
learn my fatherly intentions.
They step back into the gallery so that only their heads
can be seen.
Cinderella (upon awaking):
Now I would love to know if I
can feel around with these hands.
If it’s a dream, there is nothing.
For dreams, even if they please us,
they just aren’t worth getting up for.
I want to move this foot—like so—
and now this hand, and now the head.
The gallery above, from which
that sweet man leaned over to me,
is really and truly there, though
I don’t remember and can’t ask
how a prince came to bow to me.
Be what it will, this thing is not
so quick to be utterly doomed.
Maybe it never happened then.
I only just dreamt about it
in a dream while falling asleep.
But this head and that smile happened
as if in some reality
that was mine before sleep. Sleep has
made me mistrustful and timid.
It has ruined the game in which
I was so blissfully forlorn.
Now I’ll take a few steps and see
if I can still walk. My eyes go
around in a circle and see
everything spic-and-span, indeed
mysterious not in the least,
as I had wanted it. Well, this has,
everything thus far said, has time.
The sisters come.
Both sisters enter.
First Sister:
Hey, Cinderella!
Second Sister:
“Here,” she will say. “I’ll be right there.”
That will be her sorry excuse.
Cinderella:
Don’t be angry for I’m here now.
On my knees if you so desire,
kissing you hand and foot. Never
have I been so quick and ready
to serve, so happy to obey.
Please tell me what I am to do.
Second Sister:
Tie up the shoe here on my foot.
First Sister:
Go to the shoemaker for me.
Cinderella:
I will gladly jump for you soon,
but there’s a tie that binds me here.
And when I’m so bound, my zeal flies
away for the sister who makes
me go. Then upon my return,
only weariness shall stand
in my place to serve you anew.
You will never see me weary
so long as you don’t allow it.
Second Sister:
That is really laced up too tight,
you lazy clod, here! Take that!
She pushes her away.
First Sister:
Leave, make off with you, and don’t you
dawdle on the streets and corners.
Cinderella exits.
Prince (in the gallery):
Doesn’t that vain pair of sisters
brood there like hate and resentment?
How slender they are—beautiful
if their natures were not ravaged
by ignorance, livid envy.
Yes, like sinister clouds, they blow
around this sweet, sunny image,
their little sister, who is wholly
intimidated by their power
and no more knows to help herself.
This ought to be a fairy tale
for children—and grown-ups as well—
the two towers of fashion there
and their little deer they despise,
despised for being so beautiful.
Where would it flee? It’s fit to make
the leap only too well, I think.
That it flee from me I dread always.
Hey there, you sisters!
First Sister (looking around):
What does this big brute want?
Second Sister:
Look you, you are too crude for us.
Go about your nasty business,
rouse your dogs, clutch your big skewer,
go shoot a rabbit to death. Here’s
no place for such an ill-bred boy.
Prince:
Yes, indeed, all is good!
First Sister:
Leave the fool to himself, sister.
They speak to each other. Cinderella enters unnoticed.
Prince (softly):
You nightingale, you lovely dream,
you, above every fantasy,
a sublime apparition, see
how quick my hands come together
in their veneration of you.
The language must be a weasel
falling headlong when it wishes
that it didn’t lack words for her,
but it can see her poverty.
The wonder of her seals its lips:
in this way does love hold its breath.
Cinderella (smiling):
Hush—you throat-clearer—hush!§
Prince:
My father desires to see you
on his lap as
his crowned child.
Cinderella:
Is he an older man? Is he
the country’s king?
Prince:
Yes, indeed he is. I’m his son.
Just now he called me a rascal,
who leads him around by his big nose.
Now he’s smiling and shedding tears
that stream down his big round full cheeks.
But when I asked him why he cried,
suddenly I’m a rapscallion,
a man ignorant of honor,
a thief of supreme majesty,
a perfect criminal. So I
keep quiet, quiet as a mouse,
and do not disturb his sleep
while he dreams of your elegance.
Cinderella:
And if he does, will he not still
admit being a rascal to you?
Prince:
Absolutely.
Cinderella:
Now hide yourself.
The Prince returns to his previous position.
Cinderella:
Laugh quietly my angels, who
hover in the air around me;
they point out at the heads up there,
the ones above this gallery,
which are somewhat half visible.
Just look at that gigantic crown
that deserves such a hearty laugh.
Look at that knotted knitted brow.
Now behold the head of a youth
and think hard about who it is;
the Prince, assuredly, it is not.
His head perhaps, but it’s not, too;
because surely a half a head
cannot be taken for the head.
The nice thing about this charade
is that you must laugh in silence,
quite softly so that no one hears,
especially not my sisters,
who exist apart from laughter,
who would be taken aback, and
yet don’t feel it. Indeed, there is
someone sleeping in the great hall.
It’s as if empathy were packed
in a matchbox. I am tired too
from putting all this into words.
This gallery column right here
will do as my little cradle.
She leans on a column.
Fairy Tale, fantastically garbed, appears from behind the Prince’s and the King’s back.
Fairy Tale (whispering):
Cinderella!
Cinderella (stepping forward):
Well, now what’s this? Who are you? Speak!
Fairy Tale:
I am Fairy Tale, from whose lips
everything spoken here resounds,
from whose hand these images’ charm,
which here enchant, take flight, and go,
that can wake your feelings of love
with sweet gifts intended for you.
Observe, these dresses will make you
the most beautiful young lady,
place the hand of the Prince in yours.
Look at the way this one sparkles,
how this one flashes. Precious stones,
pearls, corals readily desire
to adorn your breast, to fetter
gracefully neck and arm. Take them,
and do take it, the entire outfit.
She lets the dress fall to the ground.
If it should feel too tight on you,
don’t worry, an elegant dress
presses itself tight to one’s limbs,
eagerly fitting the body.
Now, let us move on to the shoes.
I believe that you have small feet,
very petite, the kind he likes.
Won’t you be wanting shoes as well?
She holds them up high.
Cinderella:
You’re blinding me.
Fairy Tale:
I came here to put fear in you.
The people don’t believe in me,
but so what when just my nearness
makes them think a little again.
These shoes are silver but as light
as swan’s down. I simply ask you
to hold them nimbly in your hands.
She throws them into Cinderella’s hands.
Cinderella:
Oh!
Fairy Tale:
Don’t taunt your sisters with them.
Be noble with such noble splendor
while comporting yourself just so,
as your nature obligates you.
Cinderella:
O, I promise you.
Fairy Tale:
You are a dear, sweet child worthy
of this fairy tale. Do not kneel!
I beg you, if I am dear to you,
kneel for her, whom I kneel before.
Cinderella (kneeling):
No, let me. Gratefulness surely
feels itself divinely enriched.
Fairy Tale:
It is due to your mother that
I come to you. Such a woman
as lovely as her lives no more,
ornamented by such virtue
that virtue was made lovelier
than her, the loveliest—alive
no longer save, perhaps, in you.
You have what’s sweetest about her,
something that makes women divine,
this alluring serenity
which exists in a noble mind,
this inexpressible something
before which brave men kneel. Be still.
Put on that dress now in silence.
Slip into the palace tonight.
You know the rest of the story.
It’s been dreamt long enough. This scene
must come to life now. To wonder
shall bring fear. And the fairy tale
goes on until its end, its home.
She exits.
Cinderella:
Now quick, lest the sisters catch me
too soon and suffer my lost time
too late. Some whim would rather still
linger here, but a lucky girl
can no longer marry a knave,
she who must flee with her rich things,
hide them. Some whim would rather still
smile here, and yet this happiness,
this smiling, is laughing me onward.
Hurry, lest the Prince see me like this!
She exits.
Prince:
Hey, Cinderella!
King:
The night has come, let us go home.
Prince:
I must be here forever.
Three girls dressed as pages appear.
First Page:
How funny I feel in these clothes.
They have made me look like a boy.
Second Page:
Mine tingles. It snags. It itches.
It’s an unnameable feeling.
It kisses my entire body.
First Page:
As I pulled them on over me,
a fire blasted me in the face.
I wear them now, but I don’t know
how I will ever keep them on.
Third Page:
I feel like doing what boys will do.
I want to jump, to laugh, to twirl
my arms and my legs to and fro
and yet I can’t. Like a sin they
are squeezing my fair young body,
they are causing me to grow stiff.
First Page:
But not even for a kingdom
would I not love to feel such fear.
To me they hurt so well and so
pleasurably at the same time.
Second Page:
When the heavens and the earth lay
one atop the other, they’d feel
half so tightly pressed together
compared to this attire and me.
First Page:
Girls, the Prince c
alls.
Prince:
What do you want? Why are you here?
First Page:
To grace the scene the way your dream
and the fairy tale desire it.
For decoration we have draped
the gallery in precious cloth.
Now we’ll spray perfume everywhere
to fill the room with its scent.
Now we’ll light the candelabra
and make the night as bright as day.
If you still have further orders,
tell us.
Second Page:
Shall we assemble the people
to applaud this celebration?
Prince:
No, it’s not that kind of party,
not what you think, needing people,
one that is framed by their shouting.
We’ll have a party with ourselves,
a totally silent party,
where the public voice gets nothing
to trumpet and the world nothing
to concern itself. Heedlessness
celebrates here, a festive mood
filling our hearts, without worry.
Nor would we make much of a crowd
for any bothersome fellow,
since we would have no need of pomp
or vain splendor, which here never
has to see to our happiness.
I feel such silent happiness,
such a sweet and holy feeling,
that to think about a party
feels reprehensible to me.
I already felt festive here,
even before you brought candles
to light the feast. An anxious joy,
who’s half ashamed and half happy,
who’s an untold bundle of nerves,
who doubts in her success, she is
the party-giver here.
Third Page:
Just this slender column’s to do,
my lord, spinning me like a bride.
Prince:
Now do me this favor and leave.
For your service, accept my thanks.
First Page:
These are well-bred pages, taking
leave when there is no longer need.
Second Page:
Come away. This Prince’s page is
only a dream.
The pages exit.
Prince:
I conduct myself in a dream
so much now, I can handily
submit to a foreign power.
Is what I see before my eyes
my possession? Am I indeed
not set up as though in a game?
Haven’t I sat here long enough,
while nothing will move me forward?
I really think I am going mad
and all this, what is around me,
seems no less through the agency
of magic. However, as said,
I want domination, shackles.
My blood, although it is princely,
feels very well under such bonds,
more than well. I would love to shout,
I’d love to shout with such a voice
that the echo would fade away
above the whole world. O how nice
bondage is here that otherwise
darkens the place in which it reigns.
I have never felt so anxious
Fairy Tales Page 6
