![]() ![]() Īll they say Is, "Trust in What Is Written." Wars are made, And somehow that is wisdom. Iunonis ob iram multa quoque et bello passus, dum conderet urbem. He turns out and sings-like a rocker in concert:) MELCHIOR:Īll that's known In History, in Science, Overthrown At school, at home, by blind men.Īrma virumque cano, Troiae qui primus ab oris You doubt them, Italiam, fato profugus, And soon they bark Laviniaque venit and hound you litora, multum ille et terris Till everything you say iactatus et alto is just another bad vi superum saevae memorem about you. A bit of contemporary, electronic music drifts through. (The Boys' recitation grows louder, more insistent, more numbing-as if somehow we were entering into Melchior's psychic experience of it. litora, multum ille et terris iactatus et alto vi superum saevae memorem Iunonis ob. And I am asking-nay, demand ing-that you emend his faulty text and proceed from there. I am confirming that Herr Stiefel has made an error. MELCHIOR: With all respect, sir, are you then suggesting there is no further room for critical thought or interpretation? Why indeed, then, do we evenHERR SONNENSTICH (Striking Melchior with his teacher's cane): I am suggesting no such thing. HERR SONNENSTICH: Herr Gabor, since the days of Servius, Aulus Gellius, and Claudius Donatus-nay, since the moment of Virgil's death-our world has been littered with more than sufficient critical commentary on textual conjecture. Indeed, if we could only entertain the fitness of the conjectureHERR SONNENSTICH: "Multum olim"?! MELCHIOR: Look to the fresh rhetorical balance-"multum olim" introducing "multa quoque" -a parallel, sir, between what Aeneas has already suffered in war and those suf ferings on land and sea just ahead. We are hardly here today to conjecture about textual conjectures. can't we at least consider "multum olim" as a plausible conjecture for how the text might read? HERR SONNENSTICH: Herr Gabor. Melchior rises.) If you please! Pardon me? MELCHIOR (Covering gracefully): If you please, Herr Sonnen stich. Herr Gabor, do I make myself clear? Yes, Herr Sonnenstich: "litora multum ille." HERR SONNENSTICH: All of you-together with Melchior Gabor:ĭo you have any idea what you're saying, Herr Stiefel? multa quoque et bello passus, dum conderet urbem. ![]() Suffered much "in the days still to come". ?! So then, somehow the Pious Aeneas has "already" SONNENSTICH (Losing patience): "Olim"?1 "Multum olim". vi superum saevae memorem Iunonis ob iram. Herr Sonnenstich walks the aisles beside them, listening. They stand, one after the other, for their recitation. ![]() The Boys sit upright at their desks, reciting from Virgil's Aeneid. But when he comes, they don't know how to go. And some just lie there, crying for him to come and find them. Some pray that, one day, Christ will come a-callin~ They light a candle, and hope that it glows. Italiam, fato profugus, Laviniaque venit litora. Shedding her nineteenth-century formality, she sings, as do all the Girls, in the manner of a contemporary young woman.)Īrma virumque cano, Troiae qui primus ab orisHERR SONNEN STICH: (The lights shift-we are back in the song world. FRAU BERGMAN: For a woman to bear a child, she must. In order for a woman to con ceive a child. Flustered, Frau Bergman buries the girl's head in her apron.) (Waits): Yes?. WENDLA: And if I run out, now, and ask Gregor? Our chimney sweep. And on a day like today! Go, child, put your clothes on. FRAU BERGMAN: I honestly don't know what I've done to deserve this kind of talk. But then, who can I ask but you? FRAU BERGMAN: Wendla, child, you cannot imagine that I could WENDLA: But you cannot imagine I still believe in the stork. (Frau Bergman looks stricken.) Mama, please. But I'm an aunt for the second time now, and I still have no idea how it happens. (Wendla starts out, hesitates.) Mama, don't be cross-don't be. WENDLA: Why? I'll kneel at your feet, lay my head in your lap. WENDLA: Mama! FRf\U BERGMAN: You will drive me mad. FRAU BERGMAN: Wendla Bergman, I simply cannot. FRAU BERGMAN: Well, put on a proper dress, and take a hat. Just imagine, Wendla, last night the stork finally visited your sister. Kindergarten dress! Wendla, grown-up girls cannot be seen strutting about in suchWENDLA: Let me wear thi.s one, Mama! I love this one. Frau Bergman suddenly enters, beaming.) Wendla!įRAU BERGMAN: Goodness, look at you-in that. (The lights shift to the world of 1891: a provincial German living room. Mama who gave me No way to handle things. Some pray that, one day, Christ will come a-callin ~ They light a candle, and hope that it glows. She gently explores her newly maturing body, pulls on a near-transparent schoolgirl dress. Wendla is revealed in song light, as if at a mirror. ![]()
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