Translation:Puss in Boots/Epilogue
stepping out from behind the curtain
Tomorrow we will have the honor of repeating today's performance.
Everyone stamps. The King is thrown into confusion, he retreats, then returns.
Tomorrow: — Allzu scharf macht schartig.
Yes! That's better!
The King leaves the stage to general applause. There are cries of "The final scenery! The final scenery!"
Behind the Curtain
Really! Well, since they are calling for the final scenery!
The curtain rises, the stage is empty; only the scenery is to be seen. Hanswurst comes forward, bowing.
Forgive me for being so bold as to thank you on behalf of the scenery; it is only right that the scenery should be at least a little polite. She will strive to earn the applause of an enlightened audience in the future too; therefore she certainly shall not lack for lamps or the necessary adornments, for the applause of such an assembly will so — so — so encourage her — oh, look, see how she is moved to tears and can no longer speak.—
He leaves the stage quickly and dries his eyes, several people in the pit start crying, the senery is taken down, leaving the walls of the stage bare; people start to leave; The Prompter climbs out of his box; The Playwright emerges meekly onto the stage.
I am free once again—
Are you still there?
You should be gone home by now.
Just a few more words with your kind permission! My play has flopped—
Who are you talking to?
So we noticed.
I, perhaps, am not entirely to blame—
Who else, then? Whose fault was that we were compelled to tie up this worthy young man here, who would otherwise have run amok like a madman? Who else, if not you, is to blame for leaving us addleheaded and confused?
Enlightened man! Isn't it true that your noble drama presents a mystical theory revealing the nature of love?
Not to my knowledge; I was just trying to restore to all of you the lost sentiments of your childhood, so that you could experience whole-heartedly the depicted fairytale, but without regarding it as something more important than it actually was.
That is not an easy thing to do, my good man.
Admittedly, you would then have to put all your schooling aside for two hours.—
How is that possible, then?
Forget all you have ever learned—
Why not, indeed?
Just as they have done in the newspapers.
Just think what that would entail!
In short, you would need to become children again.
But we thank God that we are no longer children.
Our schooling has cost us enough toil and sweat as it is.
Drumrolls are heard again.
You should try to compose a few verses, Mr Poet; they might earn you more respect.
Perhaps I can come up with a Xenie.
A newfangled style of poetry that makes one feel better than can be described.
Addressing the pit
Ladies and Gentlemen, your judgement should guide me just a little;
But you must first prove that you understand me just a little.
Rotten pears and apples and balled-up pieces of paper are thrown at him from the pit.
Those men down there are too well-versed in this type of poetry for me.
Come on, Fischer, Leutner, let's drag Schlosser home, a sacrificial victim to Art.
while they are hauling him off
Do your worst, vulgarians, the light of love and truth will still permeate the universe.
They all leave.
I'm going home too.
Hist! Mr Poet!
What is it?
I was not one of your detractors, but the captivating performance of that unique man who played the virtuous Hinze has somewhat prevented me from fully comprehending the art of dramatic composition, but to which, all the same, I also want to see that justice is done; now I would just like to know whether this great man is staying in the theater.
No. But what did you want him for?
Just to worship him a little and expound his greatness. — But could you please hand me that gag over there; I think I'll keep it as a souvenir of the barbarism of my age and of my compatriots.
I will always remember your kindness with gratitude.
Oh, you ungrateful century!
He leaves. The few people who are still in the theater go home.
- A play by August Wilhelm Iffland.
- Xenie: Die Xenien was a collection of satirical epigrams by Goethe and Schiller, in which they avenged themselves on their critics.