Turbo  Act IV sc. 1

Harlequin and Beger

HARLEQUIN:  [has returned home from Paris , bringing back nothing except the French Pox] . . . . . Now here’s something new. Turbo has become a complete fireman – the whole house in is flames and he himself huffs and puffs, and blows and spits and smokes like the devil himself. And he has hired a teacher who comes straight from hell and is once again besotted with him.

Now I can understand a lot of languages, but I can not understand his gibberish. He has got an alphabet like the Chinese, he paints little pictures like the Egyptians, he speaks in numbers like the Arabs, and the words he uses – Good Lord: Azoth, Martek, Kukul, Alkibric, Zanderich, Muhal – I believe that’s what the devils in hell are called.1.

But here he comes himself – now we’ll have a learned discussion: quid non martalia pectora cogis, auri saeva fames?2.

Hey there, Goldfather!

BEGER [apparently talking to himself]:  That stone is completely different from all others in its properties, in its completeness, and the nourishment it consumes, for it comes from the seed of the world and has within it an exceptional power of blessing.

HARLEQUIN: Uh-huh! What Rubbish!

BEGER: Do not put gold to gold, for that will produce nothing as the greater does not inhabit the lesser.

HARLEQUIN:  He’s away with the fairies. This kind of person is so thick-skinned that it takes a punch to get any response out of him.

BEGER:  Prove exactly the inner contents of the earth, help it along here and there, and in this way you shall come to the hidden stone, the true medicine.

HARLEQUIN:  Hey, you whoreson! [hits him]

BEGER: What was that for, you beast?

HARLEQUIN: So how is Miriam, the sister of Moses?

BEGER: What?

HARLEQUIN:  What are the women getting up to?

BEGER:  You pig!

HARLEQUIN:  Are the children still at their games?

BEGER:  What’s with the bad jokes?

HARLEQUIN:  What has set your dizzy heads spinning with a new dizziness?

BEGER:  The villain has ruined a fine train of thought for me, that would surely have set the crowning stone on what I was building up.

HARLEQUIN:  You have been working at your chemical process for so long that you’ll find yourself in a legal process that leads to the gallows.

BEGER:  Go away, you dolt. Ha – I see him the King! How he has been bathed, washed and combed for his marriage with the Queen. Then there will spring up a thousand thousand little Kings everywhere. If only it wasn’t for the dragon.

HARLEQUIN:  That must be the one that breaks all the glasses, smashes the retorts, blows up the chimneys and weakens the brains?

BEGER:  Leave me – mind your own business.

HARLEQUIN:  Yes, and you go distil your elixir – if you can get it to work. But listen, I know a great poem about alchemy:

Illa est ars sine arte

Cuius summa: pars sine parte

Cuius vera sunt nugari

Cuius mater otiari

            Cuius votum denigrari

Cuius fama annotari

Cuius proba est mentiri

Cuius via impediri

Cuius labor est inflare

Cuius fructus mendicare

Cuius finis desperare

Cuius merces nusquam stare

Cuius poena est perire

Et in cruce interire3.

Ha! Ha! Ha! Do you by any chance know a rhyme for laudamus, Azoth or the panacea silvestris?

BEGER:  Shut your face!

 

 

 

Turbo  Act IV sc. 2

Turbo and Beger

 

TURBO:  When will my soul be at peace? For all that alchemy fetters her young men to her by her unique depths of meaning, yet she is exhausting and so much depends on chance. My dear Beger swears by all the devils that his process is the best and the quickest, and indeed has often been put to the test already. And he has proved that to me with his demonstrations. What a show of colours he has already let me see! None of those who doubt this science carry any weight with me.

Admittedly – it takes three years under the most favourable circumstances. If a container bursts, as sometimes happens, it’s a case of starting all over again from scratch. Beger is a man who thinks of nothing but his work, and he had my good completely at heart.

Admittedly – it costs money. But who can reap without sowing? Rome was not built in a day. It is casting out the net in which we shall catch the Green Lion, the Flying Stag, the Winged Eagle, the Dancing Fools, the serpent which eats its own tail, the toad swollen with poison, the stag’s head, the Black which is blacker than black, the Seal of Hermes, the Residue of Folly.

But here he comes himself – the Midwife of Nature, the Father of Metals, the Grower of Gold, the Son of Wisdom and Grandson of Mercury.

BEGER:  Ah Turbo! I was just looking for you. I bring news of great joy.

TURBO:  What? Has it succeeded?

BEGER:  It is about another matter. I have a letter here which is worth gold.

TURBO:  So let me hear it.

BEGER:  First of all, rejoice!

TURBO:  I am rejoicing, I am rejoicing. But read it to me.

BEGER:  See how I share all my secrets with you at once. I could easily keep all the treasure for myself, but I shall share it with you.

TURBO:  That is nice of you.

BEGER:  One of my close friends writes the following to me here – Once upon a time there was a monk. He lived in the forest of Sansbois and his name was called Chimeron.

TURBO:  I have never heard of that name.

BEGER:  O he is very well known. He built himself a tiny little hut there out of the clay of wisdom.

TURBO:  Why?

BEGER:  Pah!  He was able to create our sanctified stone, and his seal had wonderful powers, and through his mirror he could see everything, and in the middle of winter he could make trees and plants grow, and he could speak with the animals and travel the entire world in an instant.

TURBO:  Good heavens!

BEGER:  But that is a mere nothing. He could walk into the middle of mountains in the same way as other people can walk through the air. Sometimes he went down to the bottom of the ocean, then rose back up again to the stars. He could also live in the fire, In short: the whole world was his kingdom.

TURBO:  I am dumbfounded

BEGER:  Yet more. He could raise whole armies out of the earth in a moment, and he could destroy them all when he wished, and he could hold conversations with those who have died.

TURBO:  You are stretching me on the rack.

BEGER:  He died just recently.

TURBO:  Yes – how was that possible?

BEGER:  Hm – it was what he wished to do, in reality he could have lived for aeons if he wanted. But now we are the inheritors of his arts.

TURBO:  We?

BEGER:  Yes, we!

TURBO:  Then I have not spent my money in vain?

BEGER:  In vain? But you have spent as good as nothing so far. Everything is falling into your lap without any research on your own part, and without any mistakes. In a short time a rich reward shall be yours. Let us count it up. We have put 15 Ducats in the smelting oven.

TURBO:  Right.

BEGER:  From that will come, I hope, 45.

TURBO:  Good.

BEGER:  That will take a month, if all goes well.

TURBO:  If the retorts do not burst.

BEGER:  In the second month we put 45 Ducats in and get 135 out.

TURBO:  Good.

BEGER:  In the third month 405, and the fourth 1215.

TURBO:  Hooray!

BEGER:  In the fifth month 3,635 Ducats.

TURBO:  What does the world cost?

BEGER:  And in the sixth 10,895.

TURBO:  And in a year?

BEGER:  I scarcely dare speak the number aloud: 7,939,745 Ducats.

TURBO:  Where is the king who takes in so much from all his lands: seven million and nearly ten and a half tons of Gold!

BEGER:  Yes, you see you should have had a bit more faith in the first attempt.

TURBO:  Well, I know what I have to do for the next year.

BEGER: The only thing is that will all these treasures you can’t have enough to eat or a decent set of clothes.

TURBO:  How so?  Is if from fear of other people?

BEGER:  Oh no. But you see, the art leaves the adept as soon as he is no longer freezing, hungry and footsore; as soon as he no longer has soot on his face and is well-nourished and no longer looks like gallows bait. This is what the stars wish. The richest people must look like the poorest, and the alchemist must look out at the world from his exalted observatory. Nevertheless the magic of the art is so powerful that it is easy to give up all the god of the world, and rule it with the spirit just as kings rule it with the sceptre.

TURBO:  That is really very sad, that the art is like a snake with a lovely head and an ugly tail. But we are getting away from the monk.

BEGER: Ah yes, true. Well, the monk has concentrated all his experience in the preparation of a salve.

TURBO:  A salve?

BEGER:  Yes, and the remarkable thing is that whoever rubs the salve into his temples and nose will be able to see whatever he wishes in the air.

TURBO:  But what is there to see in the air?

BEGER:  Bah! The air is not at all empty. Flying about in the air like swarming bees there are spirits and souls and ideas and all sorts of wonderful things. It is the fault of our weak eyes that we can not see these marvels, And the salve will cure exactly that.

TURBO:  That sounds splendid. What shall we get out of it, though, when we can see all these things? 

BEGER:  Ah you simpleton!  They can be talked to, they can be questioned at will. Suppose you need strength – you call up the appropriate spirit and you can tear up trees, bust open iron gates, destroy whole armies. You wish to be wise? You will be able to speak in all tongues, bring back into daylight writings which have been lost from human memory. You wish to have treasures? Nature lies open before you and no more secrets. And it’s just the same with everything else – honours, beauty, long life. You only have to choose.

TURBO:  Do you have the salve?

BEGER: Maybe. You do not know what a treasure you have in me.

TURBO:  I shall treasure you for ever.

BEGER:  It is necessary, however, to give things time and allow the heavenly influences upon them. What we need before anything is a calendar.

TURBO:  I have one.

BEGER:  Brrr, not one of those ones. It has to be mystical calendar, that warns us of certain secret operations day by day. For we have to act in union with the heavens just now.

TURBO:  How did you get that all from the monk?

BEGER:  Ah true, I had almost forgotten the monk. Yes, well the monk actually prepared a pot full of tincture just for his own amusement, about 15 pounds of it. See, this is a part of it. It’s just a crying shame that he died before it was complete.

TURBO:  Why was he in such a hurry? Surely he could have put off death for a little?

BEGER:  He wanted to die precisely in the year of jubilee, and on his birthday.

TURBO:  So now the tincture is of no use?

BEGER:  Heavens no!  It needs only a trifle to finish it. I can perform it easily. In fact you could do it yourself, it is so easy.

TURBO:  What is it then?

BEGER:  There is someone coming who will see us. Let us go into the laboratory. I’ll tell you the whole story there.

TURBO:  Good, then let us go there at once.

 

 

Turbo  Act IV sc. 3

Harlequin, his Servant, Turbo

 

HARLEQUIN:  If only six times a hundred thousand devils would fly away with this rogue now! I am of an age now when I want peace and quiet. But – there’s no help for it. All day long the mad ash-king comes to me with his ovens, his smoke, his puffers and his rubbish. What do you think I have had to do for him? There is pulverising, sublimation, solution, calcination, distillation, condensation, coloration and God know what all else. Hell has not so many tortures as I have had with this work. Hey there, you fellow!

SERVANT:  Sir?

HARLEQUIN:  Come here, I want a couple of words. Damn me, what sort of a fellow was that, like milk and blood:  Iam, quanta tulit fecitque puer sudavit et alsit! His spirit has long since been blown away through the constant puffing of his bellows.

SERVANT:  My master will have it so.

HARLEQUIN: Stupidity will have it so. Shall I then just for fun take your master’s part so that your so enlightened spirit gets knocked to the ground?

SERVANT:  Well, what is to be done, dear Sir?

HARLEQUIN:  That’s how I like it. Voilà messieurs: there stands the conscientious student, here is the complete master.

SERVANT:  Honourable master, permit me to go off for a piss.

HARLEQUIN:  Just a moment, then I shall go with you.

SERVANT:  Honourable master, may I leave to go for a fart?

HARLEQUIN:  Just a moment, then we shall fart together. See, people, how I care for the lad. I do not let him do anything alone, and I am always on hand.

SERVANT:  Honourable master, you fart first here.

HARLEQUIN:  What, you rogue? You may not say such a thing and go unpunished, you useless oaf!

SERVANT:  I do not have time to be beaten.

HARLEQUIN:  Wait, I shall catch you soon. I'll make mincemeat of you.

TURBO: What are you up to here, you simpleton? Get on with your work - get a move on - in you go!

I am the luckiest person in the whole world. No one ever was, is, or will be as lucky as me! Oh I could jump for joy! Whoever had so many treasures fall into his lap in one go? I shall have my share of wisdom and happiness. Now I have reached the end of the road, now I have the thing which never gave me peace or rest. It was Fate which held this joy  back from me until the very end. Where can I find words?

I can make gold!  As much as l want - but that is nothing. I shall cure all illnesses and have perfect health myself -that is a little better. I can look into the heart of Nature, I shall the keys to every secret - but that is still not so much. However: I shall rule over this world like a king, shall speak with the spirits in the air, shall be able to live among the stars - and by heaven that is  a great deal!

It is remarkable that the man entrusted all of that to me. I have sent him off with a few hundred crowns to obtain the Chimaera's Legacy. He left a box full of the Tincture there with me, a treasure beyond value.

Oh how I have longed for this hour! Yes, now it has come Lady Fortune can no longer cast me down, and all confusion and error are in the past. Hooray! Now sit down, Turbo, on your chair of state. Ascend the throne of bliss and view the spirits bowed at your feet to await your commands. Now you shall tread on everyone who used to trampl on you. Laugh scornfully at everyone who used to mock you - Ha ha ha!! I laugh at you all, I despise you all, all of you!

But first I must go in and look at my treasure.

 

Turbo  Act IV sc. 4

Prudentius, Fabius, Harlequin, Haspellus

 

PRUDENTIUS:  Who would have thought such a thing?                

FABIUS:   You're right there. But think, is it not always a restless, unstable kind of spirit that meddles in occult sciences and black arts. How could it turn out any different?

PRUDENTIUS:  Still, how can an otherwise intelligent person go along with such utterly obvious balderdash?

FABIUS:  Perhaps he lost his mind and did not see what he was getting into?

PRUDENTIUS:  Nothing of the kind. He was warned a thousand times. But that's always how it goes with magic. Once someone has had a taste of it, he no longer pays any attention to his best friends. They don't want to hear any more.

FABIUS:  If only the fraud were at least ingeniously carried through. But no! Every child laughs at it, and every ordinary man. And what they have to say is either complete garbage or old wives tales.

PRUDENTIUS:  It must be an illness. The fellow may harm someone.

FABIUS:  How did he get into this labyrinth of confusion, to these mad figments of his mind?

PRUDENTIUS:  I believe it was because

he looked down on all conventional education and persuaded himself that he had a special key to the inner meaning of nature.

FABIUS:  Ah - here comes Harlequin, the ambassador of the gods on high! He must tell us what secret goings-on are going on in there.

PRUDENTIUS:  Hello, wise Harlequin! 

FABIUS:  Golden Harlequin!

HARLEQUIN:  No time!

PRUDENTIUS:  Oh please, dearest Harlequin!

HARLEQUIN:   Don't bother me, I'm thinking.

PRUDENTIUS:  Most worthy Magister Harlequin, please honour us with a word or two.

HARLEQUIN:  I have to go to the market to fetch 8 pounds of chalk.

PRUDENTIUS:  Chalk? What for?

HARLEQUIN:   Bah, to calculate the end of the world.

FABIUS:   So that's it. Goodness, but you're a clever chap.

HARLEQUIN:  Well yes, so let me get on. But wait a minute, I also need an artist.

FABIUS:  What for - to draw the numbers?

HARLEQUIN:   Don't be stupid! I need someone who can paint serpents, dragons, the Behemoth, the Menetekel, crowns, the Rutuba and the fifteen different Jerusalems.

PRUDENTIUS:  But Harlequin, how learned you have become!

HARLEQUIN:  Yes, that sort of comes with the Naometria.

FABIUS:  So tell us, what are they really up to in there?

HARLEQUIN:  Each sits in his own corner and doing calculations with little crosses, spirals, angles, suns, moons, stars, serpents, circles, flying angels, crowns, pillars, candelabra, carts, trees, swords, lines, teeth, comets, eggs, fish, berries, ovens, mitres, spears, with the seven orifices, flasks, eagles, lions. But I really must go.

PRUDENTIUS:  A moment more. You are being so kind to us. What are you actually counting?

HARLEQUIN:  The words in the Bible.

PRUDENTIUS:  Ha, ha, ha!

HARLEQUIN:   What's so funny about that, dunderhead? Adieu!

FABIUS:  Now you have hurt his feelings.

PRUDENTIUS:   So that's the famous Naometria. It searches into the occult triplicity of time, and the triple basic character of the past.

FABIUS:  How do they work that out?

PRUDENTIUS:  That's their business. It was all I could do to understand one or two of their numerical  designations. 

FABIUS:   Do they have special number systems then?

PRUDENTIUS:   Certainly. There are animal numbers, sacrificial numbers, sabbatical numbers, Jerusalem numbers and the Key of David. But I have not gone any deeper into these secrets.     

FABIUS:  What are these numbers supposed to mean?

PRUDENTIUS:  Oh they mean all sorts of things - the downfall of the Pope, the Refomation of the Church, the freeing of all goods, the scornful laughter of Moloch. 

FABIUS:  Who is this coming along now?

[enter Haspellus, an engineer. He is starving for lack of employment or patronage, though his expertise includes architecture, machinery, cannons, mines, technical contrivances, fireworks, hydraulics, hydraulics, wells, sparkling fountains, landscaping and garden design.]  

 

 

Turbo  Act IV sc. 5

Harlequin

 

HARLEQUIN:   Psst! Psst! Quiet now, ladies and gentlemen, quiet please. Just listen to the misery. The happiness of my dear Turbo has all gone up in smoke - the Tinctures, the whole business, his hopes, his plans, his joy - all blown away. For goodness sake nobody laugh, please. He is throwing away all his glass vessels now, smashing his retorts to pieces, ripping his books to shreds, and can't bear to see anyone. Look, nobody laugh! That's our fate, it seems - which of you has never miscalculated? Yes, that calculation with the 20,000 Ducats was all wrong, the money has vanished, gone to the devil, and it's the same with all his learned plans. Oh yes, and they have hanged our gallant friend Beger. And 3,000 of our Ducats have gone to the gallows with him, along with our blessed credulity, our useless respect, our belated regrets and our humiliation - all dangling up there for the whole world  to see.

Ach, I am so ashamed. You won't see me again. If Turbo had kept some money back, we could at least have have had a little comfort after such a disgrace. But I'm afraid it's now farewell and adieu. And it's true, isn't it, I've always meant well with you? So when you think of Turbo in exile, perhaps you will remember me too.

[Here follows a long farewell from Harlequin. He reappears however in the interlude which separates Act IV from the final part of the play.]  

Notes

1.  Süss suggests:  Alkibric = sulphur vivum, Kuhul = plumbub philosophorum, Sanderich = Weiß Ertz, 

2. Aeneid III, 56

3. Very roughly translated ... [Alchemy is] the art which has no science, whose highest perfection is a share of nothing, her truths are a cheat, her mother is idleness, her promise is to be utterly blackened, her fame is to be distinguished, her proofs are lies, her road is impassable, her work is puffing u[, her fruit is beggary, her end is despair, her reward is homelessness, her punishment is to perish by dying on the gallows.