Adam Roberts

The affair was exquisite and skilfully laid.
It was in April, on so temperate a day
One might have thought Love himself its planter.
Thérèse the Duchess—to whom I would grant her
Paris were I king, or the world were I God,
Even were she nothing but Thérèse the Blonde;
That lovely Thérèse, with eyes like diamonds—
Had invited us to her charming garden.

The company was small; selection was key.
We were all together, yet each pair in intimacy.
Couples wandered slowly in every direction:
Proud lords’ and rare beauties’ interaction,
Amyntas dreaming beside their Léonores,
Marchionesses laughing with Monsignors;
And, prowling the grand staircase, one saw appear
A dwarf stealing purses from each cavalier.

At noon: the spectacle accompanied by harmony.
Why perform Plautus at night? Comedy
Is a fair maiden who laughs best by day.
Thus—like a temple of love—they’d made
Near a shaded pool where a swan resided,
A trellis-work theatre, twining vine-sided.
An open-work arch—in shape, basket-handled,
Like a green cage where a captive finch warbled—
Covered the entire stage, and the actresses smote
By shadows of branches across their white throats.

Magical harmonies chimed from afar;
And above, coming waist-deep from frieze, to draw
The whole of the crowd to his repeated hijinks,
White-clad Pulcinella sounded his syrinx.
Two fauns supported the proscenium arch; while
Trivelin laughed in their faces like a rascal.
Amidst the ornaments carved in the trellis,
Columbine slept within a great seashell, as
Baring her bosom and arms, could be seen as
A goddess upon the conch—and call her Venus.
Lord Pantaloon, in a niche on the right, made
Use of a bench selling sweet lemonade,
Crying out now and then: “Lords, man is divine!
God made the water, but man has made wine!”
On one side Scaramouche belaboured with bat
The tragic Alcantor and mournful Arbate;
Crispin, black-clad, waved his fan up and down;
Perched on the gateway, one leg dangling down,
Carlino leaned forward, listening to the serenades,
His foot traced dreamy shapes in the air as it played.

The sun served as chandelier; seasonal June
Had embroidered a wide rolling lawn with blooms—
A green carpet on which many groups were ranged.
Lined up on both sides of the rustic stage,
The park’s true trees—lilacs and rowans,
And ebony trees laden with April’s growings—
Exhaling delights with their fragrant sap,
Seemed to amuse themselves by holding things up,
And, opening their blossoms like eyes, watching,
Joined their joyful murmurs to the violin;
So that, in this graceful concert classical
Nature’s was joined by everything musical

Everything charmed: woods, serene day, air pure,
The women all love, and the sky all azure.
As the play was excellent, though of a great age.
With Pierrot, sat nonchalant at the edge of the stage,
Haranguing—his discourse solemn-ing along—
A ape playing kettledrums astride a dog.

Just that: simple and love. — And there were times
The monkey in a frenzy would bang on his drums;
And Pierrot would say. — Listen! If you wish.
One man had the valet bring him some ice;
Another, a gallant in a fanciful casque,
Spoke softly to his lady while tying on her mask;
Three marquises sat at a table, singing a melody.
Thérèse sat in the shade of a small tree;
The roses compared to her cheek seemed pale,
And, seeing her loveliness, a peacock fanned its tail.

Me, I listened, pensive, to a ditty of snark
That an abbé in violet robes hummed in the dark.

Night fell; all grew silent; the torches were spent;
In darkening woods the springs murmured laments;
The nightingale, hidden in its shadowed nest,
Sang, like a poet, like a lover, his best.
Everyone scattered beneath foliage throng;
The giddy ones, laughing, swept the prudent along;
The lover and his beloved walked in shadows away;
And, in a daze like that of a dream, they say
They feel—gradually mingling their souls,
With their burning glances, their whispered words,
With their hearts, their senses, and their yielding reason—
The blue moonlight that bathed the horizon.

April 18…