AMERICA
- PRELUDE TO THE INTRODUCTION -
NORTON ENTERS STAGE
Come nightfall, San Francisco bay is invaded by shadows, stars, and gods.
Where are we ? Soon they will start the show.
On the hills, the plateaux, the crickets sneak amidst the tall grass, white under the moon. They creak in rythm with the wind and the waves of the Pacific, less and less blue, more and more black, cold and deep. In the city now, the doors close. One, two, three strikes, and then the light comes on … The last hurried passerby stops by the port, and raises his eyes on the opening of the world’s curtain - stars spread over the earth.
It’s night.
Here is a man. He sits in the pale, on a cliff’s edge, far from town.
His massive silhouette cuts the sky amidst the white grass. He wears an ocean blue uniform, gold fringed epaulettes, and carries a dark wooden cane. A sculpted snake coils around its shaft. The pommel, fist-shaped, holds the snake’s throat.
He watches the horizon, and the white sparks of foam and sky.
In between two breaths of the sea, the man sighs for a while - a sigh that reveals a deep voice.
And he turns to you.
“With the sea rising and falling, it’s like swinging on a swing.”
The man takes time to breath in the salty air.
“Ah, what a joy to be here, no ? I am Norton. I came here to see you. To welcome you. Someone had to find you a seat in this theatre. I escaped the book through hidden pathways. We stand on its treshold, in between worlds.
In a moment we will play for you a life. This whole life will be our play. And our play will play up there, in those stars.
That’s why this background of a stage - San Francisco Bay - was appropriate : I needed its night sky.
Why ? Where are we, really ?
Let us take … let’s see … right … a beech tree bent by autumn wind. The small freckle under that little girl’s left eye. The evening light through the blue-tinted square window of a printer’s shop.
All of this, what we will play, what will be said, the tiniest detail; in a sense, will be … stars-filled … yes,, those stars, all in a life’s play.
What is he saying, this admiral-looking strange stranger ? Has he gone mad ? Look at those heavens, and tell me. Can you look into them for long and not enter some deep reverie ? If you think of your life in these stars, doesn’t it suddenly seem to be an obvious thread of destiny, soft, in harmony ? Do you not feel the wounds heal, and a map of your soul be drawn ?
We hang past and future to these stars, as the spheres on the Christmas tree. The ancient drew their constellations there. The island people, silently met by my ships around the Marquesas, saw in it other islands of a twin ocean, and there their stories played out. Can you feel it, maybe ? By God knows what Bard, what forces that know, chaos becomes there a tale of music, whose end you do not know, but whose golden thread you hold at last. This sky, where your life arcs into a great story, has shone over all men, always. They looked into it, and dreamed their life. It’s in this dream that we will play the coming play : the life of Edwin Forrest.
But if a dream is what you wanted, will you say, why choose this man among others, and why not invent, like the ancient, a story of monsters, miracles, and enchanted islands ? Why not rise to those stars you love so, instead of hurling them down to earth ? Ah, but that is theatre. Can you understand ? These fallen stars bloom. We pick those flowers for your enjoyment. I speak, I speak … you understand me, I hope ? Ah, whatever, I was asked to welcome - with shivers, mysteries, half-seen lights of what’s to come - not to be clear.
But time is running short. We must soon open this curtain of night - jump into time - begin. You’ll see me again, then. But I, alas, will not see you. We cross the eternal treshold into space. I will slide behind the wall as soon as the curtain opens. There I will live and age and die. And so will you, so will you …
And you will see him. This great man, this sunken ship. He too played plays on the stage. I see him, all woven in light, going from shadow to shadow. He was the first of our stars, in this New World we have built and, like us, he was a dreamer, greedy, generous, violent, loving, idiotic, wise, wild … and he built a castle - did you know ? - a real castle, and became very rich, but he fell, oh he fell deep, until he found himself right here, in this cabin whose lantern shines on you right now. That’s where he was sunk.
Norton suddenly raises his head towards the stars. He frowns.
I said too much. The director of our troop grumbles backstage. He must have spilled his ink again … or time is lacking. For after me, he is the one to enter the light. He wants to tell you how this man, this Edwin Forrest, and I your humble servant, met in this book. Yes, yes, this, and we begin. Preludes must preface introductions. It was in America, a long time ago. Of course, I was dead already, and Edwin dead as well. You will see that …
Ah - no - well - that’s certain - he is coming. I’ll go. Through the curtain and our secret pathways. I will meet him on the way. I will tell him of you. Never fear. There is only you. This book. The stars. Edwin. Norton. And millions of men in passing. Ah ! This life may be a dream. The world fits in a soul.
And what we love, and what we hate
What we are and will be
It’s this man, and his star
Farewell !
Remember me ! Look into this sky ! And see : what a joy, to be here !