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The Seven Dwarves on Death Row
Crowns of gold, and crowns of lead
In darkness on our brows
Come the dawn, the Queen has said
We’ll face our final bows
Unless each dwarf in line can tell
Which crown he has on
If so he’ll be set free to dwell
In peace and be gone
But how can we know whether lead
Or gold bears us down
In each crown, in each crown?
Many hours we mused and tried
To circumvent our fate
‘There’s a way’, the doctor cried
‘If only we were eight
Or six or any even number
Then we could plan
A code with which we could encumber
One of our clan
Who standing last in line could tell us
Whether each head
Bears the gold, or the lead.’
Narrator: All that night the seven dwarves fought among themselves. Doc hoped that one, or three, of them might be killed, leaving an even number to face the mad Queen’s executioner. But he was mistaken in his belief that an even number would be necessary for his imagined code to work; it would have functioned perfectly for any number of dwarves. By the morning all seven were still alive, and Doc despaired, believing he could not put his plan into action. The dwarves were brought out into the light and were lined up to answer the Queen’s question – what metal is your crown made of? – and had no choice but to guess. All were wrong and were quickly executed by the Queen’s headsman, save for one, a dwarf named Lucky, who guessed correctly that his crown was of lead. He was released and ran back into the forest. But he did not continue to live up to his name, for the experience made him quite mad and he went to live in the dwarves’ mine where he ate diamonds and died. Thus, when the wicked Queen came in disguise to tempt Snow White with a poisoned apple, there were no dwarves to find her sleeping body and arrange her funeral, and the Prince did not chance upon her. Miss White rotted to bones in the dwarves’ cottage, and was found twenty-seven years later by an itinerant jester who laid her skeleton to rest and wrote the following lament for her.
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Diogenes on the Island of Centaurs
Nine centaurs dwelt in peace upon an island
The last nine centaurs, we are told
Their eyes were blue, and yet they would not own it
For each believed his eyes were gold
A curse upon them meant that if one centaur
Came to believe his eyes were blue
His life would end and into bones he’d crumble
They never spoke of what they knew
At dawn Diogenes sailed out to sea
A lantern in his hand
‘I seek abroad an honest man’, said he
But found no men dwelt on that island
Found only centaurs on the sand
Nine days he stayed
Ate, drank and played
With centaurs, logical and wise
Then left that bliss
And told them this
‘At least one centaur has blue eyes’
He sailed for seven weeks the ocean’s foam
No honest men were there
So sailed back to the centaurs’ home
To ‰nd nine heaps of dusty bones, bare
And grey, he cried ‘Let men beware!’
Narrator: And thus was an ancient race destroyed by a cynic. His warning was against the dangers of pure logic, which had killed the last nine centaurs in the world.
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3. |
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The Last Lament and Riddle of the Hydra
High on a hill in Lerna, high from the fight
Snow is falling on Argolis, as in legends men recite
As I am seen as wicked, I will pluck each eye
Night and day I fear those knights who hate what I exemplify
Ages have passed and I will make one last decree
What is prized more than triumph or the gold I oversee?
It can come to all creatures, even me . . .
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4. |
The Elves of Flyte
10:11
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The Elves of Flyte
Chant of the High Priest: The meaning of the number one is singularity, a grey stone standing alone on the plain of eternity, pointing like the finger of a Nephilim at the bowl of infinity. One is mighty, one is melancholy, one is seldom impressed by the mystical significance of one. § Number nine is the reckoning of a magician’s power, calculated by the accumulation of three third eyes. Nine is the number of fingers on an ancient blacksmith’s hand, and the number of iron nails necessary to make a coffin or a cradle. Nine is complex, nine is wise, nine is foolish, nine is twice four and half. § The true meaning of the number six is hidden from all but the gods. Six candles were burned on the altar of Festis when Antoninus was sacrificed to Mars. Six is a perfect number, signifying good fortune and passion in Tarot. But beware, for he with six graven upon his brow is one third of a Great Beast. § Eight is the most powerful and mystical number known to gods or men. It represents Gaia’s two golden rings which she combined to create the sky. Eight is unshakable, eight is harmonious, eight holds the universe within a band of the infinite. The number eight represents the eyes of two goats, each with one eye shut, peering through a crack.
The wizard told the elves of Flyte
To multiply precisely the number
Of stars that shone there every night
Since the world was made by the gods
He gave a hint, to cut the odds
‘Tonight the world will turn as you slumber
Seven thousand years, no more.
But be sure there is no flaw
In your calculations for
Should you be wrong, by even one
I will destroy your village completely
And curse each creature, sparing none
At dawn your answer must be prepared.’
As darkness fell, the elves despaired
Then tried to count the stars that flared
‘How can we count up the stars that shine in heaven?
How can we compute an answer by the morning?
How can we be sure when multiplied by seven
Thousand years we will have reached the perfect number?
How can we survive this night and make our tally right?’
All that night, they tried to count the stars that twinkled
All that night, they tore their hair and tried to reason
Then one elf, the oldest, wisest and most wrinkled
Cried out ‘Stop! The answer is a simple zero!
With a starless night, just one, the total must be none.’
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5. |
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The Knight and the Dragon
Once I sought him, once I caught him
In his mountain caves
There I fought him, there I brought him
What each dragon craves
One who will be his foe for
Ten thousand days
One loathed whose death brings
purpose to his life
Then I fled him, and he trailed me
Down the days and years
How I dread him – he assailed me
By the Lake of Tears
He feared only salty water
I had one hope
I ran down to the lake and found an ancient boat
In the reeds and rowed from the shore, rowed out as far as I could
Narrator: So the dragon circled round the Lake, fearing to enter its saline waters. He could not reach the knight in his little boat, but neither could the knight escape. The knight wondered if he would starve to death there, but soon put this idea out of his head when he perceived that the boat was leaking and slowly sinking. The knight took off his armour and threw it in the lake. Thus unencumbered, he knew that he could run faster than the dragon on land, but could still only row at one quarter of the dragon’s speed. How could he escape? He reasoned that if he circled at full speed near the centre of the lake the dragon would follow him round the perimeter, but would not be able to keep up with him, so would fall behind and soon be on the far side of the knight’s little circle. Then the knight could row as fast as he was able to the near bank, and would reach it before the dragon could complete a half circuit of the Lake to catch him. This he did, and jumped onto dry land just as the dragon neared him in his semicircular course. The knight took to his heels, with the dragon in pursuit. But then the dragon’s mighty footfalls faded. The knight thought for a moment that his age-old enemy had given up the chase, but then he heard the rush of great wings and recalled that the dragon could fly faster even than he could run. The next he knew the dragon’s claws were upon him. The knight felt his hot breath for a moment, then felt no more. The dragon’s quest was over. This song was sung by the knight’s ghost.
Knight’s ghost: Running, running to the edge of the world . . .
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6. |
The Game of ‘Logic’
07:44
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The Game of ‘Logic’
Play the game of ‘Logic’ with me
Lay the game-board flat
‘All medicine is nasty’
‘No skeletons are fat’
Soon the game will teach ‘None but
The brave deserve the fair’
‘What makes no noise is noticed not’
‘Some monkeys comb their hair’
Place your red counter upon my heart
It’s occupied now by logic’s art
‘There’s no fish that cannot swim’
‘Some lobsters like to dine’
‘No Frenchman likes plum-pudding’
‘No nightingale drinks wine’
‘All owls are satisfactory’
And ‘Weasels sometimes sleep’
‘No fossil can be crossed in love’
‘Some crocodiles can weep’
You understand me, my sweetest friend?
You may have sixpence, to save or spend
This book is perfect, it tells the truth
About pure logic, about pure youth
With the words of a sorcerer I can change
Sullen lead into bright gold
Just five changes – ‘head, held, hold’
There is nothing that my logic can’t achieve
True, all cats like to dance and gaze at the moon
I can turn cat into dog
With ‘cot, cog’ or ‘hat, hot, hog’
Changing flesh is simple magic for my tongue
But to transform myself is another task, my friend
To be brave and deserve is beyond my power
This book’s too exciting for me to comprehend
So I dream, in my tower
To the logic of dreams I will often turn
Oysters sing and lizards preach
Saturn turns into a peach
They are terrible, some dreams, as children learn
As children learn . . .
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7. |
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The Mystery of the Catholicon
I can tell you riddles of my birth
Of the metals quarried from the earth
Of the sorcerer whose lore
Resurrected me twice more
But there’s nothing you can know for sure
Nothing, nothing . . .
You may touch and try to read my face
You may buy me in the market-place
What has wrought this strange motif?
Did a slug bite on this leaf?
There is nothing here but mere belief
Nothing, nothing . . .
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8. |
The Mechanical Turk
09:24
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The Mechanical Turk
1. The creator speaks
‘Behold the wondrous Turk
He plays chess – behold his fingers jerk
By clockwork
‘Come one, come all mankind
Pit your wits against his metal mind
And you will find
‘Although he’s no soul and no senses
Although he sheds no tears
His clicking cogs and turning gears
Will vanquish all human defenses’
2. The first great game
Forward stepped the Duke of Pelador
Proud, plumed, a master of the game
His was the first move – pawn to queen’s rook four
Quickly the Turk replied
Men gasped to see that miracle
‘Gardez!’ they heard the Duke exclaim
On the game ran, ingenious, lyrical
Castles were cast aside
Then to that noble Duke’s dismay
Down fell his bishops, knights and queen
Soon there were only four white men in play
Cursing the Duke was seen to resign
3. The secret of the Turk
What drives this sly machine
Is not clockwork, though its cogs are seen.
The king and queen
Follow a hidden guide –
Julia works the Turk with childish pride
Concealed inside
The years pass and Julia grows wiser
She wins most games she plays
And soon the Turk endures the praise
Of beggars and merchants and Kaiser
4. The Turk on his travels
Drawn into auditoria
Matched with the finest amateurs
Crowds watched his triumphs with euphoria
Mourning each rare defeat
Famed, loved, the Turk would seldom yield
Kings bowed, he trounced philosophers
Conquered Napoleon on a chequered field
Charmed all the world’s élite
The years turned and Julia, growing old
Moved still the Turk’s right hand and eye
And from the metal voice-box she controlled
Came her victorious cry of ‘Échec!’
5. The cleansing fire
At length a priest condemned the Turk
He cried ‘I see the Devil’s work!
A clockwork toy in Turkish dress
Can’t play the game of chess’
There must behind those painted eyes
Be something evil, something wise
A demon set at the controls
To trick our honest souls’
And so the clergy met and dined
Anathemas were sealed and signed
They damned the Turk with righteous ire
It must be cleansed by fire
A pyre laid by the churchmen’s writ
Received the Turk, the Šames were lit
While Julia watched, then slipped away
The Turk was heard to say
‘Échec! Échec! Échec! . . .’
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Lyrian Moreton In Marsh, UK
John Blake: guitars, singing
Alison Felstead: bass, singing
Paul W. Nash: keyboards, guitars, woodwinds, singing
Edgar Wilde: drums, percussion
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