DUKAS
(Paul Dukas: born in Paris, October 1, 1865; now living there)
"THE SORCERER'S APPRENTICE" [42]
L'Apprenti Sorcier, an "orchestral scherzo," is a paraphrase of Goethe's ballad, Der Zauberlehrling, beginning:
"Hat der alte Hexenmeister
Sich doch einmal wegbegeben!
Und nun sollen seine Geister
Auch nach meinem Willen leben!"
The story upon which the poem is based is contained in a dialogue of Lucian's, "The Lie-fancier." Eucrates, so runs the story, became the disciple of the wizard Pancrates, whom Isis had educated in the art of magic. "When we came to an inn," relates Eucrates, "he would take the wooden bar of the door, or a broom, or the pestle of a wooden mortar, put clothes upon it, and speak a couple of magical words to it. Immediately the broom, or whatever else it was, was taken by all the people for a man like themselves; he went out, drew water, ordered our victuals, and waited upon us in every respect as handily as the completest domestic. When his attendance was no longer necessary, my companion spoke a couple of other words, and the broom was again a broom, the pestle again a pestle, as before. This art, with all I could do, I was never able to learn from him; it was the only secret he would not impart to me; though in other respects he was the most obliging man in the world. At last, however, I found an opportunity to hide me in an obscure corner, and overheard his charm, which I snapped up immediately, as it consisted of only three syllables. After giving his necessary orders to the pestle without observing me, he went out to the market. The following day, when he was gone out about business, I took the pestle, clothed it, pronounced the three syllables, and bid it fetch me some water. He directly brought me a large pitcher full. 'Good,' said I, 'I want no more water; be again a pestle!' He did not, however, mind what I said; but went on fetching water, and continued bringing it, till at length the room was overflowed. Not knowing what to do, for I was afraid lest Pancrates at his return should be angry (as indeed was the case), and having no alternative, I took an axe and split the pestle in two. But this made bad worse; for now each of the halves snatched up a pitcher and fetched water; so that for one water-carrier I now had two. Meantime in came Pancrates; and understanding what had happened, turned them into their pristine form: he, however, privily took himself away, and I have never set eyes on him since."[43]
Goethe's ballad is thus translated by Sir John Bowring:
"I am now,—what joy to hear it!—
Of the old magician rid;