It’s midnight, and I’m too tired to write my last post right now. I told myself, “I’ll just do it later, in the morning.” Then I started singing “Later,” one of the songs from yesterday’s show, A Little Night Music, and thought it might tide you over until I can finish the final September Song.
OK, so the show opens with a trio of songs: “Now,” sung by Frederik as he contemplates the best way to seduce his virginal wife; “Later,” sung by Frederik’s sexually repressed (and perpetually depressed) son Henrik, the divinity student; and “Soon,” sung by Anne, the young wife, as she promises that it won’t be too much longer before she gives herself completely.
This is “Later.” Its chief accompaniment is a lugubrious cello, playing in counterpoint.
Later. . .
When is later?
All you ever hear is “Later, Henrik, Henrik, later.”
“Yes, we know, Henrik,
Everyone agrees, Henrik,
You have a thought you’re fairly bursting with,
A personal discovery or problem, and it’s:
“What’s your rush, Henrik?
Goodness, how you gush, Henrik!
It’s just that—”
“For God’s sake, later, Henrik!”
“Henrik. . .
Who is Henrik?
Oh, that lawyer’s son, the one who mumbles.
Short and boring,
Yes, he’s hardly worth ignoring,
And who cares if he’s all dammed—”
I beg your pardon—
As I’ve often stated,
It’s intolerable being tolerated.
Henrik, you’ll endure
Being pure, Henrik.”
Though I’ve been born, I’ve never been!
How can I wait around for later?
I’ll be ninety on my deathbead
And the late, or, rather, later, Henrik Egerman.
Doesn’t anything begin?
See you later.