the show must go on
the show must go on
inside my heart is breaking
my make-up may be flaking
but my smile still stays on.
whatever happens, i'll leave it all to chance
another heartache, another failed romance
on and on, does anybody know what we are living for?
i guess i'm learning, i must be warmer now
i'll soon be turning, round the corner now
outside the dawn breaking
but inside in the dark i'm aching to be free
the show must go on
the show must go on
inside my heart is breaking
my make-up may be flaking
but my smile still stays on
my soul is painted like the wings of butterflies
fairytales of yesterday will grow but never die
i can fly - my friends
the show must go on
the show must go on
i'll face it with a grin
i'm never giving in
on - with the show -
i'll top the bill; i'll overkill
i have to find the will to carry on
on with the -
on with the show -
the show must go on...
the show must go on
inside my heart is breaking
my make-up may be flaking
but my smile still stays on.
whatever happens, i'll leave it all to chance
another heartache, another failed romance
on and on, does anybody know what we are living for?
i guess i'm learning, i must be warmer now
i'll soon be turning, round the corner now
outside the dawn breaking
but inside in the dark i'm aching to be free
the show must go on
the show must go on
inside my heart is breaking
my make-up may be flaking
but my smile still stays on
my soul is painted like the wings of butterflies
fairytales of yesterday will grow but never die
i can fly - my friends
the show must go on
the show must go on
i'll face it with a grin
i'm never giving in
on - with the show -
i'll top the bill; i'll overkill
i have to find the will to carry on
on with the -
on with the show -
the show must go on...
After a short break of silence, the rider resumed his tale:
"In the bloody days of old King Charles the Ninth, this sword turned many a Swedish lady into a dowager. I'm thinking about that right now. Nowadays, we don't any longer use our steel on our own countrymen. Do you see who it is, that gentleman who carefully and respectfully, yet as a good friend, lies asleep by the King in that wagon? That's Banér. His father himself was beheaded by the King's father. Now, both the sons are sleeping together like brothers."
"Yes indeed, new times have come for us Swedes", the gunner replied, as he pushed his hands to the nape of his neck and fell fast asleep.
The King had already closed his eyes beside his gallant Banér. His father's old enemies and their descendants had finally forgotten all of the old grudges before his chivalry and sense of justice, becoming his devoted friends.
"In the bloody days of old King Charles the Ninth, this sword turned many a Swedish lady into a dowager. I'm thinking about that right now. Nowadays, we don't any longer use our steel on our own countrymen. Do you see who it is, that gentleman who carefully and respectfully, yet as a good friend, lies asleep by the King in that wagon? That's Banér. His father himself was beheaded by the King's father. Now, both the sons are sleeping together like brothers."
"Yes indeed, new times have come for us Swedes", the gunner replied, as he pushed his hands to the nape of his neck and fell fast asleep.
The King had already closed his eyes beside his gallant Banér. His father's old enemies and their descendants had finally forgotten all of the old grudges before his chivalry and sense of justice, becoming his devoted friends.
From "Days of Victories" (translated from the Swedish of Werner von Heidenstam)
Two or three years later, their skill as swordsmen knew no equal, as their strength and speed increased. Both Rainer and Laurent had already developed tenor voices and started to grow little wisps of hair on their chests, though Rainer's dark wisps grew earlier and quicker than those of his half-French best friend. The uniforms, which once made them look cute as children, now made them look dashing as youths. It was then, when thoughts of love tend to fill the fiery, changing hearts of young people, that both of them discovered that they were not immune to that feeling.
Perchance it had started in the Turnhalle, when crossing swords and beholding each other's sparkling eyes above the flashing blades. Perchance it had started in the courtyard that winter, when the Lorrainian threw a white, soft snowball at his friend to cheer him up. Perchance it had started when they were riding on horseback, when the lindens where in bloom, and Rainer nearly fell off his steed, had not young Tyrell quickly reacted and helped him up on his saddle again. Perchance it had started in their bedroom in midwinter, as both youngsters were poring over Envers et contre tous by Amédée Achard: the novel Laurent had wished for and received under the star-decked fir tree.
Or perchance the flame of love began to glow in all four of these scenarios.
Rainer was now tall and broad-shouldered, twinkles in his sky blue eyes, a shade of black fuzz on his upper lip, and a well-developed chest due to his Baratheon heritage and devotion to exercise. The uniform fit him like it once had fit his brother. Yet, beneath that dashing blue jacket, he began to feel his heart throb nearly out of his chest every time Laurent touched him or looked at him. With his hair and eyes the colour of liquid gold or polished amber, and skin soft and fair as peaches and cream... young Tyrell, shorter and more fragile than his roommate, seemed to have something that stirred Rainer deep inside his chest, setting his heart and lungs on fire. For a while, he grew pensive and did not dare to speak to the one who made him falter, to whom he had recently lost, time after time, during their fencing lessons. Or to read historical novels in French together. Rainer Baratheon, now more reserved, had lost his usual smile and self-confidence, and the sparkles in his eyes had become little flames. Soon, he was ablaze, seared by this unknown feeling, until, one evening, Laurent took him to the military hospital, sensing that his good friend may have fallen ill with a blazing fever, a cold sweat, and apathy so strange in a usually cheerful and lively cadet. And the dark-haired youth now even lost consciousness sometimes at class!
Strangely enough, the mercury reported 37 degrees Celsius: Rainer's system was in perfect health as it always had been, even though a revolution was taking place within him.
Still, the half-French cadet wondered how his friend might have changed so radically in so little time. Perchance it was, like in the old fairytale, a shard of magic mirror swallowed or breathed in, that had reached his young heart and frozen it cold and hard. Yet Rainer was neither cold nor hard. No. He was on fire, and he faltered, blushing and muttering instead of talking in his usual tone.
And then, as unexpectedly as it had happened to Rainer, Laurent had started to feel the same. Now he felt admiration towards his manlier friend, now concern and wonder at his startling change of heart... and now he wished to lose himself in those shimmering summer lakes that were the other's eyes, run his fingers through that raven hair, lean against that sculptured chest and listen to the steady heartbeat and equally steady breathing of such a dashing... Such a wistful wish! Was that more than a recurring daydream? Could that be possible? Had something more than friendship found a way into their changing young hearts? It had, of course.
Now they were invited into the grand mansions of Lichterfelde whenever there was a ball, a soirée, or any other society event. The cadets received, thus, an initiation into high society and a chance to show their dancing skills. Yet sometimes Rainer wished Laurent were a maiden, and vice versa. The brilliantly lighted bridegrooms contained the flower of Prussian society: daughters of courtiers, industrialists, and landowners, dressed in their best and most colourful silks and satins. Yet neither the Lorrainian nor the Sturmländer felt a shadow of a thrill, as they smiled ironically and put on a face of courtesy when they invited the maidens to dance. Rather, they would seek each other and look at each other with each other's eyes.
By night, they slept no longer in separate beds. They had hitherto read books in the same bed, Laurent reading aloud to Rainer, or played with their soldiers. But they had slept each in his bed. That began to change. Now Rainer slept with Laurent, now Laurent with Rainer, both in their soft white shifts, embracing and tickling each other. And always did young Tyrell lay his head to rest on young Baratheon, on his chest or on his solar plexus, listening to the soothing sounds that came from his recovering system, after a long day of training and studying.
The year after, one stormy evening, both of them finally found the right words. At unison.
"Je t'aime", the half-French youth quickly whispered, before he snuggled up himself beneath the sheets.
"Und ich liebe dich!", Rainer Baratheon replied, blushing and honestly looking at him.
Then, he seized Laurent by the shoulders, still looking at him, and gave the blond youth a passionate kiss. On his lips. It lasted for five seconds, but it seemed that time had stopped for them... until their lips parted.
In response, Tyrell nearly lost consciousness. His heart skipped a beat, his lungs stopped, and he burst into tears not worthy of an officer, as he embraced his roommate, as strong as he could, as if he would lose his greatest treasure in some way or other.
"You know... we were by no means the first ones. Remember what we have learned. Alexander the Great and Hephaestion...", Rainer explained, as he ran his fine fingers through cascades of dark gold.
"Or Gustavus Adolphus and Banér...", Laurent, who had now plunged into the clear lakes of a pair of Baratheon eyes, replied.
"Frederick the Great and Lieutenant von Katte... But what am I thinking of? Weren't all of those couples star-crossed?", Rainer tried to regain his reason.
"If that is the case, I hope we're not star-crossed at the end of the day", was the Lorrainian's honest reply. Little did both cadets know about their future. They were completely unaware that theirs would be a star-crossed romance as well. To them, as to young people in general, the present was all that they could think of.
"Bonne nuit."
"Bonne nuit."
As they put out the light and Rainer took his place in Laurent's bed, they shared a second kiss, one that sent both ice and fire through their adolescent veins.
Soon they had to conceal their secret by daylight, pretending to be best friends in everyone's eyes, the truth being revealed in the dark of the night.
Perchance it had started in the Turnhalle, when crossing swords and beholding each other's sparkling eyes above the flashing blades. Perchance it had started in the courtyard that winter, when the Lorrainian threw a white, soft snowball at his friend to cheer him up. Perchance it had started when they were riding on horseback, when the lindens where in bloom, and Rainer nearly fell off his steed, had not young Tyrell quickly reacted and helped him up on his saddle again. Perchance it had started in their bedroom in midwinter, as both youngsters were poring over Envers et contre tous by Amédée Achard: the novel Laurent had wished for and received under the star-decked fir tree.
Or perchance the flame of love began to glow in all four of these scenarios.
Rainer was now tall and broad-shouldered, twinkles in his sky blue eyes, a shade of black fuzz on his upper lip, and a well-developed chest due to his Baratheon heritage and devotion to exercise. The uniform fit him like it once had fit his brother. Yet, beneath that dashing blue jacket, he began to feel his heart throb nearly out of his chest every time Laurent touched him or looked at him. With his hair and eyes the colour of liquid gold or polished amber, and skin soft and fair as peaches and cream... young Tyrell, shorter and more fragile than his roommate, seemed to have something that stirred Rainer deep inside his chest, setting his heart and lungs on fire. For a while, he grew pensive and did not dare to speak to the one who made him falter, to whom he had recently lost, time after time, during their fencing lessons. Or to read historical novels in French together. Rainer Baratheon, now more reserved, had lost his usual smile and self-confidence, and the sparkles in his eyes had become little flames. Soon, he was ablaze, seared by this unknown feeling, until, one evening, Laurent took him to the military hospital, sensing that his good friend may have fallen ill with a blazing fever, a cold sweat, and apathy so strange in a usually cheerful and lively cadet. And the dark-haired youth now even lost consciousness sometimes at class!
Strangely enough, the mercury reported 37 degrees Celsius: Rainer's system was in perfect health as it always had been, even though a revolution was taking place within him.
Still, the half-French cadet wondered how his friend might have changed so radically in so little time. Perchance it was, like in the old fairytale, a shard of magic mirror swallowed or breathed in, that had reached his young heart and frozen it cold and hard. Yet Rainer was neither cold nor hard. No. He was on fire, and he faltered, blushing and muttering instead of talking in his usual tone.
And then, as unexpectedly as it had happened to Rainer, Laurent had started to feel the same. Now he felt admiration towards his manlier friend, now concern and wonder at his startling change of heart... and now he wished to lose himself in those shimmering summer lakes that were the other's eyes, run his fingers through that raven hair, lean against that sculptured chest and listen to the steady heartbeat and equally steady breathing of such a dashing... Such a wistful wish! Was that more than a recurring daydream? Could that be possible? Had something more than friendship found a way into their changing young hearts? It had, of course.
Now they were invited into the grand mansions of Lichterfelde whenever there was a ball, a soirée, or any other society event. The cadets received, thus, an initiation into high society and a chance to show their dancing skills. Yet sometimes Rainer wished Laurent were a maiden, and vice versa. The brilliantly lighted bridegrooms contained the flower of Prussian society: daughters of courtiers, industrialists, and landowners, dressed in their best and most colourful silks and satins. Yet neither the Lorrainian nor the Sturmländer felt a shadow of a thrill, as they smiled ironically and put on a face of courtesy when they invited the maidens to dance. Rather, they would seek each other and look at each other with each other's eyes.
By night, they slept no longer in separate beds. They had hitherto read books in the same bed, Laurent reading aloud to Rainer, or played with their soldiers. But they had slept each in his bed. That began to change. Now Rainer slept with Laurent, now Laurent with Rainer, both in their soft white shifts, embracing and tickling each other. And always did young Tyrell lay his head to rest on young Baratheon, on his chest or on his solar plexus, listening to the soothing sounds that came from his recovering system, after a long day of training and studying.
The year after, one stormy evening, both of them finally found the right words. At unison.
"Je t'aime", the half-French youth quickly whispered, before he snuggled up himself beneath the sheets.
"Und ich liebe dich!", Rainer Baratheon replied, blushing and honestly looking at him.
Then, he seized Laurent by the shoulders, still looking at him, and gave the blond youth a passionate kiss. On his lips. It lasted for five seconds, but it seemed that time had stopped for them... until their lips parted.
In response, Tyrell nearly lost consciousness. His heart skipped a beat, his lungs stopped, and he burst into tears not worthy of an officer, as he embraced his roommate, as strong as he could, as if he would lose his greatest treasure in some way or other.
"You know... we were by no means the first ones. Remember what we have learned. Alexander the Great and Hephaestion...", Rainer explained, as he ran his fine fingers through cascades of dark gold.
"Or Gustavus Adolphus and Banér...", Laurent, who had now plunged into the clear lakes of a pair of Baratheon eyes, replied.
"Frederick the Great and Lieutenant von Katte... But what am I thinking of? Weren't all of those couples star-crossed?", Rainer tried to regain his reason.
"If that is the case, I hope we're not star-crossed at the end of the day", was the Lorrainian's honest reply. Little did both cadets know about their future. They were completely unaware that theirs would be a star-crossed romance as well. To them, as to young people in general, the present was all that they could think of.
"Bonne nuit."
"Bonne nuit."
As they put out the light and Rainer took his place in Laurent's bed, they shared a second kiss, one that sent both ice and fire through their adolescent veins.
Soon they had to conceal their secret by daylight, pretending to be best friends in everyone's eyes, the truth being revealed in the dark of the night.
From "The Baratheon Saga".
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