why are there tears in my eyes?—Divine Mozart! What was far becomes near—very near. (To Master.) I know the worth of your words—they were all vain—vain—a game, a leap-frog of paradoxes, a dazzling firework of crackling phrases! I know you’re wrong, I know that well, but—my dear fellow—I—I feel for the moment as if you were right. D’you hear—I feel I understand it within my mind and—I’m ashamed, I’m absurdly ashamed to be in this grey, this shiny jacket.—Oh, my head!—It’s burning, it’s drugged with the floweriness of your words, the theatricalness of your poses—it’s drunk with the look of this room. Your pathos is contagious! I’ve become like you! I’ve made myself a faithful mirror. What herbs, what resins are you burning? Flight! I want to flee from here! The seduction is too great; my soul has become too yielding. I don’t want to be infected, I don’t want to die, and a life like yours is the beginning of death. You’ve heard how men that are being hanged or drowning or freezing see magic dreams as they die. This sort of life is such a dream; this sort of life is the beginning of death. You have separated from us, from all society, from
Page:Five Russian plays and one Ukrainian.pdf/99
The Beautiful Despot
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