style="font-size:15px;"> Columbine: What’s the matter?
Harlequin: Let’s sit down to supper. The dance woke up my appetite, and I feel magnificent. (They sit down and eat and drink.)
Columbine: What are you hiding from me?
Harlequin: Come, drink, Columbine, drink! When there’s good wine on the table, there’s no need to worry about anything. (Kisses her.)
Pierrot (to Audience): O Lord, I’m undergoing incredible pangs of conscience. To think only of the harm I’ve caused Harlequin! And what for? What for? I can’t swallow a thing, and I don’t know how to look at Harlequin! I’d willingly confess my wicked crime to him now! But alas! I can’t do it, because what would my revenge come to then? And I can’t go without revenging myself. I’m a deceived husband, and ought to revenge myself, because all nice people do. Oh, how unhappy I am, and how I want to cry! (Threatens the audience with his fist.) Bad, wicked people, it’s you thought out such silly rules! It’s because of you I’ve got to take the life of my best friend! (Turns his back on the public.)
Harlequin (to Columbine): Why were you late to-day?
Columbine: I was detained by the Doctor — I met him quite near here. He was dancing and limping and drunk and accosting all the girls.
Harlequin: Well?
Columbine: He prayed me to make him happy. He assured me that he was very strong and had been very handsome thirty years ago. While I was showing him that I wasn’t a historian to be captivated by antiquity, time passed and I was late.
Harlequin (to Audience): Poor Doctor! Why didn’t he come to me earlier for advice?
Columbine: I was very sorry for him.
Harlequin (to Audience): Your elbow’s near and yet you can’t bite it!
Columbine: He was weeping and crying: “Why the devil did I preserve my strength?” And I answered him: “I have respect for your wrinkles, but not passion.”
Harlequin: But you know, Columbine, he is younger than I, though twice as old in years.
Columbine: I don’t understand you.
Harlequin: Because you haven’t meditated on real old age. (Tapping Pierrot on shoulder.) But why aren’t you drinking or eating and taking part in our conversation ?
Columbine: He wants to depress us, but he shan’t, the good-for-nothing!
Pierrot (weeping): You don’t understand, poor thing, that Harlequin’s dying.
Columbine: Dying? You horrid thing! Or have you put poison in our glasses? No, no (contemptuously); men like you aren’t capable of that.
Pierrot (all in tears): Poor Harlequin, your minutes are numbered!
Columbine: What’s he say? What’s he making up?
Harlequin (turning to the clock): Yes, Columbine, it’s true. It’s time for you to know it. I feel plainly that I shall soon die.
Columbine: Harlequin! Beloved!
Harlequin: Don’t cry, Columbine! I shall go away with a smile on my lips. I want to die as people want to sleep, when it’s late and they’re tired and need rest. I’ve sung all my songs! I’ve revelled all my merriment! I’ve laughed all my laughter! My strength and health have been joyfully spent with my money. I was never mean, and so was always merry and sorrowless. I am Harlequin, and shall die Harlequin. Don’t cry, Columbine! Rather be glad that I’m dying, not like others, but full of delight, content with fate and my conduct. Or would you rather see me grappling to life with greedy eyes and a prayer on my lips? No, Harlequin is not like that. He has fulfilled his mission in life and dies calmly. And, really, didn’t I give my kisses to who wanted them? Didn’t I lavish my soul for the good of others? How many wives of ugly husbands I consoled! And how many little hats did I make for people who thought themselves sages! How many I awoke to passionate song or rattling rage! To how many I gave an example! Now I have outlived my life, and only the husk is left for death! “Catch the moments” — that’s my motto! And I have not been idle to catch them! I’ve caught so many that I want no more. Now, perhaps, another kiss, a little draught of wine, a burst of merry laughter — and it will be!
Columbine: But aren’t you afraid?
Harlequin: It would be more frightful to be born! Now I’m going back again.
Columbine: To sink into nothing!
Harlequin: But if death’s nothing, what have I to fear?
Columbine: Anyhow, I’m afraid.
Harlequin: Your bowl’s not emptied; you’re afraid not to be ready.
Columbine: But only think ——
Harlequin: It thinks for us.
Columbine: But we?
Harlequin: We’ll remember the march of the clock — the swift march of the clock! Stretch out, Columbine! Press the clusters of life! Turn them to wine! Don’t tarry for delight, so as to be sated when death comes! (Takes the lute.) And you, too, stretch out, friend Pierrot, if only you can. (Pierrot, in reply, sobs. Harlequin laughs.) No, no, not like that; you don’t understand me.
Pierrot: The lamp’s flickering.
Harlequin: And there’s no oil in the house.
Columbine: But look, it’s still burning!
Harlequin: It’s burning, Columbine, burning! (Begins to play. The strings break.)
Columbine (sorrowfully): The strings have broken.
Harlequin (laughs): My catch is sung. (A knock.) Who’s there? (Death enters. Harlequin rises to meet her. He is very gallant.) To do justice, madame, you have come just in time. We were only just talking about you. Really, how obliging you are, not to keep yourself waiting! But why these tragic gestures? Look round, madame; you are in the house of Harlequin, where one can laugh at all that’s tragic, not even excluding your gestures. (Death points at the clock with a theatrical gesture.) Enough, enough, madame. Really, if I hadn’t laughed all my laughter, I should burst of laughing in the literal sense of the word. What, you want to stop the clock? There’s plenty of time, madame. As far as I know, my hour has not yet struck. Or you’re anticipating a struggle with me? No, no; I don’t belong to the silly bourgeois boors. Honour and place to a beautiful lady! I don’t want to cross her, and then I can’t oppose her, because I’ve used up all my strength. But the traditional dance? Your dance of the good old times, when people hadn’t yet forgotten how to die, and even Death was a distraction for them. If you please! Ah, you’re surprised at the request! Yes, yes, Harlequin in our time is almost a fossil. Well, fair lady, enough obstinacy. (Music. Death dances.) Columbine, Pierrot, open your eyes, open them quickly! Look how merry we are! (Harlequin makes Columbine sit down beside him on the bed. Death places her hand on his shoulder. To Death.) Wait, my dear lady, wait. Let me take leave of the world as the world does! One more, only one more kiss, Columbine! Pierrot, where have you got to, you coward? (Rises.) Well, if you’re too lazy to light me. (Gives the lamp to Death.) Light
