left credible to us beyond self-perception? (To Maid.) Stop! (To Friend.) “Do I think it’s dull?” “Well, ——” “Should I like to see a lovely body dance among sharp swords?” “I should.” There’s an example of credibility! Let my desires be absurd, I like them because they are credible for me. Begad, just something there’s no doubt about! (To Maid) I want to see the “Dance on the Wrathful Road.” Go away, undress and exhibit your art!
Maid (looking at Friend) : But—— (Master turns to her.) Very well, sir. (Exit.)
Friend: By Jove, I seem to be asleep again, but this time — I don’t want to wake up. Your mead is incredibly strong. And it seemed to me that portrait smiled. Who is it?
Master: My grandfather.
Friend: I thought it was you. (Companion puts poker and cards on the table.)
Master: I am such as he was — I’m made of the same dough; my soul is as masterly as his was. I’m not inferior to him, inferior in no way to him, but still—— Oh! (Points to Companion.) Ask her how often I stand before this portrait and gnash my teeth with envy, and even weep. (Picks up the poker and bends it.) Tell me, how have I offended fate? Why am I deprived of the powers and rights and all that importance which he had? And if it had to be so, was it really necessary to leave me with a soul like his? Why didn’t they tear out of my heart all love of power, all masterly pride, all blue-blooded caprice? (Enter Servant.)
Companion: What do you want?
Servant: When do you order supper?
Master: In an hour. Tell the Arab boy to be quick! Take up the carpet! Why is he so long with the swords? And the fool? Has he gone to sleep? Wake him and tell him to bring the tambourines. Then light the chandeliers. And don’t forget to burn perfumes!
Servant: Very well, sir. (Exit.)
Friend: All the same I’m sure that if you’d lived in that time, you’d have taken a most ardent part in the movement for emancipation.
Master: Quite possibly. Satiated with power, stung to the quick by the French, thirsting for popularity, taken with the difficulties of the problem — Begad, it’s so seductive to be a pioneer. (Picks up cards.) Still, I think I should have been a reactionary. I don’t know what would have been, and, what is, oh! better I didn’t! (Tears the pack of cards in half. Arab boy arranges swords for the dance.)
Companion: Ah! here’s the black boy.
Master (smiles): Young sulks!
Friend: What do you keep him for?
Master: Isn’t he interesting?
Companion: In his eyes there is so much longing for the sultry sun and the sweet palms, that beside it our sorrows seem pale and unsubstantial.
Friend: Excellent!
Master (to Companion): Play us something.
Companion (to Friend): But you like music?
Master: He adores it. (To Friend.) Would you like to hear Mozart on the clavichord?
Friend: Perhaps the andante from the C sharp?
Master: I agree. (Goes to the fire and throws away the halves of the torn cards.)
Friend: Listen. For the last time I ask you to come back to us. I can’t believe that you could seriously — Lord! how my head’s turning from the mead and everything!
Master (coolly): He who is free from too firm convictions, who has passed through the school of the new Sakya-Muni and the new Zarathustra, who is far too clever to be ashamed to talk nonsense, who so resembles an Olympian that he is strong enough even to laugh at others’ misfortunes — tell me on your conscience, what should such a man do among wretched, grey, blue-eyed neurasthenics, people who to-day or to-morrow will become Americans!
Friend: H’m. — Certainly, on those conditions — H’m — you know, it seems to me, the dramatic upshot of your working life would not be so terrible if you actually did go mad.
Master: You think so?
Friend: And know this, whether you’ll be angry with me or not, all the same I’ll tell everybody at Petersburg that you’re mad!
Master: What for?
Friend: What for? Can I explain all this to them, are they capable of allowing for—— No, it’s impossible. Well, what shall I tell them; what shall I tell them?
Master: Tell them I’m fastidious — after that it’s just routine! Say that I don’t want their life! Be it full of all possible happiness, but — life is a little twig of lilac seized in the hand in the search for happiness, many-leaved happiness. Their life is ugly, withered, confused, soiled — in short, it’s the life of the mob, though perhaps great happiness is hidden in it. My life is the twig of lilac which no one yet has touched, in which no one till me has yet sought his happiness——
Friend: You want them to think I’m laughing at them.
Master: And don’t they deserve to be laughed at?
Companion (sitting at clavichord): May I begin?
Master: Please! (Companion plays the andante cantabile from Mozart’s sonata in C sharp. Friend listens enraptured. Master stands by the hearth, smiling sadly. After the first few bars of the third part of the andante.)
Friend (as if raving): Lord! Oh, my God! I’m asleep — I know it — I’m asleep and can’t wake up! Divine Mozart! You died not long ago! Oh, my head! What’s wrong with my heart; 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 real life, and an early death is inevitable for you! — It’s all the same, whether she comes as madness or in her usual guise — it’s inevitable, I tell you. This strong mead has heated my head; who knows, perhaps it has made me a prophet. — An early death is inevitable for you! D’you hear, inevitable!
Master: Amen.
Friend: If you permit, I shall sleep here to-night; I’m too tired, but early to-morrow morning, at sunrise, give me horses, the quickest you have. (A pause. Companion finishes the andante. Master kisses her.)
Master
