Swan Song [6]
*From "Boris Godunoff," by Pushkin. [translator's note]
Is that bad, eh? [Quickly] Wait, now, here's something from King Lear. The sky is black, see? Rain is pouring down, thunder roars, lightning--zzz zzz zzz--splits the whole sky, and then, listen:
"Blow winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow! You cataracts and hurricanoes spout Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks! You sulphurous thought-executing fires Vaunt-couriers of oak-cleaving thunderbolts Singe my white head! And thou, all shaking thunder, Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world! Crack nature's moulds, all germons spill at once That make ungrateful man!"
[Impatiently] Now, the part of the fool. [Stamps his foot] Come take the fool's part! Be quick, I can't wait!
IVANITCH. [Takes the part of the fool]
"O, Nuncle, court holy-water in a dry house is better than this rain-water out o' door. Good Nuncle, in; ask thy daughter's blessing: here's a night pities neither wise men nor fools."
SVIETLOVIDOFF.
"Rumble thy bellyful! spit, fire! spout, rain! Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters; I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness; I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children."
Ah! there is strength, there is talent for you! I'm a great artist! Now, then, here's something else of the same kind, to bring back my youth to me. For instance, take this, from Hamlet, I'll begin . . . Let me see, how does it go? Oh, yes, this is it. [Takes the part of Hamlet]
"O! the recorders, let me see one.-- To withdraw with you. Why do you go about to recover the wind of me, as if you would drive me into a toil?"
IVANITCH. "O, my lord, if my duty be too bold, my love is too unmannerly."
SVIETLOVIDOFF. "I do not well understand that. Will you play upon this pipe?"
IVANITCH. "My lord, I cannot."
SVIETLOVIDOFF. "I pray you."
IVANITCH. "Believe me, I cannot."
SVIETLOVIDOFF. "I do beseech you."
IVANITCH. "I know no touch of it, my lord."
SVIETLOVIDOFF. " 'Tis as easy as lying: govern these vantages with your finger and thumb, give it breath with your mouth, and it will discourse most eloquent music. Look you, these are the stops."
IVANITCH. "But these I cannot command to any utterance of harmony: I have not the skill."
SVIETLOVIDOFF. "Why, look you, how unworthy a thing you make of me. You would play upon me; you would seem to know my stops; you would pluck out the heart of my mystery; you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass; and there is much music, exce llent voice, in this little organ, yet cannot you make it speak. S'blood! Do you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe? Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me!" [laughs and clasps] Bravo! Encore! Bravo! Where the devil is there any old age in that? I'm not old, that is all nonsense, a torrent of strength rushes over me; this is life, freshness, youth! Old age and genius can't exist together. You seem to be struck dumb, Nikitushka. Wait a second, let me come to my senses again. Oh! Good Lord! Now then, listen! Did you ever hear such tenderness, such music? Sh! Softly;
"The moon had set. There was not any light, Save of the lonely legion'd watch-stars pale In outer air, and what by fits made bright Hot oleanders in a rosy vale Searched by the lamping fly, whose little spark Went in and out, like passion's bashful hope."
[The noise of opening doors is heard] What's that?
IVANITCH. There are Petrushka and Yegorka coming back. Yes, you have genius, genius, my master.
SVIETLOVIDOFF. [Calls, turning toward the noise] Come here to me, boys! [To IVANITCH] Let us go and get dressed. I'm not old! All that is foolishness, nonsense! [laughs gaily] What are you crying for? You poor old granny, you, what's the matter now? This won't do! There, there, this won't do at all! Come, come, old man, don't stare so! What makes you stare like that? There, there! [Embraces him in tears] Don't cry! Where there is art and genius there