The Russian Masters: Works by Dostoevsky, Chekhov, Tolstoy, Pushkin, Gogol, Turgenev and More. Максим Горький
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Doctor: Enough, enough!
Harlequin: Oh, that's quite all right! (Shows it again.)
Doctor: I’ve seen it already.
Harlequin: Just as you like. (Puts in his tongue.)
Doctor: I’ve got to listen to you.
Harlequin: What shall I talk about?
Doctor: No, I say: I’ve got to listen to you.
Harlequin: Well, and I ask you, what about?
Doctor: You don’t understand me.
Harlequin: You? No, no, no, never! People like me can see right through you; but people like you, I’ll eat my hat, can never understand people like me!
Doctor: He’s raving. Very well! Now, allow me to lay my head upon your heart! It’s necessary in order to ——
Harlequin: But your wife isn’t jealous?
Doctor: He’s got a strong fever. If my ears aren’t burned, it’ll be a piece of luck. Yes, yes, you’re very ill; but let’s hope you’ll soon be well. (To Pierrot.) There’s no hope; the machine is spoiled. (To Harlequin.) You’ll live a long time yet. (To Pierrot.) He'll die very soon. (To Harlequin.) You did very well to send for me. (To Pierrot.) You’d better have sent for a coffin-maker. (To Harlequin.) You’ve a healthy system. (To Pierrot.) And that won’t help him. (To Harlequin.) You’ve only got to be cured. (To Pierrot.) And that’s no use.
Harlequin: What do you advise me?
Doctor: You must go to bed early. No excitements. Drink absolutely nothing. Don’t eat anything sharp, salt, fat, spiced, bitter, milky, over-cold, over-hot, very, very sweet, or very, very filling. Quiet habits, mustn’t get roused. Always mind draughts. Keep quite away from frivolity.
Harlequin: Very well; but is a life like that worth living?
Doctor: That’s your affair.
Harlequin: What illness have I got?
Doctor: Old age.
Harlequin: Why, I could be your son!
Doctor: You’re too impudent for that. Good-bye. (To Pierrot.) And who pays for the visit ? (Pierrot nods towards Harlequin.)
Doctor (again to Harlequin): Good-bye.
Harlequin: Good-bye. (Doctor goes out undecidedly and stops.) Have you forgotten anything?
Doctor: Have you forgotten anything?
Harlequin: No, nothing; I thoroughly remember all your instructions. Don’t be uneasy.
Doctor: No, no; I’m not uneasy about that.
Harlequin: Then about what?
Doctor: H’m. Speaking between ourselves, you’ve forgotten to pay me for my visit.
Harlequin: Impossible! How curious!
Doctor: But please don’t be angry with me.
Harlequin: Good heavens, no!
Doctor: Then good-bye.
Harlequin (shaking his hand feelingly): Good-bye, doctor, good-bye.
Doctor: H’m. You’re just as forgetful again.
Harlequin: Yes, yes. There’s a coincidence! You’re quite right. It would be impudent of me to maintain the opposite.
Doctor: Well, there you are; I’m reminding you.
Harlequin: I’m heartily grateful.
Doctor: There’s no need for gratitude.
Harlequin: No! Good heavens!
Doctor: And so — my fee?
Harlequin: You’ll get it when I get well, when you’ve cured me.
Doctor: Yes; but I ought to tell you that I reckon to cure all illnesses except the incurable; but yours ——
Harlequin: Well, then, when an improvement comes, when your advice begins to work. But then, who knows? Perhaps you lied. Why should I pay then?
Doctor: In that case I must inform you that — that, judging from the condition of your system, you won’t live even till to-morrow.
Harlequin (jumping out of bed) : What! In that case, why the devil should I pay?
Doctor: But when you die, who’ll pay me?
Harlequin: But for what, let me ask you?
Doctor: How, for what?
Harlequin: If I actually die to-day, then what’s the use of your art that can’t save me from death? And if I survive, then again it’s no use if it knows less than an ignorant fortune-teller.
Doctor: I didn’t come here to talk philosophy.
Harlequin: I know why you came.
Doctor: No insinuations, if you please.
Harlequin: He calls that insinuations. (Pulling out a purse from under his pillow.) Here’s what you came for. (Goes to the door and holds out the money.)
Doctor (reaching out) : Thank you. (Harlequin laughs, and runs out at one side and in at the other, the Doctor after him. He does this three times, and then gives the Doctor the money.)
Harlequin: What do you say to my playfulness?
Doctor: You know, sir — here’s the best of luck in the other world — it’s the first time I’ve seen a dying man like you. What’s that noise you’re making?
Harlequin: That’s my heart beating. (Noise of a steam-engine.)
Doctor: And that?
Harlequin: My breathing.
Doctor: And you're still on your legs?
Harlequin: Oh, yes! And I’ve kept fairly merry, so as to meet boldly the death I desire.
Doctor: Why do you desire it?
Harlequin: Oh, it's just coming at the right time! The man that lives wisely always desires his death.
Doctor: You’re talking in riddles.
Harlequin: Yes, for people like you. (Laughs.)
Doctor: How do you know?
Harlequin: If you like, I’ll tell you how you’ll die.
Doctor: Interesting.
Harlequin (lies on bed and shivers with all his body, then groans): Oh! Ah! Ugh! I’m still so young. I haven’t been able to live yet as I ought. Why have I been so abstinent all my life? I’ve still got all sorts of things I want to do. Turn me to the window. I’m not tired yet of looking at the world. Help! I’ve not been able to do half I wanted. I was never in a hurry to live because I always forgot about death. Help, help! I haven’t been able to enjoy myself yet; I’ve always kept my health, my strength, and my money for the morrow. I filled it with beautiful hopes, and it rolled on like a snowball, growing bigger and bigger. Has that morrow rolled for ever beyond the bounds of the possible? It has rolled down the slope of my mortal wisdom. Oh! Ah! Ugh! (Twists for the last time, extends, and dies. The Doctor weeps. Harlequin, with a laugh, gets up and applauds himself.) No! Not so dies Harlequin!
Doctor (weeping): What must I do?
Harlequin (holds out his hand): For the advice, please. I take in advance.
Doctor: How much?
Harlequin: As much as you.
Doctor (gives back his fee): Well?
Harlequin (with importance): Go and live. Nothing else.
Doctor: