The Russian Masters: Works by Dostoevsky, Chekhov, Tolstoy, Pushkin, Gogol, Turgenev and More. Максим Горький
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obliging cavalier. (Kisses her.) Besides that, I’ve got a tender heart. (Kisses her.) Even children know it. (Kisses her.) And finally, as host — (kisses her) — I ought to be polite to my guests — (kisses her) — especially when it concerns — (kisses her) — the fair sex. (Kisses her.)
Pierrot: Wretches! They don’t suspect that I’m already revenged and so can be absolutely calm.
Columbine (to Harlequin): Kiss me more warmly, more strongly, more painfully, almost biting me, without losing breath. (Is kissed as she desires.)
Pierrot: They imagine they’re mortally provoking me.
Columbine (to Harlequin): Once more! Once more! (To Pierrot.) Oh! you unfeeling log!
Pierrot: Please do what you like. (To Audience.) My conscience is clean; I have vindicated my honour and have nothing to worry about.
Columbine (to Harlequin): Kiss my eyes, my forehead, my cheeks, my chin, my temples. (Harlequin does not wait to be asked a second time.)
Pierrot (to Audience): Gentlemen, you are witnesses that I’ve taken my revenge.
Columbine (to Harlequin): Kiss my neck where the hair ends and where a sweet shivering comes from your kisses.
Pierrot: I don’t care. Let them do as they want. I have fulfilled the duty of an affronted husband and never felt better in my life.
Columbine (stamping at Pierrot): There, you brute! Is all this nothing to you?
Pierrot (to Audience): I’m wearing them out with my nonchalance.
Columbine (to Harlequin): Well, shall we celebrate our Dance of Love, in spite of him.
Harlequin: I don’t dare refuse you, but ——
Columbine: What “but”?
Harlequin: But if Pierrot isn’t such a lover of dancing as to forget everything in the world!
Pierrot: Please, don’t mind me? (To Audience.) I’m revenged for everything in advance and needn’t be disturbed, whatever happens.
Harlequin (giving him the lute): Perhaps you’ll accompany us?
Columbine: Of course! Is he to do nothing?
Pierrot: With the greatest pleasure, if it helps you. (To Audience.) I hope you understand what a matter of indifference this is to a husband who can vindicate his wounded honour.
Columbine: Play!
Pierrot (to Audience): Lord, how easy you are, when you’re revenged, and nobody has any right to laugh at you. (Plays vigorously. Dance. Suddenly Harlequin falls in a faint on the bed. Pierrot stops playing.)
Columbine: What’s happened to you? What’s the matter?
Harlequin (holding his heart): No — it’s nothing, a trifle. (His heart beats like a sledge-hammer, and he breathes like an engine.)
Columbine: How furiously your heart’s beating! What terrible breathing!
Pierrot (to Audience, joyfully): Harlequin’s giving in. Harlequin’s weakening. Rejoice with me, poor husbands—you whose wives are in danger!
Columbine (to Harlequin): Nothing like this has ever happened to you before.
Pierrot (to Audience): By the way, don’t be angry with me, because, after all, Harlequin's my friend, and there’s an end of it. I’m not going to quarrel with him, indeed, for a harlot! And if he’s more to Columbine’s taste than I, he’s not to blame, but Columbine, for having such bad taste. By the way, I said this from envy. (Reflects.)
Harlequin (stands up and smiles, and kisses Columbine): Come, did I frighten you? Well, forgive me. (Looks at the clock, which is nearing twelve.) Soon you’ll know the real reason.
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