Svietlovidoff Monologue from Swan Song

From Swan Song by Anton Chekhov

male · contemplative · 1:05 min

“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. “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?”

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