Come here to me, boys! Let us go and get dressed. I’m not old! All that is foolishness, nonsense! 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! Don’t cry! Where there is art and genius there can never be such things as old age or loneliness or sickness . . . and death itself is half . . . No, no, Nikitushka! It is all over for us now! What sort of a genius am I? I’m like a squeezed lemon, a cracked bottle, and you--you are the old rat of the theatre . . . a prompter! Come on! I’m no genius, I’m only fit to be in the suite of Fortinbras, and even for that I am too old.... Yes.... Do you remember those lines from Othello, Nikitushka? “Farewell the tranquil mind! Farewell content! Farewell the plumed troops and the big wars That make ambition virtue! O farewell! Farewell the neighing steed and the shrill trump, The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife, The royal banner, and all quality, Pride, pomp and circumstance of glorious war!”

Svietlovidoff Monologue from Swan Song

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