forgotten their old clown. No, nobody needs me, nobody loves me; I have
no wife, no children.

IVANITCH. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Don't be so unhappy about it.

SVIETLOVIDOFF. But I am a man, I am still alive. Warm, red blood is
tingling in my veins, the blood of noble ancestors. I am an aristocrat,
Nikitushka; I served in the army, in the artillery, before I fell as
low as this, and what a fine young chap I was! Handsome, daring, eager!
Where has it all gone? What has become of those old days? There's the
pit that has swallowed them all! I remember it all now. Forty-five years
of my life lie buried there, and what a life, Nikitushka! I can see it
as clearly as I see your face: the ecstasy of youth, faith, passion, the
love of women--women, Nikitushka!

IVANITCH. It is time you went to sleep, sir.

SVIETLOVIDOFF. When I first went on the stage, in the first glow of
passionate youth, I remember a woman loved me for my acting. She was
beautiful, graceful as a poplar, young, innocent, pure, and radiant as a
summer dawn. Her smile could charm away the darkest night. I remember,
I stood before her once, as I am now standing before you. She had never
seemed so lovely to me as she did then, and she spoke to me so with her
eyes--such a look! I shall never forget it, no, not even in the
grave; so tender, so soft, so deep, so bright and young! Enraptured,
intoxicated, I fell on my knees before her, I begged for my happiness,
and she said: "Give up the stage!" Give up the stage! Do you understand?
She could love an actor, but marry him--never! I was acting that day, I
remember--I had a foolish, clown's part, and as I acted, I felt my eyes
being opened; I saw that the worship of the art I had held so sacred was