a delusion and an empty dream; that I was a slave, a fool, the plaything
of the idleness of strangers. I understood my audience at last, and
since that day I have not believed in their applause, or in their
wreathes, or in their enthusiasm. Yes, Nikitushka! The people applaud
me, they buy my photograph, but I am a stranger to them. They don't know
me, I am as the dirt beneath their feet. They are willing enough to
meet me . . . but allow a daughter or a sister to marry me, an outcast,
never! I have no faith in them, [sinks onto the stool] no faith in them.

IVANITCH. Oh, sir! you look dreadfully pale, you frighten me to death!
Come, go home, have mercy on me!

SVIETLOVIDOFF. I saw through it all that day, and the knowledge was
dearly bought. Nikitushka! After that . . . when that girl . . . well, I
began to wander aimlessly about, living from day to day without looking
ahead. I took the parts of buffoons and low comedians, letting my mind
go to wreck. Ah! but I was a great artist once, till little by little I
threw away my talents, played the motley fool, lost my looks, lost the
power of expressing myself, and became in the end a Merry Andrew instead
of a man. I have been swallowed up in that great black pit. I never felt
it before, but to-night, when I woke up, I looked back, and there behind
me lay sixty-eight years. I have just found out what it is to be old! It
is all over . . . [sobs] . . . all over.

IVANITCH. There, there, dear master! Be quiet . . . gracious! [Calls]
Petrushka! Yegorka!

SVIETLOVIDOFF. But what a genius I was! You cannot imagine what power
I had, what eloquence; how graceful I was, how tender; how many strings
[beats his breast] quivered in this breast! It chokes me to think of it!