Searched by the lamping fly, whose little spark
Went in and out, like passion's bashful hope."

[The noise of opening doors is heard] What's that?

IVANITCH. There are Petrushka and Yegorka coming back. Yes, you have
genius, genius, my master.

SVIETLOVIDOFF. [Calls, turning toward the noise] Come here to me,
boys! [To IVANITCH] Let us go and get dressed. I'm not old! All that is
foolishness, nonsense! [laughs gaily] 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! [Embraces him in tears] 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 . . . [Weeps]
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! [They go] 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!"