Act I
Scene I
The
curtain rises to the finale of Prokofiev’s opera The Fiery Angel. The scene
is a convent in the sixteenth century. An orgy is in full flight. Nuns are stripping off their habits and
copulating with demons, screaming hysterically.
In their midst a GRAND INQUISITOR condemns one of the novices, RENATA,
to be burned at the stake.
MEPHISTOPHELES, FAUST and the knight RUPRECHT look on from the
side. The music reaches a screaming
pitch and the opera abruptly ends as RENATA is hoisted onto a cross and set
afire. Blackout.
The
lights immediately go up on the outside of the theatre. It is night, snowing. Enter three Russian theatregoers, GALYA,
MISHA and ANTON, who have just seen the opera.
They are dressed in winter clothing and laughing gaily. The music, however, is nostalgic and pervaded
by melancholy--the opening to Georgii Sviridov’s Little Triptych.
GALYA: Bozhe
moi! That must be the strangest
opera ever written. No
wonder Prokofiev
never lived to see it.
ANTON (Amiably): Why “no wonder”? I thought the music some of his
most powerful.
GALYA: The music, maybe, but the story--nothing
but black magic and
orgies! (She shivers
and laughs.)
ANTON: So, Misha, was this premiere worth waiting
half your life for?
MISHA: Absolutely. But I’m not surprised Prokofiev never saw it.
You
might slip a political joke or two past the
censors, but they were
smart enough to recognize sex.
ANTON
(With mock skepticism): They were?
GALYA: How many years since he wrote it and
tonight?
MISHA:
Sixty-five, if I’m not mistaken.
GALYA
(Reflecting): A half century. More. Almost ‘til the millennium.
MISHA: Well, as they say, one must be a living
man and a posthumous
artist.
ANTON: As they say...(He
chuckles.) Do you think if you told
Prokofiev that
his Fiery Angel wouldn’t be premiered in
Year’s, 1992, the very day after the
he’d have spent eight years working on it?
MISHA: If you told him he’d never get paid, he
wouldn’t have...Well, Galya,
Anton, Happy New Year. S
nóvim gódom!
(MISHA
waves and moves off. GALYA and ANTON begin to exit oppositely.)
GALYA:
S
nóvim gódom, Misha!
ANTON
: S nóvim gódom! Let’s hope we survive!
GALYA: I wonder what possessed Prokofiev to
write such a thing...?
(Exit.)
Scene II
The
first movement of the Sviridov continues.
Snow continues to fall. As the
set for the Scene III (below) fades in, with its luminous forms glittering
across the stage and laughter in the background, a spot goes up on SERGEI
PROKOFIEV, about 30, and an ESCORT, who stand downstage. PROKOFIEV is dressed in an overcoat and a
wide-brimmed hat; a suitcase rests by his feet.
The conversation is somber and slightly awkward at the start.
ESCORT:
I’m sorry
(He extends his hand.) May you have better luck in
PROK (Shaking): It’s unlikely to be
worse.
ESCORT (Searching for something to say): Do you
have something to read for the voyage?
PROK: Yes, I picked up a novel here in
(He hands a book to
ESCORT.)
ESCORT (Examining cover): The Fiery Angel, by Valéry Bryúsov.
I haven’t read it.
(He hands it back to
PROKOFIEV.)
PROK: Neither have I. Bryusov was quite famous fifteen or twenty
years ago, at the turn of the century.
I don’t know what’s
happened to him.
ESCORT: The revolution?
PROK: Who knows? With bread in short supply, the Bolsheviks don’t
have much use for poets.
ESCORT: Do you think you’ll ever go back--to
PROK (Sighing): The Bolsheviks have even
less use for composers than poets...
(Heavily): Less use than
(A
boat whistle sounds.)
ESCORT: Well, good luck again, Sergei Sergeevich.
(They
shake once more. PROKOFIEV picks up his
suitcase and turns away.)
ESCORT: Oh, by the way, Happy New Year. Happy 1920.
PROK (Glancing back, absently): Thanks,
you too. (Glancing at book): A world
gone forever...
(Exit.)
Scene III
It
remains night; snow continues to fall.
The scene now changes fully to the wooded grounds of the Novodevichy
monastery* in
Several
young Russian revelers, LIZA, SASHA, VOLODYA and ALYOSHA, all in their early
twenties, prowl merrily among the trees, laughing, as they search for the
mythological creatures. The music is now
full of sleighbells, but again touched with melancholy, the third movement of
Georgii Sviridov’s Little Triptych.,
[beginning at 0:08].
LIZA:
Over there, Sasha, do you see
it?
SASHA: No, where?
ALYOSHA: There, behind that tree, a centaur, it must
be!
(General
laughter.)
SASHA: I don’t see anything.
VOLODYA: Sasha, look, Bugáev was right--a unicorn! After it!
(All but SASHA scamper
after a unicorn, fall on the ground laughing and begin pelting each other with
snowballs.
SASHA follows, but halts and stands
apart, a little perplexed.)
SASHA:
I still don’t see anything.
ALYOSHA (Getting to his feet): Hey, unicorn! You invited us! Why so shy?
SASHA: Is this one of Bugaev’s jokes?
VOLODYA: See for yourself, Sasha, a calling card.
SASHA (Squinting in the dark): “Unicorns and
centaurs of the Novodévichy convent.
Receiving
on New Year’s Eve of the new century.” Volodya, you can’t
poss--
LIZA: Aleksandr Mikhail’ich. Shhh! (She puts a finger to his lips.) Hear
them?
(Whispering): They’re
everywhere! (She kisses him
playfully.) Like sleighbells!
(She runs off and
immediately bumps into ALYOSHA, who puts her arm around her. Together they begin to walk off as he waves
to the others. Enter BORÍS BUGAEV (BB)
in opposite direction, dressed heavily, prowling as if searching for a
centaur. When he talks, he speaks with a
great range in his voice--almost singing--and he accompanies his speech with
animated gesticulations and facial expressions. He wears a mustache and is
about the same age as the others.)
ALYOSHA:
Come on, children, it’s getting
late--time for the party. Sasha, Bugaev
will be there—
you can argue with him about centaurs.
LIZA (Excitedly): Boris Bugaev will be
there? Alyosha, you didn’t say.
Andrei Bely himself?
ALYOSHA: Call him Borya--
LIZA: I couldn’t.
(She
bumps into BB.)
BB: Please, everyone does. I only took a penname because
I didn’t want to embarrass
my father--
ALYOSHA: Professor Nikolai Bugaev--
LIZA (Rhetorically, with respect): --the mathematician?
VOLODYA (Turning
to BB, earnestly): Embarrass! Borya, your Dramatic Symphony is
the most revolutionary piece of literature
in the history of the world.
It’s--a complete break with
the past!
SASHA (Slightly apart from the others): Is it a novel, a poem?
VOLODYA: Both, more--an entire symphony in prose!
SASHA: I couldn’t make it out.
LIZA: It’s brilliant. (To BB): I can hardly believe you are still
only a university student.
Oh forgive me, Boris
Nikolaevich, Alyosha didn’t say you’d be coming.
(She strikes ALYOSHA) I
would have worn my best dress...
BB: Think nothing of it...?
LIZA: ....Elizaveta
Fyodorovna.
(BB
takes her hand and bows.)
SASHA: But Boris Nikolai’ ich, centaurs,
unicorns...Surely, this is one of your pranks.
Admit it.
BB: Admit it? Admit it?
Aleksandr Mikhaíl’ich, you--we--have lost the ability to fly.
(He jumps onto the nearest
bench or gateway column.) We think so
heavily that we no longer
raise our eyes to new exploits. Life’s rhythms have become sluggish.
(He jumps off and acts out
the remainder of his speech with exaggerated motions.)
What do we do when we hunt unicorns,
traipsing down to an ancient monastery on a
snowy evening?
We create a landscape, a
magical landscape that lifts us above our common drudgery.
When we prowl for winged
horses we fly with them. We are taking
art from paper and transposing it to life.
Yes! this
is what we must do as the new century dawns.
Art cannot exist on paper alone, on canvas.
We must sing our
lives. Yes! We must abolish the distinction between life
and art.
Yes! (Pushing a handful of snow into SASHA’s
face): Do you understand?
SASHA (Spitting it out): You decadents.
BB: Decadents, yes. Art into life, life into art...We need a
musical program of life,
organized into song-adventures. Yes, yes, we must call ourselves the
Argonauts
and sail forth into
the new dawn on the wings of poetry.
(He recites. During the verse, the sky turns the color of
rubies):
Come forth behind me, the
old Argonaut summons,
Sounding
his golden horn.
To the sun, to the sun;
loving freedom,
We shall whirl away into
the blue ether.
ALYOSHA: All the sky above in rubies,
On the mountainous peaks
Our Argo,
Our Argo,
preparing
to fly, begins to beat its golden wings.
VOLODYA: To the sun, to the sun, we shall whirl away
into the blue ether...!
OTHERS: The Argonauts. Yes!
(They
cheer and begin to move off. ALYOSHA
halts and looks about.)
ALYOSHA: By the way, have you seen Nina Ivanovna? She was to meet us here.
BB: Nina Ivanovna?
ALYOSHA
(With the slightest hint of foreboding): Petrovskaya...Well, she knows the way.
I’m sure she’ll turn up.
BB: Forward then, children, to the
new century!
LIZA: To the new world!
(Exit.
More cheering as the music fades out.)
Scene IV
A turn-of-the-century salon with piano. It sparkles with candelabras and
gaslight. A large grandfather clock is
prominent. It is about
Enter
BB with LIZA, SASHA, VOLODYA and ALYOSHA.
One or two of the GUESTS come to collect their coats, though KOLYA
corners BB before he can take off his things.
GUESTS:
S
nóvim gódom!
Happy New Year!
Bonne année!
Proxhodítye!
Come in, come in!
KOLYA (To BB): How does it feel to be the
literary lion of the hour? All
BB: I’ll bask in the sun once I
pass my exams this spring.
(ALYOSHA catches sight of NINA on the
balcony, gazing upward.)
ALYOSHA: Nina, there you are!
(She
doesn’t answer and continues to stare upwards.
ALYOSHA takes BB’s arm and walks over to her. VOLODYA follows. LIZA and SASHA begin chatting with TATYANA
and GIPPIUS, across the room. )
ALYOSHA (To NINA): We
missed you at the unicorn hunt. What happened?
Did you change your
mind? (She still doesn’t answer. He notices her dress and stops short.)
Nina, are you quite well?
(She
turns and smiles cryptically, then speaks with a dark edge.)
NINA: I’m well, Alyosha. I’m...repenting.
ALYOSHA: Repenting?
In God’s name, Nina, for what
can you possibly be repenting on New
Year’s Eve?
NINA: For what does one always repent on
New Year’s Eve? The
past.
ALYOSHA (After a pause, recovering): Ah, forgive me. Nina Ivanovna Petrovskaya,
may I present our illustrious friend,
Boris Nikolaevich Bugaev,
perhaps better known to you as--
NINA: Andrei Bely.
(They stare at each other fixedly, then NINA slowly, deliberately extends her hand to be
kissed.
BB, just as deliberately and all the
while staring at her, obliges.)
BB: A pleasure, Nina Ivanovna.
(NINA withdraws her hand and abruptly
removes BB’s hat, revealing a head of fiery blond hair and piercing blue eyes.)
NINA (With slight haughtiness,
condescension): Please stay.
BB (Recovering his hat): I intend to.
But Nina Ivanovna,
if I may be so bold on this fateful
evening, you seem far too young to have a past.
(NINA breaks into amused laughter. ALYOSHA eventually attempts to introduces NINA to VOLODYA, who has followed the above with
great interest. In the meantime the
dialogue picks up across the room.)
SASHA: Why do you suppose she’s dressed like
that?
TATYANA:
It seems to be on account of her last affair.
LIZA: Didn’t she marry--oh, what was his
name?--Nikolai Sazhin?
GIPPIUS: No, she was merely engaged to him. She married Sergei Krechétov.
LIZA: The publisher?
TATYANA:
Yes, Gryphon publishing house.
SASHA: Her marriage has broken up?
GIPPIUS: No, my dear, of course not. She hates her husband. The affair has ended.
(Across
the room, VOLODYA has offered NINA a drink, but she has ignored him.)
NINA (Sourly): I feel hungover.
ALYOSHA: Nina, perhaps we should take you home.
NINA (She takes ALYOSHA’s glass and
drinks. Then, as if
talking to no one in particular):
It feels...yes, like a
hangover, as if he won’t...leave me.
It began
rapturously...His poetry, every phrase, each word, pierced my heart.
He proposed we immolate
ourselves on the altar of love--that we love with heat...ferocity,
that we...burn ourselves to ashes.
(With a sharp glance at
BB): Was it possible to refuse?
VOLODYA: Nina Ivanovna, if you’ll permit me, this
sounds like dangerous ground.
(Ignoring
VOLODYA, NINA continues to gaze at BB with a glean in her eye.)
NINA: I
prefer the elixir of your lips, where love flaunts itself;
And in the wasteland of
desire, your eyes afford the wells to slake my thirst.
VOLODYA: Baudelaire?
NINA (Haughtily, still gazing at BB): Of
course Baudelaire; did anyone know love better?
(A perplexed pause.
At that moment KOLYA grabs BB’s arm motioning for BB to remove his
coat. With a glance over his shoulder at
NINA, BB follows KOLYA and removes the remainder of his things, handing them to
KOLYA. VOLODYA quickly steps in to take
BB’s place.)
VOLODYA: Are you a poet yourself, Nina Ivanovna?
NINA (With anger and a hint of despair,
as her eyes follow BB): Who here isn’t?
LIZA: Is she a poet?
TATYANA: She took dental courses.
GIPPIUS: For someone who would deal with open
mouths, hers is remarkably closed.
I’ve never met anyone more
circumspect about her past.
LIZA: The affair, who was it with?
TATYANA: She
won’t say. The rumors--
SASHA: She is
very attractive, in a peculiar sort of way.
LIZA: You think so? She’s so angular...
SASHA: What burning eyes. A man...
VOLODYA (Leaning toward NINA): Have you published,
Nina Ivanovna?
NINA (A little absently, defensively):
Not yet, no.
VOLODYA: Well, I’m sure you will.
NINA: Perhaps, but that is not what I wish
most of all to do.
VOLODYA: No?
Tell me then, what do you wish most of all to do?
NINA (Darkly): I wish to make a poem of
my life.
(She leans over balcony
and gazes upward.)
“Holy days are dawning
over
VOLODYA: You’re quoting Bely’s Dramatic Symphony, aren’t you?
(NINA
doesn’t respond; she is watching BB who, having taken off his coat and scarf,
returns wearing an azure jacket with a large pectoral cross that hangs from his
neck. As at the convent, he almost
swoops and prances as he walks. With
KOLYA he moves towards the center, where GIPPIUS is holding court. The other remaining younger GUESTS now begin
to surround him, including NINA. VOLODYA
shrugs and follows. ALYOSHA is
addressing GIPPIUS.)
ALYOSHA: What a creation! First rumors circulated that a centaur
had visited Borya in his apartment, then everyone in
and before you know it--there we were,
prowling around Novodevichy convent,
as decadent as can be, hunting for
mythological animals!
GIPPIUS (Removing her lorgnette and blowing a
cloud of smoke):
Is it possible to imagine
anything more ridiculous?
(BB
steps up to her and bows to the floor.)
BB: Zinaída Nikolaevna, Madame
Gippius, I am honored. You object?
GIPPIUS: I do object, dorogoi. Decadence. Hah! Another name for unbridled license,
self-indulgence, boundless vanity--
BB: Yes, of course you are right
but, as I have said, we need to organize our life
into a series of song-adventures. It was the perfect fusion of music and life.
(He turns to KOLYA,
dancing, swirling.)
They were everywhere,
Kolya, imagine!
Centaurs galloping, winged
horses soaring, unicorns--
NINA: “And on one cloud a woman clothed
with the sun was holding in her arms the holy child.”
(The image rises across the set. NINA’s words go unheard. BB dances around GIPPIUS.)
BB: If you had been there, Zinaida
Nikolaevna,
you would have seen the Zaphorozhian
cossack frozen in a dance,
one leg sticking out of the ice toward the
sky.
(He attempts
to demonstrate, falling on the floor.)
GIPPIUS (Rustling her wings and blowing
smoke): Cossacks freeze, Bugaev skates
above on decadent wings. Bely trips.
(She turns away. As KOLYA and VOLODYA help BB merrily to his
feet, ALYOSHA speaks to NINA.)
ALYOSHA:
I think we’re all a little in love with
him.
(NINA pays no attention. She is staring intently at BB, who catches
her gaze and finds himself unwittingly returning it,
not entirely understanding why. For a
moment they stand transfixed, until BB is distracted by LIZA and TATYANA, who
have sat at the ouija board. (If
sufficient forces,
JULIA and SVETA. ))
LIZA:
I have a question. Tell us, what can we expect in the new
century?
(They place their hands on the
planchette. While they wait for an answer
KOLYA turns to VOLODYA.)
KOLYA: Volodya,
I’ve been meaning to ask, What about the striking students?
VOLODYA: What about them? They’ll be expelled. Hundreds.
(KOLYA
nods to himself. * )
OUIJA: A-N-T-I-C-H-R-I-S-T.
L
& T: The Antichrist!
(They
jump up and overturn the ouija board.)
ALYOSHA (Seriously): Borenka, what do you think?
Is the hand of Satan at
work in Holy Russia?
Solovyov says the sky will
be rent in two by a great lightning
and Christ will descend from heaven with
blood dripping
from the wounds of his outstretched hands.
He will rescue all those
lured into destruction by the Antichrist,
and for a thousand years thereafter they
will reign with him in peace....
I find myself unsure of
these things, Borenka.
(An
image of the Crucifixion descends from above.)
BB: Solovyov saw, Alyosha. The Antichrist
stalks the land, can’t you feel it?
Revelation is to be played
out in the modern world.
(He raises his arms
skyward.) Yes, you can almost...(whispering) behold!
(He shivers and crosses
himself. Note: the orthodox cross from
the right.)
Now that Solovyov has
departed, I feel he has left it to me to realize his teachings,
to bring them to the path of life.
(As if suddenly having an
idea): Alyosha, I want to give a blazing sermon in
to awaken mankind, our mankind which has
fallen into...spiritual hibernation.
ALYOSHA: Hibernation?
Drunken stupor is more like it.
KOLYA: Then Borya, you believe Solovyov’s
prophesies are to be fulfilled?
BB: Yes, yes, in the coming
century, beginning any moment.
I have been watching for signs.
ALYOSHA: As we all have.
NINA: “The Milky Way descended lower than
it should. Like pearly mists it hung
above their heads.”
(The sky becomes flooded with
stars. BB glances at NINA, then turns to ALYOSHA.)
BB (Earnestly): I worry that people will be seduced by false
prophets. It is too easy, wouldn’t you
say, to see God’s intervention everywhere?
KOLYA: Have you been down on the Arbat? Mystics and preachers from all over
BB (Somewhat amused): Yes, yes, I
watch them every day from my balcony.
ALYOSHA: I’ve heard that Professor Musatov, the
specialist on the Apocalypse,
has gone off to
KOLYA (With genuine interest): Truly?
VOLODYA: Borya, you warn against false prophets. But who is speaking in your “Eternal Call”?
(He begins to recite. The other GUESTS listen intently.)
Preaching the
fast-approaching end,
I appeared, as if a new
Christ,
the
wreath of thorns, adorned with rosy flame,
having
been lain upon my head.
(Christ
appears with the crown of thorns in flames.)
BB
(Amused):
Clogging the sidewalk
around me
they
listened to my words with astonishment.
ALYOSHA:
They laughed at me,
at
the insanely funny false Christ.
A drop of blood, like a
burning tear,
trembled,
congealing on my brow.
LIZA: The harlequin grew pale and silent.
(A
harlequin appears and disappears in the corner.)
BB: I hung my head and began to sob
like a child.
They dragged me to the
lunatic asylum,
driving
me on with kicks.
(A
short silence. The GUESTS applaud.)
SASHA: But what does he mean? Harlequin?
(The
clock’s hands move to
ALYOSHA: Is it truly the end then, Borenka?
(The clock strikes
GIPPIUS: The Antichrist seems no match for we archangels.
BB (Lifting a glass): My
Argonauts, to new shores!
(An incorporeal
form ripples across the stage.)
ALYOSHA (Laughing): Borenka,
our Argus, some music, please.
(BB
sits at the piano and begins to improvise, as if in a trance. The music is meditative and should probably
resemble that of Nikolai Medtner, who was a friend of the family.)
NINA (Indicating music): Is this yours, Boris
Nikolaevich?
(BB
nods. NINA stiffens, as if shot through
by electricity, then begins to dance in ecstasy. BB continues playing during the following
dialogue.)
ALYOSHA: An extraordinary fellow, Boris Bugaev. Poetry,
philosophy, chemistry, music, mathematics...
VOLODYA: He wears it all so lightly.
KOLYA: To the contrary, he seems overly sure of
his powers.
VOLODYA:
Zinaida Nikolaevna, honestly, what do you think of Borya?
GIPPIUS: Radiant Borya. There is a true decadent, the fall of man, a
man-slave.
A plaything of his own ideas, about to float
away on the wings
of one thousand thoughtless words. He talks too much...
(She takes a drag on her
cigarette.)
In spite of his prophetic
leanings,
his thoughts have sparks of brilliance,
tiny arrows of genius.
VOLODYA:
You are direct, Madame.
(GIPPIUS blows a cloud of smoke slowly
into VOLODYA’s face.)
KOLYA (With slight skepticism): Zinaida
Nikolaevna,
is it true that you would combine Christianity
with paganism?
GIPPIUS: My husband and I are considering it. And why not?
History has come to a
crossroads. Everyone feels it.
There must be a new way, a
third way.
ALYOSHA: Yes, there must.
GIPPIUS: Well then, dorogoi, why don’t you come to the
Religious-Philosophical
Society meetings in
VOLODYA: Where are they held?
GIPPIUS (Gravely): They aren’t, my dear. The authorities haven’t permitted them.
I intend that they shall.
(ALYOSHA goes to the balcony again and looks
out. )
ALYOSHA:
And now,
Madame Gippius, when you
look out over this kingdom of frozen tears,
what do you see at this moment that stares
both toward future and past?
Christ descending or the
Beast mounting the throne with the Great Whore?
(The sky begins to turn colors; a
blood-red moon appears above the balcony.
BB breaks off playing.)
KOLYA: Yes, which? We laughed just now when the clock struck,
but I am not relieved.
One can almost sense the shadow
of Lucifer’s wings passing over Earth.
NINA (Raising her arms to the sky): I
think we are all Lucifer’s children.
LIZA: Oh, I’m frightened. (She moves closer to BB and slowly takes his
arm.)
GIPPIUS (Improvising):
We have not lived and are
surrounded by darkness.
Thou shalt return but how
shall we recognize thee?
We tremble at thy
silence,
Grant us a sign!
(There are distant groaning sounds,
thunder and lightning. The moon begins
shedding drops of blood. The GUESTS
huddle together. GIPPIUS continues,
raising her arms.)
GIPPIUS: Where art Thou?
Thy spirit is unprepared.
The hour has struck but
has yet to sound.
Still we believe. Thou shalt again walk among us.
(A crack of thunder.
The door blows open with a loud creak.
All eyes turn toward the door.
Enter KONSTANTIN DMITRIEVICH BALMONT, about 30. He wears a sort of Van Dyke beard, long
moustache, both very black,
He is dressed in a xhalat (a robe) from
GUESTS: Balmont!
BAL: We shall be like the sun!
(Several of the FEMALE GUESTS faint
straight away. NINA first averts her
eyes, then stares at BALMONT. BALMONT begins to improvise in a sonorous
voice.)
BAL: Long centuries of centuries shall
pass,
Uncounted millenniums as
locusts in death-laden clouds descend,
And to the babble of
centuries fleeing
The same enduring
firmament shall witness the bitter end.
BB (To ALYOSHA, in admiration):
He is a genius at improvisation, even
when he’s drunk.
BAL: Drunk! Boris Nikolaevich, drunk you dare call me?
(He threatens BB with his
sword and belches.) I’ll cut out your
golden tongue.
(He half-heartedly lunges
at BB but is restrained by his WOMEN,
who kiss him and urge him to keep
reciting.)
The mute, dead
firmament--
The firmament spurned by
God,
He who
breathes Eternity beyond the farther skies.
(The
set utters a great sigh.)
VOLODYA: Thus the eve of the New Dawn.
BALMONT (Grasping
his sword): What was that? Who dares
interrupt Balmont?
KOLYA (Contritely): You are the master of us
all.
BALMONT (Pleased):
Ah. Where was I?
SASHA (To LIZA): I prefer Pushkin.
(LIZA
hits him.)
ALYOSHA: Konstantin Dmitrievich, we were discussing the
coming of Christ. Perhaps you have–
BALMONT:
Christ was a lackey, a philosopher for beggars.
(Some
GUESTS are stunned, others giggle.
GIPPIUS reacts quickly and sharply.)
GIPPIUS:
Better a philosopher for beggars than
a beggar for philosophy.
BALMONT (Peering
at her): Zinochka. How good to see you.
I didn’t recognize the
serpent in angel’s wings.
GIPPIUS (Blowing smoke): To be sure, it is always easier to recognize
the fool in king’s clothing.
(She improvises):
What is sin?
Inattention,
inoccupation.
Self-hatred,
self-absorption,
Unbridled dissipation,
Calm intoxication.
GUESTS: Ooh!
BALMONT (Girding his loins): What is sin?
To be callous in thought,
To wield words like
knives,
To divide, to sift, to
skim,
Never
stirring once to life.
(GUESTS
applaud.)
GIPPIUS: I pray to you, Lord, for the Devil, he
your creation.
I love him, Lord, for I
see in him my suffering.
When the Last Judgment
comes, O Lord,
Release him, for his
agony, for his madness.
GUESTS: The Devil!
Ooh, good!
Bravo!
BALMONT:
Your Judgment shall never Last.
Your
“Christ,” “Antichrist,” “Devil” begone.
I am the te