to know my stops; you would pluck out the heart of my mystery; you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass; and there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ, yet cannot you make it speak. S’blood! Do you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe? Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me!” [Laughs and clasps] Bravo! Encore! Bravo! Where the devil is there any old age in that? I’m not old, that is all nonsense, a torrent of strength rushes over me; this is life, freshness, youth! Old age and genius can’t exist together. You seem to be struck dumb, Nikitushka. Wait a second, let me come to my senses again. Oh! Good Lord! Now then, listen! Did you ever hear such tenderness, such music? Sh! Softly;
“The moon had set. There was not any light,
Save of the lonely legion’d watch-stars pale
In outer air, and what by fits made bright
Hot oleanders in a rosy vale
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
