Were I a madman, I would spend the nights
Below your window and disturb your sleep
With serenades; I would not hide myself.
But, on the contrary, I’d strive to be
Oberved by you wherever I might go;
Were I a madman, I’d refuse to suffer
In silence...
DONA ANNA. SO you call this silence, then?
DON JUAN. Chance, Dona Anna, carried me away;
For otherwise, you never would have learned
Of this, the gloomy secret of my heart...
DONA ANNA. And have you then been long in love with
me?
DON JUAN. How long I’ve been in love I do not know.
But only since that hour I’ve known the value
Of this brief life, yes, only since that hour
I’ve understood what happiness could mean.
DONA ANNA. Begone! Begone! You are a dangerous
man.
DON JUAN. Dangerous! How?
DONA ANNA. — I fear to listen to you.
DON JUAN. Then I’ll be silent; only do not send
Away the man to whom the sight of you
Is all the consolation he has left.
I do not entertain audacious hopes,
Make no demands upon you, but I must,
If I am still condemned to live, have leave
To see you.
DONA ANNA. GO — for this is not the place
For words like these, for madness such as this...
To-morrow come to where I live; if you
Will swear to keep within respectful bounds,
I shall receive you — in the evening, later...
E’er since the hour that I became a widow
I have not seen a soul...
DON JUAN. — O Dona Anna! —
You angel! May God comfort you, as now
You offer balm to this unhappy soul!
DONA ANNA. Begone! Begone!
DON JUAN. — One minute more, I pray.
DONA ANNA. Well, then, ‘tis I must go... Besides, my
mind
Is far from prayer. You’ve distracted me
With all your worldly talk; my ear to such
Has long been unaccustomed. — But to-morrow
I shall receive you...
DON JUAN. — Even yet I cannot
Believe, I cannot trust my happiness!
To-morrow I shall see you!... And not here,
And not by stealth!
DONA ANNA. — To-morrow, yes, to-morrow.
What is your name?
DON JUAN. — Diego de Calvado.
DONA ANNA. Farewell, Don Diego. — (Exit.)
DON JUAN. — Leporello!
(LEPORELLO enters.)
LEPORELLO. — What
Is now your pleasure?
DON JUAN. — Dearest Leporello!
What bliss! — ”To-morrow, in the evening, later”....
My Leporello, yes, to-morrow!... So
Prepare... I’m happy as a child!
LEPORELLO. — So you
Conversed with Dona Anna? Maybe she
Addressed to you a gracious word or two,
Or you bestowed on her your blessing.
DON JUAN. — NO,
My Leporello, no! An assignation,
An assignation has she granted me!
LEPORELLO. Can it be so? O widows, you are all
The same.
DON JUAN. Oh, what a happy man am I!
I’m ready to embrace the world — or sing!
LEPORELLO. And what will the commander have to say
About all this?
DON JUAN. You think he will be jealous?
No, truly; he’s a man of common sense.
And surely has grown meeker since he died.
LEPORELLO. No, see his statue there.
DON JUAN. — Well, what?
LEPORELLO. — It seems
As though it’s looking at you angrily.
DON JUAN. My Leporello, here’s a notion: go
And bid it come to-morrow to my house —
No, not to mine — I mean to Dona Anna’s.
LEPORELLO. Invite the statue! Why?
DON JUAN. — Well, certainly,
Not for the purpose of conversing with it.
But bid the statue come to Dona Anna’s
To-morrow evening rather late and stand
On guard before the door.
LEPORELLO. — Here’s an odd way
To jest! And jest with whom!
DON JUAN. — Go on!
LEPORELLO. — But...
DON JUAN — GO!
LEPORELLO. Most excellent and beautiful of statues!
My master, Don Juan, most humbly bids
You come... Good Lord, I cannot, I’m afraid.
DON JUAN. Coward! I’ll give it to you!...
LEPORELLO. — Very well!
My master, Don Juan, doth bid you come
To-morrow rather late to your wife’s house
And guard the door...
(The statue nods.)
Oh!
DON JUAN. — What’s the matter there?
LEPORELLO. Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! I’ll die!
DON JUAN. — Whatever’s happened?
LEPORELLO. (Nodding.) The statue... Oh!
DON JUAN. — What’s this you’re doing — bowing?
LEPORELLO. NO, no, not I — but it!
DON JUAN. — What fiddle-faddle
Is this?
LEPORELLO. Then go yourself.
DON JUAN. — Well, look, you knave!
(To the statue.) Commander, I do herewith bid you
come
Unto your widow’s house, where I shall be
To-morrow, and keep watch before the door.
Well? Will you? — (Statue nods again.)
God!
LEPORELLO. — I told you...
DON JUAN. — Let us go.
SCENE IV
DONA ANNA’S Room, DON JUAN and DONA ANNA.
DONA ANNA. Don Diego, I’ve received you; yet I fear
My melancholy conversation will
Soon bore you; wretched widow that I am,
I never can forget my loss. Like April
I mingle tears with smiles. But tell me why
Are you so silent?
DON JUAN. — I’m enjoying deeply
And silently the thought that I’m alone
With charming Dona Anna — here, not there
Beside that lucky dead man’s monument —
And see you now no longer on your knees
Before your marble spouse.
DONA ANNA. — Don Diego, are
You jealous then? My husband tortures you
E’en in his grave?
DON JUAN. — I ought not to be jealous:
For he was your own choice.
DONA ANNA. — Oh no; my mother
Commanded me to marry Don Alvaro,
For we were poor and Don Alvaro rich.
DON JUAN. The lucky man! He brought but empty
treasures
To set before a goddess’ feet; for that
He tasted all the bliss of paradise.
If I had known you first, with utter rapture
I’d have bestowed on you my rank, my wealth,
All, everything, for but one gentle glance!
Your slave, I would have held your wishes sacred!
I would have studied all your whims, that I
Might then anticipate them, that your life
Might be one long enchantment without end!
Alas! fate has decreed quite otherwise!
DONA ANNA. Ah, Diego, stop! ‘Tis wrong of me to listen
To you — it is forbidden me to love you:
E’en to the grave a widow must be faithful.
If only you could know how Don Alvaro
Did love me! Oh, ‘tis certain Don Alvaro,
Had he been left a widower, had ne�
��er
. Received into his house a lovelorn lady.
He would have kept his faith with spousal love.
DON JUAN. O, Dona Anna, torture not my heart
With everlasting mention of your spouse.
Pray cease from your chastisement, although I
Perhaps deserve chastisement.
DONA ANNA. — And pray how?
You are not bound, I think, by holy ties
To anyone? In loving me, you do
No wrong in Heaven’s eyes or mine.
DON JUAN. — In yours!
O God!
DONA ANNA. It isn’t possible you’re guilty
Of any wrong to me? Or, tell me, how?
DON JUAN. NO, never!...
DONA ANNA. — Diego, tell me what you mean!
You’ve done me wrong? But tell me, how and when?
DON JUAN. NO, not for worlds!
DONA ANNA. — But, Diego, this is strange!
I ask you, I demand of you...
DON JUAN. — NO, no!
DONA ANNA. SO this is being docile to my will!
But what was that you said to me just now?
That you would like to be my very slave.
I’m getting angry, Diego; answer me,
In what way have you wronged me?
DON JUAN. — No, I dare
Not tell; you’d never want to look on me,
You’d fall to hating me.
DONA ANNA. — No, e’en beforehand
I pardon you, I only want to know...
DON JUAN. DO not desire to know this terrible,
This deadly secret.
DONA ANNA. — Deadly!... I’m in torment:
I’m full of curiosity — what is it?
I didn’t know you — how could you offend me?
I have no enemies, and never had.
The only one is he who slew my husband.
DON JUAN. (TO himself.) The dénouement approaches!
- -Tell me now,
Did you e’er know the wretched Don Juan?
DONA ANNA. I never in my life set eyes on him.
DON JUAN. But in your heart you bear him enmity?
DONA ANNA. AS honor binds me. But you’re trying now,
Don Diego, to divert me from my question —
I ask...
DON JUAN. Suppose that you should meet Don Juan?
DONA ANNA. I’d plunge a dagger in the villain’s heart.
DON JUAN. Where is your dagger, Dona Anna? Here’s
My breast.
DONA ANNA. O Diego! What is that you say?
DON JUAN. No Diego I — my name’s Juan.
DONA ANNA. — O God!
No, no, it cannot be, I don’t believe...
DON JUAN. I’m Don Juan.
DONA ANNA. — It isn’t true.
DON JUAN. — I killed
Your husband; and have no regrets for that —
There is no trace of penitence within me.
DONA ANNA. What do I hear? No, no, it cannot be.
DON JUAN. I’m Don Juan, and I do love you.
DONA ANNA. (Falling.) — Where,
Where am I? Where? I’m fainting!
DON JUAN. — God in Heaven!
What’s happened to her? Dona Anna, what’s
The matter with you? Come, wake up, wake up,
And pull yourself together; at your feet
Your slave, your Diego kneels.
DONA ANNA. — Leave me alone.
( Weakly.) You are my enemy — you took away
From me all, all that in my life...
DON JUAN. — Dear creature!
I’m ready now to expiate that blow;
I only wait your order at your feet:
Command — I’ll die; command — and I shall breathe
For you alone...
DONA ANNA. — So this is Don Juan?
DON JUAN. True, is it not, he’s been described to you
As an outrageous villain and a monster.
O — Dona Anna, rumor is perhaps
Not wholly wrong; upon my weary conscience
There weighs, perhaps, a heavy load of evil;
I’ve long been an adept in lechery;
But since I saw you first all that has changed:
It seems to me, that I’ve been born anew!
For, loving you, virtue herself I love —
And humbly, for the first time in my life,
Before her now I bend my trembling knees.
DONA ANNA. Yes, Don Juan is eloquent — I know!
I’ve heard them say: he is a sly seducer,
A very fiend. How many wretched women
Have you destroyed?
DON JUAN. — Not one of them till now
Was I in love with.
DONA ANNA. — And shall I believe
That Don Juan at last has fallen in love,
That I am not another of his victims!
DON JUAN. If I had wished to dupe you, do you think
I would have thus avowed the truth or uttered
That name that you can hardly bear to hear?
What do you see of trick or craft in that?
DONA ANNA. Who knows your heart? But how could
you come here?
For anyone might recognize you here —
And then your death would be inevitable.
DON JUAN. Ah, what is death? For one sweet moment’s
tryst
I’d give my life without a murmur.
DONA ANNA. — How
Will you escape from here, imprudent man?
DON JUAN. (Kissing her hand.) And so you are con-
cerned about the life
Of poor Juan! Then in your heavenly soul
There is not any hatred, Doha Anna?
DONA ANNA. Alas! if only I knew how to hate you!
But we must part.
DON JUAN. — When shall we meet again?
DONA ANNA. I do not know. Some time.
DON JUAN. — To-morrow?
DONA ANNA. — Where?
DON JUAN. Here.
DONA ANNA. O Don Juan, how weak a heart is mine!
DON JUAN. A quiet kiss in token of forgiveness...
DONA ANNA. It’s time to go.
DON JUAN. — Just one, cold, quiet kiss...
DONA ANNA. Oh, how importunate you are! Well, there!
... (A noc at the door.)
What is that knock I hear?... Oh, hide, Don Juan!
DON JUAN. Good-bye, until we meet again, my darling.
(Goes out and runs in again.)
Oh!...
DONA ANNA. What’s the matter? Oh!
(Enter the STATUE of the commander;
DONA ANNA falls.)
STATUE. — Your call I’ve answered.
DON JUAN. O God! O Dona Anna!
STATUE. — Let her be,
All’s over. You are trembling, Don Juan.
DON JUAN. I? No!... I bade you come; I’m glad to
see you.
STATUE. Give me your hand.
DON JUAN. — Here, take it... Oh, how heavy
The pressure of his cold and stony hand!
Release me, let me go, let go my hand!...
I’m perishing — all’s over — Dona Anna!
(They sink into the ground.)
MOZART AND SALIERI
Translated by Genia Gurarie
CONTENTS
Scene 1
Scene 2
Antonio Salieri (1750-1825), an Italian composer, conductor and teacher, whose students included Franz Schubert, Ludwig van Beethoven and Franz Liszt
Scene 1
(A room)
Salieri
Some people say: there is no right on earth.
Not in the heavens, neither! This to me
Appears as clear as any simple scale.
I came into this world in love with art.
Yet on a childhood day, when in the heights
Of our old church the lofty pipes resou
nded,
I listened, and was lost in listening -- tears
Were pouring out, involuntary, sweet!
In early years I spurned all idle pastimes;
All sciences extraneous to music
Disgusted me; with obstinate disdain
I soon rejected them and gave myself
To music only. Hard the initial step,
And dull the initial path. I overcame
The first adversities. I put up craft
To constitute the pedestal of art.
I turned into a craftsman: to my fingers
I taught submissive, dry dexterity;
My ear, precision. Having stifled sounds,
I cut up music like a corpse. I measured
Harmony by arythmetics. Then only,
Well-versed in science, dared I give myself
To the sweet languor of creative fancy.
I started to compose, but still in silence,
Still secretly, not dreaming yet of glory.
Quite often, having sat in my mute cell
For two, three days - both sleep and food forgotten,
The thrill and tears of inspiration savored -
I burned my work, and frigidly observed
How my ideas, the sounds I had begotten,
Took flame and disappeared with the light smoke.
And what of that? When star-enchanted Gluck
Arose and opened up to us new secrets
(What candidly profound, what charming secrets!),
Did I not leave all I had known before,
And loved so much, and trusted with such fervor,
To follow him, submissively and gaily,
Like one who has gone errant yet encounters
A man to set him on a different course?
By arduous, ever-earnest constancy
At last in the infinity of art
I reached a high degree. Now glory smiled
Upon me finally; in people’s hearts
I found strings consonant to my creations.
I was content; at peace I took delight
In my own work, success and glory -- also
In works and in successes of my friends,
My gentle comrades in the wondrous art.
No, never did I know the sting of envy!
O, never! -- neither even when Piccini
Knew how to charm the savage ears of Paris,
Nor when I got to hear for the first time
The initial harmonies of “Iphigenia”...
Who’d say that proud Salieri would in life
Be a repellent envier, a serpent
Trampled by people, gnawing sand and dust
In impotence? No one! And now -- I’ll say it --
I am an envier. I envy; sorely,
Profoundly now I envy. -- Pray, o Heaven!
Where, where is rightness? when the sacred gift,
Immortal genius, comes not in reward
For fervent love, for total self-rejection,
For work and for exertion and for prayers,
Works of Alexander Pushkin Page 90