ll understand that. Will you play upon this
pipe?"

IVANITCH. "My lord, I cannot."

SVIETLOVIDOFF. "I pray you."

IVANITCH. "Believe me, I cannot."

SVIETLOVIDOFF. "I do beseech you."

IVANITCH. "I know no touch of it, my lord."

SVIETLOVIDOFF. "'Tis as easy as lying: govern these vantages with your
finger and thumb, give it breath with your mouth, and it will discourse
most eloquent music. Look you, these are the stops."

IVANITCH. "But these I cannot command to any utterance of harmony: I
have not the skill."

SVIETLOVIDOFF. "Why, look you, how unworthy a thing you make of me. You
would play upon me; you would seem 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 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 u