Comes slowly toward him] It is I, sir, the prompter, Nikita
Ivanitch. It is I, master, it is I!

SVIETLOVIDOFF. [Sinks helplessly onto the stool, breathes heavily
and trembles violently] Heavens! Who are you? It is you . . . you
Nikitushka? What . . . what are you doing here?

IVANITCH. I spend my nights here in the dressing-rooms. Only please be
good enough not to tell Alexi Fomitch, sir. I have nowhere else to spend
the night; indeed, I haven't.

SVIETLOVIDOFF. Ah! It is you, Nikitushka, is it? Just think, the
audience called me out sixteen times; they brought me three wreathes and
lots of other things, too; they were all wild with enthusiasm, and yet
not a soul came when it was all over to wake the poor, drunken old man
and take him home. And I am an old man, Nikitushka! I am sixty-eight
years old, and I am ill. I haven't the heart left to go on. [Falls
on IVANITCH'S neck and weeps] Don't go away, Nikitushka; I am old and
helpless, and I feel it is time for me to die. Oh, it is dreadful,
dreadful!

IVANITCH. [Tenderly and respectfully] Dear master! it is time for you to
go home, sir!

SVIETLOVIDOFF. I won't go home; I have no home--none! none!--none!

IVANITCH. Oh, dear! Have you forgotten where you live?

SVIETLOVIDOFF. I won't go there. I won't! I am all alone there. I have
nobody, Nikitushka! No wife--no children. I am like the wind blowing
across the lonely fields. I shall die, and no one will remember me. It
is awful to be alone--no one to cheer me, no one to caress me, no one to
help me to bed when I am drunk. Whom do I belong to? Who needs me? Who
loves me? Not a soul, Nikitushka.

IVANITCH. [Weeping] Your audience loves you, master.

SVIETLOVIDOFF. My audience has gone home. They are all asleep, and have
forgotten their old clown. No, nobody needs me, nobody loves me; I have
no wife, no children.

IVANITCH. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Don't be so unhappy about it.

SVIETLOVIDOFF. But I am a man, I am still alive. Warm, red blood is
tingling in my veins, the blood of noble ancestors. I am an aristocrat,
Nikitushka; I served in the army, in the artillery, before I fell as
low as this, and what a fine young chap I was! Handsome, daring, eager!
Where has it all gone? What has become of those old days? There's the
pit that has swallowed them all! I remember it all now. Forty-five years
of my life lie buried there, and what a life, Nikitushka! I can see it
as clearly as I see your face: the ecstasy of youth, f