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En estos tiempos de hipercomunicación bastaría la invitación de enviar a un amigo cualquiera de los textos que consideres interesantes algo redundante: demasiada comunicación, demasiados textos y , en general, demasiado de todo.
Es posible que estemos de acuerdo... pero cuando encuentras algo interesante en cualquier sitio, la red, la calle, tu casa, o un lugar escondido y remoto, compartirlo no sólo es un acto (acción, hecho) de amistad o altruismo, también es una manera de ahorrar tiempo a los demás (y de que te lo ahorren a ti (si eres afortunado) a costa del tiempo que tu has podido derrochar (emplear) y el gustazo de mostrar que estuviste ahí (o donde fuera ) un poco antes (el tiempo ya no es más el que era).
Comparte con tus conocidos aquello que encuentras, es evolución.
Mozart and Salieri
13-03-07 [x]  

* Salieri: Your sleep will be a long one, Mozart! | TUTA Theater
by Alexander Pushkin. translated by Alan Shaw

SCENE I A room Salieri There is no justice on the earth, they say. But there is none in heaven, either. To me That is as plain as any simple scale. My love of art has been with me since birth, And as a child, when in our ancient church The organ would send forth its lofty sound, I listened and was lost in it; my tears Involuntarily and sweetly flowed. I turned away from idle pastimes early; All studies alien to music I Found hateful; Stubbornly, disdainfully, I disavowed them all and gave myself To music alone. Hard is that first step taken, And dull that first of roads. I overcame My early adversities. A pedestal To art I made out of facility, And facile I became: my fingers gained A dry obedient dexterity, My ear reliability. I deadened The sounds, dissected music like a corpse, Proved harmony by algebra. And then, Then only did I dare, with all my lore, Yield to the bliss of my creative fancy. I started to compose, but quietly, In secret; I didn't dare yet dream of glory. How often, after sitting days on end, Not eating, sleepless in my silent cell, Tasting of raptures and tears of inspiration, I'd burn my work and look on coldly as My thoughts, the sounds I'd fathered, rose in flames And vanished in a little puff of smoke. What am I saying? When great Gluck himself Appeared, unfolding us new mysteries (And deep enthralling mysteries they were), Did I not give up all I'd known before, And dearly loved and fervently believed in? Did I not briskly follow him, without A murmur, like a man who's lost his way, And meets another who can set him right? By strenuous and dogged perseverance, I finally reached, in the infinities Of art, a lofty level. Glory smiled On me, and in the hearts of men I found Some resonance to what I had created. Yes, I was happy: quietly took joy In my own work, success and fame, and in The labors and successes of my friends, Co-workers in this wondrous art of ours. Oh, never did I know a moment's envy, Never! Not even when Piccini caught The untamed ears of the Parisians, Not even when, for the first time, I heard The opening of Iphigenia played. Who is there who can say proud Salieri Was ever that low thing, an envious man, That trampled snake that only lives to bite The gravel and the dust in impotence? Nobody!...Now, though -- I myself must say it -- Now I am envious. I envy deeply; Yes, I am wracked with envy. O heaven, where, Where is the justice, when the holy gift, Immortal genius, comes not as reward For any burning love or self-denial, Labor, diligence or prayer, but lights It radiance instead in heads of folly And frivolity? Oh, Mozart, Mozart! (Mozart enters) Mozart Aha! You saw me! I was hoping to Surprise you with a little joke of mine. Salieri You're here? When did you come? Mozart Just now. I had Something to show you, and was on my way, But passing by a tavern, suddenly I heard a fiddle. Oh, Salieri, my friend, You never in your life heard anything So funny. This blind fiddler in a tavern Playing Voi che sapete. Marvelous! I had no choice, I had to bring him here To treat you to the pleasure of his art. In here! (Enter a blind old man with a violin) Play us a little Mozart, would you? (The old man plays an aria from Don Giovanni. Mozart laughs loudly.) Salieri And you can laugh at that? Mozart Oh come, Salieri, Don't you think it's funny? Salieri No, I don't. When Raphael's madonnas are defiled By worthless daubers, I do not find it funny. When a contemptible buffoon dishonors Alighieri with his parodies, I do not find it funny. Be off, old man. Mozart Wait. Take this for yourself, and drink my health. (The old man leaves) Salieri, you seem out of sorts. I'll come Again another time. Salieri What did you bring me? Mozart Oh, nothing. Just a trifle. The other night, When my insomnia was racking me, A few ideas came into my head. Today I jotted them down. I wanted to Hear your opinion, but I can see You have no time for me. Salieri Oh, Mozart, Mozart, When do I have no time for you? Sit down. I'm listening. Mozart (at the piano) Imagine then...well, who? Let's say myself, a little younger, maybe, A little bit in love, but not too much, A pretty girl or friend -- yourself, let's say -- Is with me, I feel good, when all at once... A funereal vision, sudden gloom, or something... Here, listen. (He plays) Salieri You were bringing this to me, And you could stop in at a tavern to listen To a blind man with a fiddle? God, Mozart, you are unworthy of yourself. Mozart You like it, do you? Salieri What profundity! What boldness and what perfect form! Mozart, You are a god, and do not even know it. I know it, though. Mozart No! Really?...Maybe so. But my Divinity is getting hungry. Salieri Listen: let's dine together at the Golden Lion. Mozart Gladly. But first let me go home And tell my wife not to expect me there For dinner. (Exit) Salieri Mind you, I'll be waiting for you. No, now I can resist my fate no longer. I have been chosen: I must be the one To stop him. Otherwise we all will perish, All of us priests and ministers of music, Not only I with my dull-ringing fame. What use is it if Mozart stays alive And reaches even newer summits yet? Will he uplift the art by doing so? No; it will sink again when he is gone; He leaves us no successor. What's the use In him? He brings us, like a cherub, certain Songs of paradise, and afterwards, When he has roused in us, us children of The dust, a wingless longing...flies away! So fly away! The sooner you do, the better. Here's poison; it's Isora's final gift. For eighteen years I've carried it with me, And often in that time my life would seem A wound not to be borne. I'd often share A table with some careless enemy, And never to the whisper of temptation Did I yield, although I am no coward, Although I feel an insult deeply and Care little for my life. No, I held back. When thirst for death tormented me, I thought: Why should I die? It could be life will bring Some sudden gifts to me, it could be too, I will be visited by rapture, by The night of the creator, inspiration. It could be some new Haydn will create Great things, and I will take delight in him. While I was feasting with my hated guest, I'd think: it could be I will find a worse Enemy yet, and that a bitterer Insult will blast me from a prouder height. Then you will not be lost, Isora's gift. And I was right! At last I have found both: I've found my enemy, and a new Haydn Has made me drink deliciously of rapture! And now -- it's time. Most cherished gift of love, Tonight you pass into the cup of friendship. Scene II A private room in a tavern, with a piano. Mozart and Salieri are at the table. Salieri What makes you look so gloomy? Mozart Am I? No. Salieri Mozart, you must have something on your mind. The dinner's good, the wine is excellent, But you frown and say nothing. Mozart To be frank, This Requiem of mine is troubling me. Salieri Oh, you've been writing a Requiem? Since when? Mozart Three weeks ago. But it's the strangest thing.... Didn't I tell you? Salieri No. Mozart Well, listen then. Three weeks ago, I came home rather late; They told me that someone had been to see me. I don't know why, but all night long I thought: Who could it be? What does he want with me? Next day he came and found me out again. The third day we were playing on the floor, Me and that kid of mine; they called for me, I went. A man, all dressed in black, politely Bowed, ordered a Requiem, and vanished. I sat down right away and started writing -- And since that time my man in black has never Come for me again. Not that I mind: I hate the thought of parting with my work, Although the Requiem is ready now. But meanwhile I... Salieri What? Mozart I'm ashamed to say. Salieri Say what? Mozart He gives me no rest night or day, My man in black. He's everywhere behind Me like a shadow. Even now he seems To sit here with us as a third. Salieri Come, come! What sort of childish fright is this? Dispel These empty fancies. Beaumarchais would often Say to me "Listen, Salieri, old friend, When black thoughts come your way, uncork the champagne Bottle, or re-read the Marriage of Figaro." Mozart Yes, you and Beaumarchais were pals, weren't you? It was for him you wrote Tarare, a lovely Work. There is one tune in it, I always Hum it to myself when I feel happy... La la la la...Salieri, is it true That Beaumarchais once poisoned somebody? Salieri I don't think so. He was too droll a fellow For such a trade. Mozart Besides, he was a genius, Like you and me. And genius and villainy Are two things incompatible, aren't they? Salieri You think so? (He pours the poison into Mozart's glass) Come, drink up now. Mozart To your health, My friend, and to the loyal bond that binds Together Mozart and Salieri, sons Of harmony. Salieri Stop, stop!...You've drunk it all... And me? Mozart (throwing his napkin on the table) Enough. I'm full. (He goes to the piano) Listen, Salieri: My Requiem. (He plays) You're weeping? Salieri These are tears I've never shed before: painful but welcome, As if I had discharged a heavy debt, As if the healing knife had cut away A throbbing limb. Mozart, dear friend, these tears... Pay them no mind. Play on, play on, make haste, And saturate my soul with sounds! Mozart If all Could feel like you the power of harmony! But no: the world could not go on then. None Would bother with the needs of lowly life; All would surrender to spontaneous art. We chosen ones are few, we happy idlers, Who care not for contemptible usefulness, But only of the beautiful are priests. Is that not so? But I'm not well just now. Something oppresses me. I need to sleep. Farewell! Salieri Until we meet again. (Alone) Your sleep Will be a long one, Mozart. But is he right, And I'm no genius? Genius and villainy Are two things incompatible. Not true: What about Buonarotti? Or is that just A fable of stupid, senseless crowd, And the Vatican's creator was no murderer? ***************


Rating: 4 - 1 voto(s).

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