Listen, Mozart:Let's dine together at the Golden Lion.MozartA capital idea. But let me firstgo home a moment: I must tell my wifeshe's not to wait for me.He goesSalieri Don't fail me now.— Nay, now can I no longer fight with fate:my destiny's to stop him — else we perish,we all, the priests, the ministers of music,not I alone with my dull-sounding fame....What worth are we if Mozart lives and reachesnew summits still? Will this exalt our art?Nay: art will sink so soon as he departs:he will leave us no successor — will have servedno useful purpose. Like a seraph swooping,he brought us certain songs from Paradise,only to stab us, children of the dust,with helpless wingless longing, and fly off!— So fly away! — the sooner now, the better.Here's poison: the last gift of my Isora.For eighteen years I've kept it, let it season —and often life would seem to me a woundtoo bitter to be borne — I have often satwith some unwary enemy at table,yet never did that inward whisper win me;though I'm no coward and feel insult deeply,and care not much for life. Still did I tarry,tormented by the thirst for death, yet brooding:why should I die? Perchance the future yetholds unexpected benefits; perchanceI may be visited by Orphic rapture,my night of inspiration and creation;perchance another Haydn may achievesome great new thing — and I shall live in him…While I was feasting with some hated guest,perchance, I'd muse, I'll find an enemymore hateful still; perchance a sharper insultmay come to blast me from a prouder eminence— then you will not be lost, Isora's gift!And I was right! At last I have encounteredmy perfect enemy: another Haydnhas made me taste divine delight!. The hourdraws nigh at last. Most sacred gift of love:You'll pass to-night into the cup of friendship.<12 декабря 1940>SCENE 2. A PRIVATE ROOM IN A TAVERN, WITH A PIANO.Mozart and Salieri at table.SalieriWhat makes you look so gloomy?Mozart Gloomy? No.SalieriMozart, there's surely something on your mind.The dinner's good, the wine is excellent,but you, you frown and brood.Mozart I must confess it: I'm worried about my Requiem.Salieri Oh, you're writinga Requiem? Since when?Mozart Three weeks or so.But the queer part… didn't I tell you?Salieri No.Mozart Well, listen:three weeks ago I got home rather late —they told me someone had been there to see me.
