ILYCH: If love was truly sprung from an arrow, I’d swear I saw Cupid before me now. Yet Uncle, why tonight of all nights do you start this tempest, where wounds have no chance to heal? Unless perhaps your arrow’s intention is to maim?
GREYGOR: This is a wretched night indeed. In truth, I never dared imagine it would come to pass. If I had, I would have acted. Now it is here, there is no excuse for inaction.
ILYCH: And what action do you seek?
GREYGOR: The liberation of beauty.
PACHEN: Ah, the beauty of liberation!
GREYGOR: What mirrored tongue is this?
PACHEN: The reflection is yours, Your Excellency.
ILYCH: Playing the fool, Pachen?
PACHEN: I am playing the master, my good Lord, who is fooling himself. Yet it would not be wise for me to call him a fool.
GREYGOR (laughing): Your courtesy exceeds you, my good rascal. Pray, continue.
PACHEN: From playing, to praying – this is the routine of many a scoundrel.
GREYGOR: But what of myself?
PACHEN: I would say you take more pleasure from the play than from the players.
ILYCH: Is this drama we are talking of now?
PACHEN: Comedy, tragedy – only the Good Lord knows. How easy it is for one to veil the other.
ILYCH (to himself): If I were the one to lift the veil…
PACHEN: Your tragedy unfolds, my good Lord, as the master’s folly begins.
GREYGOR: Your rhymes provoke and confuse.
PACHEN: Then charming they must be.
GREYGOR: And exhausting.
PACHEN: Some men retire when burdens grow, and slackness does embrace them; others retreat for they do know, time ripens their condition; whilst others yet will not be slow, and force chance’s decision.
GREYGOR: The time has come, without my beckoning. What would you say to this my charming servant?
PACHEN: If I were to serve you well I’d recommend rehearse no more, your tongue is learned, do not betray the script, or chaos will ensue.
GREYGOR: Impossible! Am I not the master of my own verse? Life is no play, my destiny cannot have a conclusion before it even ends!
PACHEN: While affectation plays companion to a man’s senses, liberation is his enemy. Such a man is only free when he forgets himself. Were such a man to step outside his surroundings, where would he be?
GREYGOR: Nowhere.
PACHEN: To himself, perhaps.
GREYGOR: I grow weary of being outwitted. To your point, my good fool.
PACHEN: As one acts, another reacts. The action’s foretold, directed by circumstance. Be neither swayed nor seek to sway and there you will find yourself free.
GREYGOR: This weary fool retires. The day has overcome me. If tomorrow’s script follows today’s I’d sooner be dumb, than sputter this nonsense before me. But act I will as happier I’d be to make ruin than follow this through to its unhappy end.
Exit Greygor
ILYCH: I follow my Uncle, it’s time for sleep; but in waking I’ll follow no more. He finds no pleasure in pleasure and is affronted by charm.
Exit Ilych
GREYGOR: This is a wretched night indeed. In truth, I never dared imagine it would come to pass. If I had, I would have acted. Now it is here, there is no excuse for inaction.
ILYCH: And what action do you seek?
GREYGOR: The liberation of beauty.
PACHEN: Ah, the beauty of liberation!
GREYGOR: What mirrored tongue is this?
PACHEN: The reflection is yours, Your Excellency.
ILYCH: Playing the fool, Pachen?
PACHEN: I am playing the master, my good Lord, who is fooling himself. Yet it would not be wise for me to call him a fool.
GREYGOR (laughing): Your courtesy exceeds you, my good rascal. Pray, continue.
PACHEN: From playing, to praying – this is the routine of many a scoundrel.
GREYGOR: But what of myself?
PACHEN: I would say you take more pleasure from the play than from the players.
ILYCH: Is this drama we are talking of now?
PACHEN: Comedy, tragedy – only the Good Lord knows. How easy it is for one to veil the other.
ILYCH (to himself): If I were the one to lift the veil…
PACHEN: Your tragedy unfolds, my good Lord, as the master’s folly begins.
GREYGOR: Your rhymes provoke and confuse.
PACHEN: Then charming they must be.
GREYGOR: And exhausting.
PACHEN: Some men retire when burdens grow, and slackness does embrace them; others retreat for they do know, time ripens their condition; whilst others yet will not be slow, and force chance’s decision.
GREYGOR: The time has come, without my beckoning. What would you say to this my charming servant?
PACHEN: If I were to serve you well I’d recommend rehearse no more, your tongue is learned, do not betray the script, or chaos will ensue.
GREYGOR: Impossible! Am I not the master of my own verse? Life is no play, my destiny cannot have a conclusion before it even ends!
PACHEN: While affectation plays companion to a man’s senses, liberation is his enemy. Such a man is only free when he forgets himself. Were such a man to step outside his surroundings, where would he be?
GREYGOR: Nowhere.
PACHEN: To himself, perhaps.
GREYGOR: I grow weary of being outwitted. To your point, my good fool.
PACHEN: As one acts, another reacts. The action’s foretold, directed by circumstance. Be neither swayed nor seek to sway and there you will find yourself free.
GREYGOR: This weary fool retires. The day has overcome me. If tomorrow’s script follows today’s I’d sooner be dumb, than sputter this nonsense before me. But act I will as happier I’d be to make ruin than follow this through to its unhappy end.
Exit Greygor
ILYCH: I follow my Uncle, it’s time for sleep; but in waking I’ll follow no more. He finds no pleasure in pleasure and is affronted by charm.
Exit Ilych
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