man can't concentrate for more than an hour. You gave him four. What did you think of it yourself? Did you like it at all? I thought it was marvelous. Of course. It's the best opera yet written. I know it. Why didn't they come? I think you overestimate our dear Viennese, my friend. Do you know you didn't even give them a good bang at the end of songs, to let them know when to clap. I know, I know. Maybe you should give me some lessons in that. I wouldn't presume. Nevertheless, at the risk of imposing... I'd like you to see my new piece. It would be a tremendous honor for me. No, the honor would be all mine. I believe... I believe it is the best opera yet written, my friends. Salieri. You are the brightest star in the musical firmament. You do honor to Vienna and to me. Herr Mozart. - It was good of you to come. - How could I not? Bravo, maestro. Did my work please you? I never knew that music like that was possible. - You flatter me. - No. One hears such sounds... and what can one say but: Salieri. Everybody's here and we've got guests. Bravo. Well, I've got some more. Stanzi, you remember my excellent friend Schikaneder. Come in. Don't be shy. - This is a very nice girl, and this... - Wolfie? Yes, my love? These gentlemen are from Salzburg. Salzburg? We were just talking about Salzburg. Your father is dead. So rose the dreadful ghost, from his next and blackest opera. There on the stage, stood the figure of a dead commander. I knew. Only I understood, that the horrifying apparition was Leopold, raised from the dead. Wolfgang had actually summoned up his own father, to accuse his son before all the world. It was... terrifying and wonderful to watch. And now... the madness began in me. The madness of a man splitting in half. Through my influence, I saw to it. Don Giovanni was played only five times in Vienna. But, in secret, I went to every one of those five. Worshiping sound I alone seemed to hear. And as I stood there, understanding how that bitter old man was still possessing his poor son, even from beyond the grave, I began to see a way, a terrible way, I could finally triumph over God. Herr Mozart? I have come to commission work from you. - What work? - A Mass for the dead. What dead? Who is dead? A man who deserved a Requiem Mass and never got one. - Who are you? - I`am only a messenger. Do you accept? You will be well paid. Do you accept? Work fast. And be sure tell no one what you do. You will see me again soon. Wolfie? My plan was so simple... that it terrified me. First, I must get the death Mass, and then... I must achieve his death. What? His funeral. Imagine it. The cathedral, all Vienna sitting there. His coffin. Mozart's little coffin in the middle. And then... in that silence... music. A divine music, bursts out over them all. A great Mass of death. Requiem Mass for Wolfgang Mozart. Composed by his devoted friend, Antonio Salieri. What sublimity. What depth. What passion in the music. Salieri has been touched by God at last, and God forced to listen. Powerless to stop it. I, for once, in the end, laughing at him. The only thing that worried me was the actual killing. How does one do that? How does one kill a man? It's one thing to dream about it. Very different when you... When you have to do it... with your own hands. Come in. Don Giovanni, I've come to dinner. Dinner. Are you mad? I'm a nobleman. I only ever dine with people of my own height. Stop it. Be careful. Be careful. Hold tight. I'm a famous horseman. And we're a famous horsy. Give me a hoof, my darling. And I'll give you my heart. Take me to your stable. And never more we'll part. Kill me. Kill me. We're going to make a soprano stew. We're going to make a soprano stew. And when you make a soprano stew. Shut up. I'm sick to death of that tune. Give me some hay, my darling. And I'll give ------------------------------ Читайте также: - текст Хоттабыч на английском - текст Отец и сын на английском - текст Октябрь на английском - текст Особенности национальной охоты на английском - текст Бригада на английском |