Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - V. Purgatory
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hated me with a deadly hatred, hindered my
plays from being accepted, wove intrigues, and
deprived me of the barest means of subsistence.
Then, in a fit of rage, I reversed the spear and
struck him, indeed, in such a brutal and cowardly
way, that it made me feel like a murderer.
The fact that he has come to kill me comforts
me, for death alone can deliver me from my
pangs of conscience.
It was he, then, who lurked behind those
letters with false addresses which I always saw
near the porter’s lodge. Well, let him strike!
I will not defend myself. For he is right, and
my life is nothing to me. He continues to play
the Aufschwung, which no one can play so
well. He plays invisible behind the green wall,
and his magic harmonies rise above its blossoming
creepers like butterflies flying towards the
sun.
But why is he playing? Is it to inform me
of his coming to frighten me and drive me to
flight? Perhaps I shall find out in the restaurant
where the other Russians have long been
talking about the arrival of their countryman.
I go for my evening meal there, and already
at the doorway encounter hostile glances. The
whole company, informed of my conflict with
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