BEFORE SUNRISE
"No," I say. "I've come to listen to the others."
.Apologizing .once again,
I
leave hurriedly.
Zamyatin is left with Blok.
453
Again I walk along the corridor. An emotion is stifling me.
I almost know my fate now. I see the finale of my life.
I
see the
misery which will inevitably stifle me.
I ask someone: "How old is Blok?"
I
receive the answer:
"About forty."
Fancy, not yet forty! But Byron was thirty when he said:
It
is
that weariness which springs
From all I meet, or hear or see?
To me no pleasure Beauty brings
Thine eyes have scarce a charm for me . . .
Byron did not put a question mark at the end of the second
line. It is I who am mentally asking the question. I wonder
whether this is really "that weariness." The literary evening
begins.
The Cafe "Twelve"
This cafe is at 12 Sadovaya Street. I sit there at a table
with my friends.
Drunken shouting, noise and tobacco smoke all around me.
A violin is playing.
I mutter Blok's verse:
I will again befriend the tavern fiddle . ..
I will again drink wine . . .
I still won't have the strength to reach the end
With a sober, sad smile, beyond which
Is the terror of the grave, the anxiety of a corpse ...
A man comes to our table, walking uncertainly. He's wear–
ing a black velvet blouse. There is a large white muslin bow on
his chest.
His face is smeared with powder.
