I thought myself
secure in my solitary stall. But I had not counted on the high
gods who crowd shadowy into the silent seats and are jealous of a
mortal in their midst. Without warning was I wrested from my
place, hurled onto the stage, and before my dazzled eyes could
accustom themselves to the footlights, I found myself enmeshed
in intolerable drama. I was unprepared. I knew my part
imperfectly. I missed my cues. I had the blighting
self-consciousness of the amateur. And yet the idiot mummery was
intensely real. Amid the laughter of the silent shadowy gods I
thought to flee from the stage. I came to Verona and find I am
still acting my part. I have always been acting. I have been
acting since I was born. The reason of our being is to amuse the
high gods with our histrionics. The earth itself is the stage,
and the starry ether the infinite auditorium.
The high gods have granted to their troupe of mimes one boon.
Each has it in his power to make the final exit at any moment.
For myself I feel that moment is at hand.
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