Harlequin (turning to the clock): Yes, Columbine, it’s true. It’s time for you to know it. I feel plainly that I shall soon die.
Columbine: Harlequin! Beloved!
Harlequin: Don’t cry, Columbine! I shall go away with a smile on my lips. I want to die as people want to sleep, when it’s late and they’re tired and need rest. I’ve sung all my songs! I’ve revelled all my merriment! I’ve laughed all my laughter! My strength and health have been joyfully spent with my money. I was never mean, and so was always merry and sorrowless. I am Harlequin, and shall die Harlequin. Don’t cry, Columbine! Rather be glad that I’m dying, not like others, but full of delight, content with fate and my conduct. Or would you rather see me grappling to life with greedy eyes and a prayer on my lips? No, Harlequin is not like that. He has fulfilled his mission in life and dies calmly. And, really, didn’t I give my kisses to who wanted them? Didn’t I lavish my soul for the good of others? How many wives of ugly husbands I consoled! And how many little hats did I make for people who thought themselves sages! How many I awoke to passionate song or
