THE BARON. You—reason things out. . . . Well and good—it brings you a certain amount of consolation. . . . Personally I’m incapable of it . . . I don’t know how. [Glances around him and then, softly, guardedly] Brother—I am afraid—at times. Do you understand? Afraid!—Because—what next?
SATINE. Rot! What’s a man to be afraid of?
THE BARON [pacing up and down] You know—as far back as I can remember, there’s been a sort of fog in my brain. I was never able to understand anything. Somehow I feel embarrassed—it seems to me that all my life I’ve done nothing but change clothes—and why? I don’t understand! I studied—I wore the uniform of the Institute for the Sons of the Nobility . . . but what have I learned? I don’t remember! I married—I wore a frock-coat—then a dressing-gown . . . but I chose a disagreeable wife . . . and why? I don’t understand. I squandered everything that I possessed—I wore some sort of a grey jacket and brick-colored trousers—but how did I happen to ruin myself? I haven’t the slightest idea. . . . I had a position in the Department of State. . . . I wore a uniform and a cap with insignia of rank. . . . I embezzled government funds . . . so they dressed me in a convict’s garb—and later on I got into these clothes here—and it all happened as in a dream—it’s funny . . .
SATINE. Not very! It’s rather—silly!
THE BARON. Yes—silly! I think so, too. Still—wasn’t I born for some sort of purpose?
SATINE [laughing] Probably—a man is born to conceive a better man. [Shaking his head]—It’s all right!
THE BARON. That she-devil Nastka! Where did she run to? I’ll go and see—after all, she . . . [Exit; pause]
THE ACTOR. Tartar! [Pause] Prince! [The Tartar looks round] Say a prayer for me . . .
THE TARTAR. What?
THE ACTOR [softly] Pray—for me!