Макс Устиновский - Чайка Монолог Кости Треплева дубль 2 - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

A.P. Chekhov. "Gull". Treplev’s bone monologue (scene of a conversation with an uncle before the performance)

He loves - does not love, loves - does not love, loves - does not love ... You see, uncle, my mother does not love me. Still would! She wants to live, love, wear light blouses, and I am already twenty -five years old, and I constantly remind her that she is no longer young.

When I am not, she is only thirty -two years old, with me forty -three, and for this she hates me. She also knows that I do not recognize the theater. She loves the theater, it seems to her that it serves humanity, holy art, and in my opinion, a modern theater is a routine, prejudice. Когда поднимается занавес и при вечернем освещении, в комнате с тремя стенами, эти великие таланты, жрецы святого искусства изображают, как люди едят, пьют, любят, ходят, носят свои пиджаки; when they try to draw morality from vulgar paintings and phrases - small, chosen, useful in household everyday life; When, in a thousand variations, all the same, the same, the same thing, the same thing, then I run and run, as Maupassant ran from the Eiffel Tower, which crushed his brain with his vulgarity.

I love my mother, I love very much; But she leads a stupid life, always rushes with this fiction writer, her name constantly fluttered in the newspapers - and this tires me. Sometimes just in me speaks the egoism of an ordinary mortal; It is a pity that my mother is a famous actress, and, it seems, be it an ordinary woman, then I would be happier.

Uncle, which could be more desperate and stupid than the situation: it happened that she was visiting all celebrities, artists and writers, and there is only one me - nothing between them, and I am suffered only because I am her son.

Who am I? What am I? He left the third year of the university according to the circumstances, as they say, from the editors without dependent, no talents, money, not a penny, and according to the passport, I am a Kyiv tradesman. My father is a Kyiv tradesman, although he was also a famous actor. So, when, in her living room, all these artists and writers paid their gracious attention to me, it seemed to me that with their views they measured my insignificance - I guessed their thoughts and suffered from humiliation ...

I hear steps ... (Hugs my uncle.) I can’t live without her ... Even the sound of her steps is beautiful ... I am happy. (Quickly goes towards Nina Zarechny, who enters.) Sorceress, my dream ...