Trilby O'Farrell:
Svengali, I've tried, but I...
Svengali:
Ja, ja, ja, ja. But you know very well why you can't. It is the magnificent young Englander. The head of the Purity Brigade. Sir Galahad. This stiff-necked little Billie... What is he, Liebchen? With his silly paints in one hand, and these twiddling brushes of pig's bristles in the other... What does he amount to, compared to Svengali? Ah, he paints his silly pictures and sends them to London, where they hang up on the wall like... dead soldiers on parade. And the people pass in a long procession - "ah" - and yawn.
Svengali:
[continues, gesturing dramatically]
Svengali will go to London himself, where he will be all alone on the platform. And princesses, and countesses, and serene highnesses will *fling* him their jewels, and applaud him, and invite him to their palaces! And he will take you with him, Liebchen, and never look at *them.* Da, we could be so happy!
Trilby O'Farrell:
But I... I don't like palaces.
Svengali:
No. Nor anything else that other women like. Except the little Bi--. Look at me .. in the eyes!
[He hypnotizes Trilby and she closes her eyes]
Svengali:
Open your eyes.
Trilby O'Farrell:
Oh .. I *do* love you.
Svengali:
Ah, close your eyes.
Trilby O'Farrell:
I love...
Svengali:
Ah, don't say it. You are beautiful, my manufactured love. But it is only Svengali talking to himself again.
Riportata da il
05/03/2025 alle ore 08:49
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