The “stranger” of the Block in a brief summary
Street zucchini, vulgar and cheap, but with a claim to romance: huge identical ships are floating on the wallpaper… A light raid of unreality: the master and the sexual are alike, like twins, one of the visitors is “spitting Verlaine,” the other is “poured out” Hauptmann. ” Drunken companies, loud noise. Individual replicas, sketchy dialogues are added to the music of tavern vulgarity, tightening like a whirlpool. When the light allegro foresees the tonality of the action, the Poet appears: wasted, worn out by the restaurants, drunkenly drunk with the fact that he intends to “tell his soul to the frontman” A vague poetic melancholy, a flickering dream of “Stranger” in rustling silks, whose radiant face barely shines through the dark veil, contrasting advancing from all sides, strengthening its pressure of drunken vulgarity, but at the same time as it were generated by it. And the tearful melody of the dream is weaved into the
The janitors are dragging along the bridge of the drunken Poet. The stargazer follows the progress of the stars: “Ah, the star is falling, the star is flying… Fly here! Come here!” – He sings his adagio verse. Called him, on the bridge appears a beautiful woman – Stranger. She is all in black, her eyes are full of surprise, her face still has a star-like shine. Towards her smoothly goes Blue – beautiful, like it, too, perhaps, falling from heaven. He speaks with her dreamy language of stars, and the winter air is filled with the music of the spheres – eternal and therefore mesmerizingly drowsy, cold, ethereal. A “falling star-virgin” thirsts for “earthly speeches.” “Do you want to hug me?” “I do not dare touch you.” – “Do you know the passion?” – “My
Crying on the bridge Stargazer – mourns the fallen star. The poet is crying, awakened from a drunken sleep and realizing that he has missed his dream. The snow is falling thicker, it is pouring down the wall, the snow walls are thickening, folding in…
… The walls of the large living room. Gathered guests, “the general rumble of meaningless conversations,” as if secular, in a tone higher than conversations in a tavern, but exactly the same. Some of the replicas are repeated word for word… And when the Lord, who led the Stranger, flies in, and pronounces the already sounded phrase: “Kostya, my friend, yes she is at the door”, when everyone suddenly begins to feel the strangeness of what is happening, vaguely guess what it was, it was, it was, – then the Poet appears. And behind him enters Stranger, his unexpected phenomenon embarrassing guests and hosts, forcing the street donjuana to hide in an embarrassing way. But it is unbreakable that the meanness of the living room is shoddy; the conversation on the same tavern circle again began to twirl. Only the Poet is thoughtful and quiet, looks at the Stranger – without recognizing… The belated Stargazer politely asks, whether he managed to catch the vanished vision. ” My search was futile, “the Poet replied coldly, and in his eyes” emptiness and darkness. He forgot everything “… The unrecognized virgin disappears.” A bright star is burning outside the window. “
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