Polestar Ballet Anthology

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Vol. 1 conditions

Vol. 1

Black Snow Swan

Cast
Odile — The Black Snow Swan
Myrtha — The Snow Swan Queen
Bathilde — A Phantom Visiting Odile
Hamsatti— A Phantom Visiting Odile
Tatiana — A Phantom Visiting Odile
Fontainian Nobles, Snow Swans, etc.

(Act I)

(The main stage is bathed in a cold, haunting blue light. At the center of a frozen lake, the Black Snow Swan, Odile, dances alone. Her movements are fierce and contorted, as though she were trying to tear the feathers from her own wings.)

Odile: Begone, accursed night! Why must your ill-fated hue be branded upon my wings?
Odile: Upon this pure white frozen lake, my sisters soar in carefree grace, their feathers brighter than the falling snow.
Odile: But I... I am a monster, as though my feathers were stained with soot...

(Odile collapses weakly onto the ice. She buries her face in her hands and weeps.)

Odile: Tell me, O Lord above — or whichever cruel god deigns to hear me—
Odile: What sin have I committed to bear the shame of living as an outcast?
Odile: How can I cleanse these wings, that I might become as pure as my sisters?

(The raging snowstorm suddenly falls still. The Snow Swan Queen, Myrtha, enters center stage, surrounded by a retinue of white snow swans. Adagio.)

Myrtha: My Odile... my poor child, my precious child. Do not torment yourself so.
Myrtha: Even if you were to tear your wings apart, you could never wash away the color you were born with.
Myrtha: Your wings are black because they have been touched by the nature of humankind.

(Odile lifts her head and places a hand over her heart.)

Odile: The nature of humankind?

(The ensemble portraying the snow swans parts, then slowly closes in, encircling Odile.)

Myrtha: Human nature. Human emotion. That is no mere stain, Odile — it is a poison fouler than any stain.
Myrtha: A terrible blight. They are called love and passion, and fate is ever ready to weave them into a net from which no soul can escape.

(Odile rises. With slow, tentative steps, she reaches out, seeking the embrace of her sisters. The ensemble accepts her into their arms.)

Odile: I don't understand... Mother... Sisters.

Myrtha: Oh, how could you not understand the frailty of the human heart, my Odile? My poor child... my precious child.

Snow Swans (in unison): How could she not understand? Our Odile, our beloved sister, how could she not?

Myrtha: How many brilliant minds has love cast into shadow? How many noble souls has love brought low?
Myrtha: It bids the mightiest hero bow before the hand of Fate, to kneel before the cruel usurper, all for the sake of one fleeting moment of tenderness.
Myrtha: Know this: The flame of mercy and kindness dies at the slightest breath. Only cold, impartial calculation can endure until the dawn.
Myrtha: My Odile... my poor child, my precious child. Your feathers have been stained by that foul poison called passion... and love.

(The ensemble lowers their heads in silent mourning.)

Snow Swans (in unison): Passion and love... Love and passion... Our Odile, our beloved sister — how could she have been touched by such things?
Snow Swans (in unison): The human heart is frail. Fate is cruel.
Snow Swans (in unison): Touch not that poison. Do not shackle yourself to your own ruin.

(Myrtha gently strokes Odile's head, then sends her toward the opposite side of the stage. Odile falls to her knees upon the ice.)

Myrtha: Hear me, Odile. The snow swans dance for eternity.
Myrtha: Let not your wings descend into the mire of mortal things. Let not the sorrows of the heart stain your feathers.

Snow Swans (in unison): Love shall make the soul bow before the will of Fate. Tenderness is weakness! Tenderness is weakness!
Snow Swans (in unison): Touch not that poison. Do not shackle yourself to your own ruin.

(Odile remains upon the ice. She gazes up at the queen and her sisters, stretching out her hands in supplication.)

Odile: What must I do? Mother, what must I do?
Odile: How may I become as pure as my sisters — as cold as they?

(Myrtha raises both arms. The lights flicker.)

Myrtha: Three spirits of the past shall answer my call. One by one, they shall visit your dreams.
Myrtha: Without their counsel, never shall you escape the net that fate has spun.
Myrtha: Hear me, my Odile, my beloved child—
Myrtha: When tomorrow's dance is stilled, and the bell strikes its first lonely toll, receive your first unbidden guest.
Myrtha: On the night that follows, at that selfsame hour, receive the second.
Myrtha: When the third night falls, and the last echo of the bell has died away, receive the third.
Myrtha: For your own sake, listen well to what they say.
Myrtha: For therein lies your salvation... and their punishment.

(The snowstorm howls once more. Myrtha and the snow swans depart. The lights fade until only a single spotlight remains, illuminating Odile, curled upon the center of the stage.)

(Act II)

...

(A deep, solitary bell tolls. An eerie green glow rises at one side of the stage. Odile slowly struggles to her feet, leaning upon her knees, spent with weariness.)

Odile: I shall cleanse my wings. I shall wash all feeling from my heart, and soar beneath the selfsame sky as my sisters.

(Bathilde's spirit glides from the shadows like a drifting wisp of mist. Her gown is adorned with glittering jewels, and in her hand she bears a Fontainian candelabrum. The music yields to an elegant minuet in the style of the Palais Mermonia. Phantoms of Fontainian nobles, splendidly attired, weave graceful figures behind her.)

Bathilde: Fear not, my sister. I am Bathilde de Petrichor, a spirit from the past.

Fontainian Nobles (in unison): Behold the Jewel of House Petrichor! None can rival her beauty.
Fontainian Nobles (in unison): Her smile outshines the bloom of spring; before her grace, the fairest rose must bow in shame.

Variation: Spring — Bathilde's Midnight Round
Bathilde: How cruelly fate has wronged you, to leave you with a heart so tender and so full of mercy.
Bathilde: I, too, once let compassion guide me. I placed my treasured golden necklace around the neck of a village maiden as she danced.
Bathilde: Little did I know that the hunter who had promised her the next dance was the very man betrothed to me.
Bathilde: I loved him with all my heart. It was only fitting that such love should end in heartbreak.

(The music darkens. Bathilde clasps her hands to her heart. One by one, the Fontainian nobles collapse behind her.)

Bathilde: The vows we once swore faded like the fragrance of spring, and no one remembers them now.
Bathilde: The sweetest words are often the emptiest. For a handful of hollow promises and one fleeting moment of joy, the fairest years of life are cast away.
Bathilde: Why should you suffer the same fate, my dear sister? Another's heart can never truly belong to you.
Bathilde: I must weep. Yet these tears have long since run dry.

(Adagio.)

Bathilde: Love is sorrow.
Bathilde: Call it friendship, romance, or divine love — it matters not.
Bathilde: Mortal love is but a midnight dance of vain desire, and it can end only in the shameful grave that fate has prepared.
Bathilde: They rob you of life's vigor, until every hope the future once held fades into nothing.
Bathilde: Dance for your own heart. Dance for your own eternity. Never surrender yourself to the hands of fate!

(Presto. She whirls into a frenzy of anguished, violent fouetté turns.)

Bathilde: Dance, o candle flame of winter, dance!
Bathilde: Clamor and turmoil, pain and tears, laughter and happiness... Life, o life!
Bathilde: Life is but a fleeting solo dance: one is only briefly alive with music and mirth before they fade into silence as the curtain falls...

...

Variation: Summer — Court Dance of the Royal House of Pragjyotishpura
(The stage is bathed in a radiant golden light. Hamsatti, adorned in crimson robes heavy with gold ornaments, leaps onto center stage.)

Hamsatti: I was once a princess of the glorious kingdom of Pragjyotishpura, born within a palace of gold, where all creation bowed before my throne.
Hamsatti: My steps were as graceful as a royal elephant wandering among the lotus pools. My face bore the blessed radiance of the gods.
Hamsatti: My father raised for me a lofty dais of gold and precious gems, while the devas filled the air with the sacred song of the Karrenay.
Hamsatti: Yet... alas! Alas! The Lord of vaana loosed against me their pitiless flower-tipped arrow of Samohanna.
Hamsatti: Its point was steeped in a poison to drive even the gods to madness; its fletching bore a charm to steal away the heart.
Hamsatti: For that warrior, radiant in valor like the blazing sun, my heart forsook the path of dharma.
Hamsatti: Clad in celestial armor, his divine earrings gleaming, he stood in godlike splendor, like the mighty king of Rishboland Tigers.

(Hamsatti veils her face in anguish, then claws wildly at the air, as though wrestling an unseen serpent.)

Hamsatti: I loved him. I loved him... I loved him! Yet he gave his heart to a temple dancer of lowly birth.
Hamsatti: How could she be worthy of him? No more than a cur deserves the sacred offering laid beside the holy fire.
Hamsatti: I would not spill her blood. Nor would I mar her skin, fairer than summer snow.
Hamsatti: Yet she had to die. Else she would have led more noble men astray, until they raved like elephants drunk with madness.
Hamsatti: What cruel mockery! The man I loved followed the one he loved, and together they withered like blossoms at dawn.
Hamsatti: With a kiss, I bade farewell to his life. With a kiss, my own life's flame was brought to its end.
Hamsatti: One last kiss... One last embrace... I would have slain him for love. I would have loved him to death...

(Hamsatti's dance comes to an abrupt halt. She freezes in a deep lunge, her gaze fixed upon Odile, who sits crumpled upon the floor.)

Hamsatti: Ah, my dear sister, beware of Love!
Hamsatti: It is a venomous viper. Whoever draws it to their breast offers their throat to its fangs.
Hamsatti: Love is cruel.
Hamsatti: Do not think your pride can drive Fate away. Even the gods, once touched by Love, cannot escape Fate's bargain.

...

Variation: Autumn — The Stolen Veil
(The final echo of the third bell fades into silence. The stage is washed in a deep midnight blue. A heavy, mournful cello begins to sing. Tatiana, clad as a white snow swan, moves across the frozen lake with agonizing slowness, her wings hanging limp as she struggles to remain aloft.)

Tatiana: Happy dreams serve only to sharpen the cruelty of Fate, just as a festering wound knows the deepest pain.
Tatiana: You long for the feelings of mortals, only because you have never tasted them.
Tatiana: But hear me, my dear sister. Upon this stage, though huge, is but a scene in a play. The heavens have long arranged all.

(Tatiana collapses upon the ice. Her arms stretch stiffly toward the sky, while her legs fall limp beneath her, as though life were leaving her body.)

Tatiana: Love is weakness.
Tatiana: Once the oath is broken, the skies shall forever be shut.
Tatiana: Our lot shall be to struggle and sink within this filthy sludge, until the eternal darkness of autumn night swallows us whole.
Tatiana: The bird that should once have belonged in the sky shall have its wings broken, and shall fall to the sullied soil. Is this what you wish for?

(Tatiana lowers her arms and turns to Odile, who has fallen to her knees beside her.)

Tatiana: Fly, my dear, fly. Fly as your sisters do. Grieve not for the love that belongs to the earth.

(Act III)

...

(The stage is bathed in golden light. The snow swans, clad in flawless white gowns, stand in perfect symmetry. Queen Myrtha presides from the center of her hall, gazing down upon Odile as she slowly returns.)

Myrtha: You have returned, my Odile, my poor child, my precious child.
Myrtha: You have witnessed the threefold tragedy. You have seen what becomes of those who yield to passion.
Myrtha: Love is sorrow. Love is cruel. Love is weakness.
Myrtha: Cleanse your wings, and ascend into eternity with us.
Myrtha: For every dawn that knows no dance is a dawn that hath denied life itself.

(The snow swans spread their spotless wings, awaiting Odile's allegiance.)

Odile: Mother, I have seen them fall.

(Myrtha inclines her head and extends a hand, beckoning Odile toward the waters that will cleanse her wings.)

Myrtha: Then the truth stands revealed. Love and passion are the snare of Fate, the poison that steals into the soul.

Variation: Winter — The Dance of Odile
Odile: No, Mother. Quite the contrary.
Odile: Passion and love belong not to Fate, but to the heart alone.
Odile: The mortal heart is not weak. Neither are kindness, passion, or love.
Odile: The weakness was mine, for I feared to make them my wings.

(Odile suddenly rises. With wild, exultant freedom, she tears herself from the circle of snow swans and strides to center stage, launching into thirty-two fouettés. The chorus murmurs in astonishment.)

Myrtha: Think well, my poor child, my precious child.
Myrtha: You would forsake eternal purity, perfection that shall never fade.

Odile: And what is such eternity to me?
Odile: In eternity, there is nothing but an endless sky. All else is emptiness. All else is illusion.
Odile: Beyond it, there is nothing. Nothing at all.
Odile: No... not even the sky remains. There is only silence. Only stillness. Nothing more.
Odile: Only a lifeless void, unseen, unloved.
Odile: I want no such eternity.
Odile: I want to dance in that moment, that fleeting, beautiful moment that vanishes in the blink of an eye.
Odile: Beneath a true blue sky that makes my heart tremble.
Odile: Though it lasts but a moment. Though I must fall.
Odile: Love is passion, not sorrow.

(The snow swans gather once more, enclosing Odile in a sea of white.)

Myrtha: Passion has taken hold of your tongue, my dear Odile.

Odile: Then let my passion be the voice that speaks.

Myrtha: Your passion shall be forsaken, betrayed, trampled underfoot, and torn asunder.

Odile: Then let it be.
Odile: Though it be forsaken a thousand times, it is still mine. Though it be betrayed a thousand times, it is still mine. My passion is mine. My love is mine.
Odile: And I am still myself.

Myrtha: Love is the snare of Fate.

Odile: No. Love is the blade that cuts Fate's snare.
Odile: If Fate would make love its chain, then love that will not be chained is the greatest defiance of all.

(Myrtha lowers her hands and stands motionless. The performers silently turn away, and in perfect formation, slowly retreat into the shadows of the curtain.)

Myrtha: I have no right to judge your choice, my dear Odile, my poor child.

Odile: Nor do I have the right to judge yours, Mother.

...

(The stage is lit by a single shaft of warm, radiant dawn, its golden crimson glow falling upon Odile's dark silhouette.)

Narrator: On that morning when there was no need to dance, the black snow swan quietly gazed at her reflection on the lake's surface.
Narrator: The clouds, reclining beside the rising sun, were so close to her. It was as if she could reach them with a single flap of her wings.

Odile: If there were but one moment left in my life, I would soar as high as I could.
Odile: Reaching heights no snow swan has ever reached and daring to dream what no snow swan has ever dreamed.
Odile: I'll chase the shouting wind along, climbing alone as I go.
Odile: Higher, and higher...
Odile: Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue...
Odile: Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth.
Odile: I put out my hand, and touched the face of the divine.

(She launches into a series of soaring turns. The spotlight follows her ascent. The music concludes with a slow, broad final chord.)

(Curtain Falls)

Vol. 2

The Seabird

(Act IV)

(Within the banquet hall of a country estate, elegantly attired guests dance, laugh, and converse. Polina and Boris enter.)

CHORUS: At music's ardent summons, we dance; amid life's abundance, we exult.
POLINA: Where is Kostya? Has no one seen my son?
POLINA: On so radiant a night, is he still ensnared by those strange harmonies? Or does he brood because I never heeded his music?
BORIS: Some new composition must be tormenting him. Such is the burden every composer bears. I myself have long known such a life.
BORIS: Leave him to his labours, my dear. Come, let us yield ourselves to the ball.

(The company withdraws beyond the curtain. The lights wane. Kostya enters, bearing his manuscript score.)

KOSTYA: The ball is ordinary. The music is ordinary. Another joyless evening, like the score that lies unfinished in my hands...
KOSTYA: I hunger for a music yet unborn, yet stale convention and popular taste hold me in chains. Ask Boris to render the stars in music, and at once he reaches for his familiar formula...
KOSTYA: A scattering of weightless sixteenth notes, and the stars are made to shimmer across the heavens. But my music must contain cold and silence, never vulgarity or affectation...
KOSTYA: Darkness is a requiem. Why, then, is my heart still unquiet?

(A sound comes from beyond the window. Kostya sets down his manuscript and peers outside.)

KOSTYA: Who is there? That figure... I know it. Like a white seabird...

(Zarechnaya opens the door at stage right and enters.)

KOSTYA: Zarechnaya... Zarechnaya! Can it truly be you?
ZARECHNAYA: Kostya.
KOSTYA: For two long years, you were lost to me. Like a beggar, I came each day to stand beneath your old window.
KOSTYA: At last, my waiting ended. You had returned. Yet still your door remained closed. Why deny me even one glimpse of you?
ZARECHNAYA: I was afraid of your hatred.
KOSTYA: You were not wrong, Zarechnaya. Once, I hated you. After you left for Snezhnograd with Boris, no answer ever came.
ZARECHNAYA: You are famous now, Kostya. Your scores resound through the theatres of Snezhnaya.
KOSTYA: Pandering fugues, every one of them. The world applauds only what it has heard a thousand times before. Ah, I hated you... because you withheld even the sweetness of your smile.
ZARECHNAYA: I was only an ordinary singer, fearful for my very survival, struggling through one poor opera after another.
KOSTYA: Was that why you kept me beyond your door, as though our past had faded from your memory?

(Zarechnaya steps toward Kostya.)

ZARECHNAYA: Kostya, the past has never forsaken me. We were happy then, and innocent — you wrote songs for me, and I sang them upon that bare stage.
ZARECHNAYA: "For ten million years, the earth has borne no living soul, while the poor moon lifts her useless lantern."
ZARECHNAYA: "No heron's long cry greets the dawn; no little golden beetle whispers among the sacred fig trees..."
ZARECHNAYA: My love for you belonged to those days, and those days are long gone.
KOSTYA: The days when you chose Snezhnograd and departed with him...
ZARECHNAYA: The days when I dreamed of glory through song, of a life remade, and of melodies composed for me.
KOSTYA: Only stay, and still I shall compose for you. All that I write shall be written for you.
ZARECHNAYA: No. I came only to say farewell. Tomorrow the train will bear me away. I must earn my bread.
KOSTYA: You turned away from Snezhnograd, yet not toward me?
ZARECHNAYA: I do not turn back toward the past. All through the winter, I shall sing in Svetloledovka to audiences who understand nothing of opera.

(Zarechnaya takes a step forward and stands at center stage, absorbed in thought. The spotlight follows her, leaving Kostya in the shadows behind.)

ZARECHNAYA: In Snezhnograd, I became a seabird robbed of song. Yes, a seabird... and Boris laughed at every dream I cherished.
ZARECHNAYA: He mocked my voice, declaring me inferior even to a siren who had never stood upon a stage. And still... I loved him.
KOSTYA: Boris, that faithless lover of yours, has returned once more to my mother's embrace.
ZARECHNAYA: How could I not know? Love made me willingly shallow; love made me afraid to sing. In Snezhnograd, I lost the stage.
KOSTYA: You have returned at last, Zarechnaya. Then stay.
KOSTYA: If you can still show me mercy, hear me: through every day of your absence, I kissed the earth your feet had crossed, while every melody within me was emptied of feeling.
ZARECHNAYA: Kostya, you should not have kissed the earth I trod. You should have slain me instead.
ZARECHNAYA: You should have slain me as you slew the seabird and laid it in my hands... A man chanced upon a seabird and, for want of anything else to do, brought about its destruction.

(Kostya reaches toward Zarechnaya in an attempt to detain her. The spotlight encloses them both.)

KOSTYA: Stay with me, Zarechnaya. I implore you. Stay, and let me write new songs for you.
ZARECHNAYA: I must go. I have come to understand that one does not sing for glory, nor for fame.
KOSTYA: Do not leave me alone. I implore you. I no longer know for whom my melodies are written. How deeply I yearn for your smile.
ZARECHNAYA: I must go. At last I have learned that one should sing for the joy that rises within song, for the ecstasy of singing.
KOSTYA: Then let me come with you. I implore you. Wherever you go, let me follow.
ZARECHNAYA: No. I must go alone. I have learned to endure suffering. I have learned to have faith.
KOSTYA: I beg you... do not abandon me to my loneliness.
ZARECHNAYA: My calling is clear to me now. Yours, too, will one day become clear. With that knowledge, we cease to fear solitude; we cease to fear life itself.
ZARECHNAYA: "For ten million years, the earth has borne no living soul, while the poor moon lifts her useless lantern."
ZARECHNAYA: "No heron's long cry greets the dawn; no little golden beetle whispers among the sacred fig trees..."
ZARECHNAYA: Ah, Kostya, how happy we once were. Farewell, Kostya... until we meet again.

(Zarechnaya moves in a light dance, slowly vanishing into the shadow beneath the curtain.)

(Polina, Boris, and the ensemble re-enter, and the stage blossoms anew with banquet revelry, dancing figures, and glasses passing from hand to hand.)
(Kostya stands alone at the far right. Polina and Boris come forward on the left. Polina searches the stage, yet Kostya remains invisible to her.)

CHORUS: At music's ardent summons, we dance; amid life's abundance, we exult.
KOSTYA: Faith... a calling... Zarechnaya has found the path ordained for her. Solitude no longer strikes fear into her heart.
POLINA: Where is Kostya? Has no one seen my son? Is he still ensnared by those strange harmonies?
KOSTYA: Only lifeless melodies issue from me now. Yet among listeners deaf to music, they are greeted with praise.
BORIS: Some new composition must still torment him. Leave him to his labours.
KOSTYA: But I am alone, ah, utterly alone. Faith has forsaken me, and I cannot see where my calling leads.
POLINA: On so radiant a night, does he still brood because I never heeded his music?
KOSTYA: For what do I compose? For whom do my songs arise?
BORIS: Such is the burden every composer bears. I myself have long known such a life.

(Every light goes out. The music stops abruptly, and the stage falls into darkness.)

KOSTYA: I killed a seabird. It loved those waters; amid the snowfields, it lived in happiness and freedom.
KOSTYA: I killed a seabird. A man, for want of anything else to do, brought about its destruction.

(A gunshot is heard. The spotlight returns, and Kostya is seen lying upon the stage.)

(Curtain Falls)

Vol. 3

The Envoy

(Act I)
(Scene: The reign of Emperor Monomakh. The mansion of Viscount Schpekin.
A snow-laden town, frozen in winter's grip. At its center stands a lavish estate, blazing with light.
Rear Backdrop: Towering, cold, impenetrable iron windows, sealed tight against the raging blizzard outside. Main Stage: The grand banquet hall of the estate.
Within the banquet hall, glasses clink and toasts flow in lively revelry. Swaying stage lights simulate gently swinging crystal chandeliers, casting a warm golden glow across the main stage.
Officials adorned in opulent attire, dripping with tassels and medals, glided across the floor alongside noble ladies in their finest splendor, moving together in a languid, hollow dance. An adagio.)

[Curtain Rises]
(Suddenly, the grand doors are hurled open by a gust of wild wind, sending a blizzard of snow sweeping inside. The loyal manservant, Buyanov, staggers onto the stage, holding high a letter sealed with wax.)

Manservant Buyanov: My Lord! Lord Spekin, an urgent dispatch from the Zapolyarny Palace!

(The music cuts short. In the background, the ensemble of dancers freezes mid-dance, locking into grotesque, rigid postures.)

[Variation: The Viscount's Panic]
(Viscount Schpekin unfolds the envelope with trembling hands and begins to read. As his eyes trace the lines, his dance, once proud and expansive, deforms into a morbid, contorted writhing, as though crushed by an invisible weight. Then follows a flurry of frantic spins, as if he were striving to flee the very parchment in his hands. At last, the Viscount halts on faltering feet, holding the dispatch high for all to see.)

Viscount Schpekin: My good sirs, I bring tidings of ill speed, foul, most disagreeable news!
Viscount Schpekin: An envoy, an envoy from Emperor Monomakh himself, is descending upon our town!
Baron Balannikov: What, an imperial envoy?!
Baron Yudintsev: What, an imperial envoy?!
Viscount Schpekin: An envoy from the Zapolyarny Palace, an envoy of the Pale Star!
Viscount Schpekin: He's travelling incognito, bearing the sacred decree of Emperor Monomakh!

[Group Dance: General Panic]
(The officials scatter like startled jackdaws in wild flight. Their group dance degenerates into utter chaos as they shove one another, cover their ears, or point fingers in fierce altercation.)

Baron Balannikov: Ruined! We are all undone!
Baron Yudintsev: But why, Your Excellency? Why would the Emperor's envoy come to inspect our town of all places?
Baron Balannikov: Fate! Cruel, unjust fate has sent him!
Baron Balannikov: Those envoys always went elsewhere in the past. Who could have guessed our turn would come today!
Baron Yudintsev: The foulest thing of all is this secret inspection under assumed names! Who knows which damned beggar he might pick out at random, egging them on to slander and condemn our every deed without restraint!
Baron Madeyev: But we are doing all this out of the goodness of our hearts!
Baron Yudintsev: Precisely, but those fools simply do not understand!
Baron Yudintsev: Take you, for instance, my beloved Anton Pavlovich. Your wife's little hound, in order to secure its first-place victory at the grand hunt, you have your servants feed it smoked sausage five times a day!
Baron Madeyev: Naturally! When it claims victory, which of our subjects would not weep tears of overwhelming emotion at such shared, collective glory?
Baron Yudintsev: You simply think too well of them, Anton Pavlovich!
Baron Yudintsev: What if some ungrateful drunkard goes to the envoy and claims he is starving all because of your incompetence?
Baron Madeyev: What?!

(Viscount Schpekin strikes his cane sharply against the floor, cutting short the tumult and uproar of the crowd.)
Viscount Schpekin: Enough! Fools! What is there to panic about?
Viscount Schpekin: As the old saying goes, do not blame the mirror if your face is crooked, and fear no shadow if your posture is straight.
Viscount Schpekin: If one acts with upright honor in daily life, why fear the gossip of the churls?
Manservant Buyanov: My Lord...
Baron Balannikov: My Lord...
Baron Yudintsev: My Lord...
Viscount Schpekin: Let him inspect all he pleases. What have we to fear?
Viscount Schpekin: Our compassion for the lowly rabble is as pure and clear as the snow outside the window, and our every word and deed is dedicated to the benevolence of His Majesty the Emperor.
Manservant Buyanov: Naturally!
Baron Balannikov: Naturally!
Baron Yudintsev: Naturally!
(The lighting dims slowly.)
Viscount Schpekin: All the same... we must find a way to ensure the envoy sees our good deeds as clearly as we do.
Manservant Buyanov: As clearly as we do?
Baron Balannikov: As clearly as we do?
Baron Yudintsev: As clearly as we do?

(Leaving their dance partners behind, the men dance over to the Viscount, huddling together in silent conspiracy. The curtain falls.)

?
(Act II)
Setting
(A magnificent countryside villa belonging to Viscount Schpekin, far removed from the bustle of the town.
The backdrop features a massive pane of luminous floor to ceiling glass. It is broad daylight, and outside the window lies a manicured, opulent garden landscape draped in snow. The main stage represents an extravagantly appointed study within the villa.
A roaring fire blazes in the fireplace, driving off the winter cold. Upon a massive, carved wooden desk sit overflowing piles of velvet purses, jewelry caskets, and thick stacks of calling cards.
Music begins, adagio. Dressed in white, the maidservant Poshlepkina sits as motionless as an ice sculpture in a velvet armchair, without uttering a word. Nearby, the blond youth Khlestakov lazily counts the loot upon the desk out of sheer boredom. Adagio.)

[Curtain Rises]
(Khlestakov stops what he is doing and turns around. He comically puffs out his cheeks, exaggerates an imaginary potbelly, and waddles over like a duck before bowing deeply to the maiden in white.)

Khlestakov: My humblest respects to the immortal Pale Star, and to you, special envoy!
Khlestakov: You have traveled all the way from that distant holy land of Snezhnograd to grace our tempestuous borderlands, and surely you must be worn out, body and soul. To subject a grand envoy to such a wretched inn in town is a total failure on our part!
Khlestakov: Allow me then to invite you to stay at my humble dwelling in the countryside.
Khlestakov: This is not merely to show my courtesy, but to offer you the ideal position to oversee the conditions of the common folk across this land.

[Variation: The Youth's Performance]
(Poshlepkina turns her face away slightly with a cold gaze, without uttering a word. The music shifts into a variation as the tempo quickens. The lights narrow and focus directly on Khlestakov.
His body shrinks instantly from bloated pride into groveling servility. He holds out a heavy jewelry casket in both hands, trembling as though it were a bomb ready to explode at any second, capturing all the affectations of Baron Yudintsev.)

Khlestakov: My revered lord, please do not spurn this humble, trifling gift!
Khlestakov: Look, if you will — it is a piece of the purest "ice sculpture," carved through the night by a few of our town's most deft and charming "children"...
Khlestakov: Though crude and unrefined, it bears an offering from every last one of our subjects, a devotion without a single trace of impurity!
Khlestakov: Our people beam with pride at the grand arrival of the imperial envoy, weeping rivers of joy just to catch a glimpse of the Pale Star's lingering radiance upon your person!

(The youth makes an exaggerated gesture of wiping away tears, then abruptly snaps upright, switching back to the cunning demeanor of the Viscount. Leaning on an imaginary cane, he slowly edges closer to the maiden.)

Khlestakov: And so, as the humblest shepherd to His Majesty Emperor Monomakh, and the most loyal servant to you, I, Viscount Schpekin, have a presumptuous request...
(The youth circles behind the maiden's chair and stoops over her like a viper, whispering into her ear.)
Khlestakov: I implore you, bearing the imperial decree, to tour our town and review his flock on behalf of His Majesty.
Khlestakov: To that end, I ask that you highlight our flaws and shortcomings, so that these loyal subjects, these stray lambs, may also have the honor of bathing in Your Excellency's radiant glory and grace!
Khlestakov: When that day comes, there will surely be long lines of people begging for an audience and your guidance, where countless tokens of "loyalty" as pure as gold, will gleam before you.
Khlestakov: Such a spectacle, I imagine, is not only what you and I wish to see, but also what His Majesty and the high lords of Snezhnograd long to behold.

[Duet: The Maiden's Inquiry]
(The youth steps back from the maiden's side and flings open the jewelry casket in his hands. A radiant blue light glares intensely even inside the sunlit study. Staring at the pile of gems, the youth lets out a crisp, mocking laugh. The music cuts off abruptly at its climax.
The maiden in white rises slowly, gliding beside the youth with elegant, delicate steps. She curtsies respectfully before Khlestakov.)

Poshlepkina: So, how do you intend to respond to the loyalty these people have displayed, my revered lord... "Excellency Khlestakov, Special Envoy of the Tsar"?
Khlestakov: Ahem... calm yourself, Viscount Schpekin. After all, who in this world is entirely without sin? Fate itself has decreed it so, a truth not even the mercurial Filipov could ever dispute.
Khlestakov: Yet sins vary in magnitude, and so do the paths to atonement. I shall present a faithful report to His Majesty, setting forth all the virtues and vices I have witnessed.
Poshlepkina: And what deeply moving "virtue," pray tell, did this loyal Viscount display to you?
Khlestakov: From what I have witnessed, his heart shines as bright as gold, his eyes are clear as Mora; and as for his retainers, they are like these velvet pouches stuffed with gems, leaving a most profound impression on me.
Khlestakov: Upon such barren and impoverished soil, this is exceedingly rare indeed.
Khlestakov: In return for this, I shall leave him a letter, and a promise.
Khlestakov: Pity shall be shown to him, just as he pities the poor; kindness shall be rendered to him, just as he treats the merchants; and grace shall be bestowed upon him, just as he pledges loyalty to His Majesty.
Poshlepkina: Exactly as he desires?
Khlestakov: Precisely! Exactly as he desires!

(The two strike a back to back pose in the center of the stage. The stage lights plunge instantly into blackness, leaving only the open jewelry casket emitting a faint blue glow in the dark. The curtain falls.)
?
(Act III)
Setting
(The stage is split in two: half bathed in light, half veiled in shadow.
The illuminated half reveals a grand banquet hall, peopled with noblewomen and officials clad in attire that appears modest but conceals immense luxury. Everyone holds a glass, yet the mood is far from festive; they whisper among themselves, seemingly awaiting the arrival of a crucial figure.
The darkened half holds the villa study from Act II, extravagantly opulent and hidden in the gloom.)

[Curtain Rises]
(Viscount Schpekin enters in high spirits, followed closely by his loyal manservant Buyanov proudly carrying a golden tray. Upon the tray rests a letter sealed in scarlet wax.)

Viscount Schpekin: My good sirs, I bring tidings of good cheer, glorious, most agreeable news!
Viscount Schpekin: The envoy, the envoy from Emperor Monomakh himself, along with his retainers, has departed from our town!
Baron Balannikov: Oh? The envoy has already departed?
Baron Yudintsev: Oh? The envoy has already departed?
Viscount Schpekin: Indeed, they have departed! They took our goodwill, boarded our finest carriages, and departed in utter delight!
(Viscount Schpekin draws the letter from the tray, holding it high for all to see.)
Viscount Schpekin: My dear friends, rejoice! I have brought back with honor the future promised by the envoy of the Pale Star! This, I believe, shall be the very future of our age! Rejoice, one and all!

(The music begins, allegro.)

[Group Dance: The Fools' Celebration]
(The atmosphere in the banquet hall shifts instantly into fervent delight. People press hands to their chests with deep sighs of relief, followed by a burst of wild, unrestrained laughter. The group dance unfolds in exaggerated revelry, with men and women taking hands to join the celebration. They raise their glasses in toast, slapping one another's empty pockets with comical glee, their faces beaming with the ecstasy of a triumphant investment as if the brightest future has already arrived.)

Baron Madeyev: At last, our goodwill bears fruit!
Baron Yudintsev: No longer need we live in fear, dreading that some damnable peasant might ruin our splendid life!
Baron Madeyev: His Majesty shall be well pleased with our benevolent rule, the Pale Star shall shine for us, and every subject, even the most wretched, brazen beggar, shall puff out his chest with pride at this glory!
Baron Balannikov: My dear Viscount, might we have the privilege of beholding the words left by His Excellency?
Baron Yudintsev: Yes, do let us see!
Baron Madeyev: Yes, do let us see!
Viscount Schpekin: Well, since you all insist...
Buyanov (Manservant): Then, if I may presume...
(Cuts him off)
Viscount Schpekin: No, no, no, Buyanov! The exalted words of His Excellency ought to be delivered from my own lips!

[Variation: The Phantom Thief's Mockery]
(Eerie yet lavish music swells as the lights bring the villa study out of the gloom. Poshlepkina, a maidservant clad in white, hunches over a desk writing a letter, while a blonde youth, styling himself Khlestakov, dances nearby. Allegro.)

Khlestakov: My esteemed Viscount Schpekin and honored colleagues, I am deeply touched by your warm hospitality. In you all, I behold hearts as radiant as gold, and eyes as clear as Mora.
Khlestakov: I have turned the matter over and over in my mind, pondering how to repay your benevolence, and at last the answer came to me: to show my mercy by relieving you of all those heavy "sins"!
(In the light, the officials' expressions begin to change subtly, their dance steps freeze.)
Khlestakov: I shall strip you of your fortune, just as you show pity to the poor;
Khlestakov: I shall lay bare your disgrace before the world, just as you show kindness to the merchants;
Khlestakov: And I shall leave you with a page steeped in mockery, just as you pledge loyalty to His Majesty!
(Poshlepkina rests her pen. The youth scoops up a handful of gems and scatters them into the air, turning toward the brightly lit banquet hall to execute an extravagantly sweeping doff of his hat.)
Khlestakov: And at the very last, I shall repay you with the selfsame sincerity you bestowed upon me, and reveal to you my true face. Greetings in the name of the ravens! Yours truly, the legendary thief Reed Miller!
(The shadowed lights snap off in an instant, and the illusion vanishes, leaving behind only the crisp echo of gems cascading to the floor. The music stops; the lit banquet hall falls into a deathly silence. Every gaze is fixed on the flimsy slip of paper in Viscount Schpekin's hands.
Viscount Schpekin slams his walking stick against the floor, trembling violently from head to toe, letting out a feral roar.)
Viscount Schpekin: Scoundrel...!!! Fetch the guards!

[Group Dance: General Panic]
(Music begins as the stage plunges instantly into utter chaos and terror. Officials and noblewomen scatter like headless chickens, every last one scrambling to slip away unnoticed. The group dance devolves into a comical yet desperate frenzy of escape, their aristocratic elegance vanishing without a trace.
At that very moment, from the depths of the stage comes the suffocating, synchronized march of military boots which halts dead in its tracks. A low, grim horn blares out, followed instantly by three soul-shattering thuds upon the door.
A column of Druzhna troops, blades drawn, marches into the hall as a blast of icy wind and snow surges in behind them, sealing off every path of escape. Presto.)

Druzhna Officer: By decree of His Majesty Emperor Monomakh, His Excellency Khlestakov, the imperial envoy descended from the Snezhnograd, has arrived in town! His Excellency commands all officials to present themselves at the inn forthwith!



(Viscount Schpekin awakens as if from a dream amid the laughter, staggering like a madman to the very edge of the stage. A harsh white spotlight strikes him as he frantically slaps his own face.)
Viscount Schpekin: Look! Look! Look upon this man, every one of you! See how an esteemed nobleman is made a complete fool of by a shameless thief!
Viscount Schpekin: See him bled dry of his hard-earned savings, reduced to an utter laughingstock!
Viscount Schpekin: See him dragged into a vulgar comedy by some shameless scribbler, turned into a pathetic clown for all to mock and despise! See them applaud and cheer at his disgrace!
(Viscount Schpekin thrusts his walking stick violently toward the audience, his voice turning hysterical.)
Viscount Schpekin: What are you laughing at? You are laughing at yourselves!!!

Vol. 4

The Firebird

Cast
Khramov — Son of Grand Duke Vernov
Sirin — Firebird
Berstuk — Demon King
Vaselisa — Princess
Forest Creatures
The Demon King's Minion, and others

(Act I)
Synopsis: Grand Duke Vernov has a treasured golden apple tree that bears a full crop of golden apples each year. Recently, however, a mysterious thief has somehow been slipping past the many guards and stealing the fruit. The Grand Duke sends his two sons to watch over the tree in turn, but neither succeeds...

...

(Act II)
(Grand Duke Vernov's garden, beneath the golden apple tree, its branches heavy with fruit. Khramov, the Grand Duke's third son, has volunteered to stand guard over the golden apples. He neither lies down to rest nor allows sleep to overtake him. To keep his eyes bright and clear, he bathes them with dew gathered from the grass.
Graceful, melodious music begins to play. A single red light appears against the darkened stage. The Firebird emerges from the shadows, every feather wreathed in flame, and begins to dance. Her movements are beautiful yet powerful, and Khramov cannot move his eyes away.) (Presto.)

Khramov: So... this is the wondrous sight they slept through?
Khramov: The enchanted bird that comes to feast upon the golden apples... Its eyes blaze like living fire.
Khramov: Its feathers shimmer in the darkness, and it dances amid sparks that never fade.
Khramov: I shall capture it and present it to the ruler of this realm, the sun of his people, my beloved father!

(The music suddenly quickens. Khramov casts an iron lasso and gives chase with the Mirrorblade in hand. The Firebird flees in panic, letting out a piercing cry. After some struggle, Khramov snares her tight and holds the Mirrorblade across her throat. The music gradually settles into a gentler tempo.
The moon rises, and the light on stage changes to a tranquil blue.)

Khramov: O Firebird, O Firebird, you feast upon the golden apples, and now must pay the price of theft.
Khramov: Your free-born form shall be bound in iron chains, and even the sparks that burn around you shall fade.
Khramov: O Firebird, O Firebird, you shall stand beside the bed of Grand Duke Vernov, and sing to him each day.
Khramov: All shall marvel at your beauty. Ah, you shall roost within a golden cage adorned with precious gems.

(Crystal tears spill from the Firebird's eyes. She gently stirs her wings bound by the chains, and from her sharp beak comes the voice of a woman.) (Adagio.)

Sirin: Foolish boy, brutish fool, speaking only words of selfish pride.
Sirin: Lost in your dreams of heroism, you cannot hear the wronged cries of other living beings.
Sirin: The golden apples are nature's bounty, free for all creatures to partake. They do not belong to humankind alone. Foolish boy, can you not understand?
Sirin: And I won't meekly enter your cage. The flames shall consume me, and death shall set me free. Foolish boy, can you not understand?
Sirin: Hear me! Raise the sword in your hand! If even a shred of kindness still remains within you, raise your blade and cut my throat.
Sirin: My blood shall turn to boiling water and wash away the dust that clouds your heart.

(Khramov lowers his sword. Confusion crosses his youthful face, yet his grip on the iron lasso remains firm. The Firebird closes her eyes and turns her gaze away from him. The music grows more urgent.)

Khramov: O Firebird, if you are truly so wise, then answer me three questions.
Khramov: Satisfy my doubts, and I shall grant you your freedom.

(The Firebird turns her head and fixes her gaze upon Khramov.)

Khramov: Were you the chosen child of poetry, for how much gold would you sell your verses?
Sirin: Were I the chosen child of poetry, I would never stoop to so shameful a bargain.
Sirin: I would hoard my verses like a miser his treasure, and guard them as jealously as a lovestruck maiden guards her heart.

(The music grows louder. Khramov takes a step back, a flicker of fear crossing his face.)

Khramov: If your spirit is so noble, how can you bear to let your verses gather dust at the bottom of a forgotten chest?
Sirin: The silent poet, untouched by the snares of fame, content to be forgotten by the contemptible and the commonplace.
Sirin: She shuns mankind as others shun the graveyard. Only she can know true happiness.

(The music swells. Khramov retreats another two steps, terror deepening across his face. The lights flicker.)

Khramov: You scorn praise as despicable clamor. You treat the venom of petty men as nothing. And what has it won you?
Sirin: True freedom!

(Khramov releases the chain and collapses to the ground. The light abandons him. A crimson beam falls upon the Firebird, and the music softens once more.) (Adagio.)

Khramov: Enough, Firebird. I set you free. No iron chain can bind a spirit such as yours. You belong to no one.
Khramov: I could never truly hold you, though the strongest lasso bound your body and the keenest blade lay against your throat.

(Khramov removes the Firebird's chains. She plucks a beautiful golden tail feather from her plumage and presents it to him. Then she begins to dance, preparing to take flight. The music becomes gentle and serene.) (Adagio.)

Sirin: It seems you are not a fool beyond redemption, little boy.

(The Firebird spreads her wings and glides toward the edge of the stage. The light around her gradually fades.)

Sirin: While freedom's flame still burns within us, while our hearts still beat for a nobler cause.
Sirin: Never yield to vanity. Never let fame, gold, or love become the chains that bind you.
Sirin: If you are a bird, take wing into the sky. If you are human, set forth for distant lands...

(The Firebird exits. Khramov stands alone at center stage, the golden feather in his hand, lost in thought. The curtain falls.)

...

(Act IV)

(Soft, mournful music plays. Vaselisa dances at center stage, bathed in a gentle white light. From the shadows, Khramov gazes upon her beauty, utterly spellbound.) (Adagio.)

Khramov: If only you would turn to me. If only you would cast one glance my way.
Khramov: My heart sings softly in silence, longing to lay its secrets before you.
Khramov: Why have I found you here? Are you a gift bestowed by fate?
Khramov: And how might I ever draw near to you, O goddess radiant as moonlight?

(Vaselisa looks around warily. She stops dancing, and the music falls silent. Khramov steps out from the shadows, his expression timid.)

Vaselisa: Who watches me from the dark?
Khramov: Noble lady, goddess beneath the moon, I mean you no offense.
Khramov: I am Khramov, son of Grand Duke Vernov, a wanderer ever drawn toward distant lands.
Khramov: The forest lies silent beneath the night. Even the fallen leaves beneath my feet dare not speak.
Khramov: So too was the lonely garden of my heart, until you entered my sight.
Khramov: You came forth so gracefully from the light, my joy, and all my world fell blank.
Khramov: Nothing remained but you, and I, and the beating of my heart.
Khramov: I would give you my freedom, for it is now the dearest treasure I possess.

(Vaselisa clasps her hands to her heart. The handsome Khramov has stirred something within her, and long-lost happiness dances once more in her eyes. Beneath the moonlight, the two begin to dance in bliss, joined by the many forest creatures who emerge to dance alongside them. The music brightens into a livelier tempo.) (Presto.)

Vaselisa: Freedom, freedom! How sweet you are, and how dearly you are longed for.
Vaselisa: Can one who has only just met me already see how fiercely my heart yearns for you?
Vaselisa: I feel the fire that burns within your heart, and the tenderness in you, gentle as water.
Vaselisa: My name is Vaselisa, a woman long ensnared by sorrow.
Vaselisa: Yet your coming severs all my grief, like a silken thread, fine and sharp.
Vaselisa: I look into your eyes, deep as hidden springs, and see the reflection of my face.
Vaselisa: Please, let me take your hand, and let us dance beneath the silver moon.
Vaselisa: In this forest hushed so still, how recklessly we surrender ourselves to joy!

(The squirrels form a circle and dance around the pair. The stage grows brighter.)

Squirrels, in unison: What reckless joy! What daring hearts these young lovers bear!
Squirrels, in unison: What words of love, so true, so bright! Their earnest hearts have moved us all!

(The birds gather around the pair as well, and the stage fills with even greater life.)
Khramov: Farewell, restless heart that sought the future in fear. Fate has given me its answer.
Khramov: Farewell, lonely shadow that walked beside me. My beloved has come at last.
Khramov: May the heavens bless the life we share.

Birds, in unison: May the heavens bless the life we share.
Birds, in unison: May the heavens bear witness to your love.

(The lights dim, bathing the stage in deep blue. The lively music slows. From the trees at the edge of the stage, a fox steps slowly into view. The lovers and forest creatures freeze, as though time itself has stopped. A single white beam falls upon the fox.)

Fox: As witness to your love, I ask you to cherish the one who stands before you.
Fox: In this fickle world, a heart that knows love is a treasure beyond price.
Fox: The road ahead will be hard, and fate will lead you astray.
Fox: May you always remain at one another's side, and never cease to cherish what you have found.

(The lighting returns to its former brightness. The Fox exits, and the revelry of the forest resumes. The music grows lively once more, and the stage is flooded with light.) (Presto.)

Squirrels, in unison: Cherish the one before you! A true and loving heart is the rarest treasure!
Birds, in unison: Remember! Remember well! The forest bears witness!

Khramov: I will be true to you, Vaselisa, my beloved, my heart's delight.
Vaselisa: I will be true to you, Khramov, my hero, my love.

Squirrels, in unison: The road ahead will twist and falter. Stay beside each other, and cherish one another!
Birds, in unison: Remember! Remember well! The forest bears witness!

(A white beam of light slowly brightens. The birds and squirrels flee the stage, while Vaselisa stares toward the light in terror. The music suddenly quickens.)

Vaselisa: Dawn is breaking!
Vaselisa: Dearest Khramov, you must flee at once!
Vaselisa: He is awake!
Vaselisa: Dearest Khramov, do not let him turn you into stone!

(Vaselisa rushes offstage. Khramov races after her. The music fades, and the curtain falls.)

(Act V)

(Within the Demon King's castle, Berstuk has only just awakened from his slumber.
A long beard hangs from his face, his nails overgrown, and great fangs jut from his hideous mouth.
Vaselisa rushes into the castle, distraught and stricken with grief.
Khramov bursts through the Demon King's doors, cleaving them apart with the Mirrorblade.
Berstuk's minions close ranks around their master as the Demon King raises his hands, preparing to cast a spell.)

(The curtain rises to furious, surging music. The stage is steeped in a sinister light. Mirrorblade in hand, Khramov stands surrounded by the Demon King's minions.) (Presto.)

Berstuk: I swear by creation's first dawn. I swear by creation's final day.
Berstuk: By the disgrace and shame of sin, and by the majesty of eternal truth, I swear!
Berstuk: Today, we meet in joyous reunion. Now I shall grant you the most dreadful of farewells!
Berstuk: Ah, be grateful for my mercy! I shall bestow upon you the stillness of stone!

Minions, in unison: Be grateful! Be grateful for the mercy of Berstuk, the Demon King!
Minions, in unison: Be grateful! The stillness of stone shall be yours!

(Khramov begins to succumb to the Demon King's minions. His movements grow sluggish, but at the final moment, he draws forth the golden feather given to him by the Firebird. Answering its summons, the Firebird appears with a piercing shriek. A red beam falls upon her as she launches into a fierce dance, and the music surges to an even more frantic pace.) (Presto.)

Sirin: He who bears the golden feather shall stand beneath the protection of freedom!
Sirin: And the hounds whose souls are fouled shall be delivered unto the flames!

(The red light spreads across the stage. The Demon King's minions howl in agony, collapsing to the ground and writhing in the flames before rolling offstage. The orchestra erupts at full force into a relentless passage of syncopated rhythms.)

Minions, in unison: Beg for mercy! Tremble before the terror of Berstuk, the Demon King!
Minions, in unison: Beg for mercy! The stillness of stone shall be yours!

(Khramov breaks free of the Demon King's minions. Sword raised, he turns upon Berstuk with fury in his eyes. The music quickens.) (Presto.)

Khramov: Vaselisa, my beloved! Where have you hidden her?
Khramov: Demon! If you know fear at all, release my beloved!

(Berstuk parries Khramov's attacks, answering him with a sneer.)

Berstuk: Vaselisa, a mere farm girl, a servant of the lowest station.
Berstuk: I freed her from a life of misery and brought her to dwell within my castle of diamonds.
Berstuk: She became my first fair companion, the one and only queen of my realm.
Berstuk: I laid all my minions at her lovely feet, there to serve her every command.
Berstuk: From a star in the eastern sky, I plucked for her a crown of purest gold.
Berstuk: From among a thousand flowers, I gathered the dew of midnight and scattered its pearls across her pretty face.
Berstuk: I have laid all the riches of this mortal world before her. In return, she must love me with all her heart.

(Vaselisa appears at the rear of the stage, tears glistening in her eyes. Her voice trembles as she begins to speak. The music slows, and the light gathers around her.)

Vaselisa: Arrogant Berstuk! I was a servant on a farm, the lowest of the low.
Vaselisa: But I was also my parents' darling, and mistress to the kittens, the puppies, and the calves.
Vaselisa: I gathered golden grains from the ground, with the evening sun beside me.
Vaselisa: I picked white flowers in the open fields, with the chattering insects for company.
Vaselisa: Arrogant Berstuk! You tore me from my home and left me weeping in a prison of diamonds.
Vaselisa: Your crown of gold weighed me down, while your minions watched my every move.
Vaselisa: Ah, only when you lay sleeping could I breathe again and flee into the forest.
Vaselisa: There to dance through my tears for the freedom I had lost.

(The stage floods with light. Vaselisa takes Khramov by the hand, while the Firebird watches eagerly from the side. Enraged, the Demon King launches himself at the lovers. The music surges with furious intensity, echoing his wrath.) (Presto.)

Khramov: Arrogant demon! You will set her free!
Vaselisa: And I shall raise my sword against you! Never again will I bow!

Sirin: Ah, what a pitiful sight! Two lovers, and one demon filled with rage!
Sirin: Vaselisa, who lost her freedom to love! Vaselisa, who found her freedom through love!

Berstuk: I will turn you both to stone!

Khramov: Hollow threats! I will strike you down and wrest our freedom from you with my own hands!

(Vaselisa raises the crown of pure gold above her head and hurls it at Berstuk.)

Vaselisa: I shall have the courage to refuse you! I shall have a heart that will never bow!

(Seizing the opening, Khramov drives the Mirrorblade into Berstuk's chest. The Firebird engulfs the Demon King in flames. The lights gradually dim until only the crimson glow around Berstuk remains. The music slows.)

Berstuk: How can my heart reveal itself? How can another fathom me?
Berstuk: How could she know the secrets of my soul? A thought once spoken is a twisted lie.
Berstuk: Be silent. Conceal all that you feel...

(Berstuk's fallen body disappears into darkness. The music settles into a profound calm.)
Sirin: The foolish boy has learned that freedom is the dearest treasure in all the world, and love no less.
Sirin: The foolish girl has learned that freedom is the dearest treasure in all the world, and love no less.
Sirin: While freedom's flame still burns within us, while our hearts still beat for a nobler cause...

(Curtain Falls)

Trivia

• The in-universe inspiration for Tatiana's scene in Volume 1, "Variation: Autumn — The Stolen Veil" is depicted in the descriptions of the 5-star sword, Whitelake Frostfeather.
• The poison of love described by Myrtha in Volume 1, "Black Snow Swan," bears some resemblance to the Primordial Human's description of his "Eitr" (Embryonic-Ichoric-Telluric-Rudiment) as a "deadly venom" in World Quest An Ark That Used to Be a Soul in Series Her Palace Collapses Into the Blizzard: This spiritual overflow from the Primordial Human, which is the key to creating the Court of Eternal Bliss, is described by the Belyi Tsar as "love."
  • In the same way that Myrtha describes the poison of love as blackening Odile's feathers, the Court of Eternal Bliss is created by expanding the darkness of the Shadow Realm to cover all of Teyvat.
• Volume 1, "Black Snow Swan," contains many references to real-life ballet:
  • The titular character, Odile, takes her name from the villainess in Swan Lake by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky.
    • Odette, who performs this role, is named for the lead character of the real-life ballet. Odette and Odile's characters are usually performed by the same ballerina, as Odile is attempting to impersonate Odette.
    • The 32 fouettés that Odile performs in "Black Snow Swan" are a reference to the 32 fouettés performed by Odile in Swan Lake.
  • Queen Myrtha takes her name from the villainess of Giselle by Adolphe Adam. As in Black Snow Swan, the original Myrtha is the queen of a band of inhuman women who spurn love, whom the heroine rejects in the finale. Notably, the band of women are all Vilas.
  • Bathilde is another character from Giselle. As in Black Snow Swan, she unknowingly places a golden necklace around the neck of a woman with whom her fiancé is infatuated.
  • Hamsatti takes her name from the villainess of La Bayadère by Marius Petipa, Ludwig Minkus, and Sergei Khudekov. As in Black Snow Swan, her lover is infatuated with a temple dancer.
  • Tatiana likely takes her name from Tatiana Davydova, the niece of Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, and allegedly the first person to ever perform the role of Odette in an early version of Swan Lake. Her role in Black Snow Swan resembles that of Odette, who was betrayed by her lover to her death.
    • Tatiana's scene, "Variation: Autumn — The Stolen Veil" is a reference to the short story The Stolen Veil in Volksmärchen der Deutschen, a collection of German folktales collected by Johann Karl August Musäus. It is sometimes believed to have been the narrative inspiration for Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake.
    • Tatiana's scene may be influenced by The Dying Swan, a short ballet choreography set to Le Cygne by Camille Saint-Saëns. Le Cygne features a cello solo, much like the "heavy, mournful cello" described as accompanying Tatiana's scene. Unsurprisingly, The Dying Swan depicts the last movements of a dying swan, similar to the description of Tatiana's movements.
• Tatiana's line, "Upon this stage, though huge, is but a scene in a play", may be a reference to the famous line "All the world's a stage" from As You Like It by William Shakespeare.
• Odile's final lines in Volume 1 directly reference portions of the poem High Flight by John Gillespie Magee Jr.
  • Odette's Constellation levels themselves reference Odile's final lines:
  • Level 1: "On This Danceless Morn, She Gazes at Her Reflection"
  • Level 2: "I Must See the Snow Swan's Unseen Dream for Myself, She Thought"
  • Level 3: "I'll Chase the Shouting Wind Along, Climbing Alone As I Go"
  • Level 4: "Up, Up the Long, Delirious, Burning Blue"
  • Level 5: "Oh! I Have Slipped the Surly Bonds of Earth"
  • Level 6: "Put Out My Hand, and Touched the Face of the Divine"
• Odette's Elemental Skill "Adagio: Phantom Night Dancers" directly quotes Bathilde's final lines from Black Snow Swan:
  • "Dance, o candle flame of winter, dance!"
    "Pain and tears, laughter and happiness... Life, o life! Life is but a fleeting solo dance: one is only briefly alive with music and mirth before they fade into silence as the curtain falls..."
• In Volume 1, "Variation: Summer — Court Dance of the Royal House of Pragjyotishpura" contains some references to South Asian history and culture, including:
  • Hamsatti's homeland, Pragjyotishpura, is the name of a possibly-legendary city of the Varman dynasty in Northeast India, circa 350-650 C.E.
  • The arrow of Samohanna is a reference to an astra, a supernatural missile wielded by the gods in Hindu epics. The astra known as Samohanna is wielded by the Gandharvas, and when loosed may subject entire armies to a trance state.
• The "Lord of vaana" named by Hamsatti shares a title given to the Heavenly Principles by Nabu Malikata in Scroll of Streaming Song, and likely refers directly to the Heavenly Principles.
• Volume 4, "The Firebird", appears to be based on a ballet of the same name, The Firebird by Igor Stravinsky.

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