MICHAEL MADHUSUDAN DUTT (Dismisses the Sutradhar with an impatient gesture and addresses the audience) And so, dear friends, I begin this...
MICHAEL MADHUSUDAN DUTT
(Dismisses the Sutradhar with an impatient gesture and addresses the audience)
And so, dear friends, I begin this evening by invoking my beloved poet, the Right Honourable Lord Byron. My hero died young, when he was just thirty-six, from a fever contracted in Missolonghi while he was fighting the Greek War of Independence against the Ottoman Empire. What a life it was, my friends! He loved, from his heart, both men and women, and was as profligate with his expenses as he was with his amour. How shall I greet my hero? With his poetry and the spirit of Parnassus.
MMD walks to the table to take a huge slug of cognac. Recites the following lines from Lord Byron.
MMD
She walks in beauty,
like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies...
MMD walks away from the desk and stands close to the edge of the stage. He smiles patronizingly at the Sutradhar and attempts to address the audience again. But the assertive Sutradhar won’t be dismissed so easily and looks at him directly.
SUTRADHAR
Sir, Byron! Why Byron? Why don’t you consider...
