The WRITER'S HAND enters the frame and writes the date of the next entry upon the moonlight.
SOUND: A knock at the door.
The hand and quill leave the frame.
POPRISHCHIN V.O.
April Forty-Third.
SOUND: Another knock.
POPRISHCHIN V.O. (cont'd)
year 2000.
WIPE TO:
(In Act I, the CAMERA was always shooting from above Poprishchin. The world looked down on Poprishchin, and he looked up at the world. Now in Act III, the roles are reversed. Poprishchin looks down at the world, and the CAMERA looks up at him.) The white page opens as if it were painted on the back of the door.
MAVRA enters the room carrying her basket with Poprishchin's boots and clothes. She notices Poprishchin is not in his bed. Mavra looks towards the window.
The CAMERA TRACKS around Mavra...
and reveals POPRISHCHIN, with his back to the CAMERA, staring out the window. The golden morning sunlight pours through the window illuminating him in a halo. Mavra keeps a wary eye on Poprishchin, as she quietly walks towards the dresser with the basket.
POPRISHCHIN
The day of today is a day of the greatest solemnity. Spain has her rightful king. He found himself.
Poprishchin turns around and looks at Mavra with regal calm.
POPRISHCHIN (cont'd)
This King is me.
Mavra drops the basket and covers her mouth. She is finally convinced that Poprishchin has gone mad. Poprishchin and the CAMERA circle Mavra, eying her up and down from opposite sides of the circle.
POPRISHCHIN (cont'd)
But do not fear, you can be assured of Our royal favor, and as a token of Our graciousness, We shall grant you a pardon for all those times you failed to clean my boots properly! Oh, you fear that all Kings of Spain are like Philip II. What can one expect from the common herd? I am nothing like Philip II. I don't have a single Capuchin monk.
What? This sort of thing happens all the time in history. Oh that's right, you don't read. Often, some fairly ordinary man, is revealed to be a great statesman, or a baron.
Frankly, it all dawned on Us like a flash of lightning, Our rightful place. It's incredible to Us now that We could have ever thought or imagined that We were a civil service clerk. How could such a crazy idea ever have entered Our head? Thank God no one thought of putting Us in the mad house.
The CAMERA MOVES ACROSS the circle towards Poprishchin.
POPRISHCHIN (cont'd)
Now We see everything clearly. Everything is as bright as day... Brighter! I don't really know why, but before, before everything loomed at me from out of a fog. And the whole reason for this, as I see it, is that people are under the misapprehension that the human brain is situated in the head: no, no.
The CAMERA stops on a CLOSE-UP of Poprishchin. He is lost in his thoughts, his hand held over his heart.
POPRISHCHIN (cont'd)
I think we can both agree that the human brain is blown in by the winds, from somewhere around the Caspian Sea.
Cut to: Mavra is dumbfounded.
MAVRA
Will you be going to work today?
Cut to: Poprishchin is resolute. The CAMERA PANS with him as he crosses to the window.
POPRISHCHIN
Oh no, don't even try. We are not going to work. To hell with that hell. Damn them. Never again. Never again will I copy those damned documents.
Poprishchin takes his place by the window, and looks out over his subjects.
CUT TO: