From now on no one will
be able to speak of Mozart without
thinking of me. Whenever they say
Mozart with love, they'll have to
say Salieri with loathing. And that's
my immortality - at last! Our names
will be tied together for eternity -
his in fame and mine in infamy. At
least it's better than the total
oblivion he'd planned for me, your
merciful God!

Don't pity me. Pity yourself. You
serve a wicked God. He killed Mozart,
not I. Took him, snatched him away,
without pity. He destroyed His beloved
rather than let a mediocrity like me
get the smallest share in his glory.
He doesn't care. Understand that.
God cares nothing for the man He
denies and nothing either for the
man He uses. He broke Mozart in half
when He'd finished with him, and
threw him away. Like an old, worn
out flute.

Why did He do it? Why didn't He kill
me? I had no value. What was the
use, keeping me alive for thirty-two
years of torture? Thirty-two years
of honours and awards.

Being bowed to and saluted, called
'distinguished - distinguished
Salieri' - by men incapable of
distinguishing! Thirty-two years of
meaningless fame to end up alone in
my room, watching myself become
extinct. My music growing fainter,
all the time fainter, until no one
plays it at all. And his growing
louder, filling the world with wonder.
And everyone who loves my sacred art
crying, Mozart! Bless you, Mozart.


Goodbye, Father. I'll speak for you.
I speak for all mediocrities in the
world. I am their champion. I am
their patron saint. On their behalf
I deny Him, your God of no mercy.
Your God who tortures men with
longings they can never fulfill. He
may forgive me: I shall never forgive
Him.


Mediocrities everywhere, now and to
come: I absolve you all! Amen! Amen!
Amen!