Witold Gombrowicz: Operetta

What if ordinary people discovered that our backside is the same as theirs?

Crinoline, monocles, collars, tailcoats, gloves, corsets, hats, walking sticks!

A ball is held at Himalaya Castle. Master Fior himself, the arbiter of fashion, has travelled all the way from Paris to present the princely couple and the entire nobility with the fashion of the future. But the pleasant tones accelerate into a bewildering whirl, the servants continue to refuse to polish the displayed lacquer, and someone calls out very quietly: Na - ho - ta…

Into the raucous ball of masks, gowns, and emptied rituals, a suffocating certainty of collapse slowly weaves itself. But now to dance! Music, play!

Because: who would ask, when music sounds,
whether this is the final dance.