Redemption and two other plays
by graf Leo Tolstoy · English · Gutenberg #9792 · 434,016 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Redemption and two other plays
Author: graf Leo Tolstoy
Release date: January 1, 2006 [eBook #9792]
Most recently updated: January 2, 2021
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK REDEMPTION AND TWO OTHER PLAYS ***
Produced by David Starner, Skip Doughty, and Project
Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders
REDEMPTION AND TWO OTHER PLAYS
By LEO TOLSTOY
Introduction By ARTHUR HOPKINS
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION BY ARTHUR HOPKINS
REDEMPTION
THE POWER OF DARKNESS
FRUITS OF CULTURE
INTRODUCTION
After making a production of _Redemption_, the chief feeling of the
producer is one of deep regret that Tolstoi did not make more use of
the theatre as a medium. His was the rare gift of vitalization: the
ability to breathe life into word-people which survives in them so
long as there is any one left to turn up the pages they have made
their abode.
In the world of writing, many terms that should be illuminative have
become meaningless. So often has the barren been called "pregnant,"
the chill of death "the breath of life," the atrophied "pulsating,"
that when we really come upon a work with beating heart we find it
difficult to give it place that has not already been stuffed to
suffocation with misplaced dummies.
We seat it at table with staring wax figures and bid it to join the
feast. There is no exclusion act in art, no passport bureau, not even
hygienic segregation.
In writing the briefest introduction to Tolstoi's work, I am appointed
by the publisher, a sort of reception committee of one to escort the
work to some fitting place where it may enjoy the surroundings and
deference it deserves.
The place to which I escort it is built of words, but what words have
been left me by the long procession of previous committees? Where they
have been truthfully used they have been glorified, and offer all the
rarer material for my structure, but how often have they been
subjected to base use. Perhaps some day we will learn the proper
respect of such simple words as love and truth and life, and then when
we meet them in books we shall know how to greet them.
The study of _Redemption_ is so simple that it needs no illumination
from me. The characters may walk in strange lands without
introduction. They are part of us. Fédya is in all of us. His one cry
"There has always been so much lacking between what I felt and what I
could do" instantly makes him brother to all mankind. His simultaneous
physical degeneration and spiritual regeneration is the glory that all
people have invested in death. Tolstoi's cry against convention that
disregards spiritual struggle, and system that ignores human growth,
will find answering cries in many breasts in many lands.
Utterly disregarding effect, technique or method, Tolstoi has explored
his own soul and there touched hands with countless other souls, and
since he has trod the path of countless millions who will come after
him, the mementos of his journey will long be sought.
ARTHUR HOPKINS.
The translation of _Redemption_ here published is the one produced by
Mr. Arthur Hopkins at the Plymouth Theatre, New York, in the season of
1918-1919. The part of FÉDYA was played by Mr. John Barrymore.
REDEMPTION
CHARACTERS
THEODORE VASÍLYEVICH PROTOSOV (FÉDYA).
ELISABETH ANDRÉYEVNA PROTOSOVA (LISA). His wife.
MÍSHA. Their son.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. Lisa's mother.
SASHA. Lisa's younger, unmarried sister.
VICTOR MICHAELOVITCH KARÉNIN.
SOPHIA DMÍTRIEVNA KARÉNINA.
PRINCE SERGIUS DMÍTRIEVICH ABRÉSKOV.
MASHA. A gypsy girl.
IVÁN MAKÁROVICH. An old gypsy man. Masha's parent.
NASTASÏA IVÁNOVNA. An old gypsy woman. Masha's parent.
OFFICER.
MUSICIAN.
FIRST GYPSY MAN.
SECOND GYPSY MAN.
GYPSY WOMAN.
GYPSY CHOIR.
DOCTOR.
MICHAEL ALEXÁNDROVICH AFRÉMOV.
STÁKHOV. One of Fédya's boon companions.
BUTKÉVICH. One of Fédya's boon companions.
KOROTKÓV. One of Fédya's boon companions.
IVÁN PETROVICH ALEXÁNDROV.
VOZNESÉNSKY. Karénin's secretary.
PETUSHKÓV. An artist.
ARTIMIEV.
WAITER IN THE PRIVATE ROOM AT THE RESTAURANT.
WAITER IN A LOW-CLASS RESTAURANT.
MANAGER OF THE SAME.
POLICEMAN.
INVESTIGATING MAGISTRATE.
MÉLNIKOV.
CLERK.
USHER.
YOUNG LAWYER.
PETRÚSHIN. A lawyer.
LADY.
ANOTHER OFFICER.
ATTENDANT AT LAW COURTS.
PROTOSOVS' NURSE.
PROTOSOVS' MAID.
AFRÉMOV'S FOOTMAN.
KARÉNINS' FOOTMAN.
ACT I
SCENE I
Protosovs' flat in Moscow. The scene represents a small dining room.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA, a stout, gray-haired lady, tightly laced, is sitting
alone at the tea-table on which is a samovár.
Enter NURSE carrying a tea-pot.
NURSE (enters R. I, over to table C.). Please, Madam, may I have some
water?
ANNA PÁVLOVNA (sitting R. of table C.). Certainly. How is the baby
now?
NURSE. Oh, restless, fretting all the time. There's nothing worse than
for a lady to nurse her child. She has her worries and the baby
suffers for them. What sort of milk could she have, not peeping all
night, and crying and crying?
[SASHA enters R. I, strolls to L. of table C.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. But I thought she was more calm now?
NURSE. Fine calm! It makes me sick to look at her. She's just been
writing something and crying all the time.
SASHA (to nurse). Lisa's looking for you.
[Sits in chair L. of table C.
NURSE. I'm going.
[Exits R. I.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. Nurse says she's always crying. Why can't she try and
calm herself a little?
SASHA. Well, really, Mother, you're amazing. How can you expect her to
behave as if nothing had happened when she's just left her husband and
taken her baby with her?
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. Well, I don't exactly, but that's all over. If I
approve of my daughter's having left her husband, if I'm ever glad,
well, you may be quite sure he deserved it. She has no reason to be
miserable--on the contrary, she ought to be delighted at being freed
from such a wretch.
SASHA. Mother! Why do you go on like this? It's not the truth and you
know it. He's not a wretch, he's wonderful. Yes, in spite of all his
weakness.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. I suppose you'd like her to wait till he'd spent every
kopec they had, and smile sweetly when be brought his gypsy mistresses
home with him.
SASHA. He hasn't any mistresses.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. There you go again. Why, the man's simply bewitched
you, but I can see through him, and he knows it. If I'd been Lisa, I'd
left him a year ago.
SASHA. Oh, how easily you speak of these serious things.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. Not easily, not easily at all. Do you suppose it's
agreeable for me to have my daughter admit her marriage a failure? But
anything's better than for her to throw away her life in a lie. Thank
God, she's made up her mind to finish with him for good.
SASHA. Maybe it won't be for good.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. It would be if only he'd give her a divorce.
SASHA. To what end?
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. Because she's young and has the right to look for
happiness.
SASHA. It's awful to listen to you. How could she love some one else?
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. Why not? There are thousands better than your Fédya,
and they'd be only too happy to marry Lisa.
SASHA. Oh, it's not nice of you. I feel, I can tell, you're thinking
about Victor Karénin.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. Why not? He loved her for ten years, and she him, I
believe.
SASHA. Yes, but she doesn't love him as a husband. They grew up
together; they've just been friends.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. Ah, those friendships! How should you know what keeps
them warm! If only they were both free!
[Enter a MAID L. U.
Well?
MAID. The porter's just come back with an answer to the note.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. What note?
MAID. The note Elizaveta Protosova sent to Victor Karénin.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. Well? What answer?
MAID. Victor Karénin told the porter he'd be here directly.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. Very well.
[MAID exits L. U.
[To SASHA.
Why do you suppose she sent for him? Do you know?
SASHA. Maybe I do and maybe I don't.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. You're always so full of secrets.
SASHA. Ask Lisa, she'll tell you.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. Just as I thought! She sent for him at once.
SASHA. Yes, but maybe not for the reason you think.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. Then what for?
SASHA. Why, Mother, Lisa cares just about as much for Victor Karénin
as she does for her old nurse.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. You'll see. She wants consolation, a special sort of
consolation.
SASHA. Really, it shows you don't know Lisa at all to talk like this.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. You'll see. Sasha. Yes, I shall see.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA (alone to herself). And I am very glad. I'm very, very
glad.
[Enter MAID.
MAID. Victor Karénin.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. Show him here and tell your mistress.
[MAID shows in KARÉNIN and exits door R. I.
KARÉNIN (goes C. and stands behind table C.). (Shaking hands with Anna
Pávlovna.) Elizaveta Andreyevna sent me a note to come at once. I
should have been here to-night anyway. How is she? Well, I hope.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. Not very. The baby has been upset again. However,
she'll be here in a minute. Will you have some tea?
KARÉNIN. No, thank you.
[Sits chair R.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. Tell me, do you know that he and she--.
KARÉNIN. Yes, I was here two days ago when she got this letter. Is she
positive now about their separating?
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. Oh, absolutely. It would be impossible to begin it all
over again.
KARÉNIN. Yes. To cut into living things and then draw back the knife
is terrible. But are you sure she knows her mind?
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. I should think so. To come to this decision has caused
her much pain. But now it's final, and he understands perfectly that
his behavior has made it impossible for him to come back on any terms.
KARÉNIN. Why?
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. After breaking every oath he swore to decency, how
could he come back? And so why shouldn't he give her her freedom?
KARÉNIN. What freedom is there for a woman still married?
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. Divorce. He promised her a divorce and we shall insist
upon it.
KARÉNIN. But your daughter was so in love with him?
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. Her love has been tried out of existence. Remember she
had everything to contend with: drunkenness, gambling, infidelity--
what was there to go on loving in such a person?
KARÉNIN. Love can do anything.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. How can one love a rag torn by every wind? Their
affairs were in dreadful shape; their estate mortgaged; no money
anywhere. Finally his uncle sends them two thousand rubles to pay the
interest on the estate. He takes it, disappears, leaves Lisa home and
the baby sick--when suddenly she gets a note asking her to send him
his linen.
KARÉNIN. I know.
[Enter LISA R.I. KARÉNIN crosses to LISA.
I'm sorry to have been a little detained.
[Shakes hands with LISA.
LISA. Oh, thank you so much for coming. I have a great favor to ask of
you. Something I couldn't ask of anybody else.
KARÉNIN. I'll do everything I can.
[LISA moves away a few steps down R.
LISA. You know all about this.
[Sits chair R.
KARÉNIN. Yes, I know.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. Well, I think I'll leave you two young people to
yourselves. (To SASHA.) Come along, dear, you and I will be just in
the way.
[Exit L. U. ANNA PÁVLOVNA and SASHA.
LISA. Fédya wrote to me saying it was all over between us. (She begins
to cry.) That hurt me so, bewildered me so, that--well, I agreed to
separate. I wrote to him saying I was willing to give him up if he
wanted me to.
KARÉNIN. And now you're sorry?
LISA (nodding). I feel I oughtn't to have said yes. I can't. Anything
is better than not to see him again. Victor dear, I want you to give
him this letter and tell him what I've told you, and--and bring him
back to me.
[Gives VICTOR a letter.
KARÉNIN. I'll do what I can.
[Takes letter, turns away and sits chair R. of table C.
LISA. Tell him I will forget everything if only he will come back. I
thought of mailing this, only I know him: he'd have a good impulse,
first thwarted by some one, some one who would finally make him act
against himself.
[Pause.
Are you--are you surprised I asked you?
KARÉNIN. No. (He hesitates.) But--well, candidly, yes. I am rather
surprised.
LISA. But you are not angry?
KARÉNIN. You know I couldn't be angry with you.
LISA. I ask you because I know you're so fond of him.
KARÉNIN. Of him--and of you too. Thank you for trusting me. I'll do
all I can.
LISA. I know you will. Now I'm going to tell you everything. I went
to-day to Afrémov's, to find out where he was. They told me he was
living with the gypsies. Of course that's what I was afraid of. I know
he'll be swept off his feet if he isn't stopped in time. So you'll go,
won't you?
KARÉNIN. Where's the place?
LISA. It's that big tenement where the gypsy orchestra lives, on the
left bank below the bridge. I went there myself. I went as far as the
door, and was just going to send up the letter, but somehow I was
afraid. I don't know why. And then I thought of you. Tell him, tell
him I've forgotten everything and that I'm here waiting for him to
come home. (Crosses to KARÉNIN--a little pause.) Do it out of love for
him, Victor, and out of friendship for me.
[Another pause.
KARÉNIN. I'll do all I can.
[He bows to her and goes out L.U. Enter SASHA L.U., goes L. over
near table C.
SASHA. Has the letter gone? (LISA nods.) He had no objections to
taking it himself?
[LISA, R. C., shakes head.
SASHA (L.C.). Why did you ask him? I don't understand it.
LISA. Who else was there?
SASHA. But you know he's in love with you.
LISA. Oh, that's all past. (Over to table C.) Do you think Fédya will
come back?
SASHA. I'm sure he will, but--
[Enter ANNA PÁVLOVNA.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. Where's Victor Karénin?
LISA. Gone.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. Gone?
LISA. I've asked him to do something for me.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. What was it? Another secret?
LISA. No, not a secret. I simply asked him to take a letter to Fédya.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. To Fedor Protosov?
LISA. Oh, to Fédya, Fédya.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. Then it's not going to be over?
LISA. I can't let him leave me.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. Oh, so we shall commence all over again?
LISA. I'll do anything you like, but I can't give him up.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. You don't mean you want him to come back?
LISA. Yes, yes.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. Let that reptile into the house again!
LISA. Please don't talk like that. He's my husband.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. Was your husband.
LISA. No. He's still my husband.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. Spendthrift. Drunkard. Reprobate. And you'll not part
from him!
LISA. Oh, Mother, why do you keep on hurting me! You seem to enjoy it.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. Hurt you, do I? Enjoy it, do I? Very well, then, if
that's the case, I'd better go.
[Pause.
I see I'm in your way. You want me to go. Well, all I can say is I
can't make you out. I suppose you're being "modern" and all that. But
to me, it's just plain disgusting. First, you make up your mind to
separate from your husband, and then you up and send for another man
who's in love with you--
LISA. Mother, he's not.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. You know Karénin proposed to you, and he's the man you
pick out to bring back your husband. I suppose you do it just to make
him jealous.
LISA. Oh, Mother, stop it. Leave me alone.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. That's right. Send off your mother. Open the door to
that awful husband. Well, I can't stand by and see you do it. I'll go.
I'm going. And God be with you and your extraordinary ways.
[Exit L. U. with suppressed rage.
LISA (sinking into a chair R. of table C.). That's the last straw.
SASHA. Oh, she'll come back. We'll make her understand. (Going to the
door and following after her mother.) Now, Mother darling, listen--
listen--
[Exit L. U.
[All lights dim to black out.
CURTAIN
SCENE II
A room at the gypsies', dark but beautifully lit. The actual room is
scarcely seen, and although at first it appears squalid, there are
flaring touches of Byzantine luxury. Gypsies are singing. FÉDYA is
lying on the sofa, his eyes closed, coat off. An OFFICER sits at the
table, on which there are bottles of champagne and glasses. Beside him
sits a musician taking down the song.
AFRÉMOV (standing L. U.). Asleep?
FÉDYA (on couch L. Raising his hand warningly). Sh! Don't talk! Now
let's have "No More at Evening."
GYPSY LEADER. Impossible, Fedor Protosov. Masha must have her solo
first.
FÉDYA. Afterwards. Now let's have "No More at Evening."
[Gypsies sing.
GYPSY WOMAN (R. C., when they finish singing, turning to Musician who
is sitting at table R., with his back to audience). Have you got it?
MUSICIAN. It's impossible to take it down correctly. They change the
tune each time, and they seem to have a different scale, too. (He
calls a gypsy woman.) Is this it?
[He hums a bar or two.
GYPSY WOMAN (clapping her hands). Splendid! Wonderful! How can you do
it?
FÉDYA (rising. Goes to table L. back of couch and pours out glass of
wine). He'll never get it. And even if he did and shovelled it into an
opera, he'd make it seem absolutely meaningless.
AFRÉMOV. Now we'll have "The Fatal Hour."
[Gypsies sing quartette. During this song, FÉDYA is standing down
R., keeping time with the wine glass from which he has drunk.
When they finish he returns to the couch and falls into MASHA'S
arms.
FÉDYA. God! That's it! That's it! That's wonderful. What lovely things
that music says. And where does it all come from, what does it all
mean?
[Another pause.
To think that men can touch eternity like that, and then--nothing--
nothing at all.
MUSICIAN. Yes, it's very original.
[Taking notes.
FÉDYA. Original be damned. It's real.
MUSICIAN. It's all very simple, except the rhythm. That's very
strange.
FÉDYA. Oh, Masha, Masha! You turn my soul inside out.
[Gypsies hum a song softly.
MASHA (sitting on couch L. with FÉDYA). Do I? But what was it I asked
you for?
FÉDYA. What? Oh, money. Voilà, mademoiselle.
[He takes money front his trousers pocket. MASHA laughs, takes
the money, counts it swiftly, and hides it in her dress.
FÉDYA. Look at this strange creature. When she sings she rushes me
into the sky and all she asks for is money, little presents of money
for throwing open the Gates of Paradise. You don't know yourself, at
all, do you?
MASHA. What's the use of me wondering about myself? I know when I'm in
love, and I know that I sing best when my love is singing.
FÉDYA. Do you love me?
MASHA (murmuring). I love you.
FÉDYA. But I am a married man, and you belong to this gypsy troupe.
They wouldn't let you leave it, and--
MASHA (interrupting). The troupe's one thing, and my heart's another.
I love those I love, and I hate those I hate.
FÉDYA. Oh, you must be happy to be like that.
MASHA. I'm always happy when handsome gentlemen come and say nice
things to me. (Gypsies stop singing.)
[A GYPSY entering speaks to FÉDYA.
GYPSY. Some one asking for you.
FÉDYA. Who?
Gypsy. Don't know. He's rich, though. Fur coat.
FÉDYA. Fur coat? O my God, show him in.
AFRÉMOV. Who the devil wants to see you here?
FÉDYA (carelessly). God knows, I don't. (Begins to hum a song.)
[KARÉNIN comes in, looking around the room.
(Exclaiming). Ha! Victor! You're the last man in the world I expected
to break into this enchanting milieu. Take off your coat, and they'll
sing for you.
KARÉNIN. Je voudrais vous parler sans témoins.
[MASHA rises and joins the group R.
FÉDYA. Oh.... What about?
KARÉNIN. Je viens de chez vous. Votre femme ma chargé de cette lettre,
et puis--
[FÉDYA takes the letter, opens it, reads. He frowns, then smiles
affectionately at KARÉNIN.
FÉDYA. You know what's in this letter, Victor?
[He is smiling gently all the time.
KARÉNIN (looking at FÉDYA rather severely). Yes, I know. But really,
Fédya, you're in no--
FÉDYA (interrupting). Please, please don't think I'm drunk and don't
realize what I'm saying. Of course I'm drunk, but I see everything
very clearly. Now go ahead. What were you told to tell me?
KARÉNIN (is standing L. C. Shrugging his shoulders). Your wife asked
me to find you and to tell you she's waiting for you. She wants you to
forget everything and come back.
[Pause.
KARÉNIN (stiffly). Elizaveta Protosova sent for me and suggested that
I--
FÉDYA (as he hesitates). Yes.
KARÉNIN (finishing rather lamely). But I ask you not so much for her
as for myself--Fédya, come home.
FÉDYA (looking up at him, smiling rather whimsically). You're a much
finer person than I am, Victor. Of course that's not saying much. I'm
not very much good, am I? (Laughing gently.) But that's exactly why
I'm not going to do what you want me to. It's not the only reason,
though. The real reason is that I just simply can't. How could I?
KARÉNIN (persuasively). Come along to my rooms, Fédya, and I'll tell
her you'll be back to-morrow.
FÉDYA (wistfully). To-morrows can't change what we are. She'll still
be she, and I will still be I to-morrow. (Goes to the table and
drinks.) No, it's better to have the tooth out in one pull. Didn't I
say that if I broke my word she was to leave me? Well, I've broken it,
and that's enough.
KARÉNIN. Yes. For you, but not for her.
FÉDYA (down L. Politely insolent). You know ... it's rather odd, that
you, of all men, should take so much trouble to keep our marriage from
going to pieces.
KARÉNIN (revolted). Good God, Fédya! You don't think--
[MASHA crosses L., goes to FÉDYA. FÉDYA interrupting him with a
return of his former friendliness.
FÉDYA. Come now, my dear Victor, you shall hear them sing.
MASHA (whispering to FÉDYA). What's his name? We must honor him with a
song.
FÉDYA (laughing). O good God, yes! Honor him by all means. His name is
Victor Michaelovitch. (Saluting Karénin.) Victor, my lord! son of
Michael!
[The gypsies sing a song of greeting and laudation. As they begin
to sing, MASHA and FÉDYA sit on couch L.
(When song is finished.)
KARÉNIN (in an imploring tone). Fédya!
[Exits quietly L. U.
FÉDYA (business with MASHA). Where's the fur coat? Gone, eh? All
right. May the devil go with it.
FÉDYA. Do you know who that was?
MASHA. I heard his name.
FÉDYA. Ah, he's a splendid fellow. He came to take me home to my wife.
You see she loves even a fool like me, (caressing her hair) and look
what I'm doing.
MASHA. You should go back to her and be very sorry.
FÉDYA. Do you think I should? (He kisses her.) Well, I think I
shouldn't.
MASHA. Of course, you needn't go back to her if you don't love her.
Love is all that counts.
FÉDYA (smiling). How do you know that?
MASHA (looking at him timidly). I don't know, but I do.
FÉDYA. Now, let's have "No More at Evening." (As the gypsies sing,
MASHA lies on her back across his lap, looking up into his face, which
she draws down to her, and they kiss until the music begins to cease.)
That's wonderful! Divine! If I could only lie this way forever, with
my arms around the heart of joy, and sleep ... and die.... (He closes
his eyes; his voice trails away.)
[Lights dim and out, then the
CURTAIN
SCENE III
SOPHIA KARÉNINA'S boudoir. SOPHIA KARÉNINA, VICTOR'S mother, is
reading a book. She is a great lady, over fifty, but tries to look
younger. She likes to interlard her conversation with French words. A
servant enters.
SERVANT (enters R., announcing). Prince Sergius Abréskov.
SOPHIA KARÉNINA (on sofa over L.). Show him in, please.
[She turns and picks up hand mirror from table back of couch,
arranging her hair.
PRINCE SERGIUS (enters R. I. Entering). J'espère que je ne force pas
la consigne.
[Crossing to sofa L. He kisses her hand. He is a charming old
diplomat of seventy.
SOPHIA KARÉNINA. Ah, you know well que vous êtes toujours le bien
venu.... Tell me, you have received my letter?
PRINCE SERGIUS. I did. Me voilà. (Sits L. on sofa L.) Sophia Karénina
(working up to distress). Oh, my dear friend, I begin to lose hope.
She's bewitched him, positively bewitched him. Il est ensorcelé. I
never knew he could be so obstinate, so heartless, and so indifferent
to me. He's changed completely since that woman left her husband.
PRINCE SERGIUS. How do matters actually stand?
SOPHIA KARÉNINA. Well, he's made up his mind to marry her at any cost.
PRINCE SERGIUS. And her husband?
SOPHIA KARÉNINA. He agrees to a divorce.
PRINCE SERGIUS. Really?
SOPHIA KARÉNINA. And Victor is willing to put up with all the
sordidness, the vulgarity of the divorce court, the lawyers, evidences
of guilt ... tout ça est dégoûtant. I can't understand his sensitive
nature not being repelled by it.
PRINCE SERGIUS (smiling). He's in love, and when a man's really in
love--
SOPHIA KARÉNINA (interrupting). In our time love could remain pure,
coloring one's whole life with a romantic friendship. Such love I
understand and value.
PRINCE SERGIUS (sighing). However, the present generation refuses to
live on dreams. (He coughs delicately.) La possession de l'âme ne leur
suffit plus. So what is the alternative? But tell me more of Victor.
SOPHIA KARÉNINA. There's not very much to say. He seems bewitched,
hardly my son. Did you know I'd called upon her? Victor pressed me so
it was impossible to refuse. But Dieu merci, I found her out. So I
merely left my card, and now she has asked me if I could receive her
to-day, and I am expecting her (she glances at her watch) any moment
now. I am doing all this to please Victor, but conceive my feelings. I
know you always can. Really, really, I need your help.
PRINCE SERGIUS (bowing). Thank you for the honor you do me.
SOPHIA KARÉNINA. You realize this visit decides Victor's fate. I must
refuse my consent, or---- But that's impossible.
PRINCE SERGIUS. Have you met her?
SOPHIA KARÉNINA. I've never seen her, but I'm afraid of her. No good
woman leaves her husband, especially when there's nothing obviously
intolerable about him. Why, I've seen Protosov often with Victor, and
found him even quite charming.
PRINCE SERGIUS (murmurs). So I've heard. So I've heard.
SOPHIA KARÉNINA (continuing). She should bear her cross without
complaint. And Victor must cease trying to persuade himself that his
happiness lies in defying his principles. What I don't understand is
how Victor, with his religious views, can think of marrying a divorced
woman. I've heard him say over and over again--once quite lately--
that divorce is totally inconsistent with true Christianity. If she's
been able to fascinate him to that point, I am afraid of her.--But how
stupid of me to talk all the time! Have you spoken to him at all? What
does he say? And don't you thoroughly agree with me?
PRINCE SERGIUS. Yes, I've spoken to Victor. I think he really loves
her, has grown accustomed to the idea of loving her, pour ainsi dire.
(Shaking his head.) I don't believe he could ever now care for another
woman.
SOPHIA KARÉNINA (sighing). And Varia Casanzeva would have made him
such a charming wife. She's so devoted already.
PRINCE SERGIUS (smiling). I am afraid I hardly see her in the present
... tableau. (Earnestly.) Why not submit to Victor's wish and help
him?
SOPHIA KARÉNINA. To marry a divorcée? And afterwards have him running
into his wife's husband? How can you calmly suggest that a mother
accept such a situation for her son?
PRINCE SERGIUS. But, chère amie, why not approve of the inevitable?
And you might console yourself by regarding the dangers he'll avoid by
marrying this gentle, lovely woman. After all, suppose he conceived a
passion for some one----
[Convey the word "disreputable".
SOPHIA KARÉNINA. How can a good woman leave her husband?
PRINCE SERGIUS. Ah, that's not like you. You're unkind and you're
harsh. Her husband is the sort of man--well, he's his own worst enemy.
A weakling, a ne'er-do-well--he's spent all his money and hers too.
She has a child. Do you think you can condemn her for leaving him? As
a matter of fact she didn't leave him, he left her.
SOPHIA KARÉNINA (faintly). Oh what a mud-pen I'm slipping into!
PRINCE SERGIUS (amused). Could your religion aid you?
SOPHIA KARÉNINA (smelling her salts). In this instance, religion would
require of me the impossible. C'est plus fort que moi.
PRINCE SERGIUS. Fédya himself--you know what a charming clever
creature he is when he's in his senses--he advised her to leave him.
[Enter VICTOR who kisses his mother's hand and greets PRINCE SERGIUS.
KARÉNIN. Ah, Prince Sergius! (Shakes hands with Prince--formally.)
Maman, I've come to tell you that Elizaveta Protosova will be here
directly. There's only one thing I ask you: do you still refuse your
consent to my marriage----
SOPHIA KARÉNINA (interrupting). And I most assuredly do.
KARÉNIN (continuing. Frowning). In that case all I ask is for you not
to speak to her about it.
SOPHIA KARÉNINA. I don't suppose we shall even mention the subject. I
certainly shan't.
KARÉNIN (standing at head of sofa L.). If you don't, she won't.
(Pleadingly.) Mother dear, I just want you to know her.
SOPHIA KARÉNINA. One thing I can't understand. How is it you want to
marry Lisa Protosova, a woman with a living husband, and at the same
time believe divorce is a crime against Christianity?
KARÉNIN. Oh, Maman, that's cruel of you. Life is far too complex to be
managed by a few formulas. Why are you so bitter about it all?
SOPHIA KARÉNINA (honestly). I love you. I want you to be happy.
KARÉNIN (imploringly to PRINCE SERGIUS) Sergius Abréskov!
PRINCE SERGIUS (to SOPHIA KARÉNINA). Naturally you want him happy. But
it's difficult for our hearts, wearied from the weight of years, to
feel the pulse of youth and sympathize, especially is it difficult for
you, my friend, who have schooled yourself to view Victor's happiness
in a single way....
SOPHIA KARÉNINA. Oh, you're all against me. Do as you like. Vous êtes
majeur. (Sniffing into her pocket handkerchief.) But you'll kill me.
KARÉNIN (deeply distressed). Ah, Mother, please. It's worse than cruel
to say things like that.
PRINCE SERGIUS (smiling to VICTOR). Come, come, Victor, you know your
mother speaks more severely than she could ever act.
SOPHIA KARÉNINA. I shall tell her exactly what I think and feel, and I
hope I can do it without offending her.
PRINCE SERGIUS. I am sure of it.
[Enter FOOTMAN.
Here she is.
KARÉNIN. I'll go. (Goes to back of sofa.)
FOOTMAN (announcing). Elizaveta Andreyevna Protosova.
KARÉNIN (warningly). Now, Mother.
[He goes out L. PRINCE SERGIUS rises.
SOPHIA KARÉNINA (majestically). Show her in. (To PRINCE SERGIUS.)
Please remain.
PRINCE SERGIUS. I thought you might prefer a tête-à-tête?
SOPHIA KARÉNINA. No, no. I rather dread it. And if I want to be left
alone in the room with her, I'll drop my handkerchief. Ça dépendra.
PRINCE SERGIUS. I'm sure you're going to like her immensely.
SOPHIA KARÉNINA. Oh you're all against me.
[Enter LISA R. and crosses to R. C.
(Rising) How do you do? I was so sorry not to find you at home and it
is most kind of you to come to see me.
LISA (R.C.). I never expected the honor of your visit, and I am so
grateful that you permit me to come and see you.
SOPHIA KARÉNINA (C.). You know Prince Sergius Abréskov?
PRINCE SERGIUS (L.--Heartily). Yes, I have had the pleasure. (Crossing
to her, he shakes hands.) My niece Nellie has spoken often of you to
me.
[Goes to L.C.
LISA. Yes, we were great friends. (She glances shyly around her.) And
still are. (To SOPHIA.) I never hoped that you would wish to see me.
SOPHIA KARÉNINA. I knew your husband quite well. He was a great friend
of Victor's and used frequently to visit us in Tambov, (politely)
where you were married, I believe.
LISA (looking down). Yes.
SOPHIA KARÉNINA. But when you returned to Moscow we were deprived of
the pleasure of his visit.
LISA. Yes, then he stopped going anywhere.
SOPHIA KARÉNINA. Ah, that explains our missing him.
[Awkward pause.
PRINCE SERGIUS (to LISA). The last time I'd the pleasure of seeing you
was in those tableaux at the Dennishovs. You were charming in your
part.
LISA. How good of you to think so! Yes, I remember perfectly.
[Another awkward silence.
(To SOPHIA KARÉNINA.) Sophia Karénina, please forgive me if what I am
going to say offends you, but I don't know how to cover up what's in
my heart. I came here to-day because Victor Karénin said--because he
said that--because he--I mean because you wanted to see me. (With a
catch in her voice.) It's rather difficult--but you're so sweet.
PRINCE SERGIUS (very sympathetic). There, there, my dear child, I
assure you there's nothing in the world to---- (He breaks off when he
sees SOPHIA KARÉNINA pointing impatiently to the floor. She has
dropped her handkerchief.) Permit me. (He picks it up, presenting it
to her with a smile and a bow; then looks casually at his watch.) Ah,
five o'clock already. (To SOPHIA KARÉNINA.) Madame, in your salon
pleasure destroys the memory of time. You will excuse me.
[He kisses her hand.
SOPHIA KARÉNINA (smiling). Au revoir, mon ami.
PRINCE SERGIUS (bowing and shaking hands with LISA). Elizaveta
Protosova, au revoir.
[He goes out R.
SOPHIA KARÉNINA. Now listen, my child. Please believe how truly sorry
for you I am and that you are most sympathetique to me. But I love my
son alone in this world, and I know his soul as I do my own. He's very
proud--oh I don't mean of his position and money--but of his high
ideals, his purity. It may sound strange to you, but you must believe
me when I tell you that at heart he is as pure as a young girl.
LISA. I know.
SOPHIA KARÉNINA. He's never loved a woman before. You're the first. I
don't say I'm not a little jealous. I am. But that's something we
mothers have to face. Oh, but your son's still a baby, you don't know.
I was ready to give him up, though--but I wanted his wife to be as
pure as himself.
LISA (flushing hotly). And I, am I not----
SOPHIA KARÉNINA (interrupting her kindly). Forgive me, my dear. I know
it's not your fault and that you've been most unhappy. And also I know
my son. He will bear anything, and he'll bear it without saying a
word, but his hurt pride will suffer and bring you infinite remorse.
You must know how strongly he has always felt that the bond of
marriage is indissoluble.
LISA. Yes. I've thought of all that.
SOPHIA KARÉNINA. Lisa, my dear, you're a wise woman and you're a good
woman too. If you love him, you must want his happiness more than you
want your own. You can't want to cripple him so that he'll be sorry
all his life--yes, sorry even though he never says a word.
LISA. I've thought about it so much. I've thought about it and I've
talked to him about it. But what can I do when he says he can't live
without me? I said to him only the other day, "Victor, let's just be
friends. Don't spoil your life. Don't ruin yourself by trying to help
me." And do you know what he did? He laughed.
SOPHIA KARÉNINA. Of course he would, at the time.
LISA. If you could persuade him not to marry me, you know I'll agree,
don't you? I just want him to be happy. I don't care about myself.
Only please help me. Please don't hate me. Let's do all we can for
him, because, after all, we both love him.
SOPHIA KARÉNINA. Yes, I know. And I think I love you too. I really do.
(She kisses her. LISA begins to cry.) Oh, it's all so dreadful. If
only he had fallen in love with you before you were married!
LISA (sobbing). He--he says he did--but he had to be loyal to his
friend.
SOPHIA KARÉNINA. Alas, it's all very heart-breaking. But let us love
each other, and God will help us to find what we are seeking.
KARÉNIN (entering L. I). Mother darling. I've heard what you just
said. I knew you'd love her. And now everything must come right.
SOPHIA KARÉNINA (hastily). But nothing's decided. All I can say is,
had things been different, I should have been very glad. (Tenderly.)
So very glad.
[She kisses LISA.
KARÉNIN (smiling). Please don't change. That's all I ask.
[Lights down and out.
CURTAIN
SCENE IV
A plainly furnished room, bed, table and stove. FÉDYA alone writing.
At rise MASHA is heard outside calling "FÉDYA! FÉDYA!" MASHA enters R.
I, crosses to FÉDYA on bed C. and embraces him.
FÉDYA. Ah, thank Heaven you've come. I was wasting away in boredom.
MASHA. Then why didn't you come over to us? (Sees wine glass on chair
near bed.) So, you've been drinking again? And after all your
promises!
FÉDYA (embarrassed). I didn't come over because I had no money.
MASHA. Oh, why is it I love you so.
FÉDYA. Masha!
MASHA (imitating him). Masha! Masha! What's that mean? If you loved
me, by now you'd have your divorce. You say you don't love your wife.
(FÉDYA winces.) But you stick to her like grim death.
FÉDYA (interrupting her). You know why I don't want to.
MASHA. Nonsense. They're right when they say you're no good. It's your
mind that you can never make up comfortably causing you all the worry.
FÉDYA. You know perfectly well that the only joy I've got in life is
being in love with you.
MASHA. Oh, it's always "My joy," "Your love." Where's your love and my
joy?
FÉDYA (a little wearily). Well, Masha, after all, you've got all I can
give, the best I've ever had to give, perhaps, because you're so
strong, so beautiful, that sometimes you've made me know how to make
you glad. So why torture yourself?
MASHA (kneels and puts her arms around his neck). I won't if you're
sure you love me.
FÉDYA (coming closer to her). My beautiful young Masha.
MASHA (tearfully, searching his face). You do love me?
FÉDYA. Of course, of course.
MASHA. Only me, only me?
FÉDYA (kissing her). Darling, only you.
MASHA (with a return to brightness). Now read me what you've written.
FÉDYA. It may bore you.
MASHA (reproachfully). How could it?
FÉDYA (reads).
"The snow was flooded in moonlight and the birch trees wavered
their stark shadows across it like supplicating arms. Suddenly
I heard the soft padded sound of snow falling upon snow, to
slowly perceive a figure, the slender figure of a young child
attempting to arouse itself almost at my feet--I----"
[Enter IVÁN and NASTASÏA. They are two old gypsies, MASHA'S
parents.
NASTASÏA (stepping up to MASHA). So here you are--you cursed little
stray sheep. No disrespect to you, sir. (To MASHA.) You black-hearted,
ungrateful little snake. How dare you treat us like this, how dare
you, eh?
Iván (to FÉDYA). It's not right, sir, what you've done, bringing to
her ruin our only child. It's against God's law.
NASTASÏA (to MASHA). Come and get out of here with me. You thought
you'd skip, didn't you? And what was I supposed to tell the troupe
while you dangled around here with this tramp? What can you get out of
him, tell me that? Did you know he hasn't got a kopek to his name,
didn't you?
[During scene with parents, FÉDYA sits dumbly on the bed, bewildered.
He puts his forehead against MASHA'S face and clings to her like a
child.
MASHA (sullenly). I haven't done anything wrong. I love this
gentleman, that's all. I didn't leave the troupe either. I'll go on
singing just the same.
Iván. If you talk any more, I'll pull your hair all out for you, you
loose little beast, you. (To FÉDYA, reproachfully.) And you, sir, when
we were so fond of you--why, often and often we used to sing for you
for nothing and this is how you pay us back.
NASTASÏA (rocking herself to and fro). You've ruined our daughter, our
very own, our only one, our best beloved, our diamond, our precious
one, (with sudden fury). You've stamped her into the dirt, you have.
Where's your fear of God?
FÉDYA. Nastasïa, Nastasïa, you've made a mistake. Your daughter is
like a sister to me. I haven't harmed her at all. I love her, that's
true. But how can I help it?
IVÁN. Well, why didn't you love her when you had some money? If you'd
paid us ten thousand rubles, you could have owned her, body and soul.
That's what respectable gentlemen do. But you--you throw away every
kopek you've got and then you steal her like you'd steal a sack of
meal. You ought to be ashamed, sir.
MASHA (rising, puts her arm around his neck). He didn't steal me. I
went to him myself, and if you take me away now, I'll come right back.
If you take me away a thousand times, I'll come back to him. I love
him and that's enough. My love will break through anything--through
anything. Through anything in the whole damn world.
NASTASÏA (trying to soothe her). Now, Mashenka darling, don't get
cross. You know you haven't behaved well to your poor old parents.
There, there, come along with us now.
[With greedy fingers that pretend to caress, NASTASÏA seizes her
savagely and suddenly at the end of this speech and draws her to
the door. MASHA cries out "FÉDYA! FÉDYA!" as she exits R.
IVÁN (alongside). You open your mouth again and I'll smash you dumb.
(To FÉDYA.) Good-bye, your worship.
[All exit R. I.
[FÉDYA sits as though stupefied. The gypsies exit noisily. There
is a pause. He drinks; then PRINCE SERGIUS appears, very quiet
and dignified, at the door.
PRINCE. Excuse me. I'm afraid I'm intruding upon a rather painful
scene.
FÉDYA (getting up). With whom have I the honor---- (recognizing the
Prince). Ah, Prince Sergius, how do you do?
[They shake hands.
PRINCE (in a distinguished manner). I repeat that I am afraid to be
most inopportune. I would rather not have heard, but since I have,
it's my duty to say so. When I arrived I knocked several times, but I
presume you could not have heard through such uproar.
FÉDYA. Do sit down. (PRINCE sits chair R.C.) Thanks for telling me you
heard. (Sits on bed up C.) It gives me a chance to explain it all.
Forgive me for saying your opinion of me can't concern me, but I want
to tell you that the way her parents talked to that young girl, that
gypsy singer, was absolutely unjust. She's as pure as your own mother.
My relations with her are simply friendly ones. Possibly there is a
ray of poetry in them, but that could hardly degrade her. However,
what can I do for you?
PRINCE SERGIUS. Well, to begin----
FÉDYA (interrupting). Excuse me, Prince, but my present social
position hardly warrants a visit from you.
[Smiling.
PRINCE SERGIUS. I know that, but I ask you to believe that your
changed position does not influence me in what I am about to tell you.
FÉDYA (interrogatively). Then?
PRINCE SERGIUS. To be as brief as possible, Victor Karénin, the son of
my old friend, Sophia Karénina, and she herself, have asked me to
discover from you personally what your present relations are with your
wife, and what intentions you have regarding them.
FÉDYA. My relations with my wife--I should say my former wife--are
several.
PRINCE SERGIUS. As I thought, and for this reason accepted my somewhat
difficult mission.
FÉDYA (quickly). I wish to say first of all that the fault was
entirely mine. She is, just as she always was, absolutely stainless,
faultless.
PRINCE SERGIUS. Victor Karénin and especially his mother are anxious
to know your exact intentions regarding the future.
FÉDYA. I've got no intentions. I've given her full freedom. I know she
loves Victor Karénin, let her. Personally, I think he is a bore, but
he is a good bore. So they'll probably be very happy together, at
least in the ordinary sense and que le bon Dieu les bénisse.
PRINCE SERGIUS. Yes, but we----
FÉDYA (rising, goes L., leans on table). Please don't think I'm
jealous. If I just said Victor was dull, I take it back. He's
splendid, very decent, in fact the opposite of myself, and he's loved
her since her childhood (slowly) and maybe she loved him even when we
were married. After all, that happens, and the strongest love is
perhaps unconscious love. Yes, I think she's always loved him far, far
down beneath what she would admit to herself, and this feeling of nine
has been a black shadow across our married life. But--I--I really
don't suppose I ought to be talking to you like this, ought I?
PRINCE SERGIUS. Please go on. My only object in coming was to
understand this situation completely, and I begin to see how the
shadow--as you charmingly express it--could have been----
FÉDYA (looking strangely ahead of him). Yes, no brightness could suck
up that shadow. And so I suppose I never was satisfied with what my
wife gave me, and I looked for every kind of distraction, sick at
heart because I did so. I see it more and more clearly since we've
been apart. Oh, but I sound as if I were defending myself. God knows I
don't want to do that. No, I was a shocking bad husband. I say was,
because now I don't consider myself her husband at all. She's
perfectly free. There, does that satisfy you?
PRINCE SERGIUS. Yes, but you know how strictly orthodox Victor and his
family are. Of course I don't agree with them--perhaps I have broader
views--(with a shrug) but I understand how they feel. They consider
that any union without a church marriage is--well, to put it mildly,
unthinkable.
FÉDYA. Yes, I know he's very stu--I mean strict. (With a slight
smile.) "Conservative" is the word, isn't it? But what in God's name
(crossing to C.) do they want, a divorce? I told them long ago I was
perfectly willing. But the business of hiring a street-woman and
taking her to a shady hotel and arranging to be caught by competent
witnesses--ugh--it's all so--so loathsome.
[He shudders--pauses; and sits on bed.
PRINCE SERGIUS. I know. I know. I assure you, I can sympathize with
such a repugnance, but how can one avoid it? You see, it's the only
way out. But, my dear boy, you mustn't think I don't sympathize with
you. It's a horrible situation for a sensitive man and I quite
understand how you must hate it.
FÉDYA. Thank you, Prince Sergius. I always knew you were kind and
just. Now tell me what to do. Put yourself in my place. I don't
pretend to be any better than I really am. I am a blackguard but there
are some things that even I can't do. (With a smile and helpless
gesture.) I can't tell lies.
[A pause.
PRINCE SERGIUS. I must confess that you bewilder me. You with your
gifts and charm and really au fond--a wonderful sense of what's right.
How could you have permitted yourself to plunge into such tawdry
distractions? How could you have forgotten so far what you owed to
yourself? Tell me, why did you let your life fall into this ruin?
FÉDYA (suppressing emotion). I've led this sort of life for ten years
and you're the first real person to show me sympathy. Of course, I've
been pitied by the degraded ones but never before by a sensible, kind
man like you. Thanks more than it's possible to say. (He seems to
forget his train of thought and suddenly to recall it.) Ah, yes, my
ruin. Well, first, drink, not because it tasted well, but because
everything I did disappointed me so, made me so ashamed of myself. I
feel ashamed now, while I talk to you. Whenever I drank, shame was
drowned in the first glass, and sadness. Then music, not opera or
Beethoven, but gypsy music; the passion of it poured energy into my
body, while those dark bewitching eyes looked into the bottom of my
soul. (He sighs.) And the more alluring it all was, the more shame I
felt afterwards.
[Pause.
PRINCE SERGIUS. But what about your career?
FÉDYA. My career? This seems to be it. Once I was a director of a
bank. There was something terribly lacking between what I felt and
what I could do. (Abruptly.) But enough, enough of myself. It makes me
rather nervous to think about myself.
[Rises.
PRINCE SERGIUS. What answer am I to take back?
FÉDYA (very nervous). Oh, tell them I'm quite at their disposal.
(Walking up and down) They want to marry, and there mustn't be
anything in their way (pause); is that it? (Stops walking very
suddenly. Repeats.) There mustn't be anything in their way--is that
it?
PRINCE SERGIUS (pause. FÉDYA sits on table L.). Yes. When do you--when
do you think--you'll--you'll have it ready? The evidence?
FÉDYA (turns and looks at the PRINCE, suppressing a slight, strained
smile). Will a fortnight do?
PRINCE SERGIUS (rising). Yes, I am sure it will. (Rises and crosses to
FÉDYA.) May I say that you give them your word?
FÉDYA (with some impatience). Yes. Yes. (PRINCE offers his hand.)
Good-bye, Prince Sergius. And again thanks.
[Exit PRINCE SERGIUS, R. I. FÉDYA sits down in an attitude of
deep thought.
Why not? Why not? And it's good not to be ashamed----
[Lights dim and out.
CURTAIN
SCENE V
Private room in a cheap restaurant. FÉDYA is shown in by a shabby
waiter.
WAITER. This way, sir. No one will disturb you here. Here's the
writing paper.
[Starts to exit.
FÉDYA (as waiter starts to exit). Bring me a bottle of champagne.
WAITER. Yes, sir.
[Exits R. C.
[FÉDYA sits at table L. C., and begins to write. IVÁN PETROVICH
appearing in the doorway R. C.
IVÁN PETROVICH. I'll come in, shall I?
FÉDYA (sitting L. of table L. C. Very serious). If you want to, but
I'm awfully busy, and--(seeing he has already entered) Oh, all right,
do come in.
IVÁN PETROVICH (C.). You're going to write an answer to their demand.
I'll help you. I'll tell you what to say Speak out. Say what you mean.
It's straight from the shoulder. That's my system. (Picks up box that
FÉDYA has placed on table--opens it and takes out a revolver.) Hallo!
What's this? Going to shoot yourself. Of course, why not? I
understand. They want to humiliate you, and you show them where the
courage is--put a bullet through your head and heap coals of fire on
theirs. I understand perfectly. (The waiter enters with champagne on
tray, pours a glass for FÉDYA, then exits. PETROVICH takes up the
glass of wine and starts to drink. FÉDYA looks up from his writing.) I
understand everything and everybody, because I'm a genius.
FÉDYA. So you are, but----
IVÁN PETROVICH (filling and lifting his glass). Here's to your
immortal journey. May it be swift and pleasant. Oh, I see it from your
point of view. So why should I stop you? Life and death are the same
to genius. I'm dead during life and I live after death. You kill
yourself in order to make a few people miss you, but I--but I--am
going to kill myself to make the whole world know what it lost. I
won't hesitate or think about it. I'll just take the revolver--one,
two--and all is over--um. But I am premature. My hour is not yet
struck. (He puts the revolver down.) But I shall write nothing. The
world will have to understand all by itself. (FÉDYA continues to
write.) The world, what is it but a mass of preposterous creatures,
who crawl around through life, understanding nothing--nothing at all
--do you hear me? (FÉDYA looks up, rather exasperated.) Oh, I'm not
talking to you. All this is between me and the cosmos. (Pours himself
out another drink.) After all, what does humanity most lack?
Appreciation for its geniuses. As it is, we're persecuted, tortured,
racked, through a lifetime of perpetual agony, into the asylum or the
grave. But no longer will I be their bauble. Humanity, hypocrite that
you are--to hell with you.
[Drinks wine.
FÉDYA (having finished his letter). Oh, go away, please.
IVÁN PETROVICH. Away? (With a gesture.) Away? Me? (With profound
resolve.) So be it. (He leans over the table, faces FÉDYA.) I shall
away. I'll not deter you from accomplishing what I also shall commit--
all in its proper moment, however. Only I should like to say this----
FÉDYA. Later. Later. But now, listen, old man, give this to the head
waiter. (Handing him some money.) You understand?
IVÁN PETROVICH. Yes, but for God's sake wait for me to come back.
(Moves away.) I've something rare to tell you, something you'll never
hear in the next world--at least not till I get there---- Look here,
shall I give him all this money?
FÉDYA. No, just what I owe him.
[Exit IVÁN PETROVICH, whistling. FÉDYA sighs with a sense of
relief, takes the revolver, cocks it, stands at mirror on wall
up R., and puts it close to his temple. Then shivers, and lets
his hand drop.
I can't do it. I can't do it.
[Pause. MASHA is heard singing. MASHA bursts into the room.
MASHA (breathless). I've been everywhere looking for you. To Popov's,
Afrémov's, then I guessed you'd be here. (Crosses to him. Sees
revolver, turns, faces him quickly, concealing it with her body,
stands very tense and taut, looking at him.) Oh, you fool! You hideous
fool! Did you think you'd----
FÉDYA (still completely unnerved). Awful! It's been awful! I tried----
(With a gesture of despair.) I couldn't----
[Crosses to table L. C.--leans against it.
MASHA (puts her hand to her face as if terribly hurt). As if I didn't
exist. (Crosses over to table L. C., puts down revolver.) As if I
weren't in your life at all. Oh, how godless you are! (Brokenly.) Tell
me, tell me, what about all my love for you?
FÉDYA (as if suddenly aware of a great fatigue). I wanted to set them
free. I promised to--and when the time came I couldn't.
MASHA. And what about me? What about me?
FÉDYA. I thought you'd be free, too. Surely my torturing you can't
make you happy.
MASHA. Oh, I can look out for myself. Maybe I'd rather be unhappy,
miserable, wretched with you every minute than even think of living
without you.
FÉDYA (up R.--half to himself). If I'd finished just now, you would
have cried bitterly perhaps, my Masha, but you would have lived past
it.
MASHA. Oh, damn you, don't be so sure I'd cry at all. Can't you even
be sorry for me?
[She tries to conceal her tears.
FÉDYA. Oh God, I only wanted to make everybody happier.
MASHA. Yourself happier, you mean.
FÉDYA (smiling). Would I have been happier to be dead now?
MASHA (sulkily). I suppose you would. (Suddenly in a tender voice,
crossing to him.) But, Fédya, do you know what you want? Tell me, what
do you want?
FÉDYA (R). I want so many things.
MASHA (impatiently and clinging to him). But what? What?
FÉDYA. First of all, I want to set them free. How can I lie? How can I
crawl through the muck and filth of a divorce? I can't. (Moves to end
of table and stands there facing front.) But I must set them free
somehow. They're such good people, my wife and Victor. I can't bear
having them suffer.
MASHA (R. of table L. C.--scornfully). Where's the good in her if she
left you?
FÉDYA. She didn't. I left her.
MASHA. She made you think she'd be happier without you. But go on----
(Impatiently.) Blame yourself, what else.
FÉDYA. There's you, Masha. Young, lovely, awfully dear to me. If I
stay alive, ah, where will you be?
MASHA. Don't bother about me. You can't hurt me.
FÉDYA (sighing). But the big reason, the biggest reason of all, is
myself. I'm just lost. Your father is right, my dear. I'm no good.
MASHA (crossing to him, at once tenderly and savagely). I won't
unfasten myself from you. I'll stick to you, no matter where you take
me, no matter what you do. You're alive, terribly alive, and I love
you. Fédya, drop all this horror.
FÉDYA. How can I?
MASHA (trying to project the very essence of her vitality into him).
Oh, you can, you can.
FÉDYA (slowly). When I look at you, I feel as though I could do
anything.
MASHA (proudly, fondly). My love, my love. You can do anything, get
anywhere you want to. (FÉDYA moves away impatiently up R. She sees
letter.) So you have been writing to them--to tell them you'll kill
yourself. You just told them you'd kill yourself, is that it? But you
didn't say anything about a revolver. Oh, Fédya, let me think, there
must be some way. Fédya--listen to me. Do you remember the day we all
went to the picnic to the White Lakes with Mama and Afrémov and the
young Cossack officer? And you buried the bottles of wine in the sand
to keep them cool while we went in bathing? Do you remember how you
took my hands and drew me out beyond the waves till the water was
quite silent and flashing almost up to our throats, and then suddenly
it seemed as if there were nothing under our feet? We tried to get
back. We couldn't and you shouted out, "Afrémov," and if he hadn't
been almost beside us and pulled us in--and how cross he was with you
for forgetting that you couldn't swim, and after, how wonderful it was
to stretch out safely on the sands in the sunlight. Oh, how nice every
one was to us that day and you kept on being so sorry for forgetting
you couldn't swim! And, Fédya, don't you see? Of course, she must know
you can't swim. Oh, it's all getting as clear as daylight. You will
send her this beautiful letter. Your clothes will be found on the
river bank--but instead of being in the river you will be far away
with me--Fédya, don't you see, don't you see? You will be dead to her,
but alive for me. (Embraces FÉDYA.)
[The lights down and out.
CURTAIN
SCENE VI
The PROTOSOVS' drawing-room.
KARÉNIN and LISA.
KARÉNIN (sitting chair R.). He's promised me
definitely, and I'm sure he'll keep to it.
LISA (sitting chair R. C.). I'm rather ashamed to confess it, Victor,
but since I found out about this--this gypsy, I feel completely free
of him. Of course, I am not in the least jealous, but knowing this
makes me see that I owe him nothing more. Am I clear to you, I wonder?
KARÉNIN (coming closer to her). Yes, dear, I think I'll always
understand you.
LISA (smiling). Don't interrupt me, but let me speak as I think. The
thing that tortured me most was I seemed to love both of you at once,
and that made me seem so indecent to myself.
KARÉNIN (incredulously amused). You indecent?
LISA (continuing). But since I've found out that there's another
woman, that he doesn't need me any more, I feel free, quite free of
him. And now I can say truthfully, I love you. Because everything is
clear in my soul. My only worry is the divorce, and all the waiting to
be gone through before we can---- Ah, that's torturing.
KARÉNIN. Dearest, everything will be settled soon. After all, he's
promised, and I've asked my secretary to go to him with the petition
and not to leave until he's signed it. Really, sometimes, if I didn't
know him as I do, I'd think he was trying on purpose to discomfort us.
LISA. No. No. It's, only the same weakness and honesty fighting
together in him. He doesn't want to lie. However, I'm sorry you sent
him money.
KARÉNIN. If I hadn't, it might have delayed things. Lisa. I know, but
money seems so ugly.
KARÉNIN (slightly ruffled). I hardly think it's necessary to be so
delicate with Fédya.
LISA. Perhaps, perhaps. (Smiling.) But don't you think we are becoming
very selfish?
KARÉNIN. Maybe. But it's all your fault, dear. After all, this
hopelessness and waiting, to think of being happy at last! I suppose
happiness does make us selfish.
LISA. Don't believe you're alone in your happiness or selfishness. I
am so filled with joy it makes me almost afraid. Misha's all right,
your mother loves me, and above all, you are here, close to me, loving
me as I love you.
KARÉNIN (bending over her and searching her eyes). You're sure you've
no regret?
LISA. From the day I found out about that gypsy woman, my mind
underwent a change that has set me free.
KARÉNIN. You're sure?
[Kissing her hands.
LISA (passionately). Darling, I've only one desire now, and that is to
have you forget the past and love as I do.
[Her little boy toddles in R., sees them and stops.
[To the child.
Come here, my sweetheart.
[He goes to her and she takes him on her knees.
KARÉNIN. What strange contradictory instincts and desires make up our
beings!
LISA. Why?
KARÉNIN (slowly). I don't know. When I came back from abroad, knew I'd
lost you, I was unhappy, terribly. Yet, it was enough for me to learn
that you at least remembered me. Afterward, when we became friends,
and you were kind to me, and into our friendship wavered a spark of
something more than friendship, ah, I was almost happy! Only one thing
tormented me: fear that such a feeling wronged Fédya. Afterwards, when
Fédya tortured you so, I saw I could help. Then a certain definite
hope sprang up in me. And later, when he became impossible and you
decided to leave him, and I showed you my heart for the first time,
and you didn't say no, but went away in tears--then I was happy through
and through. Then came the possibility of joining our lives. Mamma
loved you. You told me you loved me, that Fédya was gone out of your
heart, out of your life forever, and there was only, only me.... Ah,
Lisa, for what more could I ask! Yet the past tortured me. Awful
fancies would flush up into my happiness, turning it all into hatred
for your past.
LISA (interrupting reproachfully). Victor!
KARÉNIN. Forgive me, Lisa. I only tell you this because I don't want
to hide a single thought from you. I want you to know how bad I am,
and what a weakness I've got to fight down. But don't worry, I'll get
past it. It's all right, dear. (He bends over, kissing the child on
the head.) And I love him, too.
LISA. Dearest, I'm so happy. Everything has happened in my heart to
make it as you'd wish.
KARÉNIN. All?
LISA. All, beloved, or I never could say so.
[Enter the NURSE L. U.
NURSE. Your secretary has come back.
[LISA and KARÉNIN exchange glances.
LISA. Show him in here, nurse, and take Misha, will you?
NURSE. Come along, my pet. It's time for your rest.
[Exit NURSE with the little boy, R.
KARÉNIN (gets up, walks to the door). This will be Fédya's answer.
LISA (kissing Karénin). At last, at last we shall know when. (She
kisses him.)
[Enter VOZNESÉNSKY L. U.
KARÉNIN. Well?
SECRETARY. He's not there, sir.
KARÉNIN. Not there? He's not signed the petition, then?
SECRETARY. No. But here is a letter addressed to you and Elizaveta
Protosova.
[Takes letter from his pocket and gives it to KARÉNIN.
KARÉNIN (interrupting angrily). More excuses, more excuses. It's
perfectly outrageous. How without conscience he is. Really, he has
lost every claim to----
LISA. But read the letter, dear; see what he says.
[KARÉNIN opens the letter.
SECRETARY. Shall you need me, sir?
Karénin. No. That's all. Thank you.
[Exit SECRETARY. KARÉNIN reads the letter growing astonishment
and concern. LISA watches his face.
(Reading.)
"Lisa, Victor, I write you both without using terms of
endearment, since I can't feel them, nor can I conquer a sense
of bitterness and reproach, self-reproach principally, when I
think of you together in your love. I know, in spite of being
the husband, I was also the barrier, preventing you from coming
earlier to one another. C'est moi qui suis l'intrue. I stood in
your way, I worried you to death. Yet I can't help feeling
bitterly, coldly, toward you. In one way I love both of you,
especially Lisa Lizenska, but in reality I am more than cold
toward you. Yes, it's unjust, isn't it, but to change is
impossible."
LISA. What's all that for?
KARÉNIN (standing L. of table C., continuing).
"However, to the point. I am going to fulfill your wishes in
perhaps a little different way from what you desire. To lie, to
act a degrading comedy, to bribe women of the streets for
evidence--the ugliness of it all disgusts me. I am a bad man,
but this despicable thing I am utterly unable to do. My solution
is after all the simplest. You must marry to be happy. I am the
obstacle, consequently that obstacle must be removed."
LISA (R. of table). Victor!
KARÉNIN (reading). Must be removed? "By the time this letter reaches
you, I shall no longer exist. All I ask you is to be happy, and
whenever you think of me, think tender thoughts. God bless you both.
Good-bye. FÉDYA."
LISA. He's killed himself!
KARÉNIN (going hurriedly up stage L. and calls of). My secretary! Call
back my secretary!
LISA. Fédya! Fédya, darling!
KARÉNIN. Lisa!
LISA. It's not true! It's not true that I've stopped loving him! He's
the only man in all the world I love! And now I've killed him! I've
killed him as surely as if I'd murdered him with my own two hands!
KARÉNIN. Lisa, for God's sake!
LISA. Stop it! Don't come near me! Don't be angry with me, Victor. You
see I, too, cannot lie!
CURTAIN
ACT II
SCENE I
A dirty, ill-lighted underground dive; people are lying around
drinking, sleeping, playing cards and making love. Near the front a
small table at which FÉDYA sits; he is in rags and has fallen very
low. By his side is PETUSHKÓV, a delicate spiritual man, with long
yellow hair and beard. Both are rather drunk.
Candle light is the only lighting in this Scene.
PETUSHKÓV (R.C. of table C.). I know. I know. Well, that's real love.
So what happened then?
FÉDYA (L. C. of table C., pensively). You might perhaps expect a girl
of our own class, tenderly brought up, to be capable of sacrificing
for the man she loved, but this girl was a gypsy, reared in greed, yet
she gave me the purest sort of self-sacrificing love. She'd have done
anything for nothing. Such contrasts are amazing.
PETUSHKÓV. I see. In painting we call that value. Only to realize
bright red fully when there is green around it. But that's not the
point. What happened?
FÉDYA. Oh, we parted. I felt it wasn't right to go on taking, taking
where I couldn't give. So one night we were having dinner in a little
restaurant, I told her we'd have to say good-bye. My heart was so
wrung all the time I could hardly help crying.
PETUSHKÓV. And she?
FÉDYA. Oh, she was awfully unhappy, but she knew I was right. So we
kissed each other a long while, and she went back to her gypsy troupe
--(Slowly.) Maybe she was glad to go----
[A pause.
PETUSHKÓV. I wonder.
FÉDYA. Yes. The single good act of my soul was not ruining that girl.
PETUSHKÓV. Was it from pity?
FÉDYA. I sorry for her? Oh, never. Quite the contrary. I worshipped
her unclouded sincerity, the energy of her clear, strong will, and God
in Heaven, how she sang. And probably she is singing now, for some one
else. Yes, I always looked up at her from beneath, as you do at some
radiance in the sky. I loved her really. And now it's a tender
beautiful memory.
PETUSHKÓV. I understand. It was ideal, and you left it like that.
FÉDYA (ruminatingly). And I've been attracted often, you know. Once I
was in love with a grande dame, bestially in love, dog-like. Well,
she gave me a rendezvous, and I didn't, couldn't, keep it, because
suddenly I thought of her husband, and it made me feel sick. And you
know, it's queer, that now, when I look back, instead of being glad
that I was decent, I am as sorry as if I had sinned. But with Masha
it's so different; I'm filled with joy that I've never soiled the
brightness of my feeling for her. (He points his finger at the floor.)
I may go much further down.
PETUSHKÓV (interrupting). I know so well what you mean. But where is
she now?
FÉDYA. I don't know. I don't want to know. All that belongs to another
life, and I couldn't bear to mix that life and this life.
[A POLICE OFFICER enters from up R., kicks a man who is lying on
the floor--walks down stage, looks at FÉDYA and PETUSHKÓV, then
exits.
PETUSHKÓV. Your life's wonderful. I believe you're a real idealist.
FÉDYA. No. It's awfully simple. You know among our class--I mean the
class I was born in--there are only three courses: the first, to go
into the civil service or join the army and make money to squander
over your sensual appetites. And all that was appalling to me--perhaps
because I couldn't do it. The second thing is to live to clear out, to
destroy what is foul, to make way for the beautiful. But for that
you've got to be a hero, and I'm not a hero. And the third is to
forget it all--overwhelm it with music, drown it with wine. That's
what I did. And look (he spreads his arms out) where my singing led me
to.
[He drinks.
PETUSHKÓV. And what about family life? The sanctity of the home and
all that--I would have been awfully happy if I'd had a decent wife. As
it was, she ruined me.
FÉDYA. I beg your pardon. Did you say marriage? Oh, yes, of course.
Well, I've been married, too. Oh, my wife was quite an ideal woman. I
don't know why I should say was, by the way, because she's still
living. But there's something--I don't know; it's rather difficult to
explain--But you know how pouring champagne into a glass makes it
froth up into a million iridescent little bubbles? Well, there was
none of that in our married life. There was no fizz in it, no sparkle,
no taste, phew! The days were all one color--flat and stale and gray
as the devil. And that's why I wanted to get away and forget. You
can't forget unless you play. So trying to play I crawled in every
sort of muck there is. And you know, it's a funny thing, but we love
people for the good we do them, and we hate them for the harm. That's
why I hated Lisa. That's why she seemed to love me.
PETUSHKÓV. Why do you say seemed?
FÉDYA (wistfully). Oh, she couldn't creep into the center of my being
like Masha. But that's not what I mean. Before the baby was born, and
afterwards, when she was nursing him, I used to stay away for days and
days, and come back drunk, drunk, and love her less and less each
time, because I was wronging her so terribly. (Excitedly.) Yes. That's
it, I never realized it before. The reason why I loved Masha was
because I did her good, not harm. But I crucified my wife, and her
contortions filled me almost with hatred.
[FÉDYA drinks.
PETUSHKÓV. I think I understand. Now in my case----
[ARTIMIEV enters R. U., approaches with a cockade on his cap,
dyed mustache, and shabby, but carefully mended clothes.
ARTIMIEV (stands L. of table). Good appetite, gentlemen! (Bowing to
FÉDYA.) I see you've made the acquaintance of our great artist.
FÉDYA (coolly). Yes, I have.
ARTIMIEV (to PETUSHKÓV). Have you finished your portrait?
PETUSHKÓV. No, they didn't give me the commission, after all.
ARTIMIEV (sitting down on end of table). I'm not in your way, am I?
[FÉDYA and PETUSHKÓV don't answer.
PETUSHKÓV. This gentleman was telling me about his life.
ARTIMIEV. Oh, secrets? Then I won't disturb you. Pardon me for
interrupting. (To himself as he moves away.) Damn swine!
[He goes to the next table, sits down and in the dim candlelight
he can just be seen listening to the conversation.
FÉDYA. I don't like that man.
PETUSHKÓV. I think he's offended.
FÉDYA. Let him be. I can't stand him. If he'd stayed I shouldn't have
said a word. Now, it's different with you. You make me feel all
comfortable, you know. Well, what was I saying?
PETUSHKÓV. You were talking about your wife. How did you happen to
separate?
FÉDYA. Oh, that? (A pause.) It's a rather curious story. My wife's
married.
PETUSHKÓV. Oh, I see! You're divorced.
FÉDYA. No. (Smiling.) She's a widow.
PETUSHKÓV. A widow? What do you mean?
FÉDYA. I mean exactly what I say. She's a widow. I don't exist.
PETUSHKÓV (puzzled). What?
FÉDYA (smiling drunkenly). I'm dead. You're talking to a corpse.
[ARTIMIEV leans towards them and listens intently.
Funny, I seem to be able to say anything to you. And it's so long ago,
so long ago. And what is it after all to you but a story? Well, when I
got to the climax of torturing my wife, when I'd squandered everything
I had or could get, and become utterly rotten, then, there appeared a
protector.
PETUSHKÓV. The usual thing, I suppose?
FÉDYA. Don't think anything filthy about it. He was just her friend,
mine too, a very good, decent fellow; in fact the opposite of myself.
He'd known my wife since she was a child, and I suppose he'd loved her
since then. He used to come to our house a lot. First I was very glad
he did, then I began to see they were falling in love with each other,
and then--an odd thing began to happen to me at night. Do you know
when she lay there asleep beside me (he laughs shrilly) I would hear
him, pushing open the door, crawling into the room, coming to me on
his hands and knees, grovelling, whining, begging me (he is almost
shouting) for her, for her, imagine it! And I, I had to get up and
give my place to him. (He covers his eyes with his hands in a.
convulsive moment.) Phew! Then I'd come to myself.
PETUSHKÓV. God! It must have been horrible.
FÉDYA (wearily). Well, later on I left her--and after a while, they
asked me for a divorce. I couldn't bear all the lying there was to be
got through. Believe me it was easier to think of killing myself. And
so I tried to commit suicide, and I tried and I couldn't. Then a kind
friend came along and said, "Now, don't be foolish!" And she arranged
the whole business for me. I sent my wife a farewell letter--and the
next day my clothes and pocketbook were found on the bank of the
river. Everybody knew I couldn't swim. (Pause.) You understand, don't
you?
PETUSHKÓV. Yes, but what about the body? They didn't find that?
FÉDYA (smiling drunkenly). Oh yes, they did! You just listen! About a
week afterwards some horror was dragged out of the water. My wife was
called in to identify it. It was in pretty bad shape, you know. She
took one glance. "Is that your husband?" they asked her. And she said,
"Yes." Well, that settled it! I was buried, they were married, and
they're living very happily right here in this city. I'm living here,
too! We're all living here together! Yesterday I walked right by their
house. The windows were lit and somebody's shadow went across the
blind. (A pause.) Of course there're times when I feel like hell about
it, but they don't last. The worst is when there's no money to buy
drinks with.
[He drinks.
ARTIMIEV. (rising and approaching them). Excuse me, but you know I've
been listening to that story of yours? It's a very good story, and
what's more a very useful one. You say you don't like being without
money, but really there's no need of your ever finding yourself in
that position.
FÉDYA. (interrupting). Look here, I wasn't talking to you and I don't
need your advice!
ARTIMIEV. But I'm going to give it to you just the same. Now you're a
corpse. Well, suppose you come to life again!
FÉDYA. What?
ARTIMIEV. Then your wife and that fellow she's so happy with--they'd
be arrested for bigamy. The best they'd get would be ten years in
Siberia. Now you see where you can have a steady income, don't you?
FÉDYA. (furiously). Stop talking and get out of here!
ARTIMIEV. The best way is to write them a letter. If you don't know
how I'll do it for you. Just give me their address and afterwards when
the ruble notes commence to drop in, how grateful you'll be!
FÉDYA. Get out! Get out, I say! I haven't told you anything!
ARTIMIEV. Oh, yes, you have! Here's my witness! This waiter heard you
saying you were a corpse!
FÉDYA. (beside himself). You damn blackmailing beast----
[Rising.
ARTIMIEV. Oh, I'm a beast, am I? We'll see about that! (FÉDYA rises to
go, ARTIMIEV seizes him.) Police! Police! (FÉDYA struggles frantically
to escape.)
[The POLICE enter and drag him away.
CURTAIN
SCENE II
In the country. A veranda covered by a gay awning; sunlight; flowers;
SOPHIA KARÉNINA, LISA, her little boy and nurse.
LISA (standing C. in door. To the little boy, smiling), Who do you
think is on his way from the station?
MISHA (excitedly). Who? Who?
LISA. Papa.
MISHA (rapturously). Papa's coming! Papa's coming!
[Exits L. through C. door.
LISA (contentedly, to SOPHIA KARÉNINA). How much he loves Victor! As
if he were his real father!
SOPHIA KARÉNINA (on sofa L. knitting--back to audience). Tant mieux.
Do you think he ever remembers his father?
LISA (sighing). I can't tell. Of course I've never said anything to
him. What's the use of confusing his little head? Yet sometimes I feel
as though I ought. What do you think, Mamma?
SOPHIA KARÉNINA. I think it's a matter of feeling. If you can trust
your heart, let it guide you. What extraordinary adjustments death
brings about! I confess I used to think very unkindly of Fédya, when
he seemed a barrier to all this. (She makes a gesture with her hand.)
But now I think of him as that nice boy who was my son's friend, and a
man who was capable of sacrificing himself for those he loved. (She
knits.) I hope Victor hasn't forgotten to bring me some wool.
LISA. Here he comes. (LISA runs to the edge of the veranda.) There's
some one with him--a lady in a bonnet! Oh, it's mother! How splendid!
I haven't seen her for an age!
[Enter ANNA PÁVLOVNA up C.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA (kissing LISA). My darling. (To SOPHIA KARÉNINA.) How do
you do? Victor met me and insisted on my coming down.
[Sits bench L. C. beside SOPHIA.
SOPHIA KARÉNINA. This is perfectly charming!
[Enter VICTOR and MÍSHA.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. I did want to see Lisa and the boy. So now, if you
don't turn me out, I'll stay till the evening train.
KARÉNIN. (L. C., kissing his wife, his mother and the boy).
Congratulate me--everybody--I've a bit of luck, I don't have to go to
town again for two days. Isn't that wonderful?
LISA. (R. C.). Two days! That's glorious! We'll drive over to the
Hermitage to-morrow and show it to mother.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. (holding the boy). He's so like his father, isn't he? I
do hope he hasn't inherited his father's disposition.
SOPHIA KARÉNINA. After all, Fédya's heart was in the right place.
LISA. Victor thinks if he'd only been brought up more carefully
everything would have been different.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. Well, I'm not so sure about that, but I do feel sorry
for him. I can't think of him without wanting to cry.
LISA. I know. That's how Victor and I feel. All the bitterness is
gone. There's nothing left but a very tender memory.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. (sighing). I'm sure of it. Lisa. Isn't it funny? It all
seemed so hopeless back there, and now see how beautifully
everything's come out!
SOPHIA KARÉNINA. Oh, by the way, Victor, did you get my wool?
KARÉNIN. I certainly did. (Brings a bag and takes out parcels.) Here's
the wool, here's the eau-de-cologne, here are the letters--one on
"Government Service" for you, Lisa---- (Hands her the letter. LISA
opens letter, then strolls R, reading it, suddenly stops.) Well, Anna
Pávlovna, I know you want to make yourself beautiful! I must tidy up,
too. It's almost dinner time. Lisa, you've put your another in the
Blue Room, haven't you?
[Pause.
[LISA is pale. She holds the letter with trembling hands and
reads it, KARÉNIN seeing her.
What's the matter, Lisa? What is it?
LISA. He's alive. He's alive. My God! I shall never be free from him.
(VICTOR crosses to LISA.) What does this mean? What's going to happen
to us?
KARÉNIN (taking the letter and reading). I don't believe it.
SOPHIA KARÉNINA. What is it? (Rising.) What's the matter? Why don't
you tell us?
KARÉNIN. He's alive! They're accusing us of bigamy! It's a summons for
Lisa to go before the Examining Magistrate.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA. No--no! It can't be!
SOPHIA KARÉNINA. Oh, that horrible man!
KARÉNIN. So it was all a lie!
LISA (with a cry of rage). Oh! I hate him so! Victor!--Fédya!--My God!
I don't know what I'm saying. I don't know what I'm saying.
[Sinks in chair down R.
ANNA PÁVLOVNA (rising). He's not really alive?
[Lights dim and out.
CURTAIN
SCENE III
The room of the examining magistrate, who sits at a table talking to
MÉLNIKOV, a smartly dressed, languid, man-about-town.
At a side-table a CLERK is sorting papers.
MAGISTRATE. (sitting R. of table R. C.). Oh, I never said so. It's her
own notion. And now she is reproaching me with it.
MÉLNIKOV. (sitting C. back to audience). She's not reproaching you,
only her feelings are awfully hurt.
MAGISTRATE. Are they? Oh, well, tell her I'll come to supper after the
performance. But you'd better wait on. I've rather an interesting
case. (To the CLERK.) Here, you, show them in.
Clerk. (sitting C. facing audience). Both? Excellency. Magistrate. No,
only Madame Karénina.
[CLERK exits L. I.
CLERK (calling off stage). Madame Protosova, Madame Protosova.
MAGISTRATE. Or, to dot my i's, Madame Protosova.
MÉLNIKOV (starting to go out). Ah, it's the Karénin case.
MAGISTRATE. Yes, and an ugly one. I'm just beginning the
investigation. But I assure you it's a first-rate scandal already.
Must you go? Well, see you at supper. Good-bye.
[Exit MÉLNIKOV, R.
[The CLERK shows in LISA; she wears a black dress and veil.
MAGISTRATE. Please sit down, won't you? (He points to a chair L. C.
LISA sits down.) I am extremely sorry that it's necessary to ask you
questions.
[LISA appears very much agitated. MAGISTRATE appears unconcerned
and is reading a newspaper as he speaks.
But please be calm. You needn't answer them unless you wish. Only in
the interest of every one concerned, I advise you to help me reach the
entire truth.
LISA. I've nothing to conceal.
MAGISTRATE (looking at papers). Let's see. Your name, station,
religion. I've got all that. You are accused of contracting a marriage
with another man, knowing your first husband to be alive.
LISA. But I did not know it.
MAGISTRATE (continuing). And also you are accused of having persuaded
with bribes your first husband to commit a fraud, a pretended suicide,
in order to rid yourself of him.
LISA. All that's not true.
MAGISTRATE. Then permit me to ask you these questions: Did you or did
you not send him 1200 rubles in July of last year?
LISA. That was his own money obtained from selling his things, which I
sent to him during our separation, while I was waiting for my divorce.
MAGISTRATE. Just so. Very well. When the police asked you to identify
the corpse, how were you sure it was your husband's?
LISA. Oh, I was so terribly distressed that I couldn't bear to look at
the body. Besides, I felt so sure it was he, and when they asked me, I
just said yes.
MAGISTRATE. Very good indeed. I can well understand your distraction,
and permit me to observe, Madame, that although servants of the law,
we remain human beings, and I beg you to be assured that I sympathize
with your situation. You were bound to a spendthrift, a drunkard, a
man whose dissipation caused you infinite misery.
LISA (interrupting). Please, I loved him.
MAGISTRATE (tolerantly). Of course. Yet naturally you desired to be
free, and you took this simple course without counting the
consequence, which is considered a crime, or bigamy. I understand you,
and so will both judges and jury. And it's for this reason, Madam, I
urge you to disclose the entire truth.
LISA. I've nothing to disclose. I never have lied. (She begins to
cry.) Do you want me any longer?
MAGISTRATE. Yes. I must ask you to remain a few minutes longer. No
more questions, however. (To the CLERK.) Show in Victor Karénin. (To
LISA.) I think you'll find that a comfortable chair. (Sits L. C.)
[Enter KARÉNIN, stern and solemn.
Please, sit down.
KARÉNIN. Thank you. (He remains standing L. U.) What do you want from
me?
MAGISTRATE. I have to take your deposition.
KARÉNIN. In what capacity?
MAGISTRATE (smiling). In my capacity of investigating magistrate. You
are here, you know, because you are charged with a crime.
KARÉNIN. Really? What crime?
MAGISTRATE. Bigamy, since you've married a woman already married. But
I'll put the questions to you in their proper order. Sure you'll not
sit down?
KARÉNIN. Quite sure.
MAGISTRATE (writing). Your name?
KARÉNIN. Victor Karénin.
MAGISTRATE. Rank?
KARÉNIN. Chamberlain of the Imperial Court.
MAGISTRATE. Your age?
KARÉNIN. Thirty-eight.
MAGISTRATE. Religion?
KARÉNIN. Orthodox, and I've never been tried before of any charge.
(Pause.) What else?
MAGISTRATE. Did you know that Fedor Protosov was alive when you
married his wife?
KARÉNIN. No, we were both convinced that he was drowned.
MAGISTRATE. All right. And why did you send 1200 rubles to him a few
days before he simulated death on July 17th?
KARÉNIN. That money was given me by my wife.
MAGISTRATE (interrupting him). Excuse me, you mean by Madame
Protosova.
KARÉNIN. By my wife to send to her husband. She considered this money
his property, and having broken off all relations with him, felt it
unjust to withhold it. What else do you want?
MAGISTRATE. I don't want anything, except to do my official duty, and
to aid you in doing yours, through causing you to tell me the whole
truth, in order that your innocence be proved. You'd certainly better
not conceal things which are sure to be found out, since Protosov is
in such a weakened condition, physically and mentally, that he is
certain to come out with the entire truth as soon as he gets into
court, so from your point of view I advise....
KARÉNIN. Please don't advise me, but remain within the limits of your
official capacity. Are we at liberty to leave?
[He goes to LISA who takes his arm.
MAGISTRATE. Sorry, but it's necessary to detain you. (KARÉNIN looks
around in astonishment.) No, I've no intention of arresting you,
although it might be a quicker way of reaching the truth. I merely
want to take Protosov's deposition in your presence, to confront him
with you, that you may facilitate your chances by proving his
statements to be false. Kindly sit down. (To CLERK.) Show in Fedor
Protosov.
[There is a pause. The CLERK shows in FÉDYA in rags, a total
wreck. He enters slowly, dragging his feet. He catches sight of
his wife, who is bowed in grief. For a moment he is about to
take her in his arms--he hesitates--then stands before the
MAGISTRATE.
MAGISTRATE. I shall ask you to answer some questions.
FÉDYA. (rises, confronting the MAGISTRATE). Ask them.
MAGISTRATE. Your name?
FÉDYA. You know it.
MAGISTRATE. Answer my questions exactly, please.
[Rapping on his desk.
FÉDYA (shrugs). Fedor Protosov.
MAGISTRATE. Your rank, age, religion?
FÉDYA. (silent for a moment). Aren't you ashamed to ask me these
absurd questions? Ask me what you need to know, only that.
MAGISTRATE. I shall ask you to take care how you express yourself.
FÉDYA. Well, since you're not ashamed. My rank, graduate of the
University of Moscow; age 40; religion orthodox. What else?
MAGISTRATE. Did Victor Karénin and Elizaveta Andreyevna know you were
alive when you left your clothes on the bank of the river and
disappeared?
FÉDYA. Of course not. I really wished to commit suicide. But--
however, why should I tell you? The fact's enough. They knew nothing
of it.
MAGISTRATE. You gave a somewhat different account to the police
officer. How do you explain that?
FÉDYA. Which police officer? Oh yes, the one who arrested me in that
dive. I was drunk, and I lied to him--about what, I don't remember.
But I'm not drunk now and I'm telling you the whole truth. They knew
nothing; they thought I was dead, and I was glad of it. Everything
would have stayed all right except for that damned beast Artimiev. So
if any one's guilty, it's I.
MAGISTRATE. I perceive you wish to be generous. Unfortunately the law
demands the truth. Come, why did you receive money from them?
[FÉDYA is silent.
Why don't you answer me? Do you realize that it will be stated in your
deposition that the accused refused to answer these questions, and
that will harm (he includes LISA and VICTOR in a gesture) all of you?
[FÉDYA remains silent.
Aren't you ashamed of your stubborn refusal to aid these others and
yourself by telling the entire truth?
FÉDYA (breaking out passionately). The truth--Oh, God! what do you
know about the truth? Your business is crawling up into a little
power, that you may use it by tantalizing, morally and physically,
people a thousand times better than you.... You sit there in your smug
authority torturing people.
MAGISTRATE. I must ask you----
FÉDYA (interrupts him). Don't ask me for I'll speak as I feel.
(Turning to CLERK.) And you write it down. So for once some human
words will get into a deposition.
[Raising his voice, which ascends to a climax during this speech.
There were three human beings alive: I, he, and she.
[He turns to his wife with a gesture indicating his love for her.
He pauses, then proceeds.
We all bore towards one another a most complex relation. We were all
engaged in a spiritual struggle beyond your comprehension: the
struggle between anguish and peace; between falsehood and truth.
Suddenly this struggle ended in a way that set us free. Everybody was
at peace. They loved my memory, and I was happy even in my downfall,
because I'd done what should have been done, and cleared away my weak
life from interfering with their strong good lives. And yet we're all
alive. When suddenly a bastard adventurer appears, who demands that I
abet his filthy scheme. I drive him off as I would a diseased dog, but
he finds you, the defender of public justice, the appointed guardian
of morality, to listen to him. And you, who receive on the 20th of
each month a few kopeks' gratuity for your wretched business, you get
into your uniform, and in good spirits proceed to torture--bully
people whose threshold you're not clean enough to pass. Then when
you've had your fill of showing off your wretched power, oh, then you
are satisfied, and sit and smile there in your damned complacent
dignity. And....
MAGISTRATE (raising his voice. Rising excitedly). Be silent or I'll
have you turned out.
FÉDYA. God! Who should I be afraid of! I'm dead, dead, and away out of
your power. (Suddenly overcome with the horror of the situation.) What
can you do to me? How can you punish me--a corpse?
[Beating his breast.
MAGISTRATE. Be silent! (To CLERK, who is down L.) Take him out!
[FÉDYA turns, seeing his wife, he falls on his knees before
her ... kisses the hem of her dress, crying bitterly.
[Slowly he rises, pulls himself together with a great effort,
then exits L.
[The lights dim and out.
CURTAIN
SCENE IV
A corridor at the lower courts; in the background a door opposite
which stands a GUARD; to the right is another door through which the
PRISONERS are conducted to the court. IVÁN PETROVICH in rags enters
L., goes to this last door, trying to pass through it.
GUARD (at door R. C.). Where do you think you're going, shoving in
like that?
IVÁN PETROVICH. Why shouldn't I? The law says these sessions are
public.
GUARD. You can't get by and that's enough.
IVÁN PETROVICH (in pity). Wretched peasant, you have no idea to whom
you are speaking.
GUARD. Be silent!
[Enter a YOUNG LAWYER from R. I.
LAWYER (to Petrovich). Are you here on business?
IVÁN PETROVICH. No. I'm the public. But this wretched peasant won't
let me pass.
LAWYER. There's no room for the public at this trial.
IVÁN PETROVICH. Perhaps, but I am above the general rule.
LAWYER. Well, you wait outside; they'll adjourn presently.
[He is just going into courtroom through door R. C. when PRINCE
SERGIUS enters L. and stops him.
PRINCE SERGIUS. How does the case stand?
LAWYER. The defense has just begun. Petrúshin is speaking now.
PRINCE SERGIUS. Are the Karénins bearing up well?
LAWYER. Yes, with extraordinary dignity. They look as if they were the
judges instead of the accused. That's felt all the way through, and
PETRÚSHIN is taking advantage of it.
PRINCE SERGIUS. What of Protosov?
LAWYER. He's frightfully unnerved, trembling all over, but that's
natural considering the sort of life he's led. Yes, he's all on edge,
and he's interrupted, both judge and jury several times already.
PRINCE SERGIUS. How do you think it will end?
LAWYER. Hard to say. The jury are mixed. At any rate I don't think
they'll find the Karénins guilty of premeditation. Do you want to go
in?
PRINCE SERGIUS. I should very much like to.
LAWYER. Excuse me, you're Prince Sergius Abréskov, aren't you? (To the
Prince.) There's an empty chair just at the left.
[The guard lets PRINCE SERGIUS pass.
IVÁN PETROVICH. Prince! Bah! I am an aristocrat of the soul, and
that's a higher title.
LAWYER. Excuse me.
[And exits down R. C. into courtroom.
[PETUSHKÓV, FÉDYA'S companion in the dive, enters approaching
IVÁN PETROVICH.
PETUSHKÓV (R.). Oh, there you are. Well, how're things going?
IVÁN PETROVICH (L.). The speeches for the defense have begun, but this
ignorant rascal won't let us in. Curse his damned petty soul.
GUARD (C.) Silence! Where do you think you are?
[Further applause is heard; door of the court opens, and there is
a rush of lawyers and the general public into the corridor.
A LADY. Oh, it's simply wonderful! When he spoke I felt as if my heart
were breaking.
AN OFFICER. It's all far better than a novel. But I don't see how she
could ever have loved him. Such a sinister, horrible figure.
[The other door opens over L.; the accused comes out.
THE LADY (this group is down R.). Hush! There he is. See how wild he
looks.
FÉDYA (seeing IVÁN PETROVICH). Did you bring it?
[Goes to PETROVICH.
PETROVICH. There.
[He hands FÉDYA something; FÉDYA hides it in his pocket.
FÉDYA (seeing PETUSHKÓV). How foolish! How vulgar and how boring all
this is, isn't it?
[Men and women enter door L. and stand down L. watching.
[Enter PETRÚSHIN, from R. C., FÉDYA'S counsel, a stout man with
red cheeks; very animated.
PETRÚSHIN (rubbing his hands). Well, well, my friend. It's going along
splendidly. Only remember, don't go and spoil things for me in your
last speech.
FÉDYA (takes him by the arm). Tell me, what'll the worst be?
PETRÚSHIN. I've already told you. Exile to Siberia.
FÉDYA. Who'll be exiled to Siberia?
PETRÚSHIN. You and your wife, naturally.
FÉDYA. And at the best?
PETRÚSHIN. Religious pardon and the annulment of the second marriage.
FÉDYA. You mean--that we should be bound again--to one another----
PETRÚSHIN. Yes. Only try to collect yourself. Keep up your courage.
After all, there's no occasion for alarm.
FÉDYA. There couldn't be any other sentence, you're sure?
PETRÚSHIN. None other. None other.
[Exits R. I. FÉDYA stands motionless.
GUARD (crosses and exits L. I. Calling). Pass on. Pass on. No
loitering in the corridor.
[VICTOR and LISA enter from door L. Start to go off L. when pistol
shot stops them.
FÉDYA (He turns his back to the audience, and from beneath his ragged
coat shoots himself in the heart. There is a muffled explosion, smoke.
He crumples up in a heap on the floor. All the people in the passage
rush to him.) (In a very low voice.) This time--it's well done...
Lisa....
[People are crowding in from all the doors, judges, etc. LISA
rushes to FÉDYA, KARÉNIN, IVÁN PETROVICH and PRINCE SERGIUS
follow.
LISA. Fédya!... Fédya!... What have you done? Oh why!... why!...
FÉDYA. Forgive me---- No other way---- Not for you--but for myself----
LISA. You will live. You must live.
FÉDYA. No--no---- Good-bye---- (He seems to smile, then he mutters
just under his breath.) Masha.
[In the distance the gypsies are heard singing "No More at
Evening." They sing until the curtain.
You're too late----
[Suddenly he raises his head from LISA'S knees, and barely utters
as if he saw something in front of him.
Ah.... Happiness!...
[His head falls from LISA'S knees to the ground. She still clings
to it, in grief and horror. He dies.
[The lights dim and out.
CURTAIN
END OF _REDEMPTION_
* * * * *
THE POWER OF DARKNESS
OR
IF A CLAW IS CAUGHT THE BIRD IS LOST
CHARACTERS
PETER IGNÁTITCH. A well-to-do peasant, 42 years old, married for the
second time, and sickly.
ANÍSYA. His wife, 32 years old, fond of dress.
AKOULÍNA. Peter's daughter by his first marriage, 16 years old, hard
of hearing, mentally undeveloped.
NAN (ANNA PETRÓVNA). His daughter by his second marriage, 10 years old
NIKÍTA. Their laborer, 25 years old, fond of dress.
AKÍM. Nikíta's father, 50 years old, a plain-looking, God-fearing
peasant.
MATRYÓNA. His wife and Nikíta's mother, 50 years old.
MARÍNA An orphan girl, 22 years old.
MARTHA. Peter's sister.
MÍTRITCH An old laborer, ex-soldier.
SIMON. Marína's husband.
BRIDEGROOM. Engaged to Akoulína.
IVÁN. His father.
A NEIGHBOR.
FIRST GIRL.
SECOND GIRL.
POLICE OFFICER.
DRIVER.
BEST MAN
MATCHMAKER.
VILLAGE ELDER.
VISITORS, WOMEN, GIRLS, AND PEOPLE come to see the wedding
N.B.--The "oven" mentioned is the usual large, brick, Russian
baking-oven. The top of it outside is flat, so that more than one
person can lie on it.
ACT I
The Act takes place in autumn in a large village. The Scene represents
PETER'S roomy hut. PETER is sitting on a wooden bench, mending a
horse-collar. ANÍSYA and AKOULÍNA are spinning, and singing a
part-song.
PETER (looking out of the window). The horses have got loose again. If
we don't look out they'll be killing the colt. Nikíta! Hey, Nikíta! Is
the fellow deaf? (Listens. To the women.) Shut up, one can't hear
anything.
NIKÍTA (from outside). What?
PETER. Drive the horses in.
NIKÍTA. We'll drive 'em in. All in good time.
PETER (shaking his head). Ah, these laborers! If I were well, I'd not
keep one on no account. There's nothing but bother with 'em. (Rises
and sits down again.) Nikíta!.... It's no good shouting. One of you'd
better go. Go, Akoúl, drive 'em in.
AKOULÍNA. What? The horses?
PETER. What else?
AKOULÍNA. All right.
[Exit.
PETER. Ah, but he's a loafer, that lad ... no good at all. Won't stir
a finger if he can help it.
ANÍSYA. You're so mighty brisk yourself. When you're not sprawling on
the top of the oven you're squatting on the bench. To goad others to
work is all you're fit for.
PETER. If one weren't to goad you on a bit, one'd have no roof left
over one's head before the year's out. Oh, what people!
ANÍSYA. You go shoving a dozen jobs on to one's shoulders, and then do
nothing but scold. It's easy to lie on the oven and give orders.
PETER (sighing). Oh, if 'twere not for this sickness that's got hold
of me, I'd not keep him on another day.
AKOULÍNA (off the scene). Gee up, gee, woo.
[A colt neighs, the stamping of horses' feet and the creaking of
the gate are heard.
PETER. Bragging, that's what he's good at. I'd like to sack him, I
would indeed.
ANÍSYA (mimicking him). "Like to sack him." You buckle to yourself,
and then talk.
AKOULÍNA (enters). It's all I could do to drive 'em in. That piebald
always will....
PETER. And where's Nikíta?
AKOULÍNA. Where's Nikíta? Why, standing out there in the street.
PETER. What's he standing there for?
AKOULÍNA. What's he standing there for? He stands there jabbering.
PETER. One can't get any sense out of her! Who's he jabbering with?
AKOULÍNA (does not hear). Eh, what?
[PETER waves her off. She sits down to her spinning.
NAN (running in to her mother). Nikíta's father and mother have come.
They're going to take him away. It's true!
ANÍSYA. Nonsense!
NAN. Yes. Blest if they're not! (Laughing.) I was just going by, and
Nikíta, he says, "Good-bye, Anna Petróvna," he says, "you must come
and dance at my wedding. I'm leaving you," he says, and laughs.
ANÍSYA (to her husband). There now. Much he cares. You see, he wants
to leave of himself. "Sack him" indeed!
PETER. Well, let him go. Just as if I couldn't find somebody else.
ANÍSYA. And what about the money he's had in advance?
[NAN stands listening at the door for awhile, and then exit.
PETER (frowning). The money? Well, he can work it off in summer,
anyhow.
ANÍSYA. Well, of course you'll be glad if he goes and you've not got
to feed him. It's only me as'll have to work like a horse all the
winter. That lass of yours isn't over fond of work either. And you'll
be lying up on the oven. I know you.
PETER. What's the good of wearing out one's tongue before one has the
hang of the matter?
ANÍSYA. The yard's full of cattle. You've not sold the cow, and have
kept all the sheep for the winter: feeding and watering 'em alone
takes all one's time, and you want to sack the laborer. But I tell you
straight, I'm not going to do a man's work! I'll go and lie on the top
of the oven same as you, and let everything go to pot! You may do what
you like.
PETER (to Akoulína). Go and see about the feeding, will you? it's
time.
AKOULÍNA. The feeding? All right.
[Puts on a coat and takes a rope.
ANÍSYA. I'm not going to work for you. You go and work yourself. I've
had enough of it, so there!
PETER. That'll do. What are you raving about? Like a sheep with the
staggers!
ANÍSYA. You're a crazy cur, you are! One gets neither work nor
pleasure from you. Eating your fill, that's all you do; you palsied
cur, you!
PETER (spits and puts on coat). Faugh! The Lord have mercy! I'd better
go myself and see what's up.
[Exit.
ANÍSYA (after him). Scurvy long-nosed devil!
AKOULÍNA. What are you swearing at dad for?
ANÍSYA. Hold your noise, you idiot!
AKOULÍNA (going to the door). I know why you're swearing at him.
You're an idiot yourself, you bitch. I'm not afraid of you.
ANÍSYA. What do you mean? (Jumps up and looks round for something to
hit her with.) Mind, or I'll give you one with the poker.
AKOULÍNA (opening the door). Bitch! devil! that's what you are! Devil!
bitch! bitch! devil!
[Runs off.
ANÍSYA (ponders). "Come and dance at my wedding!" What new plan is
this? Marry? Mind. Nikíta, if that's your intention, I'll go and....
No, I can't live without him. I won't let him go.
NIKÍTA (enters, looks round, and, seeing Anísya alone, approaches
quickly. In a low tone). Here's a go; I'm in a regular fix! That
governor of mine wants to take me away,--tells me I'm to come home.
Says quite straight I'm to marry and live at home.
ANÍSYA. Well, go and marry! What's that to me?
NIKÍTA. Is that it? Why, here am I reckoning how best to consider
matters, and just hear her! She tells me to go and marry. Why's that?
(Winking.) Has she forgotten?
ANÍSYA. Yes, go and marry! What do I care?
NIKÍTA. What are you spitting for? Just see, she won't even let me
stroke her.... What's the matter?
ANÍSYA. This! That you want to play me false.... If you do,--why, I
don't want you either. So now you know!
NIKÍTA. That'll do, Anísya. Do you think I'll forget you? Never while
I live! I'll not play you false, that's flat. I've been thinking that
supposing they do go and make me marry, I'd still come back to you. If
only he don't make me live at home.
ANÍSYA. Much need I'll have of you, once you're married.
NIKÍTA. There's a go now. How is it possible to go against one's
father's will?
ANÍSYA. Yes, I daresay, shove it all on your father. You know it's
your own doing. You've long been plotting with that slut of yours,
MARÍNA. It's she has put you up to it. She didn't come here for
nothing t'other day.
NIKÍTA. Marína? What's she to me? Much I care about her!... Plenty of
them buzzing around.
ANÍSYA. Then what has made your father come here? It's you have told
him to. You've gone and deceived me.
[Cries.
NIKÍTA. Anísya, do you believe in a God or not? I never so much as
dreamt of it. I know nothing at all about it. I never even dreamt of
it--that's flat. My old dad has got it all out of his own pate.
ANÍSYA. If you don't wish it yourself who can force you? He can't
drive you like an ass.
NIKÍTA. Well, I reckon it's not possible to go against one's parent.
But it's not by my wish.
ANÍSYA. Don't you budge, that's all about it!
NIKÍTA. There was a fellow wouldn't budge, and the village elder gave
him such a hiding.... That's what it might come to! I've no great wish
for that sort of thing. They say it touches one up....
ANÍSYA. Shut up with your nonsense. Nikíta, listen to me: if you marry
that Marína I don't know what I won't do to myself.... I shall lay
hands on myself! I have sinned, I have gone against the law, but I
can't go back now. If you go away I'll....
NIKÍTA. Why should I go? Had I wanted to go--I should have gone long
ago. There was Iván Semyónitch t'other day--offered me a place as his
coachman.... Only fancy what a life that would have been! But I did
not go. Because, I reckon, I am good enough for any one. Now if you
did not love me it would be a different matter.
ANÍSYA. Yes, and that's what you should remember. My old man will die
one of these fine days, I'm thinking; then we could cover our sin,
make it all right and lawful, and then you'll be master here.
NIKÍTA. Where's the good of making plans? What do I care? I work as
hard as if I were doing it for myself. My master loves me, and his
missus loves me. And if the wenches run after me, it's not my fault,
that's flat.
ANÍSYA. And you'll love me?
NIKÍTA (embracing her). There, as you have ever been in my heart....
MATRYÓNA (enters and crosses herself a long time before the icón.
NIKÍTA and ANÍSYA step apart). What I saw I didn't perceive, what I
heard, I didn't hearken to. Playing with the lass, eh? Well,--even a
calf will play. Why shouldn't one have some fun when one's young? But
your master is out in the yard a-calling you, sonny.
NIKÍTA. I only came to get the axe.
MATRYÓNA. I know, sonny, I know; them sort of axes are mostly to be
found where the women are.
NIKÍTA (stooping to pick up axe). I say, mother, is it true you want
me to marry? As I reckon, that's quite unnecessary. Besides, I've got
no wish that way.
MATRYÓNA. Eh, honey! why should you marry? Go on as you are. It's all
the old man. You'd better go, sonny; we can talk these matters over
without you.
NIKÍTA. It's a queer go! One moment I'm to be married, the next, not.
I can't make head or tail of it.
[Exit.
ANÍSYA. What's it all about, then? Do you really wish him to get
married?
MATRYÓNA. Eh, why should he marry, my jewel? It's all nonsense, all my
old man's drivel. "Marry, marry." But he's reckoning without his host.
You know the saying, "From oats and hay, why should horses stray?"
When you've enough to spare, why look elsewhere? And so in this case.
(Winks.) Don't I see which way the wind blows?
ANÍSYA. Where's the good of my pretending to you, Mother Matryóna? You
know all about it. I have sinned. I love your son.
MATRYÓNA. Dear me, here's news! D'you think Mother Matryóna didn't
know? Eh, lassie,--Mother Matryóna's been ground, and ground again,
ground fine! This much I can tell you, my jewel: Mother Matryóna can
see through a brick wall three feet thick. I know it all, my jewel! I
know what young wives need sleeping draughts for, so I've brought some
along.
[Unties a knot in her handkerchief and brings out paper-packets.
As much as is wanted, I see, and what's not wanted I neither see nor
perceive! There! Mother Matryóna has also been young. I had to know a
thing or two to live with my old fool. I know seventy-and-seven
dodges. But I see your old man's quite seedy, quite seedy! How's one
to live with such as him? Why, if you pricked him with a hayfork it
wouldn't fetch blood. See if you don't bury him before the spring.
Then you'll need some one in the house. Well, what's wrong with my
son? He'll do as well as another. Then where's the advantage of my
taking him away from a good place? Am I my child's enemy?
ANÍSYA. Oh, if only he does not go away!
MATRYÓNA. He won't go away, birdie. It's all nonsense. You know my old
man. His wits are always wool-gathering; yet sometimes he takes a
thing into his pate, and it's as if it were wedged in, you can't knock
it out with a hammer.
ANÍSYA. And what started this business?
MATRYÓNA. Well, you see, my jewel, you yourself know what a fellow
with women the lad is,--and he's handsome too, though I say it as
shouldn't. Well, you know, he was living at the railway, and they had
an orphan wench there to cook for them. Well, that same wench took to
running after him.
ANÍSYA. Marína?
MATRYÓNA. Yes, the plague seize her! Whether anything happened or not,
anyhow something got to my old man's ears. Maybe he heard from the
neighbors, maybe she's been and blabbed....
ANÍSYA. Well, she is a bold hussy!
MATRYÓNA. So my old man--the old blockhead--off he goes: "Marry,
marry," he says, "he must marry her and cover the sin," he says. "We
must take the lad home," he says, "and he shall marry," he says. Well,
I did my best to make him change his mind, but, dear me, no. So, all
right, thinks I,--I'll try another dodge. One always has to entice
them fools in this way, just pretend to be of their mind, and when it
comes to the point one goes and turns it all one's own way. You know,
a woman has time to think seventy-and-seven thoughts while falling off
the oven, so how's such as he to see through it? "Well, yes," says I,
"it would be a good job,--only we must consider well beforehand. Why
not go and see our son, and talk it over with Peter Ignátitch and hear
what he has to say?" So here we are.
ANÍSYA. Oh dear, oh dear, how will it all end? Supposing his father
just orders him to marry her?
MATRYÓNA. Orders, indeed! Chuck his orders to the dogs! Don't you
worry; that affair will never come off. I'll go to your old man
myself, and sift and strain this matter clear--there will be none of
it left. I have come here only for the look of the thing. A very
likely thing! Here's my son living in happiness and expecting
happiness, and I'll go and match him with a slut! No fear, I'm not a
fool!
ANÍSYA. And she--this Marína--came dangling after him here! Mother,
would you believe, when they said he was going to marry, it was as if
a knife had gone right through my heart. I thought he cared for her.
MATRYÓNA. Oh, my jewel! Why, you don't think him such a fool, that he
should go and care for a homeless baggage like that? Nikíta is a
sensible fellow, you see. He knows whom to love. So don't you go and
fret, my jewel. We'll not take him away, and we won't marry him. No,
we'll let him stay on, if you'll only oblige us with a little money.
ANÍSYA. All I know is, that I could not live if Nikíta went away.
MATRYÓNA. Naturally, when one's young it's no easy matter! You, a
wench in full bloom, to be living with the dregs of a man like that
husband of yours.
ANÍSYA. Mother Matryóna, would you believe it? I'm that sick of him,
that sick of this long-nosed cur of mine, I can hardly bear to look at
him.
MATRYÓNA. Yes, I see, it's one of them cases. Just look here. (Looks
round and whispers.) I've been to see that old man, you know he's
given me simples of two kinds. This, you see, is a sleeping draught.
"Just give him one of these powders," he says, "and he'll sleep so
sound you might jump on him!" And this here, "This is that kind of
simple," he says, "that if you give one some of it to drink it has no
smell whatever, but its strength is very great. There are seven doses
here, a pinch at a time. Give him seven pinches," he says, "and she
won't have far to look for freedom," he says.
ANÍSYA. O-o-oh! What's that?
MATRYÓNA. "No sign whatever," he says. He's taken a rouble for it.
"Can't sell it for less," he says. Because it's no easy matter to get
'em, you know. I paid him, dearie, out of my own money. If she takes
them, thinks I, it's all right; if she don't, I can let old Michael's
daughter have them.
ANÍSYA. O-o-oh! But mayn't some evil come of them? I'm frightened!
MATRYÓNA. What evil, my jewel? If your old man was hale and hearty,
'twould be a different matter, but he's neither alive nor dead as it
is. He's not for this world. Such things often happen.
ANÍSYA. O-o-oh, my poor head! I'm afeared, Mother Matryóna, lest some
evil come of them. No. That won't do.
MATRYÓNA. Just as you like. I might even return them to him.
ANÍSYA. And are they to be used in the same way as the others? Mixed
in water?
MATRYÓNA. Better in tea, he says. "You can't notice anything," he says,
"no smell nor nothing." He's a cute old fellow, too.
ANÍSYA (taking the powder). O-oh, my poor head! Could I have ever
thought of such a thing if my life were not a very hell?
MATRYÓNA. You'll not forget that rouble? I promised to take it to the
old man. He's had some trouble, too.
ANÍSYA. Of course?
[Goes to her box and hides the powders.
MATRYÓNA. And now, my jewel, keep it as close as you can, so that no
one should find it out. Heaven defend that it should happen, but if
any one notices it, tell 'em it's for the black-beetles. (Takes the
rouble.) It's also used for beetles. (Stops short.)
[Enter AKÍM, who crosses himself in front of the icon, and then
PETER, who sits down.
PETER. Well, then, how's it to be, Daddy Akím?
AKÍM. As it's best, Peter Ignátitch, as it's best.... I mean--as it's
best. 'Cos why? I'm afeared of what d'you call 'ems, some tomfoolery,
you know. I'd like to, what d'you call it.... to start, you know,
start the lad honest, I mean. But supposing you'd rather, what d'you
call it, we might, I mean, what's name? As it's best....
PETER. All right. All right. Sit down and let's talk it over. (Akím
sits down.) Well, then, what's it all about? You want him to marry?
MATRYÓNA. As to marrying, he might bide a while, Peter Ignátitch. You
know our poverty, Peter Ignátitch. What's he to marry on? We've hardly
enough to eat ourselves. How can he marry then?...
PETER. You must consider what will be best.
MATRYÓNA. Where's the hurry for him to get married? Marriage is not
that sort of thing, it's not like ripe raspberries that drop off if
not picked in time.
PETER. If he were to get married, 'twould be a good thing in a way.
AKÍM. We'd like to ... what d'you call it? 'Cos why, you see. I've
what d'you call it ... a job. I mean, I've found a paying job in town,
you know.
MATRYÓNA. And a fine job too--cleaning out cesspools. The other day
when he came home, I could do nothing but spew and spew. Faugh!
AKÍM. It's true, at first it does seem what d'you call it ... "knocks
one clean over," you know,--the smell, I mean. But one gets used to
it, and then it's nothing, no worse than malt grain, and then it's,
what d'you call it, ... pays, pays, I mean. And as to the smell being,
what d'you call it, it's not for the likes of us to complain. And one
changes one's clothes. So we'd like to take what's his name ...
NIKÍTA, I mean, home. Let him manage things at home while I, what
d'you call it,--earn something in town.
PETER. You want to keep your son at home? Yes, that would be well: but
how about the money he has had in advance?
AKÍM. That's it, that's it! It's just as you Say, Ignátitch, it's just
what d'you call it. 'Cos why? If you go into service, it's as good as
if you had sold yourself, they say. That will be all right. I mean he
may stay and serve his time, only he must, what d'you call it, get
married. I mean--so: you let him off for a little while, that he may,
what d'you call it?
PETER. Yes, we could manage that.
MATRYÓNA. Ah, but it's not yet settled between ourselves, Peter
Ignátitch. I'll speak to you as I would before God, and you may judge
between my old man and me. He goes on harping on that marriage. But
just ask--who it is he wants him to marry. If it were a girl of the
right sort now--I am not my child's enemy, but the wench is not
honest.
AKÍM. No, that's wrong! Wrong, I say. 'Cos why? She, that same girl--
it's my son as has offended, offended the girl I mean.
PETER. How offended?
AKÍM. That's how. She's what d'you call it, with him, with my son,
NIKÍTA. With Nikíta, what d'you call it, mean.
MATRYÓNA. You wait a bit, my tongue runs smoother--let me tell it. You
know, this lad of ours lived at the railway before he came to you.
There was a girl there as kept dangling after him. A girl of no
account, you know; her name's Marína. She used to cook for the men. So
now this same girl accuses our son, Nikíta, that he, so to say,
deceived her.
PETER. Well, there's nothing good in that.
MATRYÓNA. But she's no honest girl herself; she runs after the fellows
like a common slut.
AKÍM. There you are again, old woman, and it's not at all what d'you
call it, it's all not what d'you call it, I mean....
MATRYÓNA. There now, that's all the sense one gets from my old owl--
"what d'you call it, what d'you call it," and he doesn't know himself
what he means. Peter Ignátitch, don't listen to me, but go yourself
and ask any one you like about the girl, everybody will say the same.
She's just a homeless good-for-nothing.
PETER. You know, Daddy Akím, if that's how things are, there's no
reason for him to marry her. A daughter-in-law's not like a shoe, you
can't kick her off.
AKÍM (excitedly). It's false, old woman, it's what d'you call it,
false; I mean, about the girl; false! 'Cos why? The lass is a good
lass, a very good lass, you know. I'm sorry, sorry for the lassie, I
mean.
MATRYÓNA. It's an old saying: "For the wide world old Miriam grieves,
and at home without bread her children she leaves." He's sorry for the
girl, but not sorry for his own son! Sling her round your neck and
carry her about with you! That's enough of such empty cackle!
AKÍM. No, it's not empty.
MATRYÓNA. There, don't interrupt, let me have my say.
AKÍM (interrupts). No, not empty! I mean, you twist things your own
way, about the lass or about yourself. Twist them, I mean, to make it
better for yourself; but God, what d'you call it, turns them His way.
That's how it is.
MATRYÓNA. Eh! One only wears out one's tongue with you.
AKÍM. The lass is hard-working and spruce, and keeps everything round
herself ... what d'you call it. And in our poverty, you know, it's a
pair of hands, I mean; and the wedding needn't cost much. But the
chief thing's the offence, the offence to the lass, and she's a what
d'you call it, an orphan, you know; that's what she is, and there's
the offence.
MATRYÓNA. Eh! they'll all tell you a tale of that sort....
ANÍSYA. Daddy Akím, you'd better listen to us women; we can tell you a
thing or two.
AKÍM. And God, how about God? Isn't she a human being, the lass? A
what d'you call it,--also a human being I mean, before God. And how do
you look at it?
MATRYÓNA. Eh! ... started off again?...
PETER. Wait a bit, Daddy Akím. One can't believe all these girls say,
either. The lad's alive, and not far away; send for him, and find out
straight from him if it's true. He won't wish to lose his soul. Go and
call the fellow, (Anísya rises) and tell him his father wants him.
[Exit ANÍSYA.
MATRYÓNA. That's right, dear friend; you've cleared the way clean, as
with water. Yes, let the lad speak for himself. Nowadays, you know,
they'll not let you force a son to marry; one must first of all ask
the lad. He'll never consent to marry her and disgrace himself, not
for all the world. To my thinking, it's best he should go on living
with you and serving you as his master. And we need not take him home
for the summer either; we can hire a help. If you would only give us
ten roubles now, we'll let him stay on. Peter. All in good time. First
let us settle one thing before we start another. Akím. You see, Peter
Ignátitch, I speak. 'Cos why? you know how it happens. We try to fix
things up as seems best for ourselves, you know; and as to God, we
what d'you call it, we forget Him. We think it's best so, turn it our
own way, and lo! we've got into a fix, you know. We think it will be
best, I mean; and lo! it turns out much worse--without God, I mean.
PETER. Of course one must not forget God.
AKÍM. It turns out worse! But when it's the right way--God's way--it
what d'you call it, it gives one joy; seems pleasant, I mean. So I
reckon, you see, get him, the lad, I mean, get him to marry her, to
keep him from sin, I mean, and let him what d'you call it at home, as
it's lawful, I mean, while I go and get the job in town. The work is
of the right sort--it's payin', I mean. And in God's sight it's what
d'you call it--it's best, I mean. Ain't she an orphan? Here, for
example, a year ago some fellows went and took timber from the
steward,--thought they'd do the steward, you know. Yes, they did the
steward, but they couldn't what d'you call it--do God, I mean. Well,
and so....
[Enter NIKÍTA and NAN.
NIKÍTA. You called me?
[Sits down and takes out his tobacco-pouch.
PETER (in a low, reproachful voice). What are you thinking about--have
you no manners? Your father is going to speak to you, and you sit down
and fool about with tobacco. Come, get up!
[NIKÍTA rises, leans carelessly with his elbow on the table, and
smiles.
AKÍM. It seems there's a complaint, you know, about you, Nikíta--a
complaint, I mean, a complaint.
NIKÍTA. Who's been complaining?
AKÍM. Complaining? It's a maid, an orphan maid, complaining, I mean.
It's her, you know--a complaint against you, from Marína, I mean.
NIKÍTA (laughs). Well, that's a good one. What's the complaint? And
who's told you--she herself?
AKÍM. It's I am asking you, and you must now, what d'you call it, give
me an answer. Have you got mixed up with the lass, I mean--mixed up,
you know?
NIKÍTA. I don't know what you mean. What's up?
AKÍM. Foolin', I mean, what d'you call it? foolin'. Have you been
foolin' with her, I mean?
NIKÍTA. Never mind what's been! Of course one does have some fun with
a cook now and then to while away the time. One plays the concertina
and gets her to dance. What of that?
PETER. Don't shuffle, Nikíta, but answer your father straight out.
AKÍM (solemnly). You can hide it from men but not from God, Nikíta.
You, what d'you call it--think, I mean, and don't tell lies. She's an
orphan; so, you see, any one is free to insult her. An orphan, you
see. So you should say what's rightest.
NIKÍTA. But what if I have nothing to say? I have told you everything
--because there isn't anything to tell, that's flat! (Getting excited.)
She can go and say anything about me, same as if she was speaking of
one as is dead. Why don't she say anything about Fédka Mikíshin?
Besides, how's this, that one mayn't even have a bit of fun nowadays?
And as for her, well, she's free to say anything she likes.
AKÍM. Ah, Nikíta, mind! A lie will out. Did anything happen?
NIKÍTA (aside). How he sticks to it; it's too bad. (To Akím.) I tell
you, I know nothing more. There's been nothing between us. (Angrily.)
By God! and may I never leave this spot (crosses himself) if I know
anything about it. (Silence. Then still more excitedly.) Why! have you
been thinking of getting me to marry her? What do you mean by it?--
it's a confounded shame. Besides, nowadays you've got no such rights
as to force a fellow to marry. That's plain enough. Besides, haven't I
sworn I know nothing about it?
MATRYÓNA (to her husband). There now, that's just like your silly
pate, to believe all they tell you. He's gone and put the lad to shame
all for nothing. The best thing is to let him live as he is living,
with his master. His master will help us in our present need, and give
us ten roubles, and when the time comes....
PETER. Well, Daddy Akím, how's it to be?
AKÍM (looks at his son, clicking his tongue disapprovingly). Mind,
Nikíta, the tears of one that's been wronged never, what d'you call
it--never fall beside the mark but always on, what's name--the head of
the man as did the wrong. So mind, don't what d'you call it.
NIKÍTA (sits down). What's there to mind? mind yourself.
NAN (aside). I must run and tell mother.
[Exit.
MATRYÓNA (to Peter). That's always the way with this old mumbler of
mine, Peter Ignátitch. Once he's got anything wedged in his pate
there's no knocking it out. We've gone and troubled you all for
nothing. The lad can go on living as he has been. Keep him; he's your
servant.
PETER. Well, Daddy Akím, what do you say?
AKÍM. Why, the lad's his own master, if only he what d'you call it....
I only wish that, what d'you call it, I mean.
MATRYÓNA. You don't know yourself what you're jawing about. The lad
himself has no wish to leave. Besides, what do we want with him at
home? We can manage without him.
PETER. Only one thing, Daddy Akím--if you are thinking of taking him
back in summer, I don't want him here for the winter. If he is to stay
at all, it must be for the whole year.
MATRYÓNA. And it's for a year he'll bind himself. If we want help when
the press of work comes, we can hire help, and the lad shall remain
with you. Only give us ten roubles now....
PETER. Well then, is it to be for another year?
AKÍM (sighing). Yes, it seems, it what d'you call it ... if it's so, I
mean, it seems that it must be what d'you call it.
MATRYÓNA. For a year, counting from St. Dimítry's day. We know you'll
pay him fair wages. But give us ten roubles now. Help us out of our
difficulties. (Gets up and bows to Peter.)
[Enter NAN and ANÍSYA. The latter sits down at one side.
PETER. Well, if that's settled we might step across to the inn and
have a drink. Come, Daddy Akím, what do you say to a glass of vódka?
AKÍM. No, I never drink that sort of thing.
PETER. Well, you'll have some tea?
AKÍM. Ah, tea! yes, I do sin that way. Yes, tea's the thing.
PETER. And the women will also have some tea. Come. And you, Nikíta,
go and drive the sheep in and clear away the straw.
NIKÍTA. All right. (Exeunt all but NIKÍTA. NIKÍTA lights a cigarette.
It grows darker.) Just see how they bother one. Want a fellow to tell
'em how he larks about with the wenches! It would take long to tell
'em all those stories--"Marry her," he says. Marry them all! One would
have a good lot of wives! And what need have I to marry? Am as good as
married now! There's many a chap as envies me. Yet how strange it felt
when I crossed myself before the icón. It was just as if some one
shoved me. The whole web fell to pieces at once. They say it's
frightening to swear what's not true. That's all humbug. It's all
talk, that is. It's simple enough.
AKOULÍNA (enters with a rope, which she puts down. She takes off her
outdoor things and goes into closet). You might at least have got a
light.
NIKÍTA. What, to look at you? I can see you well enough without.
AKOULÍNA. Oh, bother you!
[NAN enters and whispers to NIKÍTA.
NAN. Nikíta, there's a person wants you. There is!
NIKÍTA. What person?
NAN. Marína from the railway; she's out there, round the corner.
NIKÍTA. Nonsense!
NAN. Blest if she isn't! Nikíta. What does she want?
NAN. She wants you to come out. She says, "I only want to say a word
to Nikíta." I began asking, but she won't tell, but only says, "Is it
true he's leaving you?" And I say, "No, only his father wanted to take
him away and get him to marry, but he won't, and is going to stay with
us another year." And she says, "For goodness' sake send him out to
me. I must see him," she says, "I must say a word to him somehow."
She's been waiting a long time. Why don't you go?
NIKÍTA. Bother her! What should I go for?
NAN. She says, "If he don't come, I'll go into the hut to him." Blest
if she didn't say she'd come in!
NIKÍTA. Not likely. She'll wait a bit and then go away.
NAN. "Or is it," she says, "that they want him to marry Akoulína?"
[Re-enter AKOULÍNA, passing near NIKÍTA to take her distaff.
AKOULÍNA. Marry whom to Akoulína?
NAN. Why, Nikíta. Akoulína. A likely thing! Who says it?
NIKÍTA (looks at her and laughs). It seems people do say it. Would you
marry me, Akoulína?
AKOULÍNA. Who, you? Perhaps I might have afore, but I won't now.
NIKÍTA. And why not now? Akoulína. 'Cos you wouldn't love me.
NIKÍTA. Why not? Akoulína. 'Cos you'd be forbidden to.
[Laughs.
NIKÍTA. Who'd forbid it?
AKOULÍNA. Who? My step-mother. She does nothing but grumble, and is
always staring at you.
NIKÍTA (laughing). Just hear her! Ain't she cute?
AKOULÍNA. Who? Me? What's there to be cute about? Am I blind? She's
been rowing and rowing at dad all day. The fat-muzzled witch!
[Goes into closet.
NAN (looking out of the window). Look, Nikíta, she's coming! I'm blest
if she isn't! I'll go away.
[Exit.
MARÍNA (enters). What are you doing with me?
NIKÍTA. Doing? I'm not doing anything.
MARÍNA. You mean to desert me.
NIKÍTA (gets up angrily). What does this look like, your coming here?
MARÍNA. Oh, Nikíta!
NIKÍTA. Well, you are strange! What have you come for?
MARÍNA. Nikíta!
NIKÍTA. That's my name. What do you want with Nikíta? Well, what next?
Go away, I tell you!
MARÍNA. I see, you do want to throw me over.
NIKÍTA. Well, and what's there to remember? You yourself don't know.
When you stood out there round the corner and sent Nan for me, and I
didn't come, wasn't it plain enough that you're not wanted? It seems
pretty simple. So there--go!
MARÍNA. Not wanted! So now I'm not wanted! I believed you when you
said you would love me. And now that you've ruined me, I'm not wanted.
NIKÍTA. Where's the good of talking? This is quite improper. You've
been telling tales to father. Now, do go away, will you?
MARÍNA. You know yourself I never loved any one but you. Whether you
married me or not, I'd not have been angry. I've done you no wrong,
then why have you left off caring for me? Why?
NIKÍTA. Where's the use of baying at the moon? You go away. Goodness
me! what a duffer!
MARÍNA. It's not that you deceived me when you promised to marry me
that hurts, but that you've left off loving. No, it's not that you've
stopped loving me either, but that you've changed me for another,
that's what hurts. I know who it is!
NIKÍTA (comes up to her viciously). Eh! what's the good of talking to
the likes of you, that won't listen to reason? Be off, or you'll drive
me to do something you'll be sorry for.
MARÍNA. What, will you strike me, then? Well then, strike me! What are
you turning away for? Ah, Nikíta!
NIKÍTA. Supposing some one came in. Of course, it's quite improper.
And what's the good of talking?
MARÍNA. So this is the end of it! What has been has flown. You want me
to forget it? Well then, Nikíta, listen. I kept my maiden honor as the
apple of my eye. You have ruined me for nothing, you have deceived me.
You have no pity on a fatherless and motherless girl! (Weeping.) You
have deserted, you have killed me, but I bear you no malice. God
forgive you! If you find a better one you'll forget me, if a worse one
you'll remember me. Yes, you will remember, Nikíta! Good-bye, then, if
it is to be. Oh, how I loved you! Good-bye for the last time.
[Takes his head in her hands and tries to kiss him.
NIKÍTA (tossing his head back). I'm not going to talk with the likes
of you. If you won't go away I will, and you may stay here by
yourself.
MARÍNA (screams). You are a brute. (In the doorway.) God will give you
no joy.
[Exit, crying.
AKOULÍNA (comes out of closet). You're a dog, Nikíta!
NIKÍTA. What's up?
AKOULÍNA. What a cry she gave!
[Cries.
NIKÍTA. What's up with you?
AKOULÍNA. What's up? You've hurt her, ... That's the way you'll hurt
me also. You're a dog.
[Exit into closet.
[Silence.
NIKÍTA. Here's a fine muddle. I'm as sweet as honey on the lasses, but
when a fellow's sinned with 'em it's a bad look-out!
CURTAIN
ACT II
The scene represents the village street. To the left the outside of
PETER'S hut, built of logs, with a porch in the middle; to the right
of the hut the gates and a corner of the yard buildings. ANÍSYA is
beating hemp in the street near the corner of the yard. Six months
have elapsed since the First Act.
ANÍSYA (stops and listens). Mumbling something again. He's probably
got off the stove.
[AKOULÍNA enters, carrying two pails on a yoke.
ANÍSYA. He's calling. You go and see what he wants, kicking up such a
row.
AKOULÍNA. Why don't you go?
ANÍSYA. Go, I tell you!
[Exit AKOULÍNA into hut.
He's bothering me to death. Won't let out where the money is, and
that's all about it. He was out in the passage the other day. He must
have been hiding it there. Now, I don't know myself where it is. Thank
goodness he's afraid of parting with it, so that at least it will stay
in the house. If only I could manage to find it. He hadn't it on him
yesterday. Now I don't know where it can be. He has quite worn the
life out of me.
[Enter AKOULÍNA, tying her kerchief over her head.
ANÍSYA. Where are you off to?
AKOULÍNA. Where? Why, he's told me to go for Aunt Martha. "Fetch my
sister," he says. "I am going to die," he says. "I have a word to say
to her."
ANÍSYA (aside). Asking for his sister? Oh, my poor head! Sure he wants
to give it her. What shall I do? Oh! (To AKOULÍNA.) Don't go! Where
are you off to?
AKOULÍNA. To call Aunt.
ANÍSYA. Don't go I tell you, I'll go myself. You go and take the
clothes to the river to rinse. Else you'll not have finished by the
evening.
AKOULÍNA. But he told me to go.
ANÍSYA. You go and do as you're bid. I tell you I'll fetch Martha
myself. Take the shirts off the fence.
AKOULÍNA. The shirts? But maybe you'll not go. He's given the order.
ANÍSYA. Didn't I say I'd go? Where's Nan?
AKOULÍNA. Nan? Minding the calves.
ANÍSYA. Send her here. I dare say they'll not run away.
[AKOULÍNA collects the clothes, and exit.
ANÍSYA. If one doesn't go he'll scold. If one goes he'll give the
money to his sister. All my trouble will be wasted. I don't myself
know what I'm to do. My poor head's splitting.
[Continues to work.
[Enter MATRYÓNA, with a stick and a bundle, in outdoor clothes.
MATRYÓNA. May the Lord help you, honey.
ANÍSYA (looks round, stops working, and claps her hands with joy).
Well, I never expected this! Mother Matryóna, God has sent the right
guest at the right time.
MATRYÓNA. Well, how are things?
ANÍSYA. Ah, I'm driven well-nigh crazy. It's awful!
MATRYÓNA. Well, still alive, I hear?
ANÍSYA. Oh, don't talk about it. He doesn't live and doesn't die!
MATRYÓNA. But the money--has he given it to anybody?
ANÍSYA. He's just sending for his sister Martha--probably about the
money.
MATRYÓNA. Well, naturally! But hasn't he given it to any one else?
ANÍSYA. To no one. I watch like a hawk.
MATRYÓNA. And where is it?
ANÍSYA. He doesn't let out. And I can't find out in any way. He hides
it now here, now there, and I can't do anything because of Akoulína.
Idiot though she is, she keeps watch, and is always about. Oh my poor
head! I'm bothered to death.
MATRYÓNA. Oh, my jewel, if he gives the money to any one but you,
you'll never cease regretting it as long as you live! They'll turn you
out of house and home without anything. You've been worriting, and
worriting all your life with one you don't love, and will have to go
a-begging when you are a widow.
ANÍSYA. No need to tell me, mother. My heart's that weary, and I don't
know what to do. No one to get a bit of advice from. I told Nikíta,
but he's frightened of the job. The only thing he did was to tell me
yesterday it was hidden under the floor.
MATRYÓNA. Well, and did you look there?
ANÍSYA. I couldn't. The old man himself was in the room. I notice that
sometimes he carries it about on him, and sometimes he hides it.
MATRYÓNA. But you, my lass, must remember that if once he gives you
the slip there's no getting it right again! (Whispering.) Well, and
did you give him the strong tea?
ANÍSYA. Oh! oh!...
[About to answer, but sees neighbor and stops.
[The NEIGHBOR (a woman) passes the hut, and listens to a call from
within.
NEIGHBOR (to Anísya). I say, Anísya! Oh, Anísya! There's your old man
calling, I think.
ANÍSYA. That's the way he always coughs,--just as if he were screaming.
He's getting very bad.
NEIGHBOR (approaches MATRYÓNA). How do you do, granny? Have you come
far?
MATRYÓNA. Straight from home, dear. Come to see my son. Brought him
some shirts--can't help thinking of these things, you see, when it's
one's own child.
NEIGHBOR. Yes, that's always so. (To Anísya.) And I was thinking of
beginning to bleach the linen, but it is a bit early, no one has begun
yet.
ANÍSYA. Where's the hurry?
MATRYÓNA. Well, and has he had communion?
ANÍSYA. Oh, dear, yes, the priest was here yesterday.
NEIGHBOR. I had a look at him yesterday. Dearie me! one wonders his
body and soul keep together. And, O Lord, the other day he seemed just
at his last gasp, so that they laid him under the holy icóns.[1] They
started lamenting and got ready to lay him out.
ANÍSYA. He came to, and creeps about again.
MATRYÓNA. Well, and is he to have extreme unction?
ANÍSYA. The neighbors advise it. If he lives till to-morrow we'll send
for the priest.
NEIGHBOR. Oh, Anísya dear, I should think your heart must be heavy. As
the saying goes, "Not he is sick that's ill in bed, but he that sits
and waits in dread."
ANÍSYA. Yes, if it were only over one way or other!
NEIGHBOR. Yes, that's true, dying for a year, it's no joke. You're
bound hand and foot like that.
MATRYÓNA. Ah, but a widow's lot is also bitter. It's all right as long
as one's young, but who'll care for you when you're old? Oh yes, old
age is not pleasure. Just look at me. I've not walked very far, and
yet am so footsore I don't know how to stand. Where's my son?
ANÍSYA. Ploughing. But you come in and we'll get the samovár ready;
the tea'll set you up again.
MATRYÓNA (sitting down). Yes, it's true, I'm quite done up, my dears.
As to extreme unction, that's absolutely necessary. Besides, they say
it's good for the soul.
ANÍSYA. Yes, we'll send to-morrow.
MATRYÓNA. Yes, you had better. And we've had a wedding down in our
parts.
NEIGHBOR. What, in spring?[2]
MATRYÓNA. Ah, now if it were a poor man, then, as the saying is, it's
always unseasonable for a poor man to marry. But it's Simon
Matvéyitch, he's married that Marína.
ANÍSYA. What luck for her!
NEIGHBOR. He's a widower. I suppose there are children?
MATRYÓNA. Four of 'em. What decent girl would have him! Well, so he's
taken her, and she's glad. You see, the vessel was not sound, so the
wine trickled out.
NEIGHBOR. Oh, my! And what do people say to it? And he, a rich
peasant!
MATRYÓNA. They are living well enough so far.
NEIGHBOR. Yes, it's true enough. Who wants to marry where there are
children? There now, there's our Michael. He's such a fellow, dear
me....
PEASANT'S VOICE. Hullo, Mávra. Where the devil are you? Go and drive
the cow in.
[Exit NEIGHBOR.
MATRYÓNA (while the NEIGHBOR is within hearing speaks in her ordinary
voice). Yes, lass, thank goodness, she's married. At any rate my old
fool won't go bothering about Nikíta. Now (suddenly changing her
tone), she's gone! (Whispers.) I say, did you give him the tea?
ANÍSYA. Don't speak about it. He'd better die of himself. It's no use
--he doesn't die, and I have only taken a sin on my soul. O-oh, my
head, my head! Oh, why did you give me those powders?
MATRYÓNA. What of the powders? The sleeping powders, lass,--why not
give them? No evil can come of them.
ANÍSYA. I am not talking of the sleeping ones, but the others, the
white ones.
MATRYÓNA. Well, honey, those powders are medicinal.
ANÍSYA (sighs). I know, yet it's frightening. Though he's worried me
to death.
MATRYÓNA. Well, and did you use many?
ANÍSYA. I gave two doses.
MATRYÓNA. Was anything noticeable?
ANÍSYA. I had a taste of the tea myself--just a little bitter. And he
drank them with the tea and says, "Even tea disgusts me," and I say,
"Everything tastes bitter when one's sick." But I felt that scared,
mother.
MATRYÓNA. Don't go thinking about it. The more one thinks the worse it
is.
ANÍSYA. I wish you'd never given them to me and led me into sin. When
I think of it something seems to tear my heart. Oh, dear, why did you
give them to me?
MATRYÓNA. What do you mean, honey? Lord help you! Why are you turning
it on to me? Mind, lass, don't go twisting matters from the sick on to
the healthy. If anything were to happen, I stand aside! I know
nothing! I'm aware of nothing! I'll kiss the cross on it; I never gave
you any kind of powders, never saw any, never heard of any, and never
knew there were such powders. You think about yourself, lass. Why, we
were talking about you the other day. "Poor thing, what torture she
endures. The step-daughter an idiot; the old man rotten, sucking her
lifeblood. What wouldn't one be ready to do in such a case!"
ANÍSYA. I'm not going to deny it. A life such as mine could make one
do worse than that. It could make you hang yourself or throttle him.
Is this a life?
MATRYÓNA. That's just it. There's no time to stand gaping; the money
must be found one way or other, and then he must have his tea.
ANÍSYA. O-oh, my head, my head! I can't think what to do. I am so
frightened; he'd better die of himself. I don't want to have it on my
soul.
MATRYÓNA (viciously). And why doesn't he show the money? Does he mean
to take it along with him? Is no one to have it? Is that right? God
forbid such a sum should be lost all for nothing. Isn't that a sin?
What's he doing? Is he worth considering?
ANÍSYA. I don't know anything. He's worried me to death.
MATRYÓNA. What is it you don't know? The business is clear. If you
make a slip now, you'll repent it all your life. He'll give the money
to his sister and you'll be left without.
ANÍSYA. O--oh dear! Yes, and he did send for her--I must go.
MATRYÓNA. You wait a bit and light the samovár first. We'll give him
some tea and search him together--we'll find it, no fear.
ANÍSYA. Oh dear, oh dear; supposing something were to happen.
MATRYÓNA. What now? What's the good of waiting? Do you want the money
to slip from your hand when it's just in sight? You go and do as I
say.
ANÍSYA. Well, I'll go and light the samovár.
MATRYÓNA. Go, honey, do the business so as not to regret it
afterwards. That's right!
[ANÍSYA turns to go. MATRYÓNA calls her back.
MATRYÓNA. Just a word. Don't tell Nikíta about the business. He's
silly. God forbid he should find out about the powders. The Lord only
knows what he would do. He's so tender-hearted. D'you know, he usen't
to be able to kill a chicken. Don't tell him. 'Twould be a fine go, he
wouldn't understand things.
[Stops horror-struck as PETER appears in the doorway.
PETER (holding on to the wall, creeps out into the porch and calls
with a faint voice). How's it one can't make you hear? Oh, oh, Anísya!
Who's there?
[Drops on the bench.
ANÍSYA (steps from behind the corner). Why have you come out? You
should have stayed where you were lying.
PETER. Has the girl gone for Martha? It's very hard.... Oh, if only
death would come quicker!
ANÍSYA. She had no time. I sent her to the river. Wait a bit, I'll go
myself when I'm ready.
PETER. Send Nan. Where's she? Oh, I'm that bad! Oh, death's at hand!
ANÍSYA. I've sent for her already. Peter. Oh, dear! Then where is she?
ANÍSYA. Where's she got to, the plague seize her!
PETER. Oh, dear! I can't bear it. All my inside's on fire. It's as if
a gimlet were boring me. Why have you left me as if I were a dog? ...
no one to give me a drink.... Oh ... send Nan to me.
ANÍSYA. Here she is. Nan, go to father.
[NAN runs in. ANÍSYA goes behind the corner of the house.
PETER. Go you. Oh ... to Aunt Martha, tell her father wants her; say
she's to come, I want her.
NAN. All right.
PETER. Wait a bit. Tell her she's to come quick. Tell her I'm dying.
O--oh!
NAN. I'll just get my shawl and be off.
[Runs off.
MATRYÓNA (winking). Now, then, mind and look sharp, lass. Go into the
hut, hunt about everywhere, like a dog that's hunting for fleas: look
under everything, and I'll search him.
ANÍSYA (to MATRYÓNA). I feel a bit bolder, somehow, now you're here.
(Goes up to porch. To PETER.) Hadn't I better light the samovár?
Here's Mother Matryóna come to see her son; you'll have a cup of tea
with her?
PETER. Well, then, light it.
[ANÍSYA goes into the house. MATRYÓNA comes up to the porch.
PETER. How do you do?
MATRYÓNA (bowing). How d'you do, my benefactor; how d'you do, my
precious ... still ill, I see. And my old man, he's that sorry! "Go,"
says he, "see how he's getting on." He sends his respects to you.
[Bows again.
PETER. I'm dying.
MATRYÓNA. Ah, yes, Peter Ignátitch, now I look at you I see, as the
saying has it, "Sickness lives where men live." You've shrivelled,
shrivelled, all to nothing, poor dear, now I come to look at you.
Seems illness does not add to good looks.
PETER. My last hour has come.
MATRYÓNA. Oh well, Peter Ignátitch, it's God's will you know, you've
had communion, and you'll have unction, God willing. Your missus is a
wise woman, the Lord be thanked; she'll give you a good burial, and
have prayers said for your soul, all most respectable! And my son,
he'll look after things meanwhile.
PETER. There'll be no one to manage things! She's not steady. Has her
head full of folly--why, I know all about it, I know. And my girl is
silly and young. I've got the homestead together, and there's no one
to attend to things. One can't help feeling it.
[Whimpers.
MATRYÓNA. Why, if it's money, or something, you can leave orders?
PETER (to Anísya inside the house). Has Nan gone?
MATRYÓNA (aside). There now, he's remembered!
ANÍSYA (from inside). She went then and there. Come inside, won't you?
I'll help you in.
PETER. Let me sit here a bit for the last time. The air's so stuffy
inside. Oh, how bad I feel! Oh, my heart's burning.... Oh, if death
would only come!
MATRYÓNA. If God don't take a soul, the soul can't go out. Death and
life are in God's will. Peter Ignátitch. You can't be sure of death
either. Maybe you'll recover yet. There was a man in our village just
like that, at the very point of death....
PETER. No, I feel I shall die to-day, I feel it.
[Leans back and shuts his eyes.
ANÍSYA (enters). Well, now, are you coming in or not? You do keep one
waiting. Peter! eh, Peter!
MATRYÓNA (steps aside and beckons to ANÍSYA with her finger). Well?
ANÍSYA (comes down the porch steps). Not there.
MATRYÓNA. But have you searched everywhere? Under the floor?
ANÍSYA. No, it's not there either. In the shed perhaps; he was
rummaging there yesterday.
MATRYÓNA. Go, search, search for all you're worth. Go all over
everywhere, as if you licked with your tongue! But I see he'll die
this very day, his nails are turning blue and his face looks earthy.
Is the samovár ready?
ANÍSYA. Just on the boil.
NIKÍTA (comes from the other side, if possible on horse-back, up to
the gate, and does not see PETER. To MATRYÓNA). How d'you do, mother,
is all well at home?
MATRYÓNA. The Lord be thanked, we're all alive and have a crust to
bite.
NIKÍTA. Well and how's master?
MATRYÓNA. Hush, there he sits.
[Points to porch.
NIKÍTA. Well, let him sit. What's it to me?
PETER (opens his eyes). Nikíta, I say, Nikíta, come here!
[NIKÍTA approaches. ANÍSYA and MATRYÓNA whisper together.
PETER. Why have you come back so early?
NIKÍTA. I've finished ploughing.
PETER. Have you done the strip beyond the bridge?
NIKÍTA. It's too far to go there.
PETER. Too far? From here it's still farther. You'll have to go on
purpose now. You might have made one job of it.
[ANÍSYA, without showing herself, stands and listens.
MATRYÓNA (approaches). Oh, sonny, why don't you take more pains for
your master? Your master is ill and depends on you; you should serve
him as you would your own father, straining every muscle just as I
always tell you to.
PETER. Well, then--o--oh!... Get out the seed potatoes, and the women
will go and sort them.
ANÍSYA (aside). No fear, I'm not going. He's again sending every one
away; he must have the money on him now, and wants to hide it
somewhere.
PETER. Else ... o--oh! when the time comes for planting, they'll all
be rotten. Oh, I can't stand it!
[Rises.
MATRYÓNA (runs up into the porch and holds PETER up). Shall I help you
into the hut?
PETER. Help me in. (Stops.) Nikíta!
NIKÍTA (angrily). What now?
PETER. I shan't see you again.... I'll die to-day.... Forgive me,[3]
for Christ's sake, forgive me if I have ever sinned against you.... If
I have sinned in word or deed.... There's been all sorts of things.
Forgive me!
NIKÍTA. What's there to forgive? I'm a sinner myself.
MATRYÓNA. Ah, sonny, have some feeling.
PETER. Forgive me, for Christ's sake.
[Weeps.
NIKÍTA (snivels). God will forgive you, Daddy Peter. I have no cause
to complain of you. You've never done me any wrong. You forgive me;
maybe I've sinned worse against you. (Weeps.)
[PETER goes in whimpering, MATRYÓNA supporting him.
ANÍSYA. Oh, my poor head! It's not without some reason he's hit on
that. (Approaches NIKÍTA.) Why did you say the money was under the
floor? It's not there.
NIKÍTA (does not answer, but cries). I have never had anything bad
from him, nothing but good, and what have I gone and done!
ANÍSYA. Enough now! Where's the money?
NIKÍTA (angrily). How should I know? Go and look for it yourself!
ANÍSYA. What's made you so tender?
NIKÍTA. I am sorry for him,--that sorry. How he cried! Oh, dear!
ANÍSYA. Look at him,--seized with pity! He has found some one to pity
too! He's been treating you like a dog, and even just now was giving
orders to have you turned out of the house. You'd better show me some
pity!
NIKÍTA. What are you to be pitied for?
ANÍSYA. If he dies, and the money's been hidden away....
NIKÍTA. No fear, he'll not hide it....
ANÍSYA. Oh, Nikíta darling! he's sent for his sister, and wants to
give it to her. It will be a bad lookout for us. How are we going to
live, if he gives her the money? They'll turn me out of the house! You
try and manage somehow! You said he went to the shed last night.
NIKÍTA. I saw him coming from there, but where he's shoved it to, who
can tell?
ANÍSYA. Oh, my poor head! I'll go and have a look there.
[NIKÍTA steps aside.
MATRYÓNA (comes out of the hut and down the steps of the porch to
ANÍSYA and NIKÍTA). Don't go anywhere. He's got the money on him. I
felt it on a string round his neck.
ANÍSYA. Oh my head, my head!
MATRYÓNA. If you don't keep wide awake now, then you may whistle for
it. If his sister comes--then good-bye to it!
ANÍSYA. That's true. She'll come and he'll give it her. What's to be
done? Oh, my poor head!
MATRYÓNA. What is to be done? Why, look here; the samovár is boiling,
go and make the tea and pour him out a cup, and then (whispers) put in
all that's left in the paper. When he's drunk the cup, then just take
it. He'll not tell, no fear.
ANÍSYA. Oh! I'm afeared!
MATRYÓNA. Don't be talking now, but look alive, and I'll keep his
sister off if need be. Mind, don't make a blunder! Get hold of the
money and bring it here, and Nikíta will hide it.
ANÍSYA. Oh my head, my head! I don't know how I'm going to....
MATRYÓNA. Don't talk about it I tell you, do as I bid you. Nikíta!
NIKÍTA. What is it?
MATRYÓNA. You stay here--sit down--in case something is wanted.
NIKÍTA (waves his hand). Oh, these women, what won't they be up to?
Muddle one up completely. Bother them! I'll really go and fetch out
the potatoes.
MATRYÓNA (catches him by the arm). Stay here, I tell you.
[NAN enters.
ANÍSYA. Well?
NAN. She was down in her daughter's vegetable plot--she's coming.
ANÍSYA. Coming! What shall we do?
MATRYÓNA. There's plenty of time if you do as I tell you.
ANÍSYA. I don't know what to do; I know nothing, my brain's all in a
whirl. Nan! Go, daughter, and see to the calves, they'll have run
away, I'm afraid.... Oh dear, I haven't the courage.
MATRYÓNA. Go on! I should think the samovár's boiling over.
ANÍSYA. Oh my head, my poor head!
[Exit.
MATRYÓNA (approaches NIKÍTA). Now then, sonny. (Sits down beside him.)
Your affairs must also be thought about, and not left anyhow.
NIKÍTA. What affairs?
MATRYÓNA. Why, this affair--how you're to live your life.
NIKÍTA. How to live my life? Others live, and I shall live!
MATRYÓNA. The old man will probably die to-day.
NIKÍTA. Well, if he dies, God give him rest! What's that to me?
MATRYÓNA (keeps looking towards the porch while she speaks). Eh,
sonny! Those that are alive have to think about living. One needs
plenty of sense in these matters, honey. What do you think? I've
tramped all over the place after your affairs, I've got quite footsore
bothering about matters. And you must not forget me when the time
comes.
NIKÍTA. And what's it you've been bothering about?
MATRYÓNA. About your affairs, about your future. If you don't take
trouble in good time you'll get nothing. You know Iván Mosévitch?
Well, I've been to him too. I went there the other day. I had
something else to settle, you know. Well, so I sat and chatted awhile
and then came to the point. "Tell me, Iván Mosévitch," says I, "how's
one to manage an affair of this kind? Supposing," says I, "a peasant
as is a widower married a second wife, and supposing all the children
he has is a daughter by the first wife, and a daughter by the second.
Then," says I, "when that peasant dies, could an outsider get hold of
the homestead by marrying the widow? Could he," says I, "give both the
daughters in marriage and remain master of the house himself?" "Yes,
he could," says he, "but," says he, "it would mean a deal of trouble;
still the thing could be managed by means of money, but if there's no
money it's no good trying."
NIKÍTA (laughs). That goes without saying, only fork out the money.
Who does not want money?
MATRYÓNA. Well then, honey, so I spoke out plainly about the affair.
And he says, "First and foremost, your son will have to get himself on
the register of that village--that will cost something. The elders
will have to be treated. And they, you see, they'll sign. Everything,"
says he, "must be done sensibly." Look (unwraps her kerchief and takes
out a paper), he's written out this paper; just read it, you're a
scholar, you know.
[NIKÍTA reads.
NIKÍTA. This paper's only a decision for the elders to sign. There's
no great wisdom needed for that.
MATRYÓNA. But you just hear what Iván Mosévitch bids us do. "Above
all," he says, "mind and don't let the money slip away, dame. If she
don't get hold of the money," he says, "they'll not let her do it.
Money's the great thing!" So look out, sonny, things are coming to a
head.
NIKÍTA. What's that to me? The money's hers--so let her look out.
MATRYÓNA. Ah, sonny, how you look at it! How can a woman manage such
affairs? Even if she does get the money, is she capable of arranging
it all? One knows what a woman is! You're a man anyhow. You can hide
it, and all that. You see, you've after all got more sense, in case of
anything happening.
NIKÍTA. Oh, your woman's notions are all so inexpedient!
MATRYÓNA. Why inexpedient? You just collar the money, and the woman's
in your hands. And then should she ever turn snappish you'd be able to
tighten the reins!
NIKÍTA. Bother you all,--I'm going.
ANÍSYA (quite pale, runs out of the hut and round the corner to
MATRYÓNA). So it was, it was on him! Here it is!
[Shows that she has something under her apron.
MATRYÓNA. Give it to Nikíta; he'll hide it. Nikíta, take it and hide
it somewhere.
NIKÍTA. All right, give here!
ANÍSYA. O--oh, my poor head! No, I'd better do it myself.
[Goes towards the gate.
MATRYÓNA (seizing her by the arm). Where are you going to? You'll be
missed. There's the sister coming; give it him; he knows what to do.
Eh, you blockhead!
ANÍSYA (stops irresolutely). Oh, my head, my head!
NIKÍTA. Well, give it here. I'll shove it away somewhere.
ANÍSYA. Where will you shove it to?
NIKÍTA (laughing). Why, are you afraid?
[Enter AKOULÍNA, carrying clothes from the wash.
ANÍSYA. O--oh, my poor head! (Gives the money.) Mind, Nikíta.
NIKÍTA. What are you afraid of? I'll hide it so that I'll not be able
to find it myself.
[Exit.
ANÍSYA (stands in terror). Oh dear, and supposing he....
MATRYÓNA. Well, is he dead?
ANÍSYA. Yes, he seems dead. He did not move when I took it.
MATRYÓNA. Go in, there's Akoulína.
ANÍSYA. Well there, I've done the sin and he has the money....
MATRYÓNA. Have done and go in! There's Martha coming!
ANÍSYA. There now, I've trusted him. What's going to happen now?
[Exit.
Martha (enters from one side, AKOULÍNA enters from the other. To
AKOULÍNA). I should have come before, but I was at my daughter's.
Well, how's the old man? Is he dying?
AKOULÍNA (puts down the clothes). Don't know; I've been to the river.
Martha (pointing to MATRYÓNA). Who's that?
MATRYÓNA. I'm from Zoúevo. I'm Nikíta's mother from Zoúevo, my dearie.
Good afternoon to you. He's withering, withering away, poor dear--your
brother, I mean. He came out himself. "Send for my sister," he said,
"because," said he.... Dear me, why, I do believe he's dead!
ANÍSYA (runs out screaming. Clings to a post, and begins wailing).[4]
Oh, oh, ah! who-o-o-o-m have you left me to, why-y-y have you
dese-e-e-e-rted me--a miserable widow ... to live my life alone....
Why have you closed your bright eyes....
[Enter NEIGHBOR. MATRYÓNA and NEIGHBOR catch hold of ANÍSYA under
the arms to support her. AKOULÍNA and MARTHA go into the hut. A
crowd assembles.
A VOICE IN THE CROWD. Send for the old women to lay out the body.
MATRYÓNA (rolls up her sleeves). Is there any water in the copper? But
I daresay the samovár is still hot. I'll also go and help a bit.
CURTAIN
ACT III
The same hut. Winter. Nine months have passed since Act II. ANÍSYA,
plainly dressed, sits before a loom weaving. NAN is on the oven.
MÍTRITCH (an old laborer, enters and slowly takes off his outdoor
things). Oh Lord, have mercy! Well, hasn't the master come home yet?
ANÍSYA. What?
MÍTRITCH. Nikíta isn't back from town, is he?
ANÍSYA. No.
MÍTRITCH. Must have been on the spree. Oh Lord!
ANÍSYA. Have you finished in the stackyard?
MÍTRITCH. What d'you think? Got it all as it should be, and covered
everything with straw! I don't like doing things by halves! Oh Lord!
holy Nicholas! (Picks at the corns on his hands.) But it's time he was
back.
ANÍSYA. What need has he to hurry? He's got money. Merry-making with
that girl, I daresay....
MÍTRITCH. Why shouldn't one make merry if one has the money? And why
did Akoulína go to town?
ANÍSYA. You'd better ask her. How do I know what the devil took her
there!
MÍTRITCH. What! to town? There's all sorts of things to be got in town
if one's got the means. Oh Lord!
NAN. Mother, I heard myself. "I'll get you a little shawl," he says,
blest if he didn't; "you shall choose it yourself," he says. And she
got herself up so fine; she put on her velveteen coat and the French
shawl.
ANÍSYA. Really, a girl's modesty reaches only to the door. Step over
the threshold and it's forgotten. She is a shameless creature.
MÍTRITCH. Oh my! What's the use of being ashamed? While there's plenty
of money make merry. Oh Lord! It is too soon to have supper, eh?
(ANÍSYA does not answer.) I'll go and get warm meanwhile. (Climbs on
the stove.) Oh, Lord! Blessed Virgin Mother! Holy Nicholas!
NEIGHBOR (enters). Seems your good man's not back yet?
ANÍSYA. No.
NEIGHBOR. It's time he was. Hasn't he perhaps stopped at our inn? My
sister, Thekla, says there's heaps of sledges standing there as have
come from the town.
ANÍSYA. Nan! Nan, I say!
NAN. Yes?
ANÍSYA. You run to the inn and see! Mayhap, being drunk, he's gone
there.
NAN (jumps down from the oven and dresses). All right.
NEIGHBOR. And he's taken Akoulína with him?
ANÍSYA. Else he'd not have had any need of going. It's because of her
he's unearthed all the business there. "Must go to the bank," he says;
"it's time to receive the payments," he says. But it's all her
fooling.
NEIGHBOR (shakes her head). It's a bad look-out.
[Silence.
NAN (at the door). And if he's there, what am I to say?
ANÍSYA. You only see if he's there.
NAN. All right. I'll be back in a winking.
[Long silence.
MÍTRITCH (roars). Oh Lord! merciful Nicholas!
NEIGHBOR (starting). Oh, how he scared me! Who is it?
ANÍSYA. Why, Mítritch, our laborer.
NEIGHBOR. Oh dear, oh dear, what a fright he did give me! I had quite
forgotten. But tell me, dear, I've heard some one's been wooing
Akoulína?
ANÍSYA (gets up from the loom and sits down by the table). There was
some one from Dédlovo; but it seems the affair's got wind there too.
They made a start, and then stopped; so the thing fell through. Of
course, who'd care to?
NEIGHBOR. And the Lizounófs from Zoúevo?
ANÍSYA. They made some steps too, but it didn't come off either. They
won't even see us.
NEIGHBOR. Yet it's time she was married.
ANÍSYA. Time and more than time! Ah, my dear, I'm that impatient to
get her out of the house; but the matter does not come off. He does
not wish it, nor she either. He's not yet had enough of his beauty,
you see.
NEIGHBOR. Eh, eh, eh, what doings! Only think of it. Why, he's her
step-father!
ANÍSYA. Ah, friend, they've taken me in completely. They've done me so
fine it's beyond saying. I, fool that I was, noticed nothing,
suspected nothing, and so I married him. I guessed nothing, but they
already understood one another.
NEIGHBOR. Oh dear, what goings on!
ANÍSYA. So it went on from bad to worse, and I see they begin hiding
from me. Ah, friend, I was that sick--that sick of my life! It's not
as if I didn't love him.
NEIGHBOR. That goes without saying.
ANÍSYA. Ah, how hard it is to bear such treatment from him! Oh, how it
hurts!
NEIGHBOR. Yes, and I've heard say he's becoming too free with his
fists?
ANÍSYA. And that too! There was a time when he was gentle when he'd
had a drop. He used to hit out before, but of me he was always fond!
But now when he's in a temper he goes for me and is ready to trample
me under his feet. The other day he got both my hands entangled in my
hair so that I could hardly get away. And the girl's worse than a
serpent; it's a wonder the earth bears such furies.
NEIGHBOR. Ah, ah, my dear, now I look at you, you are a sufferer! To
suffer like that is no joke. To have given shelter to a beggar, and he
to lead you such a dance! Why don't you pull in the reins?
ANÍSYA. Ah, but, my dear, if it weren't for my heart! Him as is gone
was stern enough, still I could twist him about any way I liked; but
with this one I can do nothing. As soon as I see him all my anger
goes. I haven't a grain of courage before him; I go about like a
drowned hen.
NEIGHBOR. Ah, neighbor, you must be under a spell. I've heard that
Matryóna goes in for that sort of thing. It must be her.
ANÍSYA. Yes, dear; I think so myself sometimes. Gracious me, how hurt
I feel at times! I'd like to tear him to pieces. But when I set eyes
on him, my heart won't go against him.
NEIGHBOR. It's plain you're bewitched. It don't take long to blight a
body. There now, when I look at you, what you have dwindled to!
ANÍSYA. Growing a regular spindle-shanks. And just look at that fool
Akoulína. Wasn't the girl a regular untidy slattern, and just look at
her now! Where has it all come from? Yes, he has fitted her out. She's
grown so smart, so puffed up, just like a bubble that's ready to
burst. And, though she's a fool, she's got it into her head. "I'm the
mistress," she says; "the house is mine; it's me father wanted him to
marry." And she's that vicious! Lord help us, when she gets into a
rage she's ready to tear the thatch off the house.
NEIGHBOR. Oh dear, what a life yours is, now I come to look at you.
And yet there's people envying you: "They're rich," they say; but it
seems that gold don't keep tears from falling.
ANÍSYA. Much reason for envy indeed! And the riches, too, will soon be
made ducks and drakes of. Dear me, how he squanders money!
NEIGHBOR. But how's it, dear, you've been so simple to give up the
money? It's yours.
ANÍSYA. Ah, if you knew all! The thing is that I've made one little
mistake.
NEIGHBOR. Well, if I were you, I'd go straight and have the law of
him. The money's yours; how dare he squander it? There's no such
rights.
ANÍSYA. They don't pay heed to that nowadays.
NEIGHBOR. Ah, my dear, now I come to look at you, you've got that
weak. Anísya. Yes, quite weak, dear, quite weak. He's got me into a
regular fix. I don't myself know anything. Oh, my poor head!
NEIGHBOR (listening). There's some one coming, I think.
[The door opens and AKÍM enters.
AKÍM (crosses himself, knocks the snow off his feet, and takes off his
coat). Peace be to this house! How do you do? Are you well, daughter?
ANÍSYA. How d'you do, father? Do you come straight from home?
AKÍM. I've been a-thinking I'll go and see what's name, go to see my
son, I mean,--my son. I didn't start early--had my dinner, I mean; I
went, and it's so what d'you call it--so snowy, hard walking, and so
there I'm what d'you call it--late, I mean. And my son--is he at home?
At home? My son, I mean.
ANÍSYA. No; he's gone to the town.
AKÍM (sits down on a bench). I've some business with him, d'you see,
some business, I mean. I told him t'other day, told him I was in need
--told him, I mean, that our horse was done for, our horse, you see. So
we must what d'ye call it, get a horse, I mean, some kind of a horse,
I mean. So there, I've come, you see.
ANÍSYA. Nikíta told me. When he comes back you'll have a talk. (Goes
to the oven.) Have some supper now, and he'll soon come. Mítritch, eh,
Mítritch, come have your supper.
MÍTRITCH. Oh Lord! merciful Nicholas!
ANÍSYA. Come to supper.
NEIGHBOR. I shall go now. Good-night.
[Exit.
MÍTRITCH (gets down from the oven). I never noticed how I fell asleep.
Oh, Lord! gracious Nicholas! How d'you do, Daddy Akím?
AKÍM. Ah, Mítritch! What are you, what d'ye call it, I mean?...
MÍTRITCH. Why, I'm working for your son, Nikíta.
AKÍM. Dear me! What d'ye call ... working for my son, I mean. Dear me!
MÍTRITCH. I was living with a tradesman in town, but drank all I had
there. Now I've come back to the village. I've no home, so I've gone
into service. (Gapes.) Oh Lord!
AKÍM. But how's that, what d'you call it, or what's name, Nikíta, what
does he do? Has he some business, I mean besides, that he should hire
a laborer, a laborer, I mean, hire a laborer?
ANÍSYA. What business should he have? He used to manage, but now he's
other things on his mind, so he's hired a laborer.
MÍTRITCH. Why shouldn't he, seeing he has money?
AKÍM. Now that's what d'you call it, that's wrong, I mean, quite
wrong, I mean. That's spoiling oneself.
ANÍSYA. Oh, he has got spoilt, that spoilt, it's just awful.
AKÍM. There now, what d'you call it, one thinks how to make things
better, and it gets worse I mean. Riches spoil a man, spoil, I mean.
MÍTRITCH. Fatness makes even a dog go mad; how's one not to get spoilt
by fat living? Myself now; how I went on with fat living. I drank for
three weeks without being sober. I drank my last breeches. When I had
nothing left, I gave it up. Now I've determined not to. Bother it!
AKÍM. And where's what d'you call, your old woman?
MÍTRITCH. My old woman has found her right place, old fellow. She's
hanging about the gin-shops in town. She's a swell too; one eye
knocked out, and the other black, and her muzzle twisted to one side.
And she's never sober; drat her!
AKÍM. Oh, oh, oh, how's that?
MÍTRITCH. And where's a soldier's wife to go? She has found her right
place.
[Silence.
AKÍM (to ANÍSYA). And Nikíta,--has he what d'you call it, taken
anything up to town? I mean, anything to sell?
ANÍSYA (laying the table and serving up). No, he's taken nothing. He's
gone to get money from the bank.
AKÍM (sitting down to supper). Why? D'you wish to put it to another
use, the money I mean?
ANÍSYA. No, we don't touch it. Only some twenty or thirty roubles as
have come due; they must be taken.
AKÍM. Must be taken. Why take it, the money I mean? You'll take some
to-day I mean, and some to-morrow; and so you'll what d'you call it,
take it all, I mean.
ANÍSYA. We get this besides. The money is all safe.
AKÍM. All safe? How's that, safe? You take it, and it what d'you call
it, it's all safe. How's that? You put a heap of meal into a bin, or a
barn, I mean, and go on taking meal, will it remain there, what d'you
call it, all safe, I mean? That's, what d'you call it, it's cheating.
You'd better find out, or else they'll cheat you. Safe indeed! I mean
you what d'ye call ... you take it and it remains all safe there?
ANÍSYA. I know nothing about it. Iván Mosévitch advised us at the
time. "Put the money in the bank," he said, "the money will be safe,
and you'll get interest," he said.
MÍTRITCH (having finished his supper). That's so. I've lived with a
tradesman. They all do like that. Put the money in the bank, then lie
down on the oven and it will keep coming in.
AKÍM. That's queer talk. How's that--what d'ye call, coming in, how's
that coming in, and they, who do they get it from I mean, the money I
mean?
ANÍSYA. They take the money out of the bank.
MÍTRITCH. Get along! Tain't a thing a woman can understand! You look
here, I'll make it all clear to you. Mind and remember. You see,
suppose you've got some money, and I, for instance, have spring coming
on, my land's idle, I've got no seeds, or I have to pay taxes. So, you
see, I go to you. "Akím," I say, "give us a ten-rouble note, and when
I've harvested in autumn I'll return it, and till two acres for you
besides, for having obliged me!" And you, seeing I've something to
fall back on--a horse say, or a cow--you say, "No, give two or three
roubles for the obligation," and there's an end of it. I'm stuck in
the mud, and can't do without. So I say, "All right!" and take a
tenner. In the autumn, when I've made my turnover, I bring it back,
and you squeeze the extra three roubles out of me.
AKÍM. Yes, but that's what peasants do when they what d'ye call it,
when they forget God. It's not honest, I mean, it's no good, I mean.
MÍTRITCH. You wait. You'll see it comes just to the same thing. Now
don't forget how you've skinned me. And Anísya, say, has got some
money lying idle. She does not know what to do with it, besides, she's
a woman, and does not know how to use it. She comes to you. "Couldn't
you make some profit with my money too?" she says. "Why not?" say you,
and you wait. Before the summer I come again and say, "Give me another
tenner, and I'll be obliged." Then you find out if my hide isn't all
gone, and if I can be skinned again you give me Anísya's money. But
supposing I'm clean shorn,--have nothing to eat,--then you see I can't
be fleeced any more, and you say, "Go your way, friend," and you look
out for another, and lend him your own and Anísya's money and skin
him. That's what the bank is. So it goes round and round. It's a cute
thing, old fellow!
AKÍM (excitedly). Gracious me, whatever is that like? It's what d'ye
call it, it's filthy! The peasants--what d'ye call it, the peasants do
so I mean, and know it's, what d'ye call it, a sin! It's what d'you
call, not right, not right, I mean. It's filthy! How can people as
have learnt ... what d'ye call it....
MÍTRITCH. That, old fellow, is just what they're fond off And
remember, them that are stupid, or the women folk, as can't put their
money into use themselves, they take it to the bank, and they there,
deuce take 'em, clutch hold of it, and with this money they fleece the
people. It's a cute thing!
AKÍM (sighing). Oh dear, I see, what d'ye call it, without money it's
bad, and with money it's worse! How's that? God told us to work, but
you, what d'you call ... I mean you put money into the bank and go to
sleep, and the money will what d'ye call it, will feed you while you
sleep. It's filthy, that's what I call it; it's not right.
MÍTRITCH. Not right? Eh, old fellow, who cares about that nowadays? And
how clean they pluck you, too! That's the fact of the matter.
AKÍM (sighs). Ah, yes, seems the time's what d'ye call it, the time's
growing ripe. There, I've had a look at the closets in town. What
they've come to! It's all polished and polished I mean, it's fine,
it's what d'ye call it, it's like inside an inn. And what's it all
for? What's the good of it? Oh, they've forgotten God. Forgotten, I
mean. We've forgotten, forgotten God, God, I mean! Thank you, my dear,
I've had enough. I'm quite satisfied.
[Rises. MÍTRITCH climbs on to the oven.
ANÍSYA (eats, and collects the dishes). If his father would only take
him to task! But I'm ashamed to tell him.
AKÍM. What d'you say?
ANÍSYA. Oh! it's nothing.
[Enter NAN.
AKÍM. Here's a good girl, always busy! You're cold, I should think?
NAN. Yes, I am, terribly. How d'you do, grandfather?
ANÍSYA. Well? Is he there?
NAN. No. But Andriyán is there. He's been to town, and he says he saw
them at an inn in town. He says Dad's as drunk as drunk can be!
ANÍSYA. Do you want anything to eat? Here you are.
NAN (goes to the oven). Well, it is cold. My hands are quite numb.
[AKÍM takes off his leg-bands and bast-shoes. ANÍSYA washes up.
ANÍSYA. Father!
AKÍM. Well, what is it?
ANÍSYA. And is Marína living well?
AKÍM. Yes, she's living all right. The little woman is what d'ye call
it, clever and steady; she's living, and what d'ye call it, doing her
best. She's all right; the little woman's of the right sort I mean;
painstaking and what d'ye call it, submissive; the little woman's all
right I mean, all right, you know.
ANÍSYA. And is there no talk in your village that a relative of
Marína's husband thinks of marrying our Akoulína? Have you heard
nothing of it?
AKÍM. Ah; that's Mirónof. Yes, the women did chatter something. But I
didn't pay heed, you know. It don't interest me I mean, I don't know
anything. Yes, the old women did say something, but I've a bad memory,
bad memory, I mean. But the Mirónofs are what d'ye call it, they're
all right, I mean they're all right.
ANÍSYA. I'm that impatient to get her settled.
AKÍM. And why?
NAN (listens). They've come!
ANÍSYA. Well, don't you go bothering them.
[Goes on washing the spoons without turning her head.
NIKÍTA (enters). Anísya! Wife! who has come?
[ANÍSYA looks up and turns away in silence.
NIKÍTA (severely). Who has come? Have you forgotten?
ANÍSYA. Now don't humbug. Come in!
NIKÍTA (still more severely). Who's come?
ANÍSYA (goes up and takes him by the arm). Well, then, husband has
come. Now then, come in!
NIKÍTA (holds back). Ah, that's it! Husband! And what's husband
called? Speak properly.
ANÍSYA. Oh bother you! Nikíta!
NIKÍTA. Where have you learnt manners? The full name.
ANÍSYA. Nikíta Akímitch! Now then!
NIKÍTA. (still in the doorway). Ah, that's it! But now--the surname?
ANÍSYA (laughs and pulls him by the arm). Tchilíkin. Dear me, what
airs!
NIKÍTA. Ah, that's it. (Holds on to the door-post.) No, now say with
which foot Tchilíkin steps into this house!
ANÍSYA. That's enough! You're letting the cold in!
NIKÍTA. Say with which foot he steps? You've got to say it,--that's
flat.
ANÍSYA (aside). He'll go on worrying. (To NIKÍTA.) Well then, with the
left. Come in!
NIKÍTA. Ah, that's it.
ANÍSYA. You look who's in the hut!
NIKÍTA. Ah, my parent! Well, what of that? I'm not ashamed of my
parent. I can pay my respects to my parent. How d'you do, father?
(Bows and puts out his hand.) My respects to you.
AKÍM (does not answer). Drink, I mean drink, what it does! It's
filthy!
NIKÍTA. Drink, what's that? I've been drinking? I'm to blame, that's
flat! I've had a glass with a friend, drank his health.
ANÍSYA. Go and lie down, I say.
NIKÍTA. Wife, say where am I standing?
ANÍSYA. Now then, it's all right, lie down!
NIKÍTA. No, I'll first drink a samovár with my parent. Go and light
the samovár. Akoulína, I say, come here!
[Enter AKOULÍNA, smartly dressed and carrying their purchases.
AKOULÍNA. Why have you thrown everything about? Where's the yarn?
NIKÍTA. The yarn? The yarn's there. Hullo, Mítritch, where are you?
Asleep? Asleep? Go and put the horse up.
AKÍM (not seeing AKOULÍNA but looking at his son). Dear me, what is he
doing? The old man's what d'ye call it, quite done up, I mean,--been
thrashing,--and look at him, what d'ye call it, putting on airs! Put
up the horse! Faugh, what filth!
MÍTRITCH (climbs down from the oven, and puts on felt boots). Oh,
merciful Lord! Is the horse in the yard? Done it to death, I dare say.
Just see how he's been swilling, the deuce take him. Up to his very
throat. Oh Lord, Holy Nicholas!
[Puts on sheepskin and exit.
NIKÍTA (sits down). You must forgive me, father. It's true I've had a
drop; well, what of that? Even a hen will drink. Ain't it true? So you
must forgive me. Never mind Mítritch, he doesn't mind, he'll put it
up.
ANÍSYA. Shall I really light the samovár?
NIKÍTA. Light it! My parent has come. I wish to talk to him, and shall
drink tea with him. (To AKOULÍNA.) Have you brought all the parcels?
AKOULÍNA. The parcels? I've brought mine, the rest's in the sledge.
Hi, take this, this isn't mine!
[Throws a parcel on the table and puts the others into her box.
NAN watches her while she puts them away. AKÍM does not look at
his son, but puts his leg-bands and bast-shoes on the oven.
ANÍSYA (going out with the samovár). Her box is full as it is, and
still he's bought more!
NIKÍTA (pretending to be sober). You must not be cross with me,
father. You think I'm drunk? I am all there, that's flat! As they say,
"Drink, but keep your wits about you." I can talk with you at once,
father. I can attend to any business. You told me about the money;
your horse is worn-out,--I remember! That can all be managed. That's
all in our hands. If it was an enormous sum that's wanted, then we
might wait; but as it is I can do everything. That's the case.
AKÍM (goes on fidgeting with the leg-bands). Eh, lad, "It's ill
sledging when the thaw has set in."
NIKÍTA. What do you mean by that? "And it's ill talking with one who
is drunk?" But don't you worry, let's have some tea. And I can do
anything; that's flat! I can put everything to rights.
AKÍM (shakes his head). Eh, eh, eh!
NIKÍTA. The money, here it is. (Puts his hand in his pocket, pulls out
pocket-book, handles the notes in it and takes out a ten-rouble
note.) Take this to get a horse; I can't forget my parent. I shan't
forsake him, that's flat. Because he's my parent! Here you are, take
it! Really now, I don't grudge it. (Comes up and pushes the note
towards AKÍM, who won't take it. NIKÍTA catches hold of his father's
hand.) Take it, I tell you. I don't grudge it.
AKÍM. I can't what d'you call it, I mean, can't take it! And can't
what d'ye call it, talk to you, because you're not yourself, I mean.
NIKÍTA. I'll not let you go! Take it!
[Puts the money into AKÍM'S hand.
ANÍSYA (enters, and stops). You'd better take it, he'll give you no
peace!
AKÍM (takes it, and shakes his head). Oh! that liquor. Not like a man,
I mean!
NIKÍTA. That's better! If you repay it you'll repay it, if not I'll
make no bother. That's what I am! (Sees AKOULÍNA.) Akoulína, show your
presents.
AKOULÍNA. What?
NIKÍTA. Show your presents.
AKOULÍNA. The presents, what's the use of showing 'em? I've put 'em
away.
NIKÍTA. Get them, I tell you. Nan will like to see 'em. Undo the
shawl. Give it here.
AKÍM. Oh, oh! It's sickening!
[Climbs on the oven.
AKOULÍNA (gets out the parcels and puts them on the table). Well,
there you are,--what's the good of looking at 'em?
NAN. Oh how lovely! It's as good as Stepanída's.
AKOULÍNA. Stepanída's? What's Stepanída's compared to this?
(Brightening up and undoing the parcels.) Just look here,--see the
quality! It's a French one.
NAN. The print is fine! Mary has a dress like it, only lighter on a
blue ground. This is pretty.
NIKÍTA. Ah, that's it!
[ANÍSYA passes angrily into the closet, returns with a tablecloth
and the chimney of the Samovár, and goes up to the table.
ANÍSYA. Drat you, littering the table!
NIKÍTA. You look here!
ANÍSYA. What am I to look at? Have I never seen anything? Put it away!
[Sweeps the shawl on to the floor with her arm.
AKOULÍNA. What are you pitching things down for? You pitch your own
things about!
[Picks up the shawl.
NIKÍTA. Anísya! Look here!
ANÍSYA. Why am I to look?
NIKÍTA. You think I have forgotten you? Look here! (Shows her a parcel
and sits down on it.) It's a present for you. Only you must earn it!
Wife, where am I sitting?
ANÍSYA. Enough of your humbug. I'm not afraid of you. Whose money are
you spreeing on and buying your fat wench presents with? Mine!
AKOULÍNA. Yours indeed? No fear! You wished to steal it, but it did
not come off! Get out of the way!
[Pushes her while trying to pass.
ANÍSYA. What are you shoving for? I'll teach you to shove!
AKOULÍNA. Shove me? You try!
[Presses against ANÍSYA.
NIKÍTA. Now then, now then, you women. Have done now!
[Steps between them.
AKOULÍNA. Comes shoving herself in! You ought to keep quiet and
remember your doings! You think no one knows!
ANÍSYA. Knows what? Out with it, out with it! What do they know?
AKOULÍNA. I know something about you!
ANÍSYA. You're a slut who goes with another's husband!
AKOULÍNA. And you did yours to death!
ANÍSYA (throwing herself on AKOULÍNA). You're raving!
NIKÍTA (holding her back). Anísya, you seem to have forgotten!
ANÍSYA. Want to frighten me! I'm not afraid of you!
NIKÍTA (turns ANÍSYA round and pushes her out). Be off!
ANÍSYA. Where am I to go? I'll not go out of my own house!
NIKÍTA. Be off, I tell you, and don't dare to come in here!
ANÍSYA. I won't go! (NIKÍTA pushes her, ANÍSYA cries and screams and
clings to the door.) What! am I to be turned out of my own house by
the scruff of the neck? What are you doing, you scoundrel? Do you
think there's no law for you? You wait a bit!
NIKÍTA. Now then!
ANÍSYA. I'll go to the Elder! To the policeman!
NIKÍTA. Off, I tell you!
[Pushes her out.
ANÍSYA (behind the door). I'll hang myself!
NIKÍTA. No fear!
NAN. Oh, oh, oh! Mother, dear, darling!
[Cries.
NIKÍTA. Me frightened of her! A likely thing! What are you crying for?
She'll come back, no fear. Go and see to the samovár.
[Exit NAN.
AKOULÍNA (collects and folds her presents). The mean wretch, how she's
messed it up. But wait a bit, I'll cut up her jacket for her! Sure I
will!
NIKÍTA. I've turned her out; what more do you want?
AKOULÍNA. She's dirtied my new shawl. If that bitch hadn't gone away,
I'd have torn her eyes out!
NIKÍTA. That's enough. Why should you be angry? Now if I loved her....
AKOULÍNA. Loved her? She's worth loving, with her fat mug! If you'd
have given her up, then nothing would have happened. You should have
sent her to the devil. And the house was mine all the same, and the
money was mine! Says she is the mistress, but what sort of mistress is
she to her husband? She's a murderess, that's what she is! She'll
serve you the same way!
NIKÍTA. Oh dear, how's one to stop a woman's jaw? You don't yourself
know what you're jabbering about!
AKOULÍNA. Yes, I do. I'll not live with her! I'll turn her out of the
house! She can't live here with me. The mistress indeed! She's not the
mistress,--that jailbird!
NIKÍTA. That's enough! What have you to do with her? Don't mind her.
You look at me! I am the master! I do as I like. I've ceased to love
her, and now I love you. I love who I like! The power is mine, she's
under me. That's where I keep her. (Points to his feet.) A pity we've
no concertina.
[Sings.
"We have loaves on the stoves, We have porridge on the shelf. So we'll
live and be gay, Making merry every day, And when death comes, Then
we'll die! We have loaves on the stoves, We have porridge on the
shelf...."
[Enter MÍTRITCH. He takes off his outdoor things and climbs on
the oven.
MÍTRITCH. Seems the women have been fighting again! Tearing each
other's hair. Oh Lord, gracious Nicholas!
AKÍM. (sitting on the edge of the oven, takes his leg-bands and shoes
and begins putting them on). Get in, get into the corner.
MÍTRITCH. Seems they can't settle matters between them. Oh Lord!
NIKÍTA. Get out the liquor, we'll have some with our tea.
NAN (to AKOULÍNA). Sister, the samovár is just boiling over.
NIKÍTA. And where's your mother?
NAN. She's standing and crying out there in the passage.
NIKÍTA. Oh, that's it! Call her, and tell her to bring the samovár.
And you, Akoulína, get the tea things.
AKOULÍNA. The tea things? All right.
[Brings the things.
NIKÍTA (unpacks spirits, rusks, and salt herrings). That's for myself.
This is yarn for the wife. The paraffin is out there in the passage,
and here's the money. Wait a bit (takes a counting-frame); I'll add it
up. (Adds.) Wheat-flour, 80 kopeykas, oil ... Father, 10 roubles ...
Father, come let's have some tea!
[Silence. AKÍM sits on the oven and winds the bands round his
legs. Enter ANÍSYA with samovár.
ANÍSYA. Where shall I put it?
NIKÍTA. Here on the table. Well! have you been to the Elder? Ah,
that's it! Have your say and then eat your words. Now then, that's
enough. Don't be cross; sit down and drink this. (Fills a wine-glass
for her.) And here's your present.
[Gives her the parcel he had been sitting on. ANÍSYA takes it
silently and shakes her head.
AKÍM (gets down and puts on his sheepskin, then comes up to the table
and puts down the money). Here, take your money back! Put it away.
NIKÍTA (does not see the money). Why have you put on your things?
AKÍM. I'm going, going, I mean; forgive me, for the Lord's sake.
[Takes up his cap and belt.
NIKÍTA. My gracious! Where are you going to at this time of night?
AKÍM. I can't, I mean what d'ye call 'em, in your house, what d'ye
call 'em, can't stay I mean, stay, can't stay, forgive me.
NIKÍTA. But are you going without having any tea?
AKÍM (fastens his belt). Going because, I mean, it's not right in your
house, I mean, what d'you call it, not right, Nikíta, in the house,
what d'ye call it, not right! I mean, you are living a bad life,
Nikíta, bad,--I'll go.
NIKÍTA. Eh, now! Have done talking! Sit down and drink your tea!
ANÍSYA. Why, father, you'll shame us before the neighbors. What has
offended you?
AKÍM. Nothing what d'ye call it, nothing has offended me, nothing at
all! I mean only, I see, what d'you call it, I mean, I see my son, to
ruin, I mean, to ruin, I mean my son's on the road to ruin, I mean.
NIKÍTA. What ruin? Just prove it!
AKÍM. Ruin, ruin; you're in the midst of it! What did I tell you that
time?
NIKÍTA. You said all sorts of things! Akím. I told you, what d'ye call
it, I told you about the orphan lass. That you had wronged an orphan--
Marína, I mean, wronged her!
NIKÍTA. Eh! he's at it again. Let bygones be bygones.... All that's
past!
AKÍM (excited). Past! No, lad, it's not past. Sin, I mean, fastens on
to sin--drags sin after it, and you've stuck fast, Nikíta, fast in
sin! Stuck fast in sin! I see you're fast in sin. Stuck fast, sunk in
sin, I mean!
NIKÍTA. Sit down and drink your tea, and have done with it!
AKÍM. I can't, I mean can't what d'ye call it, can't drink tea.
Because of your filth, I mean; I feel what d'ye call it, I feel sick,
very sick! I can't what d'ye call it, I can't drink tea with you.
NIKÍTA. Eh! There he goes rambling! Come to the table.
AKÍM. You're in your riches same as in a net--you're in a net, I mean.
Ah, Nikíta, it's the soul that God needs!
NIKÍTA. Now really, what right have you to reprove me in my own house?
Why do you keep on at me? Am I a child that you can pull by the hair?
Nowadays those things have been dropped!
AKÍM. That's true. I have heard that nowadays, what d'ye call it, that
nowadays children pull their fathers' beards, I mean! But that's ruin,
that's ruin, I mean!
NIKÍTA (angrily). We are living without help from you, and it's you
who came to us with your wants!
AKÍM. The money? There's your money! I'll go begging, begging I mean,
before I'll take it, I mean.
NIKÍTA. That's enough! Why be angry and upset the whole company!
[Holds him by the arm.
AKÍM (shrieks). Let go! I'll not stay. I'd rather sleep under some
fence than in the midst of your filth! Faugh! God forgive me!
[Exit.
NIKÍTA. Here's a go!
AKÍM (reopens the door). Come to your senses, Nikíta! It's the soul
that God wants!
[Exit.
AKOULÍNA (takes cups). Well, shall I pour out the tea?
[Takes a cup. All are silent.
MÍTRITCH (roars). Oh Lord be merciful to me a sinner!
[All start.
NIKÍTA (lies down on the bench). Oh, it's dull, it's dull! (To
AKOULÍNA.) Where's the concertina?
AKOULÍNA. The concertina? He's bethought himself of it. Why, you took
it to be mended. I've poured out your tea. Drink it!
NIKÍTA. I don't want it! Put out the light.... Oh, how dull I feel,
how dull!
[Sobs.
CURTAIN
ACT IV
Autumn. Evening. The moon is shining. The stage represents the
interior of courtyard. The scenery at the back shows, in the middle,
the back porch of the hut. To the right the winter half of the hut and
the gate; to the left the summer half and the cellar. To the right of
the stage is a shed. The sound of tipsy voices and shouts are heard
from the hut.[5] SECOND NEIGHBOR WOMAN comes out of the hut and
beckons to FIRST NEIGHBOR WOMAN.
SECOND NEIGHBOR. How's it Akoulína has not shown herself?
FIRST NEIGHBOR. Why hasn't she shown herself? She'd have been glad to;
but she's too ill, you know. The suitor's relatives have come, and
want to see the girl; and she, my dear, she's lying in the cold hut
and can't come out, poor thing!
SECOND NEIGHBOR. But how's that?
FIRST NEIGHBOR. They say she's been bewitched by an evil eye! She's
got pains in the stomach!
SECOND NEIGHBOR. You don't say so?
FIRST NEIGHBOR. What else could it be?
[Whispers.
SECOND NEIGHBOR. Dear me! There's a go! But his relatives will surely
find it out?
FIRST NEIGHBOR. They find it out! They're all drunk! Besides, they are
chiefly after her dowry. Just think what they give with the girl! Two
furs, my dear, six dresses, a French shawl, and I don't know how many
pieces of linen, and money as well,--two hundred roubles, it's said!
SECOND NEIGHBOR. That's all very well, but even money can't give much
pleasure in the face of such a disgrace.
FIRST NEIGHBOR. Hush!... There's his father, I think.
[They cease talking and go into the hut.
[The SUITOR'S FATHER comes out of the hut hiccoughing.
THE FATHER. Oh, I'm all in a sweat. It's awfully hot! Will just cool
myself a bit. (Stands puffing.) The Lord only knows what--something
is not right. I can't feel happy.--Well, it's the old woman's affair.
[Enter MATRYÓNA from hut.
MATRYÓNA. And I was just thinking, where's the father? Where's the
father? And here you are, dear friend.... Well, dear friend, the Lord
be thanked! Everything is as honorable as can be! When one's arranging
a match one should not boast. And I have never learnt to boast. But as
you've come about the right business, so with the Lord's help, you'll
be grateful to me all your life! She's a wonderful girl! There's no
other like her in all the district!
THE FATHER. That's true enough, but how about the money?
MATRYÓNA. Don't you trouble about the money! All she had from her
father goes with her. And it's more than one gets easily, as things
are nowadays. Three times fifty roubles!
THE FATHER. We don't complain, but it's for our own child. Naturally
we want to get the best we can.
MATRYÓNA. I'll tell you straight, friend: if it hadn't been for me,
you'd never have found anything like her! They've had an offer from
the Karmilins, but I stood out against it. And as for the money, I'll
tell you truly: when her father, God be merciful to his soul, was
dying, he gave orders that the widow should take Nikíta into the
homestead--of course I know all about it from my son,--and the money
was to go to Akoulína. Why, another one might have thought of his own
interests, but Nikíta gives everything clean! It's no trifle. Fancy
what a sum it is!
THE FATHER. People are saying that more money was left her? The lad's
sharp too!
MATRYÓNA. Oh, dear soul alive! A slice in another's hand always looks
big; all she had will be handed over. I tell you, throw doubts to the
wind and make all sure! What a girl she is! as fresh as a daisy!
THE FATHER. That's so. But my old woman and I were only wondering
about the girl; why has she not come out? We've been thinking, suppose
she's sickly?
MATRYÓNA. Ah, ah.... Who? She? Sickly? Why, there's none to compare
with her in the district. The girl's as sound as a bell; you can't
pinch her. But you saw her the other day! And as for work, she's
wonderful! She's a bit deaf, that's true, but there are spots on the
sun, you know. And her not coming out, you see, it's from an evil eye!
A spell's been cast on her! And I know the bitch who's done the
business! They know of the betrothal and they bewitched her. But I
know a counter-spell. The girl will get up to-morrow. Don't you worry
about the girl!
THE FATHER. Well, of course, the thing's settled.
MATRYÓNA. Yes, of course! Don't you turn back. And don't forget me,
I've had a lot of trouble. Don't forget....
[A woman's voice from the hut.
Voice. If we are to go, let's go. Come along, Iván!
THE FATHER. I'm coming.
[Exeunt. Guests crowd together in the passage and prepare to go
away.
NAN (runs out of the hut and calls to ANÍSYA). Mother!
ANÍSYA (from inside.) What d'you want?
NAN. Mother, come here, or they'll hear.
[ANÍSYA enters and they go together to the shed.
ANÍSYA. Well? What is it? Where's Akoulína?
NAN She's gone into the barn. It's awful what's she's doing there! I'm
blest! "I can't bear it," she says. "I'll scream," she says, "I'll
scream out loud." Blest if she didn't.
ANÍSYA. She'll have to wait. We'll see our visitors off first.
NAN. Oh, mother! She's so bad! And she's angry too. "What's the good
of their drinking my health?" she says. "I shan't marry," she says. "I
shall die," she says. Mother, supposing she does die! It's awful. I'm
so frightened!
ANÍSYA. No fear, she'll not die. But don't you go near her. Come
along.
[Exit ANÍSYA and NAN.
MÍTRITCH (comes in at the gate and begins collecting the scattered
hay). Oh, Lord! Merciful Nicholas! What a lot of liquor they've been
and swilled, and the smell they've made! It smells even out here! But
no, I don't want any, drat it! See how they've scattered the hay
about. They don't eat it, but only trample it under foot. A truss gone
before you know it. Oh, that smell, it seems to be just under my nose!
Drat it! (Yawns.) It's time to go to sleep! But I don't care to go
into the hut. It seems to float just round my nose! It has a strong
scent, the damned stuff! (The guests are heard driving off.) They're
off at last. Oh Lord! Merciful Nicholas! There they go, binding
themselves and gulling one another. And it's all gammon!
[Enter NIKÍTA.
NIKÍTA. Mítritch, you get off to sleep and I'll put this straight.
MÍTRITCH. All right, you throw it to the sheep. Well, have you seen
'em all off?
NIKÍTA. Yes, they're off! But things are not right! I don't know what
to do!
MÍTRITCH. It's a fine mess. But there's the Foundlings'[6] for that
sort of thing. Whoever likes may drop one there; they'll take 'em all.
Give 'em as many as you like, they ask no questions, and even pay--if
the mother goes in as a wet-nurse. It's easy enough nowadays.
NIKÍTA. But mind, Mítritch, don't go blabbing.
MÍTRITCH. It's no concern of mine. Cover the tracks as you think best.
Dear me, how you smell of liquor! I'll go in. Oh, Lord!
[Exit, yawning.
[NIKÍTA is long silent. Sits down on a sledge.
NIKÍTA. Here's a go!
[Enter ANÍSYA.
ANÍSYA. Where are you?
NIKÍTA. Here.
ANÍSYA. What are you doing there? There's no time to be lost! We must
take it out directly!
NIKÍTA. What are we to do?
ANÍSYA. I'll tell you what you are to do. And you'll have to do it!
NIKÍTA. You'd better take it to the Foundlings'--if anything.
ANÍSYA. Then you'd better take it there yourself if you like! You've a
hankering for smut, but you're weak when it comes to settling up, I
see!
NIKÍTA. What's to be done?
ANÍSYA. Go down into the cellar, I tell you, and dig a hole!
NIKÍTA. Couldn't you manage, somehow, some other way?
ANÍSYA (imitating him). "Some other way?" Seems we can't "some other
way!" You should have thought about it a year ago. Do what you're told
to! Nikíta. Oh, dear, what a go!
[Enter NAN.
NAN. Mother! Grandmother's calling! I think sister's got a baby! I'm
blest if it didn't scream!
ANÍSYA. What are you babbling about? Plague take you! It's kittens
whining there. Go into the hut and sleep, or I'll give it you!
NAN. Mammy dear, truly, I swear....
ANÍSYA (raising her arm as if to strike). I'll give it you! You be off
and don't let me catch sight of you! (Nan runs into hut. To Nikíta.)
Do as you're told, or else mind!
[Exit.
NIKÍTA (alone. After a long silence). Here's a go! Oh, these women!
What a fix! Says you should have thought of it a year ago. When's one
to think beforehand? When's one to think? Why, last year this Anísya
dangled after me. What was I to do? Am I a monk? The master died; and
I covered my sin as was proper, so I was not to blame there. Aren't
there lots of such cases? And then those powders. Did I put her up to
that? Why, had I known what the bitch was up to, I'd have killed her!
I'm sure I should have killed her! She's made me her partner in these
horrors--that jade! And she became loathsome to me from that day! She
became loathsome, loathsome to me as soon as mother told me about it.
I can't bear the sight of her! Well, then, how could I live with her?
And then it begun.... That wench began hanging round. Well, what was I
to do! If I had not done it, some one else would. And this is what
comes of it! Still I'm not to blame in this either. Oh, what a go!
(Sits thinking.) They are bold, these women! What a plan to think of!
But I won't have a hand in it!
[Enter MATRYÓNA with a lantern and spade, panting.
MATRYÓNA. Why are you sitting there like a hen on a perch? What did
your wife tell you to do? You just get things ready!
NIKÍTA. What do you mean to do?
MATRYÓNA. We know what to do. You do your share!
NIKÍTA. You'll be getting me into a mess!
MATRYÓNA. What? You're not thinking of backing out, are you? Now it's
come to this, and you back out!
NIKÍTA. Think what a thing it would be! It's a living soul.
MATRYÓNA. A living soul indeed! Why, it's more dead than alive. And
what's one to do with it? Go and take it to the Foundlings'--it will
die just the same, and the rumor will get about, and people will talk,
and the girl be left on our hands.
NIKÍTA. And supposing it's found out?
MATRYÓNA. Not manage to do it in one's own house? We'll manage it so
that no one will have an inkling. Only do as I tell you. We women
can't do it without a man. There, take the spade, and get it done
there,--I'll hold the light.
NIKÍTA. What am I to get done?
MATRYÓNA (in a low voice). Dig a hole; then we'll bring it out and get
it out of the way in a trice! There, she's calling again. Now then,
get in, and I'll go.
NIKÍTA. Is it dead then?
MATRYÓNA. Of course it is. Only you must be quick, or else people will
notice! They'll see or they'll hear! The rascals must needs know
everything. And the policeman went by this evening. Well then, you see
(gives him the spade), you get down into the cellar and dig a hole
right in the corner; the earth is soft there, and you'll smooth it
over. Mother earth will not blab to any one; she'll keep it close. Go
then; go, dear.
NIKÍTA. You'll get me into a mess, bother you! I'll go away! You do it
alone as best you can!
ANÍSYA (through the doorway). Well? Has he dug it?
MATRYÓNA. Why have you come away? What have you done with it?
ANÍSYA. I've covered it with rags. No one can hear it. Well, has he
dug it?
MATRYÓNA. He doesn't want
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