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Title: Plays
         A Protégée of the Mistress;
         Poverty Is No Crime;
         Sin and Sorrow Are Common to All;
         It's a Family Affair--We'll Settle It Ourselves

Author: Alexander Ostrovsky

Release Date: January 15, 2004 [EBook #10722]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PLAYS ***




Produced by Keren Vergon, Lazar Liveanu and PG Distributed Proofreaders




PLAYS

BY

ALEXANDER OSTROVSKY


    A PROTÉGÉE OF THE MISTRESS
    POVERTY IS NO CRIME
    SIN AND SORROW ARE COMMON TO ALL
    IT'S A FAMILY AFFAIR--WE'LL SETTLE IT OURSELVES





A TRANSLATION FROM THE RUSSIAN, EDITED BY

GEORGE RAPALL NOYES



1917




PREFATORY NOTE


The following persons have co-operated in preparing the present volume:
Leonard Bacon (verses in "Poverty Is No Crime"), Florence Noyes
(suggestions on the style of all the plays), George Rapall Noyes
(introduction, revision of the translation, and suggestions on the style
of all the plays), Jane W. Robertson ("Poverty Is No Crime"), Minnie Eline
Sadicoff ("Sin and Sorrow Are Common to All"), John Laurence Seymour
("It's a Family Affair--We'll Settle It Ourselves" and "A Protégée of the
Mistress"). The system of transliteration for Russian names used in the
book is with very small variations that recommended for "popular" use by
the School of Russian Studies in the University of Liverpool.




CONTENTS


INTRODUCTION

A PROTÉGÉE OF THE MISTRESS

POVERTY IS NO CRIME

SIN AND SORROW ARE COMMON TO ALL

IT'S A FAMILY AFFAIR--WE'LL SETTLE IT OURSELVES



INTRODUCTION


ALEXANDER NIKOLAYEVICH Ostróvsky (1823-86) is the great Russian dramatist
of the central decades of the nineteenth century, of the years when the
realistic school was all-powerful in Russian literature, of the period when
Turgénev, Dostoyevsky, and Tolstoy created a literature of prose fiction
that has had no superior in the world's history. His work in the drama
takes its place beside theirs in the novel. Obviously inferior as it is in
certain ways, it yet sheds light on an important side of Russian life that
they left practically untouched. Turgénev and Tolstoy were gentlemen by
birth, and wrote of the fortunes of the Russian nobility or of the peasants
whose villages bordered on the nobles' estates. Dostoyevsky, though not of
this landed-proprietor school, still dealt with the nobility, albeit with
its waifs and strays. None of these masters more than touched the Russian
merchants, that homespun moneyed class, crude and coarse, grasping and
mean, without the idealism of their educated neighbors in the cities or the
homely charm of the peasants from whom they themselves sprang, yet gifted
with a rough force and determination not often found among the cultivated
aristocracy. This was the field that Ostróvsky made peculiarly his own.

With this merchant class Ostróvsky was familiar from his childhood. Born in
1823, he was the son of a lawyer doing business among the Moscow tradesmen.
After finishing his course at the gymnasium and spending three years at the
University of Moscow, he entered the civil service in 1843 as an employee
of the Court of Conscience in Moscow, from which he transferred two years
later to the Court of Commerce, where he continued until he was discharged
from the service in 1851. Hence both by his home life and by his
professional training he was brought into contact with types such as
Bolshóv and Rizpolozhensky in "It's a Family Affair--We'll Settle It
Ourselves."

As a boy of seventeen Ostróvsky had already developed a passion for the
theatre. His literary career began in the year 1847, when he read to
a group of Moscow men of letters his first experiments in dramatic
composition. In this same year he printed one scene of "A Family Affair,"
which appeared in complete form three years later, in 1850, and established
its author's reputation as a dramatist of undoubted talent. Unfortunately,
by its mordant but true picture of commercial morals, it aroused against
him the most bitter feelings among the Moscow merchants. Discussion of the
play in the press was prohibited, and representation of it on the stage
was out of the question. It was reprinted only in 1859, and then, at the
instance of the censorship, in an altered form, in which a police
officer appears at the end of the play as a _deus ex machina_, arrests
Podkhalyúzin, and announces that he will be sent to Siberia. In this
mangled version the play was acted in 1861; in its original text it did not
appear on the stage until 1881. Besides all this, the drama was the cause
of the dismissal of Ostróvsky from the civil service, in 1851. The whole
episode illustrates the difficulties under which the great writers of
Russia have constantly labored under a despotic government.

Beginning with 1852 Ostróvsky gave his whole strength to literary work. He
is exceptional among Russian authors in devoting himself almost exclusively
to the theatre. The latest edition of his works contains forty-eight pieces
written entirely by him, and six produced in collaboration with other
authors. It omits his translations from foreign dramatists, which were of
considerable importance, including, for example, a version of Shakespeare's
"Taming of the Shrew."

The plays of Ostróvsky are of varied character, including dramatic
chronicles based on early Russian history, and a fairy drama, "Little
Snowdrop." His real strength lay, however, in the drama of manners, giving
realistic pictures of Russian life among the Russian city classes and the
minor nobility. Here he was recognized, from the time of the appearance on
the stage of his first pieces, in 1853 and the following years, as without
a rival among Russian authors for the theatre. Of this realistic drama the
present volume gives four characteristic examples.

The tone of "Poverty Is No Crime" (1854), written only four years after "A
Family Affair," is in sharp contrast with that of its predecessor. In the
earlier play Ostróvsky had adopted a satiric tone that proved him a worthy
disciple of Gógol, the great founder of Russian realism. Not one lovable
character appears in that gloomy picture of merchant life in Moscow; even
the old mother repels us by her stupidity more than she attracts us by her
kindliness. No ray of light penetrates the "realm of darkness"--to borrow
a famous phrase from a Russian critic--conjured up before us by the young
dramatist. In "Poverty Is No Crime" we see the other side of the medal.
Ostróvsky had now been affected by the Slavophile school of writers and
thinkers, who found in the traditions of Russian society treasures of
kindliness and love that they contrasted with the superficial glitter of
Western civilization. Life in Russia is varied as elsewhere, and Ostróvsky
could change his tone without doing violence to realistic truth. The
tradesmen had not wholly lost the patriarchal charm of their peasant
fathers. A poor apprentice is the hero of "Poverty Is No Crime," and a
wealthy manufacturer the villain of the piece. Good-heartedness is the
touchstone by which Ostróvsky tries character, and this may be hidden
beneath even a drunken and degraded exterior. The scapegrace, Lyubím
Tortsóv, has a sound Russian soul, and at the end of the play rouses his
hard, grasping brother, who has been infatuated by a passion for aping
foreign fashions, to his native Russian worth.

Just as "Poverty Is No Crime" shows the influence of the Slavophile
movement, "A Protégée of the Mistress" (1859) was inspired by the great
liberal movement that bore fruit in the emancipation of the serfs in 1861.
Ostróvsky here departed from town to a typical country manor, and produced
a work kindred in spirit to Turgénev's "Sportsman's Sketches," or "Mumu."
In a short play, instinct with simple poetry, he shows the suffering
brought about by serfdom: the petty tyranny of the landed proprietor, which
is the more galling because it is practised with a full conviction of
virtue on the part of the tyrant; and the crushed natures of the human
cattle under his charge.

     The master grim, the lowly serf that tills his lands;
     With lordly pride the first sends forth commands,
     The second cringes like a slave.
                                        --_Nekrasov._

Despite the unvarying success of his dramas on the stage, Ostróvsky for a
long time derived little financial benefit from them. Discouragement and
overwork wrecked his health, and were undoubtedly responsible for the
gloomy tone of a series of plays written in the years following 1860, of
which "Sin and Sorrow Are Common to All" (1863) is a typical example. Here
the dramatist sketches a tragic incident arising from the conflict of two
social classes, the petty tradesmen and the nobility. From the coarse
environment of the first emerge honest, upright natures like Krasnóv; from
the superficial, dawdling culture of the second come weak-willed triflers
like Babáyev. The sordid plot sweeps on to its inevitable conclusion with
true tragic force.

Towards the end of his life Ostróvsky gained the material prosperity that
was his due. "There was no theatre in Russia in which his plays were not
acted" (Skabichévsky). From 1874 to his death he was the president of the
Society of Russian Dramatic Authors. In 1885 he received the important
post of artistic director of the Moscow government theatres; the harassing
duties of the position proved too severe for his weak constitution, and he
passed away in the next year.

As a dramatist, Ostróvsky is above all else a realist; no more thoroughly
natural dramas than his were ever composed. Yet as a master of realistic
technique he must not be compared with Ibsen, or even with many less
noted men among modern dramatists. His plays have not the neat, concise
construction that we prize to-day. Pages of dialogue sometimes serve no
purpose except to make a trifle clearer the character of the actors, or
perhaps slightly to heighten the impression of commonplace reality. Even
in "Sin and Sorrow" and "A Protégée" whole passages merely illustrate the
background against which the plot is set rather than help forward the
action itself. Many plays, such as "A Family Affair," end with relatively
unimportant pieces of dialogue. Of others we are left to guess even the
conclusion of the main action: will Nádya in "A Protégée" submit to her
degrading fate, or will she seek refuge in the pond?

Ostróvsky rarely uses the drama to treat of great moral or social problems.
He is not a revolutionary thinker or an opponent of existing society; his
ideal, like that of his predecessor Gógol, is of honesty, kindliness,
generosity, and loyalty in a broad, general way to the traditions of the
past. He attacks serfdom not as an isolated leader of a forlorn hope, but
as an adherent of a great party of moderate reformers.

Thus Ostróvsky's strength lies in a sedate, rather commonplace realism. One
of the most national of authors, he loses much in translation.[1] His style
is racy, smacking of the street or the counting-house; he is one of the
greatest masters of the Russian vernacular. To translate his Moscow slang
into the equivalent dialect of New York would be merely to transfer
Broadway associations to the Ilyínka. A translator can only strive to
be colloquial and familiar, giving up the effort to render the varying
atmosphere of the different plays. And Ostróvsky's characters are as
natural as his language. Pig-headed merchants; apprentices, knavish or
honest as the case may be; young girls with a touch of poetry in their
natures, who sober down into kindly housewives; tyrannical serf-owners and
weak-willed sons of noble families: such is the material of which he builds
his entertaining, wholesome, mildly thoughtful dramas. Men and women live
and love, trade and cheat in Ostróvsky as they do in the world around us.
Now and then a murder or a suicide appears in his pages as it does in those
of the daily papers, but hardly more frequently. In him we can study the
life of Russia as he knew it, crude and coarse and at times cruel, yet full
of homely virtue and aspiration. Of his complex panorama the present volume
gives a brief glimpse.

[Footnote 1: Ostróvsky, it may be remarked, has been singularly neglected
by translators from the Russian. The only previous versions of complete
plays in English known to the present writer are "The Storm." by
Constance Garnett (London and Chicago, 1899, and since reprinted), and
"Incompatibility of Temper" and "A Domestic Picture" (in "The Humour of
Russia," by E.L. Voynich, London and New York, 1895).]




A PROTÉGÉE OF THE MISTRESS

SCENES FROM VILLAGE LIFE IN FOUR PICTURES


CHARACTERS

MADAM ULANBÉKOV,[1] _an old woman of nearly sixty, tall, thin, with a large
nose, and thick, black eyebrows; of an Eastern type of face, with a small
mustache. She is powdered and rouged, and dressed richly in black. She is
owner of two thousand serfs._

[Footnote 1: The name hints at a Circassian origin and a tyrannical
disposition. Ostróvsky frequently gives to the persons in his plays names
that suggest their characteristics.]

LEONÍD, _her son, eighteen years old, very handsome, resembling his mother
slightly. Wears summer dress. Is studying in Petersburg._

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA, _a toady of_ MADAM ULANBÉKOV'S, _an old maid of
forty. Scanty hair, parted slantingly, combed high, and held by a large
comb. She is continually smiling with a wily expression, and she suffers
from toothache; about her throat is a yellow shawl fastened by a brooch._

POTÁPYCH, _the old steward. Tie and vest, white; coat black. Has an air of
importance._

NADÉZHDA[2] (_called_ NÁDYA), _seventeen years old, favorite protégée of_
MADAM ULANBÉKOV; _dressed like a young lady._

[Footnote 2: Hope.]

GAVRÍLOVNA, _the housekeeper; an elderly woman, plump, with an open
countenance._

GRÍSHA, _a boy of nineteen, a favorite of the mistress, dandified in dress,
wearing a watch with a gold chain. He is handsome, curly-headed, with a
foolish expression._

NEGLIGÉNTOV, _a clerk in a government office; a very disreputable young
man._

LÍZA, _a housemaid, not bad-looking, but very stout and snub-nosed; in a
white dress, of which the bodice is short and ill-fitting. About her neck
is a little red kerchief; her hair is very much pomaded._

_A peasant girl, a footman, and a housemaid: mute personages._

_The action takes place in the springtime, at the suburban estate of_ MADAM
ULANBÉKOV



A PROTÉGÉE OF THE MISTRESS


I

_Part of a densely grown garden; on the right benches; at the back a rail
fence, separating the garden from a field._



SCENE I

_Enter_ NÁDYA _and_ LÍZA


NÁDYA. No, Líza, don't say that: what comparison could there be between
country and city life!

LÍZA. What is there so specially fine about city life?

NÁDYA. Well, everything is different there; the people themselves, and
even the whole social order are entirely different. [_She sits down on a
bench_.] When I was in Petersburg with the mistress, one had only to take
a look at the sort of people who came to see us, and at the way our rooms
were decorated; besides, the mistress took me with her everywhere; we even
went on the steamer to Peterhof, and to Tsarskoe Selo.

LÍZA. That was pretty fine, I suppose.

NÁDYA. Yes indeed, it was so splendid that words can't describe it!
Because, no matter how much I may tell you about it, if you haven't seen it
yourself, you'll never understand. And when a young lady, the mistress's
niece, was visiting us, I used to chat with her the whole evening, and
sometimes we even sat through the night.

LÍZA. What in the world did you talk about with her?

NÁDYA. Well, naturally, for the most part about the ways of high society,
about her dancing partners, and about the officers of the guard. And as she
was often at balls, she told me what they talked about there, and whom she
had liked best. Only how fine those young ladies are!

LÍZA. What do you mean?

NÁDYA. They're very gay. And where did they learn all that? Afterwards we
lived a whole winter in Moscow. Seeing all this, my dear, you try to act
like a born lady yourself. Your very manners change, and you try to have a
way of talking of your own.

LÍZA. But why should we try to be fine ladies? Much good it does!

NÁDYA. Much good, you say? Well, you see the ladies promised to marry me
off, so I am trying to educate myself, so that no one'll be ashamed to take
me. You know what sort of wives our officials have; well, what a lot they
are! And I understand life and society ten times better than they do. Now I
have just one hope: to marry a good man, so I may be the mistress of my own
household. You just watch then how I'll manage the house; it will be no
worse at my house than at any fine lady's.

LÍZA. God grant your wish! But do you notice how the young master is
running after you?

NÁDYA. Much good it'll do him! Of course, he's a pretty fellow, you might
even say, a beauty; only he has nothing to expect from me; because I am
decidedly not of that sort; and on the other hand, I'm trying now in every
way that there may be no scandal of any sort about me. I have but one thing
in mind: to get married.

LÍZA. Even married life is sometimes no joy! You may get such a husband
that ... God help you!

NÁDYA. What a joy it would be to me to marry a really fine man! I, thank
God, am able to distinguish between people: who is good, who bad. That's
easy to see at once from their manners and conversation. But the mistress
is so unreasonable in holding us in so strictly, and in keeping everlasting
watch over us! Indeed, it's insulting to me! I'm a girl that knows how to
take care of herself without any watching.

LÍZA. It looks as if the master were coming.

NÁDYA. Then let's go. [_They rise and go out._

LEONÍD _comes in with a gun._



SCENE II

LEONÍD _and then_ POTÁPYCH


LEONÍD. Wait a bit! Hey, you, where are you going? Why are they always
running away from me? You can't catch them anyhow! [_He stands musing.
Silence._

A GIRL _sings behind the rail fence:_

    "No man may hope to flee the sting
       Of cruel affliction's pain;
     New love within the heart may sing--
       Regret still in its train."

LEONÍD. [_Running up to the fence_] What a pretty girl you are!

GIRL. Pretty, but not yours!

LEONÍD. Come here!

GIRL. Where?


LEONÍD. To me in the garden.

GIRL. Why go to you?

LEONÍD. I'll go to town and buy you earrings.

GIRL. You're only a kid!

_She laughs loudly and goes out._ LEONÍD _stands with bowed head musing._
POTÁPYCH _enters in hunting-dress, with a gun._

POTÁPYCH. One can't keep up with you, sir; you have young legs.

LEONÍD. [_All the while lost in thought_] All this, Potápych, will be mine.

POTÁPYCH. All yours, sir, and we shall all be yours.... Just as we served
the old master, so we must serve you.... Because you're of the same
blood.... That's the right way. Of course, may God prolong your dear
mamma's days....

LEONÍD. Then I shan't enter the service, Potápych; I shall come directly to
the country, and here I shall live.

POTÁPYCH. You must enter the service, sir.

LEONÍD. What's that you say? Much I must! They'll make me a copying clerk!
[_He sits down upon a bench._

POTÁPYCH. No, sir, why should you work yourself? That's not the way to do
things! They'll find a position for you--of the most gentlemanly, delicate
sort; your clerks will work, but you'll be their chief, over all of them.
And promotions will come to you of themselves.

LEONÍD. Perhaps they will make me vice-governor, or elect me marshal of the
nobility.

POTÁPYCH. It's not improbable.

LEONÍD. Well, and when I'm vice-governor, shall you be afraid of me?

POTÁPYCH. Why should I be afraid? Let others cringe, but for us it's all
the same. You are our master: that's honor enough for us.

LEONÍD. [_Not hearing_] Tell me, Potápych, have we many pretty girls here?

POTÁPYCH. Why, really, sir, if you think it over, why shouldn't there be
girls? There are some on the estate, and among the house servants; only it
must be said that in these matters the household is very strictly run. Our
mistress, owing to her strict life and her piety, looks after that very
carefully. Now just take this: she herself marries off the protégées and
housemaids whom she likes. If a man pleases her, she marries the girl off
to him, and even gives her a dowry, not a big one--needless to say. There
are always two or three protégées on the place. The mistress takes a little
girl from some one or other and brings her up; and when she is seventeen
or eighteen years old, then, without any talk, she marries her off to some
clerk or townsman, just as she takes a notion, and sometimes even to a
nobleman. Ah, yes, sir! Only what an existence for these protégées, sir!
Misery!

LEONÍD. But why?

POTÁPYCH. They have a hard time. The lady says: "I have found you a
prospective husband, and now," she says, "the wedding will be on such and
such a day, and that's an end to it; and don't one of you dare to argue
about it!" It's a case of get along with you to the man you're told to.
Because, sir, I reason this way: who wants to see disobedience in a person
he's brought up? And sometimes it happens that the bride doesn't like the
groom, nor the groom the bride: then the lady falls into a great rage. She
even goes out of her head. She took a notion to marry one protégée to a
petty shopkeeper in town; but he, an unpolished individual, was going to
resist. "The bride doesn't please me," he said, "and, besides, I don't want
to get married yet." So the mistress complained at once to the town bailiff
and to the priest: well, they brought the blockhead round.

LEONÍD. You don't say.

POTÁPYCH. Yes, sir. And even if the mistress sees a girl at one of her
acquaintances', she immediately looks up a husband for her. Our mistress
reasons this way: that they are stupid; that if she doesn't look after them
closely now, they'll just waste their life and never amount to anything.
That's the way, sir. Some people, because of their stupidity, hide girls
from the mistress, so that she may never set eyes on them; because if she
does, it's all up with the girls.

LEONÍD. And so she treats other people's girls the same way?

POTÁPYCH. Other people's, too. She extends her care to everybody. She has
such a kind heart that she worries about everybody. She even gets angry if
they do anything without her permission. And the way she looks after her
protégées is just a wonder. She dresses them as if they were her own
daughters. Sometimes she has them eat with her; and she doesn't make them
do any work. "Let everybody look," says the mistress, "and see how my
protégées live; I want every one to envy them," she says.

LEONÍD. Well, now, that's fine, Potápych.

POTÁPYCH. And what a touching little sermon she reads them when they're
married! "You," she says, "have lived with me in wealth and luxury, and
have had nothing to do; now you are marrying a poor man, and will live your
life in poverty, and will work, and will do your duty. And now forget," she
says, "how you lived here, because not for you I did all this; I was merely
diverting myself, but you must never even think of such a life; always
remember your insignificance, and of what station you are." And all this so
feelingly that there are tears in her own eyes.

LEONÍD. Well, now, that's fine.

POTÁPYCH. I don't know how to describe it, sir. Somehow they all get tired
of married life later; they mostly pine away.

LEONÍD. Why do they pine away, Potápych?

POTÁPYCH. Must be they don't like it, if they pine away.

LEONÍD. That's queer.

POTÁPYCH. The husbands mostly turn out ruffians.

LEONÍD. Is that so?

POTÁPYCH. Everybody hopes to get one of our protégées, because the mistress
right away becomes his patroness. Now in the case of these she marries to
government clerks, there's a good living for the husband; because if they
want to drive him out of the court, or have done so, he goes at once to
our mistress with a complaint, and she's a regular bulwark for him; she'll
bother the governor himself. And then the government clerk can get drunk or
anything else, and not be afraid of anybody, unless he is insubordinate or
steals a lot....

LEONÍD. But, say, Potápych, why is it that the girls run away from me?

POTÁPYCH. How can they help running? They must run, sir!

LEONÍD. Why must they?

POTÁPYCH. Hm! Why? Why, because, as you are still under age, the mistress
wants to watch over you as she ought to; well, and she watches over them,
too.

LEONÍD. She watches us, ha, ha, ha!

POTÁPYCH. Yes, sir. That's the truth! She was talking about that. You're a
child, just like a dove, but, well--the girls are foolish. [_Silence_] What
next, sir? It's your mamma's business to be strict, because she is a lady.
But why should you mind her! You ought to act for yourself, as all young
gentlemen do. You don't have to suffer because she's strict. Why should you
let others get ahead of you? That'd disgrace you.

LEONÍD. Well, well, but I don't know how to talk to the girls.

POTÁPYCH. But what's the use of talking to them a long time? What about?
What kind of sciences would you talk about with them? Much they understand
such stuff! You're just the master, and that's all.

LEONÍD. [_Glances to one side_] Who's this coming? That's NÁDYA, evidently.
Ah, Potápych, how pretty she is!

POTÁPYCH. She is related to me, sir, my niece. Her father was set free by
the late master; he was employed in a confectioner's in Moscow. When her
mother died, her mistress took and brought her up, and is awful fond of
her. And because her father is dead, why, now, she's an orphan. She's a
good girl.

LEONÍD. Looks as if they were coming this way.

POTÁPYCH. Well, let 'em.

GAVRÍLOVNA _and_ NÁDYA _enter_.



SCENE III

_The same_, GAVRÍLOVNA _and_ NÁDYA


GAVRÍLOVNA. How do you do, good master?

LEONÍD. [_Bows_] How do you do?

GAVRÍLOVNA. Well, master, I suppose you're bored in the country?

LEONÍD. No, not at all.

GAVRÍLOVNA. What, not bored yet! Why, you see it's like a monastery here;
they look after you with a hundred eyes. Well, as for you, it goes without
saying, you're a young gentleman, you ought to have some amusement; but you
can't. It's no great joy to shoot ducks!                    [_She laughs._

LEONÍD. [_Going up to_ GAVRÍLOVNA] Yes, yes, Gavrílovna.

NÁDYA. [_To_ GAVRÍLOVNA] Let's go.

GAVRÍLOVNA. Where do you want to go? Now, seeing that the mistress isn't
at home, you ought to have a little fun with the young master. That's what
young folks need. And what a clever girl she is, master! In talking, and in
everything.

NÁDYA. Come, what's the use!

GAVRÍLOVNA. Well, there's no harm in it! I was young once. I didn't run
away from the gentlemen, and you see they didn't eat me. Perhaps even he
won't bite you. Quit playing the prude, and stay here! But I'm going to get
the tea ready! Good-by, good master! [_She goes out._

LEONÍD. Why did you not wish to remain with me?

POTÁPYCH. What's this, sir! You talk to her as if she were a young lady!
Call her Nádya!

LEONÍD. What are you afraid of, Nádya?

NÁDYA _is silent._

POTÁPYCH. Talk! What are you keeping still for? And I'm going, sir; I must
get dressed for tea, too. [_He goes out._



SCENE IV

LEONÍD, NÁDYA, _and then_ LÍZA


NÁDYA. Of course I'm a girl of humble position, but, indeed, even we do not
want anybody to speak evil of us. Pray consider yourself, after such talk,
who would marry me?

LEONÍD. Are you going to get married?

NÁDYA. Yes, sir. Every girl hopes to get married some time.

LEONÍD. But have you a suitor?

NÁDYA. Not yet, sir.

LEONÍD. [_Timidly_] If you have no suitor, then, maybe you're in love with
somebody?

NÁDYA. You want to know a lot! Well, no, I needn't fib about it, I'm not in
love with anybody, sir.

LEONÍD. [_With great joy_] Then love me!

NÁDYA. It's impossible to force the heart, sir.

LEONÍD. Why? Don't you like me?

NÁDYA. Well, how could I help liking you? But I'm not your equal! What sort
of love is that? Clean ruin! Here comes Líza running after me, I suppose.
Good-by. Good luck to you! [_She goes away._

LÍZA _comes in._

LÍZA. Master, if you please! Your mamma has come.

LEONÍD. Líza!

LÍZA. [_Approaching_] What is it, please?

LEONÍD. [_He embraces_ LÍZA; _she trembles with pleasure_] Why won't Nádya
love me?

LÍZA. [_Affectedly_] What are you talking about, master! Girls of our sort
must look out for themselves!

LEONÍD. Look out for yourselves how?

LÍZA. [_Looks him in the face and smiles_] Why, everybody knows. What are
you talking like a child for?

LEONÍD. [_Sadly_] What shall I do now? Indeed, I don't know. They all run
away from me.

LÍZA. But don't lose courage; just make love a little bit. Heavens, our
hearts aren't of stone!

LEONÍD. But see here! I asked her: she said she didn't love me.

LÍZA. Well, if you aren't a queer one! Whoever asked girls right out
whether they were in love or not! Even if one of us girls was in love, she
wouldn't say so.

LEONÍD. Why?

LÍZA. Because she's bashful. Only let me go, sir! [_She gets free_] There
goes the old fury!

LEONÍD. Come out here into the garden after supper, when mamma goes to bed.

LÍZA. You don't lose any time!

LEONÍD. Please come.

LÍZA. Well, we'll see later. [VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA _enters_] Master,
please come to tea, your mamma is waiting.

LEONÍD. All right, I'm coming.



SCENE V

_The same and_ VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA


VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. I saw you, my dear, I saw you.

LÍZA. There was nothing to see. [_She goes out._

LEONÍD. Well, what did you see? What are you going to complain about? I
shall simply say that you lie. Whom are they going to believe quicker, you
or me?

[_He makes a grimace and goes out._

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. There, that's the way they all treat me. I can't
stand it! My heart is just sick. I'm a martyr in this world. [_She plucks
a flower viciously and pulls off its petals_] I believe that if I had the
power I'd do this to all of you! I'd do this to all of you! I'd do this to
all of you! You just wait, you young scamp! I'll catch you. My heart boils,
it boils, it boils over! And now I must smirk before the mistress as if I
were a fool. What a life! What a life! The sinners in hell do not suffer as
I suffer in this house! [_She goes out._



II

_A parlor. Rear centre, a door opening into the garden. Doors at the sides;
in the centre a round table._



SCENE I

_From a side door there enter a footman with a samovar and a maid with a
tea-service; they place both on the table and go out._ GAVRÍLOVNA _and_
POTÁPYCH _enter after them_. GAVRÍLOVNA _prepares the tea_. VASILÍSA
PEREGRÍNOVNA _enters from the garden_.


VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. My dear, you always serve me only water.

GAVRÍLOVNA. It isn't good for you to drink strong tea, madam.

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. It's not your business to worry about me!

GAVRÍLOVNA. It dries up the chest, and you're all dried up as it is.

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. What a life! What a life! I am not dried up from
tea-drinking, my dear, but from the insults of the world.

GAVRÍLOVNA. Insults! You insult everybody yourself, as if something were
stirring you up!

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. Don't you dare talk to me like that. Just remember
who you are. I once owned serfs myself; at my place, such people as you
didn't dare peep, they walked the chalk. I didn't let your sort get
high-headed!

GAVRÍLOVNA. That time's gone by. God gives a vicious cow no horns.

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. Oh, you monsters, wretches! You want me to die. Soon
I shall die, soon; my soul feels its fast approaching end! _Raising her
eyes heavenward_ Shelter me from men, O lid of my coffin! Take me to thee,
moist earth! Then you'll be happy; then you'll be joyful!

POTÁPYCH. We? What's it to us?.... Tend to your own business.

GAVRÍLOVNA. While God is patient with your sins.

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. For my sins I have already been tortured here. I
mourn now the sins of others.

GAVRÍLOVNA. It would be better for you not to bother with other people's
sins. Now you're getting ready to die, yet you talk about the sins of
others. Aren't you afraid?

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. Afraid of what? Why should I be afraid?

GAVRÍLOVNA. Of that little black man with the hook. He's waiting for you
now, I guess.

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. Where am I? Where am I? My God! Just as if I were in
a slough; monsters....

_From the left side_ MADAM ULANBÉKOV, NÁDYA, LÍZA, _and_ GRÍSHA _come in_.



SCENE II

_The same and_ MADAM ULANBÉKOV, GRÍSHA, NÁDYA, _and_ LÍZA.


VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. Did our benefactress deign to attend prayer service?

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. Yes, I went to vespers in town; to-day is a holiday there.

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. Did you distribute generous alms among the people
present?

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. No, I only called in Pustaya Street at old man
NEGLIGÉNTOV's. He asked me to set up his nephew; you see, the nephew is my
godson. I'm sorry for these people!

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. And you, dear soul, are a benefactress to all. To
all alike, to all! You do favors to people who aren't even worth your
looking at.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. [_Sits down_] Never mind, my dear. One must do good to his
neighbor.

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. But do they feel that good? Can they understand,
heartless creatures, how great is your condescension to them?

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. It's all the same to me, my dear! One must do good for his
own sake, for his own soul. Then I stopped in to see the chief of police,
and asked him to make NEGLIGÉNTOV head-clerk.

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. But, my benefactress, is he worthy?

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. Don't interrupt! A strange man, our chief of police! I
ask him, and he says: "There's no job!" I say to him: "You evidently don't
understand who's asking you?" "Well!" says he, "do you expect me to drive
out a good man for your godson?" Churlish fellow! However, he promised!

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. To think of his hesitating! I cannot understand how
he could even talk back to you. Here his ill-breeding shows up at once.
Maybe NEGLIGÉNTOV, because of his life, isn't worth saying much about;
nevertheless, the chief ought to do everything in the world for him for
your sake, no matter how worthless a scamp NEGLIGÉNTOV might be.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. Don't you forget that he's my godson!

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. And for that very reason, benefactress, I add: he is
your godson; well, and that's all there is to it; the chief of police ought
not to listen to any kind of gossip. And, besides, what things they do say!
They say that he's utterly worthless, that his uncle got him a court job,
but he won't stay with it. He was gone a whole week, they say, somewhere or
other about three miles down the highroad, near the tavern, fishing. Yes,
and that he is a drunkard beyond his years. But whose business is it? He
must be worthy of it, since you ask it.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. I've never heard that. I've never seen him drunk; but I
spoke to the chief of police on his behalf, because he's my godson. I take
his mother's place.

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. I know, benefactress, I know; every one knows that
if you take a notion, you, my benefactress, can make a man out of mud; but
if you don't take a notion to do so, he'll fall into insignificance no
matter how brainy he may be. He's to blame himself, because he didn't
deserve it!

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. I'm sure I never did any one any harm.

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. Harm? You, who because of your angelic heart
wouldn't hurt even a fly! Of course all we mortals are not without sins;
you have done many things; you can't please everybody. Indeed, to tell the
truth, my dear benefactress, there are people enough who complain about
you.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. Who complains about me? What a lie!

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. It's impossible for you to know everything, dear
benefactress. And it's not worth while for you, in your gentility, to
trouble yourself about every low-lived person. And though they do complain,
what's the use of paying attention; are they worth your notice? Since you
do so many good deeds for others, God will forgive you, our benefactress.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. All the same, I want to know whom I have offended?

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. Well, there are some persons, benefactress.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. [_Forcibly_] But who? Speak!

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. Don't be angry, benefactress! I spoke as I did
because you yourself know how touchy people are nowadays--never satisfied.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. You spoke as you did in order to cause me some
unpleasantness.

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. May my eyes burst if I did.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. Well, I know you. You're never at rest in your own soul
unless you're about to say something mean. You will please be more careful;
otherwise you'll drive me out of patience one of these days; it'll be all
the worse for you. [_Silence_] Serve the tea.

GAVRÍLOVNA. Right away, mistress.

_She pours out two cups_. POTÁPYCH _hands them to_ MADAM ULANBÉKOV _and to_
VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. Pour Grísha a cup, too; he went with me to-day, and he's
tired out.

GAVRÍLOVNA. Yes, mistress.

[_She pours out a cup and hands it to_ GRÍSHA.

GRÍSHA. Why didn't you put more milk in it? Are you stingy, eh?

GAVRÍLOVNA. [_Adding milk_] As it is, you're fattened on milk, like a calf.

GRÍSHA _takes the cup and goes out through the door into the garden._

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. I have thought of marrying NÁDYA to NEGLIGÉNTOV--with
a decent settlement, of course. You say that he leads a bad life;
consequently we must hasten the wedding. She is a girl of good principles,
she'll hold him back, otherwise he'll ruin himself with his bachelor
habits. Bachelor life is very bad for young men.

NÁDYA. [_To_ LÍZA] Do you hear, Líza? What's this? My God!

LÍZA. You just have to listen, and you can't say a word.

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. It's high time she was married, benefactress; why
should she be hanging around here? And now your young son, the angel, has
come.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. Oh, be still! What are you thinking up now? Why, he's only
a child!

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. A child, benefactress! Well, there's nothing more to
be said; God gave you a son as a joy and a consolation. And we can never
feast our eyes enough on him. It's just as if the sunshine had come into
our house. So good-natured, so merry, so gentle with every one! But he's
already running after the girls so; he never lets one pass; and they, silly
things, are tickled to death; they fairly snort with delight.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. You're lying. He never has a chance to see the girls
anywhere, I think; all day long they are in their own side of the house,
and, besides, they never go anywhere.

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. Ah, benefactress, there are no locks to keep a girl
in, once she takes a notion to do something.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. You hear, Gavrílovna! Look after my girls. You know I
won't have any loose conduct. You tell them that so they'll know I mean it.
[_To_ VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA] But no, there can't be anything like that.
You're merely disturbing me with your silly notions. What a dirty tongue
you have! What business had you to chatter? And now I can't get the stuff
out of my head! Keep watch, Gavrílovna!

GAVRÍLOVNA. What's the use of listening to her, mistress?

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. But really, benefactress, am I saying anything bad?
Would I dare to think any harm about him, that little angel? Of course
he's still a child, he wants to frisk a little; but here he hasn't any
companions, so he plays with the girls.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. There's poison on your tongue. [_She reflects_. POTÁPYCH
_takes the cups_. GAVRÍLOVNA _fills them and gives them back_. GRÍSHA
_comes in from the garden, gives_ GAVRÍLOVNA _a push, and makes a sign with
his head that she is to pour him another cup_. GAVRÍLOVNA _does so_. GRÍSHA
_goes out_] However, I must marry off Nádya.

NÁDYA. [_Almost weeping_] Mistress, you have shown me such kindness that
I can't even express it. Forgive me for daring to speak to you now; but,
because of your attitude towards me, I expected quite a different favor
from you. In what respect have I displeased you now, mistress, that you
wish to marry me to a drunkard?

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. My dear, it's not for you to argue about that; you're just
a girl. You ought to rely in all things upon me, your patroness. I brought
you up, and I am even bound to establish you in life. And again, you ought
not to forget this: that he is my godson. Rather, you ought to be thankful
for the honor. And now I tell you once and for all: I do not like it when
my girls argue, I simply do not like it, and that's all there is to it.
That's a thing I cannot permit anybody. I've been accustomed, from my
youth, to having people obey my every word; it's time you knew that! And
it's very strange to me, my dear, that you should presume to oppose me. I
see that I have spoiled you; and you at once get conceited. [NÁDYA _weeps._

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. Benefactress, one must have feeling for his fellow
creature, one must have feeling. But what kind of feelings can such as they
have, save ingratitude?

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. No one's talking to you! What are you mixing into
everything for? [_To_ NÁDYA, _sternly_] What new tale is this? Still
crying! Let's have no more tears! [NÁDYA _weeps_] I'm talking to you.
[_Rising slightly_] Your tears mean absolutely nothing to me! When I make
up my mind to do a thing, I take a firm stand, and listen to no one on
earth! [_She sits down_] And know, first of all, that your obstinacy will
lead to nothing; you will simply anger me.

NÁDYA. [_Weeping_] I'm an orphan, mistress! Your will must be obeyed!

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. Well, I should say! Of course it must; because I brought
you up; that's equal to giving you life itself.

LEONÍD _enters._



SCENE III

_The same and_ LEONÍD


LEONÍD. How are you, mamma?

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. How are you, my dear? Where have you been?

LEONÍD. I went hunting with Potápych. I killed two ducks, mamma.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. You don't spare your mother; the idea, going hunting in
your state of health! You'll fall sick again, God forbid! and then you'll
simply kill me! Ah, my God, how I have suffered with that child! [_She
muses._

GAVRÍLOVNA. Some tea, master?

LEONÍD. No, thanks.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. [_To_ VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA] When he was born, I was ill
a very long time. Then he was always sickly, and he grew up puny. How many
tears have I shed over him! Sometimes I would just look at him, and my
tears would flow; no, it will never be my lot to see him in the uniform of
the guardsmen! But it was most distressing of all for me when his father,
owing to the boy's poor health, was unable to send him to a military
school. How much it cost me to renounce the thought that he might become a
soldier! For half a year I was ill. Just imagine to yourself, my dear, when
he finishes his course, they will give him some rank or other, such as they
give to any priest's son clerking in a government office! Isn't it
awful? In the military service, especially in the cavalry, all ranks are
aristocratic; one knows at once that even a junker is from the nobility.
But what is a provincial secretary, or a titular councillor! Any one can
be a titular councillor--even a merchant, a church-school graduate, a
low-class townsman, if you please. You have only to study, then serve
awhile. Why, one of the petty townsmen who is apt at learning will get a
rank higher than his! That's the way of the world! That's the way of the
world! Oh, dear! [_She turns away with a wave of her hand_] I don't like to
pass judgment on anything that is instituted by higher authority, and won't
permit others to do so, but, nevertheless, I don't approve of this system.
I shall always say loudly that it's unjust, unjust.

LEONÍD. Why are Nádya's eyes red from crying?

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. She hasn't been flogged for a long time.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. That's none of your business, my dear. Nádya, go away,
you're not needed here.

[NÁDYA _goes out._]

LEONÍD. Well, I know why: you want to marry her off.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. Whether I do or not, my dear, is my own business.
Furthermore, I do not like to have any one meddle in my arrangements.

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. What a clever young man you are; you know
everything, you get into everything!

LEONÍD. Indeed, mamma dear, I don't mean to meddle in your arrangements.
Only he's a drunkard.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. And that, again, is none of your business. Leave that to
your mother's judgment.

LEONÍD. I'm only sorry for her, mamma.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. All very fine, my dear; but I should like to know from
whom you heard that I'm going to marry NÁDYA. If one of the housemaids
has....

LEONÍD. No, mamma, no.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. How could you find out otherwise? How did that get out?
[_To_ GAVRÍLOVNA] Find out without fail!

LEONÍD. No, indeed, mamma; the man she's going to marry told me.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. What sort of a man?

LEONÍD. I don't know what sort! He said he was a clerk in a government
office.... a peculiar surname: NEGLIGÉNTOV. What a funny fellow he is! He
says he's your godson, and that he's afraid of nobody. He's dancing in the
garden now, drunk.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. Drunk, in my house!

LEONÍD. If you want, I'll invite him in. Potápych, call NEGLIGÉNTOV! He
said that you were at his uncle's to-day, and that you promised to give him
Nádya. Already he's reckoning, in anticipation, how much income he will get
in the court, or "savings," as he says. What a funny fellow! He showed me
how they taught him at school. Do you want me to bring him in?

_Enter_ POTÁPYCH _and_ NEGLIGÉNTOV.



SCENE IV

_The same,_ NEGLIGÉNTOV _and_ POTÁPYCH


MADAM ULANBÉKOV. Oh, oh, how disgusting! Don't come near me!

NEGLIGÉNTOV. I'm sent from uncle to thank you for your bounty.

LEONÍD. He says, mamma, that they taught him a good deal, only it was
impossible for him to learn anything.

NEGLIGÉNTOV. Impossible; from my birth I had no aptitude for the sciences.
I received from fifty to a hundred birch rods nearly every day, but they
didn't quicken my understanding.

LEONÍD. Oh, mamma, how amusingly he tells about the way he learned! Here,
just listen. Well, and how did you learn Latin?

NEGLIGÉNTOV. Turpissime!

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. [_Shrugging her shoulders_] What in the world is that?

NEGLIGÉNTOV. Most abominably.

LEONÍD. No, wait a bit; and what did the teacher do with you?

NEGLIGÉNTOV. [_Bursts out laughing_] It made you laugh. Once, after a cruel
torture, he commanded two students to fasten me by the neck with a belt,
and to lead me through the market-place as a laughing-stock.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. How is it they took you into the civil service if you
never learned anything?

NEGLIGÉNTOV. Through the mediation of influential people.

LEONÍD. And did they expel you from school?

NEGLIGÉNTOV. They didn't expel me; but they excluded me because I grew too
much.

LEONÍD. Grew too much?

NEGLIGÉNTOV. Well, as I, during all this teaching and grilling, remaining
in the lower grades, was getting on in years, and grew more than the other
fellows of my class, of course I was excluded because I was too big. I
suffered all the more from the venality of those at the head. Our rector
liked gifts; and a week before the examinations, he sent us all to our
parents for presents. According to the number of these presents, we were
promoted to the higher classes.

LEONÍD. What was your conduct like?

NEGLIGÉNTOV. Reprehensible.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. What in the world! Good heavens! Go away, my dear sir, go
away!

LEONÍD. Oh, mamma, he's comical; wait a bit before driving him out. Dance,
NEGLIGÉNTOV!

NEGLIGÉNTOV. [_Dances and sings_]

"I shall go, shall go to mow
 Upon the meadow green."

GRÍSHA _bursts out laughing._

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. Stop, stop! [NEGLIGÉNTOV _ceases_. _To_ GRÍSHA] What are
you laughing at?

GRÍSHA. The member dances very comically.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. What do you mean, "member"?

GRÍSHA. Why, he himself tells us all that he is a member in the court, not
a copy-clerk. And so they call him the member.

NEGLIGÉNTOV. I call myself the member, although falsely, but expressly
for the respect of the court menials, and in order to escape scoffing and
insult.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. Be gone, and don't you ever dare to show yourself to me!

NEGLIGÉNTOV. Uncle says that I fell into loose living because of my
bachelor life, and that I may get mired in it unless you show me your
favor.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. No, no, never!

NEGLIGÉNTOV. [_On his knees_] Uncle told me to beg you with tears, because
I am a lost man, subject to many vices, and, without your favor, I shall
not be tolerated in the civil service.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. Tell your uncle that I shall always be your benefactress;
but don't you even think about a wife! Be gone, be gone!

NEGLIGÉNTOV. I thank you for not deserting me! [_To_ GRÍSHA] Ask the
mistress to let you go to the fair, and catch up with me! [_He goes out_.



SCENE V

_The same, except_ NEGLIGÉNTOV


MADAM ULANBÉKOV. How easy it is to be mistaken in people! You take pains
for them, work your head off, and they don't even feel it. I should have
been glad to establish that boy in life, but he crawls into the house
drunk. Now, if he's a prey to that weakness, he ought, at least, to try to
hide it from me. Let him drink where he will, but don't let me see it!
I should know, at least, that he respected me. What clownishness! What
impudence! Whom will he be afraid of, pray tell, if not of me?

LEONÍD. Oh, what a comical fellow! Don't be angry with me, mamma. When I
found out that you wanted to marry NÁDYA to him, I felt sorry for her. And
you're so good to everybody! [_He kisses her hand_] I didn't want you to do
anything unjust.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. Such people fairly drive you into sin. [_Kissing him_] You
have a beautiful soul, my dear! [_To_ VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA] Indeed, I have
always thought that God himself sometimes speaks with the lips of babes.
Líza! Go tell Nadezhda not to cry, that I have turned out NEGLIGÉNTOV.

LÍZA. Yes, ma'am. [_She goes out_.

GRÍSHA. [_Approaches, swaggering, and stops in a free and easy pose_]
Mistress!

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. What's the matter with you?

GRÍSHA. Let me go down-town; to-day's a holiday there.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. What do you want to go for? To stare at the drunkards?

GRÍSHA. [_Clasping his hands behind him_] Please, ma'am.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. No, most certainly not!

GRÍSHA. Please do, mistress.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. I tell you, positively, no! One's morals are just spoiled
at these fairs. Your greedy ears will take in all kinds of nastiness!
You're still a boy; that's no place for you!

GRÍSHA. No, but please let me, ma'am.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. You stay right here! Put that nonsense out of your head!

GRÍSHA. Well, I declare! I slave, and slave, and can't ever go anywhere!

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. Oh me, oh my! Oh me, oh my! How spoiled you are! How
spoiled you are!

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. What are you cackling about? Keep still!

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. But how can I keep still, benefactress? Such lack of
feeling! Such ingratitude! It pierces the heart.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. I command you to keep still, and you must keep still!

GRÍSHA. Please let me, ma'am!

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. As if the mistress didn't love you, as if she didn't
fondle you, more, if anything, than her own son!

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. [_Stamping her foot_] Shhh!.... I'll turn you out!

GRÍSHA. I want awfully to go to the fair; please let me, ma'am.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. Well, go along then! but come back early!

GRÍSHA. Yes, ma'am.

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. Kiss the dear lady's hand, you blockhead!

GRÍSHA. What are you trying to teach me for? I know my own business. [_He
kisses the mistress's hand and goes out._

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. As for you, my dear, if I ever hear anything like this
again, I'll have them drive you off the place with brooms.

_She goes out._ VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA _remains standing in a stupor._



SCENE VI

_The same, except_ MADAM ULANBÉKOV; _then_ LÍZA


LEONÍD. Well, you caught it, didn't you? And you deserved it, too!

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. I'll have my turn yet.

LÍZA _enters._

LÍZA. [_Quietly to_ LEONÍD] Nádya sent me to say that we'll come to the
garden.

LEONÍD. Give her a kiss from me.

GAVRÍLOVNA. God give you health, master, for taking our part. Any wretch
can insult us; but there's no one to take our part. You'll get a rich
reward for that in the next world.

LEONÍD. I'm always ready to help you. [_He goes out to the right, with a
caper._

GAVRÍLOVNA. Thanks, my dear! [_She goes out with_ LÍZA, _to the left_.



SCENE VII

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA _and_ POTÁPYCH


VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. Why don't you insult me? They all insult me, why
don't you? You heard how she herself wanted to flog me; "I'll have them do
it with brooms," she said. May her words choke her!

POTÁPYCH. What, I!.... I insult anybody! But as to the gentlefolk
there ... I don't know, but perhaps they have to.

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. Do you see what's going on in this house! Do you
see? Do you understand it, or don't you? Just now when I began to talk
about Grísha, you heard how she began to roar? You heard how she began to
hiss?

POTÁPYCH. What's that to me? I, by the mistress's kindness, in her
employ....I shall carry out all her orders.... What business is it of mine?
I don't want to know anything that isn't my business.

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. But did you see how Nádya and Líza--the
hussies!--looked at me? Did you see how the snakes looked? Ha! I must look
after them, I must! [POTÁPYCH, _with a wave of his hand, goes out_] Bah!
you! you old blockhead! What people! What people! There's no one to whom I
can talk, and relieve my heart. [_She goes out_.



III

_Part of the garden; to the rear, a pond, on the shore of which is a boat.
Starry night. A choral song is heard in the far distance. For a while the
stage is empty._



SCENE I

_Enter_ NÁDYA _and_ LÍZA


LÍZA. Oh, Nádya, what's this we're doing? When the mistress hears of this,
it'll be your last day on earth.

NÁDYA. If you're afraid, take yourself home.

LÍZA. No, I'll wait for you. But all the same, my girl, it's awful, no
matter what you say! Lord preserve us when she finds it out.

NÁDYA. Always singing the same tune! If you fear the wolf, keep out of the
woods.

LÍZA. But what has happened to you? Before, you didn't talk like this. You
used to hide yourself; and now you go to him of your own accord.

NÁDYA. Yes, before I ran away from him; now I don't want to. [_She stands
musing_] Now I myself don't know what has suddenly happened within me! Just
when the mistress said, a short while ago, that I shouldn't dare to argue,
but marry the man she said to marry, just then my whole heart revolted.
"Oh, Lord, what a life for me!" I thought. [_She weeps_] What's the use in
my living purely, guarding myself not merely from every word, but even from
every look? Even so, evil seized upon me. "Why," I thought, "should I guard
myself?" I don't want to! I don't want to! It was just as if my heart died
within me. It seemed that if she said another word, I should die on the
spot.

LÍZA. What are you saying! Why, I really thought you were coming to the
master as a joke.

NÁDYA. As a joke! I can't bear an insult! I cannot. [_Silence_] Oh, Líza,
if life were better, I shouldn't have come into the garden at night. You
know how it used to be, when I would think about myself--I suppose it must
have come into your head, too--that here you are, an honest girl; you live
like a bird, suddenly you're fascinated by some man, he makes love to you,
comes to see you often, kisses you.... You're abashed before him, yet happy
to see him. That's the way it always is. Although you may not be rich;
although it may be you have to sit with your lover in the servants' room;
yet it is as if you were a queen, just as if every day were a holiday for
you. Then they marry you, and all congratulate you. Well, then, no matter
how hard married life may be, perhaps there may be lots of work, in spite
of that you live as if in paradise; just as if you were proud of something.

LÍZA. Naturally, my girl.

NÁDYA. But when they say to you: "Pack off to this drunkard, and don't you
dare argue, and don't you dare cry over yourself!".... Oh, Líza!.... And
then you think how that horrid man will make fun of you, will bully you,
show his authority, will begin to ruin your life, all for nothing! You grow
old by his side without having a chance to live. [_She weeps_] It breaks
your heart even to tell about it! [_Waving her hand_] And so, indeed, the
young master is better.

LÍZA. Oh, Nádya; it would be better if you hadn't spoken, and I hadn't
listened!

NÁDYA. Stop, Líza! Why are you playing the prude with me? What would you do
yourself if the master fell in love with you?

LÍZA. [_Stammering_] Well, how should I know? Of course, what shall I
say.... the old Nick is strong.

NÁDYA. There you are!.... [_Silence_] Here is what I wanted to say to you,
Líza. What a strange inspiration has come over me! When such thoughts came
into my head, and, Líza, when I began to think about the master--then how
dear he became to me!.... so dear, that, really, I can't tell.... Before,
when he ran after me, I didn't care; but now it's just as if something drew
me to him.

LÍZA. Oh, my girl! Just think of it; surely this is fate!

NÁDYA. And such a spirit came into me, I am afraid of nothing! I feel as if
you could cut me to pieces, and still I'd not change my mind. And why this
is so, I don't know. [_Silence_] I could hardly wait till night! It seems
as if I could fly to him on wings! The one thing that I have in mind
is that, at any rate, I am not a pretty girl for nothing; I shall have
something by which to remember my youth. [_Musingly_] I thought to myself:
"What a young man, how handsome! Am I, silly girl that I am, worth his
loving me?" May I be choked here, in this lonely spot, if he does not.

LÍZA. What's this, Nádya? You seem beside yourself.

NÁDYA. And I really am beside myself. While she spoiled me, caressed me,
then I thought that I was a person like other people; and my thoughts about
life were entirely different. But when she began to command me, like a
doll; when I saw that I was to have no will of my own, and no protection,
then, Líza, despair fell upon me. What became of my fear, of my shame--I
don't know. "Only one day, but mine!" I thought; "then come what may, I
don't care to inquire. Marry me off to a herdsman, lock me in a castle with
thirty locks!.... it's all the same to me!"

LÍZA. I think the master's coming.

LEONÍD _enters from the opposite side, in a cloak._

NÁDYA. Well, Líza, isn't he handsome, ha?

LÍZA. Oh, stop! You're either sick or half out of your head!



SCENE II

_The_ same _and_ LEONÍD


LEONÍD. [_Approaching_] I was thinking you would deceive me by not coming.

NÁDYA. Why did you think so?

LEONÍD. Well, you see, you said you didn't love me.

NÁDYA. No matter what girls say, don't you believe them. How could one help
loving such a handsome fellow?

LEONÍD. [_Surprised_] Why, Nádya! He takes her hand, for a short time holds
it, then kisses it.

NÁDYA. [_In fright withdrawing her hand_] Oh! why did you do that? Dear,
kind master! Aren't you ashamed?

LEONÍD. I love you ever so much, Nádya!

NÁDYA. You love me? Well, then, you might give me a kiss!

LEONÍD. May I, Nádya? Will you let me?

NÁDYA. What's the harm in it?

LEONÍD. [_Turning about_] Oh, and you, Líza, here....

LÍZA. I'm going, I'm going ... I shan't meddle.

LEONÍD. [_Confused_] I didn't mean that. Where did you get that idea?

LÍZA. Oh, don't dodge. We know, too....

[_She goes out behind the shrubs._

LEONÍD. And so you will let me kiss you? [_He kisses her timidly_] No, no,
let me kiss your hand.

NÁDYA. [_Hides her hand_] No, no, how could you! What do you mean....

LEONÍD. Why not? I'll tell you what, you are the most precious thing on
earth to me.

NÁDYA. Is that really so?

LEONÍD. You see, no one ever loved me before.

NÁDYA. Aren't you fooling?

LEONÍD. No, truly!.... Truly, no one has ever loved me. Honest to God....

NÁDYA. Don't swear; I believe you without it.

LEONÍD. Let's go sit down on the bench.

NÁDYA. Yes, let's. [_They sit down._

LEONÍD. Why do you tremble so?

NÁDYA. Am I trembling?

LEONÍD. You are.

NÁDYA. Then, it must be that I feel a bit chilly.

LEONÍD. Just let me wrap you up. He covers her with one side of his cloak,
embracing her as he holds it around her. She takes his hand and holds it.

NÁDYA. And now let's sit this way and talk.

LEONÍD. What are we going to talk about? I shall say only one thing to you:
I love you.

NÁDYA. You will say it, and I shall listen.

LEONÍD. You'll get tired of one and the same thing.

NÁDYA. Maybe you'll get tired of it; I never shall.

LEONÍD. Then let me speak. I love you, little Nádya. [_He rises and kisses
her._

NÁDYA. Why do you do that? Just sit quietly, as we said we would.

LEONÍD. Shall we sit like this, with our hands folded?

NÁDYA. [_Laughing_] Like that. Hear, a nightingale is singing in the
thicket. Sit down and listen. How nice it is to listen!

LEONÍD. Like this?

NÁDYA. Yes, as we sit together. It seems as if I could sit here all my life
and listen. What could be better, what more could one want?....

LEONÍD. Nádya, dear, that would really be a bore.

NÁDYA. What fellows you men are! You get sick of things in no time. But
I, you see, am ready to sit out the whole night, to look at you, without
lowering my eyes. It seems as if I should forget the whole world!

_Tears start in her eyes, she bends her head, and then looks at_ LEONÍD
_fixedly and musingly._

LEONÍD. Now it would be nice to go rowing; it is warm, the moon is shining.

NÁDYA. [_Absently and almost mechanically_] What is it, sir?

LEONÍD. To go rowing; I should row you out to the little island. It is so
pleasant there, on the island. Well, let's go. [_He takes her by the hand._

NÁDYA. [_In a revery_] Where, sir?

LEONÍD. Where, where? I told you; didn't you hear me?

NÁDYA. Oh, forgive me, dearest master. I was thinking and didn't hear
anything. Dearest master, forgive me!

[_She lays her head upon his shoulder._

LEONÍD. I say, let's go to the island.

NÁDYA. [_Nestling up to him_] Oh, wherever you please! Even to the end of
the world! If only with you.... Take me wherever you want.

LEONÍD. Nádya, you are so good, so sweet, that it seems as if I must burst
out crying, just to look at you. [_They approach the boat_] Good-by, Líza.

LÍZA. [_Coming from the bushes, she makes a warning gesture_] Look out,
you two! [LEONÍD _and_ NÁDYA _sit down in the boat and move away_] There,
they've gone! And I must wait here for them! This is awful, simply awful!
At night, in the garden, and all alone, too! What a fix for me--afraid of
everything, and.... [_She glances about her_] Heavens, this is deadly! If
there were only somebody here, it would be all right, I'd have somebody to
talk to. Holy Saints! Somebody's coming! [_She looks_] Oh, all right; just
our old folks from the fair. [_She hides herself._



SCENE III

_Enter_ POTÁPYCH _in an overcoat and a broad-brimmed hat, and with a cane,
somewhat tipsy;_ GAVRÍLOVNA _in an old-fashioned bonnet. They sit down on
the bench._


POTÁPYCH. No, Gavrílovna, not that ... don't say that!... Our lady is so
... such a kind mistress!... Here, we asked if we could go to the fair, and
she said to go along.... But what they say about her ... that I don't know:
it's not my business, and so I don't know anything about it.

GAVRÍLOVNA. Why _not_ let us go, Potápych? You and I are not youngsters; we
shan't be spoiled!

POTÁPYCH. You can't let the young folks go, because you must have models
for everything, Gavrílovna. Whatever models a person has in front of him,
he may, very likely ... most probably....

GAVRÍLOVNA. Well, why did she let Grísha go? She said she wouldn't; well,
and then she ought not to have done it.

POTÁPYCH. Vasilísa Peregrínovna stirred me up a lot on Grísha's account
a while ago ... she stirred me up a lot, but I don't know. It's not my
business, so I don't know anything about it.

GAVRÍLOVNA. What's this you were saying about models? It would be better
for her to show a better example herself! As it is, she only keeps
shouting: "Watch, I tell you, watch the girls!" But what's the use of
watching them? Are they all babies? Every person has his own brains in his
head. Let every one think for himself. All you need to do is to look out
for the five-year-olds, that they don't spoil something or other. What a
life for a girl! There's nothing worse on earth! But the mistress doesn't
want to consider whether a girl gets much fun out of life. Well, _does_ she
get much? Say!

POTÁPYCH. [_Sighs_] A dog's life.

GAVRÍLOVNA. It surely is! Consequently one ought to pity them and not
insult them at every step. As it is, it's simply awful! Nobody trusts them
at all; it's just as if they weren't human beings. Just let a girl poke her
nose out, and the guards are on the job!

POTÁPYCH. But you can't.

GAVRÍLOVNA. Can't what? You can do everything. That'll do, Potápych! You're
used to saying over other people's words like a magpie; but just think for
yourself.

POTÁPYCH. But I don't know ... I don't know anything.

GAVRÍLOVNA. You won't gain anything through severity. You may tell 'em, if
you please, that they'll be hung for such-and-such; they'll go and do it
anyway. Where there's the greatest strictness, there's the most sin. You
ought to reason like a human being. No matter if our masters pay money for
their wits while we have only what we're born with, we have our own way of
thinking, all the same. It's all right to lay down the law strictly; but
don't always punish a fellow who makes a slip; let him off now and then.
Some bad comes from spoiling people; but now and then you can't help going
wrong.

POTÁPYCH. Now, if you ask me ... what can I answer to that? How can I
answer you?

GAVRÍLOVNA. Well, how?

POTÁPYCH. Just this: I don't know anything about it, because it isn't my
business ... it's the mistress's business.

GAVRÍLOVNA. Bah, you old idiot! You've lost your wits in your old age.

POTÁPYCH. Why should I ... I, thanks to the lady's kindness, now in her
employ ... I carry out all her orders ... but I don't know.

GAVRÍLOVNA. Well, let's go home. She may have thought up something or other
about even you and me.

[_They go out._]



SCENE IV


LÍZA. [_Enters_] Alone again! Where are those precious darlings of mine? I
suppose they've forgotten about me! But, then, why should they remember
me? Saints alive, it'll soon be daylight. This night is shorter than a
sparrow's beak. How can we go home then? How brave that Nádya is!

_Enter_ VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA.



SCENE V

LÍZA _and_ VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA


VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. What are you doing there, dearest?

LÍZA. Can't you see? I'm taking a stroll.

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. I see! How can I help it? But what kind of a
night-walk is this?

LÍZA. Well, when can we go walking? We work all day and wait on the gentry,
and we go walking at night. But I am surprised at you! Don't you walk
enough daytimes that you still want to wander around at night and scare
people, just like....

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. Just like what?... Well, say it, say it!

LÍZA. What? Oh, nothing.

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. No, you said, "Just like" ... well, say it now; just
like who?

LÍZA. I said what I said.

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. No, don't you dare sneak out of it! Come, speak up!

LÍZA. Why did you stick to it? All right, I'll tell you: like a spook.

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. What, what! Like a spook!... How do you dare, you
dirty hussy, ha? What's this! You want to push me alive into the grave! But
I'll find your lover here, and take you to the mistress. Then we'll see
what song you'll sing.

LÍZA. I haven't any lover! There's no use in your looking. Search the whole
garden if you want to! And even if I had, it's none of your business! It's
shameful for you even to speak of it. You ought not even to know about it:
you're an old maid. You ought to be ashamed of yourself!

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. Sing on, sing on, my dear; you sing very finely on
the wing; but you'll perch pretty soon! You're not going to roam about at
night for nothing. I know your tricks. I'll show you all up! I'm so mad
now, that even if you bow down to my feet, I'll not forgive you.

LÍZA. Just wait! I see myself bowing before you! Don't count on it!

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. No, now I'm going to look around every bush.

LÍZA. Do it!

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA _looks about on both sides, then approaches the
pond._

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. Ha, what's this? Do tell, what tricks they're up to!
In the boat! Hugging each other! How tender that is! Just like a picture!
You ought to have thought to take a guitar along and sing love-songs!...
They're kissing each other! Very good! Delightful! Again! Excellent! What
could be better? Phew, what an abomination! It's disgusting to look at!
Well, my dears, you will remember me. _Now_ I have nothing to say to you.
_To-morrow_ I shall! [_She goes out._

LÍZA. What devil brought her here? You can't clear up the mess now!

LEONÍD _and_ NÁDYA _reach the shore and disembark from the boat._



SCENE VI

LÍZA, NÁDYA, _and_ LEONÍD


LÍZA. What have you done, what have you done!...

NÁDYA. [_Not listening to her, softly to_ LEONÍD] You will come to-morrow?

LEONÍD. I will.

LÍZA. What's the matter, don't you hear?

NÁDYA. If I can't come, I'll send a note somehow or other.

LEONÍD. Good!

NÁDYA. Well, good-by. [_They kiss._

LÍZA. [_Loudly_] Nádya!

NÁDYA. [_Goes up to_ LÍZA. LEONÍD _sits down upon the bench_] What's the
matter?

LÍZA. Vasilísa Peregrínovna saw you rowing on the pond.

NÁDYA. Well, deuce take her!

LÍZA. My dear girl, don't carry your head too high!

LEONÍD. Nádya! [NÁDYA _goes to him_] Oh, Nádya, what a vile,
good-for-nothing fellow I am!

NÁDYA. What do you mean?

LEONÍD. Little Nádya! [_He whispers in her ear._

NÁDYA. [_Shakes her head_] Oh, my precious darling, why did that come into
your head? I'm not sorry for this, but you are. How kind you are! Now,
good-by! It's high time. I shouldn't leave you, but I can't help it; I'm
not my own mistress.

LEONÍD. Good-by, then!

_Slowly, as if unwillingly, they separate._ NÁDYA _returns, overtakes_
LEONÍD _and gazes into his eyes._

NÁDYA. Do you love me?

LEONÍD. I do love you, indeed I do!

[_They kiss and go out in different directions._



IV

Same room as in second picture



SCENE I[1]

[Footnote 1: The whole scene in a whisper.]

POTÁPYCH _is leaning against the door-jamb, his hand to his head._ VASILÍSA
PEREGRÍNOVNA _enters quietly._


VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. Result of yesterday evening, I suppose, my friend?

POTÁPYCH. Wha-a-t?

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. Your head aches.

POTÁPYCH. Did you put up the money?

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. You haven't any money for anything else; but you
have for such things.

POTÁPYCH. Well, anyhow, it ain't your business.

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. Of course, Potápych, you're an old man, why
shouldn't you take a drink once in a while?

POTÁPYCH. Sure, I guess I work for it.

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. Just so, Potápych!

POTÁPYCH. I'm tired of being lectured by you!

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. I wish you well, Potápych.

POTÁPYCH. No need for it! [_Silence_] But you keep upsetting the mistress
so! If you'd only put in a word for us when she's in a good humor; but you
just look for the wrong time, in order to complain of us.

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. What do you say, Potápych? God preserve me!

POTÁPYCH. What's that! No matter how much you swear, I know you! For
instance, why are you coming to the mistress now?

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. To wish the benefactress good morning.

POTÁPYCH. You'd better not come.

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. Why so?

POTÁPYCH. It must be she got out the wrong side of bed; she's out of sorts.
[VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA _rubs her hands with pleasure_] Here now, I see that
you're happy; you're dying for some deviltry or other. Phew! Lord forgive
us! What a disposition!

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. You are saying insulting words to me, Potápych,
insulting to my very heart. When did I ever say anything about you to the
mistress?

POTÁPYCH. If not about me, then about somebody else.

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. But that's my business.

POTÁPYCH. Your spite's always getting in its work.

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. Not spite, not spite, my friend! You're mistaken! I
have just been so insulted that it's impossible to live in this world after
it. I shall die, but I shall not forget.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV _enters._ POTÁPYCH _goes out._



SCENE II

MADAM ULANBÉKOV _and_ VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA


VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. [_Kissing both of_ MADAM ULANBÉKOV'S _hands_] You
have risen early, benefactress. You must have an awful lot of things on
your mind.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. [_Sitting down_] I didn't sleep much. I had a bad dream.

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. What, a dream, benefactress? The dream may be
terrible, but God is merciful. Not the dream, but what is going on in
reality, disturbs you, benefactress. I see that; I've seen it a long time.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. Bah, what is it to me what's going on?

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. Why, benefactress, don't we know that your son, dear
little soul! is struck with every creature he meets?

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. You make me tired.

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. I'm so sorry for you, benefactress! Don't look for
any consolation in this life! You scatter benefactions upon every one; but
how do they repay you? The world is full of lust.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. Go away!

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. [_Weeping_] I can't keep back my tears when I look
at you! My heart bleeds that they don't respect you, that they don't
respect you even in your own house! In your honorable house, in such pious
premises as these, to do such things!

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. [_Frowning_] You silly crow! You want to croak about
something or other. Well, croak away!


VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. Benefactress, I'm afraid it might upset you.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. You've upset me already. Talk!

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. [_Glances about in all directions and sits down on
a stool at the feet of_ MADAM ULANBÉKOV] Yesterday, benefactress, I was
ending my evening prayer to the Heavenly Creator, and went out to stroll in
the garden, and to occupy myself for the night with pious meditations.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. Well!

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. And what did I see there, benefactress! How my legs
held me up, I don't know! That Líza of yours was running through the bushes
with a depraved look; it must be she was seeking her lovers. Our master,
the little angel! was rowing in the boat on the pond, and Nádya, also with
a depraved expression, was clinging to him with her arms about his neck,
and was kissing him. And it was easy to see that he, because of his purity,
was trying to thrust her away; but she kept clasping him about the neck,
kissing and tempting him.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. Are you lying?

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. You may quarter me, benefactress.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. It's enough if there is one grain of truth in your words.

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. It's all true, benefactress.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. Fiddlesticks! not all--it can't be! You always make up
more than half. But where were the servants?

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. All of them, benefactress, were more or less drunk.
No sooner had you gone to bed, than they all went to the fair and got
tipsy. Gavrílovna, Potápych, all were drunk. What an example to the young!

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. This must be looked into thoroughly. Of course, I
shouldn't have expected the least mischief of Leoníd. Quiet lads like him!
Well, if he'd been a soldier, it would be pardonable; but as it is....
[_She muses._

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. And furthermore, benefactress, so far Grísha hasn't
come back from the fair.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. How's that? He didn't sleep at home?

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. He did not, benefactress!

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. You lie, you lie, you lie! I'll drive you off the place!

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. May I die in my tracks!

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. [_Sinking back in her chair_] You want to kill me.
[_Raising herself from the chair_] You simply want to kill me. [_She rings.
Enter_ POTÁPYCH] Where's Grísha?

POTÁPYCH. Just came, ma'am.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. Send him here! [POTÁPYCH _goes out_] This certainly beats
all!

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. You'll not find anybody more devoted than I,
benefactress; only I am unhappy in one respect: that my disposition
displeases you.

_Enter_ GRÍSHA, _his hair tousled and dishevelled._



SCENE III

_The same, and_ GRÍSHA


MADAM ULANBÉKOV. Where've you been?

GRÍSHA. [_Now opens, now closes his eyes, not sure of his tongue, and
unsteady on his legs_] At the fair, ma'am.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. Just come from it? [GRÍSHA _is silent_] Why don't you
talk? [_Silence_] Am I going to get a word out of you, or not?

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. Answer the mistress.

GRÍSHA. What's that to you?

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. Answer me! Where have you been all this time?

GRÍSHA. I've done wrong, ma'am.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. I'm not asking you whether you've done wrong or not; I'm
asking you where you were!

GRÍSHA. [_Looks at the ceiling with a vacant stare_] Why, where should I
be? The idea! The same place as usual!

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. Well, where's that?

GRÍSHA. I just informed you that I was there all the time, ma'am.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. You'll drive me out of patience! Where's there?

GRÍSHA. But, really, ma'am! Your will in everything, ma'am. What did I,
ma'am.... I've done wrong, ma'am.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. Good Lord! You're still drunk, I guess.

GRÍSHA. Not a bit, ma'am.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. Nonsense! I can see.

GRÍSHA. But, really, ma'am! One can say anything about a man.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. Bah, you disgraceful scamp! He still denies it! This is
awful! This is awful! Now, speak up, where've you been?

GRÍSHA. Why, really, ma'am! I just informed you, ma'am.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. Were you at the fair all night?

GRÍSHA. I just informed you so, ma'am.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. How did you dare, when I let you go for only a short time?

GRÍSHA. Well, really, ma'am! I did want to go home, but they wouldn't let
me, ma'am.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. Who wouldn't let you go?

GRÍSHA. My friends wouldn't, ma'am.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. Who are these friends of yours?

GRÍSHA. Why, really, ma'am! Government office clerks.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. Great heavens! Clerks! Do you understand what kind of
people they are?

GRÍSHA. Who, ma'am, clerks? Understand what about them, ma'am?

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. And you prowled about with them all night! It would have
been better if you hadn't told me, nasty scamp that you are! I know how
they act! They'll teach you all sorts of things! What does this mean?
Be-gone! And don't you dare show yourself before my eyes!

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. Ask forgiveness, you blockhead! Kiss the dear lady's
hand!

GRÍSHA _waves his hand impatiently and goes out._

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. What an affliction! It'll simply make me ill! Already I
feel my spasms are beginning. What a worthless scamp! He went out just as
if he had no responsibilities! And without a sign of repentance!

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. Ah, benefactress, you see he's still a child; he did
it just out of stupidity.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. No, he needs a good....

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. What do you say, benefactress? He's still a regular
booby! What can you expect of him! He'll get wiser, then it will be
altogether different.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. What offends me most is ingratitude! It seems to me he
ought to feel what I am doing for him. I'm positively sick. Go for the
doctor!

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. Calm yourself, benefactress; as if that rabble were
worth your getting upset over!

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. Hand me the smelling-salts.

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. [_Hands her them_] Snap your fingers at them, that's
all. Now, if only those girls....

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. Oh, here's another affliction! Now I certainly can't
collect my thoughts; I'm completely distracted, and now she begins on the
girls! I shall take to my bed at any moment.


VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. Lust, benefactress, is beyond all endurance.

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. No, they needn't expect any mercy from me. As it is, I
forgive one, then another, and so the whole crowd is spoiled. [_She rings;
enter_ POTÁPYCH] Call Nadezhda, and come here yourself! [POTÁPYCH _goes
out_] That's what it is to be a woman. If I were a man, would they dare be
so willful?

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. They don't give a fig for you, benefactress, not a
fig. They aren't a little bit afraid of you!

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. They're going to find out pretty quick whether I amount to
anything.

_Enter_ POTÁPYCH _and_ NÁDYA. GAVRÍLOVNA _and_ LÍZA _look through the
door_.



SCENE IV

_The same_, POTÁPYCH _and_ NÁDYA


MADAM ULANBÉKOV. Nadezhda! Vasilísa PEREGRÍNOVNA says she saw you in the
garden last night with the master. Is that so? [NÁDYA _is silent_] You're
silent, that means it's true. Well, now, you can thank yourself. I'm not a
conniver at loose conduct, and I won't endure it in my house. I can't turn
you out as a vagabond, that would weigh upon my conscience. I am obliged
to marry you off. [_To_ POTÁPYCH] Send to town and tell NEGLIGÉNTOV that I
shall marry Nádya to him; and let the wedding be just as soon as possible.

[_She rises from her chair and is about to leave_].

NÁDYA. [_Falling at her feet_] Whatever you wish, only not marriage with
him!

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. Fiddlesticks! What I have once said is sacred. And what
do you mean by this scene? Can't you see that I'm not well? To keep on
plaguing me! Potápych! She has no father; you be a father to her instead;
and impress upon her in fatherly fashion the baseness of her conduct, and
the fact that she must obey my commands.

POTÁPYCH. You listen, Nadezhda, to what the mistress commands! Because when
she intrusts you to me, it means that I must show my authority over you. If
you command it, mistress, I can at once, in your presence, give her some
moral instruction with my own hand! Here, if you dare to say one tiny word
to the contrary, I'll drag you off by the hair, no matter what any one
says.

[_He raises his hand threateningly._]

NÁDYA. Oh!... [_She crouches._]

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. Don't strike her! What disgusting scenes!

POTÁPYCH. But, mistress! You can't get results by talking! Besides, if I'm
her father, that's the regular thing! That's the law, and according to
that, since she is rebelling against you now, I ought to give you that
satisfaction.

NÁDYA. [_Weeping_] Mistress, don't ruin me!

MADAM ULANBÉKOV. Oh, my God! You don't spare me at all. Tears, squabblings!
Send for the doctor at once! How many times have I got to say it? It's
your own fault, you've nobody to blame for your tears. Potápych! get this
business over with! I don't like to repeat the same thing ten times over.

_She goes out,_ GAVRÍLOVNA _after her. Silence_. GAVRÍLOVNA _returns_.

GAVRÍLOVNA. She's gone to bed, and banged the door behind her.

POTÁPYCH. [_At the window_] Antoshka! Antoshka! Post boy! Saddle the horse
and ride to town for the doctor. Oh, you! Lord!

NÁDYA. [_Rising from her knees_] Don't you think it's a sin for you to
abuse me, Potápych? What have I ever done to you?

POTÁPYCH. What do I care? What do I care about you? When the mistress
really wants something, I have to try to please her in every way; because I
was born her servant.

NÁDYA. If she had commanded you to kill me, would you have done it?

POTÁPYCH. That's not my affair, I can't argue about that.

GAVRÍLOVNA. That's enough, Nádya, don't cry! God doesn't abandon orphans.

NÁDYA _falls upon_ GAVRÍLOVNA'S _bosom_.

LÍZA. [_To_ VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA] Well, is your heart content now?

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. Wait, my dear, your turn will come.

LEONÍD _enters_.



SCENE V

_The same and_ LEONÍD


LEONÍD. What's this? What has happened?

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. You made all the trouble yourself, and then ask what
has happened.

LEONÍD. What trouble did I make? What are you continually thinking up?

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. Now, don't pretend! The whole truth has come out.
You've been having a little fun. What of it? At your age, why shouldn't you
have?

LÍZA. She's reported the whole thing to the mistress. The mistress got so
angry that it was awful! And now, sir, she is going to marry Nádya to that
government clerk.

LEONÍD. Are you sure?

NÁDYA. The thing's settled, dearest master! I have to answer for last
evening's sport.

LEONÍD. Is mamma very angry?

GAVRÍLOVNA. No one dares go near her.

LEONÍD. But how can that be? Isn't it possible to talk her over somehow or
other?

GAVRÍLOVNA. Just go and try. No, she won't come out of her room now for
five days; and she won't let any one at all see her there.

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. Do you want to talk your mamma over?

LEONÍD. Yes.

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. Do you want me to tell you how?

LEONÍD. Please be so kind, Vasilísa Peregrínovna.

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. Well, permit me. Our benefactress is very much hurt
at Grísha, because he didn't spend the night at home: he came in drunk, and
didn't even ask forgiveness nor kiss her hand. It was this vexation that
made her sick. And then this Nadezhda happened to come her way when she
was angry. Now our benefactress won't even come out of her room, and won't
allow any one to go to her, so long as that stubborn Grísha doesn't beg
forgiveness.

GAVRÍLOVNA. How contrarily everything happened! Grísha will keep up his
character, too. Although he is a blockhead, he has some sense. Now he'll
flop down on the hay and he'll lie there on his belly for four days.

POTÁPYCH. Somebody ought to take Uncle Gerasim's club and dress him down
from top to toe.

VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. Now, our dear master, wouldn't you like to go
present your compliments to him, in order that he might hurry up and ask
your mamma's forgiveness?

LEONÍD. [_Upon reflection_] That would be too great an honor for him. But
see here, Gavrílovna, is mamma actually very angry?

GAVRÍLOVNA. So angry, sir, that it's terrible!

LEONÍD. Well, what's to be done now!

NÁDYA. Why are you bothering? You see, there's nothing you can do: better
leave me! Now you'll soon go away to Petersburg; you will be happy: why
should you think about such trifles, or disturb yourself?

LEONÍD. Why, you see, I'm sorry for you!

NÁDYA. Don't be sorry, if you please! I ran to my own destruction of my own
free will, like a mad girl, without once stopping to think.

LEONÍD. What are you planning to do now?

NÁDYA. That's my business.

LEONÍD. But, you see, it's going to be very hard for you.

NÁDYA. What business is it of yours? It will be all the happier for you.

LEONÍD. But why do you talk like this?

NÁDYA. Because you're still a boy!... Leave me!

LEONÍD. But, you see, he's such a drunken, vile fellow.

NÁDYA. Oh, my God! It would be better for you to go off somewhere: out of
my sight.

LEONÍD. Yes, really, it would be better for me to spend a week with our
neighbors.

NÁDYA. For God's sake, do!

LEONÍD. But Nádya, if it should be awfully hard for you to live with your
husband, what then?

NÁDYA. [_Weeping_] Oh, leave me alone! Be good enough to leave me alone!
[_Sobbing_] I beg only one thing of you: leave me, for God's sake! [_She
sobs_.

GAVRÍLOVNA _and_ LÍZA. [_Motioning with their hands_] Go away! Go away!

LEONÍD. Why do you drive me out? I guess I'm sorry enough for her! I keep
thinking somehow or other, that it may still be possible to help her in
some way.

NÁDYA. [_With desperation_] I don't want any helpers or defenders! I don't
want them! If my patience fails, that pond of ours isn't far off!

LEONÍD. [_Timidly_] Well, I'll go away if you wish.... Only what is she
saying? You folks, look after her, please! Good-by! [_He goes to the door_.

NÁDYA. [_After him in a loud voice_] Good-by!

LEONÍD _goes out_.

LÍZA. And so the old proverb is true: What's fun for the cat is tears for
the mouse.




POVERTY IS NO CRIME

A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS



CHARACTERS


GORDÉY KÁRPYCH TORTSÓV, _a rich merchant_.

PELAGÉYA EGÓROVNA, _his wife_.

LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA, _his daughter_.

LYUBÍM KÁRPYCH TORTSÓV, _his brother, a man who has squandered his
property_.

AFRIKÁN SÁVVICH KÓRSHUNOV[1], _a manufacturer_.

[Footnote 1: Vulture]

MÍTYA, TORTSÓV'S _clerk_.

YÁSHA GÚSLIN, _nephew of_ TORTSÓV.

GRÍSHA RAZLYULYÁYEV, _a young merchant, the son of a rich father_.

ANNA IVÁNOVNA, _a young widow_.

MÁSHA }
      } _friends of_ LYUBÓV TORTSÓV.
LÍZA  }

EGÓRUSHKA, _a boy, distant relative of_ TORTSÓV.

ARÍNA, _nurse of_ LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA.

GUESTS, SERVANTS, MUMMERS, AND OTHERS.


_The action takes place in a district town in the house of the merchant
TORTSÓV during the Christmas holidays_.




POVERTY IS NO CRIME


ACT I

_A small office room; in the rear wall a door; in the corner on the left
a bed, on the right a cupboard. In the left wall a window, and beside the
window a table. Near the table a chair; near the right wall a desk and a
wooden stool. Beside the bed a guitar; on the table and desk are books and
papers_.



SCENE I

MÍTYA _is walking back and forth in the room_. EGÓRUSHKA _is seated on the
stool reading_ "Bová Korolévich."


EGÓRUSHKA. [_Reads_] "My sovereign father, glorious and brave king, Kiribít
Verzoúlovich, I do not possess the courage to marry him now. Because when I
was young I was wooed by King Gvidón."

MÍTYA. Well, Egórushka, is any one at home?

EGÓRUSHKA. [_Putting his finger on the place where he is reading in order
not to make a mistake_] Nobody; they've all gone driving. There's only
Gordéy Kárpych at home. [_Reads_] "Whereupon Kiribít Verzoúlovich said to
his daughter"--[_Again marking the place_]--only he's in such a rage, it's
awful! I cleared out--he keeps on cursing. [_Reads_] "Then the beautiful
Militrísa Kirbítyevna called her servant Licharda to her."

MÍTYA. With whom was he angry?

EGÓRUSHKA. With my uncle, with Lyubím KÁRPYCH. On the second day of the
holidays Uncle Lyubím KÁRPYCH dined with us; at dinner he got drunk and
began to play the fool; it was awfully funny. I always get the giggles. I
couldn't stand it, and then I burst out laughing, and they were all looking
at me. Uncle Gordéy KÁRPYCH took it as a great insult to himself and very
bad manners, and he was furious with him and turned him out. Uncle Lyubím
Kárpych made a great row, and out of revenge went and stood with the
beggars by the church door. Uncle Gordéy Kárpych said: "He has put me to
shame," he said, "in the eyes of the whole town." And now he gets angry
with everybody who comes near him, no matter who they are. [_Reads_] "With
the intention of advancing toward our town."

MÍTYA. [_Looking out of the window_] Here they come, I think. Yes, it's so.
Pelagéya Egórovna, Lyubóv Gordéyevna, and guests with them.

EGÓRUSHKA. [_Concealing his story in his pocket_] I'll run up-stairs.
                                                        [_Goes out_.



SCENE II

MÍTYA alone


MÍTYA. Oh, Lord, what misery! Everybody in the streets is having a holiday,
and everybody in the houses too, and you have to sit between four walls! I
am a stranger to all, no relations, no friends!--And then besides!--O well!
I'd better get to work; perhaps this wretchedness will pass off. [_Seats
himself at the desk and muses, then begins to sing_.

    "Her beauty I cannot describe!
    Dark eyebrows, with languishing eyes."

Yes, with languishing eyes. And yesterday when she came from mass, in her
sable coat, and her little handkerchief on her head, like this--ah!--I
really think such beauty was never seen before! [_Muses, then sings_.

    "Where, O where was this beauty born!"

My work all goes out of my head! I'm always thinking of her! My heart is
tormented with sorrow. O misery most miserable!

_Covers his face with his hands and sits silent. Enter_ PELAGÉYA EGÓROVNA,
_dressed in winter clothes; she stops in the doorway._



SCENE III

MÍTYA and PELAGÉYA EGÓROVNA


PELAGÉYA EGÓROVNA. Mítya, Mítya dear!

MÍTYA. What do you want?

PELAGÉYA EGÓROVNA. Come up to us later on in the evening, my dear, and play
with the girls. We're going to sing songs.

MÍTYA. Thank you exceedingly, I shall make it my first duty.

PELAGÉYA EGÓROVNA. Why are you always sitting alone in the office? It's not
very cheerful! You'll come, won't you? Gordéy Kárpych won't be at home.

MÍTYA. Good, I shall come without fail.

PELAGÉYA EGÓROVNA. He's going off again, you see; he's going off there to
that friend of his--what's his name?

MÍTYA. To Afrikán Savvich?

PELAGÉYA EGÓROVNA. Yes, yes! He's quite gone on him! Lord forgive him!

MÍTYA. Take a seat, Pelagéya Egórovna. [_Fetches a chair_.

PELAGÉYA EGÓROVNA. Oh, I have no time. Well, yes, I'll sit down a bit.
[_Sits down_] Now just think, what a misfortune! Really, they've become
such friends that it beats everything! Yes, that's what it's come to! And
why? What's the use of it all? Tell me that, pray. Isn't Afrikán Savvich a
coarse, drunken fellow? Isn't he?

MÍTYA. Perhaps Gordéy Kárpych has some business with Afrikán Savvich.

PELAGÉYA EGÓROVNA. What sort of business! He has no business at all. You
see Afrikán Savvich is always drinking with that Englishman. He has an
Englishman as director of his factory, and they drink together! But he's
no fit company for my husband. But can you reason with him? Just think how
proud he is! He says to me: "There isn't a soul here to speak to; all," he
says, "are rabble, all, you see, are just so many peasants, and they live
like peasants. But that man, you see, is from Moscow--lives mostly in
Moscow--and he's rich." And whatever has happened to him? Well, you see, it
was all of a sudden, my dear boy, all of a sudden! He used to have so much
sense. Well, we lived, of course not luxuriously, but all the same pretty
fairly decently; and then last year he went for a trip, and he caught it
from some one. He caught it, he caught it, they have told me so--caught all
these tricks. Now he doesn't care for any of our Russian ways. He keeps
harping on this: "I want to be up to date, I want to be in the fashion.
Yes, yes! Put on a cap," he says! What an idea to get! Am I going to try to
charm any one in my old age and make myself look lovely? Bah! You just try
to do anything with him. He never drank before--really he didn't--but now
he drinks with this Afrikán. It must be that drink has turned his brain
[_points to her head_] and muddled him.... [_Silence_] I think now that the
devil has got hold of him! Why can't he have some sense! If he were a young
fellow! For a young fellow to dress up and all that is all right; but you
see he's nearly sixty, my dear, nearly sixty! Really! "Your fashionable
up-to-date things," says I, "change every day; our Russian things have
lived from time immemorial! The old folks weren't any stupider than we."
But can you reason with him, my dear, with his violent character?

MÍTYA. What is there to say? He's a harsh man.

PELAGÉYA EGÓROVNA. Lyubóv is just at the right age now; we ought to be
settling her, but he keeps dinning it in: "There's no one her equal, no!
no!" But there is! But he says there isn't. How hard all this is for a
mother's heart.

MÍTYA. Perhaps Gordéy Kárpych wishes to marry Lyubóv Gordéyevna in Moscow.

PELAGÉYA EGÓROVNA. Who knows what he has in his mind? He looks like a wild
beast, and never says a word, as if I were not a mother. Yes, truly, I
never say anything to him; I don't dare; all you can do is to speak with
some outsider about your grief, and weep, and relieve your heart; that's
all. [_Rises_] You'll come, Mítya?

MÍTYA. I'll come, ma'am.

GÚSLIN _comes in_.



SCENE IV

The _same and_ GÚSLIN


PELAGÉYA EGÓROVNA. Here's another fine lad! Come up-stairs to us, Yasha,
and sing songs with the girls; you're good at that; and bring along your
guitar.

GÚSLIN. Thank you, ma'am: I don't think of that as work; I must say it's a
pleasure.

PELAGÉYA EGÓROVNA. Well, good-by! I'm going to take a nap for half an hour.

GÚSLIN _and_ MÍTYA. Good-by.

PELAGÉYA EGÓROVNA _goes out_; MÍTYA _seats himself dejectedly at the
table_; GÚSLIN _seats himself on the bed and takes up the guitar_.



SCENE V

MÍTYA _and_ YÁSHA GÚSLIN


GÚSLIN. What a crowd there was at the fair! Your people were there. Why
weren't you?

MÍTYA. Because I felt so awfully miserable.

GÚSLIN. What's the matter? What are you unhappy about?

MÍTYA. How can I help being unhappy? Thoughts like these keep coming into
my head: what sort of man am I in the world? My mother is old and poor
now, and I must keep her--and how? My salary is small; I get nothing but
abuse and insults from Gordéy Kárpych; he keeps reproaching me with my
poverty, as if I were to blame--and he doesn't increase my salary. I'd
look for another place, but where can one find one without friends? And,
yes, I will confess to you that I won't go to another place.

GOSLIN. Why won't you go? There at the Razlyulyáyevs' it's very nice--the
people are rich and kind.

MÍTYA. No, Yasha, that doesn't suit me! I'll bear anything from Gordéy
Kárpych, I'll stand poverty, but I won't go away. That's my destiny!

GÚSLIN. Why so?

MÍTYA. [_Rises_] Well, I have a reason for this. It is, Yasha, because I
have another sorrow--but nobody knows about it. I haven't spoken to any one
about my sorrow.

GÚSLIN. Tell me about it.

MÍTYA. [_Waving his hand_] What for?

GÚSLIN. Yes, tell me; don't put on airs!

MÍTYA. Whether I tell you or not, you can't help me!

GÚSLIN. How do you know?

MÍTYA. [_Walking toward_ GÚSLIN] Nobody can help me--I am a lost man! I've
fallen wildly in love with Lyubóv Gordéyevna.

GÚSLIN. What's the matter with you, Mítya? Whatever do you mean?

MÍTYA. Well, anyhow, it's a fact.

GÚSLIN. You'd better put it out of your head, Mítya. Nothing can ever come
of that, so there's no use thinking about it.

MÍTYA. Though I know all this, one cannot control one's heart. "To love is
most easy, one cannot forget." [_He speaks with violent gestures_] "I love
the beautiful girl more than family, more than race; but evil people forbid
me, and they bid me cease."

GÚSLIN. Yes, indeed; but you must stop it! Now Anna Ivánovna is my equal;
she has no money, and I haven't a kopek--and even so uncle forbids me to
marry. It's no use for you to think of doing so. You'll get it into your
head and then it'll be still harder for you.

MÍTYA. [_Declaiming_] "What of all things is most cruel? The most cruel
thing is love." [_Walking about the room_.] Yasha, have you read Koltsóv?

GÚSLIN. Yes, why?

MÍTYA. How he describes all these feelings!

GÚSLIN. He does describe them exactly.

MÍTYA. Exactly, to perfection. [_Walking about the room_] Yasha!

GÚSLIN. What?

MÍTYA. I myself have composed a song.

GÚSLIN. You?

MÍTYA. Yes.

GÚSLIN. Let's make up a tune for it, and we'll sing it.


MÍTYA. Good! Here, take this [_gives him a paper_] and I'll write a
little--I have some work: most likely Gordéy Kárpych will be asking me
about it. [_Sits and writes_.

GÚSLIN _takes the guitar and begins to pick out a tune_. RAZLYULYÁYEV
_comes in with an accordion_.



SCENE VI

_The same and_ RAZLYULYÁYEV


RAZLYULYÁYEV. Hello, boys! [_Plays on the accordion and begins to dance_.

GÚSLIN. What a fool! What did you buy that accordion for?

RAZLYULYÁYEV. Why, I bought it to play on, of course--this way. [_Plays_.

GÚSLIN. Well, that's fine music, I must say! Stop, I tell you!

RAZLYULYÁYEV. What! Do you think I'll stop? I'll stop when I want to.--What
airs! Haven't I got any money? [_Slapping his pocket_] It chinks! If we go
on a spree--then it's some spree!

    "One mountain is high,
    And another is low;
    One darling is far,
    And another is near."

Mítya! [_Strikes_ MÍTYA _on the shoulder_] Mítya, why are you sitting
still?

MÍTYA. I have some work to do. [_Continues to work_.

RAZLYULYÁYEV. Mítya! Say, Mítya, I'm on a spree, my boy! Really, I am. Oh,
come on! [_Sings, "One mountain is high," etc_.] Mítya! Say, Mítya, I'm
going on a spree for the whole holiday season--then I'll set to work,
upon my word I will! Haven't I got any money? There it is! And I'm not
drunk.--Oh, no, such a spree!--so jolly!

MÍTYA. Well, go on a spree as much as you like.

RAZLYULYÁYEV. And after the holidays I shall marry!--Upon my word I shall
marry! I'll get a rich girl.

GÚSLIN. Now, then, listen; how does this sound?

RAZLYULYÁYEV. Sing it, sing it! I'll listen.

GÚSLIN. [_Sings_]

    "Is naught so hard and evil
    As to be fatherless;
    Than slavery more grievous
    And sharper than distress.

    All in the world make holiday,
    But lonely you must pine.
    Your mind is wild and drunken,
    But it came not from the wine.

    Youth shall not do your pleasure,
    Beauty no healing bear.
    Your sweetheart does not comb your locks,
    But your harsh stepdame, Care."

_During all this time_ RAZLYULYÁYEV _stands as if rooted to the ground, and
listens with emotion; when the song is finished all are silent_.

RAZLYULYÁYEV. Good! Very good! It's awfully sad; it takes hold of one's
heart. [_Sighs_] Ah, Yasha! play something cheerful; that's enough of this
stuff--to-day's a holiday. [_Sings_.

    "Who does not love a hussar!
    Life without love would be sad!"

Play the tune, Yasha.

GÚSLIN _plays the tune_.

MÍTYA. That's enough of your fooling. Come, now, let's sit down in a circle
and sing in a low tone.

RAZLYULYÁYEV. All right. [_They sit down_.

GÚSLIN. [_Begins to sing_; MÍTYA _and_ RAZLYULYÁYEV _join in_]

    "Now my young, my young lads,
    You my friends...."

_Enter_ GORDÉY KÁRPYCH; _all stand up and stop singing_.



SCENE VII

_The same and_ GORDÉY KÁRPYCH


GORDÉY KÁRPYCH. What's all this screeching! Bawling like so many peasants!
[_To_ MÍTYA] And you here! You're not living here in a peasant's hut! What
a dram-shop! See that this sort of thing doesn't go on in the future!
[_Goes to the table and inspects the papers_] Why are these papers all
scattered about?

MÍTYA. I was looking over the accounts, sir. GORDÉY KÁRPYCH. [_Takes the
book by Koltsóv, and the copy-book with verses_] And this, too, what's this
rubbish?

MÍTYA. I was copying these poems of Koltsóv's to pass the time away, since
it's a holiday. GORDÉY KÁRPYCH. You are sentimental for a poor lad!

MÍTYA. I just study for my own education, in order to understand things.

GORDÉY KÁRPYCH. Education! Do you know what education is?--And yet you
keep on talking! You ought to get yourself a new coat! For when you come
up-stairs to us and there are guests, it's a disgrace! What do you do with
your money?

MÍTYA. I send it to my mother because she is old and has nowhere to get
any.

GORDÉY KÁRPYCH. Send it to your mother! You ought to educate yourself
first; God knows what your mother needs! She wasn't brought up in luxury;
most likely she used to look after the cows herself.

MÍTYA. It's better that I should suffer than that my mother should be in
any want at all.

GORDÉY KÁRPYCH. This is simply disgusting! If you don't know yourself how
to observe decency, then sit in your hovel! If you haven't anything to
wear, then don't have any fancies! You write verses, you wish to educate
yourself--and you go about looking like a factory hand! Does education
consist in this, in singing idiotic songs? You idiot! [_Through his teeth
and looking askance at_ MÍTYA] Fool! [_Is silent_] Don't you dare to show
yourself in that suit up-stairs. Listen, I tell you! [_To_ RAZLYULYÁYEV]
And you too! Your father, to all appearances, rakes up money with a shovel,
and you go about in this Russian smock.

RAZLYULYÁYEV. What do you say! It's new--French goods--I ordered it from
Moscow--from an acquaintance--twenty rubles a yard! Do you think I ought
to go about in a bob-tailed coat, like Franz Fédorych at the apothecary's!
Why, they all tease him there!--the deuce of a coat! What's the use of
making people laugh! GORDÉY KÁRPYCH. Much you know! It's hopeless to expect
anything of you! You yourself are an idiot, and your father hasn't much
more sense--he always goes about in dirty old clothes. You live like
ignorant fools, and like fools you will die.

RAZLYULYÁYEV. That's enough!

GORDÉY KÁRPYCH. What?

RAZLYULYÁYEV. That's enough, I say!

GORDÉY KÁRPYCH. Clown! You don't even know how to talk straight! It's
simply waste of words to speak to you--like shooting peas against a
wall--to waste words on such as you, fools! [_Goes out_.



SCENE VIII

_The same without_ TORTSÓV


RAZLYULYÁYEV. Just look! How savage! What a rage he's in! Oh, we're awfully
scared of you--you bet we are!

MÍTYA. [_To_ GÚSLIN] There, that's the sort of life I lead! That's the sort
of thing I have to put up with!

RAZLYULYÁYEV. It'll drive you to drink--upon my word, it'll drive you to
drink! But you'd better stop thinking about it. [_Sings_.

    "One mountain is high,
    And another is low;
    One darling is far,
    And another is near."

_Enter_ LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA, ANNA IVÁNOVNA, MÁSHA, _and_ LÍZA.



SCENE IX

_The same and_ LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA, ANNA IVÁNOVNA, MÁSHA, _and_ LÍZA.


ANNA IVÁNOVNA. Peace, honest company!

RAZLYULYÁYEV. I welcome you to our shanty.

MÍTYA. Our respects! Please come in! What good wind brings you here?

ANNA IVÁNOVNA. No wind--we just took it into our heads and came. Gordéy
Kárpych has gone out, and Pelagéya Egórovna has gone to lie down, so now we
are free! Be as jolly as you please!

MÍTYA. I humbly beg you to sit down.

_They sit down_; MÍTYA _seats himself opposite_ LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA;
RAZLYULYÁYEV _walks about_.

ANNA IVÁNOVNA. It grew dull sitting silent cracking nuts. "Come on, girls,"
said I, "and see the boys," and that suited the girls.

LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. What stories you do make up! We never thought of coming
here--that was your idea.

ANNA IVÁNOVNA. Much you didn't! You were the first! Everybody knows, if a
person wants a thing, then he thinks about it; the boys of the girls, and
the girls of the boys.

RAZLYULYÁYEV. Ha, ha, ha! Anna Ivánovna, you have said it exactly.

LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. Not a bit of it!

MÁSHA. [_To_ LÍZA] Oh, how embarrassing!

LÍZA. Anna Ivánovna, you are just saying what isn't true.

ANNA IVÁNOVNA. Oh, you modest thing! I'd like to say a word--but it
wouldn't be nice before the boys!--I've been a girl myself. I know all
about it.

LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. There are girls and girls!

MÁSHA. Oh, how embarrassing!

LÍZA. What you say sounds very strange to us, and, I must say, it's
disconcerting.

RAZLYULYÁYEV. Ha, ha, ha!

ANNA IVÁNOVNA. What were we talking about just now up-stairs? Do you want
me to tell? Shall I tell them? Well, have you calmed down now?

RAZLYULYÁYEV. Ha, ha, ha!

ANNA IVÁNOVNA. What are _you_ opening your mouth for? It wasn't about
you--don't you worry.

RAZLYULYÁYEV. Even if it wasn't about me, still it may be there is some one
who thinks about me. I know what I know! [_Dances to a tune_.

    "Who does not love a hussar!
    Life without love would be sad!"

ANNA IVÁNOVNA. [_Walking towards_ GÚSLIN] Well, guitar player, when will
you marry me?

GÚSLIN. [_Playing on the guitar_] When I can get permission from Gordéy
Kárpych. What's the use of hurrying! It isn't raining on us! [_Nods his
head_] Come along here, Anna Ivánovna; I've got something to say to you.

_She goes to him, and sits near him; he whispers in her ear, looking
towards_ LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA _and_ MÍTYA.

ANNA IVÁNOVNA. What do you say!--Really?

GÚSLIN. It's really true.

ANNA IVÁNOVNA. Well, then, all right; keep quiet! [_They talk in a
whisper_.

LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. You, Mítya, will you come to us later on in the evening?

MÍTYA. I will.

RAZLYULYÁYEV. And I'm coming; I'm good at dancing. [_Stands with arms
akimbo_] Girls! do fall in love with me, one of you!

MÁSHA. You ought to be ashamed of yourself! What's that you're saying?

RAZLYULYÁYEV. Why such airs! I say, fall in love with me,
somebody--yes--for my simplicity.

LÍZA. People don't talk like that to girls. You ought to wait till they do
fall in love with you.

RAZLYULYÁYEV. Yes, much I'll get from you by waiting! [_Dances_

    "Who does not love a hussar!"

LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. [_Looking at_ MÍTYA] It may be somebody loves somebody
and won't tell! He must guess himself.

LÍZA. How can any girl in the world say that!

MÁSHA. I know it!

ANNA IVÁNOVNA. [_Goes up to them and looks now at_ LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA _and
now at_ MÍTYA _and sings_:

    "Already it is seen
    If somebody loves somebody--
    Opposite the beloved one she seats herself
    Heavily sighing."

MÍTYA. Who does that apply to?

ANNA IVÁNOVNA. We know to whom.

RAZLYULYÁYEV. Stay, girls, I'll sing you a song.

ANNA IVÁNOVNA. Sing, sing!

RAZLYULYÁYEV. [_Sings slowly_]

    "A bear was flying through the sky."

ANNA IVÁNOVNA. Don't you know anything worse than that!

LÍZA. We might think you were making fun of us.

RAZLYULYÁYEV. If this isn't good enough I'll sing you another, for I'm a
jolly fellow. [_Sings_.

    "Beat! Beat! upon the board.
     Moscow! Moscow! that's the word.
     Moscow's got it in his head
     That Kolomna he will wed.
     Tula laughs with all his heart.
     But with the dowry will not part.
     Buckwheat is tuppence. It's twenty for oats.
     Millet is sixpence and barley three groats.
                                 [_Turns towards the girls_.
     If only oats would but come down!
     It's costly carting 'em to town."

See! What weather!

MÁSHA. This doesn't concern us.

LÍZA. We don't trade in flour.

ANNA IVÁNOVNA. What are you interrupting for! Just guess this riddle.
What's this: round--but not a girl; with a tail--but not a mouse?[1]

[Footnote 1: A turnip.]

RAZLYULYÁYEV. That's a hard one!

ANNA IVÁNOVNA. Indeed it is!--You just think it over! Now, girls, come
along! [_The girls rise and get ready to go_] Come along, boys!

GÚSLIN _and_ RAZLYULYÁYEV _get ready_.

MÍTYA. But I'll come later. I'll put things to rights here first.

ANNA IVÁNOVNA. [_Sings while they are getting ready_]

    "Our maids last night,
    Our pretties last night,
    They brewed us a brew of the beer last night.
    And there came to our maids,
    And there came to our pretties
    A guest, a guest whom they didn't invite."

ANNA IVÁNOVNA _lets them all pass through the door, except_ LYUBÓV
GORDÉYEVNA; _she shuts the door and does not allow her to pass_.



SCENE X

MÍTYA _and_ LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA


LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. [_At the door_] Stop, don't be silly! [_Through the
door the girls are heard laughing_] They won't let me out! Oh, what girls!
[_Walks away from the door_] They're always up to something.

MÍTYA. [_Hands her a chair_] Be seated, Lyubóv Gordéyevna, and talk to me
for just a moment. I'm very glad to see you in my room.

LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. Why are you glad? I don't understand.

MÍTYA. Oh, why!--It is very pleasant for me to see on your side such
consideration; it is above my deserts to receive it from you. This is the
second time I have had the good fortune--

LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. There's nothing in that! I came here, sat awhile, and
went away again. That means nothing. Maybe I'll go away again at once.

MÍTYA. Oh, no! Don't go!--Why should you! [_Takes the paper out of his
pocket_] Permit me to present to you my work, the best I can do--from my
heart.

LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. What is this?

MÍTYA. I made these verses just for you.

LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. [_Trying to hide her joy_] Still, it may be just some
sort of foolishness--not worth reading.

MÍTYA. That I cannot judge, because I wrote it myself, and without studying
besides.

LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. Read it.

MÍTYA. Directly.

_Seats himself at the table, and takes the paper_: LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA
_approaches very near to him_.

    "In the meadow no grasses wither,
    And never a flower doth fade;
    However a fair lad fadeth
    That once was a lusty blade.

    He loved a handsome damsel;
    For that his grief is great,
    And heavy his misfortune,
    For she came of high estate.

    The lad's heart is breaking,
    But vain his grief must be,
    Because he loved a damsel
    Above his own degree.

    When all the night is darkened
    The sun may not appear;
    And so the pretty maiden.
    She may not be his dear."

LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. [_Sitting and reflecting for some time_] Give it here.
[_Takes the paper and hides it, then rises_] Now I will write something
for you.

MÍTYA. You!

LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. Only I don't know how to do it in verse, but--just plain
Russian.

MÍTYA. I shall regard such a kindness from you as a great happiness to
myself. [_Gives her paper and pen_] Here they are.

LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. It's a great pity that I write so abominably. [_She
writes_; MÍTYA _tries to look_] Only don't you look, or I'll stop writing
and tear it up.

MÍTYA. I won't look. But kindly condescend to permit me to reply, in so far
as I am able, and to write some verses for you on a second occasion.

LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. [_Laying down the pen_] Write if you wish--only I've
inked all my fingers; if I'd only known, I'd better not have written.

MÍTYA. May I have it?

LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. Well, take it; only don't dare to read it while I'm
here, but after, when I've gone.

_Folds together the paper and gives it to him; he conceals it in his
pocket_.

MÍTYA. It shall be as you wish.

LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. [_Rises_] Will you come up-stairs to us?

MÍTYA. I will--this minute.

LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. Good-by.

MÍTYA. To our pleasant meeting!

LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA _goes to the door; from the doorway_ LYUBÍM KÁRPYCH
_comes in_.



SCENE XI

_The same and_ LYUBÍM KÁRPYCH


LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. Ah!

LYUBÍM KÁRPYCH. [_Looking at_ LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA] Wait! What sort of a
creature is this? On what pretext? On what business? We must consider this
matter.

LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. Is it you, uncle!

LYUBÍM KÁRPYCH. Oh, it's I, niece! What? You got a fright? Clear out, never
mind! I'm not the man to tell tales. I'll put it in a box, and think it
over after, all in my spare time.

LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. Good-by. [_Goes out_.



SCENE XII

MÍTYA _and_ LYUBÍM KÁRPYCH


LYUBÍM KÁRPYCH. Mítya, receive unto thyself Lyubím Kárpych TORTSÓV, the
brother of a wealthy merchant.

MÍTYA. You are welcome.

LYUBÍM KÁRPYCH. [_Sits down_] My brother turned me out! And in the street,
in a coat like this--one has to dance about a bit! The frost--at Christmas
time--brrr!--My hands are frozen, and my feet nipped--brrr!

MÍTYA. Warm yourself up, Lyubím Kárpych.

LYUBÍM KÁRPYCH. You will not drive me away, Mítya? If you do, I'll freeze
in the yard--I'll freeze like a dog.

MÍTYA. How could I? What are you saying?

LYUBÍM KÁRPYCH. You see, Mítya, my brother turned me out. As long as I had
a little money, I strolled about in warm places; now I have no money, and
they won't let me come in anywhere. All I had was two francs and some-odd
centimes! Not a great capital! It wouldn't build a stone house! It wouldn't
buy a village! What could one do with such a capital? Where put it? Not
take it to a bank! So then I took this capital and drank it up!--squandered
it!--That's the way of it!

MÍTYA. Why do you drink, Lyubím Kárpych? That makes you your own enemy.

LYUBÍM KÁRPYCH. Why do I drink? From stupidity! Yes, from my own stupidity.
Why did you think I drank?

MÍTYA. You'd better stop it.

LYUBÍM KÁRPYCH. It's impossible to stop; I've got started on this track.

MÍTYA. What track?

LYUBÍM KÁRPYCH. Ah, well, listen--you're a kind soul--what this track was.
Only, you listen, take note of it. I was left when my father died, just
a kid, tall as a bean pole, a little fool of twenty. The wind whistled
through my head like an empty garret! My brother and I divided up things:
he took the factory himself, and gave me my share in money, drafts
and promissory notes. Well, now, how he divided with me is not our
business--God be his judge! Well, then I went to Moscow to get money on the
drafts. I had to go! One must see people and show oneself, and learn good
manners. Then again, I was such a handsome young man, and I'd never seen
the world, or spent the night in a private house. I felt I must try
everything! First thing, I got myself dressed like a dandy. "Know our
people!" says I. That is, I played the fool to a rarity! Of course, I
started to visit all the taverns: "_Schpeelen sie polka_! Give us a bottle
off the ice!" I got together enough friends to fill a pond! I went to the
theatres--

MÍTYA. Well, Lyubím Kárpych, it must be very nice in the theatre.

LYUBÍM KÁRPYCH. I kept going to see the tragedies; I liked them very much,
only I didn't see anything decently, and I didn't understand anything
because I was nearly always drunk. [_Rises_] "Drink beneath the dagger of
Prokóp Lyapunóv." [_Sits down_] By this sort of life I soon squandered all
my money; what was left I intrusted to my friend Afrikán Kórshunov, on his
oath and word of honor; with him I had drunk and gone on sprees, he was
responsible for all my folly, he was the chief mixer of the mash! He fooled
me and showed me up, and I was stuck like a crab on a sand bank. I had
nothing to drink, and I was thirsty--what was to be done? Where could I go
to drown my misery? I sold my clothes, all my fashionable things; got pay
in bank-notes, and changed them for silver, the silver for copper, and then
everything went and all was over.

MÍTYA. How did you live, Lyubím Kárpych?

LYUBÍM KÁRPYCH. How did I live? May God never give such a life to a Tatar!
I lived in roomy lodgings, between heaven and earth, with no walls and no
ceiling. I was ashamed to see people. I hid from the world; and yet you
have to go out into God's world, for you have nothing to eat. You go along
the street, and everybody looks at you.--Every one had seen what a life I
used to lead, how I rattled through the town in a first-class cab, and now
went about tattered and torn and unshaven. They shook their heads and away
they went. Shame, shame, shame! [_Sits and hangs his head_] There is a good
business--a trade which pays--to steal. But this business didn't suit me--I
had a conscience, and again I was afraid: no one approves of this business.

MÍTYA. That's a last resort.

LYUBÍM KÁRPYCH. They say in other countries they pay you thalers and
thalers for this, but in our country good people punch your head for it.
No, my boy, to steal is abominable! That's an old trick, we'll have to give
it up! But, you see, hunger isn't a kind old aunty, and you have to do
something! I began to go about the town as a buffoon, to get money, a kopek
at a time, to make a fool of myself, to tell funny stories, and play all
sorts of tricks. Often you shiver from early morn till night in the town
streets; you hide somewhere behind the corner away from people, and wait
for merchants. When one comes--especially if he is rather rich--you jump
out and do some trick, and one gives you five kopeks, and another ten:
with that you take breath for a day and so exist.

MÍTYA. It would have been better, Lyubím Kárpych, to go to your brother,
than to live like that.

LYUBÍM KÁRPYCH. It was impossible; I'd been drawn in. Oh, Mítya, you get
into this groove, and it isn't easy to get out again. Don't interrupt!
You'll have a chance later. Well, then, listen! I caught cold in the
town--it was winter; I stood in the cold, smartly dressed, in this coat!
I was blowing on my fingers and jumping from foot to foot. Good people
carried me to the hospital. When I began to get better and come to my
senses, my drunken spell was over. Dread came over me! Horror seized me!
How had I lived? What had I done? I began to feel melancholy; yes, such
melancholy that it seemed better to die. And so I decided that when I got
quite well, I would go on a pilgrimage, then go to my brother, and let him
take me as a porter. This I did. I threw myself plump at his feet! "Be a
father to me!" says I, "I have lived abominably--now I wish to reform." And
do you know how my brother received me! He was ashamed, you see, that he
had such a brother. "But you help me out," I said to him, "correct me, be
kind to me, and I will be a man." "Not at all," says he, "where can I put
you when important guests, rich merchants, and gentry come to see me?
You'll be the death of me," says he! "With my feelings and intellect," says
he, "I ought not to have been born in this family at all. See how I live,"
says he; "who'd ever guess that our father was a peasant! For me," says
he, "this disgrace is enough, and then you must come and obtrude yourself
again." He overwhelmed me as with thunder! After these words I went from
bad to worse. "Oh, well," I thought, "deuce take him! He is very thick
here. [_Points to his forehead_] He needs a lesson, the fool. Riches are no
use to fools like us; they spoil us. You need to know how to manage money."
[_Dozes off_] Mítya, I'll lie down here; I want to take a nap.

MÍTYA. Do lie down, Lyubím Kárpych.

LYUBÍM KÁRPYCH. Mítya, don't give me any money--that is, don't give me
much; just give me a little. I'll take a nap here, and then go and warm
myself a little, you understand! I only need a little--no, no! Don't be
foolish!

MÍTYA. [_Taking out money_] Here, take as much as you need.

LYUBÍM KÁRPYCH. I need ten kopeks. This is all silver; I don't need silver.
Give me two kopeks more, that will be just right. [MÍTYA _gives them_]
That's enough. You have a good heart, Mítya! [_Lies down_] My brother
doesn't know how to appreciate you. Yes, I'll play a joke on him! For fools
riches are an evil! Give money to a sensible man, and he'll do something
with it. I walked about Moscow, I saw everything, everything!--I've been
through a long course of study! You'd better not give money to a fool;
he'll only go smash! Foh, foh, foh, brr! just like brother and like me, the
brute! [_In a voice half asleep_] Mítya, I will come and spend the night
with you.

MÍTYA. Come on. The office is empty now--it's a holiday.

LYUBÍM KÁRPYCH. Oh, but I'll play a funny joke on brother. [_Falls asleep_.

MÍTYA. [_Walks towards the door and takes the letter out of his pocket_]
What can she have written? I'm frightened!--My hands tremble!--Well, what
is to be will be! I'll read it. [_Reads_] "And I love you. Lyubóv Tortsóv."
[_Clutches his head and runs out_.



ACT II


_Guest-room in the house of_ TORTSÓV. _Against the rear wall a sofa, in
front of the sofa a round table and six armchairs, three on each side;
in the left corner a door; on each wall a mirror, and under them little
tables. A door in each side wall, and a door in the rear wall in the
corner. On the stage it is dark; from the left door comes a light._



SCENE I

LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA _and_ ANNA IVÁNOVNA _enter through the lighted door._


ANNA IVÁNOVNA. Why don't they come, our fine lads? Shall we go and fetch
them?

LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. No, you'd better not. Well, yes, if you like, fetch
them. [_Embraces her_] Fetch them, Annushka.

ANNA IVÁNOVNA. Well, evidently you aren't happy without him!

LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. Oh, Annushka, if you only knew how I love him!

ANNA IVÁNOVNA. Love him, then, my dear, but don't lose your wits. Don't let
him go too far, or you may be sorry for it. Be sure you find out first what
sort of a fellow he is.

LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. He's a good lad!--I love him very much; he's so quiet,
and he's an orphan.

ANNA IVÁNOVNA. Well, if he's good, then love him; you ought to know best.
I just said that! Many a girl comes to grief because of them. It's easy to
get into trouble, if you don't use your sense.

LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. What is our love? Like a blade of grass in the field; it
blooms out of season--and it fades.


ANNA IVÁNOVNA. Wait a moment! Some one's coming, I think. Isn't it he? I'll
go and you wait, perhaps it's he! Have a good talk with him. [_She goes
out._

MÍTYA _enters._



SCENE II

LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA _and_ MÍTYA


LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. Who's there?

MÍTYA. It's I, Mítya.

LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. Why were you so long in coming?

MÍTYA. I was detained. [_Approaches_] Lyubóv Gordéyevna, are you alone?

LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. Yes, what of it?

MÍTYA. Lyubóv Gordéyevna, how do you wish me to understand your letter?
Do you mean it, or is it a joke? [LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA _is silent_] Tell me,
Lyubóv Gordéyevna! I am now in such perplexity that I cannot express it to
you. My position in your house is known to you; subordinate to everybody,
and I may say utterly despised by Gordéy Kárpych. I've had only one
feeling, that for you, and if I receive ridicule from you, then it would
have been better for me never to have lived in this world. You may trust
me! I am telling you the truth.

LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. No, Mítya dear, what I wrote to you was the truth, and
not a joke. And you, do you love me?

MÍTYA. Indeed, Lyubóv Gordéyevna, I do not know how to express to you what
I feel. But at least let me assure you that I have a heart in my breast,
and not a stone. You can see my love from everything.

LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. But I thought that you loved Anna Ivánovna.

MÍTYA. That is not true!

LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. Really, they told me so.

MÍTYA. If this were true, then what sort of a man should I be after acting
as I have? Could I declare with words what my heart does not feel! I think
such a thing would be dishonorable! I may not be worth your regard, but I'm
not the man to deceive you.

LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. It is impossible to believe you men; all men in the
world are deceivers.

MÍTYA. Let them be deceivers, but I am not.

LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. How can one know! Perhaps you also are deceiving me and
want to play a joke on me!

MÍTYA. It would be easier for me to die in this place than to hear such
words from you! [_Turns away._

LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. No, Mítya, I didn't mean it. I know that you love me. I
only wanted to tease you. [MÍTYA _is silent_] Mítya dear! Mítya! Why are
you silent? Are you angry with me? I tell you I was only joking! Mítya!
Yes! Now, then, say something. [_Takes his hand._

MÍTYA. Oh, Lyubóv Gordéyevna, I'm not in a joking humor! I'm not that sort
of man.

LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. Don't be angry.

MÍTYA. If you love me, then stop these jokes! They are not in place. Oh,
it's all the same to me now! [_Embraces her_] Maybe they can take you from
me by force, but I won't give you up of my free will. I love you more than
my life!

LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. [_Returning his embrace_] Mítya dear, what shall we do
now?

MÍTYA. What shall we do? We didn't fall in love with each other just to say
good-by!

LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. Well, but what if they promise me to some one else?

MÍTYA. Look here, Lyubóv, one word! To-morrow we must go together to Gordéy
Kárpych, and throw ourselves at his feet. We'll say so and so--whatever you
please, but we can't live without each other. Yes, if you love me, then
forget your pride!

LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. What pride, Mítya? Is this a time for pride! Mítya dear,
don't be angry with me; don't remember my past words. It was only girlish
foolishness; I'm sorry that I did it! I shouldn't have joked with you; I
should have caressed you, my poor boy. [_Throws her arms round his neck_]
Oh, but, if father doesn't consent to our happiness--what then?

MÍTYA. Who can tell beforehand? It will be as God wills. I don't know how
it is with you, but for me life is not life without you! [_Is silent_.

LYUBÓV GORDÉYEVNA. Some one's