by Maxim Gorky
PEPEL. Beast! Bragging about your beastliness?
VASSILISA. I’m not bragging—I speak the truth. Think now, Vassa. You’ve been to prison twice because of my husband—through his greed. He clings to me like a bed-bug—he’s been sucking the life out of me for the last four years—and what sort of a husband is he to me? He’s forever abusing Natasha—calls her a beggar—he’s just poison, plain poison, to every one . . .
PEPEL.You spin your yarn cleverly . . .
VASSILISA. Everything I say is true. Only a fool could be as blind as you . .
[KOSTILYOFF enters stealthily and comes forward noisily.]
PEPEL [to VASSILISA]. Oh—go away!
VASSILISA. Think it over! [Sees her husband] What? You? Following me?
[PEPEL leaps up and stares at KOSTILYOFF savagely.]
KOSTILYOFF. It’s I, I! So the two of you were here alone—you were—ah—conversing? [Suddenly stamps his feet and screams] Vassilisa—you bitch! You beggar! You damned hag! [Frightened by his own screams, which are met by silence and indifference on the part of the others] Forgive me, O Lord . . . Vassilisa—again you’ve led me into the path of sin. . . . I’ve been looking for you everywhere. It s time to go to bed. You forgot to fill the lamps—oh, you . . . beggar! Swine! [Shakes his trembling fist at her, while VASSILISA slowly goes to door, glancing at PEPEL over her shoulder]
PEPEL [to KOSTILYOFF] . Go away—clear out of here—
KOSTILYOFF [yelling]. What? I? The Boss? I get out? You thief!
PEPEL [sullenly]. Go away, Mishka!
KOSTILYOFF. Don’t you dare—I—Fll show you.
[PEPEL seizes him by the collar and shakes him. From the stove come loud noises and yawns. PEPEL releases KOSTILYOFF who runs into the hallway, screaming.]
PEPEL [jumping on a bunk]. Who is it? Who’s on the stove?
LUKA [raising his head]. Eh?
PEPEL. You?
LUKA [undisturbed]. I—I myself—oh, dear Jesus!
PEPEL [shuts hallway door, looks for the wooden closing bar, but can’t find it]. The devil! Come down, old man!
LUKA. I’m climbing down—all right . . .
PEPEL [roughly]. What did you climb on that stove for?
LUKA. Where was I to go?
PEPEL. Why—didn’t you go out into the hall?
LUKA. The hall’s too cold for an old fellow like myself, brother.
PEPEL.You overheard?
LUKA. Yes—I did. How could I help it? Am I deaf? Well, my boy, happiness is coming your way. Real, good fortune I call it!
PEPEL [suspiciously]. What good fortune—?
LUKA. In so far as I was lying on the stove . . .
PEPEL. Why did you make all that noise?
LUKA. Because I was getting warm . . . it was your good luck . . . I thought if only the boy wouldn’t make a mistake and choke the old man . . .
PEPEL. Yes—I might have done it . . . how terrible . . .
LUKA, Small wonder! It isn’t difficult to make a mistake of that sort.
PEPEL [smiling]. What’s the matter? Did you make the same sort of mistake once upon a time?
LUKA. Boy, listen to me. Send that woman out of your life! Don’t let her near you! Her husband—she’ll get rid of him herself—and in a shrewder way than you could—yes! Don’t you listen to that devil! Look at me! I am bald-headed—know why? Because of all these women. . . . Perhaps I knew more women than I had hair on the top of my head— but this Vassilisa—she’s worse than the plague . . .
PEPEL. I don’t understand . . . I don’t know whether to thank you— or—well . . .
LUKA. Don’t say a word! You won’t improve on what I said. Listen: take the one you like by the arm, and march out of here—get out of here—clean out . . .
PEPEL [sadly]. I can’t understand people. Who is kind and who isn’t? It’s all a mystery to me . . .
LUKA. What’s there to understand? There’s all breeds of men . . . they all live as their hearts tell them . . . good to-day, bad to-morrow! But if you really care for that girl . . . take her away from here and that’s all there is to it. Otherwise go away alone . . . you’re young—you’re in no hurry for a wife . . .
PEPEL [taking him by the shoulder]. Tell me! Why do you say all this?
LUKA. Wait. Let me go. I want to look at Anna . . . she was coughing so terribly . . . [Goes to ANNA’s bed, pulls the curtains, looks, touches her. PEPEL thoughtfully and distraught, follows him with his eyes] Merciful Jesus Christ! Take into Thy keeping the soul of this woman Anna, new-comer amongst the blessed!
PEPEL [softly]. Is she dead?
[Without approaching, he stretches himself and looks at the bed.]
LUKA [gently]. Her sufferings are over! Where’s her husband?
PEPEL. In the saloon, most likely . . .
LUKA.Well—he’ll have to be told . . .
PEPEL [shuddering]. I don’t like corpses!
LUKA [going to door]. Why should you like them? It’s the living who demand our love—the living . . .
PEPEL. I’m coming with you . . .
LUKA. Are you afraid?
PEPEL. I don’t like it . . .
[They go out quickly. The stage is empty and silent for a few moments. Behind the door is heard a dull, staccato, incomprehensible noise. Then THE ACTOR enters.]
THE ACTOR [stands at the open door, supporting himself against the jamb, and shouts]. Hey, old man—where are you—? I just remembered—listen . . . [Takes two staggering steps forward and, striking a pose, recites]
“Good people! If the world cannot find
A path to holy truth,
Glory be to the madman who will enfold all humanity
In a golden dream . . .”
[NATASHA appears in the doorway behind THE ACTOR.]
Old man! [recites]
“If to-morrow the sun were to forget
To light our earth.
To-morrow then some madman’s thought
Would bathe the world in sunshine. . . .”
NATASHA [laughing]. Scarecrow! You’re drunk!
THE ACTOR [turns to her]. Oh—it’s you! Where’s the old man, the dear old man? Not a soul here, seems to me . . . Natasha, farewell— right—farewell!
NATASHA [entering]. Don’t wish me farewell, before you’ve wished me how-d’you-do!
THE ACTOR [barring her way]. I am going. Spring will come—and I’ll be here no longer—
NATASHA. Wait a moment! Where do you propose going?
THE ACTOR. In search of a town—to be cured—And you, Ophelia, must go away! Take the veil! Just imagine—there’s a hospital to cure— ah—organisms for drunkards—a wonderful hospital—built of marble—with marble floors . . . light—clean—food—and all gratis! And a marble floor—yes! I’ll find it—I’ll get cured—and then I shall start life anew. . . . I’m on my way to regeneration, as King Lear said. Natasha, my stage name is . . . Svertchkoff—Zavoloushski . . . do you realize how painful it is to lose one’s name? Even dogs have their names . . .
[NATASHA carefully passes THE ACTOR, stops at ANNA’s bed and looks.]
To be nameless—is not to exist!
NATASHA. Look, my dear—why—she’s dead. . . .
THE ACTOR [shakes his head]. Impossible . . .
NATASHA [stepping back]. So help me God—look . . .
BUBNOFF [appearing in doorway]. What is there to look at?
NATASHA. Anna—she’s dead!
BUBNOFF. That means—she’s stopped coughing! [Goes to ANNA’s bed, looks, and returns to his bunk] We must tell Kleshtch—it’s his business to know . . .
THE ACTOR. I’ll go—I’ll say to him—she lost her name—[Exits]
NATASHA [in centre of room]. I, too—some day—I’ll be found in the cellar—dead. . . .
BUBNOFF [spreading out some rags on his bunk]. What’s that? What are you muttering?
NATASHA. Nothing much . . .
BUBNOFF. Waiting for Vaska, eh? Take care—Vassilisa’ll break your head!
NATASHA. Isn’t it the same who breaks it? I’d much rather he’d do it!
BUBNOFF [lying down]. Well—that’s your own affair . . .
NATASHA. It’s best for her to be dead—yet it’s a pity . . . oh, Lord— why do we live?
BUBNOFF. It’s so with all . . . we’re born, live, and die—and I’ll die, too—and so’ll you—what’s there to be gloomy about?
[Enter LUKA, THE TARTAR, ZOB, and KLESHTCH. The latter comes after the others, slowly, shrunk up.]
NATASHA. Sh-sh! Anna!
ZOB. We’ve heard—God rest her soul . . .
THE TARTAR [to KLESHTCH]. We must take her out of here. Out into the hall! This is no place for corpses—but for the living . . .
KLESHTCH [quietly]. We’ll take her out—
[Everybody goes to the bed, KLESHTCH looks at his wife over the others’ shoulders.]
ZOB [to THE TARTAR]. You think she’ll smell? I don’t think she will—she dried up while she was still alive . . .
NATASHA. God! If they’d only a little pity . . . if only some one would say a kindly word—oh, you . . .
LUKA. Don’t be hurt, girl—never mind! Why and how should we pity the dead? Come, dear! We don’t pity the living—we can’t even pity our own selves—how can we?
BUBNOFF [yawning]. And, besides, when you’re dead, no word will help you—when you’re still alive, even sick, it may. . . .
THE TARTAR [stepping aside]. The police must be notified . . .
ZOB. The police—must be done! Kleshtch! Did you notify the police?
KLESHTCH. No—she’s got to be buried—and all I have is forty kopecks—
ZOB. Well—you’ll have to borrow then—otherwise we’ll take up a collection—one’ll give five kopecks, others as much as they can. But the police must be notified at once—or they’ll think you killed her or God knows what not . . .
[Crosses to THE TARTAR’s bunk and prepares to lie down by his side.]
NATASHA [going to BUBNOFF’s bunk]. Now—I’ll dream of her . . . I always dream of the dead . . . I’m afraid to go out into the hall by myself—it’s dark there . . .
LUKA [following her]. You better fear the living—I’m telling you . . .
NATASHA. Take me across the hall, grandfather.
LUKA. Come on—come on—I’ll take you across—
[They go away. Pause.]
ZOB [to THE TARTAR]. Oh-ho! Spring will soon be here, little brother, and it’ll be quite warm. In the villages the peasants are already making ready their ploughs and harrows, preparing to till . . . and we . . . Hassan? Snoring already? Damned Mohammedan!
BUBNOFF. Tartars love sleep!
KLESHTCH [in centre of room, staring in front of him]. What am I to do now?
ZOB. Lie down and sleep—that’s all . . .
KLESHTCH [softly]. But—she . . . how about . . .
[No one answers him. SATINE and THE ACTOR enter.]
THE ACTOR [yelling]. Old man! Come here, my trusted Duke of Kent!
SATINE. Miklookha-Maklai is coming—ho-ho!
THE ACTOR. It has been decided upon! Old man, where’s the town—where are you?
SATINE. Fata Morgana, the old man bilked you from top to bottom! There’s nothing—no towns—no people—nothing at all!
THE ACTOR. You lie!
THE TARTAR [jumping up]. Where’s the boss? I’m going to the boss. If I can’t sleep, I won’t pay! Corpses—drunkards . . . [Exits quickly]
[SATINE looks after him and whistles.]
BUBNOFF [in a sleepy voice]. Go to bed, boys—be quiet . . . night is for sleep . . .
THE ACTOR. Yes—so—there’s a corpse here. . . . “Our net fished up a corpse. . .” Verses—by Béranger. . . .
SATINE [screams]. The dead can’t hear . . . the dead do not feel— Scream!—Roar! . . . the deaf don’t hear!
[In the doorway appears LUKA.]
CURTAIN
Act III
“The Waste” a yard strewn with rubbish and overgrown with weeds. Back, a high brick wall which shuts out the sight of the sky. Near it are elder bushes. Right, the dark, wooden wall of some sort of house, barn or stable, Left, the grey, tumbledown wall of KOSTILYOFF’s night asylum. It is built at an angle so that the further corner reaches almost to the centre of the yard. Between it and the wall runs a narrow passage. In the grey, plastered wall are two windows, one on a level with the ground, the other about six feet higher up and closer to the brick wall. Near the latter wall is a big sledge turned upside down and a beam about twelve feet long. Bight of the wall is a heap of old planks. Evening. The sun is setting, throwing a crimson light on the brick wall. Early spring, the snow having only recently melted. The elder bushes are not yet in bud.
NATASHA and NASTYA are sitting side by side on the beam. LUKA and THE BARON are on the sledge. KLESHTCH is stretched on the pile of planks to the right. BUBNOFF’s face is at the ground floor window.
NASTYA [with closed eyes, nodding her head in rhythm to the tale she is telling in a sing-song voice]. So then at night he came into the garden. I had been waiting for him quite a while. I trembled with fear and grief—he trembled, too . . . he was as white as chalk—and he had the pistol in his hand . . .
NATASHA [chewing sun-flower seeds]. Oh—are these students really such desperate fellows . . . ?
NASTYA. And he says to me in a dreadful voice: “My precious darling . . .”
BUBNOFF. Ho-ho! Precious—?
THE BARON. Shut up! If you don’t like it, you can lump it! But don’t interrupt her. . . . Go on . . .
NASTYA. “My one and only love,” he says, “my parents,” he says, “refuse to give their consent to our wedding—and threaten to disown me because of my love for you. Therefore,” he says, “I must take my life.” And his pistol was huge—and loaded with ten bullets . . . “Farewell,” he says, “beloved comrade! I have made up my mind for good and all . . . I can’t live without you . . .” and I replied: “My unforgettable friend—my Raoul. . . .”
BUBNOFF [surprised]. What? What? Krawl—did you call him—?
THE BARON. Nastka! But last time his name was Gaston. . . .
NASTYA [jumping up]. Shut up, you bastards! Ah—you lousy mongrels! You think for a moment that you can understand love—true love? My love was real honest-to-God love! [To THE BARON] You good-for-nothing! . . . educated, you call yourself—drinking coffee in bed, did you?
LUKA. Now, now! Wait, people! Don’t interfere! Show a little respect to your neighbors . . . it isn’t the word that matters, but what’s in back of the word. That’s what matters! Go on, girl! It’s all right!
BUBNOFF. Go on, crow! See if you can make your feathers white!
THE BARON. Well—continue!
NATASHA. Pay no attention to them . . . what are they? They’re just jealous . . . they’ve nothing to tell about themselves . . .
NASTYA [sits down again]. I’m going to say no more! If they don’t believe me they’ll laugh. [Stops suddenly, is silent for a few seconds, then, shutting her eyes, continues in a loud and intense voice, swaying her hands as if to the rhythm of far music] And then I replied to him: “Joy of my life! My bright moon! And I, too, I can’t live without you— because I love you madly, so madly—and I shall keep on loving you as long as my heart beats in my bosom. But—” I say—”don’t take your young life! Think how necessary it is to your dear parents whose only happiness you are. Leave me! Better that I should perish from longing for you, my life! I alone! I—ah—as such, such! Better that I should die—it doesn’t matter . . . I am of no use to the world—and I have nothing, nothing at all—” [Covers her face with her hand and weeps gently]
NATASHA [in a low voice]. Don’t cry—don’t!
[LUKA, smiling, strokes NASTYA’s head.]
BUBNOFF [laughs]. Ah—you limb of Satan!
THE BARON [also laughs]. Hey, old man? Do you think it’s true? It’s all from that book “Fatal Love” . . . it’s all nonsense! Let her alone!
NATA
SHA. And what’s it to you? Shut up—or God’ll punish you!
NASTYA [bitterly]. God damn your soul! You worthless pig! Soul— bah!—you haven’t got one!
LUKA [takes NASTYA’s hand]. Come, dear! It’s nothing! Don’t be angry—I know—I believe you! You’re right, not they! If you believe you had a real love affair, then you did—yes! And as for him—don’t be angry with a fellow-lodger . . . maybe he’s really jealous, and that’s why he’s laughing. Maybe he never had any real love—maybe not—come on—let’s go!
NASTYA [pressing her hand against her breast]. Grandfather! So help me God—it happened! It happened! He was a student, a Frenchman—Gastotcha was his name—he had a little black beard— and patent leathers—may God strike me dead if I’m lying! And he loved me so—my God, how he loved me!
LUKA. Yes, yes, it’s all right. I believe you! Patent leathers, you said? Well, well, well—and you loved him, did you? [Disappears with her around the corner]
THE BARON. God—isn’t she a fool, though? She’s good-hearted— but such a fool—it’s past belief!
BUBNOFF. And why are people so fond of lying—just as if they were up before the judge—really!
NATASHA. I guess lying is more fun than speaking the truth—I, too . . .
THE BARON. What—you, too? Go on!
NATASHA. Oh—I imagine things—invent them—and I wait—
THE BARON. For what?
NATASHA [smiling confusedly]. Oh—I think that perhaps—well— to-morrow somebody will really appear—some one—oh—out of the ordinary—or something’ll happen—also out of the ordinary. . . . I’ve been waiting for it—oh—always. . . . But, really, what is there to wait for? [Pause]
THE BARON [with a slight smile]. Nothing—I expect nothing! What is past, is past! Through! Over with! And then what?
NATASHA. And then—well—to-morrow I imagine suddenly that I’ll die—and I get frightened . . . in summer it’s all right to dream of death—then there are thunder storms—one might get struck by lightning . . .
THE BARON. You’ve a hard life . . . your sister’s a wicked-tempered devil!