FIVE RUSSIAN PLAYS 
 
 WITH ONE FROM THE UKRAINIAN 
 
iBl c. ns^wv. 
 
 Nicholas Eyreinov. 
 
 From a Portrait by N. Kulbin. 
 
FIVE RUSSIAN PLAYS 
 
 WITH ONE FROM THE 
 UKRAINIAN 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINALS 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION 
 
 c<Ae/bechhofer 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 E. P. DUTTON & CO. 
 
 1916 
 

 
f 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Translator's Introduction ix 
 
 I. A Merry Death, a Harlequinade, dy 
 
 Nicholas Evreinov i 
 
 II, The Beautiful Despot, the Last Act of 
 
 a Drama, by Nicholas Evreinov . . 35 
 
 III. The Choice of a Tutor, by Denis von 
 
 Vizin 79 
 
 IV. The Wedding, by Anton Chehov . .101 
 
 V. The Jubilee, by Anton Chehov . .127 
 
 VI. The Babylonian Captivity, by Lesya 
 
 Ukrainka 153 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 THE plays selected for translation in this 
 volume are, for the most part, modern. 
 Von Vizin alone belongs to an earlier date, that of 
 the late eighteenth century. Nevertheless it will 
 be found that they have this in common : they are, 
 while still Russian, at the same time European. 
 This separation of artists into two categories, the 
 national and the European, is quite simple of com- 
 prehension. The national author, often the favourite 
 in his own country and one who has strengthened 
 and enriched its language to a great degree, is 
 nevertheless hardly to be appreciated in translation 
 by readers of other European countries. Lomonosov, 
 the " father of the Russian language," poet, pane- 
 gyrist and critic, is an example ; so is Dr. Johnson. 
 But a European artist can be appreciated by any 
 foreign reader in an adequate translation, that is, a 
 translation approximating to what the author 
 would have written in that language. 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 Von Vizin, the first real Russian dramatist, comes 
 in the rank of European artists. He is in everything 
 Russian ; his subject, characters and treatment are 
 all Russian, but his plays are written with that 
 " brilliant common-sense " which may be regarded 
 as the characteristic of the European artist. It is 
 well worth pointing out how his work, coming to an 
 end during the first period of the French Revolution, 
 approaches in spirit the work of the other authors 
 in this book, who wrote a round century after him. 
 This phenomenon is similar to much that can be 
 observed not only in Russian art, but in Russian 
 politics and society. 
 
 Denis Ivanovich Von Vizin (the name at Pushkin's 
 suggestion was Russianised into " Von vizin " during 
 the nineteenth century) was descended from a 
 German prisoner of war. He was born in 1745 and 
 educated at first by his father, his gratitude to 
 whom he showed in the characters of Oldthought, in 
 The Minor, and Flatternot, in The Choice of a Tutor. 
 In 1760, after five years in a preparatory school he 
 became a student at the Moscow University. In 
 the next year he published a book of translations of 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 Holberg's fables. In 1762 he joined the Imperial 
 Guard, but this life did not please him and he became 
 a translator in the Foreign Office. In 1766 he 
 finished his comedy The Brigadier, which was at 
 once greeted as " our first comedy of manners." 
 The Minor, written in a similar style round a 
 character resembling Goldsmith's Tony Lumpkin, 
 was produced in 1782. Most of the characteristics 
 of these five-act comedies are to be found in the 
 little farce in this book, The Choice of a Tutor, writ- 
 ten probably in 1792, the year of Von Vizin's death. 
 A significant event in his life is that in 1774 he drew 
 up a plan of a constitution for Panin, the minister, 
 whose secretary he had become five years before, to 
 present to the Emperor. 
 
 This constitution, with a hundred others, had to 
 lie aside for the whole of the nineteenth century, 
 while the political progress of Russia was at a 
 standstill. It is usual to consider this the fault of 
 autocratic emperors, but perhaps it was due to 
 the horror of the nation at the apparition of Napoleon 
 as the result of the French Revolution. It is at 
 least the characteristic of Russian literature after 
 
xii INTRODUCTION 
 
 the first quarter of the nineteenth century that it 
 attempted to withdraw from the course of European 
 progress, and to find a national path instead. The 
 marvellous Dostoievsky is always exotic to us, so 
 (in a less degree, as his genius was less) is Turgeniev, 
 so is Ostrovsky the dramatist, so are all the Russian 
 authors of the middle and later nineteenth century, 
 until Saltikov, the satirist, and Chehov. Griboye- 
 dov's comedy Woe from Wit (1824), recently trans- 
 lated into English under the title " The Misfortune 
 of Being Clever," was the last of the early Russo- 
 European masterpieces. The reader feels it might 
 have been written less than twenty years ago ; in 
 the strict sense of literary chronology, it actually 
 was written twenty years ago. 
 
 The function of Anton Pavlovich Chehov — this 
 transliteration has been preferred to the less correct 
 forms, " Tschekhoff," " Tchekhof," " Chekhof," etc. 
 — has been to pioneer the return of Russian litera- 
 ture into the normal path of European civilization. 
 He was born in i860, at Taganrog, on the Sea of 
 Azov, the grandson of a serf and the son of a grocer. 
 He was taught Greek at a church school and then 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 went to the local classical school. His father's little 
 shop came to grief and the whole family moved to 
 Moscow, where he studied medicine at the University. 
 He started writing, often forced to work in one room 
 with his parents and brothers and their friends. In 
 1884 he qualified as a doctor, and in 1886 published 
 a first book of stories that had already appeared in 
 a score of newspapers and reviews. He practised as 
 a doctor merely on occasion, but was a most prolific 
 writer of stories and plays, in which the influence of 
 French literature, especially de Maupassant, con- 
 flicted with the current ultra-nationalism. Some, 
 in fact most, of his work is simply Russian, for ex- 
 ample, The Three Sisters, of his plays, and The Duel, 
 of his stories. At the same time there are innumer- 
 able short stories European in style and, among his 
 plays, The Wedding and The Jubilee, here translated, 
 show the best quality of his work and the service he 
 was rendering Russian literature. His life was cut 
 short by consumption, which forced him to leave 
 the intellectual centres of the north for the warm, 
 barbaric Crimea. In 1890, however, he travelled in 
 Siberia to observe the conditions of the political and 
 
xiv INTRODUCTION 
 
 criminal exiles. A complete edition of his works 
 was published in 1903, and in the next year he died 
 quietly at Baden weiler in the Black Forest. 
 
 Chehov is not a great writer ; he is really a great 
 journalist, and his work has no permanent import- 
 ance. A French critic has compared his work with 
 the cinematograph, he himself called it " sweet 
 lemonade." It was not vodka — there lies its sig- 
 nificance. He was an embryo European, peculiarly 
 of France, of the France he had come to know in 
 his profession and his reading. Now that he had led 
 Russian literature out of its purely Russian groove, 
 the natural step was for it to become more and more 
 European, without losing its national impulse. The 
 decadence of such modern writers as Andreyev, 
 Gorki, and Sologub lies in their refusal to recognise 
 this fact ; they continue to write in a narrow style, 
 dwarfed even in that by the genius of their fore- 
 runners, uninspired by the renaissance of European 
 solidarity that the war has revealed, the spirit that 
 Von Vizin had and Griboyedov. 
 
 The first modern Russian author to work in the 
 recovered tradition is Nicholas Evreinov, who is 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 represented in this book by his own favourite plays 
 A Merry Death and The Beautiful Despot. He is still a 
 young man, being born on February 13, 1879. He was 
 educated at the aristocratic Imperial School of Law, 
 in Petrograd, and afterwards studied music under 
 Rimsky-Korsakov. The present translator had the 
 pleasure of making his acquaintance at Petrograd last 
 year and was given several volumes of his collected 
 plays and parodies. Evreinov has not only an 
 instinct for drama, but is professionally bound to 
 the theatre, for, in addition to his plays, he is the 
 author of several books on stage-craft. What this 
 means in technique will be seen from A Merry 
 Death, a masterpiece both of drama and of the 
 theatre. It is the best Russian play since Woe from 
 Wit, and, so European is it, its excellence could 
 be reproduced and appreciated in any country. So 
 far as the more recent works of Evreinov permit 
 us to judge, he is unlikely to excel it in the future. 
 
 A word or two may be said of Larissa Petrovna 
 Kossatch (1872-1913), whose pseudonym is " Lesya 
 Ukrainka " — " Lesya of the Ukraine." The same 
 influence that is visible in Chehov and ripe in 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 Evreinov has been felt also in the newly revived 
 Ukrainian, or Little Russian, literature. Lesya 
 Ukrainka gave it a depth and wealth of vocabulary 
 it sadly needed and, by introducing the European, 
 has countered the decadent spirit of the ultra- 
 national Ukrainians. The Babylonian Captivity, 
 translated as an epilogue to this volume, represents 
 the enslavement of the Ukraine by its powerful 
 neighbours ; but its style is a victory. 
 
 The translator is indebted to the Editor of The 
 Age for permission to reprint five of the plays 
 in this volume. The translation of The Babylonian 
 Captivity from the Ukrainian is due mainly to Miss 
 Sophie Volska, of Kiev. The translations of 
 Evreinov' s two plays, by the way, have his 
 authorisation. In them, as in the others, stage 
 directions have been as far as possible omitted. 
 
 C. E, BECHHOFER, 
 
A MERRY DEATH 
 
 A HARLEQUINADE 
 By NICHOLAS EVREINOV 
 
CHARACTERS 
 
 Harlequin Columbine 
 
 Pierrot Doctor 
 
 Death 
 
 Scene : Harlequin's House 
 
A MERRY DEATH 
 
 {Harlequin is sleeping. Pierrot clumsily chases the 
 flies from his face, then turns to the Audience.) 
 
 Pierrot : Shhh ! Quiet ! Take your seats quietly 
 and try to talk and turn in your seats less. Even 
 if an ingenuous friend has dragged you in and 
 yourselves are too serious to be interested in a 
 harlequinade, it's quite superfluous to hint of it 
 to the public, which in the main has no affair 
 with your personal tastes. Besides, Harlequin's 
 asleep — you see him ! Shh ! I'll explain it all to 
 you afterwards. But don't wake him up, please ! 
 And when Columbine comes on, don't applaud 
 her like mad, just in order to show your neigh- 
 bours that you know her, had a little intrigue 
 with her, and can appreciate certain talents. I 
 beg and entreat you ! It's no joke. Harlequin's 
 terribly ill ! Just think, he's been raving about 
 my Columbine, although, of course, there's 
 nothing in common between him and my Colum- 
 bine ; there isn't, because Columbine's my wife, 
 and there's an end of it ! I strongly suspect that 
 
A MERRY DEATH 
 
 Harlequin won't live till to-morrow ; a fortune- 
 teller told him that the day he sleeps longer than 
 he revels he will die exactly at midnight. Look, 
 it's "just eight o'clock of the evening, and he's 
 still asleep ! I'll tell you even more — I know, 
 perhaps for sure, that Harlequin will soon die. 
 But what decent actor will tell the audience the 
 end of the play before it begins ? I'm not one of 
 those who give away the management, and I 
 thoroughly understand that the audience goes to 
 the theatre not for any idea in the piece, or 
 masterly dialogue, but simply to know how the 
 play ends, and all the same I can't help sighing 
 and weeping in my long sleeves and saying (sobs) : 
 " Poor, poor Harlequin, who ever could have 
 thought it ? " I used to like him very much ! 
 He was my first friend ; though, by the way, this 
 never prevented me from envying him a little, 
 because, as everybody knows, if I'm Pierrot, it's 
 only because I'm not a successful Harlequin. 
 However, I'm not as simple as my clothes, and, I 
 assure you, I've managed already to go for a 
 doctor, although it's useless, because Harlequin 
 can die quite all right without a doctor ; but — 
 nice people always do it, and I'm not inferior to 
 
A MERRY DEATH 
 
 them ; for, if I didn't behave like everybody else, 
 I should be a bold, merry Harlequin, for whom 
 there are no laws ; but I — I'm only silly, cowardly 
 Pierrot, whose character, by the way, will be quite 
 clear to you in the further course of the drama, if 
 only you stop till the end of the performance and 
 don't run away now from my chatter. So I'll 
 stop it, informing you only of the following plan 
 which came into my head entirely without out- 
 side influence : if Harlequin is fated to die exactly 
 at midnight by this clock, then won't it be a 
 comradely service on my part to put back the 
 hands, even for — well, only two hours ? I 
 always liked taking people in ; but when it's a 
 matter of taking in death and Harlequin at the 
 same time, and, as well, for the harm of the first 
 and the good of the second, I don't think you can 
 call this plan anything but a genius's. Well, to 
 work ! The performance begins ! {Climbs on a 
 stool and, stretching over the bed on which Harlequin 
 is sleeping, puts the clock back two hours.) Poor, 
 
 poor Harle (Falls down on the floor.) Poor 
 
 Pierrot ! (Rttbs his back. Harlequin, waking, 
 smiles, pulls Pierrot towards him by the chin, and 
 tenderly kisses him.) 
 
A MERRY DEATH 
 
 Pierrot {naively) : I seem to have waked you. 
 
 Harlequin : Why didn't you do it earlier ? 
 
 Pierrot : What for ? 
 
 Harlequin : My hours are numbered. 
 
 Pierrot : Rubbish ! 
 
 Harlequin : I want to live them. 
 
 Pierrot : And you will. 
 
 Harlequin : You nearly let me sleep them away. 
 
 Pierrot : I thought — — 
 
 Harlequin : What's the time ? 
 
 Pierrot : Six. 
 
 Harlequin : Only. 
 
 Pierrot : Yes. How do you feel ? 
 
 Harlequin : Dying. 
 
 Pierrot : You're frightening me. {Weeps.) 
 
 Harlequin : Stop ! Why, I'm alive ! What have 
 
 you done ? Isn't my clock wrong ? 
 Pierrot : I went for a doctor. Lie down quietly. 
 
 I must take your temperature. 
 Harlequin : For a doctor ? {Giggles.) Well, what 
 
 of it, if he cures me 
 
 Pierrot : Lift up your arm. That's the way. 
 
 {Applies a thermometer.) Is that someone coming ? 
 
 {The thermometer begins to bum.) 
 Harlequin : It shows the exact temperature. 
 
A MERRY DEATH 
 
 {Pierrot takes away the thermometer and puts out 
 the flame. Harlequin jumps up and circles about 
 snapping his fingers.) Haha ! Harlequin's not 
 dead yet ! 
 
 Pierrot : Only a thermometer spoiled. 
 
 Harlequin : Yes, I've not long to live ; but 
 (taking down a lute) look, how many strings are 
 broken and the rest are frayed ! But does that 
 stop me playing the introduction to a serenade ? 
 (Plays. Steps are heard to the left.) 
 
 Pierrot : D'you hear ? The doctor ! Stop playing 
 and lie down quickly. It's he. I can tell people 
 at once by their step. That could only be some- 
 one hurrying to help a friend. 
 
 Harlequin (stops playing and lies down) : To get 
 money. (A knock.) 
 
 Pierrot : Come in ! 
 
 Doctor (in huge spectacles, bald, with a big red nose 
 and a syringe in a bag, comes in, stops, and sings to 
 the audience) : 
 
 You've only got to call me here, 
 And at once I'm near, at once I'm near, 
 At once I'm off to the invalid 
 To care for him and for his need. 
 
A MERRY DEATH 
 
 My medicines I vary at 
 The rich man's house and proletariat ; 
 But there's no need to be obscure, 
 I only care, but do not cure. 
 
 And grind the poor I never did, 
 
 God forbid, O God forbid ! 
 
 For wealth from him who'd scrape any ? 
 
 You take his only ha'penny. 
 
 My medicines I vary at 
 
 The rich man's house and proletariat ; 
 
 But there's no need to be obscure, 
 
 1 only care but do not cure. 
 
 Good-day, my dear Harlequin. What's the 
 
 matter with you ? 
 Harlequin : That's for you to judge. 
 Doctor : You're quite right. (In Pierrot's ear.) 
 
 There's never any need to contradict a patient. 
 
 (To Harlequin.) Temperature been taken ? 
 Pierrot (shaking his hand) : Don't inquire ! 
 Doctor : How do you feel ? 
 Harlequin : An attack. 
 Doctor : Of coughing ? 
 Harlequin : Of laughing. 
 
A MERRY DEATH 
 
 Doctor : What are you laughing at ? 
 Harlequin : You ! (Bursts with laughter.) 
 Doctor (to Pierrot) : He doesn't believe in medicine ? 
 Pierrot : No, apparently only in you. 
 Doctor : What a curious invalid ! Your pulse, 
 
 please. Oho, I can't count quickly enough ! 
 
 Show your tongue. 
 Harlequin : To whom ? 
 Doctor : To me ! 
 Harlequin : Oh, to you ? Delighted ! (Shows his 
 
 tongue.) 
 Doctor : Thank you. 
 
 Harlequin : Please. (Shows his tongue again.) 
 Doctor : Enough, enough ! 
 Harlequin : Oh, that's quite all right ! (Shows it 
 
 again.) 
 Doctor : I've seen it already. 
 Harlequin : Just as you like. (Puts in his tongue.) 
 Doctor : I've got to listen to you. 
 Harlequin : What shall I talk about ? 
 Doctor : No, I say : I've got to listen to you. 
 Harlequin : Well, and I ask you, what about ? 
 Doctor : You don't understand me. 
 Harlequin : You ? No, no, no, never ! People 
 
 like me can see right through you ; but people 
 
io A MERRY DEATH 
 
 like you, I'll eat my hat, can never understand 
 people like me ! 
 
 Doctor : He's raving. Very well ! Now, allow me 
 to lay my head upon your heart ! It's necessary 
 in order to 
 
 Harlequin : But your wife isn't jealous ? 
 
 Doctor : He's got a strong fever. If my ears aren't 
 burned, it'll be a piece of luck. Yes, yes, you're 
 very ill ; but let's hope you'll soon be well. (To 
 Pierrot.) There's no hope ; the machine is 
 spoiled. (To Harlequin.) You'll live a long time 
 yet. (To Pierrot.) He'll die very soon. (To 
 Harlequin.) You did very well to send for me. 
 (To Pierrot.) You'd better have sent for a 
 coffin-maker. (To Harlequin.) You've a healthy 
 system. (To Pierrot.) And that won't help him. 
 (To Harlequin.) You've only got to be cured. 
 (To Pierrot.) And that's no use. 
 
 Harlequin : What do you advise me ? 
 
 Doctor : You must go to bed early. No excite- 
 ments. Drink absolutely nothing. Don't eat 
 anything sharp, salt, fat, spiced, bitter, milky, 
 over-cold, over-hot, very, very sweet, or very, very 
 filling. Quiet habits, mustn't get roused. Always 
 mind draughts. Keep quite away from frivolity. 
 
A MERRY DEATH n 
 
 Harlequin : Very well ; but is a life like that 
 
 worth living ? 
 Doctor : That's your affair. 
 Harlequin : What illness have I got ? 
 Doctor : Old age. 
 
 Harlequin : Why, I could be your son ! 
 Doctor : You're too impudent for that. Good-bye. 
 
 {To Pierrot.) And who pays for the visit ? 
 
 {Pierrot nods towards Harlequin.) 
 Doctor {again to Harlequin) : Good-bye. 
 Harlequin : Good-bye. {Doctor goes out unde- 
 cidedly and stops.) Have you forgotten anything ? 
 Doctor : Have you forgotten anything ? 
 Harlequin : No, nothing ; I thoroughly remember 
 
 all your instructions. Don't be uneasy. 
 Doctor : No, no ; I'm not uneasy about that. 
 Harlequin : Then about what ? 
 Doctor : H'm. Speaking between ourselves, you've 
 
 forgotten to pay me for my visit. 
 Harlequin : Impossible ! How curious ! 
 Doctor : But please don't be angry with me. 
 Harlequin : Good heavens, no ! 
 Doctor : Then good-bye. 
 Harlequin {shaking his hand feelingly) : Good-bye, 
 
 doctor, good-bye. 
 
12 A MERRY DEATH 
 
 Doctor : H'm. You're just as forgetful again. 
 Harlequin : Yes, yes. There's a coincidence ! 
 
 You're quite right. It would be impudent of me 
 
 to maintain the opposite. 
 Doctor : Well, there you are ; I'm reminding you. 
 Harlequin : I'm heartily grateful. 
 Doctor : There's no need for gratitude. 
 Harlequin : No ! Good heavens ! 
 Doctor : And so — my fee ? 
 Harlequin : You'll get it when I get well, when 
 
 you've cured me. 
 Doctor : Yes ; but I ought to tell you that I 
 
 reckon to cure all illnesses except the incurable ; 
 
 but yours 
 Harlequin : Well, then, when an improvement 
 
 comes, when your advice begins to work. But 
 
 then, who knows ? Perhaps you lied. Why 
 
 should I pay then ? 
 Doctor : In that case I must inform you that — 
 
 that, judging from the condition of your system, 
 
 you won't live even till to-morrow. 
 Harlequin {jumping out of bed) : What ! In that 
 
 case, why the devil should I pay ? 
 Doctor : But when you die, who'll pay me ? 
 Harlequin : But for what, let me ask you ? 
 
A MERRY DEATH 13 
 
 Doctor : How, for what ? 
 
 Harlequin : If I actually die to-day, then what's 
 the use of your art that can't save me from 
 death ? And if I survive, then again it's no use, 
 if it knows less than an ignorant fortune-teller. 
 
 Doctor : I didn't come here to talk philosophy. 
 
 Harlequin : I know why you came. 
 
 Doctor : No insinuations, if you please. 
 
 Harlequin : He calls that insinuations. (Pulling 
 oat a purse from under his pillow.) Here's what 
 you came for. (Goes to the door and holds out the 
 money.) 
 
 Doctor (reaching put) : Thank you. (Harlequin 
 laughs, and rims out at one side and in at the other, 
 the Doctor after him. He does this three times, and 
 then gives the Doctor the money.) 
 
 Harlequin : What do you say to my playfulness ? 
 
 Doctor : You know, sir — here's the best of luck in 
 the other world — it's the first time I've seen a 
 dying man like you. What's that noise you're 
 making ? 
 
 Harlequin: That's my heart beating. (Noise of a 
 steam-engine.) 
 
 Doctor : And that ? 
 
 Harlequin : My breathing. 
 
14 A MERRY DEATH 
 
 Doctor : And you're still on your legs ? 
 
 Harlequin : Oh, yes ! And I've kept fairly merry, 
 so as to meet boldly the death I desire. 
 
 Doctor : Why do you desire it ? 
 
 Harlequin : Oh, it's just coming at the right 
 time ! The man that lives wisely always desires 
 his death. 
 
 Doctor : You're talking in riddles. 
 
 Harlequin : Yes, for people like you. (Laughs.) 
 
 Doctor : How do you know ? 
 
 Harlequin : If you like, I'll tell you how you'll die. 
 
 Doctor : Interesting. 
 
 Harlequin (lies on bed and shivers with all his body, 
 then groans) : Oh ! Ah ! Ugh ! I'm still so 
 young. I haven't been able to live yet as I ought. 
 Why have I been so abstinent all my life ? I've 
 still got all sorts of things I want to do. Turn 
 me to the window. I'm not tired yet of looking 
 at the world. Help ! I've not been able to do 
 half I wanted. I was never in a hurry to live 
 because I always forgot about death. Help, help ! 
 I haven't been able to enjoy myself yet ; I've 
 always kept my health, my strength, and my 
 money for the morrow. I filled it with beautiful 
 hopes, and it rolled on like a snowball, growing 
 
A MERRY DEATH 15 
 
 bigger and bigger. Has that morrow rolled for 
 ever beyond the bounds of the possible ? It has 
 rolled down the slope of my mortal wisdom. 
 Oh ! Ah ! Ugh ! (Twists for the last time, 
 extends, and dies. The Doctor weeps. Harlequin, 
 with a laugh, gets up and applauds himself.) No ! 
 Not so dies Harlequin ! 
 
 Doctor (weeping) : What must I do ? 
 
 Harlequin (holds out his hand) : For the advice, 
 please. I take in advance. 
 
 Doctor : How much ? 
 
 Harlequin : As much as you. 
 
 Doctor (gives back his fee) : Well ? 
 
 Harlequin (with importance) : Go and live. Nothing 
 else. 
 
 Doctor : What does that mean ? 
 
 Harlequin : Well, if you don't understand, you're 
 incurable. I tell you, go and live, but live, not 
 like an immortal, but like a man that may die 
 to-morrow. 
 
 Doctor (shakes his head doubtfully) : H'm. I'll try 
 it. (Wipes his eyes.) Good-bye, Mr. Harlequin. 
 
 Harlequin : Good-bye, Mr. Doctor. (Exit Doctor, 
 finger on brow.) Well, what have you got to say 
 of it, Pierrot ? 
 
16 A MERRY DEATH 
 
 Pierrot : Nothing good. (It grows dark.) 
 
 Harlequin : The old ape imagined I don't feel 
 death coming. As if a man, sleeping longer than 
 he revels, could still have doubts about the ap- 
 proach of death. But what's the time ? (The 
 clock shows eight.) Hasn't the clock stopped ? 
 It always went in step with me, but now 
 
 Pierrot : You're too nervous. 
 
 Harlequin : We can't all be like you. 
 
 Pierrot : What do you mean ? 
 
 Harlequin : You'll soon see. Help me to lay the 
 table for supper. 
 
 Pierrot (going to the cupboard) : With great pleasure. 
 
 Harlequin : We must lay for three. 
 
 Pierrot : Three ? 
 
 Harlequin : Yes. 
 
 Pierrot : Whom's the third for ? 
 
 Harlequin : For Death. 
 
 Pierrot : She'll sit down with us ? 
 
 Harlequin : If you're not afraid of her. 
 
 Pierrot : Two glasses are enough ; I won't have 
 supper with you. 
 
 Harlequin : Come, come ! I was joking. Death 
 will sup on me. That's sufficient for her. But, 
 all the same, lay for three. (Lights the lamp.) 
 
A MERRY DEATH 17 
 
 Pierrot : But whom's the third for ? 
 Columbine's voice (sings) : 
 
 I from my husband unsuspected 
 Steal to another 'neath the moon ; 
 When desire's interdicted, 
 Doubly 'tis desired soon. 
 Ah, my heart is trembling, 
 Fainting, beating slow — 
 If my spouse should see me, 
 Should hearken, and should know. 
 
 Pierrot : What's that ? Columbine's voice ! My 
 
 wife's voice ! 
 Harlequin : Now you know whom the third place 
 
 is for. 
 Pierrot (tragically) : A-ah ! Traitor ! A-ah ! 
 
 Demon ! This is your friendship ! 
 Harlequin : Be calm. W r hy, nothing's happened 
 
 yet! 
 Pierrot : It only wants that ! 
 Harlequin : And if I were to say that it doesn't 
 
 even want that ? 
 Pierrot : And you dare pretend that you love me ! 
 Harlequin : I love you both. But you want it to 
 
 be only you, and so you're jealous. 
 
i8 A MERRY DEATH 
 
 Pierrot : You know very well how, of whom, and 
 
 why I'm jealous. 
 Harlequin : Be sensible. If you love me and love 
 
 Columbine, you ought to be happy for both our 
 
 sakes. Besides, you know we both love you. So 
 
 what is there to be sad about ? Lay a third 
 
 place. 
 Pierrot : No, I'm not so simple. Nice people 
 
 don't behave like that, and there's nothing else 
 
 left for me than to revenge myself on you. 
 Harlequin : In what way ? 
 Pierrot : By death. 
 Harlequin : But it'll come soon anyhow — my 
 
 hours are numbered. Who will prevent you 
 
 afterwards from telling everybody that it was 
 
 the work of your hands ? 
 
 Pierrot : Suppose 
 
 Harlequin : Come, what is there to talk about ! 
 
 Lay a third place. 
 
 Pierrot (considering) : Yes, but 
 
 Harlequin : Come, come. Time's precious. (Pierrot 
 
 fetches the plates and drops them.) Butterfingers ! 
 
 You were bound to smash 'em. 
 Pierrot (pathetically) : It's not for you to reproach 
 
 me ! You've destroyed my happiness. 
 
A MERRY DEATH 19 
 
 Harlequin (laying the third place) : No phrases, 
 please ! You've been cold with Columbine for a 
 long time, and you're only jealous because it's 
 good manners. But, shh ! 
 
 Columbine's voice : 
 
 Columbine has donned her mask 
 And is clad in motley gear, O, 
 Wants to see her Harlequin 
 But's afraid of meeting Pierrot. 
 Ah, her heart is trembling, 
 Fainting, beating slow — 
 If her spouse should see her, 
 Should hearken, and should know. 
 
 Harlequin : I'm going to meet Columbine ; you 
 look after the lamp. (Exit.) 
 
 Pierrot : H'm. Look after the lamp ! (Suddenly 
 strikes his forehead.) Wouldn't it be better to 
 look after the clock ? Well, if Harlequin's death 
 ought to be the work of my hands, very well ! 
 Ladies and gentlemen, you are my witnesses ! I 
 don't leave that sort of things unpunished — I'll 
 put the hands on two hours. (Does so.) Ah ! 
 Harlequin, evidently no one can escape his fate. 
 Now I'm quite calm : I'm revenged. Interesting 
 
20 A MERRY DEATH 
 
 to see how she'll look at me. This way, please, 
 
 Madame Traitress. 
 Harlequin (off) : Don't be afraid, Columbine ! 
 
 Go in fearlessly. I've persuaded him, and, word 
 
 of honour, he's consented. 
 Columbine (enters) : Consented ? ! Here's a fine 
 
 thing ! Consented ! What, you little beast, 
 
 that's all you think of your wife ! You don't 
 
 care if she betrays you ? You don't care ? 
 
 Answer ! (Beats Pierrot.) 
 Pierrot (agonised) : But listen, Columbine. 
 Columbine : What ? I must listen to you ? Listen 
 
 to the worst little beast of a husband of all little 
 
 beasts of husbands ? 
 
 Pierrot : But, Columbine. 
 
 Columbine : Blockhead ! 
 
 Pierrot : You don't let me utter a word. 
 
 Columbine (beats him) : You've got no excuse ! 
 
 And I, poor thing, married a little beast like you ! 
 
 Gave you all the best there was in me ! And he 
 
 can't even stand up for my conjugal honour ! 
 
 Take that, and that, and that, you good-for- 
 nothing ! 
 Pierrot : But that's too much ! Harlequin, 
 
 protect me. 
 
A MERRY DEATH 21 
 
 Harlequin : This is your own business. 
 
 Pierrot : Yes, but, dear old chap 
 
 Harlequin : I haven't been brought up to interfere 
 in other people's private matters. 
 
 Columbine {to Pierrot) : There, that's how you 
 love me ! That's how jealous you are of me ! 
 Where are your vows, you pagan ? 
 
 Pierrot {coming to himself) : Oh, to Hell with this, 
 I never heard of such a thing ! Why, you im- 
 pudent woman, you came here yourself to a 
 rendezvous and yet you dare say 
 
 Columbine : That's enough ! Be quiet ! I know 
 the little ways of rogues like you : when you're 
 found out you start to find fault with the innocent, 
 so as to get out of the difficulty. But you don't 
 deceive me, you good-for-nothing. 
 
 Harlequin {interposing) : Friends, don't let's 
 waste precious time ! When supper's waiting, is 
 it worth while spoiling one's appetite ? 
 
 Columbine and Pierrot : But it is irritating ! 
 
 Harlequin : I don't like to see quarrels starting. 
 
 Columbine and Pierrot : It's not my fault. 
 
 Harlequin : Better make friends ! 
 
 Columbine and Pierrot : Not for anything. 
 
 Harlequin : What obstinacy ! 
 
22 A MERRY DEATH 
 
 Columbine and Pierrot : I've been wounded in 
 
 my finest feelings. 
 Harlequin : Come, enough. 
 Columbine and Pierrot : No. 
 Columbine : First he ought to be punished. 
 Harlequin : In what way ? 
 Columbine : Kiss me, Harlequin ! Dear, sweet 
 
 Harlequin. 
 Harlequin : Not to offend you with a refusal — 
 
 (kisses her). I was always an obliging cavalier. 
 
 (Kisses her.) Besides that, I've got a tender 
 
 heart. (Kisses her.) Even children know it. 
 
 (Kisses her.) And finally, as host — (kisses her)- — 
 
 I ought to be polite to my guests — (kisses her) — 
 
 especially when it concerns- — (kisses her) — the 
 
 fair sex. (Kisses her.) 
 Pierrot : Wretches ! They don't suspect that I'm 
 
 already revenged and so can be absolutely calm. 
 Columbine (to Harlequin) : Kiss me more warmly, 
 
 more strongly, more painfully, almost biting me, 
 
 without losing breath. (Is kissed as she desires.) 
 Pierrot : They imagine they're mortally provoking 
 
 me. 
 Columbine (to Harlequin) : Once more ! Once 
 
 more ! (To Pierrot.) Oh I you unfeeling log ! 
 
A MERRY DEATH 23 
 
 Pierrot : Please do what you like. (To Audience.) 
 My conscience is clean ; I have vindicated mv 
 honour and have nothing to worry about. 
 
 Columbine (to Harlequin) : Kiss my eyes, my fore- 
 head, my cheeks, my chin, my temples. (Harle- 
 quin does not wait to be asked a second time.) 
 
 Pierrot (to Audience) : Gentlemen, you are wit- 
 nesses that I've taken my revenge. 
 
 Columbine (to Harlequin) : Kiss my neck where 
 the hair ends and where a sweet shivering comes 
 from your kisses. 
 
 Pierrot : I don't care. Let them do as they want. 
 I have fulfilled the duty of an affronted husband 
 and never felt better in my life. 
 
 Columbine (stamping at Pierrot) : There, you brute ! 
 Is all this nothing to you ? 
 
 Pierrot (to Audience) : I'm wearing them out with 
 my nonchalance. 
 
 Columbine (to Harlequin) : Well, shall we celebrate 
 our Dance of Love, in spite of him. 
 
 Harlequin : I don't dare refuse you, but 
 
 Columbine : What " but " ? 
 
 Harlequin : But if Pierrot isn't such a lover of 
 dancing as to forget everything in the world ! 
 
 Pierrot : Please, don't mind me ? (To Audience.) 
 
24 A MERRY DEATH 
 
 I'm revenged for everything in advance and 
 
 needn't be disturbed, whatever happens. 
 Harlequin (giving him the lute) : Perhaps you'll 
 
 accompany us ? 
 Columbine : Of course ! Is he to do nothing ? 
 Pierrot : With the greatest pleasure, if it helps 
 
 you. (To Audience.) I hope you understand 
 
 what a matter of indifference this is to a husband 
 
 who can vindicate his wounded honour. 
 Columbine : Play ! 
 Pierrot (to Audience) : Lord, how easy you are, 
 
 when you're revenged, and nobody has any right 
 
 to laugh at you. (Plays vigorously. Dance. 
 
 Suddenly Harlequin falls in a faint on the bed. 
 
 Pierrot stops playing.) 
 Columbine : What's happened to you ? What's 
 
 the matter ? 
 Harlequin (holding his heart) : No — it's nothing, a 
 
 trifle. (His heart beats like a sledge-hammer, and he 
 
 breathes like an engine.) 
 Columbine : How furiously your heart's beating ! 
 
 What terrible breathing ! 
 Pierrot (to Audience, joyfully) : Harlequin's giving 
 
 in. Harlequin's weakening. Rejoice with me, 
 
 poor husbands— you whose wives are in danger ! 
 
A MERRY DEATH 25 
 
 Columbine (to Harlequin) : Nothing like this has 
 ever happened to you before. 
 
 Pierrot [to Audience) : By the way, don't be angry 
 with me, because, after all, Harlequin's my friend, 
 and there's an end of it. I'm not going to quarrel 
 with him, indeed, for a harlot ! And if he's more 
 to Columbine's taste than I, he's not to blame, 
 but Columbine, for having such bad taste. By 
 the way, I said this from envy. {Reflects.) 
 
 Harlequin (stands up and smiles, and kisses 
 Columbine) : Come, did I frighten you ? Well, 
 forgive me. (Looks at the clock, which is nearing 
 twelve.) Soon you'll know the real reason. 
 
 Columbine : What's the matter ? 
 
 Harlequin : Let's sit down to supper. The dance 
 woke up my appetite, and I feel magnificent. 
 (They sit down and eat and drink.) 
 
 Columbine : What are you hiding from me ? 
 
 Harlequin : Come, drink, Columbine, drink ! 
 When there's good wine on the table, there's no 
 need to worry about anything. (Kisses her.) 
 
 Pierrot (to Audience) : O Lord, I'm undergoing 
 incredible pangs of conscience. To think only of 
 the harm I've caused Harlequin ! And what 
 for ? What for ? I can't swallow a thing, and I 
 
A MERRY DEATH 
 
 don't know how to look at Harlequin ! I'd 
 willingly confess my wicked crime to him now ! 
 But alas ! I can't do it, because what would my 
 revenge come to then ? And I can't go without 
 revenging myself. I'm a deceived husband, and 
 ought to revenge myself, because all nice people 
 do. Oh, how unhappy I am, and how I want to 
 cry ! (Threatens the audience with his fist.) Bad, 
 wicked people, it's you thought out such silly 
 rules ! It's because of you I've got to take the life 
 of my best friend ! (Turns his back on the public.) 
 
 Harlequin (to Columbine) : Why were you late 
 to-day ? 
 
 Columbine : I was detained by the Doctor — I met 
 him quite near here. He was dancing and limping 
 and drunk and accosting all the girls. 
 
 Harlequin : Well ? 
 
 Columbine : He prayed me to make him happy. 
 He assured me that he was very strong and had 
 been very handsome thirty years ago. While I 
 was showing him that I wasn't a historian to 
 be captivated by antiquity, time passed and I 
 was late. 
 
 Harlequin (to Audience) : Poor Doctor ! Why 
 didn't he come to me earlier for advice ? 
 
A MERRY DEATH 27 
 
 Columbine : I was very sorry for him. 
 
 Harlequin (to Audience) : Your elbow's near and 
 yet you can't bite it ! 
 
 Columbine : He was weeping and crying : " Why 
 the devil did I preserve my strength ? " And I 
 answered him : " I have respect for your wrinkles, 
 but not passion." 
 
 Harlequin : But you know, Columbine, he is 
 younger than I, though twice as old in years. 
 
 Columbine : I don't understand you. 
 
 Harlequin : Because you haven't meditated on 
 real old age. (Tapping Pierrot on shoulder.) But 
 why aren't you drinking or eating and taking 
 part in our conversation ? 
 
 Columbine : He wants to depress us, but he shan't, 
 the good-for-nothing ! 
 
 Pierrot (weeping) : You don't understand, poor 
 thing, that Harlequin's dying. 
 
 Columbine : Dying ? You horrid thing ! Or have 
 you put poison in our glasses ? No, no (con- 
 temptuously) ; men like you aren't capable of that. 
 
 Pierrot (all in tears) : Poor Harlequin, your 
 minutes are numbered ! 
 
 Columbine : What's he say ? What's he making 
 up ? 
 
28 A MERRY DEATH 
 
 Harlequin (turning to the clock) : Yes, Columbine, 
 it's true. It's time for you to know it. I feel 
 plainly that I shall soon die. 
 
 Columbine : Harlequin ! Beloved ! 
 
 Harlequin : Don't cry, Columbine ! I shall go 
 away with a smile on my lips. I want to die as 
 people want to sleep, when it's late and they're 
 tired and need rest. I've sung all my songs ! 
 I've revelled all my merriment ! I've laughed all 
 my laughter ! My strength and health have been 
 joyfully spent with my money. I was never 
 mean, and so was always merry and sorrowless. 
 I am Harlequin, and shall die Harlequin. Don't 
 cry, Columbine ! Rather be glad that I'm dying, 
 not like others, but full of delight, content with 
 fate and my conduct. Or would you rather see 
 me grappling to life with greedy eyes and a 
 prayer on my lips ? No, Harlequin is not like 
 that. He has fulfilled his mission in life and dies 
 calmly. And, really, didn't I give my kisses to 
 who wanted them ? Didn't I lavish my soul for 
 the good of others ? How many wives of ugly 
 husbands I consoled ! And how many little hats 
 did I make for people who thought themselves 
 sages ! How many I awoke to passionate song or 
 
A MERRY DEATH 29 
 
 rattling rage ! To how many I gave an example ! 
 Now I have outlived my life, and only the husk is 
 left for death ! " Catch the moments " — that's 
 my motto ! And I have not been idle to catch 
 them ! I've caught so many that I want no more. 
 Now, perhaps, another kiss, a little draught of 
 wine, a burst of merry laughter — and it will 
 be! 
 
 Columbine : But aren't you afraid ? 
 
 Harlequin : It would be more frightful to be born ! 
 Now I'm going back again. 
 
 Columbine : To sink into nothing ! 
 
 Harlequin : But if death's nothing, what have I 
 to fear ? 
 
 Columbine : Anyhow, I'm afraid. 
 
 Harlequin : Your bowl's not emptied ; you're 
 afraid not to be ready. 
 
 Columbine : But only think 
 
 Harlequin : It thinks for us. 
 
 Columbine : But we ? 
 
 Harlequin : We'll remember the march of the 
 clock — the swift march of the clock ! Stretch 
 out, Columbine ! Press the clusters of life ! 
 Turn them to wine ! Don't tarry for delight, so 
 as to be sated when death comes ! {Takes the lute.) 
 
30 A MERRY DEATH 
 
 And you, too, stretch out, friend Pierrot, if only 
 you can. {Pierrot, in reply, sobs. Harlequin 
 laughs.) No, no, not like that ; you don't under- 
 stand me. 
 
 Pierrot : The lamp's nickering. 
 
 Harlequin : And there's no oil in the house. 
 
 Columbine : But look, it's still burning ! 
 
 Harlequin : It's burning, Columbine, burning ! 
 (Begins to play. The strings break.) 
 
 Columbine (sorrowfully) : The strings have broken. 
 
 Harlequin (laughs) : My catch is sung. (A knock.) 
 Who's there ? (Death enters. Harlequin rises to 
 ^neet her. He is very gallant.) To do justice, 
 madame, you have come just in time. We were 
 only just talking about you. Really, how obliging 
 you are, not to keep yourself waiting ! But why 
 these tragic gestures ? Look round, madame ; 
 you are in the house of Harlequin, where one can 
 laugh at all that's tragic, not even excluding your 
 gestures. (Death points at the clock with a theatrical 
 gesture.) Enough, enough, madame. Really, if 
 I hadn't laughed all my laughter, I should burst 
 of laughing in the literal sense of the word. What, 
 you want to stop the clock ? There's plenty of 
 time, madame. As far as I know, my hour has 
 
A MERRY DEATH 31 
 
 not yet struck. Or you're anticipating a struggle 
 with me ? No, no ; I don't belong to the silly 
 bourgeois boors. Honour and place to a beautiful 
 lady ! I don't want to cross her, and then I can't 
 oppose her, because I've used up all my strength. 
 But the traditional dance ? Your dance of the 
 good old times, when people hadn't yet forgotten 
 how to die, and even Death was a distraction for 
 them. If you please ! Ah, you're surprised at 
 the request ! Yes, yes, Harlequin in our time is 
 almost a fossil. Well, fair lady, enough obstinacy. 
 (Musip. Death dances.) Columbine, Pierrot, open 
 your eyes, open them quickly ! Look how merry 
 we are ! (Harlequin makes Columbine sit down 
 beside him on the bed. Death places her hand on 
 his shoulder. To Death.) Wait, my dear lady, 
 wait. Let me take leave of the world as the 
 world does ! One more, only one more kiss, 
 Columbine ! Pierrot, where have you got to, you 
 coward ? (Rises.) Well, if you're too lazy to light 
 me. (Gives the lamp to Death.) Light the way, 
 Death ; there's still a tiny drop of oil in the lamp. 
 (Death separates him from Columbine.) 
 Columbine (as in a dream) : My Harlequin ! My 
 beloved ! (The lamp goes out. Then the moon 
 
32 A MERRY DEATH 
 
 lights up the stage. It is twelve o'clock. Columbine 
 is kneeling at Harlequin's death-bed. Pierrot comes 
 in on the right.) 
 Pierrot (to Audience) : Here's a situation. I really 
 don't know what I ought to bewail first : the loss 
 of Harlequin, the loss of Columbine, my own 
 bitter lot or yours, dear audience, who have 
 witnessed the performance of such an unserious 
 author. And what did he want to say in his 
 piece ? — I don't understand. By the way, I'm 
 silly, cowardly Pierrot, and it's not for me to 
 criticise the piece in which I played an unenviable 
 role. But your astonishment will increase still 
 more when you know what I have been told to 
 say in conclusion by the culprit of this — well, 
 between ourselves — this strange mockery of the 
 public. Shhh ! Listen ! " When the genius 
 Rabelais was dying, the monks collected round his 
 couch and tried in every way to induce him 
 to do penance for his sins. Rabelais, in reply, 
 only smiled, and when the moment of the end 
 came, he said mockingly : ' Let down the cur- 
 tain ; the farce is over.' He said this and died." 
 Why the graceless author thought it necessary 
 to put other people's words into the mouth of 
 
A MERRY DEATH 33 
 
 one of the actors, I don't know — I've not a free 
 hand in the matter ; but being a respectable actor, 
 I stand by him to the last and so, obeying with- 
 out dispute the will of the author, I shout mock- 
 ingly : Let down the curtain ; the farce is over. 
 (The curtains fall behind him.) Ladies and gentle- 
 men, I forgot to tell you that neither your ap- 
 plause nor your hissing of the piece is likely to be 
 taken seriously by the author, who preaches that 
 nothing in life is worth taking seriously. And I 
 suggest that if truth is on his side, then you 
 should hardly take his play seriously, all the more 
 as Harlequin has probably risen from his death- 
 bed already, and, perhaps, is already tidying 
 himself in anticipation of a call, because, say 
 what you like, but the actors can't be responsible 
 for the free-thinking of the author. (Exit.) 
 
 (Curtain) 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 
 
 THE LAST ACT OF A DRAMA 
 
 By NICHOLAS EVREINOV 
 
CHARACTERS 
 
 The Master, 
 
 and his 
 
 Companion, 
 
 Friend, 
 
 Maid, 
 
 Manservant, 
 
 Fool-Hermaphrodite, 
 
 Arab Boy and 
 
 Favourite Witch. 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 
 
 (The play takes place in the late autumn of 1904. 
 The room luxuriously furnished in the style of a 
 century before. The Master of the house, his 
 Lady Companion, Manservant and Fool- Her- 
 maphrodite with a monkey. All are dressed in 
 antique style.) 
 
 Servant (with animation) : " Tally-ho ! Tally-ho ! 
 Hark ! Follow, follow ! " The hounds were at 
 their last gasp. They were only a length behind 
 
 him. Now they've got him, thought I No ! 
 
 the little lord held out another ten minutes — 
 he doubled, the ragamuffin, and doubled again, 
 and again — at last the whip was going to turn 
 the pack back ! — Aha ! just look ! — I can't 
 describe it ! — its tongue hanging out, its eyes 
 bulging. — What a beauty, just — " On him," we 
 shouted. " Tally-ho ! Tally-ho ! There he goes, 
 here he goes, this way, that way." " No, no, 
 37 
 
38 THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 
 
 you've gone enough ! " Within a minute he was 
 done for. — How his brush trailed. The dear old 
 chap was done for, the old fellow was done. 
 
 Master : Good work, begad. 
 
 Servant : Ay, I dare swear there's no sport in the 
 world to beat fox-hunting, nothing ! 
 
 Master : No, Egorich, give things their due. For 
 instance, I'm extraordinarily pleased with to- 
 day's sport. Not even God knows how many 
 brace I shot, but there were some moments 
 that (Kisses the tips of his fingers.) 
 
 Companion : Who said that hunting was a cruel 
 pastime ? 
 
 Servant : Some jealous beast who can't shoot or 
 can't afford a gun ! (Laughs.) 
 
 Fool (in motley, screams like a monkey) : Kiriki, 
 kirikoo, kiriki. 
 
 Master (drinking) : Impeaching human happiness 
 — that's real cruelty. Ahem ! I've dined wel] 
 to-day. (To Servant.) My compliments to your 
 wife ; to-day's dinner was excellent. I'm not 
 calling her up to compliment her, from considera- 
 tion for her corns. But how's Diana ? 
 
 Companion : I heard her howling. 
 
 Servant : Yes, I gave her another bath with bran 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 39 
 
 and rubbed her belly with camphorated oil ; but 
 
 you'll have to bleed her, as sure as life. (Maid 
 
 brings in a long lit tobacco-pipe.) 
 Companion (beckoning at Fool with a biscuit) : 
 
 Chick, chick, chick, chick. 
 Master : Poor little doggie ! However could it 
 
 have happened ? (Smokes. Fool scrambles up to 
 
 Companion, who pulls his ear.) 
 Companion : Ah, you good-for-nothing. You like 
 
 to play cards, but you don't like to be smacked 
 
 for forfeits. Where did you run away to when 
 
 you lost ? (Fool squeals.) I'll show you ! I'll 
 
 show you ! I'll show you ! 
 Fool : I'll set the house on fire ! I'll set the house 
 
 on fire ! (Runs after Maid and pulls her braids.) 
 
 Bom ! Bom-bom-bom ! Bom-bom-bom-bom ! 
 Maid : Let go ! Let go, you nasty thing ! D'you 
 
 hear, let go ! Egorich, take him away. 
 Fool : I'm ringing the alarm. Fire ! We're alight ! 
 
 Bom - bom - bom - bom ! Bom - bom - bom - bom ! 
 
 (Exit Maid. Servant beats him.) Tt, you ! One 
 
 foot in the grave, and still fighting ! (Goes back 
 
 to his monkey.) 
 Companion : But what if he really does set the 
 
 house on fire ? What will happen ? 
 
40 THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 
 
 Master : Well, the stables will be burned too. 
 They're so near the house. (Smiles. To Fool.) 
 True, fool ? 
 
 Fool : A true fool ! 
 
 Master : Yes, I really am. To be the owner of 
 estates with such a fine chase, and instead of 
 shooting and enjoying myself in the open air 
 
 Servant : How often didn't I say to you in the 
 town : the woodcock are dull without you, the 
 wolves run about in the garden in the daytime, 
 everyone says, " Where's master ? " 
 
 Master : Don't tell me ; I'm laughing at myself. 
 
 Servant : And you didn't want to know ; you used 
 to sit with those long-haired people, you used to 
 write books for them, you were getting pale and 
 thin 
 
 Companion : Next time I'll go hunting too ! My 
 costume's been repaired. 
 
 Servant : I can understand those long-haired 
 vagabonds writing books ; they haven't got 
 estates or health, and the colour of their faces 
 isn't worth spoiling. But you're a rich gentle- 
 man, such a gentleman, that your little toe would 
 show you were a gentleman, and then all of a 
 sudden 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 41 
 
 Master : Ah ! when you were speaking the truth, 
 I was full of prejudices 
 
 Servant : Only to think how much time you 
 wasted for nothing 
 
 Master : Nearly all my youth 
 
 Companion : But who said he wasn't going to talk 
 of the past ? There's firm determination ! In- 
 stead of sad recollections, Egorich, you'd much 
 better tell us how his grandfather drove out in 
 the coach with girls for horses. But in detail. 
 I and Grusha intend to take him out the same 
 way. 
 
 Servant : Ah, young lady ! That's impossible ! 
 There are no girls now like there used to be. 
 Are there ? Can you see them now with blood 
 as thick as milk, and strong as horses, and such 
 teeth — oh ! it used to hurt to look at them, they 
 glistened so. And their calves were burnt like 
 your iron and their braids were like whips ! Oho, 
 young lady, those times have gone, there are no 
 more pretty girls like there used to be. 
 
 Companion : Come, tell us how it used to be. 
 
 Maid (enters) : The witch has come. Is she to wait ? 
 
 Master : No, no, call her in at once, call the dear 
 old lady in. 
 
42 THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 
 
 Servant : May I clear ? 
 
 Master : Yes, and bring in the candelabra. 
 
 Servant : Yes, sir. (Exit.) 
 
 Fool (plays with monkey) : Kiriki, kirikoo, kirikoo. 
 
 Companion : How soon it gets dark now ! 
 
 Master : Well, shall we take her potions and fly 
 to the Brocken. 
 
 Companion : I'm afraid only it might upset your 
 health. 
 
 Master : What nonsense ! In the first place 
 (points at Fool) he dreamed I was so well, and in 
 the second, what's health ? Isn't it money to 
 be spent neither too stingily nor too prodigally ? 
 
 Companion : I don't know why, but you're in a 
 reasoning mood to-day. But we must ask the 
 witch about his dream. (Enter Servant with 
 candelabra.) Where's the Arab boy gone to ? 
 
 Servant : He's sitting with Diana ; they're both 
 black and miserable. 
 
 Maid (enters) : She's coming ! 
 
 Master : Aha. 
 
 Maid : Now then, limp up. (Enter Witch.) 
 
 J Master : Ah ! good day, my dear. 
 
 [Companion : Good-day, beauty. 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 43 
 
 Master : Your ugliness gets more beautiful every 
 day. 
 
 Companion : Will you be a hundred years old the 
 day after to-morrow ? 
 
 Servant : What ? Has she been merry-making 
 all this time ? 
 
 Master : Still the same success with the goats ? 
 Ah, the rogue knows how to make her warts suit 
 her face. She knows the scents that please the 
 long tails. 
 
 MAID : Why don't you speak, you stockfish ? 
 
 Companion : She's collecting herself. 
 
 Maid [holds a live log under the witch's nose) : What's 
 it smell of ? Eh ? What's it smell of ? [Witch 
 hisses. All laugh.) What, don't you like it, you 
 big-faced sorceress ? 
 
 Master : Listen, you rogue. Last night our fool had 
 a quite extraordinary dream. First he dreamed 
 that he, a fool, had been appointed to a terribly 
 responsible post. Well, so far there's nothing 
 extraordinary, that happens all round us every 
 
 day, but after that [The Arab boy enters 
 
 with a card on a silver tray. General conster- 
 nation.) 
 
 Master {astonished) : Well, this is the last thing I 
 
44 THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 
 
 expected. (Pause.) Egorich, go and ask him 
 
 into the hall. (Exit Servant.) What the- 
 
 I'm in my dressing-gown. — Here's a surprise ! 
 Companion : Whoever is it ? (Looks at card.) Oh, 
 
 it's the man who was exiled ? 
 Master : Yes, who'd have thought of him ? (To 
 
 Witch.) My dear, go to the kitchen for a little 
 
 while ! 
 Companion : Interesting to know what he wants ? 
 
 Why ever has he come all this way ? Why, isn't 
 
 he a famous writer now ? (Exeunt Witch, Arab 
 
 boy, and Maid.) 
 Master : And a famous man of learning. 
 Companion : Well, he's not got such a wonderful 
 
 mind, so I heard. 
 Master : But he's got something. He preferred 
 
 martyrdom for an idea to any kind of jobbery, 
 
 and consequently 
 
 Companion : And you'll receive this adventurer ? 
 Master : I want to be polite, and besides, he's 
 
 better than the others. 
 Companion : But how are we to behave with him ? 
 Master : To change would be obviously too great 
 
 an honour for such a gentleman. The year 1808 
 
 will continue ; guests have come — and I'll put 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 45 
 
 on my uniform. That's what my great-grand- 
 father would have done. 
 
 Companion : He'll destroy all the illusion. 
 
 Master : All ? He's not so strong as that. 
 
 Servant (enters) : The gentleman says he's frozen 
 from the journey. 
 
 Master : Ask him in here. There's a fire here. 
 Have the candles lit on the walls, and come and 
 help me dress. (Exit.) 
 
 Servant : Very good, sir. (At the door Maid runs 
 ■into him.) What the devil have they all lost their 
 heads about ? (Exit.) 
 
 Maid (to Companion) : What shall we do ? 
 
 Companion : Everything's to be as it was ; to- 
 day's the second of October, 1808, and you and 
 I are just his slaves. Although he's so tired, he's 
 gone to put on his uniform. If we don't earn his 
 approval, well, — why, he makes less of us every 
 day. 
 
 Maid : Oh, but don't you like that ? 
 
 Companion : Light the room up more. 
 
 Maid : I'm so excited. I'm burning all over. 
 
 Companion : Try some cold water. (Exit.) 
 
 Fool ; We're on fire ? Water ! Water ! (E?itcr 
 
46 THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 
 
 Friend of Master, in normal twentieth-century 
 
 clothes, with spectacles, followed by Servant.) 
 Friend : I should, er — I don't know — if I could 
 
 brush myself a little — to tell the truth — the dirt 
 
 of the railway — it's the worst thing on earth 
 
 Servant : You can get warm here by the stove and 
 
 have a brush down. Grusha, bring a brush. 
 Friend : What a long way you are from the station ! 
 
 How's the master, is he well ? 
 Servant : Oh yes. Did you get good horses, if I 
 
 might ask ? 
 Friend {looking round amazed) : Er, yes, not bad. 
 Servant : The girl will brush you, but master's 
 
 calling me. Grusha, do it properly ! (Exit.) 
 Friend (moving away from the monkey) : It, er — 
 
 doesn't bite ? 
 Maid : It doesn't bite its friends. 
 Friend : But strangers ? 
 Maid : Strangers don't come here. 
 Friend : Don't come here ? But, er — your master, 
 
 is he, er — absolutely well ? 
 Maid : Yes, absolutely. 
 Friend : Lucky the monkey isn't free ! 
 Maid : Goodness gracious, why, nobody's free at 
 
 master's. 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 47 
 
 Fool (approaches) : Who are you ? 
 
 Friend : And who are you ? 
 
 Fool (importantly) : I'm Johnny Cracken and 
 
 Jenny Jolly, but what's your name ? 
 Friend (hiding his confusion) : I'm called Vanya 
 
 at home. (Laughs awkwardly.) 
 Fool : What's the joke ? (To Maid.) What's he 
 
 laughing at ? (To Monkey.) What's he laughing 
 
 at ? Let's leave the sinner. (Exit.) 
 Friend (pale) : Who's that ? 
 Maid : He told you : Johnny Cracken and Jenny 
 
 Jolly. 
 Friend : Er — is your master really quite well ? 
 Maid : Oh yes. He's just coming. (Pause.) 
 Friend : I should like to know — how many miles 
 
 is it from here to the railway ? 
 Maid (astonished) : To the railway ? What's the 
 
 railway ? 
 Friend : You don't know what a railway is ? 
 Maid : I've never heard of one. 
 Friend : Do you mean to say — do you — well yes, 
 
 er — do you all live here, without ever going 
 
 outside ? 
 Maid : Yes, without going outside. 
 Friend ; Hm, — Your face seems familiar. 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 
 
 Maid : I've never seen you before. I think you're 
 here the first time 
 
 Friend : I can't quite recall where — but still — I 
 don't know, perhaps I'm mistaken. {Picks up 
 book and reads) : " The Political, Statistical, and 
 Geographical Journal ; or, The Contemporary 
 History of the World. 1808. Third part. Third 
 book. September." — (Picks up another.) — "The 
 Genius of the Times," 1808.—" St. Petersburg 
 Review " — " Northern Mercury " — all September, 
 1808. — Tell me, that is, er, tell me, what are 
 these papers, old ones ? 
 
 Maid : I don't know ; we don't know anything 
 about those things. (Lights the last candles.) 
 
 Friend : I don't understand what sort of candles 
 
 ■■ these are. They're funny. 
 
 Maid : Funny ? They're the best sort of tallow. 
 
 Friend : Tallow ? Listen. What does this all 
 mean ? Come, I entreat you, tell me what it's 
 all about ? My head's going round. — Oh ! Why, 
 you're Baroness Nordman, or I've gone mad, or 
 I've got hallucinations, or I'm dreaming ! 
 
 Maid : But, sir ! 
 
 Friend : You're Baroness Nordman, whom I met 
 only a year ago at the Sociological Society !, 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 49 
 
 Maid : But, sir ! 
 
 Friend : I've no more doubts. You're Helen, 
 Baroness Nordman. 
 
 Maid {withdrawing) : Lord preserve us ! What are 
 you talking about, sir ? I'm a serf, a chamber- 
 maid, my name's Grusha, I wash the floor. 
 
 Friend : A serf ? (Pause.) But serfdom was 
 abolished in 1861 ! ! ! 
 
 Maid : Lord preserve us ! Why it's only 1808 now ! 
 
 Friend : What ? ! ! (Enter Master. Exit Maid.) 
 
 Master (in old-fashioned uniform) : Good-day — 
 whatever's the matter ? 
 
 Friend : What does all this mean ? I entreat you, 
 in the name of God, tell me what it all means ? 
 Oh ! Oh ! my heart ! Water ! Water ! 
 
 Fool (entering with Companion) : Water ! Water ! 
 Fire ! 
 
 Master : Are you ill ? What has happened ? 
 
 Friend : Spray me with water ! Pinch me as 
 hard as you can, because I'm fast asleep, I'm 
 frightened and I can't wake up. Wake me up ! 
 This is hellish ! Or have I got hallucinations ? ! ! 
 (More quietly) I've been travelling two days in 
 the train and almost a whole day in the carriage. 
 If you're trying to hoax me, it's not at all nice of 
 
 E 
 
50 THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 
 
 you : I've got neurasthenia and a weak heart. — 
 I can't make out anything. I met an awful old 
 woman with a beard. After her came a black 
 boy. An angry fool made a laughing-stock of 
 
 me, then a serf baroness, I mean No, I ! 
 
 I (Shouts.) But explain it once for all ! 
 
 Why, it's not like anything on earth. Did they 
 really tell me the truth in Petersburg ; have you 
 really gone mad ? 
 
 Master : You weren't afraid to visit a madman ? 
 Why are you afraid how ? 
 
 Friend : I — I'm not really afraid, but — I've only 
 lost my bearings — I see that you're not mad, but 
 
 at the same time Come, don't torment me 
 
 any longer ! Enough ! Why, it's getting cruel. 
 I'm dog tired ! Come, explain things to me, 
 quickly. 
 
 Fool (enters) : Here's water ! Who wants water ? 
 (All but Friend and Fool laugh.) 
 
 Friend : Allow me to introduce you : my " God's 
 fool," from the next village. 
 
 Fool : I'm Johnny Cracken and Jenny Jolly. 
 
 Master : They call him Androgyne there, on 
 irrefutable grounds, that's to say, he's bisexual. 
 
 Friend : Lo — o — ord ! ! ! 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 51 
 
 Master : And if I wanted to moralise upon every 
 possible occasion I should say at once that you 
 contemporary young people, whose men are full 
 of effeminacy and women of masculinity, might 
 all be called hermaphrodites. 
 
 Friend : You say, " You contemporary young 
 people," but what are you ? 
 
 Master : I ? My costume, my toilet, all my 
 appearance, don't they tell you in what epoch 
 I'm living ? And this furniture, this illumina- 
 tion, these people ! 
 
 Friend : If I'm not mistaken — it's as they used to 
 live a hundred years ago. 
 
 Master : You're not mistaken. 
 
 Friend : Then — why are you — you — I don't know 
 why, but I'm afraid somehow, though it makes 
 me seem a coward. I don't understand, you 
 prefer this — obsolete way of life to our modern 
 
 Master : That's all. 
 
 Friend : But what's the reason ? 
 
 Companion {smiles) : It's a curious one. 
 
 Master : There are several. 
 
 Friend : Tell me just one ! 
 
 Master [takes out an old book) : These old note- 
 books ! 
 
52 THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 
 
 Friend : What are they ? 
 
 Master : The diary of my great-grandfather. 
 
 Friend : What an antiquity ! 
 
 Master : It has enchanted me. 
 
 Friend : The antiquity ? 
 
 Master : I was enchanted by his old masterly way 
 of life, beautiful, merry ; d'you understand, it 
 enchanted me ? And to reproduce it even 
 approximately became my sacred dream. 
 
 Friend : You were always a dreamer. 
 
 Master : Look ! the dream has come true ! I live 
 where he lived, in the same apartments, with the 
 same habits. I took these girls — come nearer, 
 Grusha ! — these dear girls as. slaves, and then 
 there's Egorich 
 
 Friend : What an extraordinary likeness to 
 Baroness Nordman ! 
 
 Master : That poor woman died recently. 
 
 Friend : Really ? How sad ! She was a truly 
 advanced woman. The feminist movement lost 
 much by her death. Lord ! how fervently she 
 insisted upon equal rights with men ! 
 
 Master : And how terribly her soul wished to 
 tremble before a man's strength ! Know this — 
 she was a real woman. She sought her ravisher, 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 53 
 
 her oppressor, her master. She was decaying in 
 the atmosphere of equal rights, she was freezing 
 in the embraces of the manikin who nourished 
 her so much and so convincingly with the beauties 
 of free love. 
 
 Friend : What are you saying ? ! Where did you 
 get that from ? ! 
 
 Master : Baroness Nordman, that very Baroness 
 Nordman who was tired of living satiated by the 
 advantages of civilization, who was ready for 
 anything to be saved from mortal ennui — she 
 died, and changed into my slave. 
 
 Friend : Into a slave ? ! ! You're raving ! 
 
 Master : Grusha, kiss the gentleman's hand. (Maid 
 takes Friend's hand, he tears it away.) 
 
 Friend : I don't understand why you're hoaxing 
 me. 
 
 Master (to Maid) : Be off ! (Exit Maid.) We're 
 not hoaxing you at all. (Turns to Companion.) 
 She's my slave, too, but more intimate. 
 
 Companion : I am very glad to meet you ; I have 
 heard so much of your services to learning. 
 
 Friend : Oh, really — thank you 
 
 Master : You think there are few women who are 
 stifled by the burden of their freedom ! And so 
 
54 THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 
 
 you don't want to admit that such women, from 
 aversion to your cultured life, from love of the 
 unusual, and from love, of course, of me, are 
 able to become slaves ! I'll show you afterwards 
 the vows they've sworn. 
 
 Friend : Nothing could surprise me now. 
 
 Master : Why should it ? 
 
 Friend : What ? ! ! 
 
 Master (reproachfully) : You only just said that 
 nothing could surprise you now. (All laugh.) But 
 do you recognise Egorich ? My good old servant ? 
 I don't remember if I told you that he and his 
 wife — she cooks for us here — took up a somewhat 
 original position in regard to a certain reform. 
 
 Friend : How ?— — 
 
 Master : They declared that this reform could not 
 affect such faithful servants as they, and despite 
 everything they went on living with us in the 
 old way. (Servant kisses his hand.) He is the 
 right hand of my estate here. And what a 
 hunter — it's simply amazing ! Did you ever hear 
 of hunting with alauntis, bandogs and bercelets ? 
 
 Friend : Whatever are they ? 
 
 Master : There you are ! (To Servant.) Order 
 your old woman to cook something good for 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 55 
 
 supper ; and bring us at once a bottle of mead 
 and a plate of comfits. 
 
 Servant : Very good, sir. Shall I lay the table 
 in the dining-room or 
 
 Master : In the dining-room. {Exit Servant.) But 
 why are you standing up, dear old chap. Please 
 sit down. 
 
 Friend (sarcastically) : I didn't dare — you're so 
 majestic. (They sit down.) 
 
 Master (joking) : Never mind ! Be brave, be 
 brave ! 
 
 Friend : So we're living now in eighteen hundred 
 and 
 
 Companion : In eighteen hundred and eight. 
 
 Master : That is when my great-grandfather was 
 just the age I am now, when he had retired from 
 his regiment and lived, as he said, " in the gentle 
 calm of my country paradise." 
 
 Friend (sarcastically) : So you, our matchless 
 economist, the pride of our society, shining, as 
 it were, like a star in the dark night of our social 
 life, you have gone back to the Dark Ages, to the 
 epoch of tyranny, to the time plusquamperfectum 
 only because the life of your great-grandfather 
 has exercised an irresistible influence over you ? 
 
56 THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 
 
 Master (seriously) : That was one of the reasons. 
 The seed fell on prepared soil. There had always 
 dwelt in me the despot side by side with the 
 liberal. 
 
 Friend : And they lived together. 
 
 Master : For a certain time. 
 
 Friend : That's interesting. 
 
 Master (to Ms Companion) : Tell him the tale, how 
 two dwelled in one soul. 
 
 Friend : Whose is this tale ? 
 
 Master : Mine. She learns my works by heart ; 
 she says she is ready to put them to music, to 
 illuminate them in colours, to mould their ideas 
 in clay, to write them out a thousand times in 
 golden ink. (Servant brings in a bottle of mead.) 
 Well, begin !| 
 
 Companion (at the harp) : There, where is so much 
 filth and so much serene divinity, where often 
 the very demon builds a nest and where some- 
 times the seraphim fly, where is preserved so 
 much secrecy, potentiality, and marvellous power, 
 there, in one of these wondrous abodes built, as 
 they all are, for one, only for one — lived two. 
 One was— (Heavens ! how unpleasant to speak 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 57 
 
 of those you hate) — one was good, learned, dili- 
 gent. The other was — (how I adore him !) — the 
 other was evil, all-evil and unlearned and lazy. 
 They were crowded, of course, but — Fate did 
 not let them live apart. They wanted to develop, 
 but each was a huge hindrance to the other. And 
 the one that passed for learned and good and 
 diligent drugged the other with the potion of 
 science ; sat at his bedside and sang this lullaby : 
 " Sleep, dear master : sleep, covering over your 
 eyes ! Your glorious age is past ! Sleep ; the 
 golden age is past ! Now we only mock your 
 noble mien. We need learning and work. The 
 polish of the grandee does not tempt us : the fair 
 ladies are ever less and less that count a well- 
 kept above a horny hand." — So sang he that 
 was learned and closed the beautiful eyelids of 
 him that was unlearned with irresistible sleep. 
 Only he did not reign long, not long did he 
 rule. It is hard to break a master's strength, 
 real strength, even with a drowsy poison. One ! 
 and he suddenly awoke. — Two ! he stretched 
 agreeably. — Three ! and from laziness he had 
 already forgotten to think. " No," he cried, " it 
 shall not be as you wish ! I will hear no more 
 
58 THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 
 
 fables, brother ! It will be difficult to drug 
 me now. Well, come and let us measure our 
 strength. Enough ! We cannot live here to- 
 gether as we used to. Do you hear ! You 
 have diverted yourself enough, my beloved." 
 Thereupon he that was learned produced one 
 thousand five hundred arguments. He that was 
 ignorant overcame them at once by mere force 
 of will : he took his rival by the throat, gave him 
 a trifle with two fingers, cast him out of the doors 
 of the sanctuary and began to live alone, his 
 own master. That's all the story, but you may 
 think out the moral yourself, if the story pleased 
 you and you fully understood it. 
 
 Friend : H'm. — Well — it's very amusing. (Laughs.) 
 It's very amusing. The chief contributor to the 
 " Lever " writes stories like this ! No, it's so 
 amusing, so amusing that — ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. 
 
 Master (drinking a beaker of mead) : Very glad to 
 have cheered you up. But how nervy you are ; 
 you must be working a lot. Why precisely did 
 you come to see me ? 
 
 Friend : Well, in my sweet ignorance I presumed 
 that — I don't understand, didn't you get any of 
 my letters ? 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 59 
 
 Master : I don't want to have anything in com- 
 mon with the twentieth century. No one dares 
 bring letters to me. That's my command. 
 
 Friend : Wise command ! But I wrote to you, 
 and, at the editor's instructions, have even 
 journeyed here to ask, persuade, entreat you 
 even in God's name to write just a little 
 article for us. Really, jokes aside, doesn't your 
 conscience torture you ? The editor is simply 
 besieged with letters, " Why doesn't he write ? " 
 — " Is it true that he doesn't contribute any 
 more ? " — " Where are the articles you promised 
 by him ? " Listen ! Now, really, give up this 
 caprice ! Write just a few lines. The paper 
 will fall to pieces without you — you know it 
 well. 
 
 Master : Please drink. 
 
 Friend : Come, answer me plainly. (Drinks a 
 goblet oj mead.) 
 
 Master : Excellent ; I'll send you a few articles ; 
 only I don't know if they'll suit a paper with 
 Liberal tendencies. The first article is . called, 
 " The Positive Values of Serfdom." The 
 second 
 
 Friend : You want to laugh again. 
 
60 THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 
 
 Master : On the contrary, I want you to laugh. 
 {Picking up a paper.) To tell the truth, a better 
 reply to your remark would be the following 
 passage from " A New Catechism of French 
 Literature." Here it is. It's a question of paper- 
 soiling. Listen, what the use is of paper-soiling : 
 " The nourishing condition of paper manufac- 
 turers, printers, and booksellers, the diversion of 
 others, the nourishment of one's own spirit, 
 which almost unceasingly languishes with a 
 thirst for instruction and the acquirement of 
 glory." Of course, you'll say that what was 
 written in 1808, can have no significance to the 
 twentieth century, but I 
 
 Friend : You're not really interested in these old 
 things ? 
 
 Master : Old things ? A paper for September, 
 1808, to be called old ! {To Companion.) Well, 
 I never ! {To Friend.) Ah, if you only knew 
 how every novelty excites us, every event of 
 passing life ! Why, not long ago a meeting took 
 place between the Emperor Alexander and 
 Napoleon. Would you believe it, our hands 
 shook when we learned what was happening ? 
 Just listen. {Reads.) " We speak of the meeting 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 61 
 
 of these Monarchs first as of a splendid event 
 in history, of a meeting which, under all the 
 circumstances, is bound to have the most far- 
 reaching consequences." — D'you hear ! — " The 
 most far-reaching consequences." 
 
 Friend {takes the paper and reads) : " The Political, 
 
 Statistical, and Geographical " Oh, the 
 
 devil ! 
 
 Master : It's our favourite paper. 
 
 Friend : It's simply incredible. What did you 
 say — " The Positive Values of Serfdom " ? 
 
 Master : Yes. {Pours him out mead.) 
 
 Friend : So you seriously advocate serfdom ? 
 Thanks, enough ; this stuff's very strong. 
 
 Master : So I seriously advocate serfdom ! {Pours 
 out for Companion and self.) It's strong only for 
 the weak. 
 
 Friend : And you say this ? 
 
 Master : I am repenting — I had erred. You see, 
 I'm not a god. 
 
 Companion {with energy) : You are a god ! 
 
 Master : Not in that sense. You ask for my 
 articles, but that part of me lost its belief in 
 social ideals and died of sorrow. It gave up its 
 place to a despot ! 
 
62 THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 
 
 Companion : To a beautiful despot ! 
 
 Master : And this despot has the audacity to 
 affirm that most people are fools and rogues. 
 To give them the freedom of which you sing : 
 first, there's no reason for it ; and secondly, it's 
 harmful, because these gentlemen even in bonds 
 are sufficiently dangerous to each other, and in 
 their own interests, that is, in the interests of the 
 majority, their freedom is undesirable. And 
 as Liberals ought to conform in all things with 
 
 the interests of the majority, so (All laugh.) 
 
 Why, you value everything from the point of 
 view of justice and utility. Well, there you are : 
 from the point of view of justice — there's no 
 reason for it, and from the point of view of 
 utility — it's harmful. 
 
 Friend (laughs) : Excellent sophistry ! 
 
 Master : All the more as I acknowledge as right 
 neither the point of view of justice nor the point 
 of view of utility. The point of view of beauty, 
 of pleasure — that's how I regard it. 
 
 Friend : But, my dear old chap, if 
 
 Master : Come, don't let's quarrel. 
 
 Friend : Is modern culture really so non-existent ? 
 Have you really turned your back on it ? 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT - 63 
 
 Master : Modern culture ! — H'm. Modern cul- 
 ture ! Gad, those damned words turn my hands 
 into fists ! I want to roar with rage, I — I want 
 to throw the chairs about. Have you not 
 noticed how this " modern culture," how it's 
 destroying beauty ? Can you really look on 
 calmly while it prefers the practicability of 
 speech to its imagery, the colourless costume to 
 the picturesque, while it destroy ceremonies, 
 visits, low bows. In wondrous flowery glades it 
 builds black, smoky masses, leads handsome 
 peasants there and changes their marvellous song 
 into a vicious catch !— Besides, contrasts are 
 necessary for beauty ! Why, it's awful if 
 
 Friend : But, my dear fellow— — 
 
 Master : And you still want to say that you love 
 beauty in all things. Have shame ! The savage 
 has more aesthetic understanding. It's all over. 
 There will be none rich beyond words, none poor 
 beyond words. Venal love, interested crimes, 
 extravagant Yankee millionaires, ravings about 
 gain, picturesque ragamuffins, all that which is 
 so interesting, and gives such beautiful variety 
 to our life, all is falling into dust, all, all ! — It's 
 interesting just to think what contemporary 
 
64 THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 
 
 subjects there will be for the artist. Even war, 
 even that beautiful calamity is swept away with 
 the " no " of modern culture. Oh, this " modern 
 culture " ! You can't imagine a better nursery 
 of vulgarity. It is pitiless to all that is most 
 beautiful. Why, the picturesque little corners of 
 the globe, even they are spoiled with restaurants ! 
 Believe me, there will come an hour when Ameri- 
 canism, that ideal incarnation of vulgarity, will 
 catch up in its paws the last poetical little spot of 
 our much-enduring planet and then 
 
 Friend : And then ? 
 
 Master : The death of art — the decadence of 
 decadence — the empire of the machine — the 
 grandiose factory, and before it an American, in 
 a humble pose and boots he cleans himself 
 
 Friend : H'm — the death of art. Therefore all 
 manifestations of culture should be annihilated, 
 eh ? We ought to look to the Vandals ? Have I 
 understood you properly ? 
 
 Master : My dear old fellow, in the matter of 
 knowledge of the truth, we people of the twentieth 
 century are not so very far from the Vandals, but 
 in the matter of destroying all that is most 
 beautiful, all that most adorns life, we have 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 65 
 
 surpassed the Vandals without doubt : beautiful 
 religion, omnipotent knowledge, pleasurable ethics, 
 we laugh at all these, make nothings of them 
 and — and our soul, frightened and sad, is ready 
 to throw us into acid, into the bed of corruption, 
 under the wheels of a locomotive, if only it could 
 stifle in itself the consciousness of this inex- 
 pressible horror. You understand how greatly 
 a man must suffer for whom God has ceased to 
 exist, but in whom the religious feeling remains, 
 who has lost a reason for fighting, but in whom 
 both the strength and the desire to fight have 
 remained, who wants to possess the truth and 
 knows he is desiring to grasp the moon, who wants 
 to believe in the magical and the marvellous and 
 under whose nose science has swept all magic. 
 
 Friend : But 
 
 Master : I affirm that in man is placed the neces- 
 sity for horrors in a greater measure than the 
 necessity for deliverance from them. Oh, how 
 I want, how I need ghosts and slippery nymphs 
 and vampires with terrible red eyes. This has 
 been found to be vanity and driven away, but 
 at the same time life without it has become still 
 vainer. 
 
66 THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 
 
 Friend : I don't understand ; are you joking 
 or 
 
 Master : Woe to him whose aesthetic taste is too 
 refined ! Woe to him who, as I, looks into the 
 future with bated breath, who desires with all 
 his soul, but does not see there the superman. 
 
 Friend : I don't really understand what you're 
 looking for ! You want the restoration of the 
 long obsolete forms of life. 
 
 Master : My dear friend, although perhaps even 
 very highly respected people spread the report 
 of my madness, it's not really true. I'm not 
 striving for the alteration of social laws. You 
 can't alter the inevitable. But if I could only 
 fight for the beauty of olden life, if I could 
 only count upon the very smallest success, how 
 happy I should be, with what unweariedness, with 
 what ardour I should set to work ! But you 
 remember your evangelist said that the social 
 movement flows naturally from the historical 
 development of society, and, most unfortunately, 
 this is irrefutable. I could shout myself hoarse, 
 crying, "Stop! Whither bound? Go back!" 
 I could shout myself hoarse and not be heard. 
 
 Friend ; It's amusing to listen to you. 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 67 
 
 Master : One must be a great philosopher to be 
 reconciled with actual reality. But I cannot 
 be reconciled ; I'm too proud, and to fight with 
 it is out of the question. And I went away from 
 that reality, I went away, to lose my despair in 
 beautiful folly. 
 
 Friend : Permit me to remark upon this that to 
 say that something is beautiful does not mean to 
 say it is right, and I, in that case 
 
 Master : Better beautiful and wrong, than right 
 and ugly ; in both cases we're a thousand miles 
 away from final truth. 
 
 Friend : Yes, but if you judge in that way 
 
 Master : You understand, I was physically unable 
 to bear any longer the society of those advanced 
 fools. Lord, what a gang ! They poisoned the 
 whole air. If I weren't sorry for the trees, I'd 
 hang 'em all with my own hands ; I'd drown 
 'em all in the sea, if I didn't love the sea, I — I'd 
 shove them all over a precipice, if only there were 
 a precipice they wouldn't overfill ! Write for 
 them ? Write for that mercantile riffraff ? ! 
 
 Friend : But what are you occupied with here ? 
 What do you do, cut off from all the world ? 
 
 Master : We're busy with salting, boiling, pickling, 
 
68 THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 
 
 drying and soaking. We simply don't see time 
 pass: hunting, looking after the estate; just look 
 how many books we've got, let alone papers ! 
 
 Companion : And did you see the tall tower on our 
 house ? We've got a telescope and we look at 
 the skies for hours. And then riding and walking ? 
 
 Master : If only you saw our wonderful marsh, 
 behind the village cemetery. Not only we walk 
 there in the dark midnights— little green fires, 
 sweetly-sad as we, without direction and with- 
 out purpose, move about us and wave 
 
 Companion : We're almost the whole day in the 
 fresh air. 
 
 Master : How strong I've got ! What muscles, 
 
 why (To Companion.) Bring a horseshoe 
 
 or a poker and a pack of cards. (Exit Com- 
 panion.) What do I do ? There ! read his diary. 
 
 Friend (reads) : " Diary of daily events." 
 
 Master : Find to-day's date ! 
 
 Friend : Yes, and then ! 
 
 Master : Read more or less what I was occupied 
 with to-day. (Pours him out mead.) 
 
 Friend (reads) : "In the morning I went hunting 
 with tolerable success, the reason of which was 
 doubly sad thoughts about Anna " 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 69 
 
 Master : That was his aunt. 
 
 Friend : " Still God is good. I wrote to my friend 
 in town to send me another doctor. In the day 
 I personally superintended the arrangement of 
 the bath-house for the winter. Tarass was to 
 dinner." 
 
 Master : A neighbour. 
 
 Friend : " We were much diverted with an anec- 
 dote made upon an oracle. My aunt felt herself 
 so much improved at evening, that she was even 
 desirous to be present at a comic performance 
 of the house-servants, and they, rejoiced at her 
 graciousness, did not spare their efforts to amuse 
 and divert her at discretion." 
 
 Master : And this morning I, too, went hunting, 
 in the daytime I superintended the dismantling 
 of the bath-house, and this evening we, too, shall 
 have a comic performance. (Calls.) Grusha ! 
 Grusha ! 
 
 Friend : H'm. (Bitterly.) It's all right for you 
 to live like this — you've got so much money. 
 
 Master (seriously) : Yes, it is. I'm not complaining. 
 
 Friend : Pah ! Well, I'm damned ! Your frank- 
 ness is very near cynicism. But are you really 
 satisfied with such a life ? (Drinks.) 
 
70 THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 
 
 Master : Agree that it's more beautiful than yours. 
 
 Friend : But the reason for it 
 
 Master : You madden me. What reason ? Can 
 you still keep on hugging that " reason " ? What ! 
 hasn't the senselessness of existence stared you in 
 the face yet ? You haven't yet shrunk with 
 horror at its look ? Wait, wait ! I had too high 
 an opinion of you. The hour will come when it'll 
 happen. The hour will come when the demon of 
 vengeance will awake in you, the terrible demon 
 of vengeance, and when you will want to seize 
 the globe like a stone from the street of the 
 world and throw it with all your force at the 
 great Policeman. [Enter Maid.) 
 
 Friend : Lord, what a passion ! 
 
 Master : A pipe. [Exit Maid.) 
 
 Friend : And you've become a phrase-maker, dear 
 old chap. I hope you're not offended at my 
 frankness, because 
 
 Master : Come, can we be anything else ? It's 
 time at last to recognise that even the cleverest 
 of us, the most talented, the most learned, is no 
 more than a posing phrase-maker. Aren't we 
 all bewitched in a circle of error ; aren't all our 
 reasonings the chatter of children ? 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 71 
 
 Friend : But you're not going to deny that the 
 love of truth which lies in us 
 
 Master : But the love of beauty and the love of 
 pleasure lie in us too. My dear chap, you busy 
 yourself with science and I with hunting, but 
 which is the more important is not for us to 
 decide. I have lost the measure of importance 
 and, thank God ! I can do whatever comes into 
 my mind without pangs of conscience. You 
 understand, we've wasted what is most valuable 
 of our heritage from our ancestors : credible 
 knowledge and sound ethics. Ah ! these lovely 
 sisters, these attentive slaves we've gambled 
 away for that old rake, Scepticism ! — But they 
 have left us, with other old stuff, their gar- 
 ments, their grand motley garments, so-called 
 " phrases " and " poses." Yes, my friend, it's 
 sad, but it's so : there are only phrases and 
 poses left to us. But still, it's good that there's 
 something left : we can divert ourselves with 
 these beautiful rags and remember those who 
 were clad in them, whom they made so charming. 
 To confound you with the charm of the expres- 
 sion, I say, " Let not these rags lie unused in the 
 wardrobe of our affliction ! " 
 
72 THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 
 
 Friend : Bravo, bravo ! 
 
 Master : There are left to us only phrases and 
 poses ! Well ! Let's love them as dear toys are 
 loved. (Maid brings him a pipe.) You smile, 
 but (Smokes.) Jokes aside, without meta- 
 phors, what is there left credible to us beyond 
 self-perception? (To Maid.) Stop! (To Friend.) 
 
 " Do I think it's dull ? " " Well, " " Should 
 
 I like to see a lovely body dance among sharp 
 swords ? " "I should." There's an example of 
 credibility ! Let my desires be absurd, I like 
 them because they are credible for me. Begad, 
 just something there's no doubt about ! (To 
 Maid.) I want to see the " Dance on the Wrathful 
 Road." Go away, undress and exhibit your art! 
 
 Maid (looking at Friend) : But (Master turns 
 
 to her.) Very well, sir. (Exit.) 
 
 Friend : By Jove, I seem to be asleep again, but 
 this time — I don't want to wake up. Your mead 
 is incredibly strong. And it seemed to me that 
 portrait smiled. Who is it ? 
 
 Master : My grandfather. 
 
 Friend : I thought it was you. (Companion puts 
 poker and cards on the table) 
 
 Master : I am such as he was — I'm made of the 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 73 
 
 same dough ; my soul is as masterly as his was. 
 I'm not inferior to him, inferior in no way 
 to him, but still Oh ! {Points to Com- 
 panion.) Ask her how often I stand before this 
 portrait and gnash my teeth with envy, and even 
 weep. (Picks up the poker and bends it.) Tell me, 
 how have I offended fate ? Why am I deprived 
 of the powers and rights and all that importance 
 which he had ? And if it had to be so, was it 
 really necessary to leave me with a soul like his ? 
 Why didn't they tear out of my heart all love 
 of power, all masterly pride, all blue-blooded 
 caprice ? (Enter Servant.) 
 
 Companion : What do you want ? 
 
 Servant : When do you order supper ? 
 
 Master : In an hour. Tell the Arab boy to be 
 quick ! Take up the carpet ! Why is he so long 
 with the swords ? And the fool ? Has he gone 
 to sleep ? Wake him and tell him to bring the 
 tambourines. Then light the chandeliers. And 
 don't forget to burn perfumes ! 
 
 Servant : Very well, sir. (Exit.) 
 
 Friend : All the same I'm sure that if you'd lived 
 in that time, you'd have taken a most ardent 
 part in the movement for emancipation. 
 
74 THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 
 
 Master : Quite possibly. Satiated with power, 
 stung to the quick by the French, thirsting for 
 popularity, taken with the difficulties of the 
 problem — Begad, it's so seductive to be a pioneer. 
 (Picks up cards.) Still, I think I should have 
 been a reactionary. I don't know what would 
 have been, and, what is, oh ! better I didn't ! 
 (Tears the pack of cards in half. Arab boy arranges 
 swords for the dance.) 
 
 Companion : Ah ! here's the black boy. 
 
 Master (smiles) : Young sulks ! 
 
 Friend : What do you keep him for ? 
 
 Master : Isn't he interesting ? 
 
 Companion : In his eyes there is so much longing 
 for the sultry sun and the sweet palms, that 
 beside it our sorrows seem pale and unsub- 
 stantial. 
 
 Friend : Excellent ! 
 
 Master (to Companion) : Play us something. 
 
 Companion (to Friend) : But you like music ? 
 
 Master : He adores it. (To Friend.) Would you 
 like to hear Mozart on the clavichord ? 
 
 Friend : Perhaps the andante from the C sharp ? 
 
 Master : I agree. (Goes to the fire and throws away 
 the halves of the torn cards.) 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 75 
 
 Friend : Listen. For the last time I ask you to 
 come back to us. I can't believe that you could 
 seriously — Lord ! how my head's turning from 
 the mead and everything ! 
 
 Master (coolly) : He who is free from too firm 
 convictions, who has passed through the school 
 of the new Sakya-Muni and the new Zara- 
 thustra, who is far too clever to be ashamed to 
 talk nonsense, who so resembles an Olympian 
 that he is strong enough even to laugh at others' 
 misfortunes — tell me on your conscience, what 
 should such a man do among wretched, grey, 
 blue-eyed neurasthenics, people who to-day or 
 to-morrow will become Americans ! 
 
 Friend : H'm. — Certainly, on those conditions — 
 H'm — you know, it seems to me, the dramatic 
 upshot of your working life would not be so 
 terrible if you actually did go mad. 
 
 Master : You think so ? 
 
 Friend : And know this, whether you'll be angry 
 with me or not, all the same I'll tell everybody 
 at Petersburg that you're mad ! 
 
 Master : What for ? 
 
 Friend : What for ? Can I explain all this to 
 them, are they capable of allowing for — No, 
 
76 THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 
 
 it's impossible. Well, what shall I tell them ; 
 what shall I tell them ? 
 
 Master : Tell them I'm fastidious — after that it's 
 just routine ! Say that I don't want their life ! 
 Be it full of all possible happiness, but — life is 
 a little twig of lilac seized in the hand in the 
 search for happiness, many-leaved happiness. 
 Their life is ugly, withered, confused, soiled — in 
 short, it's the life of the mob, though perhaps great 
 happiness is hidden in it. My life is the twig of 
 lilac which no one yet has touched, in which no 
 one till me has yet sought his happiness 
 
 Friend : You want them to think I'm laughing at 
 them. 
 
 Master : And don't they deserve to be laughed at ? 
 
 Companion (sitting at clavichord) : May I begin ? 
 
 Master : Please ! (Companion plays the andante 
 cantabile from Mozart's sonata in C sharp. Friend 
 listens enraptured. Master stands by the hearth, 
 smiling sadly. After the first few bars of the third 
 part of the andante.) 
 
 Friend (as if raving) : Lord ! Oh, my God ! I'm 
 asleep — I know it — I'm asleep and can't wake 
 up ! Divine Mozart ! You died not long ago ! 
 Oh, my head ! 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 77 
 
 why are there tears in my eyes ? — Divine Mozart ! 
 What was far becomes near — very near. (To 
 Master.) I know the worth of your words — they 
 were all vain — vain— a game, a leap-frog of 
 paradoxes, a dazzling firework of crackling 
 phrases ! I know you're wrong, I know that well, 
 but — my dear fellow — I — I feel for the moment 
 as if you were right. D'you hear — I feel I under- 
 stand it within my mind and — I'm ashamed, I'm 
 absurdly ashamed to be in this grey, this shiny 
 jacket. — Oh, my head ! — It's burning, it's drugged 
 with the floweriness of your words, the theatrical- 
 ness of your poses — it's drunk with the look of 
 this room. Your pathos is contagious ! I've 
 become like you ! I've made myself a faithful 
 mirror. What herbs, what resins are you burn- 
 ing ? Flight ! I want to flee from here ! The 
 seduction is too great ; my soul has become too 
 yielding. I don't want to be infected, I don't 
 want to die, and a life like yours is the beginning 
 of death. You've heard how men that are being 
 hanged or drowning or freezing see magic dreams 
 as they die. This sort of life is such a dream ; 
 this sort of life is the beginning of death. You 
 have separated from us, from all society, from 
 
78 THE BEAUTIFUL DESPOT 
 
 real life, and an early death is inevitable for 
 you ! — It's all the same, whether she comes as 
 madness or in her usual guise — it's inevitable, I 
 tell you. This strong mead has heated my head ; 
 who knows, perhaps it has made me a prophet. — 
 An early death is inevitable for you ! D'you 
 hear, inevitable ! 
 
 Master : Amen. 
 
 Friend : If you permit, I shall sleep here to-night ; 
 I'm too tired, but early to-morrow morning, at 
 sunrise, give me horses, the quickest you have. 
 (A pause. Companion finishes the andante. 
 Master kisses her.) 
 
 Master {passionately) : Hey ! Begin ! Androgyne, 
 where are you ? Quick ! (To Companion.) Play ! 
 I like that " Dance of the Wrathful Road." It's 
 the path of our life. Oh, don't joke ! even we 
 can be serious ! It's the path of our life with 
 its fatal dangers ! One must be very clever not 
 to suffer on this wrathful road. Play, girl ! 
 Grusha, dance ! Begin ! (Companion begins 
 Bach's bourree in E sharp. Fool and Arab laugh 
 merrily. Enter Maid and begins to dance.) 
 
 (Curtain) 
 
THE CHOICE OF A TUTOR 
 By DENIS VON VIZIN 
 
CHARACTERS 
 
 Count and Countess Weakhead 
 Wisely Flatternot 
 
 The Young Count Nurses 
 
 Countess Folliest Pelican 
 
 Servant 
 
THE CHOICE OF A TUTOR 
 
 Scene I 
 
 Countess Weakhead (looking at the time) : It has 
 only just struck eight. Why have you risen so 
 early, Count ? 
 
 Count : In the country it is a good thing to get up 
 a little early. 
 
 Countess : Yes, but not for a count. Your highness 
 ought to live like a count ; we do not have to 
 manage our affairs ; thank God, we own three 
 thousand souls, and it will last our time ; and 
 then I am not educated to look after things. 
 
 Count : True, Countess ; and I do not know any- 
 one of your father's line who would be able to 
 manage affairs. The line of Whirligigs is noble, 
 I agree ; but not one Whirligig can manage 
 affairs. 
 
 Countess : Certainly ; I, although not a countess 
 in my own right, am, however, of a good family 
 g 81 
 
82 THE CHOICE OF A TUTOR 
 
 of nobles, and I think that my line does no dis- 
 credit to the line of the Counts Weakhead. 
 
 Count : Countess, friend, I rose early to-day 
 because I am concerned for the education of our 
 Count Basil. Everyone tells me that he should 
 now have a tutor : where will you find one here 
 in the country ? 
 
 Countess : It seems to me, it would not be a bad 
 thing to discuss it with our marshal. Although 
 he is not ver}^ nice to ladies, yet for Count Basil's 
 sake I am ready to speak to him ; I only fear 
 that he will give our son as instructor such a 
 bear as himself. I mortally dislike serious 
 faces 
 
 Count : I doubt whether Mr. Wisely be capable to 
 choose an instructor for the son of Count Weak- 
 head and his countess, born a Whirligig. 
 
 Countess : However that may be, I have already 
 sent for him. I think that our Mr. Wisely will not 
 be too proud to visit Count Weakhead. There, 
 he has come already. 
 
 Wisely (enters) : You were pleased to send for me, 
 and I supposed that you perhaps called me on 
 urgent business, and did not delay to come to 
 you. 
 
THE CHOICE OF A TUTOR 83 
 
 Countess : I beg you to take a seat and converse 
 with us about a very important matter. 
 
 Wisely {sitting) : What can I do ? 
 
 Count : We have a son of ten years ; we wish to 
 give him a tutor. You are our marshal ; be so 
 kind, advise us. 
 
 Wisely : The matter is important, certainly, as it 
 concerns the education and consequently the 
 well-being of a young noble ; but it is not such 
 an affair that I need to have come to you. 
 
 Count : I feel that it was my duty to go to you 
 myself, but my countess inconsiderately and 
 without asking me sent for you ; excuse the 
 impatience of a countess. 
 
 Wisely : I am not at all offended ; on the con- 
 trary, I am pleased that you would have come to 
 me on this business. By my position I know all 
 our nobles. Recently I made the acquaintance 
 of a gentleman who not long ago bought a small 
 village in our district — a Major Flatternot. If 
 he were to consent to educate your son, would 
 you be pleased ? 
 
 Count {after a pause) : Countess, speak ! 
 
 Countess : A Russian tutor ! I do not like that 
 very much. 
 
84 THE CHOICE OF A TUTOR 
 
 Count : Does he know French ? 
 
 Wisely : Better than many of those Frenchmen 
 
 whom you would be glad to receive in your 
 
 house. 
 Count : What is his character ? 
 Wisely : His name is Flatternot, and he is quite 
 
 worthy of that name. 
 Countess (sotto voce) : A rude fellow, I am sure. 
 Wisely : Is it really to be rude not to natter ? 
 Countess : Almost. 
 Wisely : Allow me to assure you that from the 
 
 person I recommend as instructor for your son 
 
 you will have neither rudeness nor flattery. 
 Count : We, on our side, will neglect nothing to 
 
 show him our respect, and will always call him 
 
 " Your Honour." 
 Wisely : That is, you expect him every minute to 
 
 call you " Your Highness." 
 Countess : It seems to me that everyone should 
 
 be given his proper title, 
 Wisely : But you consent to call him " Your 
 
 Honour " for another reason. 
 Count : Which ? 
 Wisely : So that all should know that your son's 
 
 tutor is a major. 
 
THE CHOICE OF A TUTOR 85 
 
 Countess : And is that a great thing ? My son is 
 a count, and it seems to me that the major is not 
 humbling himself to undertake his education. 
 
 Wisely : Mr. Flatternot certainly will not con- 
 sider it a particular honour to be tutor to your 
 son ; and if he does consent to undertake this 
 position, it will be certainty only in order to be 
 useful to a brother nobleman. 
 
 Countess : I think, however, that rank is merit. 
 
 Wisely : The least of all human merits. To be 
 born a count is not difficult, and one may by 
 right of rank be called " Highness " without 
 having high qualities, such as zealousness to be 
 useful to one's country. You, your highness ! 
 how have you served the country ? 
 
 Count : I was a subaltern in the Guards, with a 
 captain's grade on retirement. 
 
 Wisely : Do not you yourself show the vanity of 
 your rank as count ? I wager that your son, if 
 he is taught by Mr. Flatternot, will have quite 
 another sort of ideas, and will be worthy of the 
 honour which the path of nature opens to him. 
 
 Count : I was unlucky in my service. I could not 
 reach major, and am now obliged to nag about 
 the country. 
 
86 THE CHOICE OF A TUTOR 
 
 Countess (sotto voce) : This man is irritating me ! 
 
 If Mr. Flatternot reached major, I think he will 
 
 teach my son to reach the same. 
 Wisely : Have no doubt of that ; he will teach 
 
 your son to receive promotion in the service of his 
 
 country, and not by bowing in great gentlemen's 
 
 antechambers. 
 Countess : Maid ! Call Count Basil here. 
 Maid : He is not pleased to come. 
 Count : Ask him from us. (Enter the young Count 
 
 and nurses.) 
 Nurse : Come here, Count dear. 
 Second Nurse : Please come here, your highness ! 
 Third Nusre : Your hand, please, your highness ! 
 Young Count {running up to her and giving his 
 
 hand) : There, kiss it. 
 Countess : Count Basil, friend, embrace me. 
 Young Count (holding out his hand to her) : There, 
 
 mother. (Holding out his hand to Wisely.) There. 
 Wisely : I, friend, do not intend to kiss your paw ; 
 
 give it to the Count, your father. 
 Count : And I don't want to. 
 Young Count : Why ? You kissed it yesterda}?, 
 
 father. 
 Count : Shame before a strange person. 
 
THE CHOICE OF A TUTOR 87 
 
 Countess : Shame to love one's son ? 
 
 Wisely : Shame to spoil one's son. 
 
 Countess : You see, sir, that we are educating our 
 
 son as seems proper. 
 Wisely : I see only that you are driving ever- 
 lastingly " Your Highness " into his head. 
 Countess : And it is proper to call him what he is. 
 Wisely : He is a child. 
 Countess : And of what line ? 
 Wisely : A Weakhead. 
 Countess : I hope that he has much of his father's 
 
 blood in him. 
 Wisely : That is, the Weakheads'. 
 Countess : And of his mother's ? (The young Count 
 
 turns away.) 
 Wisely : There, that is your line, the Whirligigs. 
 Countess : Count Basil is very lovable, is he 
 
 not ? 
 Wisely : I do not know if he is lovable, but I see 
 
 that he is much loved by you. 
 Count : I am curious to be acquainted with Mr. 
 
 Flatternot. When could that be ? 
 Wisely : Now, if you wish. 
 Countess : You would much oblige us. 
 Wisely (going out) : I will drive to him at once. 
 
THE CHOICE OF A TUTOR 
 
 Count : I think the marshal will soon bring us Mr. 
 Flatternot. 
 
 Countess : I can imagine no good from it, and, to 
 be sure, I should be furious with regret to hand 
 over Count Basil to the hands of a Russian lout, 
 like Flatternot. 
 
 Count : It will be in our will to take Flatternot or 
 reject him. 
 
 Countess : Count, friend, let us go to our apart- 
 ments, that our expected guests should await us 
 half an hour and see that they have come to your 
 highness. 
 
 Count : For Heaven's sake, don't advise me that, 
 if you do not wish to be a widow quickly. 
 
 Countess : But why ? 
 
 Count : Mr. Flatternot, as I see it, is a man of 
 merit, and certainly, being a major, does not wish 
 to wait in a captain's anteroom ; he will get 
 furious and cut me up. 
 
 Countess : He dares not do this before the marshal. 
 
 Count : Well, you see, madame, that to-day rank 
 alone is not much respected, and people who 
 value it highly are thought fools ; and is Flatter- 
 not likely to contain himself for the marshal when 
 
THE CHOICE OF A TUTOR 89 
 
 Mr. Wisely said to me himself, " There's no pray- 
 ing for fools ? " 
 
 Countess : I cherish the hope that we shall get 
 through without Flatternot. I received a letter 
 to-day from Countess Folliest. She recommends 
 me a French tutor, a Mr. Pelican, and we shall 
 engage him. 
 
 Count: But first we'll have a look at Flatternot. 
 
 Countess : Maybe ; I consent. 
 
 Servant (entering) : Your highness, the marshal 
 has come with a strange gentleman. 
 
 Count : I'll go to meet him ; but you, Countess, 
 receive them here. 
 
 Scene II 
 
 Count : Countess, this is Mr. Flatternot. Mr. 
 Flatternot, my wife. 
 
 Flatternot (kissing Countess's hand) : I recom- 
 mend myself to your highnesses' favour as a 
 neighbour and nobleman of these parts. 
 
 Count : I beg you to be seated. Our respected 
 marshal, no doubt, has already told you of our 
 desire, just as we heard from him of your pro- 
 posal to take charge of a young nobleman ? 
 
go THE CHOICE OF A TUTOR 
 
 Flatternot : He has informed me of everything ; 
 but beforehand I ought to hear from you your- 
 selves what education you intend to give your 
 son : what you wish to teach him, and to pre- 
 pare him for which service ? 
 
 Count : I wished to hear of this from you. 
 
 Flatternot : I should think to educate his mind 
 as is fitting for a nobleman. 
 
 Countess : Of the rank of count ! 
 
 Flatternot : I do not understand ; what differ- 
 ence do you find between the rank of nobleman 
 and count ? 
 
 Countess : I find, sir, this difference, that a count 
 should be more careful than a nobleman that no 
 one is lacking in respect of him. 
 
 Count : A count should be more delicate than a 
 nobleman on the point of his honour. . . . 
 (A page is missing here in the original manuscript.) 
 
 Countess : But I thought that nature and rank 
 were the same thing. 
 
 Wisely : You hear, madame, that a natural count 
 may be also a natural fool. 
 
 Countess : And so Mr. Flatternot is not pleased 
 that our son should know he is a count, and does 
 not wish to give him the title of " Highness." 
 
THE CHOICE OF A TUTOR 91 
 
 Flatternot : I would not take upon myself the 
 sin — do not be angry with me — to turn a little 
 boy's head, like your son's, with fancies about his 
 countship, highness, and similar folly ; but I shall 
 strive hard to set into his head and heart that he, 
 being of noble birth, should possess, also, a noble 
 mind. 
 
 Countess : And that is not a bad thing. But what 
 are you thinking about, Count ? 
 
 Count : I am thinking of what I hear, and can 
 think about nothing ; I know it's dinner-time, and 
 I beg you, marshal, and you, sir, to dine with me. 
 
 Flatternot : At your service. 
 
 Servant : Dinner is served. 
 
 Count : Come. 
 
 Scene III 
 
 Countess (alone) : Thank Heaven that dinner is 
 over ! I have come here to rest from the con- 
 versation of the marshal and Flatternot ; Heaven 
 protect us from such fault-finders ! At dinner I 
 received a letter from Countess Folliest ; I did 
 not manage to read it ; now I'll read it at my 
 leisure. (Reads.) " Dear Countess, — If you 
 wish, you can take Mr. Pelican now as tutor for 
 
92 THE CHOICE OF A TUTOR 
 
 Count Basil. The Frenchman is full of abilities ; 
 he draws teeth expertly and cuts corns." Oh, 
 what luck ! He can cut corns too, and I so want 
 some one ! " He will take a moderate salary, 
 and will call you, Countess, as well as the Count : 
 votre altesse ! " {Enter Count.) 
 
 Countess : Oh, my dear Count ! Countess Folliest 
 is doing us a great favour ; she has found a tutor 
 for Count Basil who can also draw teeth and cut 
 corns ; and, what is most important, he will call 
 us : votre altesse ! 
 
 Count : What could be better ? {Enter Wisely and 
 Flatter not) 
 
 Count : What would you wish to teach my son ? 
 
 Flatternot : First of all, the principles of the 
 faith in which he was born. 
 
 Countess : And dancing ? 
 
 Flatternot : You are pleased to joke. 
 
 Count : And what foreign languages ? 
 
 Flatternot : I begin with Latin. 
 
 Countess : But is he to be a priest ? 
 
 Flatternot : But is Latin only fit for priests ? 
 
 Count : I do not know why a count's son should 
 learn Latin. 
 
THE CHOICE OF A TUTOR 93 
 
 Flatternot : Because it is the root of many 
 
 languages. 
 Countess : Well, I never. 
 Count (to her) : Do not forget to send an answer 
 
 quickly to Countess Folliest. 
 Countess : At once. We will come back at once. 
 
 Excuse us that we have to send off a postilion to 
 
 our neighbour. 
 Flatternot : At your service. (Exeunt Count and 
 
 Countess.) 
 Wisely : Do you find the Count's household as I 
 
 described it to you ? 
 Flatternot : Exactly. But it seems to me I am 
 
 already beginning to be a burden to them. 
 Wisely : Yes, and they do not seem to be very 
 
 contented with me. (To Servant.) Have my 
 
 carriage got ready, friend. (To Flatternot.) We 
 
 can go away at once. 
 Countess (entering, to Count) : I have invited the 
 
 Countess herself with Pelican ; maybe Count 
 
 Basil will have a tutor after our heart. 
 Count (aloud) : Here we are, gentlemen. We have 
 
 hurried back to enjoy your conversation. 
 Flatternot : A great honour. 
 
94 THE CHOICE OF A TUTOR 
 
 Countess : I wanted to ask you, Mr. Wisely, do 
 you think it would be good to send our son to 
 France in ten years' time ? 
 
 Wisely : You are looking far ahead, madame. We 
 do not know whether in ten years' time there 
 will be anyone to send or anyone to send 
 him to. 
 
 Flatternot : And I say in addition that we cannot 
 foresee whether in ten years' time France itself 
 will exist if the French gentlemen do not soon 
 cease their runnings about. 
 
 Wisely : There is what a kingdom has come to, 
 which all Europe for so many years has wished to 
 imitate in everything. When I read descriptions 
 of the ruinous condition of France, I should like 
 to know against which political rule the French 
 aim in establishing equality of condition. 
 
 Count : I do not understand it. 
 
 Wisely (to Flatternot) : I have not happened to 
 speak with you of this ; I should like to know 
 your opinion of it. 
 
 Flatternot : I do not undertake at all to decide 
 your question ; but I am ready to offer my 
 opinion for your judgment. Here it is : nowhere 
 and never^have been or can be such laws as would 
 
THE CHOICE OF A TUTOR 95 
 
 make every individual man happy. It is indis- 
 pensably necessary that one part of the subjects 
 should sacrifice something for the sake of the 
 whole kingdom ; consequently there cannot be 
 equality of position. That is the invention of 
 the lying philosophers who by their eloquent 
 intellectualisms have led the French to their 
 present situation. They, desiring to avert the 
 abuse of power, are endeavouring to destroy the 
 form of government by which France has at- 
 tained all her glory. For all this, however much 
 the attempt may and will cost them, they will 
 never attain an equality of situation, whatever 
 laws they make ; for one part of the subjects will 
 always require the sacrifice of another. That is 
 what I think of the present French legislation. 
 
 Wisely : But if there cannot be laws to make 
 every individual man happy, then what sort of 
 legislation is left ? 
 
 Flatternot : It remains to calculate that the 
 number of sacrifices should be proportionate to 
 the number of those for whose happiness sacrifices 
 are made. 
 
 Wisely : So a legislator ought to be a great 
 calculator. 
 
96 THE CHOICE OF A TUTOR 
 
 Flatternot : But these political calculations de- 
 mand a far more excellent mind than is wanted 
 for mathematical calculations. You can value 
 a hundred Eulers for one Colbert and a thousand 
 Colberts for one Montesquieu. 
 
 Wisely : But why ? 
 
 Flatternot : Because in mathematics from one 
 certainty one goes on to another mechanically, so 
 to speak, and the mathematician has before him 
 all the discoveries of his predecessors ; he needs 
 to have only patience and ability to use them ; 
 but previous discoveries do not lead the politician 
 on the right path. The mathematician reckons 
 with figures, the politician with passions ; in a 
 word, the political sense is and ought to be 
 incomparably higher and is much more rarely 
 met with than the mathematical. 
 
 Wisely : Oh, how blessed is that land where 
 such a rare political sense sits upon the 
 throne ! 
 
 Flatternot : And how happy those who are 
 citizens of such a land ! (To the Count.) Of 
 what are you thinking, Count ? 
 
 Count : I do not understand anything of what you 
 both were talking about. 
 
THE CHOICE OF A TUTOR 97 
 
 Wisely : And have you heard that there are now 
 
 no counts in France ? 
 Countess : That is almost incredible ; I did hear 
 
 something, but I could not believe it. 
 Wisely : Do you really not understand the French 
 
 troubles ? 
 Count : I believe that they are great if they put 
 
 counts on the same level as other people. 
 Flatternot : When your son goes to France, he 
 
 will not be a count. 
 Countess : Then I shall not send him there — not 
 
 for anything ! 
 Servant (enters) : Countess Folliest has been pleased 
 
 to come, with a stranger. 
 Countess : I go to meet the benefactress of our 
 
 house. (Countess Folliest enters.) 
 Both Countesses : Your highness ! 
 Countess Folliest : I present Mr. Pelican to you. 
 Pelican (grimacing) : Votre altesse ! 
 Countess Folliest : Here is a tutor for your son, 
 
 dear Countess. 
 Pelican (grimacing) : Votre altesse ! 
 Wisely : I know that ugly face. 
 Pelican (sees Wisely and runs away, shrieking) : I 
 
 don't want be here, I don't ! 
 
 H 
 
98 THE CHOICE OF A TUTOR 
 
 Countess Folliest : What has happened to him ? 
 
 Wisely : I will solve the riddle for you. That 
 empty-headed Frenchman was a nurse's assistant 
 in an almshouse in France ; he can draw teeth 
 and cut corns — nothing else. He came to Russia, 
 and I found him in another neighbourhood, where 
 I have an estate, among the teachers of young 
 noblemen. I considered it my duty to inform 
 the Governor of this, and he, thinking such vaga- 
 bonds harmful to the country, cleared him out 
 on my representation, and therefore, when he 
 saw me here, he ran away, fearing evidently that 
 I shall clear him out by the neck again. How- 
 ever that may be, I shall see the Governor to- 
 morrow and endeavour to remove him from our 
 district in twenty-four hours. 
 
 Countess : Marshal, moderate your strictness at 
 our request. 
 
 Wisely : Countess, you are free to follow or not 
 follow my advice as to the education of your son 
 by the person I have introduced to you ; but I, 
 as marshal of the nobility, cannot endure that 
 such a rascal should be in our midst to corrupt 
 the hearts and heads of young noblemen. 
 
 Countess (to herself) : If I had thought, by sending 
 
THE CHOICE OF A TUTOR 99 
 
 for the marshal to find an instructor for our son, 
 we would lose through him a competent tutor 
 who would come into the room and give us our 
 due at once by calling me and my husband, votre 
 altesse ! 
 
 Countess Folliest : Why is the marshal at your 
 house ? 
 
 Flatternot : I came here on the invitation of the 
 marshal, who is zealous for the advantage of 
 noblemen ; but now I shall not consent for any- 
 thing in the world to be the instructor of a boy 
 whose parents are infected entirely by fancies 
 about rank. 
 
 Wisely {to Count and Cotmtess) : Your humble 
 servant ! In advance, do not expect me again. 
 
 Count : As you wish. 
 
 Countess : Countess, let us go to our apartments. 
 {Exeunt Count and Countesses.) 
 
 Flatternot : Queer people ! Tell me, what guides 
 their thoughts and deeds ? 
 
 Wisely : What guides them ? Silly pride. 
 
 (Curtain) 
 
THE WEDDING 
 By ANTON CHEHOV 
 
CHARACTERS 
 
 Aplombov Dashenka 
 
 Jigalov Mrs. Jigalov 
 
 Miss Zmewkin Yat 
 
 DlMBA MOZGOVY 
 
 Captain Revunov-Karayijlov 
 M.C. Newnin 
 
 Guests Waiters 
 
THE WEDDING 
 
 (A brightly lit room, with a big table laid for supper. 
 Around the table bustle waiters in frock-coats. The 
 last figure of a quadrille can be heard. Enter Miss 
 Zmewkin — accoucheuse, thirty years old, in a bright 
 scarlet dress — Mr. Yat, and the Master of Cere- 
 monies. They pass across the stage.) 
 
 Zmewkin : No ! No ! No ! 
 
 Yat (following) : Be merciful ! Be merciful ! 
 
 Zmewkin : No ! No ! No ! 
 
 Master of Ceremonies (hurrying after them) : 
 Please, you mustn't, you mustn't ! Where are 
 you going ? But the grand-chain, silvooplay. 
 (Exeunt. Enter Mrs. N astasia Jigalov, mother of 
 the bride, and Aplombov, the bridegroom.) 
 
 Nastasia : Instead of worrying me with all your 
 talk, you'd do better to go and dance ! 
 
 Aplombov : I'm not Spinosa anyhow, to make 
 cracknels of my legs. I'm a man of position and 
 103 
 
104 THE WEDDING 
 
 character, and I don't find any distraction in 
 empty pleasures. But this has nothing to do with 
 dancing. Excuse me, Mama, but I don't under- 
 stand a lot of your behaviour. For instance, 
 besides all the things for the house, you promised 
 to give me your two lottery-tickets with your 
 daughter. Where are they ? 
 
 Nastasia : How my head aches ! — If this weather 
 keeps on, there ought to be a thaw. 
 
 Aplombov : You won't wear my teeth out with 
 talking ! I found out to-day that your tickets 
 were pledged at the bank. Excuse me, Mama, 
 but only exploiters behave like that. Now, I'm 
 not speaking from selfishness — I don't want your 
 tickets ! — but from principle ; I don't let any- 
 body deceive me. I've made your daughter 
 happy, and, if you don't hand me over those 
 tickets to-day, I'll eat your daughter with 
 pudding ! I'm a man of noble feelings. 
 
 Nastasia {looking at the table and counting the 
 places) : One, two, three, four, five 
 
 Servant : The cook wants to know how you order 
 the ices to be served, with rum, with madeira, 
 or without anything. 
 
 Aplombov : With rum. And tell the proprietor 
 
THE WEDDING 105 
 
 there's only a little wine. Tell him to send up 
 some Haut-Sauterne. (To Nastasia.) And you 
 promised and we agreed that a general would be 
 at the supper to-night. Where is he, I should like 
 to know. 
 
 Nastasia : It's not my fault, my dear ! 
 
 Aplombov : Whose, then ? 
 
 Nastasia : Andrew's fault. Yesterday he was 
 here and promised to bring a real general. (Sighs.) 
 He can't have found one or he'd have brought 
 him. You don't think we begrudge the expense ? 
 We grudge our children nothing. But, after all, 
 what's a general ! 
 
 Aplombov : Well again, surely you knew, Mama, 
 that this telegraph fellow, Yat, was running after 
 Dashenka until I proposed to her ? Why did 
 you invite him ? Didn't you really know that 
 he's an enemy of mine ? 
 
 Nastasia : Oh, Epaminondas, what's the matter 
 with you ? The wedding-day isn't over yet and 
 already you're tiring me and Dashenka to death 
 with your talking. What will it be like as time 
 goes on ? You're wearisome, wearisome. 
 
 Aplombov : It isn't nice to hear the truth ? Ha, 
 ha. There you are. But act nobly ! Only one 
 
106 THE WEDDING 
 
 thing I ask of you — be noble ! {Through the room, 
 from one door to the other couples pass, dancing the 
 grand-chain. The first couple is Dashenka and the 
 Master of Ceremonies, behind them Yat and Z mew- 
 kin. They stop dancing and stay in the room. 
 Enter Jigalov and Dimba, and go to the table.) 
 
 Master of Ceremonies : Promenade ! Messieu's, 
 promenade ! [Off.) Promenade ! {Exeunt the 
 couples.) 
 
 Yat : Be merciful ! Be merciful, enchanting Miss 
 Zmewkin ! 
 
 Zmewkin : Oh ! what a man you are ! I've told 
 you already I'm not in voice. 
 
 Yat : I entreat you, sing ! Only one note ! Be 
 merciful ! Only one note ! 
 
 Zmewkin : I'm tired. {Sits down and fans her- 
 self.) 
 
 Yat : No, you're simply pitiless ! Such an in- 
 human creature, permit me to use the expression, 
 and such a wonderful, wonderful voice. With a 
 voice like that, excuse the expression, you ought 
 not to be an accoucheuse, but singing at public 
 concerts. For instance, how divinely the trills 
 emerge from you in that one {sings) : "I loved 
 you, my love is yet in vain." — Wonderful ! 
 
THE WEDDING 107 
 
 Zmewkin {sings) : " I loved you, perhaps I still 
 may love." — That one ? 
 
 Yat : That's the one ! Wonderful ! 
 
 Zmewkin : No, I'm not in voice to-day. Take my 
 fan, fan me ; it's so hot. (To Aplombov.) Why 
 are you so melancholy ? Can a bridegroom really 
 be like that ? Aren't you ashamed, you con- 
 trary man ? What are you thinking about ? 
 
 Aplombov : Marriage is a serious step. You 
 have to consider everything from all points of 
 view 
 
 Zmewkin : How contrary you all are ! What 
 sceptics ! Beside you I feel stifled ! Give me 
 atmosphere ! Do you hear ? Give me atmo- 
 sphere ! (Sings.) 
 
 Yat : Wonderful. Wonderful ! 
 
 Zmewkin : Fan me, fan me ! I feel my heart is 
 just going to break. Tell me, please ; why do 
 I feel so hot ? 
 
 Yat : Because you perspire. 
 
 Zmewkin : Pfui ! What a vulgar creature you are ! 
 Don't dare speak to me like that ! 
 
 Yat : I beg your pardon. You have been used, I 
 know, to, excuse the expression, aristocratic 
 company, and 
 
io8 THE WEDDING 
 
 Zmewkin : Oh ! let me be ! Give me poetry, 
 ecstasy ! Fan me ! Fan me ! 
 
 Jigalov (to Dimba) : We'll have another, eh ? I 
 can drink any time. The chief thing, Dimba, 
 is not to forget one's affairs. Drink, and under- 
 stand your affairs ! And as for drinking, why 
 not drink ? Drinking's allowed ; your health ! 
 (Drinks.) Tell me, have you got tigers in Greece ? 
 
 Dimba : Yes. 
 
 Jigalov : And lions ? 
 
 Dimba : Yes, lions too. In Russia there is 
 nothing, but in Greece everything. My father's 
 there and my uncle and my brothers, and here 
 nothing. 
 
 Jigalov : But have you got whales in Greece ? 
 
 Dimba : We've everything there. 
 
 Nastasia (to her husband) : Why all this random 
 drinking and eating ? It's time we all sat down. 
 Don't stick a fork in the lobster ! It's for the 
 general. Perhaps he'll come after all. 
 
 Jigalov : Have you got lobsters in Greece ? 
 
 Dimba : Yes, we've everything there. 
 
 Zmewkin : I'm just thinking — what atmosphere in 
 Greece ! 
 
 Jigalov : And probably a lot of trickery. Greeks 
 
THE WEDDING 109 
 
 are all just the same as Armenians and gypsies. 
 They'll give you a sponge or a goldfish, but all 
 the time they're watching their chance to relieve 
 you of your superfluities. We'll have another, 
 eh? 
 
 Nastasia : What are all these anothers ? It's 
 time we all sat down. It's twelve o'clock. 
 
 Jigalov : Sit down, then, sit down ! (Calls.) 
 Ladies and gentlemen, I humbly entreat you. 
 Please. Supper ! Young people ! 
 
 Nastasia : Welcome, dear guests. Be seated. 
 
 Zmewkin (sits at the table) : Give me poetry ! " But 
 ah ! the rebel, sought the storm, as in the storm 
 were peace." Give me storm ! 
 
 Yat (aside) : Remarkable woman ! I'm in love — 
 up to the ears in love ! (Enter the company. They 
 take their seats noisily at the table ; a minute's 
 pause, the band plays a march.) 
 
 Mozgovy (in the uniform of a naval volunteer, 
 rising) : Ladies and gentlemen ! I must tell you 
 this ; there are many toasts and speeches waiting 
 for us. We won't wait. We'll begin at once. 
 Ladies and gentlemen, I ask you to drink a toast 
 to the bride and bridegroom. (The band plays a 
 flourish. "Hurrah!" Clinking of glasses.) 
 
no THE WEDDING 
 
 Mozgovy : It's bitter ! 
 
 All : Bitter ! Bitter ! (Aplombov and Dashenka 
 kiss.) 
 
 Yat : Wonderful, wonderful ! I must express to 
 you, ladies and gentlemen, with the utmost 
 veracity, that this room and the place in general 
 are magnificent. Superlatively enchanting. — 
 But do you know why it does not partake of a 
 complete triumph ? There's no electric light, 
 excuse the expression. Electric light has been 
 introduced already in all countries ; only Russia 
 is left behind. 
 
 Jigalov (thoughtfully) : Electric — h'm. But to my 
 idea, electric light is just trickery. They put a 
 little bit of coal there and think they can deceive 
 your eyes with it. No, friend, if you give light, 
 then don't give coal, but something real, some- 
 thing special, something you can take hold of. 
 Give a light, you understand, a light which is 
 something and not simply an idea. 
 
 Yat : If only you were to see what an electric 
 battery is composed of, you'd think differently. 
 
 Jigalov : I don't want to see it. Trickery ! They 
 deceive simple folk, and squeeze them to the last 
 drop. We know that sort of people. And you, 
 
THE WEDDING in 
 
 young man, instead of defending trickery, would 
 have done better to drink and pour out for others. 
 That's the truth ! 
 
 Aplombov : I quite agree with you, dear papa. 
 Why introduce scientific discourses ? I myself 
 am ready to speak about certain discoveries, 
 but then there's another time for that. {To 
 Dashenka.) What's your opinion, ma chere ? 
 
 Dashenka : They like to show their education and 
 always speak about something one can't under- 
 stand. 
 
 N astasia : Heavens ! We have lived our time 
 without education, and now we're marrying our 
 third daughter to a fine husband. If you think 
 we are uneducated, why do you come to us ? 
 Be off with your education ! 
 
 Yat : Madame, I always take your family into con- 
 sideration, and if I spoke about electric light it 
 does not signify that I did so from pride. Your 
 healths ! I always with all my heart wished 
 Dashenka a good husband. It is hard nowadays, 
 Madame, to find a good man. Nowadays every- 
 one watches his chance to marry for interest, for 
 money 
 
 Aplombov : That is an insinuation ! 
 
ii2 THE WEDDING 
 
 Yat {fearfully) : No, there's no allusion to any- 
 body ! I'm not speaking of present company. 
 I was speaking just in general — please ! I know 
 well that you married for love and the dowry's 
 nothing. 
 
 Nastasia : No, it isn't nothing ! Don't forget your- 
 self, sir, when you speak ! Beside a thousand 
 roubles in actual coin, we are giving three sets 
 of furs, bedding and all the furniture. Just see if 
 other people give dowries like that. 
 
 Yat : I don't mean anything — the furniture is 
 really beautiful and — and the furs certainly — but 
 I mean they took offence that I made insinua- 
 tions. 
 
 Nastasia : Don't make insinuations ! We respect 
 you for your parents and we invited you to the 
 wedding, but you say all sorts of things. And 
 if you knew that Epaminondas was marrying for 
 interest, why did you say nothing beforehand ? 
 {Weeps.) Perhaps — I have nourished her and 
 cared for her and looked after her — I should have 
 guarded better my emerald, my jewel, my 
 daughter 
 
 Aplombov : You believe him ? I most humbly 
 thank you ! I'm very grateful Indeed to you. 
 
THE WEDDING 113 
 
 (To Yat.) As for you, Mr. Yat, although you are 
 an acquaintance of mine, I don't allow you to 
 behave so badly in a strange house. Have the 
 goodness to go away ! 
 
 Yat : What's the matter ? 
 
 Aplombov : I wish you were as honourable as I 
 am ! In short, have the goodness to go away ! 
 
 Gentlemen (to Aplombov) : Now, stop ! Remember 
 where you are ! Never mind ! Sit down ! Stop ! 
 
 Yat : I didn't mean anything — You know, I — I 
 don't understand. Excuse me, I'm going. Only 
 give me first the five roubles you owe me from 
 last year for the waistcoat, excuse the expres- 
 sion. Your health again and — and I'm going ; 
 only first pay me what you owe. 
 
 Gentlemen : Now, let it be, let it be. Enough ! 
 Is all this nonsense worth while ? 
 
 Master of Ceremonies (loudly) : To the health 
 of the parents of the bride, Mr. and Mrs. Jigalov ! 
 (Band plays a flourish. " Hurrah.") 
 
 Jigalov (bows with emotion on all sides) : Thank 
 you, dear guests. I am very grateful to you not 
 to have forgotten us and to have been good enough 
 not to ignore us. And don't think I've got crafty 
 in my old age, or that there's any trickery ; I say 
 
ii4 THE WEDDING 
 
 simply my feelings, from the bottom of my heart. 
 
 I grudge nothing to good people. We humbly 
 
 thank you. (Kisses all round.) 
 Dashenka (to her mother) : Mama dear, why are you 
 
 crying ? I am so happy. 
 Aplombov : Mama is upset at the separation. But 
 
 I would advise her instead to remember our 
 
 recent conversation ! 
 Yat : Don't cry, Madame ! You think that such 
 
 tears are natural ? Not at all, simply a low- 
 spirited nervous system 
 
 Jigalov : And are there chestnuts in Greece ? 
 Dimba : Yes, there's everything there. 
 Jigalov : But not mushrooms. 
 Dimba : Yes, mushrooms too. Everything ! 
 Mozgovy : Mr. Dimba, it's your turn to make a 
 
 speech. Ladies and gentlemen, allow Mr. Dimba 
 
 to make a speech. 
 All (to Dimba) : Speech ! Speech ! Your turn ! 
 Dimba : What for ? I don't understand what — 
 
 what's the matter ? 
 Jigalov : No, no ! Don't dare refuse ! It's your 
 
 turn ! Up you get ! 
 Dimba (rises in confusion) : I can say — Russia is 
 
 one thing and Greece is another. Now the people 
 
THE WEDDING 115 
 
 in Greece are one thing, and the people in Russia 
 are another. And the " karavia " which sail on 
 the sea you call ships, and those that go on land 
 you call railways — I understand well. We are 
 Greeks, you are Russians, and I want nothing — 
 I can say — Russia is one thing and Greece is 
 another. [Enter Newnin.) 
 
 Newnin : Stop, ladies and gentlemen, don't go on 
 eating ! Wait a little ! Madame, just half a 
 minute ! Please come here ! {Takes Nastasia 
 aside, breathlessly.) Listen, the general's just 
 coming. At last I've found one. I was simply 
 in agony. A real general, in the flesh, old, eighty, 
 perhaps, or ninety, years old 
 
 Nastasia : When is he coming ? 
 
 Newnin : This very moment. You'll be grateful 
 to me all your life. He's not a general, he's a 
 peach ! A marvel ! Not any foot regiment, not 
 infantry at all, but navy ! In rank he's a second- 
 grade captain, and with them, in the navy, that's 
 just the same as a field-marshal or, in civil rank, 
 a privy councillor. Absolutely the same ! Even 
 higher ! 
 
 Nastasia : You're not deceiving me, Andrew ? 
 
 Newnin : Now, am I a rascal ? Don't you worry. 
 
n6 THE WEDDING 
 
 Nastasia (sighing) : I don't want to waste money, 
 Andrew. 
 
 Newnin : Don't you worry. He's not a general, 
 he's a work of art ! (Raises his voice.) And I 
 said to him, " You've quite forgotten us, your 
 excellency," I said. " It's not right, your ex- 
 cellency, to forget old friends ! Mrs. Jigalov is 
 very angry with you," I said. (Goes to table and 
 sits down.) And he said, " My dear friend, how 
 can I go if I am not a friend of the bridegroom's ? " 
 " Oh, that's being too much, your excellency," I 
 said. " What ceremonies ! The bridegroom," 
 I said, " is a most charming, open-hearted man. 
 To be working with an appraiser at the bank, 
 you don't think, your excellency, this is a young 
 good-for-nothing. Why," I said, " nowadays 
 even noble ladies work at banks." He clapped 
 me on the shoulder, I smoked a Havana with him, 
 and now he's coming. Wait just a moment, 
 ladies and gentlemen, don't go on eating ! 
 
 Aplombov : And when is he coming ? 
 
 Newnin : This moment. When I left him, he was 
 already putting on his goloshes. Wait just a 
 moment, ladies and gentlemen, don't go on 
 eating ! 
 
THE WEDDING 117 
 
 Aplombov : We must tell them to play a march. 
 
 Newnin (loudly) : Hey, musicians ! A march ! 
 (Band plays a march.) 
 
 Servant (announcing) : Mr. Revunov-Karayulov ! 
 (Jigalov, Nastasia, and Newnin run to meet him. 
 Enter Revunov-Karayulov .) 
 
 Nastasia : Welcome, welcome, your excellency. 
 Very kind 
 
 Revunov-Karayulov : Extremely ! 
 
 Jigalov : Your excellency, we are not eminent, 
 not exalted people, but simple folk ; but do not 
 think there is any trickery on our side. There is 
 always the first place in our house for good 
 people ; we grudge them nothing. Welcome ! 
 
 Revunov-Karayulov : Extremely pleased ! 
 
 Newnin : Allow me to introduce the bridegroom, 
 Mr. Aplombov, your excellency, and his newly- 
 born — I mean, newly-wed — wife ! And this is 
 Mr. Yat, of the telegraph. This is Mr. Dimba, a 
 foreign gentleman of Greek nationality, in the 
 confectionery profession. And so on, and so on — 
 the rest are all — rubbish. Take a seat, your 
 excellency. 
 
 Revunov-Karayulov : Extremely ! Excuse me, 
 ladies and gentlemen, I just want to say two 
 
n8 THE WEDDING 
 
 words to Andrew. {Takes Newnin aside.) I'm a 
 little confused, my friend. Why did you call me 
 " your excellency " ? I'm not a general, I'm a 
 second-grade captain, and that's lower than a 
 colonel. 
 
 Newnin (shouts in his ear) : Oh, yes, yes, I 
 know, but allow us to call you " your excel- 
 lency " ! The family here, you know, is patri- 
 archal, it respects the aged, it loves respect for 
 rank. 
 
 REVUNOV-KARAYtiLOV : Well, if that's the case, 
 then by all means ! (They go to the table.) Ex- 
 tremely ! 
 
 Nastasia : Take a seat, your excellency. Be so 
 kind ! Take something to eat, your excellency. 
 Only excuse us, at home you must be used to 
 everything elegant, but with us it's all simple. 
 
 Revunov-Karayijlov (hearing badly) : What ? 
 H'm — Oh, yes. (Pause.) Oh, yes. In the old 
 times people always lived simply and were satis- 
 fied. I am a man with a certain rank and yet I 
 live simply. To-day Andrew came to me and 
 invited me to the wedding. " How can I go," I 
 said, " if I don't know them ? It's not the proper 
 thing." But he said, " These are simple people, 
 
THE WEDDING 119 
 
 patriarchal, pleased to welcome guests." " Well," 
 I said, " by all means, if that's the case ! Why 
 not ? Very glad. It's dull for me at home alone, 
 and if my presence at the wedding can cause any 
 pleasure, so do me the favour," said I, 
 
 Jigalov : You really mean it, your excellency ? 
 I esteem you for it. I'm a simple man myself, 
 without any trickery, and I esteem such people. 
 Take something to eat, your excellency. 
 
 Aplombov : You have been long retired, your 
 excellency ? 
 
 Revunov-Karayulov : Eh ? Oh, yes, yes, that's 
 so. True. Yes. But excuse me, what's all this ? 
 Bitter herrings and bitter bread ! One can't eat 
 anything ! 
 
 All : Bitter ! Bitter ! (Aplombov and Dashenka 
 kiss.) 
 
 Revunov-Karayulov : Hee, hee, hee. Your 
 healths (Pause.) Yes ! In the old days all 
 was simple and everyone was satisfied. I love 
 simplicity. I'm an old man ; I retired in '65 ; 
 I'm seventy-two years old. (Sees Mozgovy.) 
 You're a sailor, then ? 
 
 Mozgovy : Yes, I am. 
 
 Revunov-Karayulov : Aha ! So ! Yes ! Service 
 
120 THE WEDDING 
 
 at sea was always hard. There are things to 
 ponder and split your head about. Every in- 
 significant word has, so to speak, its separate 
 meaning. For instance — the fore-topman in the 
 shrouds on the top-gallant lashings ! What does 
 that mean ? A sailor understands ! Hee, hee. 
 Now where's your mathematics ! 
 
 Newnin : The health of his excellency, Captain 
 Revunov-Karayulov ! (Band plays a flourish. 
 " Hurrah.") 
 
 Yat : Your excellency, you were pleased just now 
 to express yourself on the subject of the hard- 
 ness of naval service. But tell me if the tele- 
 graph's any easier ? Nowadays, your excellency, 
 no one can enter the telegraph service unless he 
 can read and write French and German. But the 
 hardest thing we have to do is the transmission 
 of telegrams. Terribly hard. Please listen a 
 moment. (Raps with a fork on the table, imitating 
 a telegraphic apparatus) 
 
 Revunov-Karayulov : What's that ? 
 
 Yat : That's for : I esteem you, your excellency, 
 for your virtues. You think it's easy ? And 
 again. (Raps.) 
 
 Revunov-Karayulov : Louder. I can't hear you. 
 
THE WEDDING 121 
 
 Yat : And that's for : Madame, how happy lam 
 to clasp you in my embraces ! 
 
 Revunov-Karayulov : What lady ? Yes. (To 
 Mozgovy.) And then, suppose it's blowing half 
 a gale and you've got — you've got to hoist the 
 foretop halliards and the tops'l gallants. You 
 must give the order : " Mount the rigging to the 
 foretop halliards and the tops'l gallants," and at 
 the same time as they loose the sails on the stays, 
 below they are standing to the main lashings and 
 the tops'l gallant halliards 
 
 Master of Ceremonies (rising) : Dear ladies and 
 gentle 
 
 Revunov-Karayulov (breaking in) : Yes ! A few 
 other commands ? Yes ! To furl the foretop 
 halliards and the tops'l gallants ! Good ? Now 
 what does that mean, what's the meaning of it ? 
 It's very simple. To furl, you know, the foretop 
 halliards and the tops'l gallants and hoist the 
 mains'l — all at once ! They must level the fore- 
 topmains and the tops'l gallant halliards on the 
 hoist ; at the same time, there's the necessity of 
 strengthening the braces of all the sails ; and 
 when the stays are taut and the braces raised 
 all round, then the foretop halliards and the 
 
122 THE WEDDING 
 
 tops'l gallants, settling conformably with the 
 direction of the wind 
 
 Newnin : Your excellency, the host begs you to 
 speak of something else. The guests don't under- 
 stand all this, and it's dull. 
 
 REVUNOV-KARAYtjLOV : What ? Who's dull ? (To 
 Mozgovy.) Young man, suppose the vessel is 
 lying by the wind, on the starboard course, under 
 full stretch of canvas, and you have to bring her 
 over before the wind ? What orders must you 
 give ? Why, this : Whistle all hands on deck 
 for a tack across before the wind. Hee, hee ! 
 
 Newnin : Yes, yes ! Take something to eat. 
 
 REVUNOV-KARAYtjLOV ; Just as they all come 
 running out, at once you give the command : 
 " Stand to stations for a tack across before the 
 wind ! " Ah ! That's life ! You give the order 
 and watch how the sailors, like lightning, run to 
 their places and adjust the lashings and the 
 halliards. You finish by shouting out, " Bravo, 
 my fine fellows." (Shouts and chokes.) 
 
 Master of Ceremonies (hastens to take advantage 
 of the probable pause) : On this day, to-day, so to 
 speak, on which we are collected together here to 
 do honour to our beloved 
 
THE WEDDING 123 
 
 Revunov-Karayulov [breaking in) : Yes ! Yes ! 
 And all this has to be remembered. For instance, 
 halliard-royals, tops'l gallants 
 
 Master of Ceremonies (offended) : What's he in- 
 terrupting for ? We can't say a single word. 
 
 Nastasia : We ignorant people, your excellency, do 
 not understand anything of this. But tell us 
 instead something to please 
 
 Revunov - Karayulov (misunderstanding) : I've 
 just eaten some, thank you. You said " cheese," 
 did you not ? Thank you. Yes ! I was recalling 
 old times. But certainly it's fine, young man. 
 " If you sail on the sea, you'll know no care." 
 (With a trembling voice.) You recollect the 
 delight of tacking in a gale ? What seaman does 
 not light up at the recollection of this manoeuvre ? 
 The very moment the command resounds, " Pipe 
 all hands aloft," an electric spark seems to fly 
 over everybody. From the commander to the 
 lowest sailor — all tremble with excitement 
 
 Zmewkin : O, how dull ! How dull ! (General 
 murmur.) 
 
 Revunov-Karayijlov (misunderstanding) : Thank 
 you, I have had some. (With rapture.) Everyone 
 gets ready and turns his eyes on the first officer. 
 
124 THE WEDDING 
 
 " Stand to the gallants and starboard tops'l 
 braces, and the port main braces, and port 
 counter-braces," orders the first officer. All is 
 accomplished in a moment ; halliard royals and 
 tops'l lashings heaved. All right on board ! 
 (Stands up.) Off flies the vessel in the wind and 
 at last the sails begin to get wet. The first 
 officer cries, " The braces, don't dawdle at the 
 braces," and fixes his eyes on the maintop, and 
 when at last the tops'l gets wet, at that moment 
 the vessel begins to tack, and you hear the loud 
 command, " Loose the maintop halliards, let go 
 the braces," then everything flies off with a crack 
 — like the Tower of Babel — and all is accom- 
 plished without a fault. You've tacked ! 
 
 N astasia (bursting out) : But, General, you're 
 being unpleasant ! You ought to know better, 
 at your age ! You're unpleasant ! 
 
 Revunov-Karayulov : Pheasant ? No, I haven't 
 had any. Thank you. 
 
 Nastasia (loudly) : I said, you're being unpleasant ! 
 You ought to know better, at your age, General. 
 
 Newnin (agitated) : Now, come — there, there. 
 Really 
 
 REVUNOV-KARAYtiLOV : For the first thing, I'm not 
 
THE WEDDING 125 
 
 a general, but a second-grade captain, which 
 corresponds on the list to a lieutenant-colonel 
 
 Nastasia : Then, if you're not a general, why did 
 you take the money ? And we didn't pay you 
 money for you to be unpleasant. 
 
 Revunov-Karayulov {perplexed) : What money ? 
 
 Nastasia : You know what money ! You received 
 
 through Mr. Newnin twen (To Newnin.) 
 
 But it's your fault, Andrew. I didn't ask you 
 to hire such a man. 
 
 Newnin : Now, there — let it be ! Is it worth 
 while ? 
 
 Revunov-Karayulov : Hired — paid — what's this ? 
 
 Aplombov : But excuse me. You received the 
 twenty-five roubles from Mr. Newnin ? 
 
 Revunov-Karayulov : What twenty-five roubles ? 
 (Ponders.) Ah ! I see ! Now I understand every- 
 thing. How disgusting ! How disgusting ! 
 
 Aplombov : Then you did receive the money ? 
 
 Revunov-Karayulov : I received no money at 
 all ! Off with you ! (Leaves the table.) How dis- 
 gusting ! How low ! To affront an old man, a 
 sailor, an officer of merit ! If this were decent 
 society, I'd challenge you to a duel, but now what 
 can I do ? (Muddled.) Where's the door ? 
 
126 THE WEDDING 
 
 Which, is the way out ? Waiter ! Show me out ! 
 Waiter ! How low ! How disgusting ! (Exit.) 
 
 Nastasia : Andrew, where are those twenty-five 
 roubles ? 
 
 Newnin : Come, is it worth while to speak of such 
 trifles ? Everybody else is gay, but you, Heaven 
 knows why — (Shouts.) To the health of the young 
 people ! Musicians, play a march ! Musicians ! 
 (Band begins to play a march.) To the health of 
 the young people ! 
 
 Zmewkin : I feel stifled ! Give me atmosphere ! 
 Beside you I feel stifled ! 
 
 Yat (in an ecstasy) : Wonderful woman ! Wonder- 
 ful woman ! (The noise gets louder) 
 
 Master of Ceremonies (stands and shouts) : Dear 
 ladies and gentlemen ! On this day, to-day, so 
 
 to speak 
 
 (Curtain) 
 
THE JUBILEE 
 By ANTON CHEHOV 
 
CHARACTERS 
 
 Shipuchin Tatiana 
 
 Hirin Mrs. Merchutkin 
 
 Managers 
 
THE JUBILEE 
 
 (Scene : The managing director's study at a bank, 
 furnished with affected sumptuousness. Velvet- 
 covered furniture, flowers, statues, rugs, telephone. 
 Midday. Hirin, the bookkeeper, is alone.) 
 
 Hirin (shouts at the door) : Go to the chemist's and 
 get three ha'penny worth of nerve tonic, and 
 tell them to bring some fresh water to the direc- 
 tor's study. I've got to tell you a hundred times ! 
 (Goes to table.) I'm tired out. I've been writing 
 for four days without closing my eyes ; from 
 morning to evening I'm writing here, and from 
 evening to morning, at home. (Coughs.) My 
 whole body's inflamed. Shivering, fever, cough- 
 ing ; I've got rheumatism in my legs, things keep 
 coming in front of my eyes. (Sits down.) Our old 
 joker, this brute, this managing director, is going 
 to read the report to-day at the general meeting : 
 " Our bank at the present moment and in time to 
 k. 129 
 
130 THE JUBILEE 
 
 come " — you'd think he was Gambetta. (Writes.) 
 Two, one, one, six, nought, seven, add six, nought, 
 one, six — He wants to throw dust in their eyes ; 
 so I've got to sit here and work for him like a 
 nigger. He just puts the poetry into the report ; 
 but I must tap away on the counting machine 
 all day long, hell take him. (Taps the machine.) 
 I can't stand it. (Writes.) One to carry, three, 
 seven, two, one, nought. He promised to pay 
 me for my trouble. If everything goes off well 
 to-day and he takes in the public, he's promised 
 me a gold pendant and three hundred roubles. 
 We'll see. (Writes.) Well, and if all my trouble 
 goes for nothing, well, my friend, I'm sorry — 
 I'm a passionate man ! Yes, my friend, in a fit 
 of temper I can even commit a crime. Yes ! 
 (Off, noise and applause. Shipuchin' s voice, 
 " Thank you ! Thank you ! I am moved ! " 
 Enter Shipuchin, middle-aged, in a frock-coat and 
 white tie, with a monocle. He carries an album 
 which has just been presented to him. All the while 
 he is on the stage, employees bring him papers to 
 sign.) 
 Shipuchin (standing at the door) : This gift of yours, 
 dear colleagues, I shall preserve to my death, as a 
 
THE JUBILEE 131 
 
 remembrance of the happiest days of my life ! 
 Yes, my dear, dear sirs ! Once again I thank you. 
 {Throws them a kiss, and goes up to Hirin.) My 
 dear fellow, my esteemed Hirin ! 
 
 Hirin {rising) : I have the honour to congratulate 
 you, Mr. Shipuchin, on your fifteenth year at the 
 head of the bank and I hope that 
 
 Shipuchin {squeezing his hand) : Thank you, my 
 dear fellow. Thank you ! This notable day, 
 this jubilee — Very, very glad ! Thank you for 
 your services, for everything ; for everything I 
 thank you. If, while I have had the honour to 
 be managing director of this bank, if anything 
 useful has been done, then I am indebted for it 
 before all else to my colleagues. {Sighs.) Yes, 
 my dear fellow, fifteen years ! Fifteen years, or 
 I'm not Shipuchin ! {Briskly.) Well, what about 
 my report ? Is it coming along ? 
 
 Hirin : Yes. There are about five pages left. 
 
 Shipuchin : Excellent. That means, it will be 
 ready at three ? 
 
 Hirin : If nobody disturbs me, it'll be finished. 
 There's just rubbish left. 
 
 Shipuchin : Magnificent. Magnificent, or I'm not 
 Shipuchin ! The general meeting will be at four. 
 
132 THE JUBILEE 
 
 Please, dear old chap ; give me the first half, 
 and I'll study it. Give it me quick. {Takes the 
 report.) I base gigantic hopes on this report. It's 
 my " profession de foi," or, to put it better, my 
 firework — my firework, or I'm not Shipuchin ! 
 (Sits down and reads the report to himself.) But 
 I'm devilish tired. Last night I had an attack 
 of gout, all the morning I've been busy with little 
 affairs and running about, then these commo- 
 tions and ovations and agitations — I'm tired. 
 
 Hirin : Two, nought, nought, three, nine, two, 
 nought' — It's all green before my eyes with figures. 
 Three, one, six, four, one, five. (Taps the machine.) 
 
 Shipuchin : And another bother — This morning 
 your wife called on me and complained about you 
 again. She said, last night you ran after her and 
 your sister-in-law with a knife. What does that 
 look like, Hirin ? Come, come ! 
 
 Hirin (roughly) : I take the liberty, Mr. Shipuchin, 
 on the occasion of the jubilee, to make a request 
 to you. I beg you, if only out of consideration 
 for my working like a nigger, not to interfere with 
 my family life. Please don't ! 
 
 Shipuchin (sighs) : You've got an impossible 
 character, Hirin. You're an excellent fellow and 
 
THE JUBILEE 133 
 
 respectable, but when it comes to women you 
 behave like Jack the Ripper. Really, I can't 
 understand why you dislike them so ! 
 
 Hirin : And I can't understand why you like them 
 so. (Pause.) 
 
 Shipuchin : The employees have just presented me 
 with an album and the managers, so I hear, want 
 to present me with an address and a silver bowl. 
 (Plays with his monocle.) Good, or I'm not 
 Shipuchin ! That's not without its use. For the 
 reputation of the bank, some pomp is necessary, 
 damn it all. You're a good fellow ; after all, you 
 know all about it. I wrote the address myself and 
 bought the silver bowl as well. The binding for 
 the address cost a lot, but it wouldn't do without 
 it. By themselves they wouldn't have been good 
 for anything. (Looks round.) What an establish- 
 ment ! What an establishment ! They may say 
 I am trivial, because I want the brass on the 
 doors polished and the people on my staff to 
 wear fashionable ties and a fat porter to stand at 
 the door. Not at all, gentlemen. The brass on 
 the doors and the fat porter are not trifles. At 
 my own home I can be an ordinary person, eat 
 and sleep like a pig, and drink and drink 
 
134 THE JUBILEE 
 
 Hirin : No allusions, if you please ! 
 
 Shipuchin : Oh, nobody's making allusions. What 
 an impossible character you've got ! This is what 
 I'm saying — at home I can be an ordinary person, 
 a parvenu, a slave to habits, but here everything 
 must be "en grand ! " This is the bank ! Here 
 every detail must, so to speak, be imposing and 
 have a dignified appearance. (Picks up a piece of 
 paper and throws it in the grate.) It is my par- 
 ticular pride that I have raised high the reputa- 
 tion of the bank. It's a big thing, tone, a big 
 thing, or I'm not Shipuchin ! (Looks at Hirin.) 
 My dear fellow, at any moment the deputation of 
 the managers may arrive, and you're in felt 
 slippers, in that scarf, in that wild-coloured 
 jacket ; you might have put on a frock-coat, well, 
 anyhow, a black coat 
 
 Hirin : My health is more to me than your bank- 
 managers. My whole body's inflamed. 
 
 Shipuchin (disturbed) : But agree with me that it's 
 untidy ! You spoil the ensemble. 
 
 Hirin : When the deputation comes, I can hide — 
 that's not a great misfortune. (Writes.) Seven, 
 one, seven, two, one, five, nought. I too don't 
 like untidiness. Seven, two, nine. (Taps the 
 
THE JUBILEE 135 
 
 machine.) I can't bear untidiness ! You'd have 
 done well to-day not to invite ladies to the jubilee 
 dinner. 
 
 Shipuchin : What nonsense ! 
 
 Hirin : I know you are letting them in to-day so 
 as to be elegant. But, you see, they'll spoil 
 everything for you. From them comes all un- 
 tidiness. 
 
 Shipuchin : On the contrary, women's society ele- 
 vates. 
 
 Hirin : Yes ! Now, you'd call your wife an educated 
 woman ; and last Monday she said a thing that 
 made me gasp for a couple of days. Suddenly 
 she asked me before strangers, " Is it true that at 
 our bank my husband bought those shares in the 
 Drage-Prage bank which dropped on the Ex- 
 change ? Oh, my husband is so uneasy ! " And 
 that before strangers ! And why you're so open 
 with them, I can't understand. Do you want 
 them to lead you into the courts ? 
 
 Shipuchin : All right, enough, enough. This is all 
 too gloomy for a jubilee. But you do well to 
 remind me. (Looks at his watch.) My wife should 
 be here immediately. In the ordinary way I 
 should have driven to the station to meet the poor 
 
136 THE JUBILEE 
 
 girl, but there's not time and — and I'm tired. To 
 tell the truth, I'm not glad she's coming. I'm 
 glad, but it would have been better for me if 
 she had stayed just another two days with her 
 mother. She wants me to spend the whole 
 evening with her to-day, and all the time there's 
 a little excursion arranged for after dinner. 
 (Shudders.) That nervous shivering's starting 
 already. My nerves are so strained that I think 
 the slightest little thing would start me crying. 
 No, I must be strong ; or I'm not Shipuchin ! 
 (Enter Tatiana Shipuchin, twenty-five years old, in 
 a waterproof, carrying an expensive bag.) 
 
 Shipuchin : Bah ! Talk of the devil ! 
 
 Tatiana : Darling ! (Runs to her husband. A long 
 kiss.) 
 
 Shipuchin : Why, we were just talking about you. 
 (Looks at his watch.) 
 
 Tatiana (breathlessly) : Lonely ? Quite well ? I 
 haven't been home yet — came straight here from 
 the station. I must tell you, lots and lots — I 
 can't keep it — I won't take off my waterproof — 
 I shall only be a minute. (To Hirin.) Good 
 morning, Mr. Hirin. (To Shipuchin.) Every- 
 thing all right at home ? 
 
THE JUBILEE 137 
 
 Shipuchin : Everything. Why, you've grown 
 stouter in the last week and prettier. Well, how 
 did it go off ? 
 
 Tatiana : Excellently. Mama and Kate send you 
 their love. Basil sends you a kiss. (Kisses him.) 
 Aunt sends you a pot of jam, and they're all 
 angry that you don't write. Zena sends you a 
 kiss. (Kisses him.) Oh, if you only knew what 
 happened ! What do you think ? It's all strange 
 to me, even to tell it. What do you think hap- 
 pened ? — But I can see from your eyes that 
 you're not glad to see me. 
 
 Shipuchin : Just the contrary, darling ! (Kisses 
 her. Hirin coughs angrily.) 
 
 Tatiana (sighs) : Oh, poor Kate, poor Kate ! I'm 
 so sorry, so sorry for her ! 
 
 Shipuchin : Darling, we have a jubilee to-day, and 
 at any moment a deputation may come from the 
 managers, and you're not dressed. 
 
 Tatiana : Really, a jubilee ! I congratulate you, 
 gentlemen, I wish you — then there'll be a meeting 
 to-day and a dinner. I love that ! Do you re- 
 member that fine address you wrote so long ago 
 for the managers ? Will they read it to you 
 to-day ? (Hirin coughs angrily.) 
 
138 THE JUBILEE 
 
 Shipuchin [confused) : Darling, one doesn't speak 
 of that — Really, you're going home, eh ? 
 
 Tatiana : Immediately, immediately. I can tell you 
 in an instant, and then go. I'll tell you all about 
 it, right from the beginning. Well, when you saw 
 me off, I was sitting, you remember, side by side 
 with that big woman. I began to read ; I don't 
 like conversations in a railway-carriage. For 
 three stations I read and didn't speak to her or 
 anybody. Well, evening came on and you know 
 gloomy thoughts like that always disappear. 
 Opposite me sat a young man, nothing particular 
 to look at, not ugly, dark — Well, we commenced 
 to talk. Then a sailor arrived and some student 
 or other. (Smiles.) I told them I wasn't married. 
 How they looked after me ! We chatted right up 
 to midnight, the dark young man told awfully 
 funny stories and the sailor sang all the time. My 
 sides ached with laughing. And when the sailor 
 — oh ! those sailors ! — when the sailor found out 
 by accident that my name was Tatiana, what do 
 you think he sang ? (Sings bass.) " Onegin, 
 conceal it I cannot, how madly I love fair 
 Tatiana ! " (Giggles. Hirin coughs angrily.) 
 
 Shipuchin : But, Tanyusha, we're disturbing Mr. 
 Hirin. Go home, darling, and afterwards 
 
THE JUBILEE 139 
 
 Tatiana : Never mind, never mind, let him listen 
 too. It's very interesting ; I'm just finishing. 
 At the station, Sereja came to meet me. She had 
 brought some young man, an inspector of taxes, 
 I think, nothing particular to look at, very nice, 
 especially the eyes — Sereja introduced him and 
 we all three went off together. The weather 
 
 was wonderful (Voices off : " You mustn't ! 
 
 You mustn't ! What do you want ? " Enter Mrs. 
 Merchutkin, old, in a cloak.) 
 
 Merchutkin (at the door, fanning herself) : What 
 are you stopping me for ? I must go myself ! 
 (Enters; to Shipuchin.) Allow me to introduce 
 myself, your excellency, I am the wife of Mr. 
 Merchutkin. 
 
 Shipuchin : What can I do for you ? 
 
 Merchutkin : Please listen, your excellency ; my 
 husband was ill for five months and while he was 
 lying at home getting better, they dismissed him 
 without any reason, your excellency, and when 
 I went for his salary, please listen, they had taken 
 a quarter off his salary. " Why ? " I asked them. 
 "He's been borrowing from the fund," they told 
 me, " and other people guaranteed him." How 
 can that be? He can't take anything without 
 
i4o THE JUBILEE 
 
 my consent ! They mustn't do it, your excel- 
 lency ! I'm a poor woman, and live by lodgers. 
 I'm a weak, defenceless woman — everybody in- 
 sults me, and I never hear a kind word from 
 anybody. 
 
 Shipuchin : Permit me. (Takes her application and 
 reads it, standing.) 
 
 Tatiana (to Hirin) : But I must begin at the be- 
 ginning. Suddenly last week I got a letter from 
 Mama. She wrote that a certain Grendelevski 
 had proposed to my sister Kate. An excellent, 
 modest young man, but without any means and 
 with no particular position. And apparently, 
 just imagine, Kate was attracted by him. 
 What was to be done ? Mama wrote to me 
 to come at once and use my influence over my 
 sister. 
 
 Hirin (roughly) : Excuse me, you're disturbing me ! 
 You and Mama and Kate — here am I disturbed 
 and I don't understand anything. 
 
 Tatiana : There's seriousness ! Why are you so 
 bad-tempered to-day ? You're in love ? (Smiles.) 
 
 Shipuchin (to Merchutkin) : Excuse me, what is all 
 this about ? I don't understand. 
 
 Tatiana : In love ? Aha ! He blushed ! 
 
THE JUBILEE 141 
 
 Shipuchin (to his wife) : Tanyusha darling, just go 
 into the office for half a minute. I'll come im- 
 mediately. 
 
 Tatiana : Very well, dear. (Exit.) 
 
 Shipuchin : I don't understand. You've evidently 
 made a mistake, Madame. Your application does 
 not concern us at all. Just give yourself the 
 trouble to apply to the government department 
 in which your husband worked. 
 
 Merchutkin : Kind sir, I have been there already 
 five months, and they won't take in the appli- 
 cation. I nearly went out of my head, but 
 luckily my son-in-law Boris advised me to come 
 to you. " Mama," he said, " apply to Mr. Shipu- 
 chin ; he's an influential man and can do any. 
 thing." Help me, your excellency ! 
 
 Shipuchin : We can't do anything for you, Mrs. 
 Merchutkin. Do you understand — your husband, 
 as far as I can judge, served in the Army Medical 
 Department, but this is a perfectly private com- 
 mercial establishment ; this is a bank. Surely 
 you understand ? 
 
 Merchutkin : Your excellency, I have a doctor's 
 certificate about my husband's illness, Here it is, 
 please look at it 
 
142 THE JUBILEE 
 
 Shipuchin (irritably) : Certainly ; I believe you ; 
 but, once again, this does not concern us. (Off, 
 Tatianas laugh, followed by male laughter.) 
 
 Shipuchin (looking through the door) : She's dis- 
 turbing the clerks out there. (To Merchutkin.) 
 It's curious ; it's quite ridiculous. Does your 
 husband really not know where you should 
 apply ? 
 
 Merchutkin : Your excellency, I must tell you, he 
 knows nothing ! He keeps on saying, " It's not 
 your business ; go away ! " That's all ! 
 
 Shipuchin : Once again, Madame — Your husband 
 served in the Army Medical Department, and this 
 is a bank, a private commercial establishment. 
 
 Merchutkin : Oh, yes, yes, yes, I understand, kind 
 sir. In that case, your excellency, tell them to 
 give me just a little. I'm quite willing not to 
 take it all at once. 
 
 Shipuchin (sighs) : Ugh ! 
 
 Hirin : Mr. Shipuchin, I shall never finish the 
 report like this. 
 
 Shipuchin : One moment ! (To Merchutkin.) I 
 can't explain it to you, you see. Now please 
 understand that to come to us with an applica- 
 tion like this is as strange as to apply for a divorce, 
 
THE JUBILEE 143 
 
 say, at a chemist's or an assay-office. (A knock at 
 the door, and Tatiana's voice : "Andrew, may I 
 come in ? ") 
 
 Shipuchin (calls out) : Wait a second, darling ; 
 one second ! (To Merchutkin.) They didn't 
 pay you, but what have we got to do with it ? 
 Besides, Madame, we have a jubilee to-day and 
 we're busy — and at any moment someone might 
 come — Excuse me. 
 
 Merchutkin : Your excellency, take pity on me, 
 an orphan. I am a weak, defenceless woman. 
 I'm worried to death. What with law-cases with 
 the lodgers and trouble on account of my husband 
 and running about with the housework, and then 
 my son-in-law still without a position 
 
 Shipuchin : Mrs. Merchutkin, I — no, excuse me, 
 I can't talk to you ! My head's quite dizzy. 
 You're disturbing us, and wasting our time for 
 nothing. (Sighs ; aside.) I know what'll stop 
 her, or I'm not Shipuchin ! (To Hirin.) Mr. 
 Hirin ! Please explain to Mrs. Merchutkin. 
 (Waves his hand, and goes out.) 
 
 Hirin (approaches her roughly) : What can I do for 
 you ? 
 
 Merchutkin : I am a weak, defenceless woman. 
 
144 THE JUBILEE 
 
 Perhaps I look strong, but if you come to examine 
 me I've not got a single healthy vein in me ! I 
 can hardly stand on my legs, and my appetite's 
 quite gone. This morning I drank my coffee 
 without any pleasure. 
 
 Hirin : I ask you, what can I do for you ? 
 
 Merchutkin : Kind sir, tell them to give me just 
 a little, and let the rest wait a few months. 
 
 Hirin : It seems to me, you were told in plain 
 language — this is a bank ! 
 
 Merchutkin : Yes, yes ; and if it's needed I can 
 produce a medical certificate. 
 
 Hirin : What have you got on your shoulders, a 
 head, or what ? 
 
 Merchutkin : Dear gentleman, I'm only asking for 
 my legal rights. I don't want anything of any- 
 body else's. 
 
 Hirin : I ask you, Madame, what have you got on 
 your shoulders, a head, or what ? Oh, Lord ! 
 I've no time to talk to you. I'm busy. (Points 
 to the door.) Please ! 
 
 Merchutkin (surprised) : And the money ? 
 
 Hirin : What it comes to is this — you haven't got 
 
 a head on your shoulders, but (Raps his 
 
 finger on the table, and then on his forehead.) 
 
THE JUBILEE 145 
 
 Merchutkin {watching him) : What ! Oh, that 
 won't do ! That won't do ! Do that to your own 
 wife ! You don't do that to me ! 
 
 Hirin (angrily ; shouting) : Get out of it ! 
 
 Merchutkin : That won't do ! That won't do ! 
 I'm not afraid of you ! We've seen your sort 
 before ! Creature ! 
 
 Hirin (shouting) : I don't think in all my life I ever 
 saw anything so repugnant. Ugh ! It's going 
 to my head ! (Breathes with difficulty.) I'll tell 
 you again ! Are you listening ? If you don't go 
 away from here, you old witch, I'll grind you to 
 powder ! I've got such a character, that I could 
 make a cripple of you for life ! I can commit a 
 crime ! 
 
 Merchutkin : " The dog barks, the wind blows it 
 away." I'm not frightened. We've seen your 
 sort before. 
 
 Hirin (in despair) : I can't look at her ! I feel ill ! 
 I can't ! (Goes to table and sits down.) They fill 
 the bank with women — I can't write the report. 
 I can't ! 
 
 Merchutkin : I don't want anything of anybody 
 else's, I only want my legal rights. Oh, you 
 shameless man ! To sit here in slippers ! You 
 yokel ! (Enter Shipuchin, followed by Tatiana.) 
 
146 THE JUBILEE 
 
 Tatiana : In the evening we went to Berejnitski's. 
 Kate was wearing a blue foulard frock, a little 
 decollete, and she had her hair done very high. 
 I combed her myself. And the way she was 
 dressed and had her hair done, well, it was simply 
 enchanting 
 
 Shipuchin (with a headache) : Yes, yes, enchanting 
 — They might be here at any moment. 
 
 Merchutkin : Your excellency ! 
 
 Shipuchin (dejected) : What is it ? What do you 
 want ? 
 
 Merchutkin (pointing to Hirin) : Your excellency, 
 that man, that man there, he tapped his finger 
 on his forehead and then on the table ! You told 
 him to look after my business, and he makes 
 fun of every word. I'm a weak, defenceless 
 woman 
 
 Shipuchin : Very well, Madame, I'm considering 
 it. I will take measures. Go away now. After- 
 wards (Aside.) My gout's beginning. 
 
 Hirin (quietly to Shipuchin) : Mr. Shipuchin, tell 
 them to send for the porter, and let her be thrown 
 out by the scruff of the neck. 
 
 Shipuchin (frightened) : No, no ! She'd start to 
 scream, and there are a lot of people in the house. 
 
THE JUBILEE 147 
 
 Merchutkin : Your excellency ! 
 
 Hirin (in a mournful voice) : And I've got to write 
 the report ! I haven't time ! (Returns to the 
 table.) I can't ! 
 
 Merchutkin : Your excellency, when can I have 
 it ? I need the money to-day. 
 
 Shipuchin (aside, angrily) : Re — mark — ab — ly 
 horrible woman ! (Softly, to her.) Madame, I've 
 told you already. This is a bank, a private, 
 commercial establishment. 
 
 Merchutkin : Be kind to me, your excellency ; 
 be a father to me ! If the medical certificate isn't 
 enough, I can produce a certificate from the 
 police. Tell them to give me the money. 
 
 Shipuchin (sighs heavily) : Ugh ! 
 
 Tatiana (to Merchutkin) : My dear lady, you've 
 been told that you have made a mistake. What 
 a woman you are, to be sure ! 
 
 Merchutkin : Beautiful lady, nobody cares about 
 me. I've only one thing left, to eat and drink, 
 and to-day I drank my coffee without any 
 pleasure. 
 
 Shipuchin (feebly) : How much do you want ? 
 
 Merchutkin : Twenty-four roubles, thirty-six ko- 
 pecks. 
 
148 THE JUBILEE 
 
 Shipuchin : Very well. {Takes twenty-five roubles 
 from his pocket-book and gives them to her.) There's 
 twenty-five roubles for you. Take them and — 
 go away ! [Hit in coughs angrily.) 
 
 Merchutkin : I most humbly thank you, your 
 excellency. 
 
 Tatiana (sits beside her husband) : It's time for me 
 to go home. (Looks at her watch.) But I haven't 
 finished yet ; I'll finish in a moment and go. 
 What do you think happened ? What do you 
 think ? Well, in the evening we went to Berej- 
 nitski's. It wasn't anything particular ; it was 
 jolly, but not specially. Of course, Kate's 
 admirer, Grendelevski, was there. I spoke to 
 Kate, and cried, and persuaded her, and in the 
 evening she had an explanation with Grendelevski 
 and refused him. Well, I thought, everything is 
 in order, things couldn't be better ; I had quieted 
 Mama, saved Kate, and now I could be easy. 
 What do you think ? Just before supper we were 
 walking with Kate in the avenue, and suddenly — 
 (Rises) — suddenly we heard a shot ! No I can't 
 speak about it in cold blood ! (Fans herself with 
 her handkerchief.) No, I can't ! 
 
 Shipuchin (sighs) : Ugh ! 
 
THE JUBILEE 149 
 
 Tatiana {weeps) : We ran to the summer-house, 
 and there, there lay poor Grendelevski with a 
 pistol in his hand. 
 
 Shipuchin : No, I can't stand it ! I can't stand it ! 
 (To Merchutkin.) What do you want now ? 
 
 Merchutkin : Your excellency, couldn't my hus- 
 band take up his old post again ? 
 
 Tatiana (weeps) : He had shot himself right by the 
 heart — just there — Kate fainted, poor girl, and 
 he himself was terribly frightened. He lay there 
 and — and asked us to send for a doctor. The 
 doctor soon came — and saved the unlucky 
 fellow. 
 
 Merchutkin : Your excellency, couldn't my hus- 
 band take up his old post again ? 
 
 Shipuchin : No, I can't stand it. (Weeps.) I can't 
 stand it. (Stretches out his hands to Hirin in 
 despair.) Drive her out ! Drive her out ! Please ! 
 
 Hirin (advances on Tatiana) : Get out of it ! 
 
 Shipuchin : Not her — that one — that awful one — 
 (Points to Merchutkin) — that one 
 
 Hirin (misunderstands ; to Tatiana) : Get out of it ! 
 (Stamps his feet.) Go away ! 
 
 Tatiana : What ? What's the matter with you ? 
 Have you gone mad ? 
 
150 THE JUBILEE 
 
 Shipuchin : This is awful ! I'm a miserable man ! 
 
 Drive her out ! Drive her out ! 
 Hirin (to Tatiana) : Out of it ! I'll cripple you ! 
 
 I'll smash you ! I'll commit a crime ! 
 Tatiana (chased by Hirin) : How dare you ! You 
 
 impudent man ! Andrew ! Help ! Andrew ! 
 
 (Begins to scream.) 
 Shipuchin (running after them) : Stop ! Please ! 
 
 Be quiet ! Have mercy on me ! 
 Hirin (chasing Merchutkin) : Get out of it ! Catch 
 
 her ! Hit her ! Cut her up ! 
 Shipuchin : Stop ! Please ! I beg you ! 
 Merchutkin : Dear lady ; oh, dear lady ! (Begins 
 
 to scream.) Dear lady ! 
 Tatiana : Help ! Help ! Oh, Oh ! I feel ill ! I 
 
 feel ill ! (Jumps on a chair, then drops on the sofa 
 
 and moans.) 
 Hirin (chasing Merchutkin) : Catch her ! Hit her ! 
 
 Cut her up ! 
 Merchutkin : Oh, oh, dear lady ! It's all going 
 
 dark. Oh ! (Falls senseless in Shipuchin' s arms. 
 
 A knock at the door and a voice : " The Deputa- 
 tion.") 
 Shipuchin : Deputation — reputation — occupa- 
 tion 
 
THE JUBILEE 151 
 
 Hirin [stamping his feet) : Out of it ! Oh, hell ! 
 (Tucking up his sleeves.) Give me her ! I can 
 commit a crime. (Enter deputation of five persons, 
 all in frock-coats. One carries a velvet-bound 
 address and another the cup. The rest of the staff 
 stand at the door of the office. Tatiana on the sofa, 
 and Merchutkin in Shipuchin's arms, both groan 
 softly.) 
 
 A Manager (reads loudly) : Esteemed and beloved 
 Mr. Shipuchin, casting a retrospective regard 
 upon the past of our financial establishment and 
 turning an abstract glance upon the history of its 
 gradual development, we receive in the highest 
 degree a pleasurable sensation. It is true that in 
 the earliest period of its existence, the small 
 dimensions of its original capital, the absence of 
 any important operations and the general in- 
 definiteness of its position furnished a cause for 
 Hamlet's question, " To be or not to be," and at 
 one moment there were even voices which advo- 
 cated the advantage of the entire closure of the 
 bank. Then you were placed at the head of the 
 establishment ! Your knowledge, energy, and 
 innate tact have been the cause of its extra- 
 ordinary success and its present remarkably 
 
152 THE JUBILEE 
 
 flourishing condition. The reputation of the 
 bank — (Coughs) — the reputation of the bank 
 
 Merchutkin (groans) : Oh ! Oh ! 
 
 Tatiana : Water, water ! 
 
 Manager (continues) : The reputation — (Coughs) — 
 the reputation of the bank has been brought by 
 you to such a height that our establishment may 
 to-day well rival the very best foreign establish- 
 ments 
 
 Shipuchin : Deputation — reputation — occupa- 
 tion 
 
 Manager (continues in confusion) : Casting then an 
 objective glance upon the present, we, esteemed 
 and beloved Mr. Shipuchin — Perhaps afterwards 
 — Better afterwards. (Exit, with staff.) 
 
 (Curtain) 
 
THE BABYLONIAN CAPTIVITY 
 By L^SYA UKRAlNKA 
 
CHARACTERS 
 
 Eleazar Captives 
 
 Levites Prophets 
 
 Overseers 
 
THE BABYLONIAN CAPTIVITY 
 
 (A wide plain. The red sunset turns the waters of the 
 Euphrates to blood. Scattered on the plain are seen 
 the tents of the Hebrew captives. Naked children 
 seek shells in the mud and gather brushwood for the 
 fires. Weary women, mostly old, in rags, are 
 busied preparing supper, each at her own hearth, 
 for the men that have just returned from the town 
 after their toil and are sitting silently under the 
 willows near the water. A little farther off, also 
 under the willows, stand two groups, the Levites and 
 the prophets. On the willows, over the prophets' 
 heads, harps hang ; quivering from time to time, 
 they jingle in the evening wind. Far away are seen 
 the walls and towers of Babylon and sometimes 
 there comes the noise of the city.) 
 
 A Woman {at her fire) : Husband, come to supper. 
 (A man, still young, leaves a group and silently sits 
 down.) 
 
 155 
 
156 THE BABYLONIAN CAPTIVITY 
 
 Woman : Why dost not eat bread ? (The man is 
 silent.) Is it bitter ? There is nought to be done, 
 poor thing, thou must eat. 
 
 The Man (mumbling like an old man) : I cannot 
 eat. 
 
 Woman : Misery ! Hast no teeth ? Where 
 
 Man : There ! (Points to Babylon.) 
 
 Woman : Misery, misery, misery ! 
 
 An Old Man (approaches an old woman sitting by 
 the extinguished fire of another hearth, motionless, 
 her head bowed down) : Give me supper ! (The 
 woman is silent and motionless.) Why hast not 
 prepared it ? (The woman is silent.) Why hast 
 ashes on thy hair ? (The woman is silent, and 
 bows still lower.) Where is our daughter ? 
 
 The Old Woman : There ! (Points to Babylon and 
 pours ashes upon her head.) 
 
 Old Man : Adonai ! (Tears his garments and falls 
 down. At a third fire sit only men, mostly old. A 
 woman approaches timidly ; ragged children hang 
 at her garments.) 
 
 The Woman : My fathers, pardon that I ask you ; 
 have ye not seen my husband ? 
 
 An Old Man : How is he called ? 
 
 The Woman : Ebenezer of Ossia. 
 
THE BABYLONIAN CAPTIVITY 157 
 
 Another Old Man : Was he so called before thou 
 wert a widow ? 
 
 The Woman : What sayest thou ? 
 
 A Third Old Man : Do not kill thyself ! Foes do 
 not torment the dead. 
 
 The Woman : What shall I do, miserable, with my 
 little children ? 
 
 The Children : Mother, mother, mother ! 
 
 A Mad Woman (wandering among the fires) : Happy 
 the womb that did not bear ; happy the breast 
 that gave not suck. Hey ! rejoice not, Baby- 
 lonian woman ! Hey ! be not glad, mother of 
 vipers' sons ! 
 
 A Girl (whispers to her companion, pointing at the 
 mad woman) : 'Tis from the time her child was 
 killed in Jerusalem. 
 
 Companion : How terrible ! 
 
 Girl : And I saw it with my own eyes, how the 
 soldier seized her boy by his feet and struck 
 at 
 
 Companion : Be silent ! 
 
 The Levites (under the willows) : For our fathers' 
 sin the Lord took from us the temple ; for our 
 ancestors' dishonour He took away His church. 
 
158 THE BABYLONIAN CAPTIVITY 
 
 And now, as a spendthrift's children, innocent 
 we expiate our fathers' debt. 
 
 The Prophets : Jerusalem smote us with stones, 
 and for it the wrath of the Lord smote her. The 
 daughter of Zion despised us, and for it the son 
 of Baal subdued her. 
 
 First Levite (to another) : Why hast not been at 
 prayers ? 
 
 Second Levite : The master sent me to the reck- 
 onings. The workmen from Haram are being 
 paid for their labour at the king's palace. 
 
 First Levite : Couldst not find one of the scribes 
 to take thy place ? 
 
 Second Levite : Service, brother ! The master 
 says no men are so skilled at reckoning as the 
 Hebrews. 
 
 First Levite : True. 
 
 Second Levite (aside to him) : For my good help 
 the chief gave me this ring. 
 
 First Levite : Glory to the Lord, that He hath 
 distinguished His people by wisdom above the 
 nations of all the world. (Aside.) Is there no 
 need of another to help ? (They whisper.) 
 
 A Samarian Prophet : Thus spake the Lord : On 
 Garisim I have builded an abode, on its summit I 
 
THE BABYLONIAN CAPTIVITY 159 
 
 made Mine altar, but ye forsook it and knew not 
 the house of My glory, as the foolish bibbing son 
 knoweth not his father's abode and wandereth in 
 outer darkness, a butt for strangers' children. 
 
 A Jewish Prophet : Thus spake the Lord : In 
 Jerusalem I made Mine abode among the people, 
 that, as bees come together to one hive, to one 
 queen, so would ye come together unto Me, to 
 the only Temple ; but, as a wild swarm, ye 
 flew away, and for it I sent evil hornets against 
 you. 
 
 Samarian Prophet : The lion of Judah ravished 
 Israel and dispersed his sheep. 
 
 Jewish Prophet : Saul's descendants are fit to be 
 keepers of flocks, but not of the people. 
 
 Samarian Prophet : The Lord of Israel shall reach 
 thee, and through me. (Raises his staff against 
 the Jewish Prophet.) 
 
 Jewish Prophet : Lord, remember Thy servant 
 David. (Raises a stone to cast at the Samarian 
 Prophet. Eleazar, a young prophet and singer, 
 just come from Babylon, throws himself between the 
 two.) 
 
 Eleazar : Refrain ! Cover not with shame the 
 names of Israel and Judah. 
 
160 THE BABYLONIAN CAPTIVITY 
 
 Samarian Prophet : Ah ! is it thou, prophet of 
 
 shame ? And how hast thou glorified Israel and 
 
 Judah ? 
 Jewish Prophet : Vile serpent, why earnest from 
 
 that nest ? There is thy God and thy people, 
 
 begone and glorify them ! 
 First Levite : May the Lord vomit thee out of His 
 
 mouth, may thy name disappear as spittle ! (The 
 
 people gather round.) 
 Second Levite (catching a harp from the willows) : 
 
 I will break this cursed vessel. 
 Eleazar (catching his hand) : Touch not my harp, 
 
 for it is innocent of my sins ! Curse me, if thou 
 
 thinkest I am worthy, but curse not the holy 
 
 harp. 
 Third Levite : And how has it sanctified itself ? 
 Eleazar : That never from the first rang a string 
 
 insincerely. 
 A Boy : Aha ! Therefore thou didst hang it there. 
 Eleazar (to the Boy, sadly) : Why, youth, sayest 
 
 thou so ? 
 Boy : Pretend not thou dost not understand ! 
 An Old Man : This youth told thee, Eleazar, what 
 
 thy conscience would have told thee — but a mute 
 
 cannot speak. 
 
THE BABYLONIAN CAPTIVITY i6r 
 
 A Man : And it is a vanity to talk to the deaf. (A 
 child stretches out its arms to the harp.) 
 
 The Child : Uncle, give me the toy. 
 
 First Mother : I told thee, dare not to come to 
 this man. 
 
 An Old Woman (to a girl standing near) : I see 
 there is no more shame in Israel, when a girl 
 stands uncovered and looks upon a traitor. 
 
 The Girl : But I 
 
 First Woman : See, poor thing, it is a great 
 woe when one cursed by God steals a girl's 
 heart. 
 
 The Girl : If he be cursed, I also curse him. (Veils 
 herself and goes away.) 
 
 Eleazar (to all) : Fathers and brothers, mothers 
 and sisters, since when is it a custom among 
 us to condemn without judging ? Truly, clearly 
 tell me, why am I become as a leper among 
 you ? \ 
 
 The Old Man : Thou becamest leprous in Baby- 
 lon, singing for money in the courts to the sons of 
 Baal. 
 
 Eleazar : Are ye not all gathered here in Babylon 
 for labour ? 
 
 First Man : Labourers do not serve Moloch. 
 
162 THE BABYLONIAN CAPTIVITY 
 
 Eleazar : Whom then do their arms and vessels 
 serve ? Have they not built such an abode for 
 Moloch, as never had our Lord in Jerusalem ? 
 
 First Prophet : Taunt not captives with their 
 slavery ! 
 
 Eleazar : Am I not a captive ? Why curse ye me 
 for my forced labour ? 
 
 Second Prophet : The cord, the spade, the plough 
 and axe in men's hands are men's slaves ; but the 
 word in a prophet's mouth must serve God only, 
 and none other. 
 
 The Old Man : Yet wilt thou ask for judgment, 
 Eleazar ? 
 
 Eleazar : I will, though the judgment end with 
 stones. The Lord liveth ! Ye must judge by 
 truth ; an unjust curse shall turn against you. 
 
 The Old Man : Let us hear him. Let it not be said 
 we forsook truth on the' ruins of Jerusalem. Tell 
 us what constrained thee to sell the word. 
 
 Eleazar : That none bought my hands. My father 
 did not teach me to labour, and weak my mother 
 bred me. Though the harp obeys my hands, 
 nor plough nor axe obeys them. I fell under a 
 burden, and the overseer drove me from the 
 labour. 
 
THE BABYLONIAN CAPTIVITY 163 
 
 The Old Man : Let then thy father and mother 
 
 feed thee, who have not taught thee to earn 
 
 bread. 
 Eleazar : In Jerusalem I earned honourably by 
 
 the means they taught me, and here too — but the 
 
 bread burns that my father brings from Babylon ; 
 
 hard it is to eat from a father's slavery. 
 First Levite ; Not only bread thy father brings, 
 
 but also golden rings. 
 Eleazar (to all) : Teach this Levite that gold burns, 
 
 and not only shines. 
 First Levite {slyly) : Why does thy father's work 
 
 burn so ? 
 Eleazar : Am I judged here or my father ? Bring 
 
 then all fathers to judgment, that for their family 
 
 lose their souls. 
 First Levite : Why didst not cry to the nation to 
 
 feed thee with the bread wherewith it feeds 
 
 Levites and cripples ? 
 Eleazar : I am not Levite nor cripple. 
 A Little Boy (to his father) : Daddy, give me 
 
 bread ! 
 The Father : I have none, my son. 
 A Man : Dost see ? He heard talk of bread and 
 
 eating, and says too, "Give me bread." 
 
164 THE BABYLONIAN CAPTIVITY 
 
 Eleazar : Rightly says the boy. He answered for 
 me better than I could know. Ye all heard. 
 While in Israel they speak thus, Eleazar will not 
 share bread with Levites and cripples. He that 
 has bread, let him give to the child ; I will take 
 stones from the captives. He that has fish, let 
 him feed the children, and give me a viper that 
 drinks blood from the heart. I shall take it 
 and bear it with me into the courts ; it will give 
 sting to my words and its hissing they will hear 
 in Babylon. 
 
 A Youth : Much wilt thou earn for such songs in 
 Babylon ! Surely less than thou hast earned for 
 the hymns of Zion. 
 
 Eleazar : Unwisely, boy, hast spoken. I sang 
 them not hymns of Zion. The hymn of Zion, of 
 all songs the ornament, was as a bride in Jerusa- 
 lem, as a wife in the holy city ; here it were as 
 a concubine, for who taketh a captive as a lawful 
 wife ? (The people sigh. Eleazar holds his peace 
 and bows his head.) 
 
 A Man : Why didst not sing the songs of cap- 
 tivity ? Why hast not poured the bitter tears 
 of slavery ? The cold drop pierces the stone, 
 
THE BABYLONIAN CAPTIVITY 165 
 
 why would not hot tears touch even the wicked 
 heart ? 
 
 Eleazar : The Lord set pride in my soul. Never 
 have I wept before strangers. 
 
 A Man : Pride befits not slaves. 
 
 First Prophet : The horn of pride in thee rose 
 above grief and holy love ! 
 
 Eleazar : Measure not the measureless with the 
 endless, for thou wilt not see what will come of it . 
 
 A Youth : Eloquent is Eleazar among the cap- 
 tives ! Why in the Babylonian courts do his 
 love and grief and pride hold their peace ? Surely 
 the place is too small ? 
 
 Eleazar : And didst thou think it were enough ? 
 O youth, I have measured all those Babylonian 
 courts and know their size. It happened I 
 crossed that court where our people is building 
 a tower for Moloch. I stopped and gazed at it. 
 The marble is white as bones in the field, the 
 porphyry grey as shed blood, the gold shines as a 
 bright fire. It stands unfinished, like ruins ; the 
 cries of our conquerors are heard, and the groans 
 of our people. I know not how, with a great 
 voice I shouted over the whole place, " Jerusa- 
 lem ! " With a cry answered the captives from 
 
166 THE BABYLONIAN CAPTIVITY 
 
 the wall, and with laughter answered the guards. 
 " Is that ruin called in any wise, has that desert 
 still a name ? " I went away to the market where 
 they sell captives into slavery. There a rich 
 merchant was choosing the most lovely captives. 
 
 Women : Misery, misery, misery ! 
 
 Eleazar : I said, " Think, lord, these girls have 
 fathers and brothers. Were thy sister or daughter 
 taken captive, would the foe sell her ? " He 
 answered, " 'Tis the fate of captives." I went 
 farther and saw a small, weak slave, and a tall, 
 strong Babylonian loaded him with wares, as a 
 mule, and drove him with a stick. I cried, 
 " Stay ! To torment such a small boy ! " " For 
 this he is a slave," he answered, arrogant. " And 
 were thy son sold," said I, " he too would be a 
 slave ? " " Surely ; not otherwise," said the 
 rich man, and laughed aloud, " but I do not sell 
 my sons, and thine, thou seest, I buy." Who, 
 what will touch such hearts ? Once only with 
 my songs I got a tear from a stranger ; the king 
 himself wept at the end of Saul and Jonathan's 
 death. 
 
 A Voice from the People : Long live the merciful 
 king ! In him only is our hope. 
 
THE BABYLONIAN CAPTIVITY 167 
 
 Eleazar : The merciful king wished to reward me 
 generously. 
 
 First Levite : What gave he thee, Eleazar ? 
 
 Eleazar : He gave me a chamber in his palace and 
 Jewish captives, as many as I would. From that 
 moment I cursed the songs that get tears from 
 conquerors ; they are the tears of the Nile's 
 crocodiles. 
 
 The Youth : Thou shouldst have sung them of the 
 fame of our ancestors, that they might know the 
 strength of our people. 
 
 Eleazar : I sang. 
 
 The Youth : And what ? {Eleazar is silent.) 
 
 The Old Man : Say, Eleazar, how the strangers 
 heard the songs of fame. 
 
 Eleazar (slowly) : One of them whistled and, 
 smiling, shook his head. Another said, " Not all 
 that is true." A third bade me join the military 
 singers ; and all, one after the other, said, " Is 
 there only that in the world which is in Jerusa- 
 lem ? Knowest thou no songs of Edom, of 
 Misraim ? Was not the fame of Amalek, Ammon 
 and Amareus as the past fame of Israel ? " 
 
 First Prophet : O Lord, chastise the hostile lips 
 with the dumbness of death. 
 
±68 THE BABYLONIAN CAPTIVITY 
 
 Eleazar : I began to sing them of Edom, of Mis- 
 raim, of foreign speeches in a foreign speech. 
 They heard how treacherous Edom's crooked 
 sword broke against Ashur's armour ; how 
 Amalek, Ammon and Amareus from ravishers 
 became slaves ; how Misraim, master of half the 
 world, once the lord of the tribes of Israel, had 
 to submit to the eternal might ; how horse and 
 rider fell into the sea, and all the Pharaoh's 
 might, whenas was voided the abhorred house of 
 toil and the cursed place of slavery was devas- 
 tated. 
 
 The Youth : And what did the listeners ? 
 
 Eleazar : There were those who paled. 
 
 Second Prophet : May they grow pale and cold 
 for ever ! 
 
 The Youth : Why didst not say that also for these 
 will come a day of judgment ? 
 
 Eleazar : For that word there is no room in Baby- 
 lon ! To-day I sang them of Ophir, Sidon and 
 Tyre, their power and wisdom and treasures, as 
 are not and never will be in the Babylonian 
 treasuries. 
 
 First Levite : Didst gain much for this song ? 
 
THE BABYLONIAN CAPTIVITY 169 
 
 Eleazar : Thinkest, the treasures of Canaan ? See, 
 I have bread for this day's supper. 
 
 The Youth : Surely, for songs that praised Baby- 
 lon's power thou hast earned more than one 
 golden ring ? 
 
 Eleazar : The vile speaks only with poison, but 
 poison hurts not every man. When heardest 
 me sing songs of the Babylonian glory and 
 might ? (The youth is silent and ashamed.) Thou 
 hast judged thyself by thy silence. 
 
 The Old Man : Eleazar, it may be thy songs are 
 good in Babylon, but Misraim and Edom and all 
 their tongues will not bring Palestine to mind and 
 awake the thought of Jerusalem. 
 
 Eleazar : Is there already need to bring it to our 
 minds ? 
 
 The Old Man : Not to us, but to those that among 
 foes have used to speak the foreign speech 
 
 Eleazar : How will they understand the inborn 
 song ? How sing it in a foreign speech ? 
 
 The Old Man : With thy foreign words thou wilt 
 forget to say, " Jerusalem ! " (Eleazar stands 
 thoughtfully. His hand begins to touch the strings 
 0/ his harp, and his voice sounds, neither singing, 
 nor wailing, as 0/ one who sleeps.) 
 
170 THE BABYLONIAN CAPTIVITY 
 
 Eleazar : My right hand was strong ; who could 
 overcome it ? Did I then say to myself : " Happy 
 am I ; I have my right arm " ? Spake I ever 
 thus : " Right arm, know thou art mine ! " 
 But the evil foe wounded my hand and cut off 
 my right arm. Whom shall I overcome now ? 
 Who will not overcome me ? Day and night I 
 say to myself, " O misery, where is my hand ? " I 
 look upon my shoulder and weep, " Right arm, 
 how forget thee ? " (He quietly touches the strings. 
 The people weep.) 
 
 My father had a rich vineyard, my mother a 
 green garden. I walked in it, plucked the berries 
 and trampled the leaves with my feet. An evil 
 neighbour set fire to our vineyard and wasted the 
 green garden. The vine was burned, the berries 
 dropped and its glorious beauty fell to ashes. If 
 I find beneath my feet, be it only one leaf, I shall 
 press it to my heart, Dear brothers, say, has 
 none of you, be it only one leaf from my vine ? 
 (The strings sound still more sadly, and the weeping 
 becomes louder.) 
 
 I dreamed a dread dream — who shall divine it ? 
 'Twas as if I fell into the hands of the enemies. 
 What have they done to me, my terrible enemies ? 
 
THE BABYLONIAN CAPTIVITY 171 
 
 My arms still are mighty, my legs still are strong, 
 my eyes still are clear, and my body is not hurt. 
 Only my tongue, my tongue was for their ven- 
 geance. I wished to speak a word ; I wished to 
 lift up my voice. But my lips spake with blood 
 and cried with silence. (A long pause. The harp 
 falls from Eleazar's hands and the sigh of its strings 
 dies away. The people's cries cease abruptly. 
 Silence. He speaks with respect, but firmly and 
 distinctly.) Fathers and brothers, mothers and 
 sisters ! I wait for a stone or a word from you. 
 {Silence.) What curse is more awful than silence ? 
 
 The Old Man : We do not curse thee, Eleazar. 
 
 The Youth : Forgive me my hard word, brother. 
 
 Eleazar : Ye do not curse me. I forgive all your 
 words. But still I am cursed with the dreadful 
 curse of blood. The blood of our fathers, shed in 
 vain for our lost liberty, weighs upon my head 
 and yours, and bows down our forehead to the 
 earth, to the stone that the hand of my people 
 hurled not against me. A man's son fell and cut 
 himself on a sharp stone ; in despair he rent his 
 garments of honour and strewed ashes of dis- 
 grace upon his head. O, as the temple I fell, as 
 Jerusalem we fell all, and, as hard as it is to 
 
i?2 THE BABYLONIAN CAPTIVITY 
 
 rebuild our temple, so hard it is for us to rise 
 out of the dust of slavery's dishonour. Shame 
 fell upon our arms that rose not to take the lives 
 of us conquered, but rose to labour for the 
 enemies. Leprosy covered the bodies of the girls 
 of Zion, that they drowned not themselves in the 
 Euphrates, but went to entertain the sons of 
 lasciviousness and nurse the fruit of their shame. 
 And shame covered my lips that from hunger 
 these lips grew not still, but spake the strange 
 speech in those cursed courts where all songs 
 sound — and only that which bursts from the 
 heart must die. Infamy oppresses us worse 
 than chains, it bites worse than iron fetters. To 
 surfer chains is inhuman shame, to forget them 
 unbroken yet greater ignominy. Two paths we 
 have, death or disgrace, till we find a way to 
 Jerusalem. Brothers, let us look for a way to 
 the temple as the gazelle seeks water in the 
 desert, that the mighty foe may not say, " Now 
 have I slain Israel ; it is dead ! " And ere we 
 find it, let us fight for our life as the wounded 
 badger in the hunt ; let it not be said among men, 
 " The Lord of Israel fell asleep in Heaven." O 
 Babylon, too early is it to rejoice ! Still our 
 
THE BABYLONIAN CAPTIVITY 173 
 
 harps sound among the willows, still tears flow 
 into the Babylonian rivers, still the daughter 
 of Zion burns with shame, still the lion of Judah 
 roars with fury. The Lord liveth, my soul liveth, 
 Israel liveth, even in Babylon ! 
 The Voice of an Overseer from the Camp : To 
 the tents, Israel ; the night cometh. (The people 
 separate and go to their tents. On the distant 
 towers are seen the Babylonian magicians, fore- 
 telling from the stars. The camp grows still. From 
 Babylon faintly comes the sound of revels. The 
 solemn night trembles over the captive camp and 
 Babylon. Here and there quicken the overseers 
 fires. Silence.) 
 
 (Curtain) 
 
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