Russian Comedy of the Nikolaian Era (Russian Theatre Archive (Paperback M.E. Sharpe))

Russian Comedy of the Nikolaian Era

Russian Theatre Archive A series of books edited by John Freedman (Moscow), Leon Gitelman (St Petersburg) and Anatoly Smeliansky (Moscow) Volume 1 The Major Plays of Nikolai Erdman translated and edited by John Freedman Volume 2 A Meeting About Laughter Sketches, Interludes and Theatrical Parodies by Nikolai Erdman with Vladimir Mass and Others translated and edited by John Freedman Volume 3 Theatre in the Solovki Prison Camp Natalia Kuziakina Volume 4 Sergei Radlov: The Shakespearian Fate of a Soviet Director David Zolotnitsky Volume 5 Bulgakov: The Novelist-Playwright edited by Lesley Milne Volume 6 Aleksandr Vampilov: The Major Plays translated and edited by Alma Law Volume 7 The Death of Tarelkin and Other Plays: The Trilogy of Alexander Sukhovo-Kobylin translated and edited by Harold B.Segel Volume 8 A Chekhov Quartet translated and adapted by Vera Gottlieb Volume 9 Two Plays from the New Russia Bald/Brunet by Daniil Gink and Nijinsky by Alexei Burykin translated and edited by John Freedman

Volume 10 Russian Comedy of the Nikolaian Era translated and with an introduction by Laurence Senelick Volume 11 Meyerhold Speaks/Meyerhold Rehearses by Aleksandr Gladkov translated, edited and with an introduction by Alma Law Additional volumes in preparation: Off Nevsky Prospekt: St Petersburg’s Theatre Studios in the 1980s and 1990s Elena Markova Moscow Performances: The New Russian Theatre 1991–1996 John Freedman Russian Theatre and Movement: the 1920s Vladislav Ivanov The Theatre of Poets Dmitry Milkov This book is part of a series. The publisher will accept continuation orders which may be cancelled at any time and which provide for automatic billing and shipping of each title in the series upon publication. Please write for details.

Russian Comedy of the Nikolaian Era translated and with an introduction by

Laurence Senelick

harwood academic publishers Australia • Canada • China • France • Germany • India Japan • Luxembourg • Malaysia • The Netherlands • Russia Singapore • Switzerland • Thailand • United Kingdom

Copyright © 1997 OPA (Overseas Publishers Association) Amsterdam B.V. Published in The Netherlands by Harwood Academic Publishers. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any informa tion storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. Amsteldijk 166 1st Floor 1079 LH Amsterdam The Netherlands This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2005. “To purchase your own copy of this or any of Taylor & Francis or Routledge's collection of thousands of eBooks please go to www.eBookstore.tandf.co.uk.” British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Russian comedy of the Nikolaian era.—(Russian theatre archive; v. 10) 1. Russian drama (Comedy)—19th century—Translations into English I. Senelick, Laurence II. Lensky, Dmitry Her first night III. Prutkov, Kozma. Fantasy IV. Turgenev, I.S. (Ivan Sergeevich), 1818–1883. Luncheon with the marshal of nobility V. Saltykov-Shchedrin, M.E. (Mikhail Evgrafovich). Pazukhin’s death 891. 7′ 2′ 3 ISBN 0-203-98589-3 Master e-book ISBN

ISBN 90-5702-049-1 (paperback) Applications for licenses to perform these plays should be addressed to Prof. Laurence Senelick, Department of Drama, Tufts University, Medford, MA 02155, USA.

Contents Introduction to the Series

viii

Introduction

x

Her First Night (Lev Gurych Sinichkin, or The Provincial Actress’s Debut), a vaudeville in five acts Dmitry Lensky Fantasy, a farce-vaudeville in one act “Kozma Prutkov” (Aleksei Tolstoy and Aleksei Zhemchuzhnikov) Luncheon with the Marshal of Nobility, or A Friendly Division Ivan Turgenev Pazukhin’s Death, a comedy in four acts Mikhail Saltykov-Shchedrin

1 59 85 106

Introduction to the Series The Russian Theatre Archive makes available in English the best avant-garde plays from the pre-Revolutionary period to the present day. It features monographs on major playwrights and theatre directors, introductions to previously unknown works, and studies of the main artistic groups and periods. Plays are presented in performing edition translations, including (where appropriate) musical scores, and instructions for music and dance. Whenever possible the translated texts will be accompanied by videotapes of performances of plays in the original language.

Introduction Tragedy, as practised in Europe, has never taken root in Russian literature to the same depth that comedy has. Perhaps this is because Russian culture has always seen the individual not as a lone protagonist at grips with fate, but rather as the member of a community or social unit. The basic structures of most cultures insist on the individual’s commitment to the welfare of the larger group; in Russia, where the imperatives of the agrarian cycle persisted for most of the population, this sense of mystical community or sobornost underlay most social dealings. Hence, comedy, whose heroes struggle not with destiny but with family ties, behavioral codes or the dictates of society, has been the more congenial form on the Russian literary stage. Its earliest models were the comédies de caractère of Molière and his followers, with a shift to comedy of manners by the end of the eighteenth century. A play would be organized around the vagaries of a deviate from the norms of good society: a miser, francophile or some other crank whose monomania required his reform or expulsion. The primary function of these comedies was didactic, or, in the words of Aleksandr Sumarokov, one of the first Russian playwrights, “to emend manners by scorn.” They sought to correct private vices and polish deficiencies in society at large. To this end, a deus ex machina, standing in for the Argus-eyed government, might intrude at the finale to set matters to rights. Such an awkward device indicates the primacy of morality over mirth-making. The intricacies of the comedy of intrigue or bedroom farce were rarely used, for Russian dramatic authors preferred a loose structure and often an open ending, which character comedy provided more abundantly. In discussing Russian comedy in the first half of the nineteenth century, particularly during the repressive reign of Nicholas I (1825–55) we have to take into account the stifling conditions in which it was supposed to flourish. The theatres in St Petersburg and Moscow were part of an Imperial monopoly, staffed by members of the civil service and administered by Court officials. The theatre’s administrators had to make detailed weekly reports to their superiors in the bureaucracy Each theatre had an Inspector of the Repertory whose job it was to hold auditions, oversee production details and monitor the conduct of performances. Actors were subject to a wide range of punishments for infractions, from corporal punishment to fines and reprimands. Playwrights had to submit to a dual censorship: publication of plays was licensed by the Ministry of Public Education, while authorization for stage production was granted or withheld by the Ministry of the Interior. In 1836, the Tsar established the Third Section of the Imperial Chancellery, a secret police which assumed the responsibility of theatrical censorship and instituted strict regulations. At first, its mandate took in only the Imperial theatres in the capitals, but by 1842 it had extended its surveillance to provincial enterprises and touring companies, which hitherto had only to be licensed by the local police. Periodicals which reviewed the theatre also suffered pre-publication censorship: praise of works frowned on by the authorities and rebuke of performers who were, after all, civil servants, were both subject to recrimination.

Under such circumstances, satire and free play of the imagination were severely curtailed. Attacks on personalities were proscribed, as well as anything which might reflect negatively on the workings of the government, the Church, the bureaucracy, the legal system, serfdom or the upper classes. In practice, this meant that comedy had most commonly to be aimed at the extravagances of fashion or literary innovation, life in the theatre, and the scarryings-on of the middle classes or the provincial gentry. Peasants, servants and the lower orders appeared only in idealized or caricatural guises. Language had to be trimmed of colloquialisms or flights of fancy; a decorum based on foreign models was preferred. Not until the late 1850s, with the emergence of Ostrovsky, were playwrights free to copy the language heard in the streets. Similar constraints were made on the kind of behavior shown on stage. Playwrights had to be adept at suggesting, rather than spelling out, the targets of their wit. Actors, compelled to play thin material, became adept at fleshing it out with their own talents and improvisations: the comedian Zhivokini, who created the role of Lev Gurych Sinichkin, was much appreciated for his ad libbing. In the cases of the most original works, a play might be performed in a watered-down version, while its uncut script would go unpublished for decades. Griboedov’s Woe from Wit (1823), the most brilliant verse comedy in Russian, was virtually memorized as it passed from hand to hand in manuscript, long before a diluted recension took stage in 1831. Another fifty years went by before the full text of what had become a de facto classic was performed. The most popular of Russian comedies, Gogol’s Inspector General (1843), passed the censor only at the Tsar’s behest, and the first-night audience preferred to see it as “something inadmissible, a slander and a farce”, rather than the biting satire its author intended. Gogol spent the rest of his career revising it, with commentaries, apochrypha and exegesis, but only the more farcical initial version was permitted on the Russian stage until 1870. The emergence of those two works of genius at this particular time points up a paradox. For all the stultifying effects of so much censorship, great works emerged, even in a public forum like the theatre. Many other works of genius were suppressed and stifled, and received their due only under later regimes. However, owing to the vagaries of censorship, personal tastes of officials in charge and the fluctuant nature of state policy, all sorts of exceptions poked through the cracks and slipped through the loopholes. Then too, the authorities in St Petersburg considered the Russian dramatic theatre to be inferior to ballet and opera, as well as to the French and German repertories; and often paid scant attention to its operation. The plays offered in this anthology represent four specific types of comedy whose fates in the theatre of their time were various. Lensky’s Her First Night (Lev Gurych Sinichkin) is a vaudeville, arguably the most successful comic genre of the early and midnineteenth century, which had no difficulty in getting on the boards. “Kozma Prutkov’s” Fantasy is a nonsensical parody of vaudeville, which made it to the stage for one night and then was banned. Turgenev’s Luncheon with the Marshal of Nobility is a Gogolian comedy of manners, which could be staged only with modifications. SaltykovShchedrin’s Pazukhin’s Death is a social satire of universal application which never saw the footlights in his lifetime. ***

The French influence on Russian comedy was obvious in the prevalence of the musical forms, opéra-comique in the late eighteenth century, vaudeville in the early nineteenth. Opéra-comique was particularly popular at court and in the serf theatres of rural estates, where its pastoral subjects contrasted vividly with the hard facts of country life. Vaudevilles were even more endemic on the professional stage: these were short situation comedies broken up by songs set to pre-existing tunes. A plethora of French translations and adaptations swamped the Russian theatre, so that actors became particularly adept at fleshing out the slight material and putting across with panache the verses known as “couplets”. Given the limited range of subjects allowed by the censor, vaudeville tended to recycle its plots: the most common was the pursuit of the hand of an eligible young woman, allowing for a display of comic suitors and ridiculous ploys. At a time when few plays were performed more than once (129 new plays opened at the three Petersburg theatres in 1839 alone), the ease and familiarity with which a vaudeville could be composed and mounted favored its proliferation. Many actors dabbled in writing vaudevilles, a guarantee that they would be more stageworthy than many more ambitious literary comedies. The predominance of vaudeville led Gogol to condemn the genre for its irrelevance to Russian life and its divergence from comedy’s didactic function: where are our own crackpots and scoundrels? he asked in 1836. “We are grown so indifferent from watching insipid French plays that we are now afraid to look at ourselves. If we are confronted with any lifelike character, we start wondering whether it is based on a specific person…. We have turned the theatre into a plaything…and have forgotten that it is a rostrum from which a living lesson is read directly to a mass of people.” But by the 1840s, Russian types had infiltrated vaudeville and it became a useful catchall for exploring those crevices of society ignored by loftier genres; without abandoning the form, vaudeville writers began adopting such subtitles as “Sketches from everyday life” and examining the “little men” who also inhabited Dostoevsky’s early fiction. Often its scenes were set in milieux not otherwise seen on the Russian stage: cheap apartments, city streets, shops and other haunts of the lower middle-class. Critics felt called upon to evaluate the accuracy of the characters, the nobility of the message and the proximity to or remoteness from real life. As the theatre historian Nikolai Ignatov has written, “It is wrong to regard vaudeville simply as an accompaniment to drama, the dessert following a heavy meal. Vaudeville itself constituted a meal capable of sating the hungry: it could transmutate into drama or comedy or any other genre of play.” A favorite theme was backstage life, as in Nikolai Khmelnitsky’s Actors at Home or The First Debut of the Actress Troepolskaya (1820); Nikolai Nekrasov’s The Actor (1841); and Pyotr I.Grigoriev’s The Russian Actor’s Daughter (1843). Vaudeville authors were fond of treating the audience to a view of behind-thescenes intrigue and parodies of the very melodramas and bourgeois dramas they had been vibrating to on the same bill. Russian vaudevilles seem almost postmodern in the way they remind their audiences that the actors before them are only actors, adopting roles for the nonce. A complicity is established between the spectator and the performer, who regularly breaks the frame to underline their temporary relationship. This is particularly the case in Lev Gurych Sinichkin, or A Provincial Actress’s Debut; although it derives from a French original (Le Père de la débutante by Théaulon and Bayard, 1837), it was so artfully adapted and expanded to configure the mores of the

Russian stage that it may be regarded as an original creation. Dmitry Timofeevich Lensky (born Vorobyov, 1805–60), a proficient comic actor specializing in rakes and fops, was a skillful vaudeville adapter and deviser; he created the role of the seducer Prince Vertinsky, who in the course of the play purports to be an actor named Lensky. A song is dedicated to Lensky’s relationship with the press. Much is made of the actress Nadezhda Repina, who played the heroine Liza: her character professes jealousy of the actress impersonating her, and similar in-jokes abound throughout. The last act is even set in the wings, with a factitious performance going on somewhere on the periphery of the actual stage, while a Doppelgänger of the real audience applauds, boos and cheers. Yet, even in this light-hearted panorama of provincial theatre, social inequities are revealed with little overt comment. All of the artists are dependent on the caprices of the gentry: the influential Count Zephyrov determines the repertory and its casts depending on who is his favorite of the moment; Prince Vertinsky can raise a claque to boo actresses who resist his advances; and Liza Sinichkina wins the theatre manager’s attention only when it is suggested that she is the Governor’s goddaughter. Drunken musicians can be thrown in prison. Talent has to play second fiddle to patronage. Garrick’s famous motto for actors, that “we who live to please must please to live” here relates not only to the relationship between performer and general public, but between the arts and the powersthat-be. The play became a hit from its première in Moscow in 1839, and has rarely been off the Russian stage since. Immediately after the Revolution, when the Bat cabaret revived it in 1920 in a romanticized version, critics failed to see the need for nostalgia for such outmoded fustian. But Sinichkin soon became a kind of template into which commentary on current theatrical fashions could be poured; in 1924 the Vakhtangov theatre renovated it in a highly successful staging by Ruben Simonov. The comic playwright Nikolai Erdman composed new scenes and episodes to make fun of the Moscow Art Theatre’s First Studio and Musical Studio, the Kamerny Theatre, and the Blue Blouse agit-prop troupes, among others. In one of several versions the impresario Pustoslavtsev offers Othello as a “revolutionary spectacle” which lampooned the innovative aesthetics of Bolshevik ideologues. The following year, young actors of the Moscow Art Theatre mounted Sinichkin as a low-budget exercise, after which Stanislavsky re-rehearsed it with them to practice the art of vaudeville. To his mind, the deft playing of vaudeville was a key to all confident and imaginative acting. *** Suspicious readers of Kozma Prutkov might correctly say, as Betsy Prig did of Mrs Harris, “I don’t believe there’s no sich a person.” This lowly clerk in the Assay Office, whose name might be rendered as Cosmo Twigly, was the invention of four young gentlemen of high spirits and low bumps of veneration: Count Aleksei Konstantinovich Tolstoy (1817–75) and his cousins Aleksei, Vladimir and Aleksandr Zhemchuzhnikov. Prutkov was the mouthpiece for their satires and parodies of everything they found most ludicrous in contemporary literature, from romantic ballads of chivalry to homiletic aphorisms. All of Prutkov’s utterances were made with a poker-faced gravity that bespoke the philistine and pointed up the platitudes. Prutkov’s forays into the drama were, for the most part intended for the closet. His The Headstrong Turk, or Is It Nice to be a Grandfather? (1854) was an attack on the “conversational school” of drama headed by Ostrovsky, and mocked what seemed to be

pointless dialogue and meandering anecdotes. Fantasy (1851) had been meant as a parody of the inanities of the average vaudeville: another heiress chase by a gaggle of assorted eccentrics over the obstacle of a domineering old lady. Prutkov’s creators simply conducted a reductio ad absurdum of the genre’s conventions. The “speaking” names of the characters are jumbled so that Mr Brazen is the meekest of the lot and Mr Prettyman is an uncouth slob; the rhymes of the “couplets” are inordinately lame and inept; and a musical interlude provides accompaniment to a series of dogs sniffing each other’s tails. What was submitted to the censor as a joke actually made it to the stage, albeit with the censor’s humorless deletions (all of which Tolstoy carefully noted in the published text). Late in life, Aleksei Zhemchuznikov related the sequel: The sovereign Nicholas Pavlovich was at the first performance of Fantasy, written by Aleksei Tolstoy and myself. The play was performed for Maksimov’s benefit night. Neither Tolstoy nor I were at the theatre. On that evening a certain ball was held, to which we had both been invited and at which it behooved us to be present. Tolstoy’s mother, my father and brothers went to the theatre. Home from the ball and curious to know how our play had gone, I roused my brother Lev and asked him. He replied that the audience had hissed the play roundly and that the Sovereign, at the moment when the dogs were running around the stage during the storm, got up from his seat with a look of displeasure on his face and walked out of the theatre. When I heard this, I immediately wrote a letter to the stage manager Kulikov saying that, having learnt of our play’s failure, I requested him to remove it from the bill, and that I was sure Count Tolstoy would concur with my decision, although I was sending my request without previously consulting him. I gave this letter to my valet Kuzma, asking him to take it to Kulikov as soon as possible the next morning. The next day I rose late and an answer from Kulikov had already arrived. He was terse: “The play by you and Count Tolstoy was already banned yesterday at his Majesty’s behest.” Even though the original butt of the parody is extinct, its exuberant exaggeration lifts the play into another realm, that of sheer nonsense. On his own, Tolstoy was a master of nonsense verse, just short of Lewis Carroll and Edward Lear; here the frontal inconsequence of the action, the irrational responses of the characters, and the uninhibited brutality of the interaction are more reminiscent of lonesco. And the final speech of an actor caught in front of the curtain, protesting that he made up his dialogue rather than recite the playwright’s rubbish, goes beyond the vaudeville’s play-within-a-play devices to point to Evreinov and Pirandello. What began as an over-the-top gibe at idiotic sitcoms ends up as a gallery of distorting mirrors. *** Turgenev’s A Month in the Country is so often played as a soap opera, for the sake of whatever superannuated actress has decided to star as 29-year-old Nataliya Petrovna, that one forgets it is a comedy. When he wrote for the stage, Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev (1818–83) abandoned the lyricism and tendentiousness of his novels to compose comedies almost exclusively touching on the foibles of his class and milieux. More often

than not, he intended to provide roles for specific actors, in particular, Mikhail Shchepkin, and kept the needs of the contemporary stage clearly in mind. Luncheon with the Marshal of Nobility was written in 1849, and submitted to the theatrical censorship by Shchepkin, though Turgenev remained doubtful that it would be passed, since most of the characters were landowners. The figure of marshal of the nobility, elected to his post as arbitrator by the gentry of a district, was perhaps considered too dignified to be made a laughingstock. As it happened, the play was allowed for performance and enjoyed a great success on the stage of the Alexandra Theatre in St. Petersburg. Although Turgenev much later dismissed it as “scenes with no dramatic significance,” what rejoiced critics at the time was that Luncheon marked a serious transition from translated or adapted French farces to comedies based on actual Russian life. They particularly appreciated the opportunity this gave the actors to work from observation, rather than surmise. But the press censorship was less complaisant; the play did not see print until 1856 and then only in a softened version, which left out all the passages which had offended the censors. The earlier draft of the play was ostensibly more extravagant in its language and characteristics, but also more theatrical; it contained more explicit stage directions, digressive but funny anecdotes, and a scene in which the characters gobbled like turkeys. Nevertheless, the version of the play that has come down to us is still clearly Gogolian in its comic treatment A farce of everyday life (byt), it pivots on the litigiousness and complicated property laws that were part and parcel of owning a country estate. The partition of a legacy, particularly when the legatee had died intestate, was already a common literary subject, and even served as matter for genre painting. The domestic rifts such a partition creates could run deep through the entire vicinity, setting friends, neighbors and kinfolk at one another’s throats. Intimations of unease are present at the play’s very start, in the contemptuous attitude of the butler to the impecunious landowner Mirvolin, and builds with each entrance, as each new character reveals dissensions in family, town or district. Turgenev is adept at bringing the crisis to a head and then reinvigorating the comedy by intruding into the mêlée an authority figure (first Pekhteryev, then Nagalanovich) whose disruption elevates bedlam to pandemonium. The pigheaded old woman whose irrational responses frustrate all attempts at reconciliation may owe something to Gogol’s Korobochka in Dead Souls; she almost certainly inspired the nuisance Merchutkina in Chekhov’s one-act The Jubilee. She also indicates a strain of misogyny that runs through nineteenth-century Russian comedy, in which female landowners of a certain age are depicted as obtuse idiots or monsters of selfishness. To some degree, this may represent reality, given the low level of female education and the licence allowed to landowners in the age of serfdom: Turgenev’s own mother was a paragon of unbelievable cruelty. But it also represents the perpetuation of a type seen as early as Fonvizin’s Mrs Prostakova in The Minor. As Nick Worrall has pointed out, the characters are all obsessives, whose idées fixes border on madness. The male characters exhibit a degree of inflexibility: as in Henri Bergson’s famous definition of comedy, they have become mechanical, if sincere, in their responses, because of their blinkered fixation on their own interests. It is the sole female in the play, Kaurova, who can manipulate the situation by tacking to changes in the wind, and shifting her allegiances to suit altered circumstances. But in the midst of all the chaos, it is worth noting that the quarrel is over “fallow fields,” of no value to anyone.

Estate owners had never recovered financially from the depredations of the Napoleonic invasion; and the comedy’s portrayal of mismanagement, legal tangles and pettifogging wrangles hints that Russian husbandry is continuing on a downward slope. *** Like such Russian dramatic masterpieces as Griboedov’s Woe from Wit or Pushkin’s Boris Godunov or Sukhovo-Kobylin’s Tarelkin’s Death, none of the plays of Mikhail Evgrafovich Saltykov (pseudonym N.Shchedrin, 1826–89) could be staged in his lifetime, which may be why he bothered to finish only one, Pazukhin’s Death. The acerbity of the satire, far surpassing the Aesopic language of his prose pieces, was too trenchant to meet the approval of any official licensing board. If his play Shadows at least partakes of a Russian literary tradition of inveighing against the corruption of the bureaucracy, Pazukhin’s Death attacks the very basis of human nature. The censor who proscribed it for the stage in 1857 noted, most accurately, that “the characters presented in this play demonstrate the utter moral ruin of society.” Just as Turgenev’s Luncheon with the Marshal finds its motor in the complications of property law, Saltykov’s play returns to the ancient Roman theme of legacy-hunting, which had already proven to be a fruitful inspiration for Ben Jonson. Indeed, in its saeva indignatio, Shchedrin’s play has more than a little in common with Volpone: there is the same division of mankind into knaves and gulls, the same exuberant wielding of odd idioms and dialects, the same sarcastic belief that money makes the world go round and, if it doesn’t, ego does. But where Jonson feels the moral need to submit his villains to poetic justice, Saltykov, more jaundiced, lets the big fish eat the little fish and swim victoriously away. To portray a world of grotesque corruption, Jonson found it necessary to set his scene in Venice, since Italy was a byword for crime in the minds of his audience. All Saltykov had to do was to turn to a Russian backwater, the fictitious village of Krutogorsk which had already appeared in his Provincial Sketches. Not that he intended to describe a set of folkways; he interpreted the fashionable term, narodnost or national qualities in art, to mean not “national exclusivity, but sympathy with the interests of the mass of humanity.” Within its microcosm, the town’s panorama of vice can range from the Pecksniffian hypocrisy of State Councillor Furnachyov, who finds legal camouflage for his thefts, to Porfiry Pazukhin, whose conversion to a fundamentalist creed cannot withstand the temptations of a rich inheritance, to a variegated assortment of hangers-on and dependents whose only social adhesive is greed. By the play’s end, the parasite Zhivnovsky tries to point the moral and fails: “Virtue…oops, vice is punished, and virtue…where is virtue anyway?” Pazukhin’s Death may be the best constructed Russian comedy since The Inspector General. The first act, in Porfiry’s home, handles the exposition adroitly giving us second-hand accounts of the intrigues going on elsewhere and making the audience, like Porfiry, helpless receptors of the tattle that forecasts his fate. Act II brings us into the world of Porfiry’s chief adversary, Furnachyov, and lays the groundwork for his schemes, while driving Porfiry deeper into despair. The third act plunges us into the storm-center itself, the inner circle of the dying millionaire Pazukhin, where Porfiry’s nascent triumph is dashed by Furnachyov’s belated entrance. And, in the last act, on the threshold of death itself, the tables are unexpectedly turned and Furnachyov is compelled to assume Porfiry’s humiliation. Since the author withholds sympathy from any of the

characters, the audience begins to share their interests and their amorality by rooting for the most successful machinations. An unsuccessful attempt was made to stage the play at Goreva’s Theatre in 1880, but it was not until 1893 that a production was permitted, at the Alexandra Theatre in St Petersburg as a benefit for the great comic actor Varlamov. Despite a star cast, it failed and disappeared from the repertory, in part because it was performed realistically as a faithful depiction of a bygone age. NemirovichDanchenko directed it at the Moscow Art Theatre in 1914, with colorful sets by the delineator of merchant life, Boris Kustodiev. The theatre was undergoing one of its periodic artistic crises at the time, and Nemirovich selected the play in order to bring the MAT back to political and social themes. He applied Saltykov’s attack on evil to his own society, “its narrow-mindedness, snobism, petty, cheap skepticism, its tendency to take an interest in trivial gossip…in general, all that spiritual vileness and trash to which the bourgeois soul is so slavishly given by nature.” Unfortunately, the Art Theatre somewhat blunted the satire through its ethnographic approach and penchant for muted halftones. Connoisseurs looking for Swiftian savagery were surprised to find the production too funny! The play did not receive the sharply caricatural production it deserved until after the revolution. When the Alexandra revived Pazukhin’s Death in 1924, the director Leonid Vivien conceived it as “a psychologically dynamic grotesque [in which] human personality is transformed into a kind of swinish snout”, but despite abstract sets and costumes the actors played in their traditionally realistic manner. It was only on the eve of war, in the wake of Stalin’s purges, that a renovated Pazukhin’s Death at the Moscow Art Theatre in 1939 achieved the proper blend of comedy and horror. The powers of darkness were revealed in all their ugliness, perhaps because, for the first time, the theatre and its public had had first-hand experience of their ubiquity

Her First Night [LEV GURYCH SINICHKIN, OR THE PROVINCIAL ACTRESS’S DEBUT] A Vaudeville in Five Acts by DMITRY T.LENSKY

DEDICATION To Nadezhda Vasilyevna Repina That she is gifted, who’ll deny? Even the critic who’s a churl And pedant is compelled to cry: I think there’s talent in the girl! CAST OF CHARACTERS PRINCE VETRINSKY [Lord Breezely], retired cavalry officer, rich landowner COUNT ZEPHYROV [Count Zephyr], patron of the arts LEV GURYCH SINICHKIN [Leo Fitzgeorge Tittlebat], provincial actor LIZA [Betsy], his daughter RAISA MINISHNA SURMILOVA [Flora Macdonald Mascara], provincial actress PYOTR PETROVICH PUSTOSLAVTSEV [Peter Vainglory], manager of a provincial theatre FYODOR SEMYONOVICH BORZIKOV [Theodore Fleethound], playwright NAPOIKIN [Tippler], actor NALIMOV [Burbot], stage manager ORCHESTRA CONDUCTOR TRIFON [Ebenezer], company dogsbody MITKA [Dimmy], boss stage carpenter SEMYON [Simon], Borzikov’s servant NADYA [Nell] Dancers KATYA [Kate] Dancers VARYA [Belle] Actresses MASHA [Meg] Actresses SHKAL [Flagon] waiter in the theatre’s coffee-house BUTLER to Count Zephyrov ACTORS AND WALK-ONS MUSICIANS STAGE CARPENTERS AND LIGHTING-MEN

Russian comedy of the nikolaian era

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ACT ONE THE LETTER The stage represents an unpretentious room in a coaching inn. A door center and a door at either side. Plain old furniture: two chairs, a table stage right, and a chest of drawers far upstage. SINICHKIN is in the room stage left, LIZA is in the room stage right. PRINCE VETRINSKY enters through the center door. VETRINSKY. What a staircase! The devil himself would break a leg! Oh, and the room’s charming too, it can’t be denied. They must be real enthusiasts to live in a filthy coaching inn four flights up! Fresh-air fiends too: all the doors are wide open— or rather, they’re all off their hinges. But no thief would bother coming here. There’s nothing to interest him, except an enchanting little face that has turned my head completely. And her lunatic father, an old provincial barnstormer, wants to make her a strolling mummer as well! SINICHKIN (from his room). Liza! VETRINSKY. Sounds like his voice. SINICHKIN (shouting). Liza my sweet! VETRINSKY. It is. SINICHKIN (even louder). Lizzie! LIZA (replying from her room). What do you want, daddy? VETRINSKY. Ah! there she is. SINICHKIN. Are you awake? VETRINSKY. Pretty question! LIZA. I’m awake, daddy!… VETRINSKY. And I thought she’d say she was asleep. SINICHKIN. Do you remember, Lizzie m’love, where I put my wig? LIZA. It’s hanging on the water carafe, daddy. VETRINSKY. Egad! While daddy is reupholstering his bald pate, why don’t I execute a smart right turn and steal a march on his daughter?… Yes! I’ll launch a swift, decisive attack, and if she’s agreeable, I’ll drive off with her at once to my country-house, Revelry Hall. SINICHKIN. Liza!… LIZA (running in). Here I am! (Unawares, throws her arms around Vetrinsky’s neck). Good morning, daddy! VETRINSKY. Same to you, my angel! LIZA (realizing her mistake, cries out). Oh! VETRINSKY. Charming! LIZA. Pardon me, sir! People don’t come into a young lady’s room without asking first. VETRINSKY. Then why don’t young ladies lock their doors? LIZA. The cook must have forgot to lock it. VETRINSKY. Well then, it’s not my fault, it’s the cook’s! LIZA. Hold on… I recognize you… Aren’t you Prince Vetrinsky? I’ve often seen you at Raisa Surmilova’s lodgings. You’re a fan of hers. VETRINSKY. And now, you divine creature, I’m a fan of yours. LIZA. Mine?

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VETRINSKY. Listen, dear girl, you’ve got to know… Surmilova and I have split up… We had a tiff. LIZA. Is that right!… But she loved you so! VETRINSKY. She still does, but her love is beginning to bore me. Besides, she’s an actress, she can’t be pried loose from the theatre, and I want the woman I love to be by my side at all times and all places… In two days I’ll be off to my estate in Kharkov and I intend to abduct you. LIZA. Abduct me?… In the first place, you need my consent! VETRINSKY. But if you consent, it won’t be an abduction. LIZA. And what about my debut, Prince? VETRINSKY. Oh, you women and your debuts!… I suppose your famous daddy made you so keen on the theatre? LIZA. Ah, what could be better than the theatre? VETRINSKY. Here in the provinces? Ugh! Be serious!

How can you launch a stage career While you are living in this place? Regional theatre around here Is a bad joke, a sad disgrace! The audience’s wits are blunt! They’re far from being avant-garde! Why, ev’ry face you see out front Shines like a moon all smeared with lard! You can’t believe the scenery, The costumes lack the slightest splendor! The cast, like stage machinery, Keep breaking down! Now guess their gender! The leading man attempts to strut In full parade-dress fit for princes, He’s cast to play a colonel, but He cannot march, he only minces! Moustache glued on, his boots unspurred, He strives to woo a fair princess, And after ev’ry blessed word Clicks both his heels—a sonic mess… Backstage, the princess, oh so quickly, Her mouth hung open like a door, While laying rouge on double-thickly, Will bark at you a curt “Bong-zhur!” If you would laugh at something silly, The tragedies are heaven-sent!—

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The queens and heroes willy-nilly Come off as clowns, not their intent! In singsong tones they speak the verse, Their arms they fling up to the sky At every moment, then reverse, Right, left, left, right, not knowing why!… And yet the papers spread the yarn Last night a rising star was seen! A modern Garrick has been born! A Roscius, Thespis, second Kean! For out-of-town, though they be bad, It’s gold that actors always strike, And managers insist they’re glad To put on anything you like… Though opera’s far beyond their means, They’ll promise any masterpiece, And so, God help us, load their scenes With Figaro set in ancient Greece… If opera stars could ever hear Our local singers, they’d take down Their laurel wreaths in abject fear, The up-and-comers’ heads to crown… But what excels all else, I’d say, And makes me laugh until I split Is the provincial grand ballet Where plots are twisted till they fit!… I really don’t mean to be snide, But costumes come in but two sorts: In red boleros sylphides glide, In gumboots zephyrs do disport!… How can you launch a stage career While you are living in this place? The regional theatre around here Is a bad joke, a sad disgrace! LIZA. I know our provincial theatres can’t be compared to the ones in Moscow and Petersburg. I hope in time to be able to get an engagement there, but I have to build up my experience here first.

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VETRINSKY. And why are you so eager to get experience in the theatre? Why should it matter? LIZA. I want to be an actress, to win fame and fortune… VETRINSKY. Hold on! Fame in the theatre is a mere nothing; and as for fortune, I can guarantee that, if only you’ll love me a little. LIZA. I love the theatre, your grace! VETRINSKY. And I haven’t been able to endure it since I was first taken backstage in Petersburg: yes, first I was taken to the actresses’ dressing-rooms, there I was mistaken, and finally I was taken for everything I had. Actresses are a fickle tribe… Surmilova for instance: she’s only a provincial star, but people say she cosies up to Count Zephyrov, because he lends heaps of money to the local manager Pustoslavtsev. So Count Zephyrov has the last word on all decisions in the theatre, even the casting of the plays. Anyway, if you do go on stage, I’ll hire a claque—and you’ll be hissed. LIZA. How kind of you! VETRINSKY. I suggest you’d better come with me to my country-house. Tomorrow as soon as it’s light we’ll drive off in my carriage—and I swear I’ll make you happy! SINICHKIN (calls). Liza! LIZA. Daddy’s calling!… Go away, Prince, for heaven’s sake, go away! Why, if he sees you here… VETRINSKY. What then? LIZA. What do you mean, what then? His daughter alone with a young man, and a prince to boot. VETRINSKY. Ah! He probably wouldn’t like it? LIZA. And it’s not my normal situation either… VETRINSKY. Is that a fact? (Kisses her.) Sorry, forgive me!… LIZA. He’s coming…now I’ll catch it! (SINICHKIN enters in a dressing-gown.) SINICHKIN (declaiming, goes straight to Liza’s room): “Oh thou, beloved daughter of an errant father! Frail mainstay of this unhappy…” VETRINSKY (hiding behind Liza). “Idiot!” SINICHKIN. Listen, Liza m’love, I want to pay a call on Raisa Minishna. She’s promised to put in a good word for us. LIZA. All right, daddy SINICHKIN (turning around). Ah! there you are!… And I thought you were in your, dare I say it, bedroom. LIZA (undertone, to the Prince). Do go away, do you hear! VETRINSKY. I like it here. SINICHKIN. Raisa Minishna has a good deal of influence and will probably procure you a debut. (Seeing the Prince.) Hah! An interloper! VETRINSKY. Good morning! How are you? SINICHKIN. My respects… I’m well, thank goodness. (Undertone to Liza.) Who is he? LIZA (at a loss). He’s…just a passerby…he…well, you see… VETRINSKY. I’m an artiste, sir…an artiste…the same as yourself and your daughter. SINICHKIN. Ah!… So you are a, dare I say it, thespian? VETRINSKY. From Kharkov… I play romantic leads.

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SINICHKIN. Delighted, your hand, colleague! Please make yourself at home. So you’re in Ludwig Malatkovsky’s troupe? VETRINSKY. That’s right SINICHKIN. I know him. A splendid fellow. I myself, dare I say it, played Othello for him two years ago. (Declaims.) “Blood, blood, blood!…” (In his usual voice.) Is he well? VETRINSKY. Not exactly…he keeps complaining about his head. LIZA (aside). What a liar! SINICHKIN. That’s a shame, for it’s a well-screwed-on head. You’ll lunch with us? LIZA (undertone to her father). We haven’t got anything but cabbage soup, daddy! SINICHKIN (undertone). Better and better, he’ll send to the inn for something else. VETRINSKY (staring at Liza). I came in person to offer your daughter an engagement and take her away tomorrow. SINICHKIN. On Malatkovsky’s behalf?… Not on your life! He won’t give her a break. VETRINSKY. You think so? SINICHKIN. I know so! His wife plays all the female leads. I don’t dispute that she has a certain modicum of, dare I say it, talent, but what is she compared to my daughter Lizzie!… Poles apart!…

No star can compete with my Liza, I dare say, though I know that I shouldn’t, And as soon as the Moscow stage sees her, To keep her a third-rate stage couldn’t. Some training is all that she’s wanting, On that I would bet all I own, In lights soon her name she’ll be flaunting, And [insert name of actress playing Liza] won’t stand alone! LIZA. Oh, daddy, you always think she’s so wonderful. SINICHKIN. I know that Nature has, dare I say it, thanks to me, lavished her gifts upon you. Everything you’ve get comes from your father and your late mother Akulina Nikitishna: the same temperament, the same style, the same, dare I say it, fire!… The only reason I want you to make your debut here is to perfect your technique, and then I will definitely send you to Moscow or Petersburg. What can you achieve here in the provinces? For thirty-seven years now I’ve been, dare I say it, trooping from town to town: I have played (very quickly) Tula, Kaluga, Ryazan, Oryol, Tambov, Kursk, Yaroslavl, Kiev, Nizhny, Saratov, Odessa, Taganrog, Kharkov, Kostroma… Kostroma was my last stop… I made my name as romantic leads, heroes, heavies… I sang tenor roles in opera. (Sings.) “I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls, With vassals and serfs by my…” (Speaks.) What have I, dare I say it, earned? Not a groat… I mean not even a penny!… I’m in debt up to my ears…whereas if I were playing tragedy in Moscow today, I’d be making as much as, dare I say it… (whispers in the Prince’s ear). Yes…and in comedy, perhaps, even more than… (Whispers again.) Yes! yes!… Believe me, I would be getting four thousand pension fund, four thousand salary, fifty

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rubles a performance and a full benefit at the height of the season…how about that? Then there’d be something for lunch. LIZA (spiritedly). I will make my debut, daddy, I’m sure I will! I know that I’ll be a popular actress: my heart tells me so!

I pledge the stage a daughter’s love, The stage is all my destiny!… SINICHKIN (enthusiastically).

If I dare add to the above, Oh! daughter dear, my progeny! Thy bosom burns with sacred fire!… VETRINSKY (aside).

The old buffoon! The silly sot! SINICHKIN.

Renown awaits, and I thy sire, Shall share thy fame, for ‘tis our lot! ‘Tis a foredoomed predestination! Nature wills it! heaven bless ‘er!! Tears I shed in agitation… Get a hanky from the dresser! (LIZA goes for a handkerchief.) Oof! I can imagine how good she’d be as a, dare I say it, princess! VETRINSKY. A princess? SINICHKIN. Yes, a princess! What’s so surprising about that? Her father impersonated, dare I say it, kings on the stage for thirty-seven years, and her mother played Queen Gertrude like nobody’s business…(With feeling) Ah, Akulina Nikitishna! If only you were alive, what a meal you and I would make of Hamlet!…(Declaiming.)

“Oh my, I’m offensive, rank, I smell to heaven…” (In his own voice.) I tell a lie!… That’s not how it goes…(Declaiming.) “Oh, my offense is rank, it smells to heaven,

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“It hath the primal eldest curse upon it, “A mother’s burden…uh, a brother’s murder!” VETRINSKY. You amaze me. How does it happen that you’ve worked for almost every regional theatre and haven’t managed to obtain your daughter a debut in any of them? SINICHKIN. Jealousy, sir, damnable jealousy! Wherever I go, I perform…“No,” they say, “if the daughter is half as good as her father, why, dare I say it, we’ll be out of business: no audience would look at us again!…” VETRINSKY. But what if your daughter were to be hissed here? For I have a feeling she will be hissed. LIZA (alarmed). That would be barbaric! SINICHKIN. Never mind… I’ve been hissed thirty-seven years running. VETRINSKY. Well, it hasn’t killed you yet. SINICHKIN. You get used to it, I pay it no mind any more. Although, dare I say it, I still can’t adjust to rotten tomatoes… (LIZA gives him the handkerchief.) Thanks, Lizzie! But don’t you be afraid, my angel, they’ll all applaud you so loudly the theatre will start to rock; and they’ll always give you a good ten curtain calls!… They’ll raise you aloft…we’ll get rich, keep a carriage…you’ll make twenty thousand a year. (Unfolds the handkerchief which is full of holes. When VETRINSKY sees it, he laughs.) Yes, yes! Four thousand salary, winter benefit, and, in addition, dare I say it, a hundred rubles a performance! VETRINSKY. Highly likely. SINICHKIN. It stands to reason!… Why are you staring at my handkerchief? I have half a dozen of them…four are, dare I say it, not much use… Anyway, she has already acted and with great success. VETRINSKY. Indeed? Arid where was that? LIZA. In an amateur theatrical on the Farsinsky estate. SINICHKIN. The Farsinsky estate. Lizzie played the wife of a certain dignitary—she still has the dress, torn to shreds—remarkable thing! LIZA. That’s what the audience was like! SINICHKIN. I’ll say!… All of them, dare I say it, infantry officers and Ukrainian landowners to a man!… And what a play! LIZA. And there was ice-cream in the intermissions! SINICHKIN. It was marvelous! VETRINSKY. The play? SINICHKIN. The ice-cream… I had ten helpings… Everyone was in raptures over my daughter… She has, dare I say it, such an appealing manner…so much temperament, fire!… And, what’s more, a remarkable memory! Would you believe it, Mister… Mister, dare I say it, what’s your name? VETRINSKY. Lensky SINICHKIN. Lensky? What! You’re that farce translator the daily papers are always criticizing? VETRINSKY. Oh no, there are lots of Lenskys.

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LIZA. The other one, daddy, works in the Moscow theatre. SINICHKIN. Yes, I was mistaken… But, that poor wretch, dare I say it, the way all the reviewers light into him! One writer in particular never lets up! I’ll bet Lensky is awfully annoyed with him. LIZA. I shouldn’t think so, daddy

I’m told he doesn’t care for fame, But only for his friends. Though critics may abuse his name, They cannot him offend. For when a pack of silly hacks Begin to scold and scoff, He calls to mind the fable’s line: “Dogs bark but they leave off.” SINICHKIN. Quite right, quite right, Lizzie my dear… Same thing with me, they hiss and boo, and then leave off!… However, dare I say it, what were we talking about? Ah yes! Your memory… Can you imagine, Mr Lensky: Mme Surmilova asked Liza to hear her go over her lines for the role of Cora in this new play they’re opening tonight. Liza listened—and now she can recite Surmilova’s role by heart, word perfect! VETRINSKY. The lead role? SINICHKIN. Yessir, dare I say it, Surmilova’s role… Do you know her? LIZA (smiling). I believe they do, daddy!… They know each other slightly. SINICHKIN. We’re among friends here, no one’s eavesdropping… This Raisa Surmilova…as an actress, dare I say it, in Liza’s hearing,—confidentially, she stinks! LIZA. Of course, daddy, I am have more talent than she does…but all the same she’s been a good friend to me. SINICHKIN. Oh! I didn’t mean to belittle her…on the contrary, I respect her from the bottom of, dare I say it, my heart…she’s the female lead here, earns a fabulous salary: six hundred rubles, lodging, fire-wood and candles, and two benefits while the fair’s on… She’ll get you a debut, yes, and, through her kindness, they’ll engage me too. VETRINSKY. What do you mean, engage you? You don’t mean to carry on with your mumming, do you? SINICHKIN. Indeed I do! Why, dare I say it, just yesterday I acted here. Didn’t you see me? VETRINSKY. No, I didn’t have that pleasure. I wasn’t at the performance. SINICHKIN. Just you ask what sort of name I made for myself!… LIZA (listens). Daddy, someone’s coming upstairs!… I think it’s Raisa Minishna. VETRINSKY (aside). Surmilova!… I’m in a fix! SINICHKIN. Raisa Minishna! Our dear kind friend, our Lady Bountiful, our Fairy Godmother!… I rush to greet her… Damn and blast! Dare I say it,—our leading lady!…(Exits.) VETRINSKY. If she runs into me here, I’ve had it! LIZA. But I thought the two of you had split up?

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VETRINSKY. And over just this sort of thing! She’s still in love with me and insanely jealous. If she catches me in your room, she’ll scratch my eyes out, and you’ll get your share too. I’m off! LIZA. But she’s coming up the stairs. VETRINSKY. God guide my feet!… But how can I get out?… Ah! Through this door. LIZA. But that’s my bedroom. VETRINSKY. All the better. LIZA. There’s another door that leads on to the landing. VETRINSKY. I don’t need it!… I’ll stay in here till nightfall. LIZA. That’s all I need!…(VETRINSKY kisses her and rushes into her room.) They almost caught him!… (Enter SINICHKIN and SURMILOVA) SINICHKIN. Please, be so kind, Raisa Minishna! A gracious welcome, dear guest!… Dare I say it…(Sings.) “God shed his grace on thee…” (Speaks.)… the minute you walk through the door. SURMILOVA. Thank you, Sinichkin. SINICHKIN. May I venture to introduce you to…(Looking round.) Why, where did he get to? LIZA. He left, daddy. (Goes to SURMILOVA.) Ah, Raisa Minishna, I’m so grateful for your dropping in! How kind of you! SURMILOVA. Good morning, my pet (Kisses Liza.) I gave my word, and you can be assured if ever I give anyone my word of honor, I always keep it. SINICHKIN. Yes, whatever people may say, if Raisa Minishna gives her word of honor, she always keeps it! Just so long, dare I say it, as a person keeps his request within reason. SURMILOVA. True enough. But some people ask for the impossible, and, in return for all your love and affection, they cheat you into the bargain. So this is where you live? Cramped little rooms…and yet, rather sweet LIZA. Of course, yours are much more spacious and luxurious. How could we ever keep up with you? SURMILOVA. Don’t be jealous, darling, remember the line: “Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.” SINICHKIN. But surely you, dare I say it, have no cause for complaint? SURMILOVA. Ah! indeed I do!… The monster to whom I sacrificed my all—and to whom, alas! I would be happy to sacrifice my all again!… SINICHKIN. Aha! I mean, dare I say it, “where lies the cause of your distress?” SURMILOVA. The one creature I worshipped so ardently…(To Liza.) You know Prince Vetrinsky?… He betrayed me, the cruel deceiver! SINICHKIN. That’s what you get for hobnobbing with princes! After all, men of honor aren’t, dare I say it, your sort of people, Raisa Minishna!… Oh! if any man of honor came a-courting Liza, I would consider her ruined for life! LIZA (aside). Dear daddy! If only he knew…(To SURMILOVA.) And are you still in love with the prince? SURMILOVA. How can I help but love the perfidious wretch! When I met him, he had on his hussar’s uniform. Ah!…you have no idea what a potent effect an hussar’s

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uniform has on us women! Picture a well-built, vigorous youth…with thirty thousand a year!… SINICHKIN. Well, against that, dare I say it, there’s nothing to be said! However, I’ve heard there’s a certain elderly Count who also comes a-calling on you. SURMILOVA. Yes…there used to be… I’m so bored today I have a rehearsal at eleven, I go on this evening… I really must have some diversion, so I thought I’ll pop in on the poor Sinichkins. (Sits at the right.) LIZA (aside). The poor Sinichkins! SINICHKIN (aside). It’s quite a line she’s, dare I say it, handing us, this high and mighty lady! SURMILOVA. Well, how is God keeping you? How are you making ends meet? How can I help you out? SINICHKIN. We hope you will do us a great favor. You, dare I say it, promised us you would take my daughter, my enchanting Liza, under your wing at the theatre. SURMILOVA. All right. I’ll get her a job as a walk-on. LIZA and SINICHKIN. A walk-on! SURMILOVA. And as for you, Lev Gurych, you may distribute tickets. SINICHKIN. Me, a character man from Kostroma, specializing in noble fathers, distribute tickets! SURMILOVA. And what sort of a job do you expect from me? SINICHKIN. Excuse me, Raisa Minishna!… There’s been some mistake!… I, dare I say it, am as much an actor as you are!… And I shall die an actor, on stage or if between engagements, in my bed!… Even if I don’t take up your offer, I won’t starve when my daughter becomes a leading lady. SURMILOVA. A leading lady? And where’s that going to be, pray? LIZA. How can you ask where? Here at the local theatre…on the same boards as you. SURMILOVA (rising). What?… On the same boards as I?… Ha ha!… Such pretensions! LIZA. What’s so funny? After all, you act, Raisa Minishna, and people applaud you. SURMILOVA. There’s one great difference between us: I have talent! SINICHKIN. Yes, indeed, you may boast of your talent and, dare I say it, your modesty too!… But, confound it, who told you that my Liza doesn’t have talent too?… Who, dare I say it, told you? LIZA. Daddy! That’ll do! SURMILOVA. It appears, Lev Gurych, that your daughter is far more levelheaded than you: she understands what I mean. Fame, like love, is very fickle!… She would do far better to learn a trade or snare a husband! Of course it isn’t as noble, but on the other hand it’s a thousand times more secure. SINICHKIN. One thing, madam, does not stand in the way of the other: a girl can get married and also make a debut. Some even, dare I say it, made debuts on their wedding-night! SURMILOVA. Oh, how tiresome you are, you and your arguments, Lev Gurych! Well, if you insist on turning her into an actress, send her to acting school in Moscow or Petersburg first. There at least they’ll teach her to stand erect and straighten out her arms and legs…

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SINICHKIN. And how come you have, dare I say it, such a swelled head? Where did you get your legs straightened? My daughter will do better than you right here! SURMILOVA. Is that so? First let’s see if they let her on the stage. SINICHKIN.

They will, they will, I’m sure they’ll let Her on, yes, that they’ll do, And I’ll be glad to make a bet She’s bound to outshine you!. SURMILOVA.

A fine comparison to try Between this chit and me! Disdain is my unique reply! You’re mad as mad can be. LIZA.

What is the cause of all your pride? Why, I can prove to you… SURMILOVA.

Be still, you’re only qualified To help me don my shoe! LIZA (weeping).

Such underestimation (Together) I haven’t strength to bear… (Together) This creature’s denigration (Together) Our honor does besmear! (Together) SINICHKIN (to Surmilova).

No, such humiliation (Together)

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I haven’t strength to bear! (Together) Take this as my ovation—(Together) The door is over there! (Together) SURMILOVA (to Sinichkin).

I’ll get authorization (Together) And you had best beware, (Together) A simple walk-on’s station (Together) Is what you’ll have to bear! (Together) Ha, ha, ha! Lunatics! (Exits.) (Together) SINICHKIN. The low, uncouth hussy!… How she turns up her nose!…(Declaims.) “Oh what a rouged, unpleasant slave is she!…” LIZA. She can afford to be arrogant, daddy, because she really does have a lot of talent! SINICHKIN. Just you wait! All her talent, dare I say it, consists of hoary Count Zephyrov, her protector!… All you have to do is show yourself on stage, and you’ll win away all her leading men. LIZA. I could win one leading man from her right now, daddy. SINICHKIN. How so? LIZA. Prince Vertinsky!… He declared his love to me, he wanted to abduct me. SINICHKIN (wringing his hands). Abduct? You? My daughter, my chee-ild, my only treasure!… Abduct you from your agèd par-ient?… No, dare I say it, just let his grace try! LIZA. Don’t worry, daddy I don’t love him…. His visit just now was quite uninvited. SINICHKIN. What do you mean, just now? Do you mean that young Mr Lensky… LIZA. Was Prince Vertinsky. I threw him out. SINICHKIN. But where did he get to? I didn’t see him on the stairs LIZA (pointing to her room). He ran in there. SINICHKIN. Your bedroom?… So, dare I say it, that’s the way you throw out lovers…(Quickly crosses left.) LIZA. Daddy! For heaven’s sake!… Oh, what if he finds him there!… SINICHKIN (returns holding a notebook). He left through the unlocked door to the landing. The cutthroat! Lucky for him he had enough sense to clear out of here… He wrote something in the notebook that was on the table. LIZA (looking at the notebook). Seems to be some kind of letter. SINICHKIN. Who to? Doesn’t say… It must be for you, naturally, since it was left in your room LIZA. Well then read it, daddy SINICHKIN (reads). “You really are driving me crazy. Give up the theatre and move in with me” Tut tut!…“and my fortune.” Ah! Hm…“Come to the town gate at dusk, I will be waiting for you there in my carriage and we will drive to my country-house,

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Revelry Hall, for supper…no one will be there but us. If you do not come, I will raise a cruel claque against you,—and you will be mercilessly hissed. Prince Vetrinsky.” LIZA. How mean! SINICHKIN. And obscene! That’s what those mamma’s boys with the pussycat whiskers are like! How, dare I say it, dare they! LIZA. I’m sure I never gave him cause, daddy!… SINICHKIN. You think I don’t know you, daughter! I understand you through and thr… But listen… I don’t want to, dare I say it, hold you back. Tell me frankly, do you have an insurmountable passion for the theatre? LIZA. I live and die to be an actress! SINICHKIN. Oh! In that case…(About to tear up the letter.) Oops! What was I about to do?… Hold on! I’ve got an idea!… No!… And yet, why not? The letter could be meant for anyone, there’s no address on it. LIZA. What are you going to do? (Music till the end) SINICHKIN. I’m not sure’ Maybe!… She belittled us humiliated us. So now, dare I say it, I’ll show her!… LIZA. Ah, daddy! You’d better not. SINICHKIN (goes over to the table and sits). I’ll make an envelope and address it… LIZA. To whom? SINICHKIN (after folding the letter in four, makes an envelope from another sheet of paper). Ssh!… Quiet, Lizzie, quiet! “Hell hath no fury like a father scorned.” (Slips the folded note into the envelope, seals it with a wafer and addresses it.) How dare she enroll my daughter as a walk-on and set me to handing out tickets!…(Rises.) Get me my swallow-tail coat, my very best one. LIZA. You only have one, daddy. SINICHKIN. Well, give it here… You always, dare I say it, look sweet in everything…(Declaiming) “When as in calico my Liza goes…!” Give me a kiss—and let’s be off! (Dons the tail-coat.) LIZA (puts her bonnet on). Just what do you have in mind? SINICHKIN. To put you on the stage. LIZA. When? SINICHKIN. This very night. LIZA. In which role? SINICHKIN. Surmilova’s role. LIZA. But how? SINICHKIN.

Be bold! Leave it to me! I’m not afraid of Raisa! Be bold ! Yourself and all your kin You’ll raise by talent’s means, And, dare I put my two cents in, Smash her to smithereens!

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LIZA.

Be bold! To hear Dad say so Together Raisa’s naught to fear. Together There’s no one in my way, so Together I’ll soon launch my career. Together SINICHKIN.

Be bold! You’ve heard me say so, (Together) Raisa’s naught to fear. (Together) There’s no one in your way, so (Together) You’ll be a star, my dear! (Together) Exeunt ACT TWO THE REHEARSAL The stage represents a stage in disarray. NALIMOV and NAPOIKIN are discovered, with actors and walk-ons sitting far upstage; some are playing chess or cards, others are looking on. NALIMOV (on the forestage, watch in hand). Twelve-thirty, and the rehearsal still hasn’t begun. The play’s a new one, put on today for the very first time. (Unrolls a playbill.) “Pizarro and the Spaniards in Peru, a drama with songs and dances, written by F.S.Borzikov.” What a splendid title!… That should bring ‘em to the box-office, I’ll bet!… Ah! and here’s the manager himself. (Enter PUSTOSLAVTSEV.) PUSTOSLAVTSEV (talking into the wings). Shut up, stand still, look sharp! Tell your master, my good man, that it’s impossible… Stap me vitals, simply impossible! Every last one’s been handed out… Stap me vitals, we’re all sold out… But give his honor my regards. (Steps out on to the forestage. The actors rise and bow to Pustoslavtsev.) How about that, not one seat left! Nalimov! Has Mister Borzikov shown up yet? NALIMOV. He was here, but he went to get Mme Surmilova. She’s been keeping us all waiting. PUSTOSLAVTSEV (snorting a huge pinch of snuff). Fine… While we’re waiting, put up the set. NALIMOV (shouts). Mitka!… The set! (Turning to the actors and supers.) Ladies and gentlemen, in the interim please take your chess games to the dressingroom. Clear the stage SOME OF THE ACTORS (to Pustoslavtsev).

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Pyotr Petrovich, we’re fed up to here. How much longer do we have to wait? OTHER ACTORS.

From early morn to midnight drear You insist that we stay so late! PUSTOSLAVTSEV.

Shut up, I will brook no debate! ! NAPOIKIN.

Rehearsal’s set for eleven sharp. It’s one. When are we to commence? PUSTOSLAVTSEV.

On this string must you always harp? NAPOIKIN.

To waste our time is an offence! It doesn’t make a bit of sense! PUSTOSLAVTSEV.

I’ll see you actors keep your peace, Stap me vitals through and through, I’m calling in the town police, If I hear one more word from you. ACTORS AND WALK-ONS (sotto voce).

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We’re mum but we’re fed up to here, How much more must we tolerate? From early morn to midnight drear, You insist that we stay so late. (They go off.) PUSTOSLAVTSEV. Loafers! Pay them a salary, feed them, but don’t dare waste a couple of extra hours at rehearsal! Stap me vitals, they’re blood-suckers, the lot of ‘em! MITKA (shouts aloft). Proshka! Ain’t you dropped the ocean yet? STAGE HAND (from above). Right away! It got caught!… MITKA. With you everything catches. (To another stage hand) Hey, you, quick, get the set-pieces! (To Nalimov.) The waves won’t move; got to grease ‘em with lard most likely. NALIMOV (to Pustoslavtsev). What should we do? PUSTOSLAVTSEV. Don’t bother. There’s no storm in the play, so the ocean can stand still. NALIMOV. Very good, sir. (To Mitka.) Nail down the waves! MITKA. And the clouds up yonder got another hole in ‘em, a pretty big one. NALIMOV. Patch it with some old canvas and touch it up with paint. (THE STAGE HANDS continue to put up the scenery.) PUSTOSLAVTSEV. Stap me vitals, what a lot of bother new plays involve. Too little of this, not enough of that. Fork out for one thing after another!… Especially ballets…you’re overstocked with shoes, but everyone needs boots. There, the set’s in place; are the musicians all in their places? MUSICIAN (from the orchestra pit). The kettledrum’s at the tavern. PUSTOSLAVTSEV. Send for him at once!… What a souse! (To the orchestra.) For pity’s sake, gentlemen, don’t play so loudly, especially the double bass. Stap me vitals, you can’t hear a word. CONDUCTOR. No great loss for the audience! PUSTOSLAVTSEV. Shut up, stand still, look sharp! Of course, the words are of no importance…the playwright’s out of earshot, so why not tell the truth? But all the same, don’t make so much noise… To work, gentlemen, to work!… The set’s up…where’s the prompter? NALIMOV. Here he is crawling out from under the stage into his kennel. PUSTOSLAVTSEV (to the prompter). What’s this, my good man? You should be the first one in your place: you’re the main attraction, even though no one sees you, you’re the leading character in the play, especially when none of them knows it at speed… Prompt the comic loudly; he hasn’t the sense to know a word of it (To Nalimov). Has the leading man shown up yet? NALIMOV. Not yet. PUSTOSLAVTSEV. Fine him! NALIMOV. The old ladies aren’t here either PUSTOSLAVTSEV. Fine ‘em!

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NALIMOV. The same for Raisa Surmilova? PUSTOSLAVTSEV. Fine ‘er, fine ‘er…(Coming to his senses.) Shut up, stand still, look sharp… How can you fine the leading lady, the star actress! Wait and see, she’ll probably land me in trouble with Prince Zephyrov again. (A noise backstage.) Who’s that? Isn’t Raisa Minishna here yet? NALIMOV (with a laugh). No, it’s that fellow who made his first appearance here yesterday. He wants to see you. PUSTOSLAVTSEV. To hell with him! (Enter SINICHKIN and LIZA.) SINICHKIN (meekly). My humblest respects, dare I say it, Pyotr Petrovich, and my heartfelt wish that all your affairs may prosper and be successful. PUSTOSLAVTSEV. Fine, fine… Excuse me, but I haven’t got time for you… SINICHKIN. How did you like me in my part last night? PUSTOSLAVTSEV. You don’t suit me. SINICHKIN. How don’t I suit? Why don’t I suit? Yesterday, dare I say it, Pyotr Petrovich, I didn’t step on anybody’s applause. PUSTOSLAVTSEV. Move aside, move aside, don’t get in my way. I’ve got no use for you. SINICHKIN. I’m not the point. Allow me, at least, to introduce my, dare I say it, daughter. PUSTOSLAVTSEV (after a glance at Liza). Pretty child! SINICHKIN. She’s the god-daughter of his excellency, the Governor of the province. “One god-daughter and no more, The which he loved passing well.” PUSTOSLAVTSEV. Is that right? LIZA (undertone, to her father). What are you saying, daddy? SINICHKIN (undertone, to Liza).

Not a word! (To Pustoslavtsev.) His Excellency vows that she Is like a child to him. And I might even swear that he Obeys her ev’ry whim. PUSTOSLAVTSEV (to Liza).

Pleased to meet you! Awfully nice! Won’t you take a chair? (LIZA curtsies but remains standing) SINICHKIN.

Aha! at last I’ve broke the ice,

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And also cleared the air! My gift for public speaking Should get beneath his skin… Amazing how by leaking The word “governor” you win! (To Pustoslavtsev.)

His Excellency, etc. What talent, Pyotr Petrovich! She can act anything you like! PUSTOSLAVTSEV. Is that right? SINICHKIN (to Liza, cueing her). Curtsey, Lizzie m’love! Do you know that in all Russia there’s only one, dare I say it, Pyotr Petrovich! PUSTOSLAVTSEV (complacently). Oh!… LIZA. I’ve heard so many good things about the gentleman. SINICHKIN. Your god-daddy, His Excellency the Governor of this province, has often said that Pyotr Petrovich will in time surpass all the theatres in Europe, if only he’ll strive to furnish his troupe with distinguished artistes. And I have trained her so well that, dare I say it, no role will she will mess up. LIZA. I shouldn’t blow my own horn, but you can cast me as a maid-servant in a farce or a princess in a tragedy. and I’ll perform them with outstanding diligence, and diligence often stands in for talent… I’m sure the public will be indulgent to me as a newcomer. PUSTOSLAVTSEV. I would be delighted, but, stap me vitals… SINICHKIN. But, Pyotr Petrovich, I am presenting you with, dare I say it, not an apprentice, but a polished actress… with temperament and fire!… She sings and dances; and the way she walks… I mean, just like a, dare I say it, Countess!… Do some walking, Lizzie…(LIZA walks around the stage.) How about that? And all I ask for salary is two thousand and a benefit while the fair’s on. PUSTOSLAVTSEV. I’d be delighted, my dear Sinichkin, but stap me vitals, I don’t need any women: I’ve got enough of them acting for me for nothing as it is. SINICHKIN. You may even have the sort, dare I say it, who’d pay you. PUSTOSLAVTSEV. No…liste— SINICHKIN. No wonder!… However, if you insist, out of respect for you, Pyotr Petrovich, I’ll take a lower fee…because I want her to be in your troupe… Isn’t that right, Liza, you do want to work for Pyotr Petrovich, don’t you? LIZA. Yes, daddy… Everyone loves his theatre so. SINICHKIN. They’re crazy about it! (To Pustoslavtsev.) His Excellency the Governor of this province and her god-daddy personally advised her to make her debut on your stage. PUSTOSLAVTSEV. I’d be delighted, but stap me vitals… SINICHKIN. Pyotr Petrovich, you have always been a, dare I say it, impassioned connoisseur and patron of all actors and actresses!… What am I saying—patron!? You

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are like a father to them! You have always produced the plays at their benefits the best anyone could, you never skimped on sets and costumes. You don’t withhold salaries, you don’t impose fines… Oh, you wonderful man…(More intensely still.) Wonderful man!…(Changing his tone.) If you insist, she’ll work for you for, dare I say it, one thousand and one benefit!… Won’t you, Lizzie? LIZA (to Pustoslavtsev). I’m perfectly willing to do whatever daddy says…and hope that my love of art, my heartfelt… SINICHKIN (undertone to Pustoslavtsev). And her innocence…which is, dare I say it, a great rarity in the theatre—and has a certain appeal to the high-priced seats. PUSTOSLAVTSEV (annoyed). I repeat, I’d be delighted, but stap me vitals, I can’t SINICHKIN. Excuse me!… If you insist, I’ll agree to your terms—a hundred rubles a month and no benefit?Z Done! Of course, it’s a pittance for a girl with talent and beauty… Judge for yourself! PUSTOSLAVTSEV (at the end of his tether). Ay! That’s enough, you’re driving me crazy!…(Aside.) Damn the chatterbox!… Stap me vitals… NALIMOV (coming over to Pustoslavtsev). They’re here. PUSTOSLAVTSEV. Who? NALIMOV. Mme Surmilova and the author. SINICHKIN (aside). Blast it!… The trick didn’t work, she must not have got Vetrinsky’s letter. PUSTOSLAVTSEV (to Sinichkin). Wait, wait offstage and keep out of the way!… (To Nalimov.) Call in the cast. SINICHKIN. Let’s go, Lizzie. Don’t be downhearted! You still have two fathers left: your real one and your god one—His Excell…(About to go.) TRIFON (running in). The kettledrum ain’t at the tavern; they looked for him in all the hashhouses and couldn’t find him! PUSTOSLAVTSEV. The minute he shows up, he goes to the slammer! SINICHKIN (rapidly returning). If I may!… You need a kettle-drum? I’m at your service. PUSTOSLAVTSEV. You can really play? SINICHKIN. I’ll, dare I say it, bang away to your heart’s content! PUSTOSLAVTSEV. Get into the orchestra pit right now. SINICHKIN (lowering himself into the pit). My daughter, however, has to be, dare I say it, near me. I never let her stir a step from my side… for the sake of decency… O! Decency, even in the theatre, is the greatest of all treasures!… Come down here, Lizzie m’love… Don’t be frightened, give me your hand… Don’t trip, darling. LIZA (sighing). Surmilova is going to act, daddy… SINICHKIN (in the orchestra pit). Listen, Pyotr Petrovich! If you’ll, dare I say it, stoop down to me for one little minute. (Pustoslavtsev bends over the stage to him.) How does six hundred rubles, firewood and candles sound to you? PUSTOSLAVTSEV (leaving). Ay! That’s enough of that, pal!… Stap me vitals—a super-sharper! (EVERYONE gathers on stage from different sides.) CHORUS OF ACTORS AND WALK-ONS.

Well, look who has finally shown up,

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By now the clock is striking two, Back home the soup we had hoped to sup Is turning cold—and so’s the stew!… (EVERYONE takes his place. SINICHKIN stands by the kettledrum in the orchestra, and LIZA sits on a chair beside him.) (Enter SURMILOVA and BORZIKOV.) PUSTOSLAVTSEV. Ay! For pity’s sake, Raisa Minishna darling! Just look, stap me vitals,—you’re a whole half-hour late! SURMILOVA. Why don’t you fine me? BORZIKOV (undertone). Take it easy, Pyotr Petrovich, she’s in a really nasty mood right now… Her lover ran out on her. SURMILOVA (to Pustoslavtsev). Why did you call a dress rehearsal for the day the play goes up? We’ve already gone over it and over it… For three months straight we’ve been fussing with it. These playwrights are never satisfied. SINICHKIN (through his teeth). Hiss, snake, hiss. BORZIKOV. What’s the matter now? I still have the right to withdraw my play PUSTOSLAVTSEV. Shut up, stand still, look sharp!… Stap me vitals, it’s not right that you two should quarrel: two such talented people!… Let’s get started! SURMILOVA. I’m telling you beforehand that I won’t even try to sing my arias in rehearsal. PUSTOSLAVTSEV. Have you ever heard the like? For pity’s sake! SURMILOVA. I have to safeguard my voice for tonight. BORZIKOV. Well, all right! Let’s stop arguing… Let’s get started!… Where’s the romantic lead? NALIMOV and TRIFON (shouting in turn). Mister Consumptov! Mister Consumptov! Dionysus Ivanovich! Dionysus Ivanovich! NALIMOV. Here he is. PUSTOSLAVTSEV (to Consumptov). For pity’s sake, set an example! You never come when you’re called. NALIMOV (shouts). Mitka! Let down the front curtain, they’re starting! (The front curtain is let down. PUSTOSLAVTSEV and BORZIKOV remain on the forestage.) BORZIKOV (stands on a chair and looks out into the house). What a splendid theatre! I’d like to build one just like it to house nothing but my own plays. PUSTOSLAVTSEV (ditto). All these spectators gathered for a rehearsal! Stap me vitals, I’d be delighted to have houses like this three times a week during the run. BORZIKOV. They’re all friends of mine come to watch the rehearsal. PUSTOSLAVTSEV. Oh! Well, you’ve certainly got plenty, Fyodor Semyonovich. BORZIKOV. How else can you guarantee success? (The rap of a mallet is heard.) (Looking at the stage through the peephole in the curtain.) Mr Consumptov! Please, do me a favor, don’t cough while you’re singing. After the song you can cough your lungs out. PUSTOSLAVTSEV (ditto). Or else you can cough your lungs out beforehand, or whatever!

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BORZIKOV (ditto). Don’t let the walk-ons walk on the ocean as if it was dry land. PUSTOSLAVTSEV (ditto). Nalimov! Don’t let anybody go for a stroll in the waves. BORZIKOV (ditto). Chorus! Don’t lag behind the orchestra! SINICHKIN (in the orchestra). That’s easy for you to say. They’ve all been recruited in the street and get fifteen kopeks a night from the chorus master. (The Overture strikes up.) LIZA. She’s going to act, daddy! SINICHKIN. I can’t understand what went wrong! (The curtain rises. SURMILOVA comes on stage.) BORZIKOV. Move more swiftly, Raisa Minishna…you move too slowly as a rule! SINICHKIN (to himself). Why doesn’t she borrow your legs, Mister Borzikov? She’s, dare I say it, pigeon-toed to a fare-thee-well. SURMILOVA (rehearses).

Recitative “No, no, I do not fear love’s powerful emotion, To the Sun God alone have I pledged my devotion— I’ll be a virgin ever!…” SINICHKIN (not singing). A likely story! SURMILOVA. “And so to avoid raping, To the Sun God’s Temple I am now escaping.” SINICHKIN. About time she thought of that! SURMILOVA (continuing to rehearse). Aria

“‘Tis love intoxicates my blood! O passion sweet that makes me lurch! My yet unsullied maidenhood I will not let thee thus besmirch…” TRIFON (coming up to Surmilova). Letter for you. SURMILOVA (taking the letter). For me? PUSTOSLAVTSEV (rising out of his seat in the stalls). Stap me vitals, Trifon my man, you’re a super-stupid brute! How dare you deliver a letter in the middle of a rehearsal? TRIFON. It says on it, “Special delivery—urgent.” SINICHKIN (to himself). Exactly, I wrote that. It’s my letter! SURMILOVA (unseals it and speaks aside). Oh my goodness! It’s from the prince!…(To Pustoslavtsev.) Can’t a person even read a letter? PUSTOSLAVTSEV. Well, it’s certainly awkward, Raisa Minishna. People usually read their mail at home. BORZIKOV. Never mind…no harm done… We’ll go on to the dialogue. SURMILOVA (aside). He’s mine again! He loves me still!

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LIZA (to her father). She’s going to rehearse, daddy! SINICHKIN (to his daughter). Just you hold on, we’ll see! SURMILOVA (rehearsing). “With my own hands I wove this chaplet of white roses, emblems of the purity and innocence that preside o’er this solemn ceremony!… This wreath must be placed with my own timid fingers on the head of the Sun God…” (Reads the letter.) He’ll be waiting for me today at sundown at the town gate!… LIZA (to father). You hear that, daddy? She’s rehearsing! SINICHKIN. Wait a bit, we’ll see. SURMILOVA (rehearsing). “Oh! still am I worthy to perform this great rite and ever shall my soul be worthy, for I am sworn to remain untouched!…” (Undertone.) But I’m performing tonight, how can I? (Rehearsing) “I shall haste to the temple! And there shall I prostrate my body!…” SINICHKIN (through clenched teeth). In a double bed, at Revelry Hall. LIZA (undetone to father). She’s rehearsing! SINICHKIN. Be quiet, we’ll see. SURMILOVA (rehearsing). “Ah!…who is this unknown youth, seated beside the igloo of my sire?” BORZIKOV. Not igloo, wigwam!… SURMILOVA. Igloo, wigwam—what’s the difference? BORZIKOV. Excuse me!—Wigwam lends local color, whereas igloo sounds silly! PUSTOSLAVTSEV. Besides, this scene is set in Peru, you’re all supposed to be African savages!… SURMILOVA (examining the scenery). It looks more like the town waterworks. This whole play of yours is savagery! SINICHKIN (in the orchestra pit, to himself). Wonderful! SURMILOVA. Your criticism and nit-picking are enough to make one ill. BORZIKOV (flaring up). What the hell’s the matter now!… At these words all the actors, one after another, gradually come on stage and take part in the action. SINICHKIN. (in the orchestra). Bravo! The gunpowder’s caught fire! PUSTOSLAVTSEV. That’s all I need! SURMILOVA. Ahl Even now I feel…heart is constricted…it’s growing dark before my eyes… Ah!… I feel funny…strange… BORZIKOV. Oh my God! LIZA (undertone). She’s sick… I’m so glad! SINICHKIN (undertone). She’s as sick as you are… but never mind…be quiet!… BORZIKOV. Raisa Minishna…will you please!… SURMILOVA. Go away, you!… You and your wigwam and your not letting me read my letter, you’ve got on my nerves… PUSTOSLAVTSEV. That’s enough of that, no more of your whims and caprices! SURMILOVA (furious). Whims and caprices?… How dare you! SINICHKIN. Cross-fire! SURMILOVA. Ah! I feel so faint!… There’s a kind of mist before my eyes… Ah, my heart!… I’m going to swoon!… PUSTOSLAVTSEV. Raisa Minishna, for heaven’s sake!… NALIMOV. A chair, bring a chair right away!

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A chair is brought and SURMILOVA is seated on it. BORZIKOV. Water, cologne, spirits of ammonia!… NALIMOV (fussing about). Do you want any smelling salts? SINICHKIN. She. probably had too much for lunch. BORZIKOV (to the audience). Is there a doctor in the house? PUSTOSLAVTSEV. There’s bound to be a smelling-bottle in her reticule. The reticule is brought. SURMILOVA hides the letter in it. SINICHKIN (having noticed it). She hid the letter. SURMILOVA (leaping from the chair). I will not act today! EVERYONE. What! CHORUS.

She says she’s sick. We know she really ain’t; And all her fancy fainting-fits Don’t take us in, the faint she feign’s a feint, The product of her fickle wits! SURMILOVA.

Send my carriage to me on the double! PUSTOSLAVTSEV.

Listen!… SURMILOVA.

Get out of my way! Not one of you assists me in my trouble, As I falter, fade, decay! BORZIKOV.

You’re beating out my very brains! PUSTOSLAVTSEV.

What will the public have to say?

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SURMILOVA.

The audience can adapt to change: You cheat it ev’ry blessed day. BORZIKOV.

Oh no ! Behavior so insulting I really cannot tolerate: My lyric play, in a resulting Action, I evacuate! He takes the master-script from the prompter. SURMILOVA exits unnoticed. BORZIKOV, despite all pleas, walks off with the play. The actors compose various groups. PUSTOSLAVTSEV. They’ve vamoosed!… Stap me vitals—they’ve both vamoosed!… What am I supposed to do now? A sold-out house…they’ll all want their money back… I’m a ruined man, simply ruined! SINICHKIN (in the orchestra pit). Oh no! I’ll save you, Pyotr Petrovich. PUSTOSLAVTSEV. Shut up, stand still, look sharp!… Who said that? SINICHKIN (beats a loud roll on the kettledrum). Over here! Eyes right!… PUSTOSLAVTSEV Sinichkin! SINICHKIN (with another drumroll). I’ll come to your rescue, Pyotr Petrovich! PUSTOSLAVTSEV. How so? SINICHKIN. I told you that my Lizzie, dare I say it, knows the whole part word for word… If Surmilova won’t act—then my daughter will! This heavenly angel is all set to come down to earth for your salvation… Lizzie, go up on stage. PUSTOSLAVTSEV. Hold on, my man, you’re out of your mind! SINICHKIN. Not a bit of it—I’m out of the band! (Comes onto the stage with LIZA.) I assure you she’s memorized the part as firm as can be, and is ready, dare I say it, to rehearse this very minute…even without a rehearsal, she’ll recite it right off the bat for you. I’ll answer for her!… She will captivate, confound, enrapture everyone… The play will be a tremendous hit, and you, dare I say it, will have a full house and a wonderful actress… Am I right, Lizzie, you will go on? LIZA. Any time you like, I’m ready! PUSTOSLAVTSEV. All right. I give in, stap me vitals, I give in! Such audacity is a token of talent: she shall be my discovery! (To all the bystanders.) Ladies and gentlemen, this young lady will be acting today!… But first we have to get the playwright’s permission and the return of his play… SINICHKIN. Don’t stop on that account! We’ll run right over to his house!… I’ll get him to agree, dare I say it!… And bring him back with me! PUSTOSLAVTSEV. But Borzikov’s ‘s a very stubborn fellow, I warn you! SINICHKIN (carried away). Lizzie will know how to get around Borzikov.

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LIZA. I’ll appeal to his heart! PUSTOSLAVTSEV. Go there at once! SINICHKIN. Let us begone, my che-ild. As for you, Pyotr Petrovich, have, dare I say it, indulgence slips printed up to say “on account of Madam Surmilova’s indisposition her part will be played for the first time on any stage by the young newcomer Miss Sinichkina. (Gesticulating, swats the playbill and tears holes in it.) Miss Sinichkina, aged seventeen years and three months…” Well, dare I say it, she’s a wee bit over…but never mind. LIZA. Goodness! I’ll be appearing before the public at last!… Ah! I can’t get over what’s happening to me… Try as I may, I still feel somewhat timidZa little nervous… SINICHKIN. Screw your courage to the sticky place, Lizzie! Pyotr Petrovich will fit you out neatly… Won’t you, Pyotr Petrovich? Dare I say it, it’s all for one and one for all… Hand out as many gallery tickets as you can. They aways yell and make a racket up there no matter what’s going on,…(To the audience.) Gracious ladies and you, kind gentlemen! Behold, dare I say it, my daughter! She is my only treasure!… I entrust my child to all kindhearted mothers of families…give her a round of applause!… I myself will come out and lend you a hand…it’s only natural! (Declaims.)

“‘Tis a wise father that bravos his own child!” PUSTOSLAVTSEV. Go on, go on—time’s a-wasting! Stap me vitals, time’s a-wasting! EVERYONE. Hurry! We’ll wait for you! SINICHKIN. The show must go on!…(To the musicians.) Strike up:

“Hail, the conqu’ring hero comes…” EVERYONE sees SINICHKIN and LIZA out. ACT THREE OUCH!… A room with a bookcase. SEMYON is discovered, alone. SEMYON. The master’s been out a while now. High time the rehearsal was over, I reckon. So you go hungry till nightfall. No chance o’ nippin’ off to the inn… Ugh, these writer fellas! Their servants got a hard time of it! There’s never no food in the house, and besides, they pay pretty stingy wages. But all the fuss and feathers you gotta put up with!… (The doorbell rings in the next room.) Coming!… He’s back, praise the Lord! VETRINSKY (entering). Is Mr Borzikov in? SEMYON. No way, no sir, your grace, he’s at the rehearsal. Today they’re playing this here new play of his.

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VETRINSKY. I know… He’ll probably be back soon… I’ll wait for him. (Sits stage right) SEMYON. Wouldja like a little se-gar, your grace? VETRINSKY. No thanks. SEMYON. Got to admit, your grace, there’ll be a mighty big audience at the theay-ter today, sir… They’ll clap the house down and give the master curtain-calls, sir. VETRINSKY. What makes you think so? SEMYON. Good grief, this ain’t the first time we’ve fixed it in advance.

Three whole days I handed tickets To each and ev’ryone he knows, Stingy bastards, they can stick it, No tips or drinks came outa those. It’s insulting, I must say, To have to waste my time: Just as if the master’s play Ain’t worth one thin dime! (Doorbell rings again.) Coming! BORZIKOV enters, thoroughly upset. BORZIKOV. Why the devil were you so long in answering the door? SEMYON. Good grief, Fyodor Semyonovich sir! I answered it this very minute, seems like. BORZIKOV (tossing the script on the table). Damn the theatre and the wretches who write for it. VERTINSKY. What’s wrong, Fyodor Semyonovich? BORZIKOV. Ah! Good afternoon, prince. Forgive me, I didn’t see you. (To Semyon.) Why are you hanging around, blockhead? Go to your room. SEMYON. Please lemme have some money for dinner at least. BORZIKOV. Always in a hurry to feed your face. Get out! SEMYON. The tickets, sir, I handed ‘em all out. BORZIKOV. Go to hell, you and your tickets! Get out! If anyone calls, anyone at all, I’m out. SEMYON exits through the door center. BORZIKOV. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, prince? VETRINSKY. I came to return the box-seats you reserved for me yesterday I cannot attend this evening’s performance… Another sort of engagement has come up!… Know what I mean? BORZIKOV. Lucky you to have nothing but that on your mind. VETRINSKY. To each his own luck, mon cher. After all, you are anticipating a stage success. BORZIKOV. Hardly! Some success!… Everything was working beautifully and then that hysterical idiot had to go and spoil it all.

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VETRINSKY. What do you mean? BORZIKOV. My play will not open tonight!… VETRINSKY. Really? BORZIKOV. All those actors and managers are the most ungrateful bunch!

We know neither peace nor resting, All night long we get no sleep, Writing plays, adapting, testing, So their earnings will be steep; They’ve no sooner got the money, Look,—they don’t need us at all: Like galoshes when it’s sunny We’re neglected until fall! If at least they’d pay a decent Recompense, a worthwhile fee, But, no, they deign to take our recent Labor, practic’ly for free. They’ll insist you write a stage play Solidly and make it parse, But the only thing they will pay A top price for is a farce! And what’s more, the wretched players Barely try to learn their lines, Then the journalist nay-sayers Claim you write just like a swine! If you go to a rehearsal, Sing their praises or keep mute, For—this fact is universal— Of brains the star is destitute; If you dare to make a comment, They throw fits to beat the band… That why playwrights writhe in torment, That’s what authors have to stand!… VETRINSKY. I admit it’s an unenviable position… Still, one of the papers always praises your farces highly. BORZIKOV. Praise, yes. (Aside.) I write that praise myself. (Aloud) But can you imagine why my play won’t open… Surmilova refused to go on! VETRINSKY. Surmilova? She’s always a troublemaker. I know her well. BORZIKOV. You’re on good terms with her, Prince?

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VETRINSKY. We have quarrelled. BORZIKOV. Talk her into recovering her health. VETRINSKY. A nice job that would be! I don’t even want to see her again… I’m smitten with another at present. A lovely girl, who was also planning a career in the theatre, but I’m carrying her off to the country. BORZIKOV. Enough is enough, give it up! VETRINSKY. Oh no, not for worlds! I’m head over ears in love and as soon as I leave here, I’ll fly to our rendezvous. SEMYON (outside the door). Ain’t to home!… Listen, folks! Ain’t you been tol’: he ain’t to home! SINICHKIN (shouts). Let me in, my good man—I am the stage manager of the theatre. BORZIKOV (loudly). The stage manager? Show him in! VETRINSKY (laughing; to himself). It’s Sinichkin. (Pretends to examine the prints on the wall.) SINICHKIN (entering with LIZA). Fyodor Semyonovich, dare I say it, my most abject lofty respects. BORZIKOV (looking at him). I thought it was Nalimov the stage manager… I don’t know you. SINICHKIN. I’m Lev Gurych Sinichkin, character actor from Kostroma, specializing in noble fathers. BORZIKOV. What do you want from me? VETRINSKY (aside, standing at a distance). Why have they come galloping up? SINICHKIN. I am come… Oh no, I cannot! First allow me to recover… I believe that I am in, dare I say it, the sanctum of genius…(Declaiming.) “Advance, my daughter, and bow before him!…” Do you know that in all Russia there’s no one to match Fyodor Semyonovich Borzikov! (To Borzikov.) You see, she’s all a-flutter! LIZA. Oh yes, sir! I tremble a great deal… I’m still so young… SINICHKIN. Seventeen years and three months. Judge for yourself! VETRINSKY (aside). What stunt is the noble father from Kostroma pulling? Let’s listen in. LIZA. Oh yes, sir!… Seventeen years and three months, sir!… But since the day I was born I’ve never met such a celebrity, sir…such a… I don’t know how to put it, sir!… SINICHKIN (aside). She’s gone up in her lines! BORZIKOV. But what do you want from me? SINICHKIN. The greatest of, dare I say it, favors. BORZIKOV (aside, annoyed). He’ll probably ask for a dowry! SINICHKIN. A favor on which depend, dare I say it, your fame, your future laurels, the public’s amusement, and the box-office takings of the local theatre manager, Pyotr Petrovich Pustoslavtsev. VETRINSKY (aside laughing). So, he’s come to talk nonsense. BORZIKOV. Explain yourself. SINICHKIN. No, dare I say it, not I—my daughter will explain it all to you. She will tell the plain unvarnished tale… Conquer your fear in the presence of a celebrated dramatist, for Fyodor Semyonovich Borzikov is, dare I say it, such a man, my dear…(To Borzikov.) She still can’t get over you…(To Liza.) Fyodor Semyonovich

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will undoubtedly grant your wish. I can see it in his eyes, aglow with the spark of immortal genius. VETRINSKY (aside, laughing). The old buffoon! BORZIKOV (aside). He is very well spoken. LIZA (undertone, to father). Doesn’t he look puny, father! SINICHKIN (undertone, to Liza). Ssh! All geniuses are eccentric. (Aloud.) Speak, my daughter… Step up to Fyodor Semyonovich…(Leads her to Borzikov.) Have no fear… Take heart… He will not, dare I say it, eat you… Explain yourself boldly…(Undertone.) And don’t garble your lines! LIZA (to Borzikov). Daddy let me read a few of your farces… SINICHKIN. I had preserved every last one of them under glass. The most precious, dare I say it, of all your literary works!… Go on, Lizzie. LIZA. Daddy so respects your talent… SINICHKIN (prompting Liza). Your genius… LIZA. Your genius! And I deem it a special pleasure to make the acquaintance of a man… SINICHKIN (ditto). Famous… LIZA. Famous… SINICHKIN (ditto). For both, dare I say it, wit… LIZA. For both wit… SINICHKIN (ditto). And style… LIZA. And style… SINICHKIN (ditto). As dramatist… LIZA. As dramatist… SINICHKIN (ditto). And critic… LIZA. And critic… SINICHKIN (ditto). Beautiful, Lizzie! (Aloud.) You see, I’m not feeding her lines!… It, dare I say it, spilled out all by itself! BORZIKOV. Most kind of you… But what’s the point? VETRINSKY (aside). I’m damned if I get it! LIZA.

I’ve learned, to my intense dismay, Your drama won’t be acted. BORZIKOV.

Alas, the star fell ill today LIZA.

What a shame if they retract it. I myself will act your play,

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If you’ve got no objection. BORZIKOV (speaking). You? SINICHKIN (ardently).

And she’ll act it, dare I say, In a style that’s sheer perfection! VETRINSKY (intervening). How can that be, for heaven’s sake! LIZA (on seeing him). Ah! SINICHKIN. What’s the matter? LIZA (undertone to her father). Our guest of this morning Prince Vetrinsky!… SINICHKIN (quietly to Liza). Ah!… Sh!… Be more cautious! He knows nothing… BORZIKOV (to the Prince). You’re acquainted with her? VETRINSKY. So it seems. SINICHKIN. Bah!… Why, this, dare I say it, is Mister Lensky, Malatkovsky’s romantic lead from Kharkov. BORZIKOV (bewildered). What? What? VETRINSKY. Be quiet! (Undertone to Liza.) Didn’t you get my letter? SINICHKIN (stepping between them). What letter? BORZIKOV (to the Prince). What letter? VETRINSKY (undertone to Liza). Ssh… I’ll tell you later. SINICHKIN (undertone to Liza). And you go on with your piece. LIZA (to Borzikov). Raisa Minishna is very fond of me… I’ve often been to her home. Several times she let me hear her recite her role in your new play—and I learned it all by heart… A wonderful part! VETRINSKY. What! Surmilova’s part!… SINICHKIN (to Borzikov). Sleeping and waking she raves about your prose! But then, dare I say it, your verse is indescribable… BORZIKOV (to the Prince). Poor girl!… My heart goes out to her… But in such a difficult part… VETRINSKY. And written for the leading actress besides… LIZA. But after all, your leading actress is sick… Awfully sick, I’m told… She’ll be bedridden for almost three months!… So I said to daddy: Daddy, why should such a wonderful play that everyone around here is waiting for with bated breath go unperformed for three whole months?… The scenery’s in now and it’s all rehearsed, but as time goes by the actors will forget their lines. SINICHKIN. Her very words to me! LIZA. I said to daddy: Daddy, I will act in Raisa Minishna’s place! BORZIKOV. What? You belong to the acting company? VETRINSKY. What nonsense! For heaven’s sake! (During the following speech he crosses left and whispers to Liza). SINICHKIN. A bold venture, it cannot be denied… But now that the child has fallen silent, a father’s blood, dare I say it, takes up the tale!… My Liza is shorter than Raisa

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Minishna, but her talent is higher! Besides, dare I say it, cast but a glance at those black eyes which better suit a noble savage in a role that does honor to your best efforts… And that modesty, Fyodor Semyonovich, that, dare I say it, innocence… Yes! Boldly will I vouch to all and sundry, not because I am her father…“Her soul is pure as the driven snow…” I don’t recall where I read that, but the quotation describes her to a T…“Her soul is pure…,” dare I say it…(Crosses center quickly to interpose himself between the Prince and Liza, separating them. To himself.) Damn this prince! (Crosses back to Borzikov.) Therefore, you must consent to my daughter’s happiness and her triumph!… You must, I you wonderful man!…(With great fervor.) Wonderful man! Immortal Fyodor Semyonovich! Do not dismiss our request. Be moved by our entreaties…(Declaiming)

“Shoot if you must this old bald head— (tears off his wig)

“But spare my child’s career!’ he said!” (Undertone to Liza.) Turn on the tears! (To Borzikov.)

“Weep, daughter of a royal line…” Look, great Fyodor Semyonovich, my Liza’s weeping… She’s shedding a river of tears! VETRINSKY (to Borzikov). Don’t give your consent, you’ll ruin your best play! SINICHKIN (to the Prince). Mister Lensky! LIZA (to the Prince). Aren’t you ashamed, sir, to stand in the way of my happiness?… I love the theatre with all my heart! SINICHKIN. With all her heart she loves the theatre and Borzikov, a man of extraordinary talent; while you, dare I say it, you philanderer, she can’t endure!… Yes, Mister Lensky… Or rather, your grace Prince Vetrinsky!… I know that you’re a great lover, but not the romantic lead from Kharkov you call yourself!… Learn, Fyodor Semyonovich, that his grace is trying to steal away my Liza, and rob me of a daughter, the theatre of an actress and you of a brilliant success and immortal fame!…(To the Prince.) Yes, yes!… It’s no use shrugging your shoulders, your grace. I’m not lying, I speak the naked truth. VETRINSKY. I had no intention of shrugging my shoulders SINICHKIN. I saw you!… And it won’t be, dare I say it, the first time you’ve done it, whenever people start appreciating the quality of Fyodor Semyonovich’s talent. VETRINSKY. Where did you get that idea? SINICHKIN. At the opening of his last farce…what was it called?… I saw you in the first row, fifth seat from the right, yawning and yawning behind your yellow gloves… Just, dare I say it, like this. (Uses gestures to demonstrate.) Naughty, naughty, your grace!…

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BORZIKOV. How could you, prince?… Why, I brought you the ticket myself and invited you to come… VETRINSKY. Eh! non…je vous assure… SINICHKIN. And you, your grace, want to stand in the way of my daughter’s debut!… You!… You!… No, I didn’t dream this up in my, dare I say it, sleep!… My playwright himself…(To Borzikov.) Forgive me for interjecting you, Fyodor Semyonovich. Yes, yes, you are my playwright!…(To the Prince.) My play-wright himself, who, dare I say it, knows how to appreciate the performances of actors and actresses far and wide… My favorite playwright himself will see at once with his own eyes and hear with his own ears… Now then, Lizzie, reel off something from Mr Borzikov’s new play! VETRINSKY. A pointless exercise. Pustoslavtsev won’t consent. SINICHKIN. Excuse me, but even now Pustoslavtsev awaits us on stage. BORZIKOV. You consulted him? SINICHKIN.

Naturally! We talked it over: he loves Liza, Is enraptured, praises, flatters But what of him? You are our Caesar: Only your opinion matters. How can he really be a judge? Are his criteria exacting? His self-esteem I don’t begrudge, But he knows damn-all about acting. Begin, Lizzie, begin at the beginning. VETRINSKY. The beginning can’t be very interesting. BORZIKOV. I consider the ending more powerful… SINICHKIN. She likes the ending, dare I say it, best of all. (To the Prince.) Yes, yes, say what you will. The end is superbly written. VETRINSKY. Who’s arguing with you? I was laughing at something else entirely. (Aside.) And that crackpot gladly believes him! SINICHKIN. May I, can I, Fyodor Semyonovich, dare I ask you for your manuscript for a minute?… BORZIKOV. There it is on the table. SINICHKIN (taking the manuscript). Oh, manna from heaven! I barely venture to touch you! Lizzie, do that excellent, that marvelous monologue when the young, dare I say it, Virgin of the Sun pleads with the Spanish youth to flee and abandon her. Don’t forget to show Fyodor Semyonovich that you are at your best when, dare I say it, things are at their worst. VETRINSKY. I’ll be interested to see if she has even a tittle of talent. BORZIKOV (also sits). We shall see!… I may arrive at a decision. SINICHKIN (to Borzikov). You know the character’s situation?

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BORZIKOV. Who should know better than I, since I wrote the play! SINICHKIN. Forgive me… If I may say so, it sometimes happens that authors don’t know the contents of their works. I can tell you that, Fyodor Semyo-novich… You’ve got nothing in common with them… Begin boldly, Liza!… (To the Prince.) Does your grace deign to listen too? Then I will give the cue. (Declaims.) “Cora! Oh, Cora! Thy prayers are in vain, thy tears to no avail!… If thou wilt not fly with me, I will remain!…” Marvelous speech! An ordinary author would have put, “I will stay,” but Fyodor Semyonovich has real talent. (Declaiming): “I will remain!” LIZA. “Alonzo! Dear Alonzo! How canst thou wish to rob Cora of the fruit of the ghastly sacrifice she makes for thy safety! Oh!… Pinnacle of delusion!…” (BORZIKOV seems dissatisfied with these last words.) SINICHKIN (noticing Borzikov’s movement). Too limp: “Pinnacle of delusion…” Climb higher on “Pinnacle of delusion!” LIZA. “Oh!… Pinnacle of delusion! Canst thou have failed to grasp the greatness of the sacrifice made by a poor maiden, who, to spare another’s heart, a spouse she has chosen in the face of heaven itself…” SINICHKIN. Point to heaven with your right hand!… LIZA (carrying on). “Agreed to unite her fate forever more with this fell tiger, fed on blood of Spaniards…” SINICHKIN (sighs comically, LIZA imitates him). What style! VETRINSKY (undertone to Borzikov). It’s lame, mon cher…ça n’ira pas. LIZA. “Know thou, Alonzo!… To save thee, I deliberately offered myself to his gaze… I enticed him with my beauty… I sped to his embrace!… A timid, innocent maid, I consented to share his pillow, whereon his hideous, fiendlike head reposes…for I knew that beneath that nuptial pillow lay the key to thy dungeon!” BORZIKOV. Certain words should be stressed more. SINICHKIN. That’s what I always told her…press harder on the “pillow”! BORZIKOV. Not pillow—key…that’s the point of it all. SINICHKIN. But since the key lies under the pillow, it stands to reason that if you press the pillow, you’ll press the key as well… As a rule, dare I say it, I always advise her to highlight those passages which have…if I may say so… I don’t know how to put it…but look, here’s the idea!… A girl is giving her hand to a villain, a, dare I say it, cutthroat, solely to steal the key to the dungeon where her beloved lies!… Oh you, honest to God! Fyodor Semyonovich! What a brain you’ve got! VETRINSKY (aside). True, it ought to be in a freak show! SINICHKIN (to Liza). Carry on! LIZA. “My affections and my happiness were the price of that key… For thy sake I sacrificed my whole being… And now, when the dungeon is opened to thee…thou dost elect to wait for death!… O my friend! O Alonzo! O! fly, fly, I implore thee!… Do not tarry for thine executioners!” SINICHKIN (reads, declaiming). “Nay, nay!… Thou implor’st me in vain! Fly with me or here I stay!” An ordinary writer would have put, “I will remain!” But Fyodor Semyonovich—a man of genius—wrote, “Here I stay!” LIZA. “But I am unworthy of thee!” SINICHKIN. “Unworthy! Thou art now more worthy than ever…and all my life long…” (Stamping his foot.) Boom!

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VETRINSKY (laughing). What’s that for? SINICHKIN. The cannon firing. LIZA. “Hark! hark!… They are sailing!… Be off! Be off! Be off!… Be off!… Be off!…” BORZIKOV. Good, good, very good indeed! SINICHKIN (stamping his foot again). Boom!… LIZA. “Ah!… Tis too late!…” (Drops onto a chair.) BORZIKOV. Huh!… That’s not right!… VETRINSKY. Not right at all!… SINICHKIN. Don’t you like it, Fyodor Semyonovich? BORZIKOV. She’s got temperament, fire… But at that moment she’s all wrong… All wrong! VETRINSKY. Wrong as wrong can be! SINICHKIN (aside). So far this prince has curdled two full gallons of my blood… (To Liza.) Take it from the top… This isn’t like you, what’s wrong with you?…(To Borzikov.) You can’t imagine, dare I say it, how awfully well it worked at home, but here I agree with you…at that moment, she was wrong. Wrong!… We’ll repeat that bit… Oh!… We’ll fix it!… we will, dare I say it, fix it!…(To Liza.) Please, where it was wrong make it right. LIZA (repeating). “Ah!… Tis too late!…” (Drops onto the chair.) BORZIKOV. Still not right!… VETRINSKY. It’ll get a laugh. SINICHKIN. No it won’t… VETRINSKY. I’m sure it will! SINICHKIN (aside). That confounded yes-man! (To Liza.) Do it over! VETRINSKY (rising). What’s the point, do you expect us to sit here till tomorrow or what? SINICHKIN. Wait, wait, keep your seat! (Aside.) I’ll help her out!…(Pinching Liza hard.) You fool! LIZA. Ouch!…(Drops onto the chair.) BORZIKOV (rising). Bravo! That’s true to life! SINICHKIN. I should hope so! BORZIKOV. Let’s get to the rehearsal!… Let’s be off! VETRINSKY. The rehearsal?… But what if Surmilova decides to act after all? SINICHKIN. She’s sick as a bi…as a dog! VETRINSKY. Come, come, mon cher Borzikov, be more cautious. Count Zephyrov is her patron, and he has great influence in the theatre. BORZIKOV. Ah, damn it! I forgot about that, indeed!… I might have offended him… And I dine with him almost every day… VETRINSKY. The Count is far from indifferent to Surmilova. He has powerful connections, he might even make trouble for you in your civil-service post. BORZIKOV. He might indeed ! Dear me, he might even throw me in jail. (Tries to take his script back from Sinichkin.) Give me back my play. SINICHKIN. That’s enough of that, Fyodor Semyonovich! I don’t know the Count personally, but I’ve heard that he has a good heart: he loves art and always, dare I say it, encourages pretty young actresses… We’ll set off for his house this very minute.

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BORZIKOV. Right, that’s the ticket… I’ll go with you. It’s his birthday, and I should congratulate him in person, although I did send him a little card. VETRINSKY (aside). And I’ll ride over to Raisa… And then we’ll see what we shall see. BORZIKOV.

Quick, let’s get into the gig, SINICHKIN.

Forward march!—Count-wards we dash! LIZA.

Our success will be ever so big, And our show will create a great splash. VETRINSKY (aside, along with the others).

Quick, let’s get in the carriage, Forward march!—to Raisa I dash! Their plans we’ll confound and disparage, Their tactics we’ll smash in a flash! SINICHKIN.

The Count’s bound to be on our side, I dare to asseverate if he Sees Liza,—once Liza’s been eyed, He’ll come to her aid in a jiffy! BORZIKOV, SINICHKIN, LIZA.

Quick, let’s get into the gig, etc. VETRINSKY (aside, along with the others).

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Quick, let’s get in the carriage, etc. BORZIKOV leaves with LIZA, SINICHKIN right behind them. The Curtain Falls ACT FOUR THE QUARREL The stage represents a boudoir in Gothic style: marble, bronze, gold, paintings, a bureau. All the furniture is Gothic. NADYA, VARYA, KATYA, and MASHA are discovered, dressed in their best gowns. ALL (gazing round the room).

What a luxurious apartment! How charming is the Count, how kind! Not haughty, arrogant or hard-bent, But mild, to merriment inclined. All hail a lord who’s so refined! COUNT ZEPHYROV, in elegant morning dishabille, enters from the side doors. COUNT.

Aha! it’s you, my tender pheasants!… ALL (making a circle round him and curtseying gracefully).

Each of us hastened straightaway To greet you on your natal day! COUNT (bowing to them).

Thank you all, my tender pheasants!… And what is that you’ve got? Not presents? ALL.

Although they’re not the highest art,

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The workmanship comes from our heart! VARYA.

Here’s a purse that I crocheted. COUNT (takes and kisses it).

Thank you, darling little maid. NADYA.

I cut you a little quill! COUNT (as before).

Thanks a lot, my daffodill! KATYA.

A wallet of the smallest size…. COUNT (as before).

Merci, my bird of paradise! MASHA.

Embroidered watch-fob with a fringe. COUNT (as before).

Thank you, my juicy sweet orange! Together ALL.

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Poor the gifts that we could muster, Together Sorry if you find them crude: Together They don’t have a brilliant luster Together But glisten with our gratitude. Together COUNT.

Thank you, thank you, my plump pheasants! Together Let me say what my heart holds! Together For your dear and well-meant presents Together I thank you a thousand-fold! Together Well, how’s your health, my little birds of paradise? What’s new in the theatre? I wasn’t at yesterday’s performance and haven’t had time to drop into the rehearsal today. VARYA. Ah, Count! Then you don’t know: the new play has been cancelled. COUNT. Oho!… Why’s that? NADYA. Raisa Minishna isn’t feeling well. COUNT. Really? What happened to her all of a sudden? I was with her yesterday from one in the afternoon to three in the morning and didn’t notice anything amiss. VARYA. At this morning’s rehearsal something came between the lady and the playwright. COUNT. Borzikov? Then he’s the one to blame; still, it’s a great pity they quarrelled. The play itself may be rot, but there are effective passages in dear little Raisa’s part… Well, what brought it on? VARYA. Masha and I weren’t at rehearsal: we aren’t in the play. NADYA. And Katya and I were in the greenroom practising battements. But they say that while Raisa Minisha was singing or soliloquizing, she got a letter from somebody… She stopped reciting her lines and started reading the letter… Pyotr Petrovich and Borzikov began chewing her out… COUNT. And so on and so forth… What a lot of nonsense! (Rings.) But I shall drive over and see her at once. (To the footman who enters.) Harness the carriage. NADYA. Take the one we just came in, your grace. We’d like to spend the day with you and go for a drive. COUNT. All right, all right, my plump pullets… You can drop in on Ledar’s candy-store and Triché’s millinery shop, and have your fill of sweets and doodads. (Takes a packet of banknotes from the bureau and hands them out.) They all rush to kiss him. EVERYONE. Ah, Count! Darling Count! COUNT. However, my little birds of paradise, when you’re on stage, see that you don’t ogle the hussar officers in the front-row seats. You don’t seem to be able to take your eyes off them. That’s no good. It’s my love of art that prompts me to make this remark.

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EVERYONE.

Count, you needn’t have to say Together That we should not look at hussars. Together The moment that you glance our way, Together We won’t see anything but stars! Together COUNT (kissing them).

Well, that’s all right, my anger’s past; Together It’s time that you skedaddle. Together God bless you all, and spend my cash Together On girlish fiddle-faddle. Together VARYA, MASHA, NADYA and KATYA leave. COUNT (alone). Charming, these pullets of the stage and pussies of the ballet! And how they all love me!… But I’d love to know what took place between Raisa and Borzikov and Pustoslavtsev. She’s high-handed and skittish, and they are vain and foolish. (Rings.) BUTLER (enters). A letter for your grace. COUNT. Harness the carriage…(BUTLER exits.) Ah! it’s from Raisa!…(Unseals it and sits on the sofa and reads.) “Your Grace, you are my guardian angel! I have the honor to congratulate you on your birthday and wish you everything you wish for yourself. I am not acting today; my nerves are shattered and my head aches. Don’t drive over and see me. I am planning a few days in the country with my auntie, a farmer’s wife, to breath the pure autumn air. I will come over myself to say good-bye. If Pustoslavtsev complains that I am not acting because of a whim, spit on him. I have a note from the doctor…” What does that prove? Give a doctor enough money and he’d probably write you out a death certificate… But how does an invalid expect to be cured by breathing country air in October? BUTLER (entering). Fyodor Semyonovich Borzikov. COUNT. Show him in. BORZIKOV (enters, escorting LIZA). I have the honor, your grace, to wish you a happy birthday and present to you a young newcomer, who passionately loves the theatre and eagerly wishes to make your acquaintance. COUNT (aside). What a pretty little pullet-chick! (To Liza.) Delighted to acquire such a splendid little actress. LIZA (embarrassed, curtseying). Your grace! I don’t know how to thank you… Of course… I… your grace… (Aside.) Without daddy I’m lost! COUNT. I believe I’ve already had the pleasure of seeing you on stage? LIZA. No, your grace, I’ve acted only once in my life so far and that was at an amateur theatrical in the country… You met me at Raisa Surmilova’s. COUNT. Yes, yes!… Quite so, now I remember

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BORZIKOV. Have you heard, Count, Raisa Minishna isn’t acting today. COUNT. Well, what’s to be done if she really is ill! BORZIKOV. Even if she’s bedridden, it won’t do Pustoslavtsev any good. He’s spent a lot of money on this production and doesn’t want to be done out of a full house. COUNT. You playwrights are admirably modest when you predict full houses for your plays for several nights running.

Tickets on sale, read the announcements, For what will be a longish run; There’s a rush on pit and stalls; they trounce gents To snatch their tickets, every one… And then, behold the wondrous sequel! The man who bought second night seats, Because he thought all shows are equal, Is peddling them out in the streets! BORZIKOV. You’re right, your grace, that does happen; but if my new play fails to attract more than one full house, isn’t that all the more reason not to be robbed of that one? Pustoslavtsev and I have found a way, only first we need your grace’s consent, because, whether it’s a new play in the theatre or a festive celebration in someone’s honor, nothing can be done without your grace. Everyone knows your taste and your love of art. COUNT. Thank you. I confess I’m ready to sacrifice my all to my love of art… But what’s the point of this? BORZIKOV. We need not cancel our performance if you consent. (Pointing to Liza.) This young newcomer will perform in Raisa Minishna’s place. COUNT (rising). Raisa Minishna’s place? LIZA (curtseying). I’ve got the role down pat, your grace. BORZIKOV. I auditioned her myself, and… COUNT. That’ll do! What can you be thinking of?… Monsieur Borzikov, you’re out of your mind!… BORZIKOV. But, excuse me, Count… LIZA (aside). Oh my stars! He’s lost his temper! COUNT. For heaven’s sake!… What stuff and nonsense!… Of course, you can cast anyone you like in the role; but my love of art will not allow you to insult a deserving actress of outstanding talent… I shall speak to Pustoslavtsev… LIZA. But if she’s ill, your grace… BORZIKOV. If she’s ill… COUNT. Nevertheless… I won’t allow it! SINICHKIN (outside the door). Let me in! My daughter is here, my Lizzie! LIZA. Ah! there he is. COUNT. Who’s that? LIZA (runs to her father as he enters). Daddy! SINICHKIN. Lizzie!

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BORZIKOV (to the Count). He’s her father… A decent old sort. SINICHKIN. Fyodor Semyonovich, I ran after you as fast as my, dare I say it, legs could carry me and still couldn’t keep up with your gig, and, as if on purpose, there wasn’t a cab to be seen… Not that I was worried about anything… Oh no! I swear to God, no! I know my daughter, I trust my daughter, I trust my playwright!… But now, dare I say it, I wind up at… BORZIKOV. The home of his grace, Count Zephyrov. SINICHKIN (with profound respect). Ah! how stupid of me!… Forgive a fool, your grace!… Lizzie!…(Declaims.) “Advance, my daughter, and bow before him!…” Do you know that in all Russia there is no one like his grace! BORZIKOV. We just asked him. The Count says no. SINICHKIN. Says no? LIZA. Yes, daddy, his grace won’t let me act. SINICHKIN. Won’t let?… Do let!… I don’t, dare I say it, understand this!… What, your grace!… With your urbane mind and cosmopolitan tastes!… Yes! Who has not heard of the taste of his grace Count Zephyrov? Taste, dare I say it, even in the most trifling of matters?… Oh, wonderful man! (Even more vehemently.) Wonderful man!… COUNT. We’re not talking about me, but about your daughter. She cannot and shall not make her debut today in Surmilova’s part. My love of art and a clear conscience oblige me to prevent it. (Sits.) SINICHKIN (aside). Hold on… I’ll give you conscience!… BORZIKOV (to Liza). Well! If that’s the way things are, there’s nothing to be done… Excuse us. LIZA. What, Fyodor Semyonovich? SINICHKIN. A pity, a great pity! Everyone was agreeable to it… the play-wright, and the manager, and even Surmilova herself… ALL. Surmilova!! SINICHKIN. What an angel that Surmilova is! How fond she is of dear Lizzie!… Yes, your grace, she coaches my daughter, and she would even have come here herself to ask you, but she had no time, she was heading somewhere out of town. COUNT. She’s ill, so she’s after a breath of fresh air. SINICHKIN. Oh! Dreadfully ill. I could see it in her pale face, your grace. She was leaning with such bewitching languor on the arm of a young man who was putting her into a, dare I say it, carriage. COUNT (quickly rising). A young man!… SINICHKIN. With a little black moustache, average height…a pretty fellow… Newfangled carriage on flat springs… COUNT (vigorously). Prince Vetrinsky’s carriage… It was Prince Vetrinsky! BORZIKOV (aside). What’s he babbling about? SINICHKIN. Prince Vetrinsky?… I don’t know, you may be right. But I must say, they were hand in glove… Looking into one another’s eyes so, dare I say it, tenderly… Just exàctickally like this… Ah!… BORZIKOV (aside). The blabbermouth! COUNT. How dreadful! SINICHKIN (continuing). And then she said to me so, dare I say it, amorously… “Lev Gurych!” says she, “I consent!” The young gentleman whispered something to the

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footman, and the footman, dare I say it, shouted to the coachman at the top of his lungs: “Make tracks for Revelry Hall!” COUNT (excited, pacing up and down the room). Revelry Hall!… Of course!… That’s his country seat! Oh women, women! Have I not sacrificed my love of art for you, perfidious Raisa! SINICHKIN (following the Count around). Is his grace acquainted with her? BORZIKOV. I’ll say… Idiot! SINICHKIN (looking at Borzikov). Or, dare I say it, the she-idiot!…(To the Count.) Forgive me, your grace!… Had I but known… COUNT. Never mind, my friend, I’m not put out with you. On the contrary, I’m rather grateful for your service. SINICHKIN. Can it be, your grace?… Yet, dare I say it, really, I quite unintentionally… COUNT. I believe you, and to prove it—your daughter shall have her debut today. BORZIKOV. You consent, Count! SINICHKIN (undertone to Liza). How about that? LIZA. Oh, daddy! COUNT (to Sinichkin).

I swear to you, in my enragement, Raisa’s repute I shall mar, I’ll give your daughter an engagement— And turn her into quite a star! Indeed, I swear to you I’ll prove That I’m the greatest talent scout. SINICHKIN.

Now that’s what I’d call selfless love Of art, without the slightest doubt! BORZIKOV. Pustoslavtsev is waiting for us. LIZA. Then we’ll take our leave, your grace, and tell him on your behalf… COUNT. I’ll go with you myself, sweet child. (Rings.) My carriage! My frockcoat! BUTLER (enters). His Grace Prince Vetrinsky. (Exits.) SINICHKIN (aside). Ah, hell and damnation! COUNT (donning his frock-coat). Vetrinsky!… BORZIKOV (aside). Now the fun begins! VETRINSKY (enters). Aha! I was pretty sure I’d find that crackpot Sinichkin and his daughter here. LIZA (aside). I’m all a-tremble! VETRINSKY. Good day, Count. I’ve just come from Surmilova’s, but didn’t find her at home. Recollecting that you take an interest in her, I came to tell you… COUNT. I know it all, sir.

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SINICHKIN. His grace knows it all, your grace! VETRINSKY. And just what does he know? COUNT. Je sais que vous êtes un fat, monsieur! VETRINSKY. Et vous, un vieux séducteur, monsieur! BORZIKOV. Monsieur, monsieur! VETRINSKY (to Borzikov). Et vous, un sot, monsieur! BORZIKOV. Je suis de la neuvième classe, monsieur! LIZA (dreadfully uneasy). Oh, my goodness! COUNT. Cela ne se passera pas ainsi! VETRINSKY. Mais je l’espère bien, et vous m’expliquerez… SINICHKIN (coming between them). Ay-tenday, sir, your graces! For heaven’s sake, aytenday, sir!… I, dare I say it, comprenny a bit of the old parlay-voo!… Oh, my playwright! Oh, my daughter! Oh, my ducats! Help me extricate my noble patron! LIZA (to the Count). Count! Your grace…let’s be off! VETRINSKY (to the Count). Mais si fait, morbleu, vous m’expliquerez, morbleu,… SINICHKIN (to the Prince). Your grace, you’re losing your morbles, save ‘em for later! His grace the Count, dare I say it, has already given us his word… (Aside.) Hooray! Our side won! (Aloud) Let’s be off! EVERYONE. Let’s be off! BUTLER (enters). Raisa Minishna Surmilova…(Exits.) SINICHKIN (aside). “When troubles come, they come not single spies, but in batallions!” (SURMILOVA enters.) COUNT (to Surmilova). Can it be! She’s not at Revelry Hall!… VETRINSKY. Ah! right on cue… Now We’ll see. COUNT (to Surmilova). Can it be they were trying to deceive me? But no…no, you knew that the prince was here… SURMILOVA (aside). The prince here… What’s the meaning of that? SINICHKIN (aside). We’re caught like rats in a trap! SURMILOVA. What are these persons doing here?… Mister Borzikov’s with them!… So those weren’t idle rumors I heard!… They are planning to recast my part! BORZIKOV. If you’ll allow me, madam… SURMILOVA. A conspiracy! SINICHKIN (aside). You could knock me over with a feather! LIZA (aside). What bad luck! Everything was going so well… VETRINSKY. Yes, yes…there’s an infernal plot. COUNT. Oh!… A plot… SURMILOVA. Only it won’t succeed. Count, send a message to Pustoslavtsev that I’m feeling much better and I will go on tonight. COUNT. No, madam, why bother? I suggest you’d be better off returning with the prince to Revelry Hall. SURMILOVA (aside). Who told him? VETRINSKY. What do you mean, Revelry Hall?… That’s a lie. SURMILOVA (undertone to the prince). I know all about it…it’s all right! VETRINSKY (aside). What does she mean? (Aloud) I don’t understand any of this. BORZIKOV. Neither do I.

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SINICHKIN (aside). Splendid!… Nobody understands, dare I say it, anything!… How can I make “confusion worse confounded”?… Aha! now if my letter is still in her reticule! COUNT (to the prince). I demand satisfaction. SURMILOVA. A duel! SINICHKIN (undertone, to Liza). Faint VETRINSKY. Whenever you like, Count. BORZIKOV. Count! That’s enough!… Prince! Do leave off! LIZA. Ah! They’re going to shoot each other… Ah! I’m dying!… SINICHKIN. My daughter!… She’s in a bad way… BORZIKOV (holding her in his arms). Madam! Madam! COUNT. Oh! dear me! What a pity! SURMILOVA. Oh yes, she’s such a person of consequence… Not that it’s anything to do with you, of course. SINICHKIN. Liza, Lizzie m’love!… Spirits of ammonia, for heaven’s sake, smelling salts!… Ah yes, dare I say it, you have some in your reticule, Raisa Minishna!…(Instantly fumbles in her reticule and drops out of it a handkerchief, a flask and a letter.) SURMILOVA (to Sinichkin). Let me, let me… what are you doing? Stop it, I tell you! COUNT (stooping down). A letter! SINICHKIN (aside). It’s the one I wrote!…hen the oppressed send up a cry, the Good Lord’s always standing by! BORZIKOV. She’s recovering! She’s coming to her senses! SINICHKIN (undertone to Borzikov). In other words, dare I say it, she’s getting worse? COUNT (having read the letter). What! What do I see!… SURMILOVA. What is it? COUNT (handing her the letter). Take it! SURMILOVA (looking to the prince). Ah!… Your letter, prince… VETRINSKY (bewildered). My letter… COUNT. Prince, you and I shall meet again…(To Surmilova.) But you and I never shall!… Don’t try to explain! VETRINSKY. But!… SINICHKIN (standing centre). No, your grace! His grace deigned to say don’t try to explain, so don’t try to explain. Your sort may, dare I say it, blow one another’s brains out if you wish, but great men must be preserved for the nation! SURMILOVA and VETRINSKY. Listen, Count… COUNT. Stand aside!

I am too much offended, Together You make my honor grieve… Together Our friendship now is ended, Together And I shall take my leave! Together SURMILOVA.

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The Count is quite offended, Together The reason’s plain to see, Together To Liza his love’s tended… Together Alack! and woe is me! Together VETRINSKY.

The Count is quite offended, Together The reason’s plain to see, Together To Liza his love’s tended… Together But she belongs to me! Together SINICHKIN.

The Count is quite offended, Together The reason’s plain to see Together To Liza his love’s tended… Together My daughter, victory! Together LIZA.

The Count is quite offended, Together The reason I can see, Together To me his love has wended… Together So the lead role goes to me! Together BORZIKOV.

The Count is quite offended, Together The reason’s plain to see, Together To Liza his love’s tended Together So ends this repartee. Together (All exeunt except VETRINSKY and SURMILOVA. Music to the end.) VETRINSKY. Damn the lot of them! SURMILOVA. It’s all the fault of that old scoundrel Sinichkin.

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SINICHKIN (appearing in the doorway). Who will not, dare I say it, be distributing tickets, my Lady High and Mighty (Exits.) SURMILOVA. He deliberately dropped that letter from my reticule… VETRINSKY. What letter, may I ask!… SURMILOVA. Why, those priceless lines that caused me all this suffering and more… I was heading for the town gate, on my way to Revelry Hall… when I suddenly learned… VETRINSKY (having taken the letter). What infernal treachery! SURMILOVA. What is it? VETRINSKY. I wrote this letter to Liza! SURMILOVA. Is it possible!… The creature!… Oh, ungrateful man! VETRINSKY. Well, forgive me, pardon me, Raisa! We have no time to quarrel now. We’ve both been made fools of… He sent the letter to you… SURMILOVA. So that… VETRINSKY. So that you would turn down your role… SURMILOVA. And enable him to get his daughter a debut. VETRINSKY. I’ve been hoodwinked! SURMILOVA. Oh! I’m choking with spite… I’ll fly to Pustoslavtsev! VETRINSKY. And I’ll tell the Count the whole truth… SURMILOVA. The role will be mine again! VETRINSKY. Bravo!… A scandal!… A scene!… Reputations ruined!… Today’s performance should be brilliant!… Exeunt ACT FIVE LEADING LADY TIMES TWO The set represents a stage viewed from the side-scenes; two rows of wing pieces halfway upstage run across it. Stage right is the front curtain, not visible behind the downstage drop which depicts the entrance to the orchestra pit. Stage left is the entrance to the stage, also not visible behind the downstage drop which depicts the entrance from the stage to the front-row seats. When the curtain rises, the RUNNING CREW is setting up the scenery, the LIGHTING MEN are aiming lights at the wing-pieces. ACTORS and WALK-ONS are sauntering around the stage, some in costume, others in their street clothes. MITKA (to the Running Crew). Look lively, lads, look lively!… We’re going up soon. SHKAL (enters on tiptoe and looks around). Dmitry!… The indulgence slips is handed out… “On account of Madam Surmilova’s indisposition,” they go, “a certain Miss Sinichkina is acting for the first time…” She any good? MITKA. Ain’t seen her. SHKAL. And how’s the play? MITKA. Who knows! Fine for us: one set, no sweat. SHKAL. But what if they don’t like it? Then I’ll be in the soup. MITKA. What’s it to you? SHKAL. What do you mean, what? I been hoarding stacks of tickets for the second night…take it from me, I’ll end up holding the bag.

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MITKA. Why the rush to be a ticket-scalper then? You’ll get busted and wind up in the slammer. Spending your money on tickets you can’t even give away. SHKAL. Wise guy! I know how to make a kopek. One performance of a Russian opera and I can live for a week… On the other hand, serving pipes o’ tobacco at the coffeehouse, you work up a sweat and don’t get a penny tip. Some guys’ll even take a puff and, poof!, they’re up in smoke and out the door. Of course, there are always a couple of free-handed gents—salesmen and like that… Just as soon as I spot ‘em in the coffee-house, I always bring ‘em champagne, whether they ordered it or not…they polish off a bottle or so, slip you a ten-spot and never ask for change. MITKA. Well, that sounds all right. I ‘spose you’ve saved up pots o’ money? SHKAL. No, pal, may I drop down dead; I ain’t got a penny to bless myself with! MITKA. Whad’ya spend it all on? SHKAL. Heh!… I keep a mistress and she keeps the money. (On seeing SINICHKIN enter.) Who’s that? MITKA. The father of the new actress. (Exits right.) SINICHKIN (with a triumphant look) Thank heavens!… I barely managed to bring it off!… Oof… The sweat, dare I say it, is pouring off me like bullets!… (Addressing Shkal.) Listen, my boy, is there a buffet in the theatre? SHKAL. Sure, sir, there’s even a coffee-house. That’s where I work…can I get you something? SINICHKIN. I’m awfully hot… I wouldn’t mind, dare I say it, something long and cool. SHKAL. You want some lemonade or barley-water? SINICHKIN. Yes…bring me, my man…a glass of bitters and then mix up a bottle of white wine with some water and sugar. SHKAL. Yes, sir, right away (Exits.) SINICHKIN (mopping his brow). I’m worn out, exhausted… This is what you call, dare I say it, taking a debut by storm. My daughter’s name is already posted in the bills, and even so the audience is filling the house… Oh kind, most respected audience! I just peeked through the peephole in the front curtain…all the boxes and front rows are, dare I say it, packed to the rafters… Doesn’t it feel good when you’ve got a full house and all cash customers!… (To Nalimov) Where’s Pyotr Petrovich? How come he’s not here? NALIMOV. He’s been here for quite a while, but he locked himself in his office with the playwright and some other gentleman, whose face I didn’t catch. (LIZA enters in the costume of the Virgin of the Sun.) LIZA. I’m ready, daddy. SINICHKIN. Lizzie! You look charming! LIZA. Does my costume suit me? SINICHKIN. A marvel! A picture!… Wonderful the way the costume of a noble savage suits a buxom girl. Hold on… your left cheek, dare I say it, needs more rouge. (Takes a rouge-pot from his pocket and touches her up.) Immense audience!… All the ladies in the boxes! Dressed to the nines!… Your chin’s too white. (Takes out his hole-filled handkerchief and wipes away the cosmetic.) Now it’s even, I think… Is your chignon fastened securely? LIZA. Yes, daddy

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SINICHKIN (taking her by the hand) You’re all a-tremble, Lizzie!…(Quietly.) Don’t be shy! Believe me, Pyotr Petrovich knows what’s what… A man who can seat a hundred and fifty…you’ll get a curtain-call. LIZA. If you say so, daddy, still the first time is nerve-wracking. SINICHKIN. That’s enough of that… I guarantee you the kind of success that, dare I say it, hasn’t been heard of since old King Cole called for his fiddlers three… Take heart, my daughter, take heart, blood of my blood! (Declaiming)

“The heavens such grace did lend her That she might admired be!” Step right up to the temple of fame!…(With feeling) Yes, and, dare I say it, drag your father along behind you!

The only pity is your mother’s dead And can’t be here to join us in our joy; She’d be so glad that you have got ahead, And that you’re raised above the hoi polloi!… O wifely ghost! Smile on me, benefactress! I have fulfilled your only deathbed plea; Look, look, your daughter has become an actress… Send word from heaven that you’re pleased with me. (A bell rings.) NALIMOV (on stage, cut off by the wing-pieces) People, please clear the stage! We’re starting any minute now!… Mitka! See if the prompter’s in his place. MITKA (from backstage, left of the front curtain). He’s there. NALIMOV (looking over the cast). Everyone ready? Pizarro?… The old woman?… Alonzo? SINICHKIN. Everyone!… Everyone!… A triumphal moment, dare I say it! NALIMOV (stepping down to the forestage, i.e., behind the wings where Liza is). What about Cora? SINICHKIN (pointing to his daughter). Here she is. LIZA (with a beaming countenance). Here I am! (SURMILOVA enters with PRINCE VETRINSKY; she too is wearing the costume of the Virgin the Sun.) SURMILOVA. Here I am! VETRINSKY. And so am I! EVERYONE (bewildered). Raisa Minishna! SINICHKIN. Hell’s had a hand in this! CHORUS.

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Surmilova! What a surprise! Together She’s going to perform! Together And yet, we’re telling you no lies, Together We think it does no harm. Together SINICHKIN and LIZA.

Surmilova! what a surprise! Together She means to play the part! Together Despite our stomach’s butterflies, Together We’ll bump her applecart! Together VETRINSKY.

Two actresses you can’t employ… There’s just one leading part!… SINICHKIN (pointing at his daughter).

This actress is the real McCoy! VETRINSKY. Oh no, she’s the upstart! Repetition of Chorus VETRINSKY. It seems we arrived in the nick of time. SURMILOVA (to Sinichkin and Liza). I’m so sorry you didn’t win in the end. Now I shall play my role myself. SINICHKIN. Your role?… In that case, dare I say it, let’s just see how you’ll play it! VETRINSKY. Why, with distinction, of course. (EVERYONE standing on stage comes closer and listens.) SURMILOVA (smiling). Better than your daughter, I hope. SINICHKIN. Not only not better, but, dare I say it, not at all. LIZA. They won’t let you. SURMILOVA (calmly). We shall see. It’s all been cleared up, you old trickster! VETRINSKY. You old slanderer!… Yes, now I’m motivated not by love, but by revenge!… Ah! You two were making a fool of me, gave away my letter… now I’ll show you. SINICHKIN (unable to interrupt the Prince’s words). What, after all my work, my fixing, my running around…just at the moment when, dare I say it, my daughter was

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all set to go, in full costume…when my fatherly heart was about to swell with pride…the playbills were printed… SURMILOVA. The stage manager will announce the change to the audience. VETRINSKY. Quite right… Mister Stage Manager!… Where’s the stage manager? SINICHKIN (undertone to Liza). Don’t worry… I won’t let the stage manager. (To Mitka.) Isn’t there a trap-door here? Somewhere? MITKA. There is. (Pointing.) The trap’s set up for tomorrow’s show. SINICHKIN. Fine… Listen. (Whispers in his ear.) VETRINSKY. Ah! Here’s Pustoslavtsev with the Count and the playwright. (PUSTOSLAVTSEV, BORZIKOV and COUNT ZEPHYROV enter.) LIZA (runs to Pustoslavtsev). Ah! Pyotr Petrovich! PUSTOSLAVTSEV. Shut up, stand still, look sharp!… What, are you two still here? SINICHKIN. Yes we are and we shall not, dare I say it, be moved. LIZA. I’ve got to make my debut… PUSTOSLAVTSEV. Sorry but it’s out of the question. Stap me vitals, but it’s out of the question! BORZIKOV. Absolutely out of the question!… We owe it to the public!… SINICHKIN. But, Fyodor Semyonovich, weren’t you pleased… BORZIKOV. After all, you can’t deny we’ve already got an experienced actress!… LIZA (runs to the Count). Your grace! All my hopes rest in you! Stand up for me! COUNT. I cannot. LIZA. You promised… COUNT. My love of art prevents me! (LIZA returns to her father.) SINICHKIN (aside, through his teeth). And that hoary sinner’s still babbling about love of art! SURMILOVA. So you see, Lev Gurych and Lizaveta Lvovna, that you have been to all this trouble for nothing. VETRINSKY. Hoodwink those, my dear Gurych, who are dumber than you. Now get out! SINICHKIN. What do you mean, get out?… Do you realize that this will be, dare I say it, the death of me and my daughter? LIZA. Oh! I’ll die of grief before she goes on. PUSTOSLAVTSEV. Shut up, stand still, look sharp!… Go on, go on! Let’s not keep the public waiting… Nalimov, announce that Raisa Minishna will play the part herself. SINICHKIN (pleading). Wait! I beg you, for heaven’s sake! I fall, dare I say it… to my knees!… SURMILOVA. You’d better leave without a fuss. NALIMOV. Please clear the stage. (Everyone stands back of the wings.) Mitka, curtain! MITKA. Right away. PUSTOSLAVTSEV. Sinichkin! Clear out of here or else, stap me vitals, I’ll have the stage crew carry you out! SINICHKIN (frantically). Oh no you won’t! I’m not leaving!… Since you won’t respond to either pleas or tears, I won’t budge from this spot…dare I say it,—I’ll cling to the scenery with my hands and feet… Send for the police even, I’m not scared of them… If need be, me and my Lizzie darlin’ will go before the public and say, “Most

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respected public! Dare I say it, if you don’t mind…” I shall say such things, what they are yet I know not, but they shall be the terrors of the earth!… Over here, Lizzie, you will make your debut. VETRINSKY. What a pigheaded creature. SURMILOVA. She will not make her debut. SINICHKIN. I say she will! LIZA. I certainly will. SURMILOVA. You will not! PUSTOSLAVTSEV. Stap me vitals, I’m sick of listening to this. Make way for the stage manager! Nalimov, get out there! SINICHKIN (holding Nalimov back). I won’t let you! LIZA. Don’t let him go, daddy, hold on tighter. EVERYONE. Let go of the stage manager! NALIMOV. Let me go! SINICHKIN (clutching is coattails). I won’t! EVERYONE. Get out there, Nalimov! NALIMOV. Let go, I’m telling you: the curtain’s up! SINICHKIN. It’s up? (With one hand he holds on to Nalimov, and with the other pushes Liza out on stage.) Carry on! Start reciting! (LIZA goes on stage) Checkmate! (Applause is heard.) SURMILOVA. She went on!… Then I’ll go on! VETRINSKY. Oh fine, do go on!… That’ll create a terrific scandal! BORZIKOV (running over to Surmilova). Please!… Please! what about my play?…(Holds her by the arm.) PUSTOSLAVTSEV (listening to the play). Shush… Shut up, stand still, look sharp! COUNT. Oh dear! They’ve started… I’ll go at once to my box. (Runs out) SURMILOVA (to Pustoslavtsev). And you refused to back me up… VETRINSKY. This is baldfaced ingratitude. PUSTOSLAVTSEV. Stap me vitals—it’s not my fault. (Goes in the wings to listen.) SINICHKIN (blissfully). Don’t make a sound! Lizzie is taking stage… Wonderful! Wonderful!… Ah, I said she’d make her debut. (Goes behind the scenes again and listens, to the play) SURMILOVA (frantic). Oh! I’ll be revenged!… I’ll be revenged!… To begin with, don’t expect anything from me ever again!… I’ll never set foot on your stage again… I spit on the Pustoslavtsevs, on you, on Borzikov—and the whole theatrical menagerie! You should all drop dead on the spot!…(Tears the chaplet of white roses from her head and throws it on the floor). SINICHKIN. Thank you. Just what I needed. (Picks up the chaplet.) BORZIKOV. Oh my God! Alonzo’s missed his entrance… (NALIMOV, BORZIKOV and PUSTOSLAVTSEV rush around.) No, no…he’s come on, thank God! SURMILOVA (behind Sinichkin). Wait and see the flop your daughter will have. VETRINSKY. I guarantee it.

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SURMILOVA. But you swore to me, Prince, that she wouldn’t act, you swore you were on my side! VETRINSKY. I swear it to you now. SURMILOVA. Then hiss her off the stage! VETRINSKY. Don’t worry… She won’t show her face on stage again. SINICHKIN (going up to them, ever so quietly). What was it these gentlefolks were saying? SURMILOVA. Get out there this minute or I’ll never speak to you again as long as I live. (Exits right.) VETRINSKY. I fly! SINICHKIN (overtakes him and bars his path). Where to? VETRINSKY. To the front of the house. SINICHKIN. To applaud? VETRINSKY. To hiss! SINICHKIN (grasping his arm). Hiss!… Who? My daughter! My treasure!… It cannot be. VETRINSKY. Don’t talk rot. SINICHKIN. It cannot be! VETRINSKY. And who’s to prevent it? SINICHKIN. Dare I say it, I will. VETRINSKY. Get away, little man…(Tears away his arm.) SINICHKIN (in a rage, grabs onto his clothes). Your grace! I won’t let you VETRINSKY (hits him on the hand). What insolence. SINICHKIN (won’t let go and drags him to the trap-door). I won’t let you, I won’t let you, whatever you say. (Stamps his foot.) VETRINSKY (quickly falls through the stage). What’s this! What’s this! Ay-ay!… It’s a cave-in! SINICHKIN. Down’s the direction you’re taking, you confounded Don Juan!… (Declaims.) “Get thy soul to Hell—and be forever damned!” PUSTOSLAVTSEV (entering from behind the wings). Stap me vitals! Sinichkin, are you still making a racket!… Shut up, stand still, look sharp! (Goes behind the wings.) SINICHKIN. I am looking sharp, Pyotr Petrovich… We’re talking about fame here… Lizzie’s a hit!… The audience is in ecstasy…(Goes behind the scenes.) SHKAL enters, carrying a glass of vodka on a salver and a bottle in his hand SHKAL (to Sinichkin). Here it is, sir. SINICHKIN (returning). Hand it over, my man, for joy! (Drinks what’s in the glass and puts the bottle in his pocket.) SHKAL. Half a ruble for the drinks: bottle of so-turn ordinairy, sir. SINICHKIN (going back behind the wings). Fine, my man, later… SHKAL. All right, sir, Pavel Ivanych’ll put it on your tab. (Exits.) LIZA (appearing on stage near the wings and declaiming her role). “Farewell…thou hast my love…and should danger menace, they shall strike through my heart, ere their daggers shall reach thine!” (Comes backstage). SINICHKIN (in raptures). Brava, brava, encore!… Dare I say it, you outdid yourself! LIZA (in her usual voice). Ah, my throat’s so dry… I can’t talk.

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SINICHKIN (taking the bottle from his pocket). Here, my dear, here!… Catch your breath, take a bit of refreshment. LIZA drinks. PUSTOSLAVTSEV (running up). Brava! Stap me vitals, brava! Remarkable!… One hell of an actress!… Now, for the last scene,—you know, put more fire in it… All’s well that ends well is well said! SINICHKIN.

Emotions now should be unbound! The laurel wreath adorns your head, And all your foes are underground! So strive, my dear, to demonstrate The scads of feelings we possess… But first, if I dare adumbrate, Touch up your rouge, adjust your dress… LIZA. I have to tousle my hair so it’s completely dishevelled. SINICHKIN (tousling her hair). Hold on… I’ll mess it up for you right now. (To PUSTOSLAVTSEV.) What tresses!… And, dare I say it, all her own. PUSTOSLAVTSEV exits into the wings. LIZA. Careful, don’t unpin me, daddy! SINICHKIN. I won’t, don’t worry…(Taking SURMILOVA’s chaplet.) I’ll put this wreath on you. NALIMOV (running up). Your entrance! You’ve missed your entrance! LIZA (going out on stage). “Dear friend! Come with me…quit thy dungeon!” SINICHKIN. And the dear friend came on from the other side! PUSTOSLAVTSEV (running in). They hissed! Stap me vitals, they hissed! SINICHKIN (energetically). It was meant for the author! For Borzikov!… And here he is…white as a sheet! BORZIKOV (running in). What happened? PUSTOSLAVTSEV. They hissed. BORZIKOV. The actors probably improvised something of their own. Applause is heard. SINICHKIN. Listen, listen, what an ovation. Lizzie came on—and everything in the play instantly sprang to life!…(To Borzikov.) That’s the very scene she was wrong for! BORZIKOV (leaning on the wing-piece, listens). Really?… PUSTOSLAVTSEV (leading Sinichkin away). Lev Gurych! Shut up, stand still, look sharp!… Let’s talk man to man… I agree to offer your daughter an engagement. SINICHIN. I should hope so!… Big deal!… You know which side your bread is, dare I say it, buttered on, Pyotr Petrovich!… Whad’you say to that, sweetheart!… Eh? PUSTOSLAVTSEV. Shut up, stand still, look sharp… This morning you were asking…six hundred rubles? SINICHKIN. Two thousand and a benefit when the fair is on…(Aside.) No, sweetheart, now you’re in my clutches.

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PUSTOSLAVTSEV. Stap me vitals, your final offer was six hundred. SINICHKIN. My final offer was six hundred. Yes, but my first offer was, dare I say it, two thousand. (Applause breaks out.) You hear that?… I weep with joy! (Goes to the wings to listen.) PUSTOSLAVTSEV (holding him back by the arm). Shut up, stand still, look sharp!… I’ll give you two thousand and no benefit. SINICHKIN. Two thousand, lodging, firewood, candles and two benefits: one in fairtime and the other here whenever, dare I say it, I think fit… PUSTOSLAVTSEV. You fiend! Stap me vitals,—a fiend! SINICHKIN. And the benefit in fair-time has to be at Nizhny: I hear you rented a theatre there… (Applause grows even louder.) Brava!… The theatre’s rocking!… That’s what real talent sounds like! PUSTOSLAVTSEV. Shut up, stand still, look sharp!… Two thousand and one benefit here! SINICHKIN. Non-negotiable. (Applause keeps growing louder and louder.) Agreed or what? Otherwise, I’ll start asking for, dare I say it, four benefits! (Applause continues.) PUSTOSLAVTSEV. Agreed! Two thousand, lodging, firewood, candles and two benefits: one at the fair and the other here. VETRINSKY comes up the musicians’ stairs VETRINSKY. I barely managed to scramble out. PUSTOSLAVTSEV. What’s wrong, Prince? VETRINSKY (dusting himself off). It’s barbaric! Have you ever seen the like… I was shoved under the stage and couldn’t figure out how to extricate myself SINICHKIN. You should have stayed there, your grace. VETRINSKY. Oh! Don’t assume you’ve got off scot free…there’s still time—and I haste to hiss! BORZIKOV hears the Prince’s last words, leaps from behind the wings and grabs him by his clothes, hoping to restrain him. SINICHKIN. Haste wherever you like… Listen!… Applause. PUSTOSLAVTSEV (in ecstasy). The play is over. The curtain will come down any minute. VETRINSKY. Can it be? BORZIKOV. A hit! A palpable hit! SINICHKIN (jumping for joy). Bravo! Bravo! Damn it all! Dare I say it!… LIZA runs to him. SINICHKIN (arms outstretched to embrace her). My chee-ild! LIZA. Daddy! SINICHKIN (pressing her to his bosom and kissing her brow, eyes, hands). Lizzie!… Me precious!… Me darlin’ gal!… All the actors and supers surround them and sing the following chorus. CHORUS.

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Bravo! Lovely! Really choice! As an actress you are great! We acknowledge in one voice That your talent is first-rate. VETRINSKY (aside). Before I’m laughed at, I’d better laugh at myself. BORZIKOV (to Liza). Madam! I heartily congratulate you, it is an unexpected pleasure that you should share the play’s success with me… May I? (Kisses her on the brow.) SINICHKIN. And you may thank her for it too, Fyodor Semyonovich. The playwright didn’t save her, but she, dare I say it, saved the playwright! PUSTOSLAVTSEV (kissing Liza). Stap me vitals,—one hell of an actress! SINICHKIN. Ain’t it the truth! But you would haggle with me, Pyotr Petrovich. COUNT (coming up to Liza from the left). Beautiful! Incomparable! Enchanting!… I’m yours! You have shackled me to your triumphal chariot… May I, for love of art’s sake…(Kisses her and says in an undertone.) Call on me. Tumult in the theatre. BORZIKOV. They’re shouting “Author”! They’re calling for me!… Make way, let me get to a box… Shouts in the theatre of “Sinichkina! Sinichkina!” SINICHKIN (returning). Yes, they’re calling! But not Author! A lot they need the, dare I say it, author!… They’re calling for my daughter, for Sinichkina!Z Have them raise the curtain at once. Where’s the stage manager? PUSTOSLAVTSEV. Right away (Exits.) SINICHKIN (to Liza). I’ll escort you… Hold on, let me touch up your rouge. (Takes the rouge from his pocket and dabs it on.) VETRINSKY (undertone to Liza). I’m the sort that forgives and forgets. We’ll be friends again, I hope. PUSTOSLAVTSEV (returns). Hurry! They’re shouting…stap me vitals, they’re banging their sticks on the floor! SINICHKIN (declaiming). “Come, let’s away to prizes! We two will sing like birds i’th’ cage.” (In his usual voice.) Let us through!… PUSTOSLAVTSEV. Ring up the curtain! EVERYONE. Let’s go and watch! (They hurry to watch from behind the wings.) SINICHKIN and LIZA go on stage. Loud applause and bravos break out; they fall silent the minute that SINICHKIN, after bowing, returns behind the wings and respectfully presents his daughter to the real audience. SINICHKIN.

And now my daughter and yours truly Appear before your solemn court. And I confess, I quake unduly, Lest Liza’s career be cut short.

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What’s your opinion I’ve no notion; I’ve lost my head in panic fear: Elsewhere they met her with emotion, But how will you receive her here?…* And yet, in honesty, one ought to Grant my fear’s a mere deception. Why should I worry for my daughter? She’s bound to get a good reception! That she is gifted, who’ll deny? Even the critic who’s a churl And pedant is compelled to cry: I think there’s talent in the girl! In roles of princess and of peasant I guarantee that she will please, A newcomer so very pleasant Is what the public seldom sees! Some may not find her so endearing, And criticize with might and main, And when they think she’s out of hearing Will groan and say: not her again! What if some satirist will pitch inTo her, and claim her acting’s bad? Still old Lev Gurych, me, Sinichkin Is proud to be her loving dad! Now, by the way, into your ears I’ll sing of me, the egotist. Why nonstop the last forty years Have my performances been hissed? Am I in fact so bad an actor In classics and in up-to-date shows My efforts only win detractors, Their only fruits are aged tomatoes?… I fear there’s no point in denying That I have talent when I play so: My talent’s really terrifying… But only…if I dare to say so. EVERYONE.

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We all have talents stupefying… But only…if we dare to say so! END *If the actress playing Liza has not yet won the reputation of a great talent, one might end the verse after the first eight lines. (Author’s note.)

Fantasy A Farce-Vaudeville in One Act by KOZMA PRUTKOV (Aleksei Tolstoy and Aleksei Zhemchuzhnikov) CHARACTERS AGRAFENA PANKRATIEVNA CHUPURLINA (Mme Forelock), a wealthy but selfcentered old woman LIZAVETA PEATONOVNA (Elizabeth Platonic), her ward ADAM KARLOVICH LIEBENTHAL, a young German1, not devoid of playfulness FEMISTOKL MILTIADOVICH RAZORVAKI (Themistocles Miltiades Hullaballopolis), a rather cunning and perfidious man PRINCE2 KASYAN RODIONOVICH BATOG-BATYEV (Prince Cassian Batter-Bang), a man dealing in soap MARTYN MARTYNOVICH KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY [Martin Boozer-Junkpile], a respectable man GEORGY ALEKSANDROVICH BESPARDONNY [George Brazen], a bashful man FIRS EVGENYEVICH MILOVIDOV [Tirsus Prettyman], a forthright man. AKULINA, a nanny FANTASY a pugdog Non-speaking roles3 A poodle Non-speaking roles3 A doggy of diminutive size Non-speaking roles3 A Great Dane Non-speaking roles3 A pugdog resembling Fantasy Non-speaking roles3 An unidentified bulldog Non-speaking roles3 Coachmen, cooks, housekeepers and pageboys. SCENE I The action takes place at CHURPULINA’s villa.—The garden. Audience right, a small house with a veranda. In the middle of the garden (upstage) a very compact gazebo that resembles a sentry-box, twined round with ivy. On the gazebo is a flag with the motto “What is our life?” In front of the gazebo, a flower-bed and a very small fountain. 1

The word “German” was changed on the playbill to “man.” The title “Prince” was excised by the Censor in the cast list and throughout the text. 3 These “non-speaking” roles were not allowed in the cast list by the Censor. 2

Discovered: RAZORVAKI, PRINCE BATOG-BATYEV, MILOVIDOV, KUTILOZAVALDAISKY, BESPARDONNY and LIEBENTHAL, walking to and fro in

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different directions, in silence. They are wearing either swallow-tail coats or frockcoats.—A rather protracted silence. KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY (suddenly stops short and turns to the others). Psst! Psst! Psst!… EVERYONE (stopping). What’s the matter? What’s the matter? KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY. Ah, hush, hush!… Keep still!… Stay where you are!…(Hearkening.) Can you hear?… The hour is striking! (Everyone walks over to Kutilo-Zavaldaisky, except BESPARDONNY, who stands rapt in thought, at some remove from the others.) RAZORVAKI (looks at his watch). Seven o’clock. KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY (looks at his own watch). It would be seven! Mine says half past two. Such a peculiar mechanism—I can’t seem to figure it out. EVERYONE (except LIEBENTHAL, looking at their watches). Seven o’clock. LIEBENTHAL. I didn’t bring my watch, for (aside) a watched pot never boils! RAZORVAKI. The long-awaited hour we have been watching for!… Here we are, all gathered together, but which of us, met here as suitors, which of us is to win the hand of Lizaveta Platonovna?—That is the question! EVERYONE (pensively). That is the question!. BESPARDONNY (aside). Lizaveta Platonovna, Lizaveta Platonovna!… Whose lot will you fall to? Ah! RAZORVAKI. Since the old lady who holds our bride-to-be in her clutches hasn’t come back yet, let us… KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY. Let us carefully inspect one another: are we all decent and all in our places? Suitors really ought to be… Mister Milovidov. (Points at his waistcoat.) Some of your lower buttons aren’t fastened. MILOVIDOV (not buttoning them). I know. RAZORVAKL Gentlemen! I propose that, while waiting for the old lady to put in an appearance, we make up a pleasing compliment for her, in the guise of some charming verses and sing them, the way the actors and actresses in a vaudeville usually sing things on stage. EVERYONE. All right with us!… All right with us… Let’s make one up! Let’s make one up! RAZORVAKI. As we do it, let us sit in our places. Everyone sit in place! (RAZORVAKI sits on a bench, BESPARDONNY on another bench, PRINCE BATOGBATYEV and KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY on the grass. MILOVIDOV goes into the gazebo; LIEBENTHAL pulls a notebook and a pencil from his pocket and climbs a tree.) LIEBENTHAL. This spot is nearer to Heaven. RAZORVAKI. You settled down? Let’s begin…(Thinking) “These are couplets”… Rhymes, gentlemen! LIEBENTHAL (up in the tree). Warmed like cutlets! MILOVIDOV (from the gazebo). Why warmed like cutlets? LIEBENTHAL. Warmed by our sincere feelings! RAZORVAKI. I understand poetry better than any of you: I am a Southerner, from Nezhin. PRINCE BATOG-BATYEV. I’m from Kazan.

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RAZORVAKI. Don’t interrupt!… Listen to this: “These are couplets—We, six poets,— Hon’ring you,—Wrote down in committee…” MILOVIDOV. “Wrote down in committee—in this shady spinney.” RAZORVAKI. That doesn’t rhyme! KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY. This is a garden, not a spinney. MILOVIDOV. All right—“In this garden!” RAZORVAKI. Don’t interrupt!… “Wrote down in committee.—In our places sitting,— Four plus two.”—That’s the sort of thing!… There’s more: “We apostrophize you”… Ah! someone’s coming… Agrafena Pankratievna’s coming!… Well, there’s nothing for it!… Come on, as it stands, each man in his place, start singing. I’ll begin! SCENE II (CHURPURLINA and LIZAVETA come into the garden from the veranda. CHUPURLINA is leading a pugdog on a ribbon. The suitors sit in place and sing to the tune of “Frère Jacques.” RAZORVAKI begins.) EVERYONE (singing).

These are couplets We six poets, Hon’ring you (repeat) Wrote down in committee, In our places sitting, Four plus two! Four plus two! (CHUPURLINA and LIZAVETA stare in bewilderment in all directions) RAZORVAKI. Gentlemen, improvise the second verse. Each man contribute a rhyme. I’ll begin! (They sing, individually, a line apiece, in the following order.) RAZORVAKI.

We apostrophize you,— KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY.

Lionize you— PRINCE BATOG-BATYEV.

Eulogize you—

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MILOVIDOV.

Panegyrize you,— BESPARDONNY.

Canonize you,— LIEBENTHAL.

And surprise you! RAZORVAKI.

That’ll do!…that’ll do!… EVERYONE (in unison).

All the time! All the time!… RAZORVAKI (continuing to sing by himself).

You gaze on us so sweetly! MILOVIDOV (ditto).

And kiss us so discreetly! EVERYONE (in unison).

Same to you! Same to you! (On the last line they all go to CHUPURLINA, their arms outstretched to embrace her.) CHUPURLINA. Thank you, thank you!

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LIEBENTHAL (runs ahead of the others). Gracious madam, respected Agrafena Pakratievna! Be a loving mommy to me! PRINCE BATOG-BATYEV. Most esteemed Agrafena Pankratievna! KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY. My benefactress! RAZORVAKI. Such a benefactress, that it’s simply—oof!… I have to kiss you, that’s all there is to it! KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY (aside). What forceful expressions this Greek always has handy,—he really doesn’t know how to restrain himself. (BESPARDONNY walks up, opens his mouth, but on account of his inner turmoil is unable to say a word.) MILOVIDOV (interrupting Bespardonny’s expressive gestures). Well, how about it, you old darling!… Have you thought it over?—Here we are, all on hand. Which of us is the best man?—Tell us!… Go ahead, tell us! CHUPURLINA. Hush, dearie, hush! Aren’t you the pushy one, the way you carry on!… Our Lizzie isn’t the kind of girl I can take and give to the first man that comes along! I’m very fond of our Lizzie! (She pets the pugdog) She’s more than a daughter to me… I shan’t give her to just any blatherer! (Looks Milovidov up and down.) Suppose, dearie, you’ve been kicking up your heels at dances and gobbling, say, truffles with sugar on top; and now you’ve squandered all your cash and want to sink your teeth into our Lizzie’s dowry? No, dearie, slow down!! First off, let’s have each of you say what sort of fortune you’ve got, so as to provide for her happiness. (She pets the pugdog) Otherwise, you’re no more to look at our Lizzie than at my waist-line. MILOVIDOV (aside). What an old battle-axe! What a battle-axe! LIEBENTHAL (to the pugdog). Here, puppy, woof, woof, woof… MILOVIDOV (to Chupurlina). I’ll get a fortune! CHUPURLINA. What kind, dearie? MILOVIDOV. How about the dowry? As soon as I get it, I’ll have a fortune! And the bigger the dowry, the bigger the fortune! CHUPURLINA. There, I knew it all along! Blather, nothing but blather! Just listen to him! (To Kutilo-Zavaldaisky). How about you, dearie? LIEBENTHAL (to Chupurlina). Excuse me, missus: doesn’t it look as if the dog’s got her left paw caught in the leash? I mean it! CHUPURLINA. Thanks, dearie…(Turns back to Kutilo-Zavaldaisky.) Well, what about you, Martyn Martynovich? KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY. Madam, please be assured that once I have tied the knot with Lizaveta Platonovna, I shall always observe the proprieties… CHUPURLINA. No, that’s not what I’m talking about… What are your prospects? Do you own a factory? KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY. No, ma’am. I own no factories. CHUPURLINA. Well, what then? KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY. Madam, I have a considerable stock of morality! You fail to note that my name is Kutilo-Zavaldaisky. Some other fellow might entertain God knows what kind of ideas; but I am not that sort! My Papa was that sort, and so is an uncle; but not I! I am a chaste and modest individual.4 They even tried to make me chief of a fire-brigade.5

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CHUPURLINA. Oh fooey, you blatherer! That’s right, a blatherer! Blatherer, blatherer, that’s all there is to it!…(Turns to Prince Batog-Batyev.) P’raps you’re a bit more substantial, dearie. Let’s see, how would you provide for our Lizzie’s happiness? PRINCE BATOG-BATYEV. Mainly with soap! (He takes cakes of soap out of his pocket.) I have some here for everybody (He distributes them.) Hand-soap for you, madam; but shaving-soap for these gentlemen. (To Milovidov.) For you, besides the shaving-soap, a special cake—for your hands. MILOVIDOV (takes it gratefully but stares intently at his hands). Thank you! CHUPURLINA. Many thanks, Prince. (Turns to Razorvaki.) Well now, I haven’t asked you, Femistokl Miltiadovich. You can’t really be thinking of marrying our Lizzie, can you? Shame on you! RAZORVAKI. No, ma’am, I’m not in jest. I am seriously requesting Lizaveta Platonovna’s hand. I am, by birth, a member of the Orthodox Church, and a Southerner. I have passions. CHUPURLINA. You mean it?… But what kind of passions have you got? RAZORVAKI. Madam, Agrafena Pankratievna! I am a Southerner, a pragma4 5

Here the Censor crossed out “chaste” and wrote in “moral.” This sentence was crossed out by the Censor

tist. I nourish no impossible dreams… I propose to borrow money…three hundred thousand silver rubles…and to do one of two things with it: either invest it and live off the interest, or…found a bunion clinic…on a firm footing! CHUPURLINA. A bunion clinic? RAZORVAKI. On a firm footing! CHUPURLINA. What’s this all about? Where’s the money to come from?… From our Lizzie’s dowry perhaps? RAZORVAKI. I said: I’d borrow the money: three hundred thousand silver rubles! CHUPURLINA. Borrow it from whom, dearie? RAZORVAKI. Just think: three hundred thousand silver rubles! It comes to a million rubles in paper! CHUPURLINA. But who’ll let you have it? Aren’t you talking rubbish, after all? RAZORVAKI. A million fifty thousand in paper rubles! CHUPURLINA. Rubbish, rubbish! And I refuse to listen to it! Mr Bespardonny, what about you? BESPARDONNY (rusing himself). Madam…forgive me… I hope I wouldn’t spare my…not spare my life6…for Lizaveta Platonovna’s sake…to the last drop of blood! LIEBENTHAL (interrupting). Listen, missus,—the best kind of fortune is: industriousness, respect for one’s elders and thrift! Respect for one’s elders, industriousness…(He bends down to the pugdog.) CHUPURLINA. Dearie, what are you looking for on her? LIEBENTHAL. Missus, Fantasy’s little ear is tangled. CHUPURLINA (half-aloud). There’s some good in this young man. LIEBENTHAL (continues to pet the dog). Here, puppy, woof, woof, woof, grr, grr, grr. CHUPURLINA (to Liebenthal). Thank you for being so solicitous.

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MILOVIDOV. All right now, old lady You’ve talked enough nonsense about each of us!… It’s time, pal, to say which of us is the best man. CHUPURLINA. Hush, hush, dearie!… There you go carrying on again! it’s plain to see he’s played the guitar all his life. KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY (in horror). Milovidov is behaving indecently. MILOVIDOV. It’s time to put an end to this! RAZORVAKI. A million fifty thousand in paper rubles! 6

The censor changed the old Church Slavonic “ ” to “ ”. However, “ ” is not only spoken in prayer, but even when “one is laid on the altar of the Fatherland.” Why is it improper to say it on stage?

CHUPURLINA. Yes, it really goes without saying: the most sensible of all of you is Adam Karlych. RAZORVAKI (takes Chupurlina aside). Madam, having the most vital concern for you, I must tell you that once, on Krestovsky Island, Adam Karlych… (Whispers in her ear) CHUPURLINA. What? Can this be true? How disgusting!… Adam Karlych, Adam Karlych! Step over here!… Is it true that on Krestovsky Island you once…(Whispers in his ear.) LIEBENTHAL (appalled). Goodness gracious, missus! Never in my life!… CHUPURLINA. Well, that’s all right then! I thought not!… You see, Femistokl Miltiadovich, it wasn’t Adam Karlych. It was somebody else. RAZORVAKI (to her). True enough: looks like it must have been Milovidov. CHUPURLINA (to Liebenthal). Well, Adam Karlych, if our Lizzie likes you, take her, and there’s an end to it. Go and give her a hug. She’s somewhere in the garden.— Goodbye, my dears. Thanks for the honor. (Confidentially, to Prince Batog-Batyev.) Goodbye, Prince. Thank you for the soap. (The suitors depart. CHUPURLINA stops RAZORVAKI.) CHUPURLINA. You wait a bit, dearie. I didn’t quite catch what you were telling me about the bunion factory RAZORVAKI. Bunion clinic! CHUPURLINA. Yes, that’s it, a clinic… Just what are you proposing? RAZORVAKI. It’s very simple!… First of all, I borrow the sum of three hundred thousand silver rubles… (They leave, deep in conversation.) SCENE III (LIEBENTHAL hops on one leg in silence for a short while.) LIEBENTHAL. Ach, there she is!…there she is!…she’s walking around with an armful of flowers!… I’ll begin! (LIZAVETA PLATONOVNA passes by, carrying flowers. She does not notice Liebenthal.) LIEBENTHAL. Lizaveta Platonovna!… I say: Lizaveta Platonovna! LIZAVETA. Oh, good morning, Adam Karlych.

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LIEBENTHAL. Lizaveta Platonovna, where do you buy your cosmetics? LIZAVETA. My what? LIEBENTHAL. By that term I imply: perfume, pomade, soap, lavender water and bergamot oil. LIZAVETA. In the arcade, except for Kazan soap which, for quite some time now, has been purveyed to me for the most part by Prince Batog-Batyev. But why do you ask? LIEBENTHAL (drawing very close to her). Because a more pleasant odor issues from you than from those flowers. (Aside.) She almost laughed!…(To her.) Lizaveta Platonovna! a moment ago I laid before our most dear Agrafena Pankratievna the meaning of my life and the means of my existence… I laid bare to her—I mean it!— all my soul and all the convolutions of my tender heart, which aspires to a well-known object… I told her about myself and referred to you… She drove all the others away… but allowed me to come to you… I came… you came too!… No doubt, matchless Lizaveta Platonovna, I dare not even think this; but Agrafena Pankratievna bade me… LIZAVETA. Then what’s the matter, Adam Karlych? LIEBENTHAL. Oh! I’m bound to do the bidding of that venerable party. And therefore, spiritedly pulling myself together, I say: (He falls to his knees.) Lizaveta Platonovna! Decide my fate, my dearest darling, with either an entrancing reply or a blow!…(Still on his knees, he sings to the tune of “D’un pensiero” from La Sonnambula:)

Elizaveta, my dear! A malady sweet though queer Doth my soul commandeer! You’re so attractive And interactive!! E… A FOOTMAN (running in). Hsst!… Hsst!…Fantasy!… Fantasy!… Miss, have you seen the mistress’s pugdog? LIZAVETA. No, I haven’t. LIEBENTHAL (rising). Neither have I. FOOTMAN (on his way out). Fantasy!… Fantasy!…(He exits.) LIEBENTHAL. I shall continue. (Once again he kneels and sings.)

Elizaveta, my dear! Suddenly strike my ear, Startle me, let me hear, The word—spouse—that brings cheer! LIZAVETA (also sings, continuing the tune).

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Ah, no, no… A PARLOR-MAID (running in). Fantasy!… Fantasy!… Miss, have you seen the mistress’s pugdog? LIZAVETA. No, I haven’t. LIEBENTHAL (rising). Neither have I. PARLOR-MAID (on her way out). Fantasy!… Fantasy!…(Exits.) LIEBENTHAL. I believe you were about to turn me down, Lizaveta Platonovna? LIZAVETA. Yes, I wanted to say: (Sings.)

Ah, no, no!… Though you’ll chide, Naught can make me decide!… I’m scared and petrified!… LIEBENTHAL (sings, aside).

What a cowardly bride! LIZAVETA.

Though you’ll chide, (repeat) Terrified (repeat) Can’t decide! (Three times) LIEBENTHAL (sings, aside).

What a cowardly bride! LIZAVETA.

Though you’ll chide! Terrified!… BOTH TOGETHER.

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Coward bride! (Three times) Can’t decide! (Three times) LIEBENTHAL (kneeling once more, begins to sing). E… AKULINA (running in). Quantasy!… Quantasy!… Miss, our missus’s pugdog done disappeared! You seen her? LIZAVETA. No, I haven’t. LIEBENTHAL (rising). Neither have I. AKULINA. What are you gonna do? The missus feels like crying, feels like losing her temper, she’s beside herself. She feels like yelling at the top of her lungs:7 “Get me my pugdog! Where’s my Quantasy!” (On her way out, shouting) Quantasy!… Hey, Quantasy! (Exits.) LIEBENTHAL (getting on his knees again). I shall proceed. (Sings.)

Elizaveta, my dear! Thy disproportionate fear Calls to mind an old hag drear! Meanwhile love in a flood Stirs up waves in my blood! E… COOK (runs in his chef’s cap, his sleeves rolled up, with a saucepan in one hand and a bunch of turnips in the other). Confusy!… Confusy!… Miss, is Confusy with you? LIEBENTHAL (rising). Oh, get out!… You interrupted me at the critical moment! COOK. How’s it my fault I been sent to look for a dog? LIZAVETA. I haven’t seen it. 7

The Censor crossed out “lungs” and wrote in “voice.”

LIEBENTHAL. Neither have I. COOK (on his way out). Confusy!… Confusy!…(He exits.) LIEBENTHAL (sings, standing up).

Elizaveta, my dear! Suddenly strike my ear, Startle me, let me hear The word that brings cheer: LIZAVETA (shyly).

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Spouse! LIEBENTHAL (falls to his knees). Divine Lizaveta! (Kisses her hand.) Ethereal creature! SCENE IV FOOTMEN, PARLOR-MAIDS, PAGE-BOYS, AKULINA, THE COOK and THE COACHMAN (run in from different sides, shouting). Fantasy!… Confusy!… Quantasy! (LIZAVETA and LIEBENTHAL, blind to all else, gaze into one another’s eyes tenderly.—In a short while CHUPURLINA runs in and shouts louder than any of them.) CHUPURLINA. Fantasy!… Fantasy!… Haven’t they found her?!… Give me my doggy, my puppy-doggy, my puppy-doggy-woggy!… ALL THE SERVANTS (running off in all directions, shouting in unison). Fantasy!… Fantasy!… SCENE V LIZAVETA and LIEBENTHAL (walk up to Chupurlina from either side and shyly speak together). Mummy dear!… Mummy dear!… CHUPURLINA. What do you want?! What do you want from me? LIEBENTHAL. She’s consented. LIZAVETA (to Chupurlina). If you consent, I consent. CHUPURLINA. How’s that? Everybody is out looking for my dog and running all over the place, like a cat with conniption fits, but you?! What were you doing here? (To Lizaveta.) So this is your gratitude for all the care I’ve lavished on you!… You goodfor-nothing hussy!… Wasting time telling me all sorts of smut,8 when I’m out of my mind, when I’m in tears, in torment… (She weeps.) My God, what have I come to!… All I had left in old age was Fantasy!… What an affliction, what an awful thing to happen!…(She turns to both of them.) Get out!… 8

The Censor changed “smut” to “nonsense.”

SCENE VI (BESPARDONNY, MILOVIDOV, PRINCE BATOG-BATYEV, KUTILOZAVALDAISKY and RAZORVAKI hurry in). BESPARDONNY (anxiously). What’s happened to whom? KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY. Whom did what befall? PRINCE BATOG-BATYEV. Why this commotion? MILOVIDOV. What’s all the racket? RAZORVAKI. What’s the calamity? CHUPURLINA. What do you want here?! Why have you come back?! Did you leave something here?

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BESPARDONNY. We heard shouting. PRINCE BATOG-BATYEV. Running around! MILOVIDOV. Squalling! RAZORVAKI. Hustling and bustling! KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY. A darkling wrangle over a fantasy. CHUPURLINA. That’s my dog—Fantasy, and she’s not dark, she’s pale yellow!… She’s lost, she’s run away, she’s been kidnapped! LIEBENTHAL. Agrafena Pankratievna, I shall run this very minute and find your Fantasy! I mean it!… I shall expend every ounce of my strength, personality and talent in recovering your pug! I mean it!…(He turns to Lizaveta.) See you soon, Lizaveta Platonovna. (He runs out.) CHUPURLINA (screams after him). And know in advance, you Adam person you! if you don’t find Fantasy, you won’t get her hand!…(Turns to the other suitors.) Whoever bring me back my Fantasy is the man who’ll get as reward both the dowry and Lizaveta! Got me? I’ll keep my word. (To Lizaveta.) Go inside!… Go ahead, get a move on. (They both go into the house.) SCENE VII9 PRINCE BATOG-BATYEV. What a curious turn of events! MILOVIDOV. Whatever the hell it means! RAZORVAKI. An unheard-of state of affairs! BESPARDONNY (to himself). How Fate works sometimes!… Who knows?… Maybe now I’ll be the one?… Lizaveta Ivanovna!… Lord, if only it were possible! MILOVIDOV. What’s there to think about? Let’s go look for the pug. 9

This scene was somewhat abridged in performance.

PRINCE BATOG-BATYEV. Look for the pug… That’s easy to say! But where’s it to be found? Shouldn’t we notify the police? Even then, God knows whether they’ll find it! KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY (aside). He mistrusts the police! RAZORVAKI. Besides, if some policeman finds it, Agrafena Pankratievena will straightway marry her ward to him! EVERYONE (alarmed). No, no… We mustn’t notify them!… RAZORVAKI (to himself). Happy thought! PRINCE BATOG-BATYEV (ditto). Hooray I’ve got it! BESPARDONNY (ditto). I do believe I’ve got it! MILOVIDOV (ditto). I’ve got an idea! KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY (aside). What could those libertines be concocting?! I blush in advance! (He tries to eavesdrop.) RAZORVAKI (to himself). Suppose the pug isn’t found… I’ll get another dog for Agrafena Pankratievna, a much better one. I happen to know a certain poodle…in the civil service… I mean, this poodle’s master’s in the civil service, a no-nonsense bureaucrat,10 my true friend! He’ll agree to anything… I’ll look him up… What’s it to

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him? He doesn’t bother about trivia, he’s so strict with subordinates11… I’ll leave only two whiskers in the shape of a crescent moon… KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY (aside). You see, you see!…of a meritorious employee of the civil service, maybe the head of a household, he says, “I’ll leave only two whiskers!” PRINCE BATOG-BATYEV (sotto voce, to himself). My old maid auntie, Miss Flimsy,12 has a little pooch no bigger than that. His name is Consolation… Suppose I managed to get him and brought him to Agrafena Pankratyevna? KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY (aside). It sounds like he’s planning to rob his own auntie! BESPARDONNY (sotto voce, to himself). If I don’t find Fantasy, I think I might… I saw another pugdog, with a remarkable resemblance to Fantasy!… They were asking a lot of money for it, but I’ve got a first-rate shaving kit and I still have that portrait of an unidentified celebrity—a very good likeness13… All of it, all of it…shall be sold…for Lizaveta Platonovna’s sake!… MILOVIDOV (to himself). I don’t intend to drag around the streets after some piece of trash!… I’ll go and whatever I find I’ll take and bring back to the old dame. 10

The Censor crossed out “a no-nonsense bureaucrat.” The Censor crossed out “he’s so strict with subordinates.” 12 After crossing out “My old maid auntie Miss Flimsy has,” the Censor wrote in “My old maid auntie has.” 13 The Censor crossed out “a very good likeness.” 11

KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY (to himself). Why shouldn’t I give it a try? There’s nothing reprehensible about it? RAZORVAKI (answers MILOVIDOV, confidentially). You know what? Rather than look for something in vain, it would be best to…(Whispers in his ear.) MILOVIDOV. That’s not a bad idea! In fact, I know a certain nurse-maid who could get me one… Only I’m afraid it might be found out! RAZORVAKI. Nobody will find it out, positively nobody! I’m ready to take my oath on that… I’ll back you up in it. Just count on me. MILOVIDOV. Thanks. It’s worth a try Be sure and back me up! RAZORVAKI. Just count on me! (They walk over to the others.) EVERYONE (sings in unison, to the tune of “Zitto, zitto, piano, piano,” and then each sings his own part).

Quietly, with circumspection We shall plod away from here. We shall find it to perfection If it chooses to appear! RAZORVAKI (aside).

I have no doubt I’ll be flushing

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Out that poodle’s whereabouts. KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY (aside).

In advance I find I’m blushing. There’ll be rudeness hereabouts! PRINCE BATOG-BATYEV (aside).

With a purpose, not from whimsy,14 I dash off to kiss my aunt, Hoping to divest Miss Flimsy,15 Her Consolation to transplant. KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY (ditto).

I shall try it, then we’ll see Whether she is fond of me. BESPARDONNY (ditto).

Heaven grant my proffered tyke Will be just the dog she’ll like! MILOVIDOV (to Razorvaki).

I’m a trifle apprehensive. What if, in the light, she’ll see I’ve pulled off a hoax offensive? RAZORVAKI (to Milovidov).

Not to worry, count on me! EVERYONE (in chorus, leaving the stage and gradually fading away in the distance.)

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Quietly, with circumspection We shall plod away from here. We shall find it to perfection 14

The Censor crossed out “not from whimsy,” and wrote in “somewhat shady.” The Censor crossed out “Miss Flimsy” and wrote in first, “the lady,” and then, the “maidie.” 15

If it chooses to appear, If it chooses to appear! BRIEF INTERLUDE The stage is empty for a short while.—Storm-clouds gather. Darkness falls. A thunderstorm. Rain, wind, lightning and thunder.—The orchestra plays the sinfonia from The Barber of Seville, which is used in that opera under similar circumstances.—A pugdog runs across the stage. A few seconds later, an unidentified bulldog runs by, sedulously sniffing her traces.—The tempest subsides. The semi-darkness continues. SCENE VIII Enter one after another: RAZORVAKI, BESPARDONNY, PRINCE BATOGBATYEV, MILOVIDOV KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY. They are wrapped up in mackintoshes, with their hats pulled down over their eyes, and fail to see one another. RAZORVAKI (mysteriously). There’s someone here! BESPARDONNY (ditto). Who’s here? MILOVIDOV (ditto). Me!… PRINCE BATOG-BATYEV (ditto). They’re here! KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY (ditto). We’re here! BESPARDONNY (ditto). Got the pug? MILOVIDOV (ditto). I’m pugless! PRINCE BATOG-BATYEV (mysteriously). I’m pugless! RAZORVAKI (ditto). I’m pugless! BESPARDONNY (aside). Thank you, Mother Nature: they are pugless! KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY (ditto). They are pugless! MILOVIDOV (aloud). Gentlemen! Why act hush-hush?! We didn’t find the pug, so, no doubt, we brought back something else, eh? EVERYONE (mysteriously, in turn). We did!… We did!… We did!… We did!… RAZORVAKI (to them all). Let’s show whatever it is to Agrafena Pankratyevna. BESPARDONNY. One thought disturbs me… And what a thought it is!… How shall I express it most precisely? We all…lack Fantasy; well, what if Adam Karlych…has got Fantasy?

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PRINCE BATOG-BATYEV. Yes, that’s a bit alarming. He’s a sharp fellow. Good grief, he’ll find it! KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY. Yes, that’s the sort of fellow he is! (He whistles.) MILOVIDOV. Rubbish, but alarming all the same. RAZORVAKI. Not alarming in the least. The main thing is not to get downhearted. What’s so alarming about him? You think because he’s so cagey God alone knows what will happen? Stuff and nonsense! He’s the same man-ner of man we are. I’ve known him for a long time. His character may be summed up perfectly. Listen. (Sings.)

Liebenthal’s no snob Punctilious, nor slob Nor sot; But he’s top-notch at lies And will hyperbolize A lot. CHORUS (repeats).

A lot! RAZORVAKI.

He’s bad at keeping mum, And at holding his tongue Dabbles. He jabbers just as quick As a crone peddling chicks Gabbles! CHORUS (repeats).

Gabbles! RAZORVAKI.

He’s an expert in all; To polka at a ball— Child’s play!

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But come down to brass tacks, And his knees melt like wax,— Olé! CHORUS (repeats).

Olé! SCENE IX All the servants enter from different directions with lamps—The scene is illuminated by the light from those lamps SERVANTS (asking each other). Found Fantasy? Found Quantasy? Where’s Confusy? I haven’t found Fantasy! I haven’t seen Quantasy! Confusy ain’t here! (On seeing the suitors, the servants retire upstage, where they stop and remain the whole time, illuminating the stage with their lamps.) RAZORVAKI (to the other suitors). You hear, gentlemen? Fantasy hasn’t been found! Therefore, we can hope—victory is ours! ALL THE SUITORS. Victory! Victory! The pug hasn’t been found!… (They sing in chorus to the tune of “La Trompette guerrière.”)

Triumph, triumph, triumph, triumph!… Hop, hop, hop, tarantaround!… The doggy, the doggy, the doggy’s not been found! The doggy, the doggy, the doggy’s not been found! Not been found! Not been found! Not been found, not been found, not been found, not been found! Tararound! SCENE X CHUPURLINA and LIZAVETA run on from the veranda of the house. CHUPURLINA. What’s this? What’s this? Have you found Fantasy? Where is she? Where is she? MILOVIDOV. They didn’t find the pug. CHUPURLINA. Ach, the heathens! RAZORVAKI. I’ve brought you something better than a pugdog. CHUPURLINA. Better than Fantasy? Heathens! PRINCE BATOG-BATYEV. It will be ever so agreeable. CHUPURLINA. Some kind of garbage? PRINCE BATOG-BATYEV. She knows not what she says, and flippantly denigrates Consolation.

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BESPARDONNY. Really, it will be almost as good. MILOVIDOV. It’ll be a lot better! CHUPURLINA (to Razorvaki). Show me, dearie, what have you got? RAZORVAKI (throwing off his mackintosh and displaying the poodle). Here’s what! CHUPURLINA. What’s this, dearie?! Looks more like a sheep!… Where could you ever see, where could you ever hear that such a thing might be on a par with Fantasy?! Honestly, I was about to say something carnal, and on a Friday16 at that it’s particularly shameful!… What’s its name, dearie? RAZORVAKI. Cosmopolite, madam! CHUPURLINA. What’s alight? RAZORVAKI. Nothing. Just: Cosmopolite. CHUPURLINA. Does he do tricks? RAZORVAKI. All sorts of tricks. Would you like him, madam, to leap round your neck and yank off your bonnet? CHUPURLINA. No, I would not… What can you have been thinking of! What sort of obscene stunts have you been training this…what’s its name? RAZORVAKI. Cosmopolite, madam! 16

The Censor crossed out “on a Friday.”

CHUPURLINA. This…poodle! (Turns to Prince Batog-Batyev.) Well, what have you got? PRINCE BATOG-BATYEV (throwing off his mackintosh, displays an extremely tiny little lapdog). Here’s what I have! The celebrated Consolation, belonging to my dear auntie, old Miss Flimsy.17 CHUPURLINA. Hold on, dear boy! Let me put on my bifocals…What a runt!… What’s its name? PRINCE BATOG-BATYEV. Consolation. CHUPURLINA. What breed? PRINCE BATOG-BATYEV. Masculine, madam. CHUPURLINA. Does he do tricks? PRINCE BATOG-BATYEV. He used to, ma’am…a large part of them on the furniture.18 CHUPURLINA. Awfully puny. Even if he was that much bigger…(Turns to KutiloZavaldaisky.) Well, what have you got? KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY (throwing aside his mackintosh, displays a Great Dane with a muzzle on). The purest-bred of pugdogs! CHUPURLINA. What kind of a freak is this?… How dare you confront me with that thing? Were there ever such pugdogs? KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY. Madam, I dare assure you that this is the most pedigreed of pugdogs. Perhaps it strikes you as odd that it is so large? But as to that, I can assert to you that there are large and small among pugdogs as among men… For instance, Prince Batog-Batyev here is small, whereas Mr Milovidov and Mr Razorvaki are large; yet they are all three of them men! So it is with pugdogs!

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CHUPURLINA. Rubbish, rubbish! You’re talking rubbish, dear boy! The Prince and Milovidov are quite different!… But what’s your freaky’s name? KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY. Fifi, madam. CHUPURLINA. Does it do tricks? KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY. In five minutes it will eat ten pounds of beef, destroy wolves, take off your hat and water the flowers.19 CHUPURLINA. Rubbish, rubbish!… What do I need such a dog for? I’ve got a gardener.20 (Turns to Milovidov.) How about you, dearie? MILOVIDOV (throws off his mackintosh, displays a large toy dog, made of plush, with a wind-up key). Here’s mine! Only look at it from a distance! EVERYONE. What’s this?! What’s this?! 17

The Censor crossed out “old Miss Flimsy.” Chupurlina’s question and the Prince’s answer are not to be found in the theatrical MS. 19 The Censor crossed out “water the flowers.” 20 “I’ve got a gardener” was also crossed out by the Censor. 18

CHUPURLINA. What’s this?! A toy, right? MILOVIDOV. Hold your coattails up!… Look at him from a distance!… CHUPURLINA. Have you lost your mind? MILOVIDOV. Hold your coattails up, I tell you!… He’s incredibly vicious! CHUPURLINA. Fooey what smut!21 Fooey!…a toy!… MILOVIDOV. No, not a toy, a pugdog!… And he hasn’t got a toy’s name, but a dog’s name: he’s called Venus! CHUPURLINA. Oh, you filthy creature!22 Didn’t your tongue curl up when you said such a thing!23 MILOVIDOV. What? In the back passage, most likely! Now that you’ve received a pugdog, are you going to grudge us Lizaveta?! No, pal, attendez!—Here’s a Fantasy for you, now hand over Lizaveta! (In a whisper to Razorvaki.) How about it, back me up! RAZORVAKI (loudly). A toy! Nothing but a toy! EVERYONE (except Milovidov). Nothing but a toy!… Some Fantasy!… Some Fantasy!… Nothing but a toy! MILOVIDOV. Well, let’s say it is a toy! Where’s the harm?… You think I’m such a grafter I’d squander money on live dogs? (Draws Razorvaki aside.) That was pretty lowdown: you advised me to do it! CHUPURLINA. Clear out! Clear out!…(To Bespardonny.) Well, dearie, what about you? BESPARDONNY (silently draws a pugdog from beneath his mantle). CHUPURLINA. Oh my God!… Could it possibly not be her? It is!… It is her!… Fantasy! BESPARDONNY. No, it isn’t…but…(Handing her the pugdog with feeling) Agrafena Pankratievna!… CHUPURLINA. Not her? You’re lying!… Why she’s just like her!…like two peas in a pod, like my Fantasy!… My benefactor, you’ll consent to give her to me.

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BESPARDONNY (all a-tremble). With pl…with pl…with pleasure! (He hands her the pug) CHUPURLINA. You’re my own flesh and blood!…(Kisses the pug and weeps.) Go ahead, take her, my Lizzie is yours! BESPARDONNY (choked up with joy). What…what…what…what do I hear? CHUPURLINA. What’s the matter, my boy, are you hard of hearing? (Screams in his ear.) I said: you gave me a dog, so I’ll give you Lizzie, along with the dowry! BESPARDONNY. Agrafena… Lizaveta… Agra… Agraveta!… Lizafena! 21

The Censor crossed out “smut” and wrote in “nonsense.” “You filthy creature” was crossed out by the Censor. 23 Instead of “such a thing,” the Censor wrote in “such drivel.” 22

LIZAVETA. Mama dear!… Are you joking? CHUPURLINA. Joke, me?… What gives you that idea? What’s wrong, have you gone blind or what?! Or have you taken leave of your senses?!… Do you see this or don’t you? (She holds the pugdog up to her.) On receipt of the dog, my first and sacred24 obligation is to hand you over. LIZAVETA. Mama dear, this is ill-advised!… CHUPURLINA. Are you swearing again?! LIZAVETA (falling to her knees before her). Mama dear!… BESPARDONNY (comes over to Lizaveta and falls to his knees beside her). Lizaveta Platonovna!… CHUPURLINA (to Lizaveta). Leave me alone! (Points to Bespardonny.) Listen to what he’s got to say to you. LIZAVETA

Listen to me!… Everything depends on you; turn me down!… You’re a noble person! I know you!… Turn me down!… I entreat, I conjure you! down!… (they speak to one another simultaneously) BESPARDONNY

Listen to me!… Everything depends on you; don’t turn me down!… You’re as kind as an angel!… I know you!… Don’t turn me I entreat, I conjure you!

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CHUPURLINA. Oh, get up, Lizzie! You’ve touched me deeply… I’m crying myself. (She gets on her knees behind them and weeps. All the others also genuflect and pull out their handkerchiefs.) CHUPURLINA (blessing Lizonka and Bespardonny). Be happy… I bless you!… (Turns to the pugdog) My puggy-wuggy!… Puggy-wuggy! SCENE XI LIEBENTHAL (shouts from offstage, coming closer). Eureka! Eureka! Eureka! (Everyone, still on his or her knees, stops crying and listen attentively.) LIEBENTHAL (runs in, holding a pugdog in both hands). Eureka!… Eureka!… (Stumbles and falls, gets up, spits on the spot where he fell, and then runs downstage, displaying the pugdog to everyone). Eureka!… Eureka!… (General astonishment. RAZORVAKI, MILOVIDOV, PRINCE BATOG-BATYEV 24

The Censor crossed out “sacred.”

and KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY get up and come over to LIEBENTHAL in their curiosity.) LIEBENTHAL. Agrafena Pankratievna!… The pugdog!… Lizaveta Platonovna!… The pugdog! CHUPURLINA. Ah! (She drops Bespardonny’s pug and falls into a faint) LIZAVETA. Ah! (She faints next to Chupurlina, but in the opposite direction.) (BESPARDONNY, panicked, motionless, remains on his knees. LIEBENTHAL places Fantasy in Chupurlina’s arms, then rushes to Lizaveta to help her regain consciousness.) RAZORVAKI (to the others). The old lady’s been quite forsaken. KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY (pointing to the servants holding lamps). They’re all busy… Humane feeling demands that we render her assistance. (RAZORVAKI, MILOVIDOV, PRINCE BATOG-BATYEV and KUTILOZAVALDAISKY walk over to the fountain, scoop up water in their hats and caps, and pour it on Chupurlina.) CHUPURLINA (rising a bit, but still not on her feet). Who’s that?… Why am I here?… Why am I all wet?! What were they trying to do to me?!25 (Seeing the pugdog in her arms.) My doggy! My pug!… Is this a trick? LIEBENTHAL. No, it’s a Fantasy CHUPURLINA. Who brought her back? LIEBENTHAL. I did, Mama dear! CHUPURLINA (rising). Right you are, Adam!—I am your mother… But you are my father and benefactor! (Points to Lizaveta.) Behold your wife!… God grant you have sons and daughters. Get up, Lizzie! That’s enough, now get up!… Gentlemen, lend her a hand! She’s been acting the giddy goat long enough!26 KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY (aside). I told you this old lady’s nasty temper wasn’t due to old age alone! (MILOVIDOV, RAZORVAKI, PRINCE BATOG-BATYEV and KUTILOZAVALDAISKY once again scoop water from the fountain and walk over to Lizaveta to pour it on her.)

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LIEBENTHAL. Don’t do it!…don’t do it!… She’s come to her senses! She’s regained consciousness! 25 26

The Censor crossed out “What were they trying to do to me?” The Censor crossed out “acting the giddy goat” and instead wrote in “standing on ceremony.”

(LIZAVETA rises; LIEBENTHAL supports her. MILOVIDOV, PRINCE BATOGBATYEV, RAZORVAKI and KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY pour the water from their hats and caps on BESPARDONNY, who has been on his knees the whole time. BESPARDONNY leaps up.) CHUPURLINA (to Bespardonny). Well, dearie, your doggy only looks like mine; but this one is mine, the genuine Fantasy! Good-bye! You’re no longer necessary to me or Liza! Get out!…(Turns to Lizaveta and Liebenthal) My dear children, my blessings on you both. Be happy and prosper; beget offspring and love one another and your future progeny as much as I love my Fantasy (She kisses the pug) Now let’s go inside. (She exits with LIEBENTHAL and LIZAVETA.) (RAZORVAKI, MILOVIDOV, BESPARDONNY, PRINCE BATOG-BATYEV and KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY follow them in single file.) CHUPURLINA (turning around). What do you want? RAZORVAKI (to her). Stop yelling! CHUPURLINA. Shame on you, old man. MILOVIDOV Old lady, don’t you lecture us! KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY. Straighten your bonnet! PRINCE BATOG-BATYEV. You don’t get any more27 soap from me, not so much as that!28 BESPARDONNY. God bless you! CHUPURLINA (turning to the servants standing with lamps). Hey, go for the police!… Send the gendarmes here, as many as you can!29 (The servants hurry out.) RAZORVAKI. We ourselves have no intention of remaining here. MILOVIDOV. I just don’t care to soil my hands. PRINCE BATOG-BATYEV. And I’m taking back the old soap too! KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY. Cover up your neck! BESPARDONNY. God bless you, you’ve betrayed me! RAZORVAKI (to the other-suitors). To see the old lady off, gentlemen, let’s sing her couplets like the ones we welcomed her with earlier, only with the sentiments reversed. EVERYONE (except BESPARDONNY, sings in unison, to the same tune as before. RAZORVAKI begins).

Agrafena! You hyena! 27

Here the Censor added “free.”

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But the Censor crossed out “not so much as that.” This sentence was crossed out.

Can’t scare us; (repeat) Even though before thee The blackest soul of yore be Just the Deuce! Just the Deuce! RAZORVAKI.

We recognize you! KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY.

And misprize you! PRINCE BATOG-BATYEV.

And despise you! MILOVIDOV.

And chastise you! KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY.

Anathematize you! EVERYONE (except BESPARDONNY, in unison).

All the time! All the time!

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RAZORVAKI.

You treat us so bossy, Behave to us so saucy. EVERYONE (except BESPARDONNY, in unison).

Same to you! Same to you! (On these last words, CHUPURLINA, LIZAVETA and LIEBENTHAL go into the house, while RAZORVAKI, MILOVIDOV, KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY and PRINCE BATOGBATYEV finish the verse in their absence, spit in Chupurlina’s direction, and leave, as does BESPARDONNY, but in the opposite direction. However, KUTILOZAVAEDAISKY lags behind, cautiously withdrawing upstage.) SCENE XII KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY (looks around and seeing that no one is left on stage, comes down to the footlights and addresses the orchestra). Mister Double-bass!… Psst!… Psst!… Mister Double-bass!…lend me a program. (He takes the program handed him from the orchestra.) I’m really curious to see who the author of this play is. (Looks at the program.) No!…no names posted!… That implies caution! That implies an impure shame… He must be the most immoral of men!… Really, I can’t even understand how the management could allow such a play30 It’s obviously a lampoon!31… At least, I’m satisfied that, for my part, I didn’t lend myself to any indecencies, despite all the author’s endeav30

The Censor crossed out “how the management could allow” and wrote in “how one could choose.” 31 “It’s obviously a lampoon” was crossed out by the Censor.

ors! No matter what the prompter whispered to me!… I mean, if I had even once repeated aloud what he said to me, everyone would have run out of the theatre! But, to spite him, I said everything just the opposite. He would whisper one thing, and I would say another. And the other actors said different things too; that way the play came out a bit better. Otherwise it would have been impossible to perform! Honestly, such a thin plot!… As if one couldn’t pick out a different one!32 For instance, there’s this young man in love with a girl…their parents agree to the match; and meanwhile, as the youngsters are walking down a corridor, their great-grandmother’s ghost pops out of the pantry and blesses them in passing—Or here’s something that happened just the other day, right after the Hungarian war.33 There’s this officer, betrothed to a certain girl, and he sets off

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with the detachment of a very fine general and gets shot in the nose by a bullet. Then the bullet-wound heals and when the war is over, he comes back to Upper Volochok34 and marries his fiancée… But that night, when they’re left alone together, he, in accord with common custom, wants to fly into his wife’s arms…suddenly he sneezes…the bullet flies out of his nose and kills his wife on the spot!… That’s what I call a plot!… It’s both moral and edifying; and dramatically effective! (The curtain begins to close.) Or here’s another one: there’s a certain gold-miner, of remarkably obstinate nature…(The curtain is closed. KUTILO-ZAVALDAISKY, not noticing it, remains in front of it.)…who on New Year’s Day goes with season’s greetings to the wrong person…(The orchestra interrupts Kutilo-Zavaldaisky’s words. He is confused when he realizes that the curtain is closed. He bows round to the audience and makes his exit.) 32

Instead of “pick out a different one,” the Censor wrote “Think up something better.” The Censor crossed out “right after the Hungarian war.” 34 The Censor crossed out “Upper Volochok.” 33

Luncheon with the Marshal of Nobility or A Friendly Division by IVAN TURGENEV (1849)

CHARACTERS NIKOLAI IVANOVICH BALAGALAEV, marshal of the nobility, age 45. PYOTR PETRVICH PEKHTERYEV, ex-marshal of the nobility, age 60. YEVGENY TIKHONOVICH SUSLOV, judge. ANTON SEMYONOVICH ALUPKIN, landowner living in the neighborhood. MIRVOLIN, an impoverished landowner living in the neighborhood. FERAPONT ILYICH BESPANDIN, a landowner. ANNA ILYINISHNA KAUROVA, his sister, a widow, age 45. PORFIRY IGNATYEVICH NAGALANOVICH, district police inspector. VELVITSKY, the marshal’s amanuensis GERASIM, Balagalalev’s valet KARP, Kaurova’s coachman The action takes place on Balagalaev’s estate. The stage represents a dining-room, A door center. At right, a study. Windows upstage. To one side, a table laden with hors d’oeuvres. GERASIM is setting the table. When he hears the sound of a carriage, he walks over to a window. SCENE 1 GERASIM and MIRVOLIN MIRVOLIN. Morning, Gerasim! How’re you getting on?… Don’t tell me he’s not up yet? GERASIM (setting the table). Morning. Where’d you manage to get a horse? MIRVOLIN. How about that, a neat little filly, isn’t she? Yesterday a man offered me two hundred rubles for her. GERASIM. Who exactly? MIRVOLIN. Why, a merchant from Karachev. GERASIM. Why didn’t you take his offer? MIRVOLIN. Why should I? I need her myself. Listen, my boy, let me have a little glass of whatever: I feel like something’s gone and died in my throat, know what I mean? This heat and all…(He has a drink and a bite to eat.) Are you setting the table for lunch? GERASIM. What else? You think it’s supper time? MIRVOLIN. All these place settings! Expecting company?

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GERASIM. Looks like it. MIRVOLIN. Doncha know who? GERASIM. No, I don’t. I’m told they’re going to try and patch things up between Bespandin and his sister. That’s probably what’s behind all this. MIRVOLIN. Aha! Is that so! And a good job too. It’s high time they settled matters— shared it between ‘em. It’s getting to be a real scandal. Is it true what they say, does your master want to buy the woods off Bespandin? GERASIM. Lord only knows! MIRVOLIN (aside). Now might be the time to ask him for a bit of timber. BALAGALAEV (offstage). Filka! Send Velvitsky to me. MIRVOLIN. Looks like the door to the study was open… Oh well, let’s have another little glass, Gerasya… GERASIM. What for? Your throat still dry? MIRVOLIN. Yes, my boy, it’s burning something awful. (He has another drink and a bite. GERASIM exits.) SCENE 2 MIRVOLIN, BALAGALAEV and VELVITSKY BALAGALAEV. Right, right, yes-yes-yes, you make sure that it’s in order— understand? (To Mirvolin.) Ah, it’s you, is it! Good morning! MIRVOLIN. My sincerest respects, Nikolai Ivanych! BALAGALAEV (to Velvitsky). Do as I told you, understand. You do understand, don’t you? VELVITSKY. Quite so, sir, quite so. BALAGALAEV. In that case, things should go swimmingly. Well, you may go now… I’ll let you know when I want you… You may go. VELVITSKY. Very good, sir. By the way, sir, should I pull the file on the widow Kaurova, sir? BALAGALAEV. Why, of course, of course… I’m surprised at you! You should have understood that at once, my dear chap. VELVITSKY. But you never were good enough to give me… BALAGALAEV. Never mind! Do I have to explain every last thing! VELVITSKY. Very good, sir. (He exits.) BALAGALAEV. That young man is none too bright. (To Mirvolin.) Well, how are you? (He sits.) MIRVOLIN. All right, thank God, Nikolai Ivanych, sir, thank God. And how’s your own health? BALAGALAEV. Nothing the matter with me. Been to town? MIRVOLIN. That’s right, sir, I was. Nothing new, though, sir. Day before yes-terday the merchant Selyodkin had an apoplectic fit. Came as no surprise to him. They tell me that the attorney gave his wife a going-over again yesterday… BALAGALAEV. Is that so? The fellow’s indefatigable! MIRVOLIN. I saw Doctor Shuravlyov, he asked me to convey his respects. I ran into Pyotr Petrovich in a new barouche. Seems he was off somewheres on a visit, had his footman with him, and the footman was wearing a new hat.

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BALAGALAEV. He’ll be here today But tell me, is his barouche any good? MIRVOLIN. How can I describe it, sir? No, to be honest it isn’t. It looks all right from the outside, but when you look into it,—no, I don’t know, I didn’t care for it. How can it compare with your barouche! BALAGALAEV. You think so? Does it have a double-sprung carriage? MIRVOLIN. It has got double springs, double springs it has got. But what difference does that make? Take it from me, sir! They’re just for show. After all, he is one for showing off. They say he’s planning to put himself up for election again. BALAGALAEV. For marshal of the nobility? MIRVOLIN. That’s right, sir. So what, let him try! He’s just begging to be outvoted again. BALAGALAEV. You think so? And yet, I have to admit, Pyotr Petrovich is a thoroughly decent fellow in every respect and has every qualification… Of course, on the other hand, the flattering attention of the gentry… Have a little vodka! MIRVOLIN. Don’t mind if I do, sir. BALAGALAEV. What’s this? Have you had a drink already? MIRVOLIN. Certainly not, sir! Not that I was exactly drinking, but I had something on my chest…(He coughs.) BALAGALAEV. Ha, don’t be ridiculous! Have a drink! MIRVOLIN (drinks). Your health. You know what, Nikolai Ivanych, Pyotr Petrovich’s real name isn’t Pekhteryev but Pekhteryov,—Pekhteryov and not Pekhteryev. BALAGALAEV. What makes you think so? MIRVOLIN. It’s no secret. Take it from me! It’s what they used to call his dad and all his uncles. All of them were called Pekhteryov; Pekhteryov from time immemorial, and not Pekhteryev. Pekhteryev—there’s never been a name like that around here…whoever heard of a Pekhteryev? BALAGALAEV. Ah!… And yet, doesn’t it come down to the same thing? So long as your heart is pure. MIRVOLIN. You’re so kind as to speak the Gospel truth, sir: so long as your heart is pure. (Looking out the window.) Somebody’s come, sir. BALAGALAEV. And here I am still in my dressing-gown. That’s because I’ve been nattering away with you. (He rises.) ALUPKIN (offstage). My good man, announce: Aah-loop-keen… GERASIM (enters). A Mister Alupkin to see you, sir. BALAGALAEV. Alupkin! Who can that be? Show him in. Will you please keep him entertained. I’ll be right back…(He exits.) SCENE 3 MIRVOLIN and ALUPKIN MIRVOLIN. Nikolai Ivanovich will see you presently, sir. Would you please take a seat in the meantime? ALUPKIN. Thank you kindly. Let’s remain standing, sir. May I know whom I have the honor… MIRVOLIN. Mirvolin, landowner, native of these parts… Perhaps you’ve heard the name?

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ALUPKIN. Not at all, sir, never heard of it, sir… Still, I’m pleased to meet you. May I inquire whether you happen to be related to Tatyana Semyonovna Baldashova? MIRVOLIN. Not at all, sir. Just who is this Baldashova woman? ALUPKIN. A landowner in Tambov, a widow, sir. MIRVOLIN. Aha! a Tambovian! ALUPKIN. Yes, sir, a Tambovian, and a widow, sir. And might I inquire whether you’re acquainted with the district police inspector in these parts? MIRVOLIN. Porfiry Ignatych? I should say so! An old friend. ALUPKIN. The biggest crook that ever walked on two legs. Excuse me, I’m an outspoken man, a soldier. I’m used to plain speaking, and no beating around the bush. Let me tell you… MIRVOLIN. Wouldn’t you like to have a little something after your ride? ALUPKIN. Thank you kindly. Let me tell you that I’ve just recently settled in this area, and before that I lived mainly in Tambov district. But when my late wife left me fiftytwo serfs in this county… MIRVOLIN. Whereabouts is your estate, if I may ask? ALUPKIN. Tryukhino village, five versts from the Voronezh highway. MIRVOLIN. Why, I know it, I know it! a tidy little estate. ALUPKIN. An absolute dump: nothing but sand… Anyway, when I got that legacy from my late wife, I figured it would be a good idea to move here, sir, especially since my house in Tambov, if I may say so, was simply tumbling down around my ears. So I went and settled in, sir,—and what do you think? your district police inspector has wasted no time in insulting me in the most offensive way. MIRVOLIN. You don’t say so! How unpleasant! ALUPKIN. No, hold on, hold on. Anybody else would pay it no mind, but I happen to have a daughter, Yekaterina—that’s what I’d like you to keep in mind. However, I put my trust in Nikolai Ivanych. Even though I’ve had the pleasure of meeting him only twice, I’ve heard quite a bit about his love of fair play… MIRVOLIN. Here he is in person, sir. SCENE 4 The same and BALAGALAEV (in a tail coat. ALUPKIN bows.) BALAGALAEV. Delighted to meet you. Please take a seat… I… I believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you at the home of our respected Afanasy Matveich. ALUPKIN. Quite right, sir. BALAGALAEV. I believe you haven’t been one of us for long,—I mean, you moved to our county only recently? ALUPKIN. Quite right, sir. BALAGALAEV. I trust you won’t have cause to regret it. (Slight pause.) What warm weather we’re having… ALUPKIN. Nikolai Ivanovich, allow a military veteran to make a clean breast of it to you. BALAGALAEV. By all means. What’s the matter? ALUPKIN. Nikolai Ivanovich! you are our marshal! Nikolai Ivanovich! you are our second father, so to speak. I’m a father myself, Nikolai Ivanovich!

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BALAGALAEV. Believe me, I know it only too well. Such is my duty. Moreover, the flattering attention of the gentry… Do say what the matter is? ALUPKIN. Nikolai Ivanovich! your police inspector is an out-and-out villain, sir. BALAGALAEV. Hmm! you seem to have an energetic way of expressing yourself. ALUPKIN. No, hold on, hold on! Do me the favor of listening… They allege that a peasant of mine stole a billygoat from my neighbor’s peasant Filipp… Now just let me ask what a peasant is doing with a billygoat?… No, you just tell me what a peasant’s doing with a billygoat? Besides, when you come down to it, why should it be precisely my peasant who stole this billygoat? Why not somebody else’s? What sort of proof is there? Even if we assume that my peasant was the guilty party—what’s it got to do with me? Why do I have to answer for it? Why should they come and bother me? Honestly, do I have to answer for every billygoat around here from now on? Is the police inspector going to have the right to insult me… Thanks, but no thanks! He says, “The goat was discovered in your barnyard”… To hell with him and the goat too! Besides, it’s not a question of billygoats, but of decency! BALAGALAEV. Excuse me, I must confess I don’t quite follow this. You say your peasant stole a goat? ALUPKIN. No, I do not say that—it’s the police inspector who says that… BALAGALAEV. It occurs to me that there are standard legal procedures. I really don’t know why you’ve chosen to appeal to me? ALUPKIN. Who else is there, Nikolai Ivanych? Please bear in mind. I’m a veteran, I’ve received an affront, my honor has been besmirched. This police constable tells me, and in the most obscene way and I quote, “I’m going to give you a good…“No, thank you very much! GERASIM (enters). Yevgeny Tikhonych is here. BALAGALAEV (rises). Please excuse me… Yevgeny Tikhonych! Please come in! How are you feeling? SCENE 5 The same and SUSLOV. SUSLOV. Fine, fine! Thank you… Gentlemen! I’m honored… MIRVOLIN. The honor’s all ours, Yevgeny Tikhonych! SUSLOV. Ah, good afternoon! BALAGALAEV. How is your wife? SUSLOV. Alive… This heat! If it weren’t to pay you a call, Nikolai Ivanych, I swear to God I wouldn’t have set foot outside the house. BALAGALAEV. Thank you, thank you. Would you care for anything? (To Alupkin.) Forgive me…what is your first name? ALUPKIN. Anton Semyonovich. BALAGALAEV. My dear Anton Semyonych, you can lodge your complaint with me later on, but at the moment…as you see for yourself… Believe me, for my part I will pay it special attention,—don’t worry Do you and Yevgeny Tikhonych know one another? ALUPKIN. Not at all, sir.

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BALAGALAEV. Then allow me to introduce you. Our judge, a man of the noblest qualities, in every respect, candid and honest, a most respected man… Yevgeny Tikhonych! SUSLOV (at the table, eating hors d’oeuvre). What’s up?… BALAGALAEV. May I present a new resident of our county: Anton Semyonych Alupkin, a new landowner. SUSLOV (going on eating). Pleased to meet you. Where do you hail from? ALUPKIN. Tambov district. SUSLOV. Ah! I’ve got a relative who lives in Tambov, man’s a total loss. Tambov’s not bad, though. It’s a decent enough town. ALUPKIN. As a matter of fact, the town’s not so bad. SUSLOV. What about our turtle-doves?… What if they don’t show up? BALAGALAEV. No, I think they will. Though I’m rather surprised that they aren’t here by now… They should have been the first to arrive. SUSLOV. Well, what do you think, will we able to patch up their quarrel? BALAGALAEV. Hopefully… I even invited Pyotr Petrovich. Oh! by the way! may I ask a favor of you, Anton Semyonych. You can assist us in a matter that concerns all the gentry alike, so to speak. ALUPKIN. Reeeally. BALAGALAEV. There dwells amongst us a certain landowner—one Bespandin, a decent enough fellow, I should think, but eccentric, I mean not exactly eccentric, but then who knows! Bespandin has a sister, the widow Kaurova: to tell the truth, one of the most dim-witted, most pigheaded of females… Anyway, you’ll meet her. MIRVOLIN. It runs in the family, Nikolai Ivanych sir. Their dear mother, the late Pelageya Arsenievna, was even worse, sir. They say that in her younger days a brick fell on her head. Maybe that’s the cause of it all, sir… BALAGALAEV. Possibly. It’s nature’s way… Well now, for three years a dispute concerning a division of property has been raging between this Bespandin and his sister, the widow Kaurova. Their aunt, a blood relation to both, bequeathed them an estate in her will—an estate she had bought, not inherited, mark you… Well, for the life of me, they can’t divide it up… The sister in particular simply won’t agree to anything. The case went before the court; petitions were submitted to the highest authorities; how long before it ends up in rack and ruin? So, at long last, I made up my mind to nip, so to speak, this insidious bud with a firm hand, to put an end to it at long last, and to make them listen to reason… I arranged an interview with them at my house today, but for the very last time. Henceforth I wash my hands of the matter… After all, what’s the point of making trouble for myself? Let the courts sort it all out. I have invited as arbitrators and witnesses the honorable Yevgeny Tikhonych and Pyotr Petrovich Pekhteryov, the former Marshal of Nobility… So won’t you please assist us, I mean, in this matter? ALUPKIN. With pleasure…but, since I don’t know them, it strikes me… BALAGALAEV. What difference does it make? It doesn’t matter… You’re a local landowner, a man of common sense and discernment. On the contrary, it’s better this way They won’t be able to impugn your impartiality ALUPKIN. As you like, sir. I’m willing. GERASIM (enters). Mrs Kaurova is here, sir.

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BALAGALAEV. Speak of the devil. SCENE 6 The same and KAUROVA (in a hat, and carrying a reticule.) BALAGALAEV. Ah, at last! Please come in, Anna Ilyinishna! Please come in… This way…would you care for anything, ma’am? KAUROVA. Isn’t my brother here yet? BALAGALAEV. Not yet. However, he should be here any minute now. Would you care for a bite to eat? KAUROVA. No, thank you kindly, sir. It’s a fast day, sir. BALAGALAEV. So what, here’s some radishes, cucumbers… Shall I order tea? KAUROVA. No, thank you kindly, sir. I’ve already had lunch. You’ll forgive me, Nikolai Ivanych, if I’m late. (She sits.) And praise the Lord I arrived in one piece: my coachman practically tipped me out. BALAGALAEV. Good gracious! But I thought the road was in good repair. KAUROVA. It’s not the road that’s to blame, Nikolai Ivanych, sir. Oh dear, not the road!… Well, here I am, Nikolai Ivanych, only I don’t expect any good to come of this. Ferapont Ilyich’s character is too familiar to me…oh dear, much too familiar! BALAGALAEV. Well, we shall see, Anna Ilyinishna! I, on the other hand, hope to settle your case today It’s high time. KAUROVA. God grant it, God grant it. As for me, you know, Nikolai Ivanych, I’m agreeable to anything. I’m a peaceable soul… I don’t contradict, Nikolai Ivanych; how could I! I’m a poor defenseless widow woman. I put my trust in you alone… But Ferapont Ilyich wants to do me in… What can I do? God forgive him! So long as he doesn’t ruin my children, who are minors. But as for me!… BALAGALAEV. Come, come, Anna Ilyinishna! That’ll do! Instead, let me introduce you to our new landowner, Anton Semyonych Alupkin. KAUROVA. Pleased to meet you, sir, most pleased to meet you. BALAGALAEV. If you’ll permit, he too will take part in our deliberations KAUROVA. I’m agreeable, Nikolai Ivanych, I’m agreeable to everything. For my part, you can call in the whole county, the whole district: my conscience is clear, Nikolai Ivanych. I know these men will stand up for me. They won’t let me be insulted… But how are you feeling, Yevgeny Tikhonych? SUSLOV. Fine. What could be wrong with me? Thank you kindly MIRVOLIN (kissing Kaurova’s hand). How are your children, Anna Ilyinishna? KAUROVA. Still alive, thank God. But, Lord, for how long? Soon, soon they’ll be orphans, the poor dears! SUSLOV. Come, come! Why say such things, Anna Ilyinishna? You’ll outlive us all, dear lady! KAUROVA. What do you mean why do I say such things, my dear sir! There must be good reasons if even I can’t keep silent. That’s just the way things are! And even worse, if you ask me, your honor. Would I open my mouth if I didn’t have proof! SUSLOV. Proof of what? KAUROVA. Wait and see, wait and see… Nikolai Ivanych, ask them to call in my coachman.

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BALAGALAEV. Who? KAUROVA. The coachman, my coachman, Karpushka. We call him Karpushka. BALAGALAEV. Whatever for? KAUROVA. Just you send for him. There’s Yevgeny Tikhonych demanding, proof… BALAGALAEV. Pardon me, Anna Ilyinishna KAUROVA. No, go on, be so kind. BALAGALAEV. Well, all right. (To Mirvolin.) Run outside, my dear fellow, please, and fetch him. MIRVOLIN. Right away. (He exits.) KAUROVA. You’re never willing to believe me, Yevgeny Tikhonych. This is far from the first time! God forgive you! ALUPKIN. Pardon me, I also fail to understand why you want to call in your coachman. What’s a coachman got to do with this?… I don’t understand. KAUROVA. You’ll see. ALUPKIN. I don’t understand. SCENE 7 The same and KARP and MIRVOLIN. MIRVOLIN. Here’s the coachman, sir. KAUROVA. Karpushka… Listen here…look at me. These men here refuse to believe that Ferapont Ilyich tried to bribe you on several occasions… Are you listening to what I’m saying?… SUSLOV. Well, why don’t you say something, my good man? Did the lady’s brother bribe you? KARP. What d’ye mean by bribe? SUSLOV. I don’t know. It’s Anna Ilyinishna who’s asking the questions. KAUROVA. Karpushka! listen, look at me… Don’t you remember, you almost tipped me over today…don’t you remember?… KARP. When was that, ma’am? KAUROVA. When… What a fool!… Why, at the crossroads, naturally, just before you get to the dam. A wheel almost fell off the axle. KARP. Very good, ma’am. KAUROVA. Well, don’t you remember what I told you at the time? I said, “Confess,” said I, “Ferapont Ilyich bribed you, saying, Karpushka, dear heart, says he, bump your mistress about till she’s dead, and I’ll never forsake you.”… Well, don’t you remember what you told me?… You told me, “Sorry, missus, I’m to blame.” SUSLOV. Excuse me, Anna Ilyinishna. “Sorry” doesn’t prove anything… What did he mean by it? Did he mean to confess he’d been bribed, he intended to harm you— that’s what we’ve got to find out… Did you confess to that?… eh?…did you confess?… KARP. Confess what? KAUROVA. Karpushka! listen, look at me… Ferapont Ilyich did try to bribe you, didn’t he? Well, of course, you didn’t consent… But I’m telling the truth, aren’t I? KARP. It’s like you please to say, ma’am. KAUROVA. There, you see…

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SUSLOV. Excuse me, please!… Answer me, my lad, and smartly now, mind what you’re about… KAUROVA. No, you excuse me, Yevgeny Tikhonych! I cannot agree to this. You’re trying to browbeat him—I won’t allow it. Go outside, Karpushka, go on. Have yourself a nice nap, you’re asleep on your feet. (KARP exits.) I must confess I never expected this from you, Yevgeny Tikhonych. What makes you think I deserved it? SUSLOV. Then why are you trying to pull the wool over our eyes?… BALAGALAEV. Come now, come now, Anna Ilyinishna! Sit down. Calm down. We’ll get it sorted out. GERASIM (enters). Mr Bespandin is here. BALAGALAEV. Ah, at last! Well, show him in, of course. SCENE 8 The same and BESPANDIN BALAGALAEV. Ah, good afternoon!… I must say you certainly kept us waiting. BESPANDIN. Sorry, sorry, Nikolai Ivanych! I ran into a bit of a problem… Good morning, Yevgeny Tikhonych, your incorruptible honor! How’re you making out? SUSLOV. Good morning! BESPANDIN. Try and guess…(Bowing to his sister.) what detained me… Just imagine: somebody stole my saddle… And nobody knows who!… There was nothing to be done: I had to take my stableboy’s saddle. (He drinks.) As you know, I go everywhere on horseback, his saddle is lousy, a postilion’s saddle… there’s simply no way you can gallop… BALAGALAEV. Ferapont Ilyich! allow me to present… Anton Semyonych Alupkin BESPANDIN. Pleased to meet you…you ride? ALUPKIN. What do you mean, do I ride? BESPANDIN. What do you mean, what do I mean? Why, to hounds, of course, hunting the fox… ALUPKIN. No sir, I don’t care for hounds, and I only shoot at sitting ducks. BESPANDIN (laughing). Sitting ducks, sitting ducks. BALAGALAEV. Be that as it may, forgive me, gentlemen! Let me interrupt your fascinating conversation. We can discuss hounds and sitting ducks some other time. Right now I propose we waste no time but get down to the business for which we are assembled. We can begin without Pyotr Petrovich… don’t you think? SUSLOV. By all means! BALAGALAEV. And therefore, Ferapont Ilyich, do please be seated, and you too, Anton Semyonych! (They sit.) BESPANDIN. Nikolai Ivanych, I respect you deeply and always have and now here I am, come at your request. Just let me tell you in advance that if you hope to get any kind of sense out of my most respected sister, I can assure you that… KAUROVA (half rising). There, you see, Nikolai Ivanych, you can see for yourself… BALAGALAEV. Please, please, Ferapont Ilyich, and you too, Anna Ilyinishna! First I must ask you to hear me out. I had the pleasure of inviting you both to my house today so that we could finally settle your differences. Judge for yourselves what an example you are setting: brother and sister, of one flesh, so to speak…

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BESPANDIN. I beg your pardon, Nikolai Ivanych… ALUPKIN. Mr Bespandin, please don’t interrupt. BESPANDIN. Since when have you been my keeper? ALUPKIN. I’m not your keeper, but, as a guest of Nikolai Ivanych… BALAGALAEV. That’s right, Ferapont Ilyich, I invited this gentleman, along with our honored Yevgeny Tikhonych, as mediators… Ferapont Ilyich! Anna Ilyinishna! I appeal to you… How has this come about? a brother and sister, born of one flesh, so to speak, who cannot live in harmony, in peace, in accord!… Ferapont Ilyich! Anna Ilyinishna—come to your senses, I tell you! And why do I tell you all this?… I tell you for your own good… Judge for yourselves, what difference does it make to me? I’ll telling you for your own good! BESPANDIN. But, honestly, Nikolai Ivanych, you have no idea what this woman is like! Just you listen to her! God alone knows what she’s like…for crying out loud! KAUROVA. And what do you think you are? You bribe my coachman, send one of the maids to my room with poison—you’re longing for my death. I’m amazed I’ve survived this long! BESPANDIN. What coachman did I bribe…what’s come over you? what’s got into you? KAUROVA. Yes indeed, my fine sir! He’s ready to take his oath on it. These gentlemen here are witnesses. BESPANDIN (turning to the others). What is this poppycock she’s spouting? ALUPKIN (to Kaurova). Hold on, hold on! it’s no good appealing to me. I totally failed to understand a thing your coachman said. It’s something along the lines of my billygoat KAUROVA. Your billygoat? What does my coachman have in common with a billygoat? You’re the closest thing to a billygoat… BALAGALAEV. Stop this, gentlemen, for heaven’s sake!… Anna Ilyinishna! Ferapont Ilyich! What pleasure do you take in attacking one another?… Wouldn’t it be better to let bygones be bygones?… Honestly, listen to me, make it up! Embrace one another! You’re not answering… BESPANDIN. So that’s it…good grief! You can’t mean it! If I had known, I never would have come! KAUROVA. Neither would I. BALAGALAEV. What do you mean? Didn’t you just tell me that you were agreeable to anything? KAUROVA. Anything, except this. SUSLOV. Listen here, Nikolai Ivanych! may I point out that you’ve got hold of the wrong end of the stick. You preach peace and accord…but can’t you see the sort of people they are? BALAGALAEV. Then what’s your opinion, Yevgeny Tikhonych? SUSLOV. Well, what did you invite them here for?…to divide up their property! That’s the real cause of their dispute. Until that’s done, neither you nor I nor anyone else will have a moment’s peace, and instead of sitting quietly at home, we’ll be jolting all over the highway trying to mend fences for them. So get on with the apportionment, if you expect them to come to terms… Where are the maps? BALAGALAEV All right, let’s get to work. Gerasim!… GERASIM (entering). At your service.

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BALAGALAEV. Send Velvitsky in here. BESPANDIN. Let me declare in advance that I’m agreeable to anything. Whatever Nikolai Ivanych decides, I’m for it. KAUROVA. And so am I. SUSLOV. That remains to be seen. MIRVOLIN. A praiseworthy sentiment, really praiseworthy. SCENE 9 The same and VELVITSKY, with maps. BALAGALAEV. Ah! come over here. (He unfolds the maps.) Just bring that little table over here… That’s it, now if you’ll please take a look… Here we are, sir…“Kokushkino village, also known as Rakovo, according to the eighth census, contains 94 male peasants…” You see how everything has been traced over and over again with a pencil: it’s not the first time we’ve racked our brains over this map…“2,139 acres of land altogether; 243 uncultivated with 27 farms and pastures; there’s a bit of strip farming, but not much.” We have been chosen to divide this estate between retired civil servant Ferapont Bespandin and his sister, Second-lieutenant’s widow Anna Kaurova, into equal parts. Mark you: that was stipulated in the testament of their late aunt, the architect’s widow Filokalosova. BESPANDIN. The old lady was out of her mind just before she died. Why didn’t she leave it all to me! Then there wouldn’t have been any of these problems… KAUROVA. You’ve got a nerve! BESPANDIN. Well, your rightful share was guaranteed by law… But go and expect sense from an old woman!… Of course, they say you combed her lapdog’s hair and washed it every morning. KAUROVA. That’s a bald-faced lie! I stoop to comb out a cur!… That’ll be the day!… I’m not that sort!… Now you are a different story You’re a notorious dog-fancier. People say, God forgive my sins, you kiss your hound right on the mouth. BALAGALAEV. My friends! I must request both of you to keep still for a bit… So here’s how things stand, sir: it’s been over three years since their aunt passed away and, can you imagine, in all that time, there’s been no settlement. At last I agreed to be an arbitrator between them, because it’s my duty, you understand; but, unfortunately, so far I haven’t been able to achieve a thing. You see, sir, the chief obstacle is that neither Mr Bespandin nor his sister want to live in the same house. Consequently, the property has to be divided. And there’s no possible way to divide it. BESPANDIN (after a pause). All right… I relinquish my aunt’ s house. And the hell with it! BALAGALAEV. You relinquish it? BESPANDIN. Yes, but I expect compensation. BALAGALAEV. Of course, that’s an equitable demand. KAUROVA. Nikolai Ivanych! it’s low cunning. It’s a trap of his, Nikolai Ivanych! He hopes by this means to get the best piece of land, the hemp fields and so forth. What does he care about the house? He’s got his own. Besides, Auntie’s house is in bad shape. BESPANDIN. If it’s all that bad…

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KAUROVA. But I won’t give up the hemp fields! Have pity on me! I’m a widow with small children… What am I going to do without the hemp fields, you can judge for yourselves. BESPANDIN. If it’s that bad… KAUROVA. No matter what you say… ALUPKIN. Do let the man speak! BESPANDIN. If it’s all that bad, let me have it, and let them compensate you for it. KAUROVA. Oh sure! I know all about your compensations!… some worthless little acreage, stone upon stone, or even worse, some swamp, where there’s nothing but bulrushes that even a peasant’s cow won’t eat! BALAGALAEV. There are no such swamps on your property… KAUROVA. Well, not a swamp then, but something else like it. No, those compensations…thank you kindly: I know all about your compensations! ALUPKIN (to Mirvolin). Hey, are all the women in this county like her? MIRVOLIN. Some are worse. BALAGALAEV. Gentlemen, gentlemen! allow me, if you please… I must once more request you to be silent for a while. This is what I propose. We shall now, as a committee, divide the entire property into two lots: one will include the house and the farm, and to the other we’ll add an extra bit of land, and then they can choose. BESPANDIN. I agree. KAUROVA. I don’t. BALAGALAEV. Why don’t you agree? KAUROVA. Who’s going to get first choice? BALAGALAEV. We’ll draw straws. KAUROVA. God forbid and keep us! What’s wrong with you! Not for anything in the world! Are we some kind of heathens? BESPANDIN. All right, you choose. KAUROVA. I still don’t agree. ALUPKIN. Now what’s wrong? KAUROVA. How can I even begin to choose? Suppose I made a mistake… BALAGALAEV. Excuse me, but how can you make a mistake? The lots are equal, but even if one happens to be a trifle better, Ferapont Ilyich grants you the right to choose first. KAUROVA. But who will tell me which one is better? No, Nikolai Ivanych! This is your responsibility. So you set to work, dear sir, and figure out for yourself. Then whichever lot you assign to me, I’ll take and be satisfied. BALAGALAEV. All right then. Therefore, the house with its outbuildings and farm is granted to Mrs Kaurova. BESPANDIN. And the garden too? KAUROVA. Naturally, the garden! What would a house be without a garden? Anyway that particular garden is a junkyard: five or six apple trees at most, and the apples on them as sour as sour can be… To tell the truth, the whole farm isn’t worth a cent. BESPANDIN. Then let me have it, for God’s sake!… BALAGALAEV. As I was saying, the house with the garden and the outbuildings and the whole manor farm is granted to Mrs Kaurova. Fine. That being the case, would

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you care to check it out?… Velvitsky! my boy, read aloud my plan for the apportionment. VELVITSKY (reads from a notebook). “Plan of apportionment between the landowner Ferapont Bespandin and his sister, the widow and gentlewoman Kaurova…” BALAGALAEV. Begin with “Placement of boundary lines.” VELVITSKY. “Placement of boundary lines starting at point A.” BALAGALAEV. Please note: starting at point A. VELVITSKY. “From point A, located at the boundary of the Volukhin estate to point B, at the corner of the dam.” BALAGALAEV. To point B, at the corner of the dam… Yevgeny Tikhonych, are you with us? SUSLOV (from a distance) I can see. VELVITSKY. “From point B…” KAUROVA. Who is getting the pond, may I ask? BALAGALAEV. It goes without saying, it will be common ground. I mean, the right bank will belong to one, the left to the other. KAUROVA. Ah! so that’s how it’ll be! BALAGALAEV. Go on, go on… VELVITSKY. “The fallow fields will be divided equally: Lot A will contain one hundred and forty-four acres, Lot B two hundred and thirty-one.” BALAGALAEV. Now this is what I propose… The one who doesn’t get the farm will take all of Lot A’s fallow fields for himself, that is, he’ll get seventy-two extra acres of land. Here are the fallow fields, A and B. VELVITSKY. “The owner of Lot A is obliged to transfer at his own expense two families of peasants to Lot B; and the peasants so transferred will enjoy rights to the hemp fields for two years…” KAUROVA. I have no intention of either transferring peasants or giving up the hemp fields. BALAGALAEV. Come now! KAUROVA. Not for anything, Nikolai Ivanych, not for anything! ALUPKIN. Please don’t interrupt, madam! KAUROVA (making the sign of the cross). What’s this? What’s this? Am I dreaming or what?… After that, I really don’t know what to say! The hemp fields for two years, a common-ground pond! If that’s the way things stand, I’d rather give up the house… BALAGALAEV. But please bear in mind that Ferapont Ilyich… KAUROVA. No, my good sir, please don’t trouble yourself. I seem to have offended you in some way… BALAGALAEV (simultaneously with her). Will you listen to me, Anna Ilyinishna! You’re talking about peasants and hemp fields, but your brother can annex seventytwo acres of your lot… KAUROVA (simultaneously with him). Stop talking, stop talking, Nikolai Ivanych! For mercy’s sake! do you think I’m some kind of idiot to give away the hemp fields for nothing! Just you remember, Nikolai Ivanych: I’m a widow—there’s nobody to come to my defense. My children are minors: you should at least take pity on them. ALUPKIN. This is really too much, too much! No, this is too much!… BESPANDIN. So you think that my lot is better than yours?

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KAUROVA. Seventy-two acres!… BESPANDIN. No, say it, is it better?… KAUROVA. For mercy’s sake! Seventy-two acres! ALUPKIN. Will you answer him: is it better? Huh? Is it better? Better? KAUROVA. What’s come over you, dear sir, flaring up at me all the time? Or did you pick up such manners in Tambov? Where did he suddenly pop up from, a total stranger. God alone knows who this man is, and now look at him, the way he’s leaped on to his high horse! ALUPKIN. Nevertheless, I must ask you not to forget yourself, madam. I don’t overlook the fact that you are a woman, so far as I know. But I’m a veteran, damn it! BALAGALAEV. Now, now, now, gentlemen! Anton Semyonych! Calm down, I beg of your. This is getting us nowhere… ALUPKIN. But really, after all… KAUROVA. You’re a lunatic! He’s a lunatic. BESPANDIN. All the same I must ask you once more, Anna Ilyinishna: do you think my lot is better? KAUROVA. Well yes, it is better. There’s more land on it. BESPANDIN. In that case, let’s switch. (She is silent.) BALAGALAEV. Well, ma’am, why don’t you say something? KAUROVA. What’s to become of me without a house? What good will the land do me after that?… BESPANDIN. But if my land is better—give me the house and take the seventy-two extra acres yourself. (Both are silent.) BALAGALAEV. Do please be reasonable, once and for all, Anna Ilyinishna. Follow your brother’s example…am tickled pink at the way he’s behaving today. You can see for yourself, we made you every conceivable concession. All you have to do is to declare your preference. KAUROVA. I already told you I have no intention of choosing… BALAGALAEV. You have no intention of choosing and you don’t agree to anything at all…good grief! I have to admit, Anna Ilyinishna, that I have reached the end of my rope… If, once again, we fail to settle this matter today, I do not intend to serve as arbitrator between you ever again. Let the courts settle it for you. Tell us, at the very least, what it is you want? KAUROVA. I don’t want anything, Nikolai Ivanych! I rely on you, Nikolai Ivanych! BALAGALAEV. But you refuse to trust me… This really has to be settled, Anna Ilyinishna… Good grief! It’s been going on for three years!… Come now, tell us what you’ve decided? KAUROVA. What can I tell you, Nikolai Ivanych? I can see you’re all against me. There are five of you but I’m all alone… I’m a woman; naturally it’s easy for you to intimidate me. And I have nobody to defend me, except God. I’m in your power. Do with me what you will. BALAGALAEV. But this is unforgivable. God alone knows what you’re saying by now… There are five of us, and you’re allalone… Are we coercing you in any way? KAUROVA. What else are you doing, sir? BALAGALAEV. This is awful! ALUPKIN (to Balagalaev). Then don’t bother with her!

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BALAGALAEV. Just a minute, Anton Semyonych!… Anna Ilyinishna, my dear lady! listen to me. Tell us what you would like: would you like to hold on to the house, then, and reduce the amount of compensation granted to your brother? If so, by how much?—In short, what are your conditions? KAUROVA. How can I tell you, Nikolai Ivanych? Of course I ‘m no match for you… But the Lord is our judge, Nikolai Ivanych! BALAGALAEV. Well now, listen here. I can see you’re dissatisfied with my suggestions… ALUPKIN. Give him an answer… SUSLOV (to Alupkin). Leave her alone. You can see she’s a pigheaded female. KAUROVA. Well, that’s right, sir, I am dissatisfied. BALAGALAEV. Splendid! then tell us what would satisfy you? KAUROVA. I can’t tell you that. BALAGALAEV. Why can’t you? KAUROVA. I just can’t, sir. BALAGALAEV. Perhaps you didn’t understand me? KAUROVA. I understand you only too well, Nikolai Ivanych! BALAGALAEV. Well then, for the last time, do tell us what might satisfy you after all. What kind of arrangement might win your consent? KAUROVA. No, sir, excuse me! you can force me to do whatever you like. I’m just a woman. But as for my consent, excuse me… I’ll die rather than give my consent. ALUPKIN. You’re a woman… No, you’re a devil! That’s what you are! You’re a pettifogging troublemaker!… BALAGALAEV. Anton Semyonych! Simultaneously KAUROVA. Saints preserve us! Saints preserve us! Simultaneously SUSLOV and MIRVOLIN. That’ll do, that’ll do! Simultaneously ALUPKIN (to Kaurova). Listen to me! I’m an old campaigner. I’m not threatening you for fun. Watch out, stop acting like a fool, come to your senses or else things’ll take a turn for the worse… I’m not joking…understand?… If you were willing to discuss things rationally, I wouldn’t say a word. But you dig your heels in like a mule… Old woman, have a care,—I’ll telling you have a care… BALAGALAEV. Anton Semyonych! I must admit… BESPANDIN. Nikolai Ivanych, this is my affair!…(To Alupkin.) My dear sir! will you inform me by what right… ALUPKIN. Are you standing up for your sister? BESPANDIN. My sister has nothing to do with it. So far as my sister’s concerned—foo! (He spits.)…but I protest for the honor of our family name. ALUPKIN. The honor of your family name? How did I insult your family name? BESPANDIN. How did you insult it! I like that! I suppose then that in your opinion, any passing fleabrain is allowed to… ALUPKIN. What’s that, my dear sir?… BESPANDIN. What’s what, my dear sir?… ALUPKIN. Here’s what it is, sir: it is disrespectful to insult me in the home of a third party. You are a gentleman, I am a gentleman, will tomorrow suit you?… BESPANDIN. Any weapon you like! Even daggers!

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BALAGALAEV. Gentlemen, gentlemen! What’s come over you? Aren’t you ashamed? For heaven’s sake! In my house… BESPANDIN. You don’t scare me, dear sir! ALUPKIN. I’m not afraid of you. As for your sister…it would be obscene to say what she is. KAUROVA. I’m agreeable, holy saints, I’m agreeable to anything!… Let me sign it. I’ll sign whatever you like. SUSLOV (to Mirvolin). Where’s my cap? Have you seen it, friend? BALAGALAEV. Gentlemen, gentlemen! GERASIM (enters and shouts). Pyotr Petrovich Pekhteryev! SCENE 10 The same and PEKHTERYEV PEKHTERYEV (entering). Good afternoon, my dear Nikolai Ivanych! BALAGALAEV. My regards, Pyotr Petrovich! How is your wife? PEKHTERYEV (bowing to the company). Gentlemen… My wife is well, thank God. Cher Balagalaev! I’m at fault: I’m late. I see you’ve begun without me, and you were right to do so… How are you feeling, Yevgeny Tikhonych, Ferapont Ilyich, Anna Ilyinishna? (To Mirvolin.) Ah! so you’re here too, you pauper?… Well, are things settled? BALAGALAEV. Well, it’s hard to tell… PEKHTERYEV. You don’t say so! I thought they were… Oh, gentlemen, gentlemen! this is too bad. Allow an old man to give you a scolding… This must be dealt with, it really must. BALAGALAEV Would you care for a bite to eat? PEKHTERYEV. No, thank you…(He draws Balagalaev aside and points to Alupkin.) Qui est ça? BALAGALAEV. A new landowner—a certain Alupkin. I’ll introduce you… Anton Semyonych! allow me to introduce our most respected Pyotr Petrovich… Anton Semyonych Alupkin, from Tambov. ALUPKIN. Pleased to meet you. PEKHTERYEV. Welcome to our neighborhood… Excuse me… Alupkin? I knew an Alupkin in Petersburg. Tallish, fine figure of a man, with a cast in one eye. First-rate card player, always building houses…any relation? ALUPKIN. Not at all, sir. I have no relations. PEKHTERYEV. No relations… You don’t say so… How is your brood, Anna Ilyinishna? KAUROVA. Thank you kindly, Pyotr Petrovich! Well, God be praised. PEKHTERYEV. And now, gentlemen, to work, to work. We can gossip afterwards… How far had you got when I interrupted you? BALAGALAEV. You didn’t interrupt us at all, Pyotr Petrovich! in fact you came right in the nick of time. This is what it’s all about, sir… PEKHTERYEV. What’s this? maps?…(Sits at the table.)

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BALAGALAEV. Yes, maps. Here, you see, Pyotr Petrovich, we weren’t quite able to arrive at a solution, I mean, we couldn’t get Mr Bespandin and his sister to agree. I admit I was even beginning to doubt my success and was ready to call it off. PEKHTERYEV. By no means, by no means, Nikolai Ivanych, show a little patience… A marshal of nobility must be the personification of patience. BALAGALAEV. Just look here, Pyotr Petrovich: by mutual consent of the owners the farm is not to be divided, but attached to one of the lots. That’s the difficulty we’re in now. What kind of compensation to assign for the farm? I propose to hand over all these fallow fields… PEKHTERYEV. These fallow fields…yes, quite so, yes, yes… BALAGALAEV. That’s the point on which we’ve been wearing ourselves to a frazzle… The gentleman here agrees, but not only won’t his sister agree to anything, she won’t even state what she wants. ALUPKIN. As the saying goes, she’s stuck in the mud! PEKHTERYEV. Tut, tut, tut! You know what, Nikolai Ivanych? Of course, you’re better informed than I, but if I were in your shoes I’d have divided the property differently. BALAGALAEV. How so, sir? PEKHTERYEV. It may be I’m talking through my hat, but you will forgive an old man… Savez-vous, cher ami? it seems to me I should have divided it this way… I have a pencil. MIRVOLIN. Here’s a pencil, sir. PEKHTERYEV. Thanks… I should have gone like this, Nikolai Ivanych…take a look: from here—over to here, from here—to here…from here over to there, and from here, finally, to here. BALAGALAEV. Pardon me, Pyotr Petrovich! In the first place, these lots aren’t equal… PEKHTERYEV. What difference does that make? BALAGALAEV. In the second place, this lot has no hayfields at all. PEKHTERYEV. That doesn’t signify. Grass can grow anywhere. BALAGALAEV. In addition you seem to have made over all the woods to one owner. KAUROVA. Ah, that’s the lot I’d take with pleasure! BALAGALAEV. For instance, how will the peasants be able to get from here to there? PEKHTERYEV. It would be child’s play to answer all your objections; but then, of course, you ought to know better than I…you will forgive me… KAUROVA. I like that set-up a lot. ALUPKIN. Which one? KAUROVA. The one Pyotr Petrovich just drew up. BESPANDIN. Might I take a peek. KAUROVA. Say what you like, but I won’t agree with anyone but Pyotr Petrovich. ALUPKIN. This is appalling…she hasn’t seen anything yet, and she’s already making up her mind! KAUROVA. And how do you know, my good sir, whether I’ve seen it or not? ALUPKIN. Well, if you have seen it, tell us which lot you’ll take? KAUROVA. Which one? The one with the woods and the hayfields; that’s where there’s more land. ALUPKIN. So, we’re to give everything to you?

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SUSLOV (to Alupkin). Leave her alone. PEKHTERYEV (to Bespandin). What do you think? BESPANDIN. I think, if truth be told, this one won’t work. However, I’m willing to agree, if they give me that lot. KAUROVA. And I’m willing to agree, if they give it to me. ALUPKIN. Which one? KAUROVA. Why, the one my brother is asking for SUSLOV. After that, go and say she never agrees to anything! PEKHTERYEV. But pardon me, pardon me…one and the same lot cannot be apportioned to two persons. One of you will have to make a sacrifice, demonstrate some generosity—and take the less good one. BESPANDIN. I would like to know on who the hell’s behalf I’m supposed to demonstrate generosity PEKHTERYEV. On whose behalf…what odd expressions you use!…on your sister’s behalf. BESPANDIN. That’ll be the day! PEKHTERYEV. Your sister, don’t forget, is a member of the weaker sex. She is a woman, whereas you are a man…she really is a woman, Ferapont Ilyich! BESPANDIN. No sir, I see that you’ve started theorizing… PEKHTERYEV. What theorizing is there about this? BESPANDIN. Theorizing! PEKHTERYEV. Really, I’m astonished… Aren’t you astonished, gentlemen? ALUPKIN. Me, sir? Today nothing about this situation would astonish me, sir. You can tell me that you just ate your own father. I wouldn’t be astonished. I’d believe it. BALAGALAEV. Gentlemen, gentlemen! let me put in a word or two. Their obstinacy, which seems to be flaring up again, should prove to you, my dear Pyotr Petrovich, that your apportionment isn’t very felicitous. PEKHTERYEV. Not felicitous! Allow me…whether or not it is felicitous remains to be proven… I don’t deny that your suggestion may be splendid; but my suggestion should not be judged at first sight either. I’ve drawn the boundary line en gros, so to speak. Of course, I may have run into error in minor details. Naturally, both lots have to be equalized, examined, scrutinized thoroughly. But why call it infelicitous?… ALUPKIN (to Suslov). How did he say he drew the line? SUSLOV. “Awn grow.” ALUPKIN. And what does “awn grow” mean? SUSLOV. God only knows! It must be German. BALAGALAEV. Let’s assume, Pyotr Petrovich, that your suggestion is perfect, firstrate. But the main point is to make the division equal. There’s the rub. PEKHTERYEV. Quite so, sir. Of course, you know about this better than I do… Obviously, I can’t compete with you in this matter. You say my suggestion is infelicitous… BALAGALAEV. Not at all, Pyotr Petrovich… KAUROVA. I understand why Nikolai Ivanych insists on having things his own way. BALAGALAEV. What do you mean, madam? Explain yourself… KAUROVA. I know all right! BALAGALAEV. I ask you to explain yourself.

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KAUROVA. Nikolai Ivanych intends to buy the woods from Ferapont Ilyich for a pittance… That’s why the gentleman’s trying so hard to get it to go to him. BALAGALAEV. May I observe, Anna Ilyinishna, that you forget yourself! Is Ferapont Ilyich a child? Aren’t you going to get your half?… Besides, who told you I was planning to buy those woods? After all, you can’t forbid your brother selling what belongs to him! KAUROVA. I cannot forbid him, but that’s not the point. The point is you aren’t dividing it objectively and impartially, but obviously for your own benefit. BALAGALAEV. Oh, this is too much! ALUPKIN. Ah, you’re starting to say so too! PEKHTERYEV. This is all very convoluted, I must confess, very convoluted and murky BALAGALAEV. This would make anybody lose his temper at last… What’s so convoluted? What’s so murky! Yes, of course! I am planning to buy the woods from Ferapont Ilyich. Perhaps I am planning to buy his whole lot. What’s wrong with that? May I ask?… I’m not dividing it objectively…didn’t your tongue turn black when you said such a thing? Anna Ilyinishna is just a woman, I forgive her; but you, Pyotr Petrovich…convoluted indeed! First you should look and see whether the property is divided fairly… It should be fair, since we’ve left the choice of lot to the lady PEKHTERYEV. You’ve no reason to get so irritated, Nikolai Ivanych. BALAGALAEV. Excuse me, I do, when people suspect me of God knows what,—me, the marshal of nobility, awarded the flattering attention of the gentry! Good grief, how can I not get irritated, when somebody sullies my honor! PEKHTERYEV. No one’s sullying your honor, and besides, anyway, why not? If, without injury to either party, as they say, one can reconcile one’s own, personal interest with someone else’s, why not do so? So far as your being marshal is concerned, believe me, Nikolai Ivanych, they don’t always elect the most qualified individual, and just because another person has been retired doesn’t mean that person is unworthy. However, I am, of course, not referring to you… BALAGALAEV. I understand, Pyotr Petrovich! I understand what you’re pleased to say about yourself, as well as about me. Go ahead, please give it a try! The election’s not far off. Maybe this time the gentry will have their eyes open, at last… May be they’ll finally appreciate your sterling qualities. PEKHTERYEV. If the gentlemen of the nobility bestow their trust on me, I won’t refuse, never you fear. KAUROVA. And then we’ll have a real marshal! BALAGALAEV. Oh, I don’t doubt it! But you must realize now, that after all these humiliating insinuations, it would be utterly improper of me to meddle any further in your affairs and therefore… BESPANDIN. Why not, Nikolai Ivanych? PEKHTERYEV. Nikolai Ivanych, really, I… BALAGALAEV. No, forgive me. Velvitsky, hand me all their papers. Here are your letters, your maps back. Divide it any way you like, and address yourselves, if you so desire, to Pyotr Petrovich. KAUROVA. With pleasure, with pleasure. PEKHTERYEV. But I positively refuse. I have no intention of doing so… No thank you very much!

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BESPANDIN. Nikolai Ivanych, please, do us the favor. Forgive us, I mean, forgive this stupid old woman… She’s the cause of it all… BALAGALAEV. I won’t listen to another word! I repeat, divide it up any way you like, it’s none of my business. I’m fed up to here!! BESPANDIN. It’s all your fault, you brainless bitch! You’re the one that’s messed it all up!… How about that! I’m supposed to let you have the woods and all the pastures and the farm… Don’t hold your breath! ALUPKIN. Great, great, great! Give it to her, give it to her good! KAUROVA. Pyotr Petrovich, come to my defense, dear sir. You don’t know what he’s like. He’s ready to cut my throat. He’s a monster, dear sir, he’s a murderer!… He’s already poisoned me half-a-dozen times, dear sir!… BESPANDIN. Shut up, you lunatic! Nikolai Ivanych, do me the favor… KAUROVA (to Pekhteryev). Dear sir, dear sir!… PEKHTERYEV. Excuse me, excuse me!…just what’s going on here? SCENE 11 The same and NAGALANOVICH NAGALANOVICH. Nikolai Ivanovich, I’m here… His excellency deigned… ALUPKIN. What, you again? You’re always following me… About that goat again?… Again? NAGALANOVICH. What’s the matter with you? What’s wrong with you? Who is this man? ALUPKIN. As if you didn’t recognize me… Alupkin, Alupkin the landowner. NAGALANOVICH. Stop right there. Your goat is under judicial review. I’m not here on your account. I came to see Nikolai Ivanych. PEKHTERYEV. Will you please leave me alone, madam! KAUROVA. Dear sir! protect me and divide it up! ALUPKIN (to Nagalanovich). My good man, I don’t quail in the face of anything. You insulted me, my good man! Damn it, I won’t let you treat me like a goat, indeed I won’t! NAGALANOVICH. He’s some sort of madman! BESPANDIN. Nikolai Ivanych, take back your papers. BALAGALAEV. Calm down, gentlemen, listen to me!… I feel as if my head were spinning round… Apportionment, billygoat, pigheaded old woman, landowner from Tambov, unexpected police inspector barging in, duel tomorrow, my objectivity impugned, farm, woods for a pittance, luncheon, noise, pandemonium… I don’t understand a word you’re saying, I’m at my wit’s end, I’ve had it, I’ve had it! (He exits.) PEKHTERYEV. Nikolai Ivanych! Nikolai Ivanych! Dear me, this is fine state of affairs…the master of the house walks out, what’s there left for us to do? NAGALANOVICH. What’s all this commotion? (To Velvitsky.) Go and tell him that I have to speak with him on official business. (VELVITSKY exits.) KAUROVA. May God forgive him! But you, dear sir, when are you going to make the division? PEKHTERYEV. I? Your humble servant, but count me out. Whom do you take me for?

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BESPANDIN. Now we’re in a fine mess! Ooh, you!… Damn all old women now and forever! (He exits.) KAUROVA. At least you can’t blame me for this! VELVITSKY (enters). Nikolai Ivanovich asked me to say that he can receive no one. The gentleman has gone to bed. NAGALANOVICH. Well, that means his guests must have been treating him to a good time. There’s nothing for it, I’ll leave a note… My respects to the company. (Exits.) ALUPKIN. We shall meet again, my good man!—do you hear me? Gentlemen, my compliments. (Exits.) PEKHTERYEV. Wait a bit…where are you off to?…we’ll all go with you. I must confess I’ve never seen anything to equal this. (He exits.) KAUROVA. Pyotr Petrovich, dear sir!…make a decision…(She exits following Pekhteryev.) MIRVOLIN. Yevgeny Tikhonych, what about you? Let’s not stay here by ourselves. Let’s go. SUSLOV. Wait a minute, hang on, he’ll recover, and we’ll all sit down to a game of whist. MIRVOLIN. That’s the ticket. And under the circumstances a drink wouldn’t come amiss. SUSLOV. Righto, let’s have a drink, Mirvolin. But have you ever seen such an old woman? She takes the cake from my Glafira Andreevna… That’s what you call a friendly division!…

Pazukhin’s Death A Comedy in Four Acts by MIKHAIL SALTYKOV-SHCHEDRIN DEDICATED TO V.P.Bezobrazov CHARACTERS IVAN PROKOFICH PAZUKHIN, 75, a merchant of the First Guild and hereditary honorary

citizen, engaged in tax-farming and contracting PROKOFY IVANYCH PAZUKHIN, his son, 55 MAVRA GRIGORYEVNA, his wife by a second marriage, 20 VASILISA PARFENTYEVNA, her mother, 50. She clings to the old-fashioned way of life. GENERAL ANDREI NIKOLAEVICH LOBASTOV, retired, 60, a friend of old Pazukhin, Sr.; risen from the ranks SECOND LIEUTENANT ZHIVNOVSKY, retired, 50 NIKOLA VELEGLASNY, an elderly tradesman FINAGEI PROKHOROV BAYEV, old Pazukhin’s mentor SEMYON SEMYONOVICH FURNACHYOV, State Councilor, 55 NASTASYA IVANOVNA, his wife, old Pazukhin’s daughter, 30 ANNA PETROVNA ZHIVOYEDOVA, 40, an orphan from a good family, living in old Pazukhin’s home as his housekeeper LENOCHKA LOBASTOVA, 30, an old maid TROFIM SEVERYANYCH PRAZDNIKOV, a departmental clerk, discharged from the civil service for peculation DMITRY, a footman MAVRA, a parlor-maid Footmen, maids, caretakers, coachmen and others The action takes place in the town of Krutogorsk in the year 1857 A modest room in PROKOFY PAZUKHIN’S home. Doors at both sides and center stage. Along the walls stand a divan and a few chairs of cheap peasant workmanship; in front of the divan stands a table, covered with a Yaroslavl cloth; on the table are snacks and a bottle of wine. VASILISA PARFENTYEVNA, MAVRA GRIGORYEVNA and VELEGLASNY are on stage. VASILISA wears a dark blue sarafan, over which is draped a caftan of the same color; on her head is a black calico kerchief, fastened at the chin by a brooch. MAVRA

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is in a bright-colored sarafan and a black quilted jacket of velveteen; on herhead she wears a so-called “head-scarf’ or snood. VELEGLASNY is dressed in a black cloth sibirka or waist-length caftan of old-fashioned cut, slit down the chest with huge brass buttons along one side and button-loops along the other; he also wears enormous boots. VELEGLASNY (holds a greasy manuscript and reads). “Then shall the men be clad in short garments, reaching no further than the knee, and in tightly stretched trousers, and the women as well shall take on hellish shapes, with heads unveiled, and on their heads will they wear horns of beasts and serpents, likening them unto devils… And then shall be the advent of Antichrist…” MAVRA. Lordy! what frights! VASILISA. Well, you reckon this is coming to pass, Nikola Osipych? VELEGLASNY. It’s coming to pass, ma’am, coming to pass…(Going on with his reading) “And the people will grow enamoured of a dainty that quenches not the thirst, an unbounded quaffing of a brew concocted from the weeds and leaves of idolaters, anointed with the fat of serpents; from Cathay these will be bartered and bought as wares for the profanation of Christian souls… and then shall be the advent of Antichrist…” VASILISA. Lordy! don’t that mean we mustn’t drink tea? VELEGLASNY. Tain’t fitting, ma’am, ‘tain’t fitting. An idolatrous potion… worms will breed in your belly… For in books it is written: “A Chinese dart flew in Russia’s heart. Drink tea to your cost, for salvation you’ve lost…” Now this stuff here comes from the fruit of the vine—it won’t sicken you, for its fruit is red and grows for the extra-natural pleasurement of mankind… (He pours out a glass and drinks.) VASILISA. But it don’t seem likely Prokofy Ivanych will give up tea in this lifetime. VELEGLASNY. Well then, his portion will be the bottomless pit… VASILISA. Looks like it’s up to you, Mavrusha, to talk him into a change of heart… MAVRA. But he don’t mind me, mummy! He only married me to have somebody to pick on! When he came a-courting, God alone knows the promises he made, but as soon’s we got married, he forced me to wear calico sarafans… VELEGLASNY. Well, ma’am, just you put on a bit of pressure, hold off from your conjugal duties every so often, or think up some other measure… Then he’ll come right round… MAVRA. Them measures don’t work on him, Nikola Osipych! (She sighs.) (Enter BAYEV, a man so old he can’t remember his age. He seems overgrown with moss, and is hunched over. He wears a blue caftan and leans on a stout birchen staff.) BAYEV (in a husky voice). Greetings, Vasilisa Parfentyevna dearie! How you getting on? VASILISA. With God’s help, old feller, How’re you? BAYEV. What should be wrong with me? I’m still a hale old soul… I’m alive, ma’am, still alive… Only I’m kind of sick and tired of living…(He sits down on a chair and coughs.) MAVRA. Will you take a little vodka, then? BAYEV. It don’t do no good, beauty, no good at all! Nor food nor drink can I keep in my innards… Och, I’m old right enough, most like I was covered with moss. VASILISA. Well now, how are things down to your place? Ivan Prokofych in good health?

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BAYEV. He roars, ma’am. He can’t move a muscle, but he roars… VELEGLASNY. Like unto the roaring lion he walks, seeking whom he may devour… BAYEV. Except his legs is paralyzed, y’know, so he roars lying down! VASILISA. If only you could make him listen to reason, to plain common sense, Prokhorych… What’s he roaring for? BAYEV. I reasoned with him, tried hard to reason, he just keeps on a-roaring… like he was some kind of gin’ral! (Stands up and declaims in imitation of IVAN PROKOFYCH.) “And don’t you dare remind me about that skunk Prokopka!” says he. “He called me an Antichrist,” says he. “He wants to live like his forefathers lived, then let him go along with his forefathers and tend some spotted shoat in the pig-sty!” Then he spat three times! That’s how he lost his temper! (Sits down.) VASILISA. Looky there now! BAYEV. And another time he says, “He went dead agin my wishes,” says he, “and married some slut, in order to keep his property from his son Gavrusha,” says he, “but I’ll keep my own property from him and put Gavryushka in his father’s place.” You can’t even figger out what he’s saying! VASILISA. Hark at that! Now a body’s not supposed to get married! Better not take an example from him, the nasty, filthy way he’s carried on all his lifetime! BAYEV. That’s what I said to him: “Ivan Prokofych,” says I, “it’s best to judge lightly of human flesh! Here am I now, real old, and yet I wonder at the way it goes on twitching! Why, it even says in the Scripture—It ain’t good, mind you, for a man to live alone, but it befits him to take a wife-mate unto him… VELEGLASNY. That’s the Gospel truth. VASILISA. And just what did he get so worked up about? It ain’t such a long time ago that he himself walked around in public with an unshaven snout and wasn’t ashamed…honestly, it makes you wonder! BAYEV. Not so long ago neither, ma’am! I myself beheld with my own eyes how a policeman in Chernoborsk tried to shake him by the beard. “None of your swindling,” says he, “none of your swindling!” But nowadays it’s an easy thing to do, ain’t it: he sacrificed his beard to Antichrist, aye, and cut off his son too without a penny… VELEGLASNY. “Thou shalt not cut a hair of thy beard…” That’s what it says in the Church edicts! VASILISA (sarcastically). That must be the reason he went in for his ungodly way of living, ‘cause policemen used to tug at his beard so often… BAYEV. They tugged, I saw it myself, how they tugged. Them were fearsome times, ma’am, such times as it’d be hard for you to credit. Ivan Prokofych’s daddy was county clerk, yet nowadays the way he talks, you’d think tsars don’t live the way he did! Used to be he wouldn’t cast off his beastly guise for a week or two at a time, just lay dead drunk under a bench for whole days at a stretch! Right then and there, the gent started making his very first fortune, ‘cause to him the townsfolk were the same as his serfs. As Ivan Prokofych growed up, he turned into the same kind of sneak-thief as a lad; well, the gent’s daddy, seeing as how he was so ambitious he’d lay low the living and the dead for the sake of money, give him his blessing to go in the liquor business… That’s what them times was like, ma’am!

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VASILISA. Maybe so, but now I reckon he’s ashamed to recollect them times; he claims he dreamed it all. BAYEV. Nowadays, ma’am, mind you, he may end up in the nobility soon! The Governor wangled him a court councilorship, in payment for his public works and benefactions. Only here’s what I says to his uppitiness just the other day: “Ivan Prokofych! What’ll you care when you’re lying in your coffin whether you’re a merchant or a nobleman… You’re still just a sinner,” says I! VELEGLASNY. It’s better to be amongst the least, for hereafter the meek and humble shall sit in the first place! VASILISA. Honestly, it makes you wonder! Well, was there talk about the will at your place? BAYEV. It was the Zhivoyedova woman mentioned it, and then the fun began! He started roaring even louder! I’ll live another five years, says he, mind that! To this very day he ain’t give up that foolishness of his, don’t even let the Zhivoyedova woman stir a step from his side. VASILISA. Looks as how she’s the one spreading rumors about Prokofy Ivanych to him! BAYEV. She’s the one, ma’am, that she is. (Enter PROKOFY IVANYCH, a man of average height, dressed in a blue caftan. He wears his completely gray hair and beard cut in the old Russian style. He enters frantically and sinks into a chair before saying a word.) PROKOFY IVANYCH. What’ll come of this? What’ll U come of this? Good God! My father won’t let me into his sight, my own son calls me dirty names in front of everybody…where’s a man to turn? VASILISA. What’s been happening, Prokofy Ivanych? PROKOFY IVANYCH (ignoring her). If it weren’t for the money! Lord, if it weren’t for the money!…“Will you be much longer disgracing us?” he says. My own son says this to me!…but how can you give up on the money? BAYEV. You should have knocked sense into him with a birchrod, sir. PROKOFY IVANYCH. But how can I, Prokhorych! I’ve got no birchrod either. My father repudiated me, and on that account, you may say, every living soul in my father’s house insults me to his heart’s content… You don’t hear a word from my sister Nastasya Ivanovna, except “clodhopper;” the lady’s spouse Semyon Semyonych is the same… Even the Zhivoyedova woman is aiming to spit in your eye… So how can I, Prokhorych! Of course, if I only had the money! (Growing animated, he rises.) Yes indeed! Things’d be fine and dandy, if I had the money…but without money what kind of man am I! BAYEV. All the same, though, you’re a man, not a beast… PROKOFY IVANYCH. Worse!… Don’t you see, old man, there’s really no reason for me to expect anything from him, I guess, and as a result I’m of no importance whatsoever… Well, why should he bother about me? Have I humbled myself to him? Yes, and it’s a disgrace for him to be related to me, now that he drives around in the company of influential gentlemen, while I, mind you, go around in coarse homespun! VASILISA (to VELEGLASNY). Won’t you say something to comfort Prokofy Ivanych, father?

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VELEGLASNY. Why not, I’m ready to offer consolation, ma’am…(Walks over to PROKOFY.) Remember, Prokofy Ivanych, how the fathers of the Solovetsky monastery suffered for their old-time religion: they gave their shoulders to be lashed, their backs to be flayed, their limbs to be shattered, their frames to be racked. VASILISA. Ech, father! Stick to the point! Tell us how we can get the money! VELEGLASNY. You can acquire the money, but it behooves you to lay up wisdom like unto the serpent—and you’ll get the money! BAYEV. Lay up wisdom, sir, Prokofy Ivanych! VASILISA (to MAVRA). Well, say something, Mavrusha! Comfort your husband! MAVRA. Why, Prokofy Ivanych, Nikola Osipych here was just saying it’s a sin to drink tea. PROKOFY IVANYCH (stands up pensively and faces VELEGLASNY). That right… So you say it’s not proper to drink tea?… VELEGLASNY. ‘Tain’t fitting, Prokofy Ivanych! Worms might breed in your belly VASILISA. That might be the reason, Prokofy Ivanych, that God don’t give you wisdom, ‘cause you don’t heed the laws of the fathers! PROKOFY IVANYCH (pensively). Good Lord! if only I’d had a peek at the money! BAYEV. I bet mebbe there’s plenty o’ riches laid up in his strong-box! PROKOFY IVANYCH. Yes, laid up… And who laid it all up? I did! I ran the whole business and set all the machinery in motion…(Slaps himself on the chest.) I can say I didn’t stint hard work or sweat… I put my whole heart and soul into it!… But they pass me by…they pass me by when it’s time for refreshments! Right now it’s all the same whether he makes a will or not… If he makes one, chances are there won’t be a whisper of me in it, but if he don’t, then at the last moment that gang of thieves’ll steal the lot!… Of course, they’ll be able to have a search going on when the time comes!… And how about my youngster Gavrilka! the way he shook his fist in my face just now! “What’s going on,” says he. “You think that because you call yourself my father, I have to watch you making your muck, no matter what!…” That’s how things stand! VASILISA. Glory be! so that’s the way it is now! A son crawls all over his own father! VELEGLASNY. “And then shall be the advent of Antichrist!” PROKOFY IVANYCH. That ain’t all he said! “I’m taking your wife away from you,” says he, “because you’re an old man and can’t live with her the proper way!” Mavra Grigoryevna! you hear that? MAVRA (casting down her eyes). I hope you held your peace at such vile words, Prokofy Ivanych? PROKOFY IVANYCH. How could I hold my peace? Why should I hold my peace? I had my say too! We’ll get ourselves a lad to help in the shop, says I, without your interference! (He laughs violently, addressing his mother-in-law, wife and VELEGLASNY.) Damn you all, you’re a bunch of d-devils! you’ve got me into this mess! MAVRA (offended). I guess you’re after offending me, Prokofy Ivanych? VASILISA. What’s this, does Mavrusha rate swear words from you, or what? VELEGLASNY. Remember, Prokofy Ivanych, what is written of idle words in the Scriptures! PROKOFY IVANYCH (calming down and waving his arms). What sort of foulmouth am I? It wasn’t meant as swear words! You’ll forgive me, Mavra Grigoryevna: it’s as

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if I’m forgotten by God! Good Lord! In my father’s house they eat off gold, but in mine all the goods together wouldn’t add up to a thousand rubles! I’d take to drink, but they say it’s a sin! VELEGLASNY. A sin, sir… But you may have some grape vintage! (He drinks.) VASILISA. You should think up some way to get hold of the money, Nikola Osipych! VELEGLASNY. That’s a tricky business, ma’am! You’ll have to rack your brains about it in your spare time. BAYEV. Now here’s what I say: sacrifice your beard to your daddy, Prokofy Ivanych! Humor his whims! Fall down on your knees before him… he’ll forgive you, that he will! VASILISA. What, what’s that you’re saying, Prokhorych! Don’t you know full well that in the next world you won’t get into Heaven if you’ve shaved off the least little hair? You mustn’t even think such a thing, Prokofy Ivanych! May I drop dead on the spot, if I don’t spit in your face in front of everybody when you do it! BAYEV. Spit will wipe off, kind sir! VELEGLASNY. Indeed, it is a crying shame, ma’am, a crying shame to give up one’s beard and so rejoice the Prince of Darkness, and yet a law can be changed, if need be! In the cause of the old-time religion, not only was temporary cutting of the beard permissible, but the very corruption of the soul… (The sound of a carriage driving up is heard.) VASILISA. Saints alive! I think somebody’s drove up! VELEGLASNY. Guess it’s time for me to go, ma’am. (Exits.) (Enter LOBASTOV, a short, very stout man, inclined to apoplexy; his face is red as if frost-bitten; he eats and drinks hurriedly but first, before placing the food in his mouth, he blows on it. He is very restless in his movements and seldom stands in one place. He wears a threadbare tail-coat. Everyone rises at his entrance.) LOBASTOV. Bless this house, Prokofy Ivanych! Just passing through: I figured, can’t do without calling on my dear friend… Let’s have a kiss, lad! (They exchange kisses.) PROKOFY IVANYCH. Please help yourself, your excellency! LOBASTOV (walking over to the food). Ah! And snacks on the table! Well now, that hits the spot! Although, lad, you might send out for some vodka for me. I’m not one of the edified, lad, and these grape wines only fuddle my wits! And here’s Prokhorych to share a drink while we’re at it! BAYEV. I’ll drink, Andrei Nikolaich, I’ll drink, sir! I ain’t much edified m’self… I drink anything! VASILISA. Mavrusha! (MAVRA GRIGORYEVNA exits) VASILISA. They’re fetching it right now, Andrei Nikolaich, dearie. Even though we don’t take it ourselves, we keep it for worldly types…have to! How is your health, sir? LOBASTOV. Well, poorly, ma’am! Look at that fellow, Kondraty Sidorych, just had a stroke… One minute you’re alive, the next you’re spilling out two platesful of the red stuff!…. Vodka’s the only mainstay I have in life, you might say. VASILISA. So what, sir, if you’re in bliss and strength…never you mind! I have heard tell, sir, that a man can get fat from vodka, and a fat man, everyone knows, is more

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superior in beauty than a skinny one… How is your Yelena Andreevna’s respected health? LOBASTOV. Withering away, ma’am, withering away… VASILISA. Withering, indeed! Andrei Nikolaich, you should have been on the lookout for a husband for her: the poor thing’s more likely distressed on that score! LOBASTOV. I know, ma’am, I know! An old maid’s life is notorious; she has no sustenance, nor salt nor savor. BAYEV. That’s the plain truth you said, sir! LOBASTOV. But where can you find a bridegroom! There was one little falcon hatched out, but his wings grew too broad, you see, and he flew awayl (Claps PROKOFY IVANYCH on the shoulder) Yes, you and I should have been in-laws by now, lad! PROKOFY IVANYCH. Looks like it wasn’t God’s will, your excellency! LOBASTOV. You be the judge of what it’s like for my fatherly heart, to look on while my little girl withers away! Matter of fact, I’m bound to pass on to the next life, so to speak, any day now; and none of my, what d’ye call ‘em, natural feelings, as they say, are left, except for philoprogenitiveness…and here she is withering away!…(He starts to walk around the room in a great hurry.) Vasilisa Parfentyevna, don’t mind my asking for vodka… I eat and drink, but my fatherly feelings languish the worse for all that… Look here, there’s this bird drawn on a pawn-ticket I’ve got, and would you believe it, even it feeds its offspring with its own flesh-and-blood… That’s what it means to have a father’s heart! VASILISA. You said it, Andrei Nikolaich! King Solomon too wrote about fatherly hearts in his Proverbs! (MAVRA GRIGORYEVNA places vodka on the table.) LOBASTOV (to BAYEV). You drink up too, old-timer! (Hands him a shot-glass.) Did you see Ivan Prokofich today? BAYEV. Didn’t see’m, sir, didn’t see’m today, and I’ve no great hankering to see’m! LOBASTOV. Why’s that? BAYEV. What good would you see? Mebbe he’d sit and growl!… LOBASTOV. He’s taken a turn for the worst and I mean worst! BAYEV. Worst he may be, but who can figger him out? He’s been dying off and on now for the last four years! LOBASTOV. Yes, he’s clearly got no wish to die! BAYEV. And why shouldn’t he, sir? For my part, I could go before the Heavenly Judge right now… Am I scared of death? I ain’t stole nothing from nobody, ain’t killed, ain’t committed fornication…so now let the Grim Reaper come. PROKOFY IVANYCH. That’s how it is, your excellency, sir. LOBASTOV. No, Prokofy Ivanych! Don’t say that, lad! I can’t speak for anybody else, but I know what it means to die! Certain old men appear before my eyes, y’know, never have I seen the like! PROKOFY IVANYCH (shaking his head). Sss… VASILISA. Mercy on us! What kind of old men, Andrei Nikolaich? Honest-to-God ones, or only just imaginary? LOBASTOV. Yes indeed… Two separate times I passed out… I even thought sure I’d crossed over to the life-to-come… Let me tell you how it happened. I was promoted, as you know, from the ranks of the common folk, so in 1812, I was still a boy of about

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eighteen… The French marched through our village, marauders they nicknamed themselves, and since we were all worked up at the time, I eliminated one little Frenchy, just doing my bit, sir… Now will you believe it? Just as I was passing out, this double-dyed Frenchy…sticks his tongue out at me, sir. Sticks it out like this!… That’s what death is all about! PROKOFY IVANYCH. Who isn’t sick to his stomach at having to die, your excellency! Even the most unfeeling beasts grieve in the face of death! LOBASTOV. Yes. And Ivan Prokofych is twice as sick about dying… I’ll bet his strongbox is loaded with earthly blessings! (Claps PROKOFY IVANYCH on the shoulder.) What’s your opinion, my friend? PROKOFY IVANYCH (bowing). We can’t know, your excellency! (Sighing deeply) If there is any money, then it’s Daddy’s and not ours! BAYEV. Mightn’t you be the one, Andrei Nikolaich, to bring Prokofy Ivanych and his daddy back together agin? He’s sorely troubled about the money, y’see! And God alone knows whose hands it’ll drop into! PROKOFY IVANYCH (bowing). If you would do us such a favor, your excellency… Of course, our offense in Daddy’s eyes is very grievous, though for our part, we’re willing to make any atonement… LOBASTOV. Hmm… Yes, I admit I came here concerning this very matter… PROKOFY IVANYCH (bowing). Let’s talk it over, your excellency! LOBASTOV. Although, lad, this is the kind of business that you and I ought to talk over in private. VASILISA. Never you mind, we’ll clear out, sir! You just have a nice chat right here where it’s cool… Prokhorych! Let’s go into the scullery; I’ll let you have another drink there. (Everyone leaves except PROKOFY IVANYCH and LOBASTOV.) LOBASTOV (in an undertone). Your old man, lad, is really in a bad way… Any day now he’ll give up the ghost…are you aware of that? PROKOFY IVANYCH. How could I be, your excellency? They don’t let me in the place past the front-hall or the kitchen. LOBASTOV. I’m sorry for you, lad, genuinely sorry!… I may be a general, lad, but I’m tender-hearted… I don’t despise you. I came to you in person…you understand that! PROKOFY IVANYCH. Your excellency, we’re always ready to understand, we just don’t know how to respond to all your kindness! LOBASTOV. This very morning they sent for me. He was thinking of making his will…that’s how far gone he was! PROKOFY IVANYCH (getting anxious). So he went and made his will? LOBASTOV. Just you listen, laddy! I drove over to his place, but Semyon was already settled in there, ever so affectionate, you know, wagging his tail, but drilling holes in him with his eyes…h, and Gavrilo Prokofich, your sonnyboy, as well…although he was mainly interested in the drinks. But the old man only lay there and groaned: he was lamenting, y’see, that God hadn’t seen fit to finish him off in the ranks of the nobility! Well, we all stood round the bed for a good half hour, giving him a chance to have his say… Only Semyon slithers up to him. “Papa dear,” says he, “wouldn’t you like to do your Christian duty?” and he wiggles the will into his hand. Fine. Only, what do you think he answered to that? The way he flung the will back in his ugly

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mug, sir, you’d wonder where the sickness went! “You obviously want me to die!” says he. “So I’m going to outlive the lot of you!” And that very moment it almost looks like he’d never been sick a day in his life! So Semyon tucked tail and scampered out so fast I was amazed! And Anna Petrovna stood there with her mouth wide open. PROKOFY IVANYCH (relieved). It’s still to be done, thank God…our rights aren’t passed over yet, your excellency! LOBASTOV. Of course, rights are fine things, lad, but don’t pin your hopes on them too tightly! Next time, maybe, he’ll sign the will, especially if he’s lost his memory! PROKOFY IVANYCH (bowing). Do us a favor, give me a little advice, your excellency. LOBASTOV. I’ve got no advice for you, lad, but a proposition instead. Lad, I’m a Russian, I like eating buns with my tea, but I don’t like beating around the bush… And you wouldn’t believe how ready I am to put myself out for love of you… PROKOFY IVANYCH. You’re right, I wouldn’t believe it, your excellency! LOBASTOV. Well, anyhow! Here’s the proposition I’ve got for you. First, if our plot works, with God’s help, Lenochka is to be married to Gavrilo Prokofich without fail, and if he won’t agree to it, when the time comes, you can coerce him in a fatherly way… PROKOFY IVANYCH. That we can manage, your excellency LOBASTOV. Second, as soon as your son Gavrilo is married, he should be given one third of the whole fortune… PROKOFY IVANYCH (bowing). Isn’t that a lot, your excellency? My daddy’s fortune is sizeable all right, sir, so a fourth should be plenty… LOBASTOV. You really are a pig, Prokofy Ivanych! You haven’t got your hands on anything yet, and already you’re haggling! PROKOFY IVANYCH. But there’s bound to be lots of chicanery, your excellency! LOBASTOV. But it is your son, keep that in mind! Chances are he’ll end up with the whole fortune, if I don’t take a hand in things. PROKOFY IVANYCH. Dear me, your excellency, we certainly will keep that well in mind. (He bows.) Wouldn’t a fourth do as well, your excellency? LOBASTOV. Oh, to hell with you! A fourth then! I’m a tender-hearted sort! Only mind you don’t cheat me. PROKOFY IVANYCH. As if that were possible, your excellency. LOBASTOV. And how! I can just see you, you conniver, once the money manages to wind up in your pocket! Now you’re bowing all over the place, but once you get it, chances are you’ll turn your back on me. PROKOFY IVANYCH. I don’t think we’d ever have the nerve to do that, your excellency! LOBASTOV. Maybe not, but don’t try to give me short shrift: I wouldn’t make any complaints, I’d just mash your ugly kisser through a sieve with my own hands in a second… I’m not squeamish, lad! PROKOFY IVANYCH. We shall see to it that your excellency keeps his hands to himself. (He bows.) LOBASTOV. Very well then. Right now I’d guarantee there won’t be a will, so as soon as he finally kicks the bucket I’ll send you word. (Looks at his watch.) It’s time to say good-bye, lad!

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PROKOFY IVANYCH. Why leave us so soon? Do have another drink, your excellency! LOBASTOV. One for the road. (Drinks.) In any case, lad, it wouldn’t do you any harm if you cooperate with me… Get rid of your whisk-broom, dear boy! PROKOFY IVANYCH. Are you referring to my beard, your excellency? LOBASTOV. Why, of course. PROKOFY IVANYCH (after considering a bit, decisively). It can be done, your excellency! LOBASTOV (somewhat susprised). Attaboy, Prokofy Ivanych! Then give it to me as a present, dear friend! Let’s have a kiss, lad! (They exchange kisses.) PROKOFY IVANYCH. The reason I’m willing to do it, your excellency, is that this whole matter has started to stick in my throat of late! I’ve even been considering that if God prompted Daddy to welcome me in, I’d sweep my mother-in-law and the rest of the mealy-mouths out of my house… Because I’ve nothing personal against civilizing my face, it’s only that Vasilisa Parfentyevna is working on my flesh through Mavra Grigoryevna…but now I can knock sense into Mavra Grigoryevna’s head with my own hands, if she ever contradicts me straight out! LOBASTOV. Well, that’s splendid! Only watch out, don’t try to cheat me… God is my witness, I won’t leave you amongst the living!… Let’s have a kiss, lad! (They exchange kisses.) PROKOFY IVANYCH. Good-bye, your excellency. (They go out. The stage remains empty a brief while.) PROKOFY IVANYCH (returns). A fourth!…isn’t that too rich? That’s really pouring it out! I want to live too. You won’t look at me because I walk humbly in coarse homespun—this nonsense has really got on my nerves! It’s enough that I’m forcing Gavrilo to marry your cripple… And it’ll be pretty funny, Gavrilka, when you parade up the aisle with that maiden of forty summers! But you’ll go, my lad, even though it turns your stomach, you’ll go… I owe his excellency that much in gratitude—indeed I do! Well, you’ll be another comfort to me in my old age…(He ponders a while.) But what if he swindles me, or simply can’t manage to do anything in my behalf? Lord! What’ll happen then? And why did I take him up on his proposition? I must have had an attack of the stupids! It’s my daddy’s own temperament I’ve got; maybe that’s how our differences began! He says “yes” and I say “no” and the womenfolk come in on cue…that’s how it goes! (Sighs.) Now they’ve got me to scrape my chin, but suppose even that doesn’t work… On the one hand, he loves to have people come crawling to him, but he also understands how hard it is for human nature! On the other hand, they won’t let me come near him…especially that Semyon! I’ll show you, you stinking pig, even if you are a state councilor!… Well, but suppose I pass some hush-money to Semyon?… That’s really not a bad idea! Of course, the General promised, but who knows how he’ll manage things there. If you work out the arrangements yourself from every angle, your mind will be more at ease, sort of… ZHIVNOVSKY (popping his head through the doorway center). Humble respects to my most esteemed benefactor Prokofy Ivanych. PROKOFY IVANYCH (startled). Tfu on you, damn it! Is that you, Fyodor Fyodorych? ZHIVNOVSKY. Me as ever, Prokofy Ivanych, sir! I stopped by to take a breather, so maybe you’ll bring me a drop of vodka…our father is running me ragged today!

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PROKOFY IVANYCH. That so? ZHIVNOVSKY. I’ll say, sir! Running off to the druggist and the doctor, no one but me, sir! Of course Ivan Prokofich drew up his will today… PROKOFY IVANYCH (panic-stricken). What’s that! What’s that! Don’t you lie! ZHIVNOVSKY. May I drop dead this minute, if he didn’t draw up his will! I saw it with my own eyes, sir! Semyon Semyonych wrote it out! PROKOFY IVANYCH (beside himself). Then what was Andrei Nikolaich talking about? Good God! You sure you’re not lying, you scoundrel! ZHIVNOVSKY. Why lie, Prokofy Ivanych? I heard it being read, sir, with my own ears. He bequeathed six weeks’ worth of food to the poor, so they’ll pray God for his soul, I guess. PROKOFY IVANYCH. The estate, who got the estate? ZHIVNOVSKY. Part of the estate, says he, goes to my grandson Gavrilo, part to my beloved daughter Nastasya Ivanovna, and part to be used to erect cathedrals to God; and to my beloved son Prokofy Ivanych I leave my paternal blessing… PROKOFY IVANYCH. So that’s the way things’ll turn out? They want to rob me? They want to cut my throat? (Losing control, he flings himself on ZHIVNOVSKY.) No, say it, you came here to slit my throat?… Heavenly saints! Christian folk! They’re robbing me blind! (VASILISA PARFENTYEVNA and MAVRA GRIGORYEVNA rush in, terrified.) PROKOFY IVANYCH (pushing away ZHIVNOVSKY, he darts around the room). Get a tailor! A barber! (Grabs himself by the beard.) Tear it off, eat it up… A horse, on the double! My cap! Where’s my cap? VASILISA. Pull yourself together. Where are you off to? PROKOFY IVANYCH (stopping short). Where am I off to?… Good Lord! There’s nowhere to turn to! They’ve cut my throat! They’ve destroyed me! The curtain falls ACT II The stage represents State Councilor FURNACHYOV’S study. Center, a large writingdesk covered with a number of documents and papers. Along the walls stand a few armchairs, and to the audience’s left, a sofa. The furniture is upholstered in “drap de dames;” in one corner is a bookcase containing law statutes and a few other books. A door center stage. SEMYON SEMYONYCH is sitting at the desk, clad in a dressinggown, intently perusing the Moscow Gazette. FURNACHYOV belongs to that class of citizen deemed “substantial;” he is very tall, with a paunch of respect-able proportions. His gait is measured, his speech slow and dignified; his manners and movements have something imperious about them. FURNACHYOV (breaking off his reading). Well, well, we’re due to expect a comet this year! It would be curious, nonetheless, to know what this natural manifestation portends. Hmm… It’s reported this comet will be extraordinary, with a remarkable tail… Quite possibly this tail might even brush against the earth…strange! What then will come of human speculation? One fellow stores up material wealth, another spiritual wealth; one man weeps, another laughs…they fight, murder, shed blood, destroy cities and build them up again…and that’s that! One philosopher maintains the world is water, another that the world is fire, and what’s the upshot of it all? Nothing

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but the truism that a limit is set on human cogitation! And yet this comet has some hidden purpose…what will come of it? If a war breaks out, there’s bound to be bloodshed, because the comet is an extraordinary one… In any case, there’ll be a conscription…(He sighs.) Wise are Thy ways, O Lord! So all human endeavor will in actuality tend to a single end: there, in the celestial spheres, a comet runs its course, blood is shed at the ends of the earth, and in Krutogorsk it signifies a conscription plain and simple! (A knock at the door is heard.) Who’s there? VOICE OUTSIDE THE DOOR. It’s s me, sweetheart. FURNACHYOV. You may come in, Nastasya Ivanovna. (Enter NASTASYA IVANOVNA, a very buxom lady approaching middle-age; she is dressed casually in a fussy house-dress.) NASTASYA IVANOVNA. I came to see you, sweetheart. FURNACHYOV. What for, if you please, ma’am? NASTASYA IVANOVNA. I thought, sweetheart, that you’d locked yourself in to count money. FURNACHYOV (with repressed annoyance). A rational man never troubles himself with such rubbish, because he knows the progress of his affairs at any given moment… A rational man devotes his leisure time to intellectual colloquies with absent parties. (He indicates the Moscow Gazette.) NASTASYA IVANOVNA. You never count your money, I suppose? FURNACHYOV. What’s your pleasure, ma’am? NASTASYA IVANOVNA. Why, I just came to have a look at you, sweetheart, I sit all by my lonesome, with no kind of amusement for the soul. FURNACHYOV. There’ll be a comet soon. NASTASYA IVANOVNA. What do you mean, a comet? FURNACHYOV. A heavenly body, ma’am. It appears at times of trial and tribulation. There was one sighted in 1812…another one made an appearance in Moscow during the reign of Tsar Ivan the Terrible…a star with a tail trailing behind it… NASTASYA IVANOVNA. I wish there would be a comet or something—it’s so boring! FURNACHYOV. You women are all alike, ma’am: to you it’s only something to natter about, but what might come of it, were it even a national catastrophe—that far you don’t care to look. The old folks spoke truth: a woman is an inn full of chattering Jews. NASTASYA IVANOVNA. What are you bawling me out for, Semyon Semyonych? Of course, staring at a comet is better than sitting alone within four walls… You’d best tell me, were you at Daddy’s? FURNACHYOV. I was, ma’am. NASTASYA IVANOVNA. Well, what about it, is he dying? FURNACHYOV. He was about to die, when he suddenly returned to life and health. NASTASYA IVANOVNA (yawning). Goodness, what a bore! He’s been dying for a whole century now and he’s still not dead! Why doesn’t all this living get on his nerves! FURNACHYOV. And I tell you that your tongue’s merely flapping in the breeze. Of course, if Ivan Prokofych were to draw up a will in our favor… (Suddenly catching himself.) even then it would not be fitting to desire a parent’s death.

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NASTASYA IVANOVNA. As if you weren’t longing for Daddy’s death! I wish you’d stop talking morality whenever I’m around! FURNACHYOV. Morality, ma’am, is an adornment of human existence; a man devoid of morality is not a man but a beast!… Naturally, if respected Ivan Prokofych were to give up the ghost suddenly, that is, with no second thoughts, like the birds of the air, for instance, well, then of course, may Christ be with him. The man lived out his life and fulfilled his span! NASTASYA IVANOVNA. But all the same, you’re probably longing for Daddy’s death!…(She yawns.) And what good is the money to you? It only leads to sinning! FURNACHYOV. Money, ma’am, is needful to every man… Even the beggar standing in the street, money is needful to him: that’s why he holds out his hand in Christ’s name! NASTASYA IVANOVNA. Have you got any children? No. So you’re only grabbing for more, and you yourself probably don’t even know why. (FURNACHYOV buries himself in his paper.) I get disgusted just looking at you. What a mask you put on for Daddy’s sake, and all on account of the money! As if you had none of your own! Who will you leave it to when you die? (A FOOTMAN enters.) FOOTMAN. Anna Petrovna is here. FURNACHYOV. Show her in. (The FOOTMAN goes out.) You will please refrain from talking nonsense in her presence, ma’am. NASTASYA IVANOVNA. You should have married her. At least you’d make a nice matched set. (Enter ZHIVOYEDOVA, very neatly dressed in an open cloak and heavily rouged

and powdered; she is tall, stately and pleasingly plump.) ZHIVOYEDOVA. I had to come and see you, Nastasya Ivanovna. The other day your husband told me you weren’t feeling well…(They kiss.) NASTASYA IVANOVNA. Something in the pit of my stomach… FURNACHYOV. Something in the pit of her stomach all right! (To ZHIVOYEDOVA.) Yesterday, ma’am, she ate so much that she could barely breathe last night! ZHIVOYEDOVA. But, sir, you shouldn’t give her so much to eat! FURNACHYOV. Try and stop her, Anna Petrovna, just try I made an attempt, but only wasted my time to no purpose. And time, as you well know, is the sort of expenditure you can’t recoup. You can recoup any other kind of expenditure, but not time… NASTASYA IVANOVNA. Well, how are things at home, Anna Petrovna? ZHIVOYEDOVA. At home? I really don’t know how to tell you: one time it looks as if he has to die, another time as if he wants to live… I’ve tortured myself to death over him. FURNACHYOV. How lamentable it must be for you, respected Anna Petrovna, that a person who has been a, so to speak, benefactor to you since your childhood, should now be suffering before your very eyes. ZHIVOYEDOVA. You said it, Semyon Semyonych! Of course, it’s nothing to anyone else… FURNACHYOV. No, dear lady, don’t say that. To anyone,-even an unfeeling man, it’s lamentable!

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ZHIVOYEDOVA. Not everyone’s against me! Actually, sir, I’ve been living with him in sin since I was fifteen: my parents sold me to him when I was still a little girl!… Naturally, if there was a wil…. I haven’t a word to say, it’s all right, if there’s a will! Otherwise, sir, I won’t get anything but glory, noble birth or not! FURNACHYOV. But you should reason with Daddy, Anna Petrovna! ZHIVOYEDOVA. And how are you to reason with him! He lies there like a bump on a log, and so hard to please… I even threatened him: “You’re about to appear before the Heavenly Judge, Ivan Prokofych,” said I. “And he’ll ask you, who did you abandon Annushka to?” But he only laughed, sir. “I’ll still live another five years!” says he. And just the other day he took something else into his head: “Come over here, Annushka,” says he, “I want to look at you, at least…” Ach, nobody knows the troubles we’ve seen!… And there’s Andrei Nikolaich going around saying that God poured his grace upon me! FURNACHYOV. No question, respected lady! What a life you lead! You’re a lady in your prime, you should have a fiancé, for a fiancé is just what you need… Why, I often say to Nastasya Ivanovna: how does our respected Anna Petrovna manage it? She’s a bona fide martyr! NASTASYA IVANOVNA. That’s as true as true can be, Anna Petrovna! I may be Daddy’s daughter, but I wouldn’t put up with such torment on this earth for anything. FURNACHYOV. Never mind, God is merciful, you’ll get your reward… Remember, ma’am, God in his Heaven looks after those who labor. ZHIVOYEDOVA. That’s as may be…fine, if what you say is true, Semyon Semyonych. Otherwise I may have to go to strangers in my old age! FURNACHYOV. Don’t say such things, ma’am. God sees keenly who is worthy of what, and virtuous people have always received their just deserts in this world and the next. I can deduce this from my own case. ZHIVOYEDOVA. Fine, if that’s so, Semyon Semyonych, otherwise there’s that Prokofy Ivanych thinking I caused all the ruction between them; so he’d tear the last shirt off my back when the time comes, most likely… And is it really my fault? Is it really my fault that the old man didn’t want to stay a country bumpkin and tried to force his son to change his ways? Didn’t I tell Prokofy Ivanych at the time: give up your whiskbroom! Don’t marry that Mavrushka! But he wouldn’t follow good advice, he decided the very next day to go to the bathhouse with his bride. “It’s an old Russian custom,” says he. Honestly, it would make a cat laugh! FURNACHYOV. Yes, our beloved brother is a trifle pigheaded. ZHIVOYEDOVA. Just bear in mind, he’s got a son, his son holds office too, he serves on commissions for the Governor!… Well, when he—the Governor—learned about this scandal, he asks Gavryushenka, “Whose father is this, that without shame or anything, goes to the bathhouse in that obscene manner?” And then the young man would have liked the earth to open up and swallow him with the disgrace! NASTASYA IVANOVNA. It’s downright nasty just to look at that Prokofy, Anna Petrovna darling. Just the other day I was in church, and in front of everybody he up and kissed me—I almost burned up with shame… You understand, Anna Petrovna, I’m a State Councilor’s wife, I’m welcome in the best homes, and suddenly such an affront!

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ZHIVOYEDOVA. He really did it for spite, ma’am. He looks to be so humble, but he knows when to be spiteful! NASTASYA IVANOVNA. That’s what I say too, but Semyon Semyonych here refuses to believe me…if it weren’t for Semyon Semyonych, I think I would have spit in his beard long ago. FURNACHYOV. Hypers ensitivity, Nasta sya Ivan ovna, oft en le ads t o ruin. Who can foresee the hidden ways in which Providence leads one? In my opinion, respected Anna Petrovna, man is the most unfortunate creature under the sun. He’s born and he weeps, he dies and he weeps. Consequently, Nastasya Ivanovna, we must bear our burdens meekly. Am I right? ZHIVOYEDOVA. That’s so true, Semyon Semyonych. FURNACHYOV. In the he at of y ou r em otions, N astasya Ivanovna, you would have spit in Prokofy Ivanych’s beard, and who knows? It may happen that very beard might come in handy. Man, in his vainglory, sometimes undertakes things which he subsequently repents bitterly, but the folk adage does not run in vain: “Don’t spit in the well, you may have to drink from it…” Perhaps respected Prokofy Ivanych is the very well of which the proverb speaks? And how will you look, ma’am, if you then have to drink from him? NASTASYA IVANOVNA. What is it with you, sweetheart? The things you say are so boring! They put me to sleep. FURNACHYOV. Utilitarian truths are always boring to listen to, ma’am. Only the chatter of fashionable flibberty-gibbets caresses a woman’s ear pleasantly. But though truth be ever so unattractive, it compensates by being salutary. Am I right, most respected Anna Petrovna? ZHIVOYEDOVA. You speak so wisely, Semyon Semyonych. FURNACHYOV (with a condescending smile). Well now, let us speak more plainly… So far as the will is concerned, dear lady, I’m of the opinion that Ivan Prokofich won’t make one, and Prokofy Ivanych will probably, in the natural course of events, achieve his desires. ZHIVOYEDOVA. He’ll tear the shirt off my back, Semyon Semyonych! FURNACHYOV. That may very well be, ma’am. ZHIVOYEDOVA. Can’t you advise me how to prevent it? FURNACHYOV. I had intended to discuss this subject with you frankly, Anna Petrovna. NASTASYA IVANOVNA. I’m to leave, I suppose? FURNACHYOV. You might leave us, Nastasya Ivanovna…we won’t be long. (NASTASYA IVANOVNA exits.) FURNACHYOV (closing the door securely). I’d like to have a heart-to-heart talk with you, Anna Petrovna. ZHIVOYEDOVA. Go ahead, Semyon Semyonych, please speak out. FURNACHYOV (in an undertone). I wonder, ma’am, whether we mightn’t… (He goes once more to the door and after making sure that no one is behind it, returns.) We both seem to be in agreement on this score, that there is little hope for a will; in fact in his mind, drawing up a will means dying—they’re one and the same thing. So it seems there’s no escaping the fact that sooner or later Prokofy Ivanych will end up with everything…

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ZHIVOYEDOVA. At all appearances, sir, that’s where things are heading. FURNACHYOV. Suppose you just reflect, dear Anna Petrovna, on the sort of consequences this situation will hold for you… Firstly, he’ll turn you out of the house that very minute… ZHIVOYEDOVA. Ugh, dearie, it’s better not to say it! FURNACHYOV. No, ma’am, it’s always worthwhile to hear the truth. No doubt he’ll throw you out—that’s the first thing. You realize, respected lady, what your life will be like then! You’re a pampered person, used to eating dainty dishes and lolling about in feather-beds, and this, that and the other… What will it be like, ma’am, when you suddenly have no place to lay your head? How will you like it when, some pitchdark night or frosty winter’s day, you’re forced to go out in, pardon the expression, your petticoat, begging shelter for yourself in Christ’s name? ZHIVOYEDOVA. Ugh, saints alive, why do you bring up such dreadful, dreadful things! Can that really happen? FURNACHYOV. It can, ma’am, and it will happen without fail… But let us proceed. Secondly, I daresay you’ve given occasional thought to lawful matrimony. ZHIVOYEDOVA (pensively). It would be nice, Semyon Semyonych, how nice it would be! If you would take some trouble over me, an orphan, and suggest somebody in the civil service… FURNACHYOV. That can be done, ma’am. I am personally acquainted with the considerable sweetness that resides in the state of wedlock… Only you shouldn’t wed just anyone, you require a man of substance, ma’am… Ah, but a man of substance requires the kind of spouse who can pull her own weight. Physical beauty decays, Anna Petrovna. We shall die and what then will be left of it, of this beauty? It’s horrible to say so—only dust! Spiritual beauty undoubtedly, is also a capital thing, but the corruption of our age is such that moral charms also stand mute before the mutability of standards… Therefore, a man of substance requires ready money, ma’am. ZHIVOYEDOVA. I’m aware of this, Semyon Semyonych. I’m well aware of it. FURNACHYOV. Then if you’re aware how things stand, you know the problem lies in the means of procuring sufficient funds, and it is that subject I now intend to discuss with you. (Once again he walks over to the door, peers out into the next room and returns. In an undertone.) In what location, ma’am, does Ivan Prokofich keep the strongbox with his fortune? ZHIVOYEDOVA. Why, you know that yourself, Semyon Semyonych. The strongbox is in his bedchamber, under the bed. FURNACHYOV. That, ma’am, is no good. (Considering.) And Ivan Prokofich often checks up on it himself? ZHIVOYEDOVA. Every day, sir. Poor darling, he’s really happy only when he’s counting his money! It’s daybreak, he hasn’t washed yet, but he’s already shouting, “Annushka! Gimme my strongbox!” Yes, and the last thing before going to sleep too. FURNACHYOV. And that is no good either, ma’am. Allow me, however… Since Ivan Prokofich happens to be infirm and consequently hasn’t the vigor to crawl under the bed himself. it would appear therefore that somebody else has to carry out this task… ZHIVOYEDOVA. I do the clambering, sir.

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FURNACHYOV. And since, owing to most respected Ivan Prokofich’s selfsame infirmity, you cannot help but be present while he goes through the act of checking up… ZHIVOYEDOVA. I’m present, Semyon Semyonych, it’s true I’m present. Only lately he’s started to get sort of cagey, he can’t send me away, so he always says, “Turn around, Annushka,” says he, “or close your eyes…” FURNACHYOV. No doubt, you don’t see what he’s doing? ZHIVOYEDOVA (sighing). How can I help seeing, Semyon Semyonych!… FURNACHYOV. No doubt, you can provide me with the necessary information… For instance, how large a fortune has our most respected Ivan Prokofich? ZHIVOYEDOVA. Large, sir, large…you can’t even imagine how large it is… Why, I guess it must be a million or two… FURNACHYOV. You may indeed make such a guess, ma’am. Ivan Prokofich is a respectable man; he earned his bread by the sweat of his brow, so to speak. He subdued his human arrogance and became like unto the industrious ant… It isn’t everyone who can display such self-control, Anna Petrovna, for it is precisely there that the spirit manifested its victory over the flesh. In any case, dear lady, I daresay you were sufficiently curious to ascertain the kind of bills most of Ivan Prokofich’s fortune is in? That is, cash or notes; and if notes, payable to individuals or to bearer? ZHIVOYEDOVA. Most to bearer, Semyon Semyonych! But there are a few to individuals. FURNACHYOV. That’s good, ma’am…(In a playful tone.) Well, in my opinion, most respected Anna Petrovna, “the moral to the story is this!” At the first opportunity you will get us an impression of the key or the lock, with which “this ponderous chest” is secured. ZHIVOYEDOVA. What do you mean, Semyon Semyonych, an impression? I don’t quite understand. FURNACHYOV. Why, ma’am, you take a little piece of softened wax, and you do like so, ma’am…(He demonstrates with his hand.) ZHIVOYEDOVA (pensively). But what if he sees me? FURNACHYOV. You will do it under the bed, ma’am. There’s nothing complicated about it—you can do it in the dark. ZHIVOYEDOVA. But somehow it scares me, Semyon Semyonych. Mine is woman’s work, I’m not used to this… Why, what if he sees me? Where would I hide the little impression? FURNACHYOV. He can’t see you, ma’am. You are ignoring the facts of life if you think that while lying in the bed, he can see what’s going on beneath it… Human eyesight, ma’am, has prescribed limits; it can’t penetrate through an opaque mass. ZHIVOYEDOVA. But, Semyon Semyonych, I still can’t overcome my feminine frailty… I’m afraid I’ll tremble all over as I’m doing it. And what if he asks me in the meantime: “What are you trembling for, Annushka? Have you been and robbed me?” Where will I hide then? I’d be awfully glad to do it, Semyon Semyonych, but mine is woman’s work—that’s all there is to it! FURNACHYOV (aside). Stupid female! (Aloud.) If he asks you such a question, you might say you were upset by the strain…such an answer would only serve to cheer him up, ma’am.

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ZHIVOYEDOVA (timidly). Well, and then what, Semyon Semyonych? FURNACHYOV. Why then, ma’am, we’ll order a duplicate key, and as soon as he’s dying… However, ma’am, there’s no way to specify the details beforehand—it will all depend on the moment. ZHIVOYEDOVA. But why a duplicate key! When he dies we could take the real one off him… FURNACHYOV. In the first place, it’s a sin to disturb the dead… We can look after our own interests, but why commit a sin, ma’am? In the second place, you never can tell. Perhaps we may have to turn the trick during his lifetime, that is, during his last moments…you follow me? ZHIVOYEDOVA (timidly). But what about the money? FURNACHYOV. On that score you can trust to my conscience, ma’am. Our labors are shared, therefore the fruits of our labor ought to be shared. ZHIVOYEDOVA. That’s right, Semyon Semyonych… Somehow it still scares me…like that impression…and all the rest. FURNACHYOV. None of that, Anna Petrovna…you simply don’t understand what’s for your own good…(A knock at the door.) Who’s there? NASTASYA IVANOVNA’S VOICE. Are you through, sweetheart? May I come in? FURNACHYOV (to ZHIVOYEDOVA). You will do this, most respected Anna Petrovna!… You may come in, Nastasya Ivanovna, we’re finished! (NASTASYA IVANOVNA re-enters). NASTASYA IVANOVNA. Did you have a nice chat? Well now, Anna Petrovna darling, there’s nothing keeping you from having a bite to eat. FURNACHYOV. For pity’s sake, ma’am, it hasn’t been that long since you had dinner—and now you’re eating again! It’s really no joke the way you overeat! ZHIVOYEDOVA. But, dearie, it’s healthy! NASTASYA IVANOVNA. That’s just what I keep telling him… And it’s really so boring again, Anna Petrovna! You open up a book and you fall asleep! The writers these days are so boring. You sit looking out the window—and except for my little doggy Trésor, you don’t see a living soul. I wish a regiment were stationed in our town! But the only way to have a bit of fun is to eat. ZHIVOYEDOVA. You don’t have to buy food, I hope! NASTASYA IVANOVNA. No, darling, now that Antip Petrovich has closed down his firm, we have to buy flour too…(Sighs.) Life was certainly better in the days of Antip Petrovich’s firm: first, the flour and all the provisions were free of charge, and second, some of his hogs were fattened on branmash! ZHIVOYEDOVA. But isn’t it true what they say, dearie, that a hog’s flesh sort of gets tough on mash? NASTASYA IVANOVNA (sighing). Of course, I don’t dare lie, Anna Petrovna, darling, a mashfed hog isn’t always an improvement over a corn-fed one… (Sighs.) But it was so tasty and toothsome! ZHIVOYEDOVA. Naturally you don’t look a gift horse in the mouth… Shall we go and have a bite to eat, dearie? I shouldn’t wonder the old man’s been pining away for me this long while. FURNACHYOV. Suit yourself, ma’am. (They leave. FURNACHYOV is alone.)

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FURNACHYOV. Well, it looks as if, with God’s help, this affair is settled… And Nastasya Ivanovna says: why pile up money? Stupid female! Every man needs money. With money anything can make itself into a man, but without money, a man turns into a thing. Good Lord! How long ago it seems, how long ago! How long since I was a barefoot boy wearing nothing but a smock, driving the geese to my father’s home! How long since I was a clerk in the county courthouse, running to the tavern to fetch vodka for my superiors, and as reward for all my pains got no thanks, but just a smack! And how they did smack! I wish they’d taken aim where it was fleshier, but no, simply wherever their hand fell—I can still feel it smart! And now, how odd to think of it! The soles of my feet have grown tender, my body white, smooth, pampered… And they still ask, why do you need money? What do they mean, why? I’ll borrow a bit more here, then I’ll go to Petersburg, launch into taxfarming, and then who knows what role Fate has chosen me to play? Just the other day Vasily Ivanych wrote me from Petersburg that recently they almost made a minister out of a taxfarmer… Why not, that’s proper! For a taxfarmer—why, he’s learned all the ins and outs by heart, like saying his prayers! Well, what if I too…? No, better chase that thought away!… Well, but what if?… There have been similar cases! (Plunges into meditation.) Or else I’ll cast off worldly vanity, retire from business, and stand in the lobby of the State Senate with my hands full of mortgages, lying in wait for the easy money… I repeat, I don’t want to go into business, I’ve a sufficiency, by the grace of God, but we won’t shrink from easy money, sir…heh, heh, heh!… I’ve already made State Councilor, even though I began in the devil knows what kind of rank…it embarrasses me to say it! And all that money! Anna Petrovna was saying the old man has two million—well, let’s assume at least a million and a half… Minus two hundred…no a hundred and ninety thousand “made out” to Prokofy… So what, that’s plenty for him! A hundred rubles will do for dealing in shawls and calico prints! And as much again in deeds and securities and real estate! And it’s all Prokofy’s…more than enough! Then, ten thousand to Zhivoyedova for services rendered…the remainder…(A FOOTMAN enters) Well, what is it now? FOOTMAN (confidentially). Prokofy Ivanych is here. FURNACHYOV. Ach, has Anna Petrovna gone yet? FOOTMAN. No, sir. FURNACHYOV. Ach, good Lord! Keep that fellow Prokofy away, my man, keep ‘im away. Tell him to wait in the kitchen, until that witch has gone. (The FOOTMAN bows his way out.) Now what can he want with me? ZHIVOYEDOVA (appearing in the doorway). Good-bye, Semyon Semyonych, time for me to go home. FURNACHYOV. Good-bye, ma’am. Our regards to Ivan Prokofich… Tell him that night and day we address prayers on his behalf to the throne of the Most High. (ZHIVOYEDOVA exits.) What can he want with me? (PROKOFY IVANYCH enters. Without saying a word, he bows several times.) FURNACHYOV. Greetings, dear friend! You mustn’t complain that I kept you waiting. Anna Petrovna was here. Besides, my kitchen is very comfortable. PROKOFY IVANYCH. Don’t mention it please, your honor! FURNACHYOV. Well, what’s new?

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PROKOFY IVANYCH. We’re benighted folk, your honor. Sitting in the shop all day long… Even if there is news, it’s the most nonsensical kind, you might say… FURNACHYOV. You may take a seat, dear fellow. PROKOFY IVANYCH. No, permit me to stand, your honor… FURNACHYOV (aside). He must want something from me! (Aloud.) As you like, dear fellow, I won’t insist… Have you heard that a new comet has appeared? PROKOFY IVANYCH. That’s so, sir. Dementy Petrovich writes us from Moscow that there’s to be a star…there’s a heap of rumors about it, you know, among the common folk. FURNACHYOV. Which Dementy Petrovich is that? Not the one that used to sell standins for draftees? PROKOFY IVANYCH. The very same, sir. FURNACHYOV. I know, he had connections in the recruiting office… A solid fellow! PROKOFY IVANYCH. He’s involved in big business these day’s… Nowadays, they say, there’s trouble and strife over the stand-in racket… FURNACHYOV. No, why’s that? Anything’s possible nowadays! It’s never anybody but blasphemers who spread rumors that nowadays the world seems to be turned upside-down, but it’s all the same as it was before! Is it true that this Dementy is a “heretic?” PROKOFY IVANYCH (thinking it over). Yes sir, your honor…he…kind of… cleaves to the old-fashioned customs… FURNACHYOV. Nothing to brag about. He’ll die like a dog, unshriven. What else does he write? PROKOFY IVANYCH. What does he write, sir? He writes that there’s bound to be a great upheaval, more or less, so’s you might even think the end of the world is upon us. FURNACHYOV. Well, and what do you think? PROKOFY IVANYCH. What’s it to do with us, your honor! We’re a kind of worm, so to speak, on this earth, and even a worm is a heap more excellent than us… We even stand under our father’s wrath. FURNACHYOV. Come here (PROKOFY IVANYCH walks over.) Do you see this table? PROKOFY IVANYCH. I see it, your honor. FURNACHYOV. Well, if I take this table from here and stand it against the wall, will that mean that doomsday is upon us? What do you think? PROKOFY IVANYCH. Why do you suppose it should be doomsday? FURNACHYOV. Precisely…now, instead of the table, take the star and move it from east to west—does it follow that the world is coming to an end? PROKOFY IVANYCH. Christ alone knows, your honor! We don’t talk such rubbish ourselves… That’s only what they wrote us. FURNACHYOV. Here’s what I say to that: for such outlandish talk they ought to be exiled to Siberia… And if you realize it’s rubbish, scorn it, and don’t circulate it in public! Is there anything else you want? PROKOFY IVANYCH (hesitantly). I came to your honor for some advice. FURNACHYOV. Well? PROKOFY IVANYCH. This is what we’ve decided…concerning our pappy’s wishes…we got to submit…

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FURNACHYOV (involuntarily alarmed). How’s that again? What were you saying, dear fellow? PROKOFY IVANYCH. Just that, sir: there’s no way for us to live without our father’s blessing. FURNACHYOV. So then, I suppose you’ll part with your adornment? (He points to the beard.) PROKOFY IVANYCH. For pity’s sake, your honor! FURNACHYOV. You’ll put on a swallow-tail coat and brush your hair á la Satan…come and show yourself off here first, my lad. PROKOFY IVANYCH. For pity’s sake, your honor. if we didn’t have… FURNACHYOV. Never mind, my dear friend, it’s a good deed. One must respect a parent’s wishes. However, if you’re bothering on account of the inheritance, it’s all for naught. Papa made his will only yesterday (Aside.) That’ll scare him! PROKOFY IVANYCH (conspirotorially). It’s on that very subject I’m desirous to speak with your honor. FURNACHYOV. Speak away, my lad, speak away. PROKOFY IVANYCH. Here’s what I have to say, your honor. If there were no will, I’d make it worth the while of the man who undertook the job of making sure. FURNACHYOV. That’s reasonable… How, for instance? PROKOFY IVANYCH. Well, for instance, if there was a million, then a hundred thousand… FURNACHYOV (aside). It’s not a bad idea, the crafty fox!… If proposed to a greedy fellow, he’d probably pull it off! And to think they don’t take him seriously! (Aloud.) No, tack on another fifty thousand. PROKOFY IVANYCH. Well, I might tack on another fifty thousand. FURNACHYOV. And how will you guarantee that your promise isn’t written in water? PROKOFY IVANYCH. Can it be you don’t believe me, your honor?… I’m ready to swear by whatever icon you please to take off the wall… FURNACHYOV. Yes, yes…so you’ve definitely decided to shave off your beard? PROKOFY IVANYCH. Yes sir, it’s our firm intention. FURNACHYOV (staring him fixedly in the face). What do you take me for? PROKOFY IVANYCH (dumbfounded). For pity’s sake, your honor…. FURNACHYOV. No, you tell me, what do you take me for? If you came here to suggest that I betray the esteemed old man to whom I am indebted, so to speak, from my head to my heels, no doubt you take me for something? If you came to tell me how you plan to change your religion, no doubt you hope to meet with my approval? What do you take me for? (Stepping up to him.) No, you tell me! PROKOFY IVANYCH. For pity’s sake, your honor… FURNACHYOV. No, you’ll go all over town bragging that I’m on your side! Tomorrow you’ll strip off your beard and go tell your unspeakable in-laws that State Councilor Furnachyov egged you on to such behavior!…(Crossing his arms over his chest and stepping even closer to him.) So no doubt you intend to rob your family? No doubt you intend to rob your only son and give away your father’s estate, amassed by his sweat and blood…yes, my good sir, sweat and blood!—to be desecrated by any wench you take a notion to call your wife? And you want me to be your accomplice in such an affair? You want me, for your benefit, to betray my honor and my conscience,

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which I have served for fifty years free of charge!…(Dignified.) Sir, there is in me an unsmirchable safety device that makes me proof against such insinuations!… Get out! (PROKOFY IVANYCH is about to withdraw, when, at that moment, the door opens, and LOBASTOV enters.) LOBASTOV. Our deepest respects to Semyon Semyonych! Ah! So you’re here too, Prokofy Ivanych, lad? FURNACHYOV. Most glad, most glad, your excellency! Be so kind! An amusing incident just took place here… (PROKOFY IVANYCH tries to leave.) FURNACHYOV. No, dear friend, do stay now! I want the whole world to learn what sort of moral scruples you have! PROKOFY IVANYCH (plaintively). For pity’s sake, your honor… I’m an old man already! FURNACHYOV. All the more shame on you, sir. A young man might plead inexperience… LOBASTOV (hesitantly). Ye-es?…something seems to have happened…? FURNACHYOV. Imagine: our most respected well-wisher came to me with a proposition concerning the death of our esteemed Ivan Prokofich! What do you think, is that proper behavior on the part of a respectful son? (PROKOFY IVANYCH hangs his head.) LOBASTOV (looking fixedly into PROKOFY IVANYCH’s face). Ye-es? So that’s what you’re like, lad? (PROKOFY IVANYCH turns away.) No, you look me in the face! FURNACHYOV. And imagine: for this connivance he offers me a hundred and fifty thousand… It’s laughable, a hundred and fifty thousand! (To PROKOFY IVANYCH, with a sense of his own worth.) What do you take me for, sir, may I ask? LOBASTOV (to PROKOFY IVANYCH). That wasn’t a bad idea of yours, lad!… Ahem!…a swine, lad, that’s what you are. FURNACHYOV. Well now, your excellency, what do you think of the behavior of this respectful son? Incidentally, I forgot to tell you the main thing: starting tomorrow, our most respected Prokofy Ivanych is going to shave off his beard and wear a short jacket!… PROKOFY IVANYCH (aside). Oh Lord!… FURNACHYOV (turns to PROKOFY IVANYCH). My good sir! The immorality of your behavior is so flagrant that I consider it loathsome to call myself your relation… Begone, my good sir, and remember that virtue is as honorable and praiseworthy as vice is ignoble and indecent. Curtain ACT III A rather spacious drawing-room in old PAZUKHIN’S home. There are doors center and to the audience’s right; to the audience’s left, three windows. At the back of the stage, on either side of the doors, stand divans with round tables in front of them. Along the walls and beside the divans are arranged easy chairs and straight chairs, upholstered in crimson fabric. On the whole, the decor of the room testifies to the wealth of its owner. Morning. Snacks are laid out on one of the tables. LOBASTOV and ZHIVOYEDOVA are discovered.

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LOBASTOV (eating). What’s this about a wax impression, ma’am? ZHIVOYEDOVA. It’s of the key or the lock that goes to the strong-box… Then, says he, I’ll have another key made to order in its very shape and likeness, and as soon as the old man is about to die, you let me know, on the sly… LOBASTOV. And I’ll come over, said he, I’ll open the strongbox with the key, and take out my share… ZHIVOYEDOVA. That’s right, sir! LOBASTOV. And the money’s to be divided equally? ZHIVOYEDOVA. The way I see it, the money should be divided equally, but the Lord alone knows what’s going on in his heart… I don’t trust him! LOBASTOV. You spoke truth there, ma’am—another man’s heart is a shadowy part. And I don’t think there’s any doubt about it in this case. ZHIVOYEDOVA. So you think he’ll probably cheat me? LOBASTOV. What else? Can’t you figure out, sweetheart, how he’ll settle accounts with you? If you were still personally uninvolved, if you weren’t mixed up in this business every which way, well then, you might be able to deal with him. But just imagine how it’ll be. Well, you confront him and say: give me half. And he’ll come back with: no, he’ll say, half’s too much, but here’s a blue five-ruble note for your tea… ZHIVOYEDOVA. What do you mean, five rubles! LOBASTOV. Let’s assume that’s what you say to him, and he comes back with: That’ll be plenty for you! he’ll say. ZHIVOYEDOVA. Then I’ll fix his wagon, sir, I’ll reveal everything to the heirs. My tongue’s not bought and paid for. LOBASTOV. Let’s assume you explain that to him. You know what he’ll answer, ma’am? He’ll say, “Your own tail’s in the mud.” He’ll say, “I merely took the money, but you had the duplicate key made. Would you like us to go to prison together?” And he might up the price five rubles. So do you want to go to prison? ZHIVOYEDOVA. Perish the thought! Why do you always keep harping on the five rubles, sir—speak the facts! LOBASTOV. The fact is, ma’am, that Semyon Semyonych is a man of immense intellect! ZHIVOYEDOVA (ruefully). Well, why don’t you at least suggest something, Andrei Nikolaich. Honestly, you’re quite a changed man. LOBASTOV. Ma’am, a man must be pure in heart to put up defenses against Semyon Semyonych’s machinations. ZHIVOYEDOVA. Well, I still haven’t given him the wax…(Sighing.) Of course, I could give up the project! LOBASTOV. Why so, ma’am? It’s a good project, all it needs is insurance. You did well to tell me about it, Anna Petrovna, because I can do a great deal… But did you mention this to anybody else, in your feminine frailty? ZHIVOYEDOVA. God forbid! LOBASTOV. That’s all right then. Well, here’s what we’ll do first! When Ivan Prokofich is about to die, send somebody right away to whisper it to Semyon Semyonych and myself on the sly…yes, but to me just a bit sooner.

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ZHIVOYEDOVA. You know what I’ve been thinking: why let Semyon Semyonych know at all, then the two of us could do it? LOBASTOV. You mean steal, ma’am? ZHIVOYEDOVA. No, not steal—honest to goodness, the things you say, sir! Stealing is stealing, the words you use! Not steal, but take advantage. LOBASTOV. I can’t, ma’am, it’s a sin, ma’am. ZHIVOYEDOVA. What do you mean, a sin? LOBASTOV (interrupting her). A sin, dear lady ZHIVOYEDOVA. Well, all right, let Semyon Semyonych have a try. Only please don’t the two of you gang up and swindle me all of a sudden. Remember, Andrei Nikolaich, I’m just an orphan, and my woman’s brain can’t understand these matters. So don’t you cheat me! LOBASTOV. I wouldn’t cheat you, dear lady, it doesn’t pay. But just you deal me a third. ZHIVOYEDOVA (sighing). What can I do with you! Still, it’s better than if he tossed me a blue five-ruble note! (A bell is rung behind the door.) ZHIVOYEDOVA. Ssh! He’s calling! Do stay here, Andrei Nikolaich, cheer the old man up! (She exits.) LOBASTOV. I’ll stay dear lady, I’ll stay. (Alone.) So you wanted to put one over on me, Prokopka you clodhopper! You thought you’d cook up something with Semyon! But God punished you for it. Now we’ll see who fleeces who! However, we’ll have to act harshly Let Semyon expose him to his father… Well, this time it looks like you won’t wriggle out of my clutches, Gavrilo Prokofich! No, my lad, now you have to put your pride in your pocket, you can shout for help to your heart’s delight and beg us to let you off!… Ech, Lenochka! It’s all for your sake, Miss, I’m working in my old age! (ZHIVOYEDOVA re-enters.) ZHIVOYEDOVA. He’ll be here in a minute… LOBASTOV. Well, how is he today? ZHIVOYEDOVA. Cheerful, sir, merry… ZHIVNOVSKY (appearing in the doorway). Most respected Lady Bountiful, I’m here just for a second. ZHIVOYEDOVA. What do you mean, just for a second. It’s only your tongue saying a second. You hang around here often enough! ZHIVNOVSKY. All right, I’m leaving, ma’am. LOBASTOV. Don’t be silly, my dear fellow, guests can’t leave without a bite of something… Let’s have a drink! ZHIVNOVSKY. Your excellency, I never turn down such offers. To my way of thinking, it would be impolite. LOBASTOV. Stop talking—let’s have a drink. ZHIVNOVSKY (to ZHIVOYEDOVA). Your health, Lady Bountiful. May God make you round and righteous and rich, and give you such a little hubby…that sparks will shoot out of his eyes! (He drinks.) LOBASTOV. Ho, you scamp! (He laughs.) That’s some husband he wished on her: with sparks shooting out! Ho, ho, Lieutenant!

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ZHIVOYEDOVA. What won’t you say next, you gadabout! Well, sit down a spell. Here’s Ivan Prokofich now, so you can entertain the old man. (The side doors fly open, and from the next room, two footmen wheel in a large, high armchair. In the chair, sunk into the cushions, lies IVAN PROKOFICH, a gaunt, enfeebled old man. He is wearing a dressing-gown, his legs enswathed in a fur laprug; he is holding a cane, with which he pensively scribbles on the lap-rug. The footmen, having rolled the chair to the center of the room, retire.) LOBASTOV. And here he is, right on cue! Greetings, Ivan Prokofich, lad! How did you sleep, sir? Did you have pleasant dreams? IVAN PROKOFICH (in a feeble voice). Badly, Andrei Nikolaich, all I did was toss and turn. I’m feeling a bit easier now, but from sunset to sunrise this morning I was in a sort of daze. ZHIVNOVSKY. Stop, benefactor, you’ll live for years yet. And we wish you health to enjoy them. (He goes over to the food and takes another drink.) IVAN PROKOFICH. My lad, I can’t even feel anything. A short while back I failed to recognize Annushka. LOBASTOV. That’s bad, sir. ZHIVOYEDOVA. I’ll say it’s bad! (In a tearful voice.) The other day I came over to him with a spoon, and he, the darling, looks at me and says, “You go away and send me Annushka!” My heart just flipped right over! ZHIVNOVSKY. You’re absolutely right there, Anna Petrovna, my love! I’ve been present at so many deathbeds—and yet I just can’t get used to it…you know, my heart always flips over in my bosom. IVAN PROKOFICH. In your case, it probably turns inside out! What’s new, Andrei Nikolaich? LOBASTOV. What’s the news, sir? In the papers now they’re all writing about some kind of star. IVAN PROKOFICH. That star’s not here for nothing, my lad. LOBASTOV. That’s how the rumor runs among the people, but you know yourself how such hogwash always catches on among the common folk. ZHIVOYEDOVA. You ought to ask Prokofy Ivanych: he could explain it. IVAN PROKOFICH. True, my lad, he’s an expert at that sort of thing… Did you ever hear him interpret the number 666? ZHIVNOVSKY. It means, benefactor, that vodka’s going to go up in price… all the better for you! IVAN PROKOFICH. You’ve solved it! LOBASTOV. What’s a comet, sir! Here’s something better than a comet: I was already a colonel, commanding a battalion, sir, when Prince Semiozersky was still stationed at his mother’s apron-strings, and now I read in the papers he’s been promoted to general, sir! That’s a lot more peculiar than a comet! IVAN PROKOFICH. Well, isn’t there anything else going on! LOBASTOV. Fedulov was promoted from colonel to general too. IVAN PROKOFICH. Who’s this Fedulov? The quartermaster? LOBASTOV. The very one!

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IVAN PROKOFICH. Well, he deserves it. A fine fellow! I used to supply him with goods, sir, and I didn’t lose a wink of sleep over it. I’d send him his order, and he’d accept it with his eyes shut. LOBASTOV. On the other hand, the supplies they used to palm off on our battalion commander… Good grief! IVAN PROKOFICH. You came out all right, brother! ZHIVNOVSKY. Of course it came out all right, benefactor! During my stint in the Beloborodsky hussars regiment, I’d sometimes chance to be the one to receive the supplies—you wouldn’t have believed your eyes! As full of holes as a sieve—but it came out all right! But then, let me add, it came out all right because adjustment played an important part! They’ll pull in their bellies, y’know, snatch something here, pinch off something there, and manage to build a building out of dust! IVAN PROKOFICH. You seem to know a lot about adjustment, my lad! ZHIVNOVSKY. What don’t I know, benefactor! Only the Prince didn’t appreciate me, or else he would have known I’d shine as a police chief! Just you ask what I haven’t got experience in! ZHIVOYEDOVA. Describe some of it, cheer up Ivan Prokofich in return for his hospitality. ZHIVNOVSKY (assuming a pose). For instance, benefactor, have you heard what it’s like to persecute Jews? Why, sir, I’ve not only heard, but I know the racket in every detail, because it cost me two hundred souls of my own blood ancestors! LOBASTOV. Attaboy, lad! ZHIVNOVSKY. For instance, have you heard what it’s like to abduct a woman from her living husband…and without any consent on her part? Why, sir, I’ve not only heard, but tried it and was tried for it! ZHIVOYEDOVA. And for good reason, sir! Abducting a woman against her will—how low can you get! ZHIVNOVSKY. Have you heard what it’s like to inflict corporal punishment on a merchant of the third guild, also against his will? Why, sir, I’ve done so and didn’t even answer for it, because the merchant very prudently agreed to take two hundred from me in settlement… IVAN PROKOFICH. I’d say the merchant turned out to be a fool. Another wouldn’t have let you escape for less than two thousand. ZHIVNOVSKY. And have you heard what it’s like to give your own father as a recruit…? LOBASTOV. You’re lying now, lad! That’s a famous incident…don’t slander yourself! ZHIVNOVSKY (not at all embarrassed). Let us continue, sir. Have you heard…? ZHIVOYEDOVA. Well, dearie, you’d better stop there, I figure. You’ll blurt out something a woman’s ears have no right to hear. ZHIVNOVSKY. Yet here I stand, as you see, hale and hearty! IVAN PROKOFICH. Well, I suppose you’ve had your drubbings too? ZHIVNOVSKY. If I have had drubbings, it was Fate, not people, who gave them to me, Ivan Prokofich! Fate never pitied me, that’s true, and you might say she wrote down every trifling fault… Maybe that’s why I never got to be a police chief! (He twirls his moustache and sighs.) IVAN PROKOFICH. Maybe you could set up a persecution here?

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ZHIVNOVSKY. It’s as God wills, Ivan Prokofich! LOBASTOV. Why don’t you tell us how you visited everywhere there is, lad? ZHIVNOVSKY. That’s absolutely right! (He assumes another pose.) Where, oh where haven’t I visited! Sir, I was in the southern provinces—I assure you, the fair sex scores high! You meet with such maitresses, sir, that you only have to take them by the hand and they melt clean away! I was in the Ukraine too. Well, the fruit scores high there: such musk-melons, you can’t imagine! The Ukeys there eat them instead of bread, munch ‘em with lard… I was also in Petersburg, sir—well, it…’s really a wonderful sort of place! There I heard the violinist Apollinari—he plays fantastically! You feel that he can depict every emotion on a single string! ZHIVOYEDOVA. That’s the kind of man a husband should be! ZHIVNOVSKY. Only it stinks of Germans there—I can’t stand their sort! They’d walk around all shrivelled, buttoned up tight in their little overcoats—what a disgrace, sir! IVAN PROKOFICH. You flatter them! ZHIVNOVSKY. And there’s a lot of swindling too. You can’t make out who’s a tradesman and who’s a nobleman, who’s clever and who’s a fool. When it comes to cleverness, this is the kind of stunt they pull, believe me: they sit like this and puff themselves out, don’t even blink an eye, as if they were thinking… But it’s only make believe, sir, because instead of heads, they’ve got rockpiles on their shoulders! It’s the truth, sir! LOBASTOV. Ha, ha, ha! Indeed it is! ZHIVNOVSKY. And there’s no fresher spot on earth than the fair at Nizhegorod! There’s nothing they haven’t got! Gypsy girls, Tyrolean girls! In one corner they’re singing hymns, in another “Hey, you lancers!” A regular Tower of Babel in living pictures! I assure you, I once lived there a whole week and wasn’t sober a single minute! IVAN PROKOFICH. And after such a life, he wound up in Krutogorsk! He comes to merchants’ houses and begs for an old overcoat! Anna Petrovna, give him that beat-up old coat that’s lying around somewhere… ZHIVNOVSKY. I’ll accept with gratitude, sir… I’ll accept any little thing! Offer me an old sock and I’ll take it, and it’ll come back to you through the paper mill. When do I get that coat, Anna Petrovna my love? ZHIVOYEDOVA. Come back another time! IVAN PROKOFICH. Why, my lad, if they’d made you a police chief, I think you would have devoured us alive! ZHIVNOVSKY (twirling his moustache). Hmm… IVAN PROKOFICH. It’s just that you’ve got an awfully mischievous temper! You should keep nice and quiet, and then God might send you happiness! LOBASTOV. He’d eat us up…(They all laugh.) Well now, thank God you’ve cheered up a bit, Ivan Prokofich! IVAN PROKOFICH. Yes, this scalawag could make a dead man sneeze! You don’t need any the-ayters! ZHIVNOVSKY. I’m ready to give my all for my benefactor! Like me to dance? I can dance beautifully, just like the gypsies. IVAN PROKOFICH. That’ll do! You’ll be the death of us, most likely! ZHIVOYEDOVA. You’d better recite some poetry, sir. Not so noisy!

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ZHIVNOVSKY. I’ve forgotten it all, ma’am. In the old days I used to know lots of recitations, but now they’ve all evaporated. ZHIVOYEDOVA. That’s what comes of vodka, sir. IVAN PROKOFICH (to LOBASTOV). Well, and how is your business with Gavryushenka getting on? LOBASTOV (waving his arms). He won’t cooperate. dear friend, won’t cooperate… ZHIVOYEDOVA. Well, Ivan Prokofich, you ought to school the boy like a father… It’s getting to be a joke, Lenochka is thirty one years old and still a virgin, still a virgin… IVAN PROKOFICH (thoughtfully). Why not, I can bawl him out… ZHIVNOVSKY. And you should call me in for that job, benefactor! I’m never out of breath… I tell you, this is what I’ll do: if the youngster starts to get balky, I can draw on a power of farfetching arguments. IVAN PROKOFICH (angrily). Pipe down, blabbermouth, we’re talking business! ZHIVOYEDOVA (sighing). Somehow it’s as if young people weren’t themselves these days. They act as if they’re boiling over, but there’s no gumption to any of ‘em! The way I see a man, if he was very much in love and even caught sight of the woman’s dress…why he’d plunge right in, the sweetheart! ZHIVNOVSKY. That’s the story of my life, Anna Petrovna! ZHIVOYEDOVA. What’s it got to do with you, sir! (Sighs.) IVAN PROKOFICH. Well, we’ll look into it…if that’s the way he is…sure, I guess I can bawl him out! LOBASTOV. Please do, sir! (The sound of a carriage is heard.) ZHIVOYEDOVA. Ssh, is somebody calling on us? (NASTASYA IVANOVNA and LENOCHKA LOBASTOVA enter. LENOCHKA is a scrawny, gangling, pallid spinster.) NASTASYA IVANOVNA (going over to her father). How are you, Papa dear, I brought Lenochka to see you. LOBASTOV (escorting LENOCHKA). Be kind to her, sir—poor thing!…if not as a relative, then out of sympathy…(Waving his arms.) I mean, out of enthusiasm! IVAN PROKOFICH. How are you, Miss? Let me take a look at you! (LENOCHKA goes over to IVAN PROKOFICH and kisses his hand.) LOBASTOV (to LENOCHKA). Now say something to Ivan Prokofich, darling, be it ever so slight. (To IVAN PROKOFICH.) She’s so shy around me… LENOCHKA. Bonjour, grandpapa! LOBASTOV. Isn’t she clever! (Pats her on the head.) ZHIVNOVSKY. A shy woman diffuses sweet odors through the house—that’s written in the old Russian proverbs! IVAN PROKOFICH. Never mind…it’s good that she’s shy (To LENOCHKA.) But why are you so thin, Miss? ZHIVOYEDOVA. It’ll pass, Ivan Prokofich. Just get her married, and within a month you wouldn’t recognize her. ZHIVNOVSKY (in an undertone to ZHIVOYEDOVA). No, ma’am, no husband, not even a grenadier would help a scrofula-ridden scarecrow like her! Now if she were a tootsy-wootsy like our respected Anna Petrovna…

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ZHIVOYEDOVA. To each his own, sir. Even though my figure filled out, it’s not all happiness with me! IVAN PROKOFICH (to LENOCHKA). Is it a long time since you’ve seen Gavrilo, Miss? LENOCHKA. Ach, grandpapa, I’ve come to you with a complaint. He never visits our house. IVAN PROKOFICH. That’s bad. You should attract him there. LOBASTOV. That’s what I’ve been telling her, but she’s too shy around me. ZHIVOYEDOVA. Shy is one thing, but with men it doesn’t hurt to play around sometimes darling! They love it! LOBASTOV. You hear that, darling! Anna Petrovna is talking out of concern for your welfare. ZHIVOYEDOVA. You should tap him on the cheek, sweetheart, or pinch him. Men love it! ZHIVNOVSKY. Well, how hard a pinch, ma’am? ZHIVOYEDOVA. Naturally, not like a peasant, but artfully. LENOCHKA. But how can I? He’s a stranger to me! ZHIVNOVSKY. Nothing to it, Miss, God is merciful! He’ll be on your side! The main thing, I assure you, is to break a man’s spirit… NASTASYA IVANOVNA. Take my Semyon Semyonych, who’s so stuck up. He has to play up to me, not the other way round… Because if I want my own way, what can he do about it? ZHIVNOVSKY. That’s the truth, ma’am. I was once acquainted with a lady— whenever she gets angry with her husband, she just wiggles her toes at him, and he caves right in! (To LENOCHKA.) Let that be a lesson to you, Miss… IVAN PROKOFICH. That’s enough of your smutty suggestions… Nastasya Ivanovna, you’d do better to tell me how things are at your house? NASTASYA IVANOVNA. How are things? Boring as ever—I wish that comet would hurry and get here! And Semyon Semyonych says there’ll be a war… I wish there were a war! (She yawns.) Oh, and Semyon Semyonych also said that Prokofy Ivanych has decided to change his religion… IVAN PROKOFICH. What’s that about religion? Together ZHIVOYEDOVA. That’s news! Together NASTASYA IVANOVNA. But there’s something I can’t understand. IVAN PROKOFICH. Just speak plainly, ma’am. NASTASYA IVANOVNA. Ach, Papa dear, you already know the boring way Semyon Semyonych talks… I’ve been yawning since the hour I married him. ZHIVNOVSKY. Does he want to be enrolled among the Milk-drinkers or the Judaeans? LOBASTOV. Why I think he simply plans to shave off his beard…(Aside.) Now I’ll get my dig in at you, lad. (Aloud.) Perhaps he’s doing it for profit, Ivan Prokofich. Maybe he thinks you’ve reached the end of your life. “So,” says he, “I’ll humor the old man, and then when he dies, I’ll put the coarse homespun back on again and let the bush grow out.” IVAN PROKOFICH. Well, he’s done it to no avail. ZHIVOYEDOVA (looking out the window). Ah, for heaven’s sake! He’s actually here! And so funny-looking!

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NASTASYA IVANOVNA (also trots over to the window). Get a load of him, in a frock coat! LENOCHKA. And no beard! LOBASTOV. What are your orders, my dear friend? BAYEV (entering and stopping in the doorway). Won’t you order them to let Prokofy Ivanych in, sir? (IVAN PROKOFICH is silent) BAYEV. Enough, sir! There’s the grave yawning at your feet, but you can’t forget your grievances, Ivan Prokofich! Yet he’s the fruit of your loins… Let him in, won’t you? IVAN PROKOFICH (indecisively, to LOBASTOV). Should I receive him, Andrei Nikolaich? LOBASTOV. Whatever you like, dear friend! ZHIVOYEDOVA (to LOBASTOV). Why all this hemming and hawing, sir? You should say straight out whether he’s to be received or not. NASTASYA IVANOVNA. What makes you want to chat with every peasant, Papa dear! Have him thrown out and be done with it! BAYEV. Way I look at it, you’re a mite hasty, ma’am! This here Prokofy Ivanych is your brother! Why do you set your daddy agin him, when you should incline him to peace, like a Christian… For sure ‘n’ sartin, ma’am, the end of the world is at hand…they’ll make it nice and hot for you in the hereafter! NASTASYA IVANOVNA. What’s this, Papa dear, in your house every menial dares read us a sermon! I’ll tell Semyon Semyonych that a well-bred lady meets with nothing but rudeness in your house… IVAN PROKOFICH. Leave her out of it, Prokhorych! BAYEV. She and her husband been taking a powerful lot of liberties in your house, sir! I’d take a troublemaker like her and hitch up her petticoats till she munched the green clover—and then she’d munch it right enough. ZHIVNOVSKY (excited). Attaboy, old timer! NASTASYA IVANOVNA. Why, are you here again, you boor! BAYEV. Just let him come within eyeshot of you, sir! Remember, Ivan Prokofich, was it so long ago you yourself shucked off your beast-like guise? So long ago you built yourself a stone mansion? So long ago a policeman yanked you around, not by the hair, but by the beard itself? So, sir, you must of had a beard! IVAN PROKOFICH (angrily). Stop lying, you fool NASTASYA IVANOVNA. It’s horrible! It makes you nauseous just to hear it! BAYEV. Remember your own father! Remember how, when he was dying, he commanded you, “Vanka! More than aught else, cleave to your beard!” He was no beast, but a man, and the kind of man they don’t hardly make nowadays! Remember how he lived! Never shaved his face till they laid him in his coffin, and allus slung his belt below his belly-button! LENOCHKA. Ach, Papa, such obscenities! LOBASTOV. Never mind, darling, be patient. ZHIVOYEDOVA. Why don’t you shut him up, Ivan Prokofich! (IVAN PROKOFICH is silent)

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BAYEV. Remember, sir, your own spouse, Feklista Semyonovna, how she, poor critter, pined away with grief when you gave up your beard to the Prince of Darkness! Mebbe this whim of yours sent her to her grave! NASTASYA IVANOVNA (to LENOCHKA). Ach, ma chère, such an uncouth person! BAYEV. What more examples do you want, sir? LOBASTOV. Prokhorych, you can see that Ivan Prokofich is in poor health. ZHIVOYEDOVA. I won’t let him in—Prokofy Ivanych will have to step over my dead body! BAYEV. Don’t act silly, ma’am! IVAN PROKOFICH (upset). Prokhorych!…just now I’m…not well…honestly! BAYEV. Open your heart to him, sir! Didn’t he submit to your whim and dress like you desired…so you let him come to you and let your own flesh and blood be the one to close your eyes. NASTASYA IVANOVNA. As if nobody but a peasant could close them! BAYEV. Is it fitting that none but strangers and hirelings be at your side, when the Lord of Heaven sends for your soul! What prayers you gonna offer to the Heavenly Father when you stand before the awful judgment? “What have you done to Prokofy?” He’ll say. And you’ll say, “I abandoned him for a hireling and a harlot!”… But I reckon these hirelings’ll sell your corpse for profit to a sawbones for blaspheming purposes! NASTASYA IVANOVNA. You’re lying, just don’t lie yourself into a corner! BAYEV. Don’t fidget, ma’am, I’m talking business! ZHIVOYEDOVA (to IVAN PROKOFICH). I suppose, Ivan Prokofich, if you allow this nasty, vile person to insult me in your presence, you don’t want me here! IVAN PROKOFICH. That’ll do, Prokhorych, stop it! BAYEV. Let him in, won’t you? (Enter PROKOFY IVANYCH, beardless and dressed in a frock-coat, which does, however, come below his knees.) PROKOFY IVANYCH (appearing in the doorway). Daddy! (The women utter shrill screams.) ZHIVOYEDOVA (blocking his path). I won’t let you! I won’t let you! You’ll have to step over my dead body, but I won’t let you! BAYEV. Give an order, sir! IVAN PROKOFICH (greatly moved). Let him, Anna Petrovna, let him come in! (ZHIVOYEDOVA steps aside.) How are you, Prokofy! (PROKOFY IVANYCH enters meekly.) ZHIVOYEDOVA. If only Semyon Semyonych would get here! NASTASYA IVANOVNA. All Semyon Semyonych can do is talk morality, but when you need him, even bloodhounds couldn’t find him! BAYEV (to PROKOFY IVANYCH). Bow down, sir, bow down at your father’s feet! PROKOFY IVANYCH (falling at his father’s feet). Daddy! Forgive me! I sinned, I transgressed against your great paternal power. ZHIVOYEDOVA. It’s a bit late to be thinking of that, my fine fellow. BAYEV. A righteous man pities even the beast of the field, ma’am! IVAN PROKOFICH. I don’t mind, Prokofy… I hold no grudge against you… only what do you want from me now?… And do get up! BAYEV. Never mind, sir, let him grovel before his father!

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PROKOFY IVANYCH (getting to his knees). I don’t want a thing, Daddy… Since you’re indisposed, I ask you to allow me just to visit you more often… (He bows at his feet.) NASTASYA IVANOVNA. Not a bad idea of yours, brother. IVAN PROKOFICH. I don’t know, son… My head’s starting to swim… What do you all think? (He looks at the bystanders.) ZHIVOYEDOVA. There’s your illness, sir…and he’ll only get you upset. IVAN PROKOFICH. Just not too often, son… I’m not what I once was, my boy…soon I’ll be dying!… BAYEV. So what, Ivan Prokofich, I reckon he ain’t a stranger to you! If he sees summat unsightly, he’ll forgive you as a son. IVAN PROKOFICH. Do stand up, my boy! PROKOFY IVANYCH. It’s not my place to stand up, Daddy. Let me die at your feet for all my wickedness! IVAN PROKOFICH. Never mind…that’s over and done with! Get up! (PROKOFY IVANYCH gets up.) NASTASYA IVANOVNA. Let me take a look at you, brother, how you’ve changed!… I should think sister Mavra Grigoryevna’s beside herself with joy… Naturally you ordered your suit from Petersburg? BAYEV. What a pain in the neck you are, ma’am! PROKOFY IVANYCH (bowing). I’m not worthy of this, Prokhorych, what with all my sins. (He bows to his father.) The way I went against my father’s wishes so damnably… LOBASTOV (claps PROKOFY IVANYCH on the shoulder). It’s good you’ve come to your senses… Let’s have a kiss, my lad! PROKOFY IVANYCH. Thank you kindly your excellency (They kiss.) ZHIVNOVSKY (coming over with a glass of vodka). Your health, Prokofy Ivanych! (He drinks.) IVAN PROKOFICH (to his son). Well, what’s the news in town? PROKOFY IVANYCH. We’re men without sight, sir. If anything is going on, well, you might say, it all goes right past us… We don’t mix with high sassiety…(He bows.) IVAN PROKOFICH. Well, how’s business? PROKOFY IVANYCH. If you can call it business, sir! Of course, thanks to you, we manage to earn our daily bread, sir…you sell three rubles worth of shawls and calico, and there’ll be a ruble left for food. IVAN PROKOFICH. Small businesses grow into big businesses. I too put my pile together by dribs and drabs, son. PROKOFY IVANYCH. Of course, sir. IVAN PROKOFICH. If a little is plenty for you, it’s not wise to take on too much…that’s the first rule! PROKOFY IVANYCH. Your kindness is plenty for us by far, Daddy…what with my sins, I don’t even deserve it! BAYEV. Bow down, sir! IVAN PROKOFICH. He doesn’t have to! I don’t care for it, my boy It’s a peasant custom… Well, how is Mavra Grigorievna? PROKOFY IVANYCH. All right, thank God, sir. Only she’s grieved, Daddy…

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IVAN PROKOFICH. Well, bring her around some time or other…after dark… I’ll take a look at her… BAYEV (to IVAN PROKOFICH). For her beauty, sir, he married her for her beauty! ZHIVNOVSKY (aside). Yes, a tasty little wench! The devil knows how these Dissenters do it, but their womenfolk are mighty good-looking! IVAN PROKOFICH. So I’ve heard, my lad, so I’ve heard. PROKOFY IVANYCH. For goodness sake, Daddy, what sort of beauty has she got! But, of course, for a poor beggar like me, she fits the bill, as the saying goes. ZHIVOYEDOVA (to IVAN PROKOFICH). And just how are you going to receive this bill-fitter, sir? Respectable people come and visit you, while she’ll be walking around in padded jackets, yes, and she still doesn’t know what a handkerchief’s for! Why, anybody who sees her in a decent drawing-room will say, “What sort of backwoods baggage is this?” And you’ll say, “That’s my daughter!”…Enough, sir! You’re simply trying to bring disgrace on your old age! ZHIVNOVSKY. Never mind, ma’am. The ancient Russian tsarinas always went around in padded jackets. ZHIVOYEDOVA. What have tsarinas to do with it, sir! You’re always chiming in with your nonsense…(To IVAN PROKOFICH.) As you please, sir, but I won’t let her past the kitchen! IVAN PROKOFICH. Prokofy, you bring her around after dark…(Sighs.) My boy, I don’t get my way… LOBASTOV. Well now, Prokofy Ivanych, let’s have a little drink, lad, for luck’s sake! (He brings him a glass of vodka.) PROKOFY IVANYCH. Excuse me, your excellency, we’re fine as we are…(He bows and doesn’t take it.) ZHIVNOVSKY. Look, he turns down vodka! That shows up his sincerity! ZHIVOYEDOVA (sarcastically). How could he be expected to drink liquor made from grain! IVAN PROKOFICH. Drink it, my boy! BAYEV. Drink it, sir. I’m a Christian too, and I drink vodka. (PROKOFY IVANYCH takes the glass with trembling hands and drinks.) ZHIVOYEDOVA. Just wait, on his way home from here, he’ll stop at the bathhouse to wash away his sin in coming to such a polluted place. ZHIVNOVSKY (to LOBASTOV). I should like to assure your excellency that, in most cases, vodka is the touchstone. I once knew a police captain, who used to demonstrate this test as a joke. “You want to know who’s shaky in his faith?” he’d say—and he’d call a fellow over and pour him out a glass of vodka. “Drink it up, my lad!” And the fellow wouldn’t drink for anything, even if you cut him to ribbons! (FURNACHYOV enters. At the sight of him, PROKOFY IVANYCH withdraws somewhat to one side.) FURNACHYOV. I have the honor of tendering Papa dear my profoundest respects! (He kisses his hand.) How is your esteemed health? General! Elena Andreevna! Anna Petrovna! How are you? (To ZHIVNOVSKY.) Hello to you too! Papa dear, I just ran into your personal physician on my way here, and he imparted the consoling news that your health is satisfactory… God grant it! God grant it! Neither wealth nor honors avail, if a man does not enjoy life’s greatest boon—health!

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NASTASYA IVANOVNA (pointing at PROKOFY IVANYCH.) You’ve got eyes, haven’t you? Look! FURNACHYOV. Ah! So you’re here, brother? (To IVAN PROKOFICH.) Of course you aren’t aware, Papa dear, that yesterday Prokofy Ivanych sold you for a hundred and fifty thousand! BAYEV. Stop lying, sir! PROKOFY IVANYCH. For pity’s sake, your honor! IVAN PROKOFICH. What do you mean—sold? FURNACHYOV. Precisely that, sir. Yesterday he came to me and said, “Prevent pappy”—excuse me, Papa dear, that was his own expression—“from making a will and I’ll give you a hundred and fifty thousand.” The truth, sir! I had to haggle with him a bit, or he would have sold you for a hundred thousand. (EVERYONE laughs) IVAN PROKOFICH. So that’s what you’re up to, my boy! PROKOFY IVANYCH (falling at the old man’s feet). Please, Daddy, it never happened. FURNACHYOV. Papa dear, I have no reason to lie. I take no part in their squalid wrangling over the inheritance. Whatever God has blessed me with satisfies me, for I know that nothing so abbreviates human life as covetous glances at another’s property. Whatever Papa dear pleases to settle on me out of his kindness, I will be satisfied with, but if nothing is settled on me, I won’t start grumbling. Instead, I shall pour out my grief to the Lord, for in Him lies the parental power…(To PROKOFY IVANYCH) But I should feel hurt if, instead of deserving people, everything went to you, who never paid back all the goodness you got with anything but black ingratitude… IVAN PROKOFICH. You speak justly, Semyon. FURNACHYOV. Who begot you? Who brought you up? Who sent you out into the world a man? And how do you repay him for this? By being ready to auction off your own father in the marketplace! No, do what you like, Papa dear, but I cannot, I cannot abide the sight of him! BAYEV. Ach, Prokofy Ivanych, Prokofy Ivanych, how could you want to sell your father for a penny! PROKOFY IVANYCH. That’s not the way it was, Daddy! FURNACHYOV. You say it wasn’t… Then whom did I expose to Andrei Nikolaich yesterday? Whom did I shame before the whole world yesterday? Andrei Nikolaich! Speak up, your excellency! Was this in your presence? LOBASTOV. I don’t know, sir. “My hut’s not near, so I don’t hear.” IVAN PROKOFICH (sarcastically). So, it seems you wanted to sell your father! (PROKOFY IVANYCH stands with bowed head.) Then why did you come here? If you wanted to worm your way in as an heir, you should have done it subtly… You’re a fool, my boy! ZHIVOYEDOVA. There’s great wrong in his heart, but no wits in his head. FURNACHYOV. You realize, Papa dear, that even savages show respect to their fathers! LOBASTOV (pointing at ZHIVNOVSKY). This fellow was just saying that he cropped his own father for a soldier with his own hand!

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IVAN PROKOFICH. Good God! Can it really be possible that you’re all waiting impatiently for me to pass on, as if it were a church holiday? Do I have to pay you off so you won’t stare into my eyes and sit on my soul? You don’t even let me die in peace, the way you’re all bickering…(In a suffocated voice.) Get away, get away from me, you fiends! FURNACHYOV. Papa dear, you’re getting upset over a trifle! He’s not worthy of attention, don’t trouble yourself about the matter. IVAN PROKOFICH. I’m speaking in general, sir! ZHIVNOVSKY (aside). Bull’s eye, Semyon. IVAN PROKOFICH (to his son). Why are you still here? (Flailing his cane at him.) Get out of here! Thank your lucky stars that I can’t walk! (He has a coughing jag.) ZHIVNOVSKY. Which means, you’re out on your ear. with no compliments! IVAN PROKOFICH. God in Heaven! And the Lord doesn’t strike such a Cain with lightning! Go on, get out, you viper! LOBASTOV. Go on, Prokofy Ivanych! God is merciful, it will work out some day… ZHIVOYEDOVA. Get out, get out, while you’re still in one piece! FURNACHYOV. Let this be a lesson to you, dear fellow! Had you learned in your youth, you would have known that there is no more in famous amous vice than hypocrisy and ingratitude. (PROKOFY IVANYCH exits in silence.) BAYEV (sighing). Looks like I’d better get back to my warm corner! Oh me, oh my, it’s the money that’s led you astray, Ivan Prokofich! (He exits.) Curtain ACT IV Almost a week has gone by since Act III. The stage represents a small room in old PAZUKHIN’S house. Center stage is a round table, on which a tallow candle dimly flickers. There is a door to the street at the back of the stage; to the right of the audience, a door to IVAN PROKOFICH’s bedroom, to the audience’s left two doors, the one nearest the back-flat leading to ZHIVOYEDOVA’S housekeeper’s room, the other to a storeroom. Late evening. As the curtain rises, a clock strikes nine. Through the rear door enter PROKOFY IVANYCH, BAYEV, ZHIVNOVSKY, and PRAZDNIKOV. PRAZDNIKOV is speechless and somewhat inebriated. However, from time to time, he mumbles something incomprehensible. BAYEV (stepping cautiously). Quiet, my masters. You want that Zhivoyedova woman rushing in here now? PROKOFY IVANYCH. But what if he doesn’t die, Prokhorych, and they find us in the storeroom? BAYEV. He’ll die, sir, he’ll die all right. I know it for a fact. The Zhivoyedova woman sent Mavrushka to Andrei Nikolaich, and, praise God, she tipped me off, so I told her to let you know. ZHIVNOVSKY. He’ll die—that you don’t have to worry about I’m just surprised that he hasn’t given up the ghost before now… A tough old bird! BAYEV. Keep your voice down! What’s the hullaballoo for! ZHIVNOVSKY. I’m quiet as a mouse, Prokhorych.

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BAYEV. Some mouse! Jest look at him yonder! (He points to PRAZDNIKOV.) There’s a godly figger for you! (To PRAZDNIKOV.) And what’s that godawful reek coming from you! Couldn’t y’keep off the stuff at a time like this? (PRAZDNIKOV mumbles.) ZHIVNOVSKY. He did it out of sheer delight. Prokhorych…in hopes of getting an extra-special reward for his work. BAYEV. Aye, sir, such back-breaking work it is too. More’n likely the other side’ll try some kind of trickery, so there better be witnesses. ZHIVNOVSKY. That’s right and proper. Witnesses play an important part in Russian affairs, Prokofy Ivanych. Not one decent piece of business can be concluded without them: “He called me dirty names—you heard it.” “He whistled right in my kisser—be a witness.”… Witnesses all over the place, sir. PROKOFY IVANYCH (thoughtfully). It may be he’s dead already, Finageyushka, in which case why should we hide in the storeroom? I should be proclaimed legal heir right away… BAYEV. You ain’t talking sense, sir. The Zhivoyedova woman gave orders to Mavrushka. “First off,” says she, “go to Andrei Nikolaich, and then to Semyon Semyonych, and tell ‘em the master’s dying…” So he’s “dying,” but he ain’t dead, is what it means…you jest stay here and lay low, sir! PROKOFY IVANYCH. But it’s awfully humiliating, Prokhorych! BAYEV. Would you like it better if they neatly steal it all and leave you out? ZHIVNOVSKY God forbid, Prokofy Ivanych! BAYEV. Jest his clothes alone! Why, they’ll steal ‘em before you can see ‘em do it… Suppose you give the Zhivoyedova woman fifty rubles or so…it’il do for her! PROKOFY IVANYCH. Yes, but what if they have a written will, Prokhorych! BAYEV. Forget about the will, sir! Ivan Prokofich is scared of the very word… And anyhow we would of heard if he’d made a will… PROKOFY IVANYCH (to ZHIVNOVSKY). And a week ago you practically drove me crazy, swearing they’d drawn up a will! ZHIVNOVSKY. I saw it, Prokofy Ivanych, I saw it with my own eyes. BAYEV. I bet you did! You saw it in your dreams, I reckon! PROKOFY IVANYCH. O Lord! If only God will help it come out all right! ZHIVNOVSKY. It’ll be better than all right, Prokofy Ivanych. You’re doing the right thing, asking God for help. With God’s help every task can be accomplished easier…now how about a glass of something and a bite to eat… Oh my! BAYEV. Well, you’ll have to do without a bite! (To PROKOFY IVANYCH.) Meanwhile, stay out of sight, all of you keep together in there… You’ll be a beggar, sir, if once they slice it up… And throw the bolt, the bolt, from the inside! (The sound of footsteps is heard) Shoo! Someone’s coming! (PROKOFY IVANYCH, ZHIVNOVSKY and PRAZDNIKOV hurriedly hide in the storeroom. ZHIVOYEDOVA enters.) ZHIVOYEDOVA. How did you get in here? BAYEV. I came to have a look round, I came to call on the master… What of it, it ain’t no sin, I reckon! ZHIVOYEDOVA. There are a lot of you cripples and beggars hanging around. God forgive me, but they just clutter up the place!

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BAYEV. How come you calling me a beggar, Anna Petrovna! Everybody knows I served loyally and honestly, so I ain’t got nothing…and that’s no sin neither, ma’am! ZHIVOYEDOVA (sitting on a chair). Well then, forgive me, for Christ’s sake, Prokhorych. I meant nothing by it, my head’s in a whirl. BAYEV. How’s our little falcon? ZHIVOYEDOVA. Some falcon! (Aside) He’s far enough gone by now, I suppose! (Aloud) That falcon has plumb gone to pieces; seems he wants to die… And it’s all your fault, Prokhorych, you and that Prokofy of yours—why, when you decided to upset the oid man, that’s when he started to smell the incense. BAYEV. A father ought to die at his son’s side. Any sin is owing to Semyon Semyonych. ZHIVOYEDOVA. Lord! What’s going to happen to us now! BAYEV. And why did you set father against son, ma’am?… You would have took and tore Prokofy Ivanych asunder; and now he’ll tear you asunder… So it seems no will’s been drawed up, ma’am? ZHIVOYEDOVA. A will indeed! I brought up the subject a while back—but he lies there like a bump on a log. BAYEV Looks like you’ll have to ask Prokofy Ivanych for something for yourself. ZHIVOYEDOVA (rises). I have to go see how the old man’s doing… BAYEV. And I’ll head back to my warm corner, ma’am, but you ought to send for the priest… ZHIVOYEDOVA (aside). You’re getting pretty pushy, you smart aleck! (Aloud.) He won’t have it, Finageyushka! “It’s been this way with me so many times already,” says he. BAYEV. Well, well, ma’am… But what if he don’t get better?… Och, Lord! Looks like I better get out of harm’s wayZZ ZHIVOYEDOVA. Get out then, Finageyushka. (BAYEV exits.) ZHIVOYEDOVA (alone). Dead! Just now I looked in his strongbox and there were securities upon securities…frightful! I would have taken them, but where could I go with them? All the same if there’s an investigation, they’ll still call me a thief… But where do they think I could cash the stuff? Of course, if I were a man, I could take them, spit at everyone and walk right into the bank. “Please cash these securities,” I’d say, but where can a mere woman go? They’ll probably ask “Where did you get these securities?” or some conman will wangle his way in: “Let me look over those little securities, sweetheart,” he’ll say! He’ll take them and run off! And I’m none too bright at rithmetix… The parents I had! They don’t mind selling you to a merchant for sinning purposes, but teaching you to do sums—that makes no sense! If only the Lord had carried him off somewhat quicker… (LOBASTOV draws near on tiptoe. During the next scene, the storeroom door opens a crack, and PROKOFY IVANYCH peers out.) LOBASTOV. Is he gone, ma’am? ZHIVOYEDOVA. He’s gone, sir! It was just before nightfall he asked me for something to eat, the darling, I brought him some bouillon, and he just drank it down, and after he drank it, he sighed. “Oh,” says he, “Annushka, I think I want to die!” Of course I said, “Christ be with you, Ivan Prokofich,” says I. But he was already gone! (She weeps.)

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LOBASTOV. May he rest in peace, ma’am! He never hurt a fly, ma’am! ZHIVOYEDOVA. Hurt, indeed! Why, let me tell you, Andrei Nikolaich, a hurtful thought never entered his mind! All he ever thought about was doing good deeds or spreading kindness… “Annushka,” he used to say to me, “in this world one must think not of perishable wealth, but of one’s soul! Take a penny from the box,” says he, “and give it to a needy brother.” So you see he was the most godly of men! LOBASTOV. Yes! He’s left many orphans behind him! PROKOFY IVANYCH (behind the door). Pappy must be dead! But what are they planning to do? LOBASTOV. Did you send for Semyon Semyonych, ma’am? ZHIVOYEDOVA. I did, Andrei Nikolaich. You told me to yourself. LOBASTOV. That’s right. We need him… ZHIVOYEDOVA. Andrei Nikolaich! I keep thinking, what if you handled it all yourself? LOBASTOV. So that’s what you think? I’ll consider it! (He draws near the side door and comes back again.) No, ma’am, I can’t! ZHIVOYEDOVA. Why can’t you? LOBASTOV. It’s a sin, ma’am. ZHIVOYEDOVA. But he’ll cheat us, he’ll cheat us sure and certain! LOBASTOV. We can search him when the time comes, ma’am! PROKOFY IVANYCH (behind the door). So they are planning to rob my father! LOBASTOV. You just leave him be, ma’am, let him get all engrossed in his plans, and when the times comes I’ll sneak up behind him and poke my fingers in his armpits…(Showing how.) And then he’ll drop the lot! PROKOFY IVANYCH. Who would have thought that Andrei Nikolaich was such a sly fox! And yet, I must say, I did want to pass up his little glass of vodka! (Steps on stage.) Good health to you, your excellency! (ZHIVOYEDOVA screams.) LOBASTOV (terrified, not recognizing PROKOFY IVANYCH). Who are you? Who are you? PROKOFY IVANYCH. I came to find out the state of Pappy’s health. LOBASTOV (recognizing PROKOFY IVANYCH). How dare you? Don’t you know that Ivan Prokofich is at his last gasp because of you, you good-fornothing? You came to finish him off, did you? Hard labor’s too good for you, sir! (He walks over to him.) Get out of here! PROKOFY IVANYCH. Don’t wear yourself out shouting, your excellency! Thanks to your kindness, I’m well aware that Pappy’s already dead. Therefore, you’re not the master here, I am! Would you like me to kick you out right now ZHIVOYEDOVA. Oh Lord! Did he crawl in through a crack or what? LOBASTOV (keeping his head). You’re a liar! Who told you that Ivan Prokofich was dead?… Get out of here! (He shoves him.) PROKOFY IVANYCH. Why bother to lie, sir? And don’t be so ready to shove, sir… I’ve got witnesses right at hand, sir… Fyodor Fyodorych! Trofim Severyanych! (ZHIVNOVSKY and PRAZDNIKOV come out of hiding.)

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ZHIVNOVSKY. Turns out we come in handy, Prokofy Ivanych!… Only you started the show too soon: you should have waited until they were commiting the robbery, and then nabbed them redhanded! ZHIVOYEDOVA (to LOBASTOV). I told you, sir, God frowns on all sinful dealings! And so it turned out. (To the audience.) He was planning something crazy! Robbing a dead man! LOBASTOV (flustered). I… I… I don’t understand a word of this. PROKOFY IVANYCH. There’s nothing more to understand, your excellency, except that you’re all in my power. (Perking up.) Now you’ll bow down before me, now I’m the one with the money! (LOBASTOV makes a move to exit.) No, you stick around, gin’ral, “your tail’s caught in the tar!” So you wanted to rob me? So you wanted to take my life? So my wife and me was to go through the world, begging kind-hearted folks for pennies and praising God on a crust of bread? Is that what you wanted? And who bowed down to me not so long ago and pawned me his soul, if only I’d use my parental influence and coerce my son? No, tell me, was that you? ZHIVNOVSKY. Let him have it, Prokofy Ivanych! What are you staring at, General! If I were in your shoes, I would have laid one on his mouth, his nose, his cheeks, all over, by this time! LOBASTOV. But you swore to me too, my dear fellow, and then you went to Semyon!… PROKOFY IVANYCH. It don’t matter if I did go: I went for my own good… Well, all right…you had your schemes and now I have mine…(To ZHIVOYEDOVA.) You were saying that Semyon Semyonych was going to commit a robbery? ZHIVOYEDOVA. Prokofy Ivanych, he and he alone planned the whole thing. What’s to become of us! They’ll take us all to the police and then hard labor… PROKOFY IVANYCH. What’s the matter, don’t you like it? You know where you should be, you old witch, strolling modestly down the highway to Siberia! (He stares at her fixedly; raising his voice.) Here’s what I have to say to you: I’ll let you all go…maybe I’ll even give you a share. ZHIVOYEDOVA. Give me something, Prokofy Ivanych! PROKOFY IVANYCH. I spit on every one of you!… You were out for your own good—who isn’t out for his own good! Well, I’m sort of at fault to Andrei Nikolaich! But as for Semyon Semyonych—that’s another story! Not long ago he engineered the rupture ‘twixt me and my father, and I won’t forget it… I’ll dress Finagei Bayev in a velvet caftan, sir, I’ll drink out of silver vessels, I’ll strew the floor of his hut with pearls—but Semyon Semyonych I’ll send to Siberia! ZHIVOYEDOVA. It serves him right, sir! ZHIVNOVSKY. Prokofy Ivanych, you’ve come to a just decision…(To the audience.) It’s marvelous how healthy the average Russian mind is! (To PROKOFY IVANYCH.) And don’t forget us sinners either, Prokofy Ivanych…if you don’t strew us with pearls, then with dust—gold dust, sir… PROKOFY IVANYCH. I won’t forget anybody! I’ll give to everybody! Cripples, blindmen, paupers—I’ll feed them all! But Semyon Semyonych I’ll send to Siberia. LOBASTOV (cheering up). You’ve become quite a changed man, lad, most respected Prokofy Ivanych!

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PROKOFY IVANYCH. I am a changed man now! Now I feel I ought to devote my money to the welfare of my country…(Strides up and down the room.) Clear the way! Here comes the honorable hereditary citizen Prokofy Ivanov son of Pazukhin! ZHIVOYEDOVA (aside). My, what a swelled head he’s got now! PROKOFY IVANYCH. Your excellency, I’ve decided that every blessed day I’ll throw a party here in my house from morn till night! We’ll dress up Mavra Grigorievna in velvet, we’ll order a carriage from Moscow…just step aside or I’ll run you down! ZHIVNOVSKY. Ech, good fortune, good fortune, the way it beautifies a person! PROKOFY IVANYCH. But Semyon Furnacha I’ll exile, I’ll exile him to darkest Siberia, as far as Turukhansk! ZHIVOYEDOVA. Exile him, sweetheart, exile him! He’s at the root of all the wrongdoing! PROKOFY IVANYCH. Just you listen to my plan…(Footsteps are heard in the next room.) Ssh… He’s coming! To your places! (Everyone hides in ZHIVOYEDOVA’S room.) FURNACHYOV (enters cautiously). A righteous man has ended his earthly existence! He lived, performed virtuous deeds, stored up great fortune—and what is the result? A mere dream! Such is our life!… Like unto a troub led slumber, so to speak, or a swim in the tempestuous ocean of life! However much you use your strength, however much you struggle against the waves, still you keep sinking into its chill bosom… Yet it is good that someone, like respected Ivan Prokofich, leaves property behind him, and that this property finds its way into the proper hands, but how deplorable it would be if a man were to die poor and indigent, surrounded by small and starving children. Will he win the esteem of posterity? Sobbing by his coffin, his wife will say: “Whom have you abandoned me to?” His starving children will wail, “Why did you bring us into the world?” Onlookers will say, “Who was this contemptible person, who left not even a crumb of gold behind him?”… A strange spectacle!…(Contemplatively.) Ivan Prokofich was no such man! He was splendor and glory unto his house… However, it’s time to act… Where is Anna Petrovna? (He goes over to the door of ZHIVOYEDOVA’s room.) Probably in the kitchen… but maybe it’s for the best… I’ll be able to take whatever I feel like quickly and go… May God help me to a happy ending! (He makes the sign of the cross and starts for IVAN PROKOFICH’s bedroom, but suddenly stops.) That’s odd… I can’t! My knees are knocking together, as if I were new at this game… (Contemplatively.) I remember the time…when I was still a kid…something similar happened. At that time my late dad had died—and I was afraid then too that he had left his property to my mother… In those days I wasn’t so easily frightened… I walked in, unlocked his strongbox, and took… If you call that taking! The only wealth the dear departed had left amounted to two pennysworth… But now it stinks of millions, which means the whole future is running riot in there, and I can’t, my legs are shaking… Foo! Don’t act like an idiot! Courage, Semyon! (He runs into the bedroom, but immediately returns, pale and overwrought.) Good Lord! What’s this, I thought the old man stood up! (Panting.) It’s, so to speak, our imagination playing tricks on us mortals… God bless us! (He goes into the bedroom, and doesn’t come out again.) (At this moment the door to ZHlVOYEDOVA’s room opens quietly. Enter PROKOFY IVANYCH and LOBASTOV.)

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PROKOFY IVANYCH (into the wings). You stay put in there a while longer… (To LOBASTOV.) Well, now we can have a little chat in peace. I don’t suppose he’ll straighten out the money all that soon! First he’ll have to steal it and then he’ll have to put it in some sort of order… But if he comes out of there smug and smiling, and starts counting the money, then please look out for my interests, Andrei Nikolaich! Poke two fingers under his arm pits, like you said, and hold on to him…that’ll be a pretty funny picture! LOBASTOV. Only you forgive Gavryusha! PROKOFY IVANYCH. A man can forgive. Of course, he insulted me…well, but in those days who didn’t insult me! LOBASTOV. Out of inexperience, Prokofy Ivanych. He’s still young, he was egged on by others… PROKOFY IVANYCH. Yes. I’ve gone through a lot… Do you realize that Nastasya Ivanovna considered herself besmirched if I brushed against her hand!… LOBASTOV. Why talk about it, Prokofy Ivanych! We all sinned against you. Seems as if it was the fashion. PROKOFY IVANYCH. What do you think, Andrei Nikolaich, won’t it be a glorious sight when they see all their dreams turn to dust? I bet Semyon Semyonych’s eyes will just pop with spite! LOBASTOV. God keep anybody from suffering such trials, Prokofy Ivanych… it’s hard, sir. PROKOFY IVANYCH. But what if your plot had succeeded? In that case you would have been the first to start kicking me with both feet, wouldn’t you? (He laughs.) LOBASTOV. Why bring it up, sir, since you already forgave me? (He sighs. Aside.) Yes, I would have given you a hard time, you peasant! Lord! What I feared came to pass! Everything’s gone to the clodhopper! PROKOFY IVANYCH. Nothing personal, sir, it was just talk. Anyway, let’s look through the keyhole and see what’s he doing. (He cautiously crosses the room and crouches to look through the keyhole.) Looky how he’s grabbing! Even his eyes are sort of getting bloodshot and he’s not picking and choosing, he’s just stuffing everything into his pockets… What a tough bird he is, afterwards he’ll probably throw the notes made out to individuals in the mud, but now it makes no difference, he grabs it all! (Getting up.) Shall I scare him, Andrei Nikolaich, by shouting in some gruesome voice?… Ach, you snake-in-the-grass! (Takes another look.) LOBASTOV. No, don’t shout, Prokofy Ivanych, he may die of fright! (Aside.) Yes sir, your day has come! But if it hadn’t been for Bayev, you would have been the one getting the drubbing—you would have been meek as a lamb! Yes, how a man changes! For the longest time he’s been a regular clodhopper, so to speak, and now, I guess, he too realizes he’s to be called an honorable hereditary citizen!…(Thoughtfully.) Ah, Lenochka, Lenochka! I was planning a fine prospect for you, but I guess God wasn’t willing! PROKOFY IVANYCH. You know what I was thinking, Andrei Nikolaich? He’s got so absorbed in there he imagines no one can see him or hear him! Look at you, you snake-in-the-grass! ZHIVNOVSKY (coming on stage). Prokofy Ivanych! At least let us have something to drink in there—we’re bored to tears, sir!

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PROKOFY IVANYCH (jumps up). What are you yelling for! There’ll be time to gorge yourself later! (Kneels down at the keyhole again.) Shoo! He must have heard, he’s getting ready to go. (Cautiously crosses the stage.) ZHIVNOVSKY. The show is about to start! (Everyone goes into ZHIVOYEDOVA’s room; for a short time the stage remains empty. FURNACHYOV enters, red in the face and wheezing noisily. He shifts from foot to foot and opens his mouth a few times to speak, but cannot do so immediately.) FURNACHYOV. Anna Petrovna! Anna Petrovna! Or was it only my imagination? (He walks over to the door and tests whether it is locked.) Locked! Yet how my pockets bulge, quite unsightly… Now it would seem I’ve accomplished the act of a lifetime! When still a babe, I dreamed of nothing but how to become a man of property, respected by others, still I must admit the present acquisition surpasses all my dreams! Peace to your ashes, respected Ivan Prokofich! Much did you endeavor, many were your labors in life! Let us thank our Creator Who bestowed reason on us poor mortals. If not for Him, the King of Heaven, what would we have been?… Though it’s annoying that my pockets bulge this way… Quite a fortune the old man had! (He smiles.) I collected it any old way; once I get home, I’ll sort it out, which ones are made out to individuals, which not… Great is the power of human reason! Maybe he has the numbers of the securities listed in the books, but we’ve anticipated that. For two weeks now I’ve had my nephew accounted for on leave in Moscow, but he won’t actually go there until tonight. In this sort of business everything has to be anticipated, everything has to be foreseen! I should have liked to count it up now, but reason forbids: it says, somebody might catch me at it… And the lucky way God brought it to an end: even the Zhivoyedova woman isn’t around. (At that moment, LOBASTOV creeps up behind him, unbeknownst; PROKOFY IVANYCH and the others come out of hiding.) FURNACHYOV (continues to ponder). Well, I’d best be going. LOBASTOV (behind him). May I be so curious as to inquire, Semyon Semyonych, how large an amount there is… FURNACHYOV (wheels around in fright). Ahh…how embarrassing! (He sees who is present and recovers.) Ah, gentlemen, so you’re here? Well, how is Papa’s health? PROKOFY IVANYCH (bowing a few times). We were hoping to learn that from you, Semyon Semyonych, because you just came out of his room… FURNACHYOV (aside). Ach, Lord, how these damned pockets bulge! (Aloud.) Yes…quite so… I was with him… I think he wants to go to sleep. PROKOFY IVANYCH (Walking up to FURNACHYOV). So, sir. Why, what have you here? (Pointing at his back pockets.) ZHIVNOVSKY. Yes, that’s a fair-sized load. I wouldn’t mind one little banknote to stick behind my ear! FURNACHYOV (to PROKOFY IVANYCH). I believe you’re forgetting yourself, you peasant! PROKOFY IVANYCH. So, sir. I am a peasant—that’s common knowledge, sir, but you, good sir, are a thief! FURNACHYOV. How dare you! LOBASTOV (in low spirits). Confess, Semyon Semyonych, lad!

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PROKOFY IVANYCH. Never mind, let him eat his heart out, leave him be. (To FURNACHYOV.) So, my good sir, you thought you were so high an official you could go a-thieving? So, my good sir, you wanted to rob the dead? ZHIVOYEDOVA. Ach, Lord! What horrors! PROKOFY IVANYCH. You weren’t ashamed even to call on the Lord’s name… maybe you even took the icon off the corpse! ZHIVNOVSKY. Prokofy Ivanych! Be a benefactor, sir, let me break him down! FURNACHYOV. For pity’s sake, Lord! Where am I? What company have I fallen into? I dreamed you all up in my sleep! LOBASTOV (in low spirits, as before). Confess, lad! PROKOFY IVANYCH. Let’s just see what sort of dream it is! Boys! Frisk him! (ZHIVNOVSKY and PRAZDNIKOV throw themselves on FURNACHYOV.) ZHIVOYEDOVA. Kneel down, you better kneel down, Semyon Semyonych! Ask your brother’s forgiveness! PROKOFY IVANYCH. Frisk him, frisk him carefully! Put it all on the table! (To LOBASTOV.) Keep an eye on it, sir: Gavrilo’s share is in there too! (To FURNACHYOV.) So you wanted to take possession of everything, did you? You even wanted to double-cross your partners and accomplices! ZHIVOYEDOVA. God’s hand is in this! ZHIVNOVSKY. The very key itself has come to light… Sir, won’t you allow us to reveal our feelings to him? PROKOFY IVANYCH (examining the key). Yes, and the key too…made by a skillful expert! But he didn’t study the subject he should have. You want me to call the police? FURNACHYOV (utterly confounded, aside). Oh dear, what an unpleasant thing to happen…(Aloud.) Gentlemen!…if you please…let me go… I’ll head for home… I’m not tainted by any shady dealings… I had good intentions, I wanted to do deeds pleasing to God, for the benefit of Papa’s soul… be so kind… ZHIVNOVSKY. At least, Prokofy Ivanych, won’t you allow us to shove him on his knees! FURNACHYOV (flinging himself at ZHIVNOVSKY in his despair). You stay out of it! What business is it of yours… I know how to get on my knees by myself…(Starts to kneel.) PROKOFY IVANYCH (restraining him). Stop! Kneel only in front of the Holy Icon and your parents… No, I won’t send for the police, I’ll get even with you familystyle… Hey, who’s around? Anna Petrovna! Send somebody in here! FURNACHYOV. For pity’s sake, Prokofy Ivanych, what are you going to do to me? PROKOFY IVANYCH. Why, sir, I’m going to pull the same stunt on you that you played on me the other day… I want your wife and the whole world to know what kind of thief and crook you are! (A FOOTMAN enters.) ZHIVOYEDOVA. Here is Dmitry, Prokofy Ivanych. PROKOFY IVANYCH (to the FOOTMAN). Dmitry! Do you see this honorable gentleman? (Points to FUKNACHYOV.) DMITRY. Yes, sir. PROKOFY IVANYCH. Do you recognize him?

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DMITRY. Why wouldn’t I recognize Semyon Semyonych, sir! PROKOFY IVANYCH. Well, you don’t recognize him, my lad… Yesterday he was Semyon Semyonych all right, but now he’s a thief and a crook. He robbed my dead pappy… We nabbed him red-handed, my lad!… LOBASTOV. Stop, lad, Prokofy Ivanych! FURNACHYOV (aside). Ach, what a disgrace! ZHIVNOVSKY. The old boy’s got his dander up! PROKOFY IVANYCH. No, I’ll make this Judas run the gauntlet, I’ll expose him to everybody… Well now, Dmitry, you call Mavra and then run to Nastasya Ivanovna and Gavrilo Prokofich; tell them to please come and get their legacies…(The FOOTMAN exits.) They all wanted ringside seats, the barbarians! So that they wouldn’t waste a minute…damned thieves! MAVRA (enters). What’s wanted, sir? PROKOFY IVANYCH. Do you know this honorable gentleman, Mavrusha? MAVRA. Semyon Semyonych here? PROKOFY IVANYCH. No indeed, Mavrusha, you’re behind the times, he’s not Semyon Semyonych, he’s a thief and a crook!… He robbed my dead pappy, but we caught the darling boy, and now he’s wriggling like a rat…(To FURNACHYOV) Sweet, isn’t it? FURNACHYOV. If our Lord endured so much, shall we not also endure the trials of fate with meekness! LOBASTOV. Do let him be, sir. PROKOFY IVANYCH. Mavrusha, call in everybody: call the coachman and the caretakers and the watchmen…call in everybody! ZHIVNOVSKY. This is what they call roasting ‘em alive! FURNACHYOV. Prokofy Ivanych, what are you getting at! I will lodge a protest! (He tries to leave) PROKOFY IVANYCH. Boys! Hold on to him! (ZHIVNOVSKY and PRAZDNIKOV fling themselves on FURNACHYOV.) No, I won’t let you go, sir! Do you recall how I came to you in candor and promised you a hundred and fifty thousand? What did you do to me then? You asked me at that time what I took you for, and put me to shame before the world. Well, now you know what I take you for! (The room gradually fills with all the servants.) Christian folk! Do you see this snake-in-the-grass? (He points to FURNACHYOV.) You should know that he’s a thief and a traitor, he robbed my old dead father! Here’s the key to the strongbox, a duplicate made by him… NASTASYA IVANOVNA (runs in, in dishabille). Ach, saints alive! So Papa dear passed away after all! PROKOFY IVANYCH. He departed this life, sister… NASTASYA IVANOVNA. And who, who gets the inheritance? PROKOFY IVANYCH. I do, ma’am. NASTASYA IVANOVNA. Well, I just knew this clodhopper would get everything… And why are you staring at me, Anna Petrovna? I suppose you’re on his side too! LOBASTOV. No, ma’am, it was God’s will! PROKOFY IVANYCH. You say “clodhopper,” sister! Of course, God knows my hands aren’t any too clean, but just you listen now to what your hubby is! (Yanks her by the

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arm down to FURNACHYOV on the forestage.) All right! Do you know that he robbed your dead father? NASTASYA IVANOVNA. Ach, Lord…what a disgrace! FURNACHYOV. Lord! Thy will be done! (He turns up his eyes to Heaven.) PROKOFY IVANYCH. No, just you picture to yourself, Semyon Semyonych, what if your scheme had worked! You’d be standing here in the corner as if butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth, shifting from foot to foot, and taking comfort as you watch us kill ourselves on the spot… You’re that kind of fiend, fi-i-iend! Trofim Severyanych! Spit in his face, sir! (PRAZDNIKOV comes closer in complete readiness to do so.) LOBASTOV. Now stop it, Prokofy Ivanych! He restrains PRAZDNIKOV, who is about to carry out his orders.) PROKOFY IVANYCH. Well, that’s enough! I don’t hold grudges! Anna Petrovna! Bring pen, ink and paper in here! (ZHIVOYEDOVA exits.) LOBASTOV. What are you planning to do now? PROKOFY IVANYCH. We’ll force this scoundrel to put down his signature… Otherwise, most likely, he’ll sue me tomorrow…(ZHIVOYEDOVA brings in the paper and writing implements) (To FURNACHYOV) You see how I’ve got you figured: either you sign or I send for the police at once… LOBASTOV (To FURNACHYOV). Give in, sir! NASTASYA IVANOVNA (To her husband). I told you not to shoot off your mouth so much about morality—and things turned out just as I said. PROKOFY IVANYCH. Write! (They bring FURNACHYOV a chair; he sits and writes) “I, the undersigned, do hereby affix my signature of my own free will and without compulsion…” You would have devoured us then and there!… Write! “…Of my own free will and without compulsion to the fact that on the night of March 28/29, by means of a duplicate key, I robbed the estate of my father-in-law, Ivan Prokofich Pazukhin, who was at the time deceased, and being fully detected in that vile misdeed, I tender my sincerest apologies for it and promise not to undertake any such acts in future…” Now sign it… Witnesses! Your signatures! (LOSASTOV and others in turn step up and sign.) Well, now everything’s in order!… Clear out of here! Christian folk! Step aside! Make way for the thief and robber, Mr. State Councilor Furnachyov! (Everyone steps aside. SEMYON SEMYONYCH and NASTASYA IVANOVNA leave.) ZHIVOYEDOVA. Now then, sir! Give some orders… Command your servants to honor the new master! PROKOFY IVANYCH. Send for my wife and mother-in-law… Tell them to drop everything on the spot and run over here! (Turns to the bystanders) Hey, you! Now that Pappy’s deceased, I inherit everything by law! (He slams the banknotes that lie on the table) It’s all mine! (He spreads his arms wide.) This is mine, and this is mine— it’s all mine! ZHIVOYEDOVA (aside). Lord! How hard a man can get! PROKOFY IVANYCH. Yes, yes, all mine! Trofim Severyanych! (PRAZDNIKOV walks over, reeling.) Get up tomorrow as soon as it’s light and ride over to the stonemason, so that in a week there’ll be a monument, such a monument that it’ll knock your eyes out…with columns!

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ZHIVNOVSKY. May I compose the epitaph, Prokofy Ivanych! PROKOFY IVANYCH. Compose, my lad! But see that you describe all sorts of virtues, and say how he was up for Court Councilor once…And now let’s go and pay our respects to the deceased! ZHIVNOVSKY (to the audience). Ladies and gentlemen, the show is over! Virtue— oops, I mean, Vice—Vice is punished, while Virtue…where exactly is Virtue anyway? (To PROKOFY IVANYCH.) Prokofy Ivanych! Dear man! The curtain falls.