THE DEATH OF MAN
_A vague, wavering, flickering, dim light through which one can
at first make out nothing. When the eye becomes accustomed to
the gloom, the following scene is disclosed_:
_A long, wide, basement room with a very low ceiling and
without windows. A flight of stairs leads from the room to the
entrance, somewhere above. The walls are smooth, gloomy, and
dirty, like the coarse, spotted hide of some huge beast. The
rear wall, as far as to the steps, is occupied by a large,
flat buffet with a mirror. The buffet is filled with straight
rows of bottles containing liquids of various colours. Behind
a low counter sits the BARTENDER, perfectly motionless, with
his hands folded across his stomach. He has a white face with
red nose and cheeks, a bald head, and a large, sandy beard,
and wears an expression of complete calm and indifference. He
remains the same through the entire scene, not once moving
from his place or changing his attitude. At small tables sit
the DRUNKARDS, on wooden stools. The number of the people is
seemingly increased by their shadows, which rove along the
walls and ceiling._
_The scene presents an endless variety of the disgusting
and the horrible. The faces resemble masks, the parts of
which are disproportionately large or small. Some have large
noses, others are entirely noseless. The eyes roll wildly,
almost bursting from their sockets, or are nearly closed so
that they are reduced to scarcely visible slits and points.
There are prominent Adam’s apples and diminutive chins. All
have tangled, shaggy, and dirty hair, which in some cases
half conceals the face. In spite of their variety, all the
faces have a hideous resemblance, which consists in a sallow,
grave-like colour and an expression now of frightful laughter
and now of insane and gloomy horror._
_The DRUNKARDS are dressed in rags of one colour, which
expose a sallow, bony hand, or a sharp knee, or a sunken,
frightful chest. Some are nearly naked. The women are scarcely
distinguishable from the men and are even uglier. The hands
and heads of all tremble, and their gait is unsteady, as if
they were walking on very slippery or boggy or moving surfaces.
Their voices, too, are alike in that they are wheezing,
whimpering, and as unsteady as the gait. They utter their words
with lips which do not obey them and which are, as it were,
stiffened with cold._
_In the centre of the group, at a separate table, sits MAN,
resting his grey, dishevelled head upon his hands. He remains
throughout in the same position, except for the moment that he
speaks. He is shabbily dressed._
_In one corner the BEING IN GREY with the nearly burned-out
candle stands motionless. The narrow, blue flame flutters,
now bending to one side and now reaching upward with a sharp
tongue, throwing livid spots of light on His stony face and
chin._
CONVERSATION OF THE DRUNKARDS
My God! My God!
Listen! How strangely everything shakes! You cannot fix your eyes on
anything.
Everything trembles as in a fever: people, chairs, and the ceiling.
Everything sways as if it were afloat.
Don’t you hear a noise? I hear a noise as if iron wheels were rumbling or
stones were falling from a cliff—huge stones, falling like rain.
That is the noise in your ears.
That is the noise of the blood. I can feel my blood, thick, black, and
smelling of rum. It rolls heavily along the veins, and when it comes to
the heart everything seems to fall and terror seizes me.
I seem to see lightning flashes.
I see huge, red bonfires and people burning in them. There’s a disgusting
smell of burning flesh! Black shadows whirl about the bonfires, drunken
shadows. Ho, there! Let me have a dance with you!
My God! My God!
I, too, am cheerful. Who will laugh with me? No one wants to. Then I will
laugh alone. [_He laughs alone._
A charming woman is kissing my lips. She smells of musk and her teeth are
like a crocodile’s. She is trying to bite me. Away, you slattern!
I am not a slattern. I am an old, pregnant serpent. For an hour I have
been watching the little serpents issuing from my body and crawling
about. Take care! Don’t crush my little snakes!
Where are you going?
Who’s walking about there? Sit down! The whole house shakes when you walk.
I can’t sit still. It is frightful when I sit still.
It is frightful for me, too. When I sit still I can feel horror running
through my body.
So can I. Let me go!
_Three or four drunkards wander aimlessly about with unsteady
steps, stumbling among the tables._
See what it is doing! For two hours it has been trying to jump onto my
knees. It comes within an inch of it. I drive it away, but it comes back.
That’s a queer sort of game.
Black cockroaches are creeping about under my skull, making a crawling
noise.
My brain is falling to pieces. I can feel one grey fragment separate from
the other. My brain is like spoiled cheese—it smells.
It smells like carrion here.
My God! My God!
To-night I will crawl to her on my knees and butcher her. Blood will
flow. It is flowing now—red blood.
Three people are continually following me. They are calling me into a
dark, lonely corner. They want to butcher me there. They are gathered
about the door now.
Who is that walking along the walls and ceiling?
My God! They have come—they’re after me!
Who?
They.
My tongue is numb. What shall I do? My tongue is numb. I will weep. [_He
weeps._
Everything in me is coming out. I shall turn inside out in a moment and
be red.
Listen, listen! Ho, somebody! A monster is coming upon me. It is raising
its hand. Help! Oh!
What’s this? Help! A spider!
Help!
[_For some time they cry with hoarse voices_: “Help!”
We are all drunkards. Let’s call everybody down here. Up yonder it is
nasty.
No, don’t. When I go out on the street, the street rushes about like a
wild beast and quickly throws me to the ground.
We have all come here from the street. We drink alcohol and it makes us
happy.
It makes us miserable. All day I tremble with horror.
Better this horror than life. Who wants to go back there?
Not I.
Nor I. I’d rather die here. I don’t want to live.
Nobody wants to live.
My God! My God!
Why does Man come here? He drinks little and sits long. We do not need
him.
Let him go home. He has a home.
He has fifteen rooms.
Don’t touch him! He has nowhere else to go.
He has fifteen rooms.
But they are empty, except for the rats. The rats run about in them and
fight.
But his wife?
He has nobody. Probably his wife is dead.
His wife is dead.
His wife is dead.
_During this conversation and that which follows, the OLD WOMEN
in strange garments enter noiselessly and without attracting
attention replace the quietly withdrawing DRUNKARDS. They
mingle in the conversation, but so gradually that no one
notices it._
CONVERSATION OF THE DRUNKARDS AND THE OLD WOMEN
OLD WOMAN. He will soon die. He is so feeble he can scarcely walk.
DRUNKARD. He has fifteen rooms.
OLD WOMAN. Listen to his heart. How unevenly and feebly it beats. It will
soon stop.
DRUNKARD. Invite us to your house, Man. You have fifteen rooms.
OLD WOMAN. It will soon stop—the big, old, feeble heart of Man.
DRUNKARD. He is asleep, the drunken fool. It is frightful to sleep, and
yet he sleeps on. He might die in his sleep. Hey, there! Wake him up!
OLD WOMAN. Do you recall how his heart used to beat—fresh and strong?
_Subdued laughter._
DRUNKARD. Who’s laughing? There are intruders here.
DRUNKARD. Only in your imagination. There is no one here but us—us
drunkards.
DRUNKARD. I will go out on the street and raise a disturbance. I have
been robbed. I am completely naked. I have a green skin.
OLD WOMAN. Good evening.
DRUNKARD. Again the wheels are rumbling. My God! They will crush me. Help!
_No one answers._
OLD WOMAN. Good evening.
OLD WOMAN. Do you remember how he was born?
OLD WOMAN. I think you were there.
DRUNKARD. It must be I am dying. My God! My God! Who will carry me to
the grave? Who will bury me? I shall lie about like a dog in the street.
People will walk over me. Carriages will ride over me. They will crush
me. My God! My God! [_He weeps._
OLD WOMAN. Allow me to congratulate you, my dear kinsman, on the birth of
your son.
DRUNKARD. I am firmly convinced that there is an error here. A straight
line that presents the form of a closed circle is simply ridiculous.
DRUNKARD. I will prove it to you in a jiffy.
DRUNKARD. You are quite right.
DRUNKARD. My God! My God!
DRUNKARD. Only people who are ignorant of mathematics will admit it. I
won’t admit it. Do you hear? I won’t admit it.
OLD WOMAN. Do you remember the rose-coloured dress and the naked throat?
OLD WOMAN. And the flowers—the lilies-of-the-valley on which the dew had
not yet dried, and the violets, and the green grass?
OLD WOMAN. Don’t touch them, girls! Don’t touch the flowers!
_Subdued laughter._
DRUNKARD. My God! My God!
_The DRUNKARDS are all gone. Their places are occupied by the
OLD WOMEN with strange garments. The light, though very faint,
becomes steady. The figure of the UNKNOWN comes sharply out as
does also the grey head of MAN, upon which from above falls a
feeble light._
CONVERSATION OF THE OLD WOMEN
Good evening.
Good evening. What a glorious night!
Well, we are together again. How are you?
I have a cough.
_Subdued laughter._
It won’t be long now. He will soon die.
Look at the candle. The flame is blue and narrow and droops toward the
sides. There is no wax left now—only the wick is burning.
It does not want to go out.
When did you ever see a flame that wanted to go out?
Stop quarrelling! Stop quarrelling! Whether it wants to go out or not,
time is passing.
Do you remember his automobile? Once it almost crushed me.
And his fifteen rooms?
I have just been there. I was nearly eaten by the rats, and I caught cold
from the draughts. Now that some one has stolen the windows, the wind
sweeps through the whole house.
Did you lie on the bed where his wife died? How soft it is, isn’t it?
Yes, I went through all the rooms and mused a bit. They have such a dear
nursery. Only it is too bad that the windows are broken there, too, and
the wind rustles amid the dust. The child’s little bed is so dear! The
mice have now built their nests in it and are raising their families.
Such dear little naked micelets.
_Subdued laughter._
And in the study on the table lie the toys—the horse without a tail, the
soldier cap, and the red-nosed clown. I played a bit with them. I put on
the cap. It quite becomes me. But there’s a terrible lot of dust on them.
I was just covered with dirt.
But were you not in the hall where the dance took place? It is so
cheerful there!
Yes, I was there, but just imagine what I saw. It was dark. The panes
were all broken and the wind was rustling in the wall-paper——
It makes a sound like music.
And along the wall in the darkness were squatted the guests. Oh, if you
only knew how they looked!
We know!
And with grinning teeth they barked abruptly: “How costly! How gorgeous!”
Surely you are joking!
Of course I am joking. You know how jolly I am.
How costly! How luxurious!
How gorgeous!
_Subdued laughter._
Remind him.
How costly! How gorgeous!
Do you remember the music at your ball?
He will soon die.
The dancers circled about and the music played so tenderly, so
beautifully. This is the way it played.
_They form a semicircle about MAN and in a low voice hum the
tune that was played at the ball._
Let’s have a ball. It is so long since I have danced.
Just imagine that this is a palace, a miraculously beautiful palace.
Call the musicians! You cannot have a good dance without music.
Musicians!
Do you remember?
_They strike up the tune and at the same moment the three
musicians who played at the ball descend the stairs. The one
with a violin carefully spreads the handkerchief over his
shoulder, and all three begin to play with extreme painstaking,
though the sounds are low, soft, and sad as in a dream._
Now we have a ball!
How costly! How gorgeous!
How brilliant!
Do you remember?
_Humming in a low tone in time with the music, they begin to
circle about MAN, posturing and repeating with wild distortions
the movements of the girls in white robes who danced at the
ball. During the first musical phrase they circle about, and
during the second they approach each other and then draw apart
gracefully and silently. They whisper in low voices._
Do you remember?
You will soon die, but do you remember?
Do you remember?
Do you remember?
You will soon die, but do you remember?
Do you remember?
_The dance becomes swifter and the movements more jerky.
Through the voices of the OLD WOMEN who are singing there glide
strange, whimpering notes; and the same strange laughter, as
yet subdued, runs like a low rustling through the dancers. As
they sweep past MAN they discharge, as it were, into his ears
abrupt whispers_:
Do you remember?
Do you remember?
How tender! How fine!
How restful to the soul!
Do you remember?
You will soon die. You will soon die. You will soon die——
Do you remember?
_The whirling dance becomes swifter and the movements still
more abrupt. Suddenly all is silent and motionless. The
musicians become rigid, with their instruments in their hands.
The dancing women are motionless in the same attitudes in
which the oncoming of silence found them._
_MAN rises, straightens himself, throws back threateningly his
beautiful grey head, and cries out in a challenging voice,
unexpectedly loud and full of sorrow and anger. After each
brief utterance there is a short but profound silence._
MAN. Where is my armour-bearer? Where my sword? Where is my shield? I am
weaponless. Come hither quickly, quickly. Be accurs——
[_He sinks upon a chair with head thrown back and dies._
_At the same instant the candle, flaring up, goes out, and a
deep gloom envelops all objects. It is as though the gloom
were pouring down the stairway and gradually spreading
over everything. Only the face of MAN is illuminated. Low,
indistinct conversation of the OLD WOMEN, whispering and
interchanging laughter._
THE BEING IN GREY. Silence! Man is dead.
_Profound silence, during which the same cold, indifferent
voice repeats the words from the far distance like an echo_:
“Silence! Man is dead.” _Profound silence. Slowly the gloom
becomes thicker, but the mice-like figures of the OLD WOMEN
watchers can still be seen. Now quietly and silently they begin
to circle about the corpse. Then they begin to hum in a low
tone, and the musicians begin to play. The gloom becomes still
more dense, and as the music and singing become louder and
louder the wild dance becomes more unrestrained. They are no
longer dancing but wildly whirling about the corpse, stamping
and shrieking with continuous, wild laughter. Absolute darkness
ensues. The face of the dead is still illumined, but presently
that also vanishes. Black, impenetrable darkness._
_In the darkness one can hear the movements of the wild
dancers, the shrieking, the laughter, and the discordant and
desperately loud sounds of the orchestra. Having attained their
greatest intensity, all these sounds quickly withdraw somewhere
and die away. Silence._
_Curtain._
ACT V
THE DEATH OF MAN
(VARIANT)
[It was only after “The Life of Man” had been presented on the stage that
I became convinced I had fallen into error—both as regards the form and
also as regards the fundamental meaning of the play.
As for the form, I could be content to leave the play unchanged. Written
in a period of doubts and fears, it might be allowed to stand as my first
attempt at a neo-realistic drama. Sins against the fundamental meaning
are, however, quite another matter.
Leaving it to others to judge how far I am right and how far I am wrong
in my interpretation of the meaning of human life, I am bound, both for
my own sake and for the purpose of greater consistency and clearness, to
correct such defects in the play as either obscure its fundamental idea
or present that idea in an incomplete and unfinished form.
In the fifth act, a variant of which I now offer, the most essential
defect was the incorporation into the drama of a relatively incidental
element, namely, the Drunkards, and the absence of so essential a group,
and a group so important in life as the Heirs, who naturally complete the
groups of Kinsmen, Friends, and Enemies of Man.
By introducing into the drama the barroom and the Drunkards I did not,
of course, intend to imply that every man dies inevitably in a barroom.
Nevertheless, several of my critics quite erroneously drew the following
series of inferences: “I do not go to barrooms, consequently this is
not true, consequently I shall never die, consequently what sort of a
Life of Man is this?” But the loneliness of Man dying in misfortune,
to suggest which these people, themselves so solitary and unfortunate,
were introduced, may be indicated fully by the presence of the Heirs.
While the Drunkards merely give Man an opportunity to die in solitude,
the Heirs, on the other hand, with the natural pitilessness of all
successors, not only urge him to die, but actually force death upon him.
_Succession_ is an important element which I left out of consideration in
my first picture of “The Death of Man.”
_Mercy_ was absent from my play, and this also seemed to many to be
unjust. In the present version it is represented in the character of the
Sister of Mercy, and although during the whole of the act she does not
open her eyes once, yet her very presence bears witness to the fact that
mercy really exists.
Reminding my readers, however, that justice is merely a new or as yet
unexposed error, I bring to a close my explanations (perhaps superfluous)
and submit this new version of “The Death of Man” to the kindly judgment
of the reader.
AUTHOR.]
_The high, gloomy room in which the SON and the WIFE of MAN
died. On everything lies the stamp of ruin and death. The walls
are warped and threaten to fall. The corners are overspread
with cobwebs—regular, light-coloured circles inextricably
interlaced. From the sagging ceiling likewise hang dark-grey
clumps of abandoned spider-webs. The two tall windows have
been forced inward and are bent as though by the steady and
persistent pressure of the infinitude of darkness which
surrounds the house of MAN. Should the windows not hold
firm—should they fall inward—the darkness would pour into the
room and extinguish the feeble, dying light by which it is
illuminated._
_In the rear wall a zigzag stairway leads upward to the rooms
where once the ball was given. At the foot of the stairs the
warped, decayed steps can be seen, but farther upward they are
lost in a dense and frowning darkness. By this wall stands a
bed under a sagging, torn baldachin—the bed on which the WIFE
of MAN died._
_On the right is the dark opening of a large, cold,
long-disused fireplace, in which, in a great heap of grey,
dead ashes, can be seen a white sheet of partly burned paper,
apparently a design. Before the fireplace in an armchair MAN
sits motionless, dying. In his torn gown and unkempt grey hair
and beard one can see the complete abandonment and solitude of
death. Some little distance from MAN, in an armchair of the
same sort, sits a SISTER OF MERCY, fast asleep, a white cross
on her breast. During the whole act she does not once waken._
_About the dying man are seated the HEIRS, surrounding him
closely in a circle of eagerly outstretched faces. There
are seven of them, three women and four men. Their necks
are greedily stretched out toward MAN, their mouths are
half-opened, expressing avarice, and the fingers on their
uplifted hands are hooked stiffly like the claws of birds of
prey. Among them there are large, well-fed people, particularly
one gentleman, whose fat body welters formlessly upon the
chair; but, from the manner in which they sit and in which
they look at MAN, one can see that they have been hungry all
their lives, that all their lives they have been awaiting the
inheritance, and that apparently they are still hungry._
_In one corner the BEING IN GREY, with the candle nearly burned
out, stands motionless. The narrow, blue flame flutters, now
bending to one side and now reaching upward with a sharp
tongue, and throws livid spots of light on His stony face and
chin._
CONVERSATION OF THE HEIRS
_They speak in loud voices._
Dear kinsman, are you sleeping?
Dear kinsman, are you sleeping?
Dear kinsman, are you sleeping or not? Answer us.
We are your friends.
Your heirs.
Answer us.
_MAN is silent. The HEIRS change their voices to a loud
whisper._
He says nothing.
He doesn’t hear. He is deaf.
No, he is only pretending. He hates us, and he would be glad to drive us
away, but he can’t. We are his heirs.
Every time we come he looks at us as if we had come to kill him. As if he
were not dying of himself!
The fool!
That’s from old age. All people become fools in their old age.
No, it’s his greed. He would be glad to carry everything with him to the
grave. He doesn’t know that man goes to the grave empty-handed.
Why do you so hate our dear kinsman?
Because he is slow in dying. [_Louder_] Old man, why don’t you die? You
are spoiling our life. You are robbing us. Your clothes are torn and
rotten, your house is tumbling down, your furniture is getting old and
losing its value.
That is true, he is robbing us.
Sh! Why shout?
Old man, you are stripping us of our own.
But perhaps our dear kinsman hears us.
Let him hear. It is always good to hear the truth.
But perhaps he has still enough strength to make a will and deprive us of
the inheritance.
Do you think so?
_They laugh affectedly. They speak softly with assumed
tenderness, but yet so loud that MAN can hear them._
Nonsense. He was always an intelligent man with a sense of humour, and he
understands a joke perfectly well. Is it not true, my dear kinsman?
Of course we were joking.
We can wait any length of time; it is only that we are sorry for him.
It’s so sad to sit day and night all alone before the empty fireplace. Is
it not true, dear kinsman?
Why doesn’t he go to bed?
Oh, it is just a little whim. His wife died on this bed, and he will
never allow any one to touch either the linen or the pillows.
But time has already touched them.
They smell of decay.
Everything here smells of decay. [_He sniffs._
Really, when you stop to reflect that in this fireplace he used to burn
whole logs so wastefully——
Do you remember his ball? Our dear kinsman scattered his money so freely.
_Our_ money.
But do you remember how he petted his wife, that insignificant creature!
You had better add, “who deceived him.”
Sh!
Who had a dozen paramours.
Sh! Sh!
Who lived with a lackey, yes, with her own lackey. I myself once saw them
making eyes at each other.
However, she is dead. Don’t slander the dead.
But it is so. I heard about it, too.
Poor deceived fool!
Do you see any adornments in his honoured grey hair?
Sh! Sh!
_With exclamations of_ “Silence!” “Silence!” _they interchange
glances and laugh slyly._
Man has no right to think only of himself. Considering how much he might
have left and how little remains——
A mere pittance.
We must thank Providence even for what is left. Our honoured kinsman is
so careless.
Just look at his gown. Isn’t it shameful to treat an expensive garment so?
Is it really so expensive? I cannot see from here what kind of cloth it
is.
Approach him cautiously and feel of it. It is silk.
_One of the women goes up to dying MAN and, pretending that she
is straightening his pillow, feels of the cloth. All watch her
with curiosity._
Silk!
_By various gestures, the HEIRS express their disgust. MAN for
an instant rouses a little and feebly calls_: “Water!”
What does he say? Did he hear us? What does he want?
MAN. Water! In God’s name, water!
_He ceases speaking. Several of the HEIRS, frightened, look
here and there for water but do not find any. Voices in a tone
of irritation and alarm_:
Water!
He is asking for water.
Yes, give him some water.
There isn’t any water.
_They all turn toward the sleeping SISTER OF MERCY and cry
out, putting their hands to their mouths in the fashion of a
megaphone_:
Sister of Mercy!
Sister of Mercy!
Sister of Mercy!
We are speaking to you, Sister of Mercy! The sick man wants some water.
Shake her. What do they pay her for, if she sits there all the time
asleep?
If you want a Sister of Mercy that won’t sleep, you must pay more. Can’t
you understand?
She is very tired. The poor woman is overworked.
Let her sleep. It is a pity to disturb her when she is sleeping so
soundly. Dear kinsman, can’t you wait a bit? The Sister is very tired and
is sleeping.
_MAN does not answer, and they all sit down again on their
chairs in a semicircle. The feeble light which illuminates the
room slowly grows dimmer and darkness rises in the corners.
The darkness comes on heavily from somewhere above, down the
staircase. It spreads over the ceiling and clings sullenly to
every hollow in the walls._
He is quiet again. Poor man!
How dark it is! Do you not see how dark it is?
When I stop to think that he may sit thus before the fireplace for a long
time yet—weeks, perhaps months—then I feel like seizing him by his thin
neck and strangling him.
Begging your pardon, sir, although you appear to be very solicitous about
the inheritance, I must remark that I don’t know who you are.
Neither do I. Neither do I.
You are simply a nobody—a man from the street! What right have you to the
inheritance?
I am just as much an heir as you are.
No, sir, you are a scoundrel.
No, it is you who are a scoundrel.
Sh! Sh!
Drive him out! Away with him!
You are all scoundrels.
Sh! You will wake him up.
_Savagely showing their teeth, they threaten each other with
clinched fists._
Gentlemen, the light is going out. I can scarcely see your faces.
We must be going. Another day is wasted.
We must be going.
Well, I will remain. I am not going to leave. This is my house; mine,
mine, mine!
The rats will eat you here.
[_In a fury_] This is my house; mine, mine, mine!
One seventh part, Mr. Heir-from-the-Street—at best one seventh part.
It is my house; mine!
Gentlemen, it is getting dark.
Good night, dear kinsman.
Good night, dear kinsman.
Good night, dear kinsman.
_One after another they go out, bowing low to MAN. Some of them
raise the limp hand of dying MAN as it lies on the arm of the
chair and gently press it. The HEIR-FROM-THE-STREET is left
alone. With a contemptuous glance at silent MAN and the SISTER
OF MERCY, he swiftly and with an angry expression examines the
room. He touches the walls, feels of the upholstering on the
chairs, and estimates with his eye that which he cannot reach
with his hand. He goes to the bed on which the WIFE of MAN died
and tests the firmness of the linen, but when the rotten cloth
tears in his fingers, the HEIR, furiously stamping his foot,
scatters the pillows and the sheets. Then he walks resolutely
up to the dying MAN and takes a position behind his back._
SPEECH OF THE HEIR
Listen, old Man. You ought to die. Why insult death by hanging back? Be
off. Free living things from your dead hand. It lies on everything with
leaden weight. Look! All things are waiting eagerly for your death: these
falling walls, this spider-web and the spider imprisoned in its circles,
this dark fireplace—it used to breathe upon you with its warmth, but now
it is summoning your worn-out body to the chill of the grave. Begone!
Where you are going you will meet those who loved you, both in youth and
in old age, and those who were beloved by you.
_Silence._
Don’t you believe it?
[_He turns to the corner where the BEING IN GREY stands._
Ho, you! Tell him that his loved ones will meet him there, his son with
the crushed head and his wife who died of sickness and grief.
_Silence._
You, too, are silent? And all is silent? So be it. But whatever may await
you, begone from here. I, the living, drive you forth from life, and when
you die I will bless you. I will lay wreaths upon your coffin, and on the
spot where your body will decay I will erect a monument—if it is not too
expensive. Begone!
_Silence. The HEIR again walks up and down the room, but the
melancholy of the place, the continually increasing darkness,
and the heavy silence frighten him. He moves anxiously about,
as if he had forgotten where the exit is, and speaks in a
hoarse voice._
Sister of Mercy, wake up! Sister! Where is the door—where is the door?
Sister of Mercy!
_Silence. In various places almost simultaneously the OLD
WOMEN appear, and there follows a nimble, silent game very
entertaining to the OLD WOMEN. They block the exit of the HEIR;
they circle about the room and, thus noiselessly thrusting him
hither and thither, finally let him pass through to the door.
Raising his hands above his head with an expression of horror,
the HEIR runs out. Subdued laughter on the part of the OLD
WOMEN._
CONVERSATION OF THE OLD WOMEN
Good evening.
Good evening. What a glorious night!
Well, we are together again. How are you?
I have a cough.
_Subdued laughter._
It won’t be long now. He’ll soon die.
Look at the candle. The flame is blue and narrow and drooping toward the
sides. The wax is already consumed—only the wick is left, and that will
soon burn out.
It does not want to go out.
Did you ever see a flame that wanted to go out?
Stop quarrelling! Stop quarrelling! Whether the flame wants to go out or
not, time is passing.
Time is passing.
Time is passing.
Do you recall his birth? Allow me to congratulate you, my dear kinsman,
on the birth of your son.
Do you remember the rose-coloured dress and the naked throat?
And the flowers—the lilies-of-the-valley, on which the dew had not yet
dried, and the violets, and the green grass?
Don’t touch them, girls. Don’t touch the flowers!
_They laugh._
Time is passing.
Time is passing.
_Laughter. One of the OLD WOMEN puts the bed in order._
What are you doing?
I am making the bed on which his wife died.
What’s the use of that? He’ll soon be dead.
Don’t bother me. I am making the bed on which his wife died.
How kind you are!
Now all is right. Now he can go.
When He permits him.
Now all is right; now all is right.
_Like a deep sigh there sweeps through the room a harmonious
but very sad and strange sound. Originating somewhere above, it
tremulously dies out in the dark corners. It is as though many
harp-strings were snapping one after another._
Sh! Do you hear it?
What’s that?
It’s up above where the ball was. That’s the music.
No, it’s the wind. I was there; I saw it, and I know it is the wind. The
window-glass is broken and the wind is playing a chord over the sharp
points of the glass.
It _is_ like music.
How cheerful it is up there! The guests are squatting in the darkness by
the tattered walls. Oh, if you only knew how they look!
We know.
And with grinning teeth they bark abruptly: “How costly!” “How gorgeous!”
Surely you are joking!
Of course I am joking. You know how jolly I am.
How costly! How gorgeous!
How brilliant!
_Subdued laughter._
Remind him.
_They surround MAN, pressing close to him with gentle,
caressing movements. They fondle him with their bony hands.
They peer into his face and whisper slyly, probing the inmost
recesses of his old heart._
Do you remember?
How costly! How gorgeous!
Do you remember the music at your ball?
He will soon die.
The dancers circled about and the music played so tenderly, so
beautifully. This is the way it went.
_With low voices they hum the air of the music which was played
at the ball._
Do you remember?
Let’s have a ball. It is so long since I have danced. Just imagine that
this is a palace, a miraculously beautiful palace!
Do you remember? Hark, the singing violins pour forth their notes! Hear
how tenderly the flute sings! Hear how——
_Strains of music, suddenly interrupting the speech of the OLD
WOMAN, begin to play in the room above, where the ball was
held. The sounds are loud and distinct. The OLD WOMEN listen
attentively._
Sh! Do you hear?
They are playing.
The musicians are playing.
_One of them cries out in a loud voice_: “Ho, musicians!
Hither!”
_The others echo her_: “Ho, musicians! Hither! Ho, musicians!
Hither!”
_The music above ceases, and almost at the same moment the
three musicians who played at the ball, issuing from the
darkness, descend the warped staircase. They come out to the
centre of the stage and stand in a row, as they stood before.
The one with the violin carefully spreads a handkerchief
over his shoulder, and all three begin to play with extreme
painstaking. The sounds, however, are tender, low, and sad, as
in a dream._
Now we have a ball! How costly! How gorgeous!
How brilliant!
Do you remember?
_Humming softly in time to the music, they begin to circle
about MAN, posturing and repeating with wild distortions the
movements of the girls in white robes who danced at the ball.
During the first musical phrase they circle about; during the
second they approach each other and then draw apart gracefully
and silently. They speak in loud whispers_:
Do you remember?
You will soon die, but do you remember?
Do you remember?
Do you remember?
You will soon die, but do you remember?
Do you remember?
_The dance becomes swifter and the movements more jerky.
Through the voices of the OLD WOMEN who are singing there
glides a strange, whimpering note; and the same strange
laughter, as yet subdued, runs through the dancers like a low
rustling. As they sweep past MAN they discharge, as it were,
into his ears abrupt whispers_:
Do you remember?
Do you remember?
How tender! How fine!
How restful to the soul!
Do you remember?
You will soon die! You will soon die! You will soon die——
Do you remember?
_The whirling dance becomes swifter and the movements still
more jerky. Suddenly all is silent and motionless. The
musicians are petrified with their instruments in their hands;
the dancing women stand motionless in the attitudes in which
the oncoming of silence found them._
_MAN rises. With staggering, unsteady steps he walks toward
the bed. One of the OLD WOMEN bars his way and whispers in his
face_:
Don’t lie on the bed; you will die there!
You will die there!
Beware of the bed!
_MAN pauses, helpless, and sadly begs_: “Help me, somebody! I
cannot reach the bed.” _Suddenly the scales fall from his eyes.
He sees the malicious OLD WOMEN watching and mischievously
sporting with death. He sees the ruin and darkness and
destruction that pervade everything about him. He sees as if
for the first time the stony face of the BEING IN GREY and
the candle slowly burning out. He raises his hand and the OLD
WOMEN give way before him. He throws back threateningly his
grey-haired, beautiful head, stands erect, and, preparing
for his last battle, he cries out in a challenging voice,
unexpectedly loud and full of grief and anger. In the first
brief expression one can still hear the feebleness of age,
but with each succeeding utterance the voice becomes more
youthful and stronger, and the candle, reflecting for a
moment the life that has returned, flames up high, red and
quavering, illuminating all about it with the sombre glow of a
conflagration._
MAN. Where is my armour-bearer? Where is my sword? Where is my shield? I
am weaponless! Come quickly, quickly! Be accursed!
_He falls at the foot of the bed and dies. At the same instant
the flame of the candle with one last feeble flare goes out,
and deep gloom envelops all objects. It is as if the walls
and the windows that had formerly held back the darkness had
finally given way and the darkness had flooded everything
with a dense, black, triumphant wave. Only the face of MAN is
illumined. Low, indistinct conversation of the OLD WOMEN is
heard, together with whispering and interchanging of laughter._
BEING IN GREY. Silence! Man is dead.
_Profound silence. The same cold, indifferent voice repeats
the words from the far distance like an echo_: “Silence! Man
is dead.” _Profound silence. Slowly the gloom becomes denser,
though the mice-like figures of the OLD WOMEN watchers can
still be seen. Quietly and silently they begin to circle about
the corpse. Then they begin to hum in a low tone, and the
musicians start playing. The gloom becomes still more dense,
the music and singing louder and louder, and the wild dance
more unrestrained. They are no longer dancing but wildly
whirling about the corpse with stamping and shrieking and wild,
uninterrupted laughter. Complete darkness ensues. The face of
the dead is still illumined, but presently that also vanishes.
Black, impenetrable darkness._
_In the darkness one can hear the movements of the wild
dancers, the shrieking and laughter, and the discordant and
desperately loud sounds of the orchestra. On attaining their
highest pitch, all these sounds swiftly recede somewhere and
die away. Silence._
_Curtain._
THE SABINE WOMEN
A BIT OF ROMAN HISTORY
IN THREE ACTS
ACT I
_A wild, rugged spot, at daybreak. As the sun rises, armed
ROMANS enter from the hills, dragging with them the beautiful
but dishevelled SABINE WOMEN. The latter resist, scream, and
scratch—all but one, who, perfectly quiet, seems to have fallen
asleep in the arms of the ROMAN who carries her. The captors,
groaning with the pain of their scratches, quickly drop the
WOMEN in a heap and, hastily retreating, rearrange their
clothing. They pant as if exhausted. The screaming subsides.
The WOMEN, watching suspiciously the movements of the men,
also set themselves to rights. They whisper and chatter in low
tones._
FIRST ROMAN. By Hercules! I’m as wet as a muskrat. I’ll wager my woman
weighed four hundred pounds at least.
SECOND ROMAN. You needn’t have picked the biggest of the lot. For my
part, I chose a thin little thing, and——
FIRST ROMAN. What’s happened to your face? You don’t mean to say that
thin little thing——
SECOND ROMAN. Wow! She scratches like a cat.
FIRST ROMAN. They all scratch like cats. I have been in a hundred
battles. I have been hacked with swords, beaten with clubs, bruised with
stones. Gates and walls have fallen on me, but this is the worst yet. My
Roman nose is a wreck.
THIRD ROMAN. If I hadn’t been clean shaved in the ancient Roman fashion,
there wouldn’t be a hair left on my face. You know what nice, slender
fingers and what amazingly sharp nails they have. Well, talk about cats!
Cats is no name for them. Mine never said a word, but all the way she
just plucked out the down.
A TALL, FAT ROMAN. [_Speaks in a bass voice_] Mine got her hands under my
breastplate and tickled me in the armpits so that I laughed the whole way.
_A low, contemptuous laugh from the WOMEN._
FIRST ROMAN. Sh! They can hear us.
SECOND ROMAN. Come, gentlemen; stop your whining and spruce up. It would
be a pity for the ladies to lose their respect for us on this very first
day. Just look at Emilius Paulus. There’s a man who keeps up his dignity.
THIRD ROMAN. Radiant as Aurora!
FOURTH ROMAN. By Hercules! Not a scratch on him. How did you manage it,
Paulus?
PAULUS. [_With feigned modesty_] Oh, I don’t know. She clung to me from
the start as if I were her husband. You astonish me, gentlemen. Why, it
was simplicity itself. When I took her up she spontaneously threw her
arms about my neck. The only danger was that she would hug me to death.
Her arms may be slender, but they are strong.
FIRST ROMAN. There’s luck for you.
PAULUS. Simplicity itself, I tell you. Her innocent, confiding little
heart told her that I loved her truly and respected her. Half the way she
slept like a weary child, though you, of course, won’t believe that.
THE FAT ROMAN. Pardon me, gentlemen, but how are we going to tell which
is which? Having stolen them in the dark like chickens from a hen-coop——
_From the group of WOMEN comes the indignant exclamation_:
“What a disgusting comparison!”
FIRST ROMAN. Sh! They can hear us.
THE FAT ROMAN. [_Lowering his voice an octave_] Well, how are we to
pick them out? Mine was a very jolly sort, and I shan’t give her up to
anybody. And, anyway, I’m not going to let people tread on my toes.
SECOND ROMAN. Chucklehead!
THIRD ROMAN. I shall know mine by her voice. I shan’t forget her
screaming, come Christmas.
FOURTH ROMAN. I shall know mine by her nails.
SCIPIO. And I shall know mine by the wonderful fragrance of her hair.
PAULUS. And I mine by the modesty and beauty of her soul. O Romans!
We stand on the threshold of a new life. Tedious solitude, farewell!
Farewell, interminable nights, with your accursed nightingales! Let the
nightingale sing now, or any other bird—I’m ready.
THE FAT ROMAN. Yes, it is time that we entered on the domestic stage of
life.
_Ironical exclamations from the WOMEN_: “Oh, yes! Why don’t you
try it? Come on!”
FIRST ROMAN. Sh! They can hear us.
SECOND ROMAN. It’s high time—high time, I say.
THIRD ROMAN. Gentlemen, who goes first?
_Silence. All stand motionless. Low, mocking laughter on the
part of the WOMEN._
THE FAT ROMAN. For my part, I’ve had all the tickling I want. Let some
one else try it. And, anyway, I’m not going to let any one tread on my
toes. Here, Paulus, you go.
PAULUS. Brute! Don’t you see that my darling is still asleep? Look—that
dark clump there under the stones—that’s she. O innocent soul!
SCIPIO. Gentlemen, it is apparent from your attitude of indecision and
from your confusion—a wholly justified confusion, I may say—that no one
of you has the courage to approach these merciless creatures. Now, here
is my plan——
THE FAT ROMAN. Wise head!
SCIPIO. Here, I say, is my plan. Let us advance in a body, and quite
leisurely, each one hiding himself behind the others. Certainly, if we
were not afraid of their husbands——
THE FAT ROMAN. Their husbands! Bosh!
_Deep sighs from the WOMEN and demonstrative weeping._
FIRST ROMAN. Sh! They can hear us.
SCIPIO. There you go again, Mark Antony, with that mouth of yours.
We must avoid this unlucky word husband. You see how it works on the
feelings of these poor women. Well, gentlemen, do you agree to my plan?
THE ROMANS. Agreed! Agreed!
SCIPIO. Well, then, gentlemen——
_The ROMANS prepare for the attack, the WOMEN prepare to
defend themselves. In the place of lovely faces are seen sharp
finger-nails, ready to bury themselves in face and hair. A
low, hissing is heard, as of snakes. The ROMANS advance in
accordance with their plan; that is, each one hides himself
behind some one else, with the result that they all fall back
and take shelter in the wings. The WOMEN laugh. The ROMANS
return to their places in confusion._
FIRST ROMAN. It looks as if there were some flaw in your plan, Scipio. As
Socrates would say, we advanced backward.
THE FAT ROMAN. I can’t make head or tail of it.
PAULUS. Courage, gentlemen. What is a scratch or two? Once we have
reached the goal, oh, what bliss! Forward, Romans! To the attack!
_The ROMANS, with the exception of PAULUS, who gazes dreamily
at the heavens, rush upon the WOMEN in a disorderly crowd,
but, after a moment of silent struggling, retreat hastily.
Silence. The ROMANS all rub their noses._
SCIPIO. [_Speaking through his nose_] Did you notice, gentlemen, that
they didn’t even scream? A bad omen! I prefer a screamer.
FIRST ROMAN. What’s to be done now?
SECOND ROMAN. How I long for a domestic life!
THIRD ROMAN. And I for a family hearthstone. What is life without a
family hearthstone? Now that Rome’s founded—hang it all—I’d like a little
rest.
THE FAT ROMAN. Unfortunately, gentlemen, not a single one of us
understands the psychology of the other sex. Busied with wars and the
founding of Rome, we have become crude, we have lost our polish, we have
forgotten what a woman is——
PAULUS. [_Modestly_] Not all of us.
SCIPIO. However, from the fact that these women once had husbands—whom we
routed yesterday—I draw the conclusion that there exists some means, some
mysterious method, of approaching a woman whom you do not know. But how
find out what it is?
THE FAT ROMAN. Suppose we ask the women themselves.
FIRST ROMAN. They won’t tell.
_Spiteful laughter among the WOMEN._
SECOND ROMAN. Sh! They can hear us.
SCIPIO. Well, now, I’ve thought of a plan——
THE FAT ROMAN. Wise head!
SCIPIO. As for our charming captives, it strikes me, gentlemen, that far
from our capturing them, they have captured us. Busied in scratching
our faces, tearing out our hair, and tickling us in the armpits, they
obviously cannot hear us. Not being able to hear us, they are not open
to persuasion. Not being open to persuasion, they are not persuaded. So
there you are!
_Repeating_ “So there you are!” _the ROMANS fall into a state
of gloomy meditation. The WOMEN listen attentively._
SCIPIO. Well, here is my plan. Let us, in accordance with military
custom, select an envoy from our number, and ask our fair opponents to
do the same. The representatives of the warring factions, being thus in
complete security [_he feels of his nose_] under the protection of the
white flag, will be able, if I may employ a Latin expression, to reach a
_modus vivendi_, and then——
_The ROMANS interrupt this brilliant speech with loud hurrahs.
SCIPIO, being unanimously elected envoy, raises the white flag
and cautiously approaches the WOMEN, at the same time calling
over his shoulder_: “Don’t get too far away, fellows.”
SCIPIO. [_In an ingratiating tone_] Fair ladies—please stay where you
are, ladies, you see I’m under the protection of the white flag, and
the white flag, I assure you, is sacred, and my person is inviolable—it
really is— Fair ladies! Although it was only yesterday that we had
the pleasure of capturing you, already there have arisen between us
disagreements, feuds, and strange misunderstandings.
CLEOPATRA. What impudence! Just because you have tied a white rag to a
stick you needn’t think you can make these insulting speeches.
SCIPIO. [_In a conciliatory tone_] Mercy me! Insulting speeches? Quite
the contrary. I am delighted—that is to say, we are all of us perfectly
miserable. [_With the courage of despair_] I swear by Hercules we are
dead in love with you. Madam, since you seem to sympathise with us, I
venture to ask a slight favour. Please select from your number, as we
have done, an envoy——
CLEOPATRA. Oh, we know. We have already heard of it. You needn’t repeat.
SCIPIO. Why, we hardly spoke above a whisper.
VOICES OF THE WOMEN. Well, we heard, just the same.
CLEOPATRA. You go back with that rag where you belong, and wait. We
are going to talk this matter over. No—farther off, if you please. No
eavesdropping. Who is that suckling yonder with his mouth wide open?
[_Pointing at the dreaming PAULUS_] Take him away, please.
THE ROMANS. [_Whispering to one another_] Now we’re getting on.
_They withdraw on tiptoe, some showing their good faith by
plugging their ears._
FIRST SABINE WOMAN. How impudent! How insulting! What odious tyranny! Oh,
our poor husbands!
SECOND SABINE WOMAN. I swear I’ll scratch out a thousand eyes before I
will be disloyal for one instant to my unhappy husband. Sleep sweetly, my
beloved. In the keeping of this brave heart your honour is safe.
THIRD SABINE WOMAN. I also swear.
FOURTH SABINE WOMAN. And I.
CLEOPATRA. Alas, my dear companions, we can all of us swear, but what’s
the use? These rude, uncultured men are no respecters of oaths. Take my
captor, for instance. Although I bit his nose——
FIRST SABINE WOMAN. Oh, do you remember yours?
CLEOPATRA. [_Spitefully_] I shall remember him to my dying day. He
smelled of breastplates and swords and all the other things that go with
a coarse soldier. And he was so careless about squeezing me. Oh, my poor,
dear husband!
FIRST SABINE WOMAN. Well, they all have that soldiery smell.
SECOND SABINE WOMAN. And they all squeeze like bears. Probably it is the
military fashion.
THIRD SABINE WOMAN. When I was a little girl I remember a soldier boy
came to our house and said he was from a far-off country where——
CLEOPATRA. Ladies, this is no place for reminiscences.
THIRD SABINE WOMAN. But this soldier boy I was telling you about——
CLEOPATRA. My dear Juno, what in Venus’s name have we to do with your
soldier when every one of us has on her neck a soldier of her own? Now,
my dears, what is to be done? Here is my proposition——
VERONICA. [_Who has awakened, approaches. She is thin and impressively
tall. Languidly, her eyes half closed, she interrupts CLEOPATRA_] Where
are they? Why are they so far off? I wish they would come nearer. I am
ashamed when they are not by me. All this time I have been in a trance,
and now I cannot find the young man who carried me. He smelt like a
soldier.
CLEOPATRA. There he stands, with his mouth wide open.
VERONICA. I will go to him. I am consumed with shame.
CLEOPATRA. Hold her back! Why, Veronica, can it be that you have already
forgotten your poor, dear husband?
VERONICA. I swear I will never cease to love him. But why do we not go to
our captors—or perhaps you are planning something else, my dears? For my
part, I am ready for any fate. Let them come to us. Men are insufferably
familiar as soon as you cease being angry with them.
CLEOPATRA. Well, my dears, my first suggestion is that we take an
oath never to betray our dear, unhappy husbands. However our captors
may treat us, we shall remain firm as the Tarpeian rock. When I think
how lonely my husband is, how he vainly calls me to his empty bed,
“Cleopatra, where art thou, Cleopatra”; when I remember how he loved
me—[_The WOMEN all weep_] Come, my dears, let us swear. They are waiting
for us, you know.
SABINE WOMEN. We swear. We swear. Whatever they may do to us, we will not
betray our husbands.
CLEOPATRA. There! My mind is at rest so far as the husbands are
concerned. Sleep, beloved; sleep in peace. And now, ladies, the next
thing is to choose an envoy as the Romans suggest, and let her——
FIRST SABINE WOMAN. Scratch his eyes out.
SECOND SABINE WOMAN. No, let her give the rascal a piece of her mind.
They think we can do nothing but scratch; let them hear how we can talk.
VERONICA. [_Shrugging her lean shoulders_] What is the use of talking
when they have us in their power?
CLEOPATRA. Stop her! Ah, Veronica, might is not right, whatever Roman law
may say. Make me your envoy, and I will convince our captors that they
have no right to detain us, that they are in duty bound to let us go,
that according to divine law, or human law, or any other law, as they say
in Rome, they have acted like perfect swine.
VOICES OF WOMEN. Go, Cleopatra; do go.
FIRST SABINE WOMAN. Stop Veronica.
CLEOPATRA. Hello, there, you envoy with the white rag! Come here, please.
I want to talk with you.
SCIPIO. Shall I remove my sword?
CLEOPATRA. Never mind. Why should you? You needn’t think we are afraid of
your swords. Come, now, don’t be frightened. I shan’t bite. You weren’t
timid yesterday night when you broke into our peaceful home and rudely
tore me from the arms of my poor husband. Well, come on, if you are
coming.
_SCIPIO approaches cautiously. The ROMANS and the SABINE WOMEN
arrange themselves at right and left of the stage in two
symmetrical groups and follow the parley attentively._
SCIPIO. I am charmed, madam——
CLEOPATRA. Charmed, indeed! Let me tell you that you are a scoundrel,
a lunatic, a brigand, a thief. Oh, you murderer, you miscreant, you
monster, you scum! What you have done is blasphemous, disgusting,
abominable, unheard of.
SCIPIO. Madam!
CLEOPATRA. You sicken me. You make my flesh creep. I can’t bear the sight
of you. You smell like a soldier. If your nose were not covered with
scratches, I would——
SCIPIO. Pardon me. You did the scratching.
CLEOPATRA. I? Then you are the man who— [_Looks at him contemptuously_]
Excuse me. I didn’t recognise you.
SCIPIO. [_Joyfully_] But I recognised you instantly. Your hair smells of
verbena; doesn’t it, now?
CLEOPATRA. None of your business what it smells of. Verbena perfume is as
good as any other.
SCIPIO. Just what I meant.
CLEOPATRA. I don’t care what you meant. I’ve said nothing about your
odours. And, anyway, why all this silly gabble about smells? I beg you,
my dear sir, as a man of honour, to come to the point. What do you want
of us?
_SCIPIO modestly lowers his eyes, but, unable to hold himself
in, snickers behind his hand. All the ROMANS snicker and the
WOMEN bridle._
CLEOPATRA. [_Blushing_] Snickering is no answer. You’re just horrid! I
ask you, what do you want of us? I suppose you know that we are already
married.
SCIPIO. How shall I put it, madam? We are ready to offer you our hands
and hearts——
CLEOPATRA. What! You really mean it? Are you crazy?
SCIPIO. Look at us. We are no dandies from the Nevski. Having just
founded Rome, we are eager to eternalise our— Put yourself in our place,
madam, and have pity on us. Would you not pity your husbands if they woke
up some fine morning and found their wives missing? We are lonely, madam.
THE FAT ROMAN. Oh, so lonely.
VERONICA. [_Wiping her eyes_] I’m so sorry for them.
SCIPIO. In the midst of war’s alarms, busied in the founding of Rome, we
have let slip, so to speak, the moment when—Madam, we pity your husbands
from the bottom of our hearts.
CLEOPATRA. [_With dignity_] I am pleased to hear you say so.
SCIPIO. But why the devil did they give you up?
_The ROMANS joyfully support him with_: “That’s right”; “You’ve
struck it, Scipio”; _but the WOMEN show resentment and utter
such exclamations as_: “How mean of them!” “They’re insulting
our husbands.” “The insinuating wretches!”
CLEOPATRA. [_Drily_] If you wish to go on with this parley, I beg of you
to refer to our husbands with respect.
SCIPIO. With the greatest pleasure. But, madam, respect them as we may,
we cannot but admit that they are unworthy of you. At this very moment,
when your inhuman sufferings are pulling at our heart-strings, when the
hot tears evoked by your bereavement are pouring forth like mountain
brooks in spring, when the very stones, quivering with pity, moan and
repine, when your charming noses, drenched with cruel tears, lose their
wonted form and begin to swell——
CLEOPATRA. Nothing of the kind.
SCIPIO. When all nature, and so forth— Well, where are your husbands
now? I don’t see them. They are invisible. They are absent. They have
abandoned you. Shall I say, at the risk of offending, they have basely
deserted you?
_The ROMANS stand in a haughty pose, with arms akimbo.
Excitement and tears on the part of the WOMEN. The gentle voice
of PROSERPINA is heard, saying_: “Really, why are they not
here? It’s high time.”
CLEOPATRA. All very fine, and your pose is certainly handsome, but
suppose people should take it into their heads to come by night and steal
us?
SCIPIO. We shall be on the alert all night long.
CLEOPATRA. Or in the daytime?
SCIPIO. Oh, you wouldn’t think of going in the daytime.
_The languid voice of VERONICA_: “Why are they so far away?
I am ashamed when they are so far away. I want them to come
nearer.”
_Whispers among the WOMEN_: “Make her keep still.”
CLEOPATRA. Well, of all the impudence! Still, I am sorry for you,
and I really must confess to some respect and consideration for your
sufferings, though your youth has led you astray. However, I shall now
advance an argument that will at one blow shatter your air-castles and, I
hope, put you to blush. How about the children, sir?
SCIPIO. Wh—what children?
CLEOPATRA. The children we have left at home.
SCIPIO. That, madam, is, I confess, a serious question. Permit me to
withdraw for a moment in order to confer with my companions.
_CLEOPATRA goes to the WOMEN, SCIPIO to the men. They confer in
whispers._
SCIPIO. Madam.
CLEOPATRA. What is it?
SCIPIO. After protracted consideration, my companions, the Ancient
Romans, have instructed me to communicate to you that you will have new
children.
CLEOPATRA. [_Staggered_] Oh, do you think so?
SCIPIO. We swear it. Gentlemen, swear!
_The ROMANS swear in a discordant chorus._
CLEOPATRA. But the surroundings are very unattractive.
SCIPIO. [_Offended_] The surroundings?
CLEOPATRA. Yes. This is a horrid place—all mountains and ravines—simply
impossible! What’s this stone doing here? Take it away, please.
SCIPIO. Oh, madam! [_Carries the stone away._
CLEOPATRA. And such trees! I’m fairly stifled here. What is this stupid
tree? But you are embarrassed, aren’t you? Permit me to withdraw. I
suppose I must give you an answer.
SCIPIO. An answer? What to?
CLEOPATRA. Why, I thought you asked me a question.
SCIPIO. I? Pardon me, madam, I must be getting stupid. What did I ask you
a question about?
CLEOPATRA. Do you mean to insult me?
SCIPIO. I?
CLEOPATRA. Yes, you. You said you were getting stupid.
SCIPIO. I?
CLEOPATRA. Certainly, _I_ didn’t say so. You are forgetting yourself, sir.
SCIPIO. I?
CLEOPATRA. Well, anyway, I am going. And you, sir, had better spruce up a
little if we are to continue to talk to one another. You _are_ a sight.
Haven’t you a handkerchief? Wipe your face. It is as sweaty as if you had
been carrying stones all day long. [_She makes as if to withdraw._
SCIPIO. Madam—allow me—I believe I did carry a stone or two, but the fact
is you made me do it.
CLEOPATRA. I? Why, I never thought of such a thing.
SCIPIO. Begging your pardon, madam, what are we talking about?
CLEOPATRA. How should I know? That’s your affair, not mine.
SCIPIO. Evidently you’re making fun of me.
CLEOPATRA. Oh, you’ve noticed it?
SCIPIO. I won’t allow myself to be ridiculed.
CLEOPATRA. How can you prevent it?
SCIPIO. I’m still a bachelor, thank God!
CLEOPATRA. Aha! At last, “thank God!” Well said, my dear sir. A nice
box we should have been in if we had trusted to your oaths. [_To her
companions_] Do you hear? They are already thankful that we are not their
wives.
SCIPIO. Heavens! This is unendurable. Either you stop making fun of me——
CLEOPATRA. Or else——
SCIPIO. Or else go home. Yes, madam, go home. This is the limit. By
Hercules, we didn’t found Rome just for the sake of sticking fast, like
flies in marmalade, in your absurd deliberations!
CLEOPATRA. Absurd?
SCIPIO. Yes, idiotic.
CLEOPATRA. [_Weeping_] You insult me.
SCIPIO. Good Lord! She’s crying. Madam, what do you want? Why did you
pick on me? Ancient Roman though I am, this woman will positively drive
me crazy. Stop your crying! I can’t make head or tail of this thing. I
don’t even know what you are blubbering about.
CLEOPATRA. [_Weeping_] Will you let us go?
SCIPIO. Certainly, certainly. Friends, Romans, do you agree? I’m at the
end of my rope.
FAT ROMAN. Yes, let them go. We’ll fetch some wives from Etruria.
SCIPIO. All right. These creatures are not women. They are——
CLEOPATRA. [_Weeping_] On your word of honour?
SCIPIO. What am I to do on my word of honour?
CLEOPATRA. You will let us go? Perhaps your promise is just a trick, and
as soon as we start to go you will lay hold of us.
SCIPIO. No, no. Run along. Are you glued to the spot?
CLEOPATRA. [_Weeping_] Will you carry us back?
SCIPIO. Heavens and earth! What next?
CLEOPATRA. You know very well that having brought us here you are in
honour bound to carry us back again. It’s a long way.
_The WOMEN laugh maliciously. SCIPIO, panting with anger,
casts frenzied glances about, but, after trying in vain to say
something, stamps his foot and goes back to his friends. All
the ROMANS pointedly turn their backs to the WOMEN, and sit
in that position during the following scene. The WOMEN confer
quietly._
CLEOPATRA. You have heard, my dears; they are letting us go.
VERONICA. How dreadful!
SECOND SABINE WOMAN. You might better say, “driving us away.” It’s simply
maddening! Here they carry off perfectly innocent women—rouse the whole
house in the middle of the night—turn all the furniture upside down—wake
up the children—and then, if you please—don’t want us!
FIRST SABINE WOMAN. And our poor husbands! Their sufferings are in vain.
SECOND SABINE WOMAN. Just think of it—in the night-time, when everybody
was asleep!
THIRD SABINE WOMAN. Say, do you know the way back?
FOURTH SABINE WOMAN. You don’t suppose, do you, that I was observing the
road? Of course I don’t. I only know it is dreadfully far.
THIRD SABINE WOMAN. Well, it’s obvious they won’t carry us back.
_Subdued laughter._
VERONICA. [_Moaning_] Oh, my dear boy! See, they’ve made him turn his
back to me! I am going to him.
FIRST SABINE WOMAN. Wait a moment, Veronica. Your boy won’t leave you. We
must talk this thing over.
PROSERPINA. I wonder whether, after all, it is not all the same what
husbands we have, whether those or these. The others were all right and
these are all right. I am sure, at least, that the very first thing mine
will ask of me is to make him a hot porridge. I’d rather enjoy having a
new husband. The old one is sick of my menu, but this gawk will enjoy it.
CLEOPATRA. For shame, Proserpina! History will condemn us.
PROSERPINA. A lot history will understand about our doings! And here in
Rome it’s not so very bad, after all.
CLEOPATRA. You’re horrid, Proserpina. Just suppose they should be
listening to us! But here’s my plan, my dears. Though we are, of course,
going home at once to our dear, late husbands, it is a long walk, and we
are tired.
FIRST SABINE WOMAN. My nerves are completely shattered!
SECOND SABINE WOMAN. No constitution could stand it! All of a sudden in
the middle of the night to wake up the whole house——
CLEOPATRA. So let’s stay here a day or two and rest. That will please
them and commit us to nothing. Besides, when they see how cheerful
and modest we are, our captors will find it easier to part with us. I
confess, too, that I am a little sorry for mine. His nose is a sight.
THIRD SABINE WOMAN. But we’ll stay only two days!
FOURTH SABINE WOMAN. One day will be enough for me. We’ll just take a
little walk— Hurry, Cleopatra, I think they have already fallen asleep.
CLEOPATRA. [_To SCIPIO_] Sir!
SCIPIO. [_Not turning around_] What you want?
CLEOPATRA. Come here a moment, please.
SCIPIO. At your service, madam.
CLEOPATRA. We have decided to accept your kind offer and to go away at
once. You are not angry?
SCIPIO. Not at all.
CLEOPATRA. But first we should like to rest a little. Will you let us
stay here a day or so and rest? This is a lovely spot.
_All the ROMANS simultaneously turn around and spring to their
feet._
SCIPIO. [_In ecstasy_] Dear madam! What has the place to do with it, and
what—? O Jupiter! Madam, I swear by Hercules, I swear by Venus, I swear
by Bacchus! Madam, may I be thrice anathema if— I swear by Aphrodite!
Gentlemen, Ancient Romans! Board the ship!
CLEOPATRA. I suggest that we take a little stroll.
SCIPIO. Oh, madam! Gentlemen, Romans! Foot-pace! Dress front! left,
right; left, right! Column of twos! [_He seizes CLEOPATRA by the arm
and leads her toward the hills. At his command the ROMANS, each seizing
a SABINE WOMAN, proudly march in file behind him._] Left, right; left,
right! One, two; one, two!
PAULUS EMILIUS. [_Left dreaming alone upon the stage, rushes about,
crying pitifully_] Where is she? Gentlemen, Ancient Romans, wait! I have
lost her. Where is she?
_VERONICA stands like a bride, her eyes modestly cast down._
PAULUS. [_Flying toward her blindly_] Beg your pardon, madam, have you
seen her?
VERONICA. You stupid!
PAULUS. I?
VERONICA. Yes, stupid!
PAULUS. Why, what are you scolding me for?
VERONICA. Scolding you! You silly! Can’t you see? Oh, my darling boy! I
have waited for you thirty years! Oh, take——
PAULUS. Take what?
VERONICA. Me. You see it is I, she— Oh, you stupid thing!
PAULUS. You? No, you are not the right one.
VERONICA. Yes, I am.
PAULUS. No, you’re not. [_He sits on the ground and weeps._
VERONICA. See, they have left us alone, and I am ashamed. Come!
PAULUS. [_Weeps_] You are not the right one.
VERONICA. But I say I am, plague take you! Did any one ever see the like!
My husband repeated that phrase, “You are the wrong one,” for thirty
years, and now this suckling is at it. Give me your hand.
PAULUS. [_Gets up in terror_] You are the wrong one. Oh, oh, oh, save me!
She has captured me!
_Curtain._
ACT II
_A scene shrouded in gloom, symbolising the sad plight of the
bereaved husbands. Possibly rain is falling, and the wind
whistling, and perhaps black clouds cover the sky; but very
likely it just seems so. At any rate, the gloom is horrible.
The_ mise en scène _should suggest that the husbands are
plunged in grief and would like to be relieved of it._
_As the curtain rises the disposition of the characters is as
follows: At the sides, in two symmetrical groups, a part of
the SABINE MEN are engaged in gymnastic exercises. As they
move their arms they repeat with rapt attention_: “Twenty-five
minutes’ daily drill will banish every pain and ill.” _In the
middle of the stage, on a long bench, sit in a row the husbands
who have children. Each one holds a baby in his arms. Their
heads droop wearily to one side and their attitudes dramatise
despair. It is a distressing picture. For a long time nothing
is heard but the ominous, barely audible whisper_: “Twenty-five
minutes’ daily drill——”
_Enter ANCUS MARTIUS, exhibiting from a distance a letter._
MARTIUS. The address, Sabines! The address of our wives! The address,
gentlemen, the address!
HUSHED VOICES. Hear! Hear! The address! The address! We have the address!
_ANCUS MARTIUS quickly takes from his pocket a little bell and
jingles it._
VOICES. Silence! Silence!
MARTIUS. Gentlemen, Sabines, history will not reproach us either for
dilatoriness or indecision. Neither dilatoriness nor indecision are
traits of the Sabine, whose stormy, impetuous character can scarcely be
restrained by the flood-gates of reason and experience. Recall, plundered
husbands, whither we rushed on the memorable morning which followed the
memorable night when those brigands basely kidnapped our hapless wives.
Do you recall, Sabines, whither our nimble legs carried us, devouring
space, annihilating all obstacles, and filling the land with din. Come,
recall, gentlemen!
_The SABINES maintain a timid silence._
MARTIUS. Come, come, recall, gentlemen!
A TIMID VOICE. Proserpina, Proserpina, my darling! Where art thou?
O-o-o-oh!
_The SABINES, in rapt silence, gaze at the mouth of the
speaker._
ANCUS MARTIUS. [_Without waiting for an answer, cries impressively_] To
the Information Bureau! That’s where. But recall, gentlemen, our grief.
That effete institution as yet knew nothing and gave us no correction of
their previous addresses. And, having for a whole week replied to our
inquiries with ever the same cruel irony, it finally responded in these
burning words [_he reads_]: “Left for parts unknown.” But, Sabines, did
we rest satisfied? Recall.
_SABINES maintain silence._
MARTIUS. No, we did not rest satisfied. Here is a dry but eloquent
enumeration of our achievements in these brief eighteen months. We have
inserted advertisements in all reputable newspapers, with promises of
reward to the finder. We have summoned all the prominent astrologers,
and every night from their observation of the stars they have sought to
divine the address of our hapless wives——
A TIMID VOICE. Proserpina, my darling, o-o-o-oh!
MARTIUS. Not only have we sacrificed one thousand chickens, geese, and
ducks, but we have disembowelled all the cats in our endeavours by the
inspection of birds and animals to determine the portentous address.
But, alas, through the will of the gods our superhuman efforts have been
frustrated! Recall, Sabines— However, it’s not necessary. I will only add
that neither experimental nor theoretical science has given us an answer.
Even the constellations, to which our gaze was turned with sorrowful
inquiry, though they deigned to reply, were no more definite than the
Information Bureau: Left, left, left! Whither? For parts unknown!
_Subdued weeping among the SABINES._
A TIMID VOICE. Proserpina! Oh! Proserpina!
MARTIUS. Yes, Sabines, a strange answer to receive from the
constellations when one considers that from their point of vantage the
whole universe is visible. But I continue with pride the enumeration of
our achievements. Recall, gentlemen, what our learned jurists were doing
while the astrologers were conjecturing from the stars. Come, now, recall!
_The SABINES maintain silence._
MARTIUS. Come, recall, gentlemen. It’s strenuous work talking to you.
You stand like statues; by Heaven, you do! I am sure you remember, only
you are modest about speaking. Come, now, gentlemen; come, come, come,
recall! What were our jurists doing while——
A TIMID VOICE. Proserpina, o-o-o-oh! o-o-o-oh!
MARTIUS. Silence, there! Why are you eternally dragging in your
Proserpina? Well, I will help you, gentlemen. Do you remember why we are
practising gymnastics? Come, come!
A TIMID VOICE. [_From the back row_] To develop our muscles.
MARTIUS. To be sure, and very well said. And now, why do we need muscles?
Come, come, answer up! Gentlemen, you wear one’s patience completely out.
Jog your memories. Why do we need muscles, Sabines?
A HESITATING VOICE. To fight with.
MARTIUS. [_Raising his arms to heaven in despair_] Ye Heavens! “To fight
with!” And I hear that from a Sabine, a friend of the law, a patron of
order, the only genuine example of a legal conscience in the world!
“To fight with!” I am ashamed of this ruffianly breach of etiquette
appropriate only to the brigand Romans, the base kidnappers of our
absolutely legal wives.
A TIMID VOICE. Oh, Proserpina, Proserpina!
MARTIUS. Hold your tongue, will you? Proserpina, indeed! Just when
we are getting down to general principles you must come in with your
maundering about Proserpina! But I see, gentlemen, that this bereavement
has somewhat dimmed your usually brilliant memories, and so I repeat in
brief: We need muscles in order that, having learned the address and
entered upon our march against the Romans—do you understand?—we may be
able to carry the entire distance the heavy code of laws, the collection
of enactments and decisions on appeal, and also—do you understand
now?—the four hundred volumes of investigations which our jurists have
compiled on the question of the legality of our marriages—eh, do you
understand?—and on the illegality of kidnapping. Our weapons, Sabines,
are the justice of our cause and a clear conscience. We will prove to
the base kidnappers that they _are_ kidnappers, and to our wives we will
prove that they were kidnapped, and Heaven will shudder; for now that
the address is found, it’s all up with the Romans. Look! [_He shakes
the letter and the SABINES, standing on tiptoe, peek at it_] Here is a
registered letter signed “A Repentant Kidnapper.” In it some unknown
friend expresses repentance for his thoughtless crime. He assures us that
he will no longer kidnap, and prays that fate may have mercy upon him.
The name is undecipherable—blurred by a big blot where, apparently, tears
have fallen. There, gentlemen! That is the power of conscience! He also
informs us, by the way, that the hearts of our wives are broken——
A TIMID VOICE. Proserpin——
MARTIUS. Please listen, will you? Between you and your Proserpina I
cannot get a word in edgewise. Proserpina, you must remember, is a mere
detail, and yet at a time when we are all with such enthusiasm working
out general problems, when we are formulating a plan—I’ll tell you about
it presently—when we are preparing for victory or death, you whine for
some insignificant Proserpina or somebody. In the name of the assembly, I
call you to order. And now, gentlemen, forward! Attention! Form in rank
and file! Come, step lively, gentlemen! Oh, this is maddening! You cannot
even yet distinguish right from left. Where are you going? Where are you
going? Halt! [_He seizes a SABINE who is out of line and instructs him_]
In order to learn which your right foot is, you must stand still and look
at me. Now place yourself with your face to the north—or, no, with your
face to the south and your back to the east. Now, where is your face?
Man, that is not your face, that is your back. See, here is your face;
can’t you understand? Oh, this is intolerable! If you want to know which
your right foot is, look at your neighbour. Now, gentlemen, which of you
have penknives? Turn your pockets inside out. Good. Toothpicks? Leave
them behind. Not a suggestion of violence, gentlemen; nothing that pricks
or cuts. Our weapons are a clear conscience and the justice of our cause.
Now each one of you take up a volume of the laws and investigations.
Good! They ought to be bound, but we’ll attend to that later. Now you
see what muscles are for! Very good, very good. Trumpeters to the front!
Remember, you’re to play “The March of the Plundered Husbands.” Forw—
Hold on! Do you remember how to march?
_The SABINES remain silent._
MARTIUS. You don’t? Well, I will remind you. Two steps forward, one step
backward; two steps forward, one step backward. The first two steps are
designed to indicate, Sabines, the unquenchable fire of our stormy souls,
the firm will, the irresistible advance. The step backward symbolises
the step of reason, the step of experience and of the mature mind. In
taking that step we ponder the outcome of our acts. In taking it we also
maintain, as it were, a close bond with tradition, with our ancestors,
with our great past. History makes no leaps, and we, Sabines, at this
great moment, we are history. Trumpeters, trumpet!
_The trumpets emit a doleful wail, which, now convulsively
lurching forward and now smoothly and gently swaying backward,
carries with it the whole army of plundered husbands. Taking
two steps forward and one step backward, they slowly pass
across the stage._
_The curtain falls. The trumpets blare wearily and the second
scene passes into the third._
The St. Petersburg theatre, “The Convex Mirror,” very
successfully adapted for this scene the air of the
“Marseillaise.” In the first two measures the trumpets sounded
boldly and triumphantly, while in the succeeding measure they
emitted a kind of belch as mournful as it was distressing.
ACT III
_The same wild scene as in the first act, though there are
now some traces of orderliness. Near one of the huts stands a
ROMAN in a lazy attitude, blissfully picking his nose. In the
background, at the left, the army of husbands is seen marching
with concentrated attention in the same manner as before: two
steps forward, one step backward. The ROMAN, on catching sight
of them, shows at first signs of animation, and, ceasing to
attend to his nose, watches them with goodnatured curiosity.
The slowness of their movements, however, apparently makes
him drowsy. He yawns, stretches languidly, and seats himself
leisurely on a stone. At a signal from ANCUS MARTIUS the
trumpets cease._
MARTIUS. [_In a tone of despair_] Halt, Sabines! Halt, will you?
_The SABINES halt as if rooted to the spot._
MARTIUS. Come, halt, will you? Oh, Heavens! Will nothing hold back this
falling avalanche? Will nothing— Thank God, they have halted! Attention!
Trumpeters, to the rear! Professors, to the front. The rest, attention!
_The TRUMPETERS withdraw, the PROFESSORS advance. The rest
stand as if fettered._
MARTIUS. Professors, make ready!
_The PROFESSORS quickly squat down, unfold little tables,
lay upon each table a thick book, and open the covers with
a clatter. The effect is something like the firing of a
field-battery. The ROMAN (it is SCIPIO), waking up, apparently
becomes interested and inquires in a friendly manner_: “What
is the matter, gentlemen? What can I do for you? If this is a
circus, I take the liberty to inform you that the Colosseum is
not yet finished.”
MARTIUS. [_Calmly_] Silence, base kidnapper! [_To the SABINES_] And now,
Sabines, we have reached the wished-for goal. Behind us is the long path
of privation, hunger, solitude, and canned fruit. Before us a struggle
such as history has never known. Be inspired, Sabines, but control
yourselves; be tranquil. Maintaining a spirit of natural indignation,
calmly await the fated end. Recall, Sabines, why we have come here.
_The SABINES are silent._
MARTIUS. Come, recall, gentlemen! We surely did not come here with these
huge books merely to take a walk! Come, recall, gentlemen. Why are we
here?
SCIPIO. Come, come, gentlemen, recall.
MARTIUS. [_To SCIPIO_] Just think of it, they’re always like that!
SCIPIO. You don’t mean it!
MARTIUS. It’s a fact. They stand like graven images. They can do nothing
but blink their eyes. Tell me, now— Can one deliver a first-class speech
without resorting to the exclamation “Recall, gentlemen”?
SCIPIO. [_Good-naturedly shaking his head_] Well, scarcely. It would be a
queer speech.
MARTIUS. There! Of course it would. Even you understand that, but as for
these fellows——
_From the ranks of the SABINES comes a tremulous voice_: “Oh,
Proserpina, my darling, where art thou? O-o-o-oh!”
SCIPIO. [_Puzzled_] He must be recalling.
MARTIUS. [_Contemptuously_] Oh, he is always recalling. [_To the
SABINES_] Attention! We are now going to make a peremptory demand for our
wives. Woe to the abductors if their conscience has not yet awakened! We
will have the law of them. Oh, base abductor; summon your base companions
and prepare for the dire penalty!
SCIPIO. I will call my wife at once.
_He goes into the hut, calling_: “Cleopatra! Come out, please;
some one wants to see you on business!”
_PAULUS EMILIUS peeks from around the corner and, recognising
the SABINES, shouts joyfully_: “The husbands have come! The
husbands have come! Ancient Romans, wake up! The husbands are
here!”
_He rushes to MARTIUS and, with tears in his eyes, hangs upon
his neck. MARTIUS is nonplussed. PAULUS hurries on, repeating
the joyous cry_: “The husbands are here!”
_The drowsy ROMANS crawl out of their huts and take up a
position on the right side of the stage. MARTIUS, in a dramatic
pose, haughtily waits until they are assembled._
THE FAT ROMAN. By Bacchus! I have had as delightful a sleep as on the day
we founded Rome. What’s that row of dummies?
FIRST ROMAN. Sh! That’s the husbands.
THE FAT ROMAN. Heavens, but I’m thirsty! Proserpina, my pet, bring me
some cider!
_From the ranks of the SABINES comes a faint cry_: “Proserpina!
O-o-o-oh!”
THE FAT ROMAN. What does he want? Is he, too, calling my wife?
FIRST ROMAN. Sh! That’s her husband.
THE FAT ROMAN. Oh, I forgot! Heavens, but I am thirsty! After that hot
porridge and a sound sleep I could drink a lake dry. And what porridge
Proserpina can make! Really, Romans, it is a gift of the gods!
FIRST ROMAN. Sh!
THE FAT ROMAN. The deuce, I forgot! But I had the queerest dream just
now. I thought I was asleep and suddenly I saw Rome beginning to fall,
fall, fall—and then it fell.
FIRST ROMAN. But how about our wives? Although they have callers, they do
not appear. It’s an awkward situation.
SECOND ROMAN. Probably they are dressing.
FIRST ROMAN. Oh, woman, thy name is vanity! One might expect them to say,
“Pooh! it’s only my late husband!” but no, they can’t escape the eternal
feminine. Really, the psychology of woman is beyond me!
THE FAT ROMAN. Heavens, but I am thirsty! How long are those Egyptian
mummies going to stand there? They have trumpets. They might at least
strike up a tune. Look! Look! They move!
MARTIUS. Romans, at last we stand face to face. I trust that, setting
aside all dissimulation, you will give us a direct and honest answer. Do
you recall, Romans, the deed you committed on the night between the 20th
and the 21st of April?
_The ROMANS look at one another in embarrassed silence._
MARTIUS. Come, recall! Is it possible you cannot recall? Try to recall,
gentlemen. I assure you, I shall not stir a step until you recall.
THE FAT ROMAN. [_Terrified, whispers to another_] Maybe you can remember,
Agrippa? It must have been something important, huh?
_Remarks by the ROMANS_: “No, I can’t remember anything.” “I
must have lost my memory while I was asleep.” “I’d better go;
you can tell me about it afterward.” “Really, what does he
want?”
MARTIUS. [_In a loud voice_] Then I will remind you, Romans. On the night
between the 20th and 21st of April there was committed the greatest crime
known to history. Certain individuals—I will disclose their identity
later—villainously abducted our wives, the beautiful Sabine women.
_The ROMANS, remembering, confirm the statement with joyful
noddings of the head_: “Yes, yes, yes, yes!” “Ho! That’s what
is on foot!” “Perfectly true. ’Twas the 20th of April.”
THE FAT ROMAN. [_Deeply impressed_] These Sabines have heads!
MARTIUS. And you were the abductors, Romans! Oh, I know you will attempt
to justify yourselves. You will distort the facts. You will basely
pervert the legal norms, taking refuge in that abominable casuistry which
is inevitably linked with every violation of right. But we are prepared.
Professors, begin!
_The PROFESSOR at the end of the line begins speaking in a
monotonous voice that seems to come from beyond the bounds of
space and time_: “Concerning Crimes against Property; volume
one, division one, chapter one, page one, entitled On the
Subject of Robbery in General. In very ancient times, far more
ancient than the present time, when birds, insects, and beetles
fearlessly hopped about in the sunlight and no violations of
justice entered into their consciousness, inasmuch as there was
no consciousness—in those remote times——”
MARTIUS. Attention, Romans, attention!
SCIPIO. Can’t you make it shorter?
MARTIUS. Can’t be done.
SCIPIO. But your hearers will go to sleep.
MARTIUS. Do you think so?
SCIPIO. Why, as you see, they are already dozing, and when they are
dozing they don’t hear anything. Can’t you begin at the other end, eh?
Come, be so good as to say straight out what you want.
MARTIUS. In sooth, this is a strange argument! But be it so.
Condescending to the weakness of your friends, I will tell you directly
that we want to prove to you that you were wrong when you abducted our
wives, and that you Romans are abductors, and that by no subtleties of
sophistry will you succeed in justifying your base act! Even the heavens
will shudder!
SCIPIO. Really, really, my dear fellow, we don’t even deny it.
MARTIUS. You don’t? Then why have we come here?
SCIPIO. I don’t know. Perhaps you were out for a stroll.
MARTIUS. No, we came on purpose to prove these things to you. It’s very
odd. Then you agree that you are abductors?
SCIPIO. Unreservedly. And I find the word “abductors” very appropriate.
MARTIUS. But perhaps you are not thoroughly convinced of it? In that case
the professor is quite ready—Aren’t you, Professor? Are you not quite
ready to——
SCIPIO. Oh, no! You mustn’t. We are thoroughly convinced. Romans, back me
up or he will begin again!
ROMANS. Agreed, agreed!
MARTIUS. Well, then, what’s all this about?
SCIPIO. I don’t know.
MARTIUS. Here is a strange misunderstanding. Sabines, celebrate your
triumph! They confess their guilt. The mere appearance of our threatening
preparations has awakened in them the powerful voice of legal conscience,
and Heaven itself has shuddered. It only remains for us, in the
consciousness of having performed our duty, to return and——
A TREMBLING VOICE. But my Proserpina?
MARTIUS. Ah, yes! Inappropriate though your expression may be, you have
the right idea—quite right, my friend. Romans, here is a complete and
accurate list of the names of our wives. Be so kind as to return them
to us. For all loss, all damage—what’s the wording of your law there,
Professor?
PROFESSOR. Tare and tret.
MARTIUS. No, no! “Injury!” Yes, for every injury you will be held
responsible. Read the entire section, Professor. However—here are our
wives. Attention, Sabines! Maintain your self-control, I beseech you.
Restrain the outburst of passion until the question of justice is
settled—Two steps forward, one step backward! Halt! Greetings to you,
Sabine wives! Welcome, Cleopatra!
_The WOMEN with eyes downcast and modest aspect, dignified and
yet submissive, occupy the centre of the stage._
CLEOPATRA. [_Without raising her eyes_] If you have come to scold, Ancus
Martius, let me tell you that we do not deserve your reproaches. We
struggled long and did not yield except on compulsion. I swear to you,
beloved Martius, I have not for a single moment ceased to weep for you.
_She weeps and, taking her cue, all the SABINE WOMEN weep._
MARTIUS. Calm yourself, Cleopatra. They have already confessed that they
are abductors. Let us now return to our household gods, Cleopatra.
CLEOPATRA. [_Without raising her eyes_] I fear that you will scold us,
but we have become accustomed to this location. Don’t you like these
hills, Martius?
MARTIUS. I don’t understand you, Cleopatra. What have the hills to do
with it?
CLEOPATRA. I fear you will be angry, but, really, we are not to blame.
I have already wept for you in due form, Martius, and now I cannot
understand at all what you want. More tears? Oh, as many as you like.
My dear friends, they think we have not wept enough for them. Let us
show them their error. Oh, weep, weep, my dear friends! I loved you so,
Martius!
_The WOMEN shed rivers of tears._
SCIPIO. Calm yourself, Cleopatra. Excitement is bad for you now. And you,
sir, do you hear? Go back home. Come, Cleopatra, lie down and rest. I
will look after the soup myself.
MARTIUS. And what has the soup to do with it, I should like to know? Calm
yourself, Cleopatra, there is some misunderstanding here. Apparently you
do not understand that you are abducted.
CLEOPATRA. [_Weeping_] There, I told you you were going to scold! Scipio,
deary, have you my handkerchief?
SCIPIO. Here it is, precious.
MARTIUS. But I should like to know what the handkerchief has to do with
it.
CLEOPATRA. [_Weeping_] What a fuss to make about a handkerchief! I cannot
get on without a handkerchief when I am crying, and it is all your fault.
You are a cruel monster, Ancus Martius!
_They all weep, SABINE WOMEN, SABINE MEN, and even several of
the ROMANS._
THE VOICE. Proserpina! O-o-o-oh!
MARTIUS. [_In a sonorous voice_] Calm yourselves, Sabines. Control
yourselves. Don’t move; I’ll settle everything in a jiffy. There
apparently is some misunderstanding of a legal nature. This unhappy woman
thinks she is accused of stealing a handkerchief and does not even dream
that she herself is stolen. We will prove this to her. Professors, begin.
_The PROFESSORS make preparations. The ROMANS are
horror-stricken. SCIPIO seizes CLEOPATRA by the hand._
SCIPIO. Own up, Cleopatra! Come, be quick! Heavens, he will begin in a
moment!
CLEOPATRA. I have nothing to confess. It is all slander.
MARTIUS. Professor, we are waiting.
SCIPIO. Come, hurry, own up! Oh, Heavens, he is already opening his
mouth! He will have it open in a minute! Sabines! Wait! She has
confessed! Shut your mouth, Professor, she has confessed!
CLEOPATRA. Very well, I confess. [_To the WOMEN_] My dear friends, do you
confess, too?
SCIPIO. [_Hastily_] Yes, they all confess. Everything is all right.
MARTIUS. [_In perplexity_] One moment, sir, if you please. Cleopatra, do
you admit that you and the other Sabine women were abducted on the night
between the 20th and the 21st of April? Do you?
CLEOPATRA. [_Spitefully_] No, we ran away of ourselves.
MARTIUS. There, you see! She doesn’t understand. Mr. Profes——
CLEOPATRA. That’s mean of you, Martius. You overslept. You did not defend
us; you gave us up; you forgot us; you abandoned us; and now you accuse
us of running away. We were abducted, Martius, basely abducted. You can
read about it in any Roman history, to say nothing [_weeping_] of the
encyclopedia.
SCIPIO. [_Shouting_] Come, shut your mouth, Professor!
_But the PROFESSOR’S mouth remains open. The ROMANS are thrown
into a panic, and some rush off the stage._
MARTIUS. Romans, Sabines, attention! I will remove the difficulty in a
moment. There is some misunderstanding of a mechanical nature. Allow me
to inspect you, Professor. Why, to be sure. I might have known it. The
hinge is broken and he cannot shut his mouth. No matter. We will fix it
up when we get home. For the present it is enough that they admit they
were abducted. I have heard it with my own ears. Our goal is attained,
and Heaven itself has shuddered. Let us go back to our household gods,
Cleopatra.
CLEOPATRA. I don’t want to go back to our household gods.
THE SABINE WOMEN. Rubbish about your household gods! We don’t want to go
back to our household gods. We are going to stay here. They are insulting
us! They are getting ready to abduct us! Save us, help, defend us!
_The ROMANS with clattering weapons take a position between the
WOMEN and the SABINES and gradually crowd the WOMEN into the
background. They cast angry glances at the SABINES._
VOICES. To arms, Romans! To the defence of your wives! To arms, Romans!
MARTIUS. [_Ringing his bell_] What is the matter? There will be a fight
here in a minute. My brain is in a whirl. Sabines, my brain is in a whirl.
PROSERPINA. [_Coming forward and speaking in a slow, calm voice_] Don’t
get excited, Romans, I will speak with Martius alone.
_From the ranks of the SABINES comes a quavering voice, a
mournful call of love_: “Proserpina, my darling, o-o-o-o-oh!”
PROSERPINA. [_Coolly_] Ah, my dove! How are you? Come here, Ancus
Martius, and don’t be afraid; your army won’t run away. Do you understand
that neither your wife, Cleopatra, nor we other Sabine women wish to go
home? Do you understand that?
MARTIUS. I am dazed. How can I live without Cleopatra? I cannot live
without Cleopatra! She is my perfectly legal wife. Do you think she won’t
come back on any terms?
PROSERPINA. Not on any terms.
MARTIUS. What am I to do? You see that I love her. How can I live without
her? [_He weeps._
PROSERPINA. Cheer up, Martius. [_She whispers_] I am sorry for you, and
I will tell you as a secret that there is only one means, one solitary
means left—abduct her!
MARTIUS. But will she come?
PROSERPINA. [_Shrugging her shoulders_] How can she help coming if you
abduct her?
MARTIUS. But that would be wicked. You are suggesting to me that I commit
violence. What would then become of my legal conscience, or can it be
that you women believe that might is right? Oh, woman, woman!
PROSERPINA. Oh, we have heard “Woman, woman!” before. It was a leaden day
when the gods made you, Martius. You are unutterably stupid. If I am to
remain faithful, I want a strong man, the strongest man there is. Do you
think we are so fond of being abducted and stolen, and asked back and
returned, and lost and found, and——
THE VOICE. Proserpina, my darling, o-o-o-oh!
PROSERPINA. Yes, my dear. How are you—? And to have people deal with us
as if we were things. I no sooner get accustomed to one man than along
comes another and carries me away, and I no sooner get accustomed to the
new man than the old one appears and says: “Come back.” Really, Martius,
if, as you protest, you want your wife to be your own, then all you have
to do is to be the strongest. Give in to no one, struggle for her tooth
and nail. In short, die in her defence. Believe me, Martius, there is no
greater joy for a woman than to die upon the grave of a husband who has
fallen in her defence. And be assured, Martius, that a woman proves false
only after her husband has proved false.
MARTIUS. But they have swords and we are weaponless.
PROSERPINA. Get swords!
MARTIUS. But they have strong muscles and we have not.
PROSERPINA. Get strong! Oh, Martius, you are an impenetrable fool!
MARTIUS. [_Springing away from her_] And you are a trifling and silly
woman. Long live the law! Let them take my wife from me by brute
violence; let them ruin my home; let them extinguish my hearth; I
shall never prove false to the law. Let the whole world laugh at the
unfortunate Sabines, they will not prove false to the law. Virtue
commands respect, even in rags. Sabines, retreat! Weep, Sabines, weep
bitter tears! Sob, beat your breasts, and be not ashamed of tears. Let
them stone us, let them mock us, but weep! Let them besmear us with mud!
Weep, Sabines; you are weeping for the scorned and down-trampled law.
Forward, Sabines. Attention! Trumpeters, strike up the march. Two steps
forward, one step backward; two steps forward, one step backward.
_The WOMEN begin to weep._
CLEOPATRA. Martius, wait!
MARTIUS. Avaunt, woman, I know thee not! Slow march!
_The trumpets set up a mournful wail. The WOMEN, weeping and
wailing loudly, are drawn toward their former husbands, but
the ROMANS hold them back by force. Laughter on the part of
the victors. Paying no attention either to the tears or the
laughter, but bending under the weight of the laws, the SABINES
slowly withdraw; two steps forward, one step backward._
BIBLIOGRAPHY OF ANDREYEFF
I. EDITIONS OF COLLECTED WORKS
L. Andreev, Razskazy. Moskva, 1901. _Contains_: Bezdna, V podvalě, Směkh,
Stěna.
L. Andreev i S. S. Glagol′, Pod Vpechatleniem khudozhestvennago
teatra. Moskva, 1902. (_Published under the pseudonym_ “James Lynch.”)
_Contains_: Dissonans, Kogda my, mertvye, probuzhdaemsi͡a?; Tri sestry;
Dikai͡a utka; Esli zhizn′ ne udastsi͡a tebě, to udastsi͡a smert′; Li͡udi
teneboĭ storony.
L. Andreev, Razskasy i p′esy, vols. I-IV. Petrograd, Znanie Co.,
1906-1907.
L. Andreev, Sobranïe sochinenïĭ, vols. V-VII. Petrograd, Shipovnik Co.,
1909. _Supplement to the preceding edition; contains a portrait of A._
L. Andreeva i A. I. Kuprin, I͡Umoristicheskïe razskazy, 2 vols.
Petrograd, Kornfel′d, 1909.
L. Andreev, Sobranïe sochinenïĭ, vols. I-XIV. Petrograd, Prosvěshchenie
Co., 1911-18. _With a portrait of the author and an Introduction by
Professor Reisner. The most complete edition as yet published._
L. Andreev, Polnoe sobranïe sochinenïĭ. Prilozhenĭe “Nivě.” Petrograd,
1913.
II. CHRONOLOGICAL LIST OF ANDREYEFF’S WRITINGS
NOTE.—In case special editions, translations, commentaries, or reviews of
separate works exist, they are indicated under the title of each work.
An * after a title indicates that a separate edition of the given work
is published by Ladyschnikow in Berlin. An Arabic numeral after a title
indicates that a translation of the given work is published in the volume
bearing that number in list III of this bibliography.
1898
Bargamot i Garas′ka.¹², ¹⁴
Zashchita: istorïi͡a odnago dni͡a. The Defence: One Day of My Life.
Iz zhizni shtabs-kapitana Kablukova.¹⁴ From the Life of Captain Kablukov.
Molodezh′. Youth.
1899
Pervyĭ gonorar. My First Fee.
Drug. A Friend.
U okna. At the Window.
Petka na dachě.¹³ Little Peter in the Country.
Vali͡a. Little Valia.
Mel′kom. An Incident.
Angelochek.¹³ The Little Wax Angel.
Bol′shoĭ shlem. A Grand Slam.
1900
_During the years 1900-1902_ Andreyeff _wrote the 22 sketches and 5
fragments published in_ I͡Umoristicheskïe razskazy. Petrograd, 1909. _The
titles of these are not included in this list._
Lozh′.¹, ² The Lie.
Na rěkě. On the River.
Prazdnik. A Holiday.
Razskaz (_or_ Pověst′) o Sergěě Petrovichě. The Story of Sergius
Petrovich.
Mat′. Mother.
Prekrasna zhizn′ dli͡a voskresshikh. Life is Beautiful for the
Resurrected.
Life is so Beautiful for the Resurrected; trans. (_with
prefatory note_) by Geo. E. Haendelmann, _in Current Lit._, 49
(1910): 344-5.
Molchanïe.², ¹² Silence.
Silence; trans. from the Russian by J. Cournos. 2d ed.
(Modern Authors’ Series.) Philadelphia, 1910. _Reviewed in:
Independent_, 65: 615; _Nation_, 87: 494.
Silence; _trans. with Introductory Note entitled: The Apostle
of the Terrible, in Lippincott’s_, 90 (Aug. 12, 1912): 235-51.
V temnui͡u dal′. In the Dim Distance.
1901
Směkh.² Laughter.
Gostinets.¹⁴ A Gift.
Zhili-byli.² Once upon a Time. _Discussed in_: _Birzh. Věd._, April 9,
1901 (A. Izmaĭlov).
Kusaka.¹³, ¹⁴ A Homeless Cur.
Kniga. The Book.
Stěna. The Wall.
Sluchaĭ. An Incident.
Nabat.¹³ The Alarm.
L’Epouvante; trad. du russe par T. de Wyzewa et S. Persky.
Paris, 1903.
V podvalě.⁵, ¹² In a Basement.
Im Erdgeschoss und Anderes. Berlin, 1903.
1902
Bezdna.⁹ The Abyss.
Bezdna, s stat′eĭ L. Tolstogo i polemicheakoĭ literaturoĭ.
Berlin, 1903.
Le Gouffre; trad. du russe par S. Persky. Paris, 1903.
B. Rebikov _has composed an opera on the basis of_ “Bezdna.”
Vesnoĭ. In Spring.
Gorod. The City.
Mysl′.⁴ Thought.
A Dilemma: A Story of Mental Perplexity; trans. from the
Russian by J. Cournos. Philadelphia, 1909. _Reviewed in: Review
of Rev._, 42: 123; _Independent_, 69: 705.
_Discussed in_: _Pravda_, 1904 (A. Vol′skïĭ). _See also_: A.
i͡anishevskïĭ, Geroĭ razskaza “Mysl′,” Kazan, 1903.
Original′nyĭ chelověk. An Original Character.
Inostranets.³, ¹⁴ The Stranger.
V tumaně.⁶ In the Fog.
Im Nebel, Erzählung. (Russ. Text.) Berlin, Steinets, 1903.
Im Nebel; übersetzt von S. Wermer. Vienna, 1903. (Bibliotek
berühmter Authoren.)
Im Nebel; aus dem Russ. von L. A. Hauff. Berlin, 1905.
_Discussed in_: _Obr._, 1903 (A. Boktrom); _Pravda_, 1904 (A.
Vol′skïĭ). _See also_: Ieromonakh Mikhail, Otsam i děti͡am.
Moskva, 1904.
Predstoi͡ala krazha.¹² A Burglary was Planned.
The Burglar; trans. from the Russ. by Thomas Seltzer, _in
Current Lit._, 39: 109-111.
1903
Iz moeĭ zhizni. From My Life.
Marsel′eza. The Marseillaise.
Vesennïi͡a oběshchanïi͡a.⁹ The Promise of Spring.
Na Stantsïi.¹⁴ At a Way Station.
Ben-Tovit. Ben Tobit.
Zhizn′ o. Basili͡a Fiveĭskago.* The Life of Father Fiveiski.
Zhizn′ ... (Russian Text). Munich, Etzold & Co., 1904.
Das Leben Vater Wassili Fiweiskis; Deutsch von G. Polonski.
Berlin, 1906.
_French transl._, _see under_ Razskaz o semi....
_Discussed in_: _Obr._, 1904, No. 5 (N. Asheshev); _Rus′_, 1904
(V. Botsi͡anovskïĭ); _Golos I͡Uga_, Dec. 14, 1904 (Volshskïĭ);
_Odessk. Nov._, July 20, 1904 (I. Gekker); _Věst. Evropy_,
1904 (Evg. L); _Věsy_, 1904, No. 5 (Ivanov Vi͡acheslav).
Son o. Vas. Fiv.: neizdannyĭ otryvok iz “Zhizn′ o. V. F.”
Father Basil’s Dream: An Unpublished Fragment from “The Life
of....”
1904
Nět proshchenii͡a. It Cannot be Pardoned.
Vor. The Thief.
_Discussed in_: _I͡Uzhn. Zap._, April 17, 1905 (Th.
Bati͡ushkov).
Prizraki. Phantoms.
_Discussed in_: _Obr._, 1905, No. 3 (V. L′vov).
Krasnyĭ Směkh: otryvki iz naidennago rukopisi.* The Red Laugh: Fragments
of a Discovered Manuscript.
Das Rothe Lachen; aus dem Russ. von A. Scholz. Berlin, 1905.
The Red Laugh. Fragments of a Discovered Manuscript; trans.
from the Russ. by Alexandra Linden. London, 1905.
Le Rire Rouge. La Guerre en Mandchourie; trad. du russe par S.
Persky. Paris, 1905.
_Discussed in_: _Independent_, 58 (May 11, 1905): 1043-46
(Sophie Witte); _Nizh. List._, 1905 (Ch. Vetrinskïĭ); _Obr._,
1905, No. 3 (V. L′vov); _Obraz._, 1905, No. 10 (O. Mirtov).
1905
Gubernator.*, ¹⁴, ¹⁶ The Governor.
His Excellency, the Governor; trans. by ——. _Illustrated by_ G.
W. Peters, _in Harper’s Weekly_, 51 (1907): 196-198, 236-239,
270-275, 310-313.
Der Gouverneur: Novelle; übersetzt von Aug. Scholz. Berlin,
1906. _Also contains_ Tak bylo.
Le Gouverneur; trad. de J. Ferenczy. Paris, 1909.
Tak bylo.* Thus It Was.
_See_ Der Gouverneur; übersetzt von Scholz.
K svězdam.* To the Stars.
Zu den Sternen; Deutsch von Aug. Scholz. Berlin, 1906.
_Reviewed in: Der Türmer_ (Stuttgart), March, 1906, pp. 862-864
(F. Poppenberg).
To the Stars; trans. by A. Goudiss, _in Poet Lore_, Winter No.,
1907.
_Plot outlined in Current Lit._, 40 (March, 1906): 312.
_Discussed in_: _Str._, May, 1906 (E. Anichkov); _Mïr Bozh._,
1906, No. 7 (Th. Bati͡ushkov); _Nov. Slovo_, Jan., 1910 (A.
Izmaĭlov); _I͡Uzh. Kraĭ_, Nov. 1, 1906 (N. Karavaev); _Ros._,
No. 464, 1907 (N. Lnd.).
Khristïane.* Christians.
Christen: Novelle. (_Russ. Text._) Stuttgart, 1905.
1906
Savva.* Savva.
Ignis Sanat (Savva): Drama; Deutsch von O. D. Potthof. Berlin,
1906.
Savva and the Life of Man; trans. with an Introduction by T.
Seltzer. New York, 1914.
_Reviewed in: Ind._, 79 (July 13, 1914): 72.
_Discussed in_: _Rus′_, Oct., 1908 (V. Botsi͡anovskïĭ); _Rus′_,
1907, No. 182 (A. Legri); _Obr._, 1906, No. 11 (A. Smirnov).
Eleazar.*, ¹¹, ¹⁴ Lazarus.
_Trans. in Current Lit._, 42 (May, 1907): 577-584.
_Discussed in_: _Zakavk._, 1907, No. 136 (N. Derzhavin);
_Obraz._, 1907, No. 3 (V. L′vov); _Sovr. Mïr_, 1907, Nos. 7,
8 (Evg. Li͡atskïĭ); _Rus′_, 1906, No. 47 (M. Voloshin). _See
also_: Valentinov, N., My eshche pridem. Moskva, 1908.
Zhizn′ Chelověka: Predstavlenïe v pi͡ati kartinakh s prologom.* The Life
of Man: A Drama in Five Scenes with a Prolog.
_Abstract by_ M. Baring, _in Oxford and Camb. Rev._, 1908,
No. 4, pp. 46-59; _reprinted in Litt. Liv. Age_, 258 (1908):
786-792.
Das Leben des Menschen; Deutsch von Aug. Scholz. Berlin, 1908.
_Trans. by_ Seltzer. _See above under_ “Savva.”
_Discussed in_: _Russ. Bogat._, 1907, No. 7 (A. E. R.); _Stol.
Utr._, 1907, Nos. 11, 12 (V. Arnol′d); _Věsy_, 1908, No. 1
(Avrelïĭ); _Mosk. Věd._, July 14, 1908 (Basargin); _Slovo_,
Dec. 19, 1907 (P. Boborykin); _Novoe Vremi͡a_, Aug. 24, 1907
(V. Burenin); _Liter-khud. Neděli͡a_, Sept. 17, 1907 (Andreĭ
Bělyĭ); _Mosk. Věd._, 1907 (Ben); _Sovr. Mïr_, 1909, No. 11,
p. 65 (N. Efros); _Rěch′_, April 2, 1908 (D. V. Filosofov);
_Věsy_, 1907, No. 5 (Anton Kraĭnnïĭ = Z. Gippius); _Slovo_,
April 30, 1907 (L. Gurevich); _Russ. Slovo_, March 6, 1907
(V. Doroshevich); _Golos Pravdy_, 1907, No. 531 (Literaturnyĭ
Starověr); _Obraz._, 1907, No. 3 (V. L′vov); _Sbornik
Zarnitza_, 1909, No. 2, Pt. I (Ovsi͡aniko-Kulikovskïĭ); _Russ.
Zn._, April 20, 1907 (Rynda); _Birzh. Věd._, April 7, 1907
(“S”); _Kiev. Gazeta_, 1907, No. 92 (“S”); _Volga_, Jan. 28,
1908 (Sergěĭ Glagol′); _Sěver_ (Vologda), July 27, 1907 (L.
T-tskïĭ); _Rus′_, Feb., 1907 (M. Voloshin).
1907
Iuda Iskariot i drugïe.*, ¹¹, ¹⁴ Judas Iscariot and the Others.
Judas Iscariot and the Others; trans. into English by Archibald
J. Wolfe, _in Sewanee Rev._, April, 1908. _Reviewed in: Current
Lit._, 44 (April, 1908): 401-404.
Judas Iscariot; trans. by W. J. Lowe. London, 1910.
_Discussed in_: _Věsy_, 1907, No. 7 (Anton Kraĭnnïĭ = Z.
Gippius); _Věk_, Feb. 17, 1907 (S. Askol′dov); _Svobod. Mysl′_,
1908, No. 1 (Chukovski); _Russ. Věd._, 1907, No. 106 (“I.”);
_Sovr. Mïr_, 1907, Nos. 7, 8 (Evg. Li͡atskïĭ); _Nasha Gazeta_,
Jan., 1908 (N. Minskïĭ); _Novoe Vremi͡a_, July, 1907 (V.
Rozanov); _Russ. Zn._, July 15, 1907 (A. Trishatnyĭ); _Slovo_,
June 1, 1907 (D. Shestakov); _Rus′_, July, 1907 (M. Voloshin).
_See also_: L. Burgov, Pověst′ L. A. “Iud. Isk. i dr.,”
Kharkov, 1911; N. Valentinov, My eshche pridem, Moskva, 1908.
T′ma.*, ⁸ Darkness.
Der Spion; aus dem Russ, von S. Wermer. Vienna, Wiener, 1905.
_Discussed in_: _Odess. Nov._, Dec. 2, 1907 (I. Gekker);
_Věsy_, 1908, No. 2 (Anton Kraĭnnïĭ = Z. Gippius); _Tovar._,
Dec. 2, 1907 (A. Kornfel′d); _Russ. Věd._, Dec. 1, 1907 (“I.”);
_Golos Pravdy_, Jan. 11, 1908 (Literaturnyĭ Starověr); _Nasha
Gazeta_, March, 1908 (N. Minskïĭ); _Slovo_, Nov. 30, 1907
(Neblagosklonnyĭ Chitatel′); _Nash Den′_, 1908, No. 13 (G.
Polonskïĭ); _Novoe Vremi͡a_, 1907 (V. Rozanov). _See also_: E.
Anichkov, Literaturnye obrazy i mněnïi͡a, Petrograd, 1907; A.
Kornfel′d, Knigi i li͡udi, Petrograd, 1908.
Proklatïe Zvěri͡a.* The Curse of the Beast.
_Discussed in_: _Kiev. M._, March 11, 1908 (A. Achkasov);
_Nasha Gazeta_, March, 1908 (N. Minskïĭ). _See also_: B.
Lebedev, Proklatïe zvěri͡a, Petrograd, 1908.
Tsar′ Golod.* King Hunger.
Tsar′ Golod: predstavlenïe v pi͡ati kartinakh s prologom.
Risunki E. Landsere. Petrograd, 1908.
King Hunger; trans. by Eugene M. Kayden, _in Poet Lore_, Winter
No., 1911.
_Discussed in_: _Russ. Mys._, 1908, No. 3 (I͡U. Aĭkhenwal′d);
_Rul′_, March 9, 1908 (A. Vergezhskïĭ); _Sbornik_ “_Literat.
Raspad_,” 1908 (Lunacharskïĭ); _Nash Den′_, 1908, No. 16 (G.
Polonskïĭ). _See also_: N. Valentinov, My eshche Pridem,
Moskva, 1908.
1908
Smert Chelověka: novyĭ variant pi͡atoĭ kartiny “Zhizni chelověka.” (_With
a prefatory note by the author._) The Death of Man: A variation of the
fifth act of the “Life of Man.”
Razskaz o semi pověshennykh.* The Story of the Seven Who were Hanged.
(_In some editions a dedication to Leo Tolstoi is added._)
Die Geschichte der Sieben Gehenkten; übersetzt von Aug. Scholz.
Berlin, 1908.
The Seven Who were Hanged: A Story; authorized trans. from the
Russian by Herman Bernstein. New York, 1909.
The Seven Who were Hanged; trans. by Edwin C. Walker. (Tucker
Series.) New York, 1909.
Same. London, 1909.
Die Geschichte der Sieben Gehenkten: Novelle, mit der
Selbstbiographie des Verfassers; übersetzt von Lully Wiebeck.
2d ed. Munich, 1909.
Les Sept Pendus: L’histoire d’un pope; trad. de S. Persky en
collaboration avec A. Tauchard. Paris, 1909.
_Discussed in_: _Grazhdan._, July 22, 1908 (Vol′nyĭ); _Sovr.
Mïr_, 1908, No. 4 (V. Kranikhfel′d); _Rěch′_, July 19, 1908
(D. Merezhkovskïĭ); _Nov. Slovo_, 1909, No. 2 (Smolenskïĭ);
_Slovo_, May 18, 1908 (G. Chulkov).
Iz razskaza, kotoryĭ nikogda ne budet okonchen. A Story that will Never
be Finished: A Fragment.
A Story which will Never be Finished; trans. by Herman
Bernstein with a Brief Biographical Sketch, _in Independent_,
65 (Nov., 1908): 1031-34.
Chernyi͡a Maski.* The Black Maskers.
_Discussed in_: _Rěch′_, Dec. 7, 1909 (L. Andreev). _See also_:
S. Strumilin, Aristocratïi͡a dukha i profany. Petrograd, 1910.
Velikan. The Giant.
Dni nasheĭ zhizni.* Days of Our Life.
Studentenliebe: Drama in Fünf Aufzügen; Deutsch von Karl
Ritter. Berlin, 1909.
Iz strany (A song from act I of “Days of O. L.”). Petrograd,
1910.
_Discussed in_: _Novoe Vremi͡a_, Nov. 6, 1908 (I͡U. Běli͡aev);
_Der Kunstwart_, Jan. 24, 1911 (F. Düsel); _Slovo_, 1909, No.
811 (Gr. Petrov); _Birzh. Věd._, Nov. 6, 1908 (A. Izmaĭlov);
_Rěch′_, Dec. 6, 1908, No. 299 (A. Kosorotov)
Li͡ubov′ k blizhnemu.* Love for One’s Neighbor.
Love of One’s Neighbor; trans. by Thomas Seltzer. New York,
1914.
In _Rěch′_, No. 85, Andreyeff calls attention to the fact that
a certain “K.,” in his volume of “Miscellanies,” had published
this story (first published in the _Gazeta Kur′era_) without
complying with Andreyeff’s conditions to date it and state that
it was _reprinted_. Andreyeff adds that “K.” also plagiarized
two other stories.
Li͡ubov′, věra, nadezhda: Eti͡ud. Love, Faith and Hope.
Moi zapiski: pověst′.* My Memoirs.
_Discussed in_: _Mïr_, 1909, No. 4 (K. Arabazhin); _Russ.
Bogat._, 1909, No. 1 (A. Kornfel′d); _Russ. Slovo_, Oct. 11,
1908 (A. i͡ablonovskïĭ); _Rěch′_, 1908, No. 278 (D. Levin);
_Vecher_, Oct. 16, 1908 (V. Morov). _See also_: A. Al′man, Moi
zapiski, Saratov, 1908.
Derzhite vora. Stop, Thief!
Lětushchai͡a mysh′. The Bat. (A Farce.)
Kli͡atva. The Oath.
Trans. into Lettish. Riga, 1908.
1909
Syn chelověcheskïĭ: razskaz.* A Son of Man.
Anfisa.* Anfisa.
_Discussed in_: _Rěch′_, 1909, No. 280 (VI. Azov); _Rěch′_,
1909, Nos. 296, 335.
Anatema: Tragedïi͡a.* Anatema: A Tragedy.
Anatema: A Tragedy in Seven Scenes; authorized trans. by Herman
Bernstein. New York, 1910.
_Reviewed in: Nation_, 91 (Oct. 27, 1910): 397; _The Dial_,
49 (1910): 523 (Richard Burton); _N. Y. Times_, 16 (Jan. 29,
1911): 43; _N. Amer. Rev._, 194 (1911): 882-887 (O. R. Howard
Thompson, _under the title_: “Andreyev’s Anatema and the Faust
Legend”).
_A parody entitled_ “Anatema Andeĭ Leonidov” _was staged in the
Ekaterinskïĭ Theatre in Petrograd in 1910._
Anatema: Ein tragischer Spiel in Sieben Bildern; Deutsch von
Karl Ritter. Berlin, 1911.
_Discussed in_: _Rěch′_, 1909, No. 328 (Vl. Azov); _Novoe
Vremi͡a_, 1909, Nov. 29 (I͡U. B.); _Russ. Mysl′_, 1909,
No. 12 (L. Gurevich); _Russ. Mysl′_, 1909, No. 1 (A.
Kizevetter); _Sovrem. Mïr_, 1910, No. 1 (V. Kranikhfel′d);
_Rěch′_, 1911, No. 254 (M. B.); _Rěch′_, 1909, No. 352
(Ovsi͡aniko-Kulikovskïĭ); _Russ. Bogat._, 1909, No. 12 (A.
Rědko); _Rěch′_, Oct., 1909 (N. Efros); _Rěch′_, 1909, Nos.
324, 325. _See also_: L. Bri͡antsev, Idei͡a tragedïi L.
Andreeva “Anatema” i ei͡a razvitïe, Kharkov, 1910; K. Fisher,
“Anatema” v. postanovskě Mosk. khudozh. teatra, Moscow, 1910;
I. V. Churinov, “Tragedïi͡a Mysli” po povodu “Anatemy” L.
Andreeva, Petrograd, 1910.
1910
“Gaudeamus”: Komedïi͡a v chetyrekh děĭstvïi͡akh.* “Gaudeamus”: A Comedy
in Four Acts.
Gaudeamus: Komödie in 4 Akten. (_In russ. Sprache._) Berlin,
Bong & Co., 1910.
L. Gebek _published (1910) a waltz composed for this drama._
_Discussed in_: _Rěch′_, 1910, No. 256 (Vl. Azov).
Iskrennïĭ Směkh: razskaz veselago chelověka. A Real Laugh: The Story of a
Jolly Man.
Den′ gněva: razskaz. Dies Irae: A Tale.
Razskaz zmeĭ o tom, kak poi͡avilis′ u nei͡a i͡adovitye zuby. A Snake’s
Story of how She got Her Poisoned Teeth.
NOTE.—On Oct. 31, 1910, Andreyeff published in several Petrograd papers
an open letter in which he announced that he had been forbidden to
publish any further works during the academic year 1910-1911.
1911
Pokoĭ. Rest.
Smert′ Gullivera (poslě smerti L. N. Tolstogo). The Death of Gulliver (On
the Death of Leo Tolstoi).
Ipatov. Ipatov.
Okean. The Ocean.
Okean: tragedïi͡a v 7mi kartinakh s risunkami B. Anisfel′da.
Petrograd, 1911.
Der Ocean: Tragödie. (_In russ. Sprache._) Berlin, Bong & Co.,
1911.
_Discussed in_: _Rěch′_, 1910, No. 265 (S. Li͡ubosh—_contains
Andreev’s interpretation of the drama_); _Russ. Bogats._, 1911,
No. 5 (A. Rědko); _Rěch′_, 1911, No. 77 (Chukovskïĭ).
Sashka Zhigulov:* roman v 2 chasti͡akh. Alec Zhigulov: A Novel in Two
Parts.
Ssaschka Shigulov: Roman in 2 Teilen. (_In russ. Sprache._)
Berlin, Bong & Co., 1911.
_Discussed in_: _Rěch′_, 1912, No. 7 (I͡Ur. Aĭkhenval′d).
Skazochki ne sovsěm dli͡a děteĭ: Orěshek, Negodaĭ, Fal′shivyĭ rubl′ i
dobryĭ di͡adi͡a.
Tales not exclusively for Children: The Nut, The Rascal, The
Counterfeit Ruble and the Goodnatured Uncle.
1912
Prekrasnyi͡a Sabini͡anki: istoricheskoe proisshestvïe v trekh chastiakh.*
The Beautiful Sabine Women: An Historical Event in Three Parts.
The Lovely Sabine Women; trans. from the Russian by Thomas
Seltzer, _in The Drama_, Feb., 1914.
Chest′ (Staryĭ Graf): Drama-parodïi͡a. Honor (The Old Count): A Dramatic
Parody.
Preface to the Russian translation of Jack London’s Works. Petrograd,
1912.
Ekaterina Ivanovna.* Catherine Ivanovna.
Professor Storitsyn.* Professor Storitsyn.
_Discussed in_: _Peterb. Gaz._, 1912, No. 345.
1913-1914
Pis′ma o teatrě. (Two) Letters on the Theatre.
Ne ubïĭ: drama.* Do not kill: A Drama.
Mysl′: drama:* Thought: A Drama.
Nadsmertnoe.* Beyond Death.
Vozvrat.* The Return.
Proisshestvïe.* An Event. (_A dramatic scene._)
Popugaĭ: simvolicheskoe predstavlenïe v odnom děĭstvïi. The Parrot: A
Symbolic Drama in one Act.
_An interview giving Andreev’s views on the effects which the present war
will have on the government of Russia was published on_ Sept. 16 _in the
London Daily Chronicle and the New York Times._
_In December, 1914, the Alexandrinskïĭ Theatre presented Andreev’s latest
drama_, Karol′, Zakon i Svoboda, _dealing with the Belgian situation._
A Tragedy of Belgium; Act IV; trans. by Herman Bernstein, _in
New York Sun_, Dec. 20, 1914.
III. TRANSLATIONS, CONTAINING TWO OR MORE DIFFERENT WORKS IN THE SAME
VOLUME
1. Die Lüge. Ausgewählte Erzählungen. Deutsch von N. Hornstein. Dresden,
H. Minden, 1902.
_Reviewed in: Litt. Echo_, No. 5.
2. Novellen. Deutsch von Stefania Goldenring. Berlin, Neufeld & Henius,
1902.
_Contains_: Zhili-byli, Molchanïe, Směkh, Lozh′, Bezdna,
Vali͡a, Petka na dachě, Bol′shoĭ shlem, Nabat.
3. Der Ausländer und andere Geschichten. Deutsch von Anna Lubinov.
Berlin, Steinetz, 1903.
4. Gedanke und andere Novellen. Aus dem Russischen von Eliz. und Jorik
Georg. Munich, A. Langen, 1903.
5. Im Erdgeschoss und Anderes. Berlin, Globus Verl., 1903.
6. Im Nebel und andere Novellen. Aus dem Russischen von Eliz. und Jorik
Georg. Stuttgart, Deut. Verl.-Anst., 1903.
_Reviewed in: Litt. Echo_, 1903, No. 5, p. 1036.
7. Novellen. Aus dem Russischen von Alexis von Krusenstjerna. Leipzig,
1903.
8. Der Spion. Aus dem Russischen von S. Wermer. Wien, Wiener, 1903.
9. Der Abgrund und andere Novellen. Deutsch von Th. Kroczek. Halle, 1905.
10. M. Gorki, M. Weressajeff, L. Andrejew, Jung Russland. Neue Novellen.
Aus dem Russ. (= Internal. Novel.-Bibl., No. 13). Berlin, Globus Verl.,
1904.
11. Judas Ischariot und die Anderen und Lazarus. Übersetzt von Otto Bük.
Berlin, Ladyschnikow, 1908.
12. Frühlingsversprechen und andere Geschichten. Autorizierte Übersetzung
von Sonja Wermer. Leipzig, Wiener, 1908.
13. Silence and Other Stories. Trans. from the Russ. by W. H. Lowe.
London, Griffith, 1908.
_Contains_: Petka na dachě, Angelochek, Molchanïe, Kusaka,
Nabat, V podvalě.
14. Nouvelles. Traduites du russe par Serge Persky. Paris, 1908.
_Contains_: Le Gouverneur, Kusaka, Zhizn′ shtabskapitan
Kablukova, Inostranets, Bargamot i Garas′ka, Gostinets, Na
stantzïi, Prekrasna Zhizn′....
15. Judas Ischariot und Lazarus. Deutsch von R. Meckelein. Berlin, 1909.
16. Korolenko, Le musicien aveugle. Le Gouverneur, etc., par Leonid
Andreief. Trad. de J. Ferenczy. Paris, Ferenczy, 1909.
17. Savva and The Life of Man. Trans. with an introd. by T. Seltzer. New
York, Kennerley, 1914.
18. Der Gouverneur; übersetzt von Aug. Scholz. Berlin, 1906.
IV. BIOGRAPHICAL AND CRITICAL BOOKS, ESSAYS, ETC., ON ANDREYEFF
A. BOOKS AND PAMPHLETS
Arabazhin, K., L. Andreev. Itogi tvorchestva. Petrograd, 1910.
Baranov, N. P., L. Andreev kak khudozhnik, psikholog i myslitel′. Kiev,
1907.
Botsi͡anovskïĭ, V., L. Andreev. Kritiko-bïograficheskïĭ eti͡ud.
Petrograd, 1904.
Brusi͡anin, V. V., L. Andreev. Zhizn′ i tvorchestvo. Moscow, 1912.
Chukovskïĭ, K., Leonid Andreev bol′shoĭ i malen′kïĭ. Petrograd, 1908.
Chukovskïĭ, K., O Leonidě Andreevě. Petrograd, 1911.
Churinov, I., Tragedïi͡a Mysli. Petrograd, 1910.
Dobrokhotov, A., Kar′era L. Andreeva. Moscow, 1909.
Etinger, E., Někto v sěrom i někto v krasnom u L. Andreeva. Kiev, 1908.
Friche, W., L. Andreev. Opyt kharakteristiki. Moscow, 1909.
Ganzhulevich, T., Russkai͡a zhizn′ i ei͡a techenïe v tvorchestvě L. A-a.
2d ed. Petrograd, 1908.
Ivanov, P., Vagram L. Andreeva! Psikhologicheskïĭ eti͡ud. Moscow, 1904.
M. K., Leonid Andreev. S bïografïeĭ i portretom. Moscow, 1906.
Muromtsev, Dr. M., Psikhopaticheskïe cherty v geroi͡akh L. Andreeva.
Petrograd, 1910.
Orlovskïĭ, Iz istorïi nověĭsheĭ russkoĭ literatury. Petrograd, 1910.
Reisner, Prof. M. A., L. Andreev i ego sotsi͡alnai͡a ideologïi͡a.
Petrograd, 1909.
Smolenskïĭ, N., Zashchitnikam L. Andreeva. Moscow, 1909.
Stomi͡arov-Sukhanov, Simvolizm i L. Andreev kak ego predstavitel′. Kiev,
1903.
Urusov, kn. H. Bezsil′nye li͡udi v izobrazhenïe L. Andreeva. Petrograd,
1903.
Varton, V., L. N. Tolstoĭ i L. Andreev. Baku, 1909.
Zhurakovskïĭ, E., Simptomy literaturnoĭ evolutsïĭ. Moscow, 1903.
Zhurakovskïĭ, E., Tragikomedĭi͡a sovremennoĭ zhizni. Moscow, 1907.
B. ARTICLES CONTAINED IN BOOKS, MAGAZINES, ETC.
Aleksandrov, P., Maksim Gorkïĭ i L. Andreev. Ikh zhizn′ i proizvedenïi͡a.
Riga, 1903.
Aleksandrovich, I͡U., Poslě Chekhova. Moscow, 1908, 236-289.
Andreev, Autobiography, _in Zhur. dli͡a Vsěkh_, Jan., 1903.
_Anonymous_, _see Current Lit._, 45 (Sept., 1908): 182-286; _Samar.
Gazeta_, Feb., 1902.
Antid-Oto, _in Vostoch. Obozr._, June, 1902; Lv. Aurich, _in Das Wissen
für Alle_, 1912, No. 47; Balte, F. M., _in Morgen_ (Berlin), 1908, No.
47; _Allg. Zeitung_, Oct. 4, 1909; Avrelïĭ, _in Věsy_, 1908, No. 1.
B(ogdanovich), A., _in Mïr Bozhïĭ_, 1901, No. 11; Abramov, IA., and
Granitov, _in Prïaz. Kraĭ_, Jan. and Sept., 1902; boreĭ, a satirical poem
on A., _in Novoe Vremi͡a_, Nov. 28, 1909; Botsi͡anovskïĭ, V., Bogobortsy.
Petrograd, 1911. Botsi͡anovskïĭ, V., _in Lit. Věstn._, Jan., 1902;
Brückner, A., Geschichte der russ. Lit. (Leipzig, 1905), pp. 501 _f._;
Bruck, R., _in Masken_, 1908; Burenin, V., _in Novoe Vremi͡a_, Jan.,
1902; Chagovets, V., _in Kïevsk. Gaz._, Nov., 1903; Chukovskïĭ, K., _in
Rěch′_, 1911, No. 85.
Fidler, F. F., Pervye literatur. shagi. Moscow, 1911, pp. 27-31.
Goldenring, St., _in Norddeut. Allg. Zeit._ (Berlin), No. 260.
Ivanov-Razumnik, O symslě zhizni (Petrograd, 1908) _and_ Tvorchestvo i
kritika (Petrograd, 1911).
Izmaĭlov, A., Literatur. Olimp. (Petrograd, 1911); _same, in Birzh.
Věd._, April 9, 1901.
Kogan, P., Ocherki po istorïi nověĭsheĭ russ. lit., vol. I, pt. 2, pp.
1-61.
Kube, O., Koshmary Zhizni. Petrograd, 1909.
Lavretsky, I., _in Independent_, 67 (July 29, 1909): 242-245; Linden,
S., _in Indep. Rev._, 8 (Feb., 1907): 215-227; Lolo, _in Novosti Dni͡a_,
May, 1907; Lunacharskïĭ, _in Sbornik_ “_Literaturn. Raspad_” (Petrograd,
1908); L′vov, V., _in Odessk. Novosti_, 1903; Merezhkovskïĭ, D. S.,
_in Svobod. Mysl′_, Jan., 1908, _and in Russk. Mysl′_, Jan., 1908;
Mikhaĭlovskïĭ, N. K., _in Russk. Bogat._, 1901, No. 11.
Morozov, M., Ocherki nověĭsheĭ lit. Petrograd, 1911, pp. 1-70.
Nevědomskïĭ, V., _in Sovremennyĭ Mïr_, 1908, No. 2; Obolenskïĭ, _in
Odessk. Listok_, April, 1902.
Persky, Serge, Les Maîtres du Roman Russe Contemporain. Paris, 1912, pp.
245-285.
Phelps, Wm. L., Essays on Russian Novelists. New York, 1911, pp. 262-277.
Pil′skïĭ, P., O L. Andreevě, Sologubě, Kuprině, etc. Petrograd, 1909.
P-ïĭ, P., _in Sovrem. Mïr_, April, 1908; Protopopov, M. A., _in_ _Russ.
Mysl′_, 1902, No. 3; Rodef, _in Wiener Fremdenblatt_, June 6, 1903;
Rozanov, V. V., _in Novoe Vremi͡a_, June 2, 1903; Sarakhanov, K., _in
Sarat. List._, April, 1904; Scholz, A., _in Zeit_ (Vienna), 1906, No.
411; Seltzer, Th., _in The Drama_, Feb., 1914; Shuli͡atikov, V., _in
Mosk. Kur′er_, Oct. 9, 1901; Simchowitz, _in Die Kultur_, March, 1903;
_same, in Landeszeitung_; _Beiblatt. Badisch. Mus._, 1903, No. 23;
Skabichevskïĭ, A. M., _in Novosti_, Jan., 1902; L. N. Tolstoĭ, _in
Sbornik Italïi͡a_, 1909; Wolshsky, N., _in Nation_ (Berlin), 1903, No.
50; _same, in Die Zeit_ (Berlin), 1903, No. 50; Wyzewa, T. de, _in Rev.
d. deux Mondes_, May 15, 1909.
⁂ Additional references to articles in the Russian periodical press
treating Andreyeff’s literary work as a whole and also dealing with the
following separate works: Bezdna, V tumaně, Zhizn′ Vas. Fiv., Krasnyĭ
směkh, K zvězdam, Savva, Tak bylo, Vor, Gubernator, Ïuda Iskarïot, Zhizn′
chelověka, T′ma, Tsar′ Golod, Razskaz o semi pověshennykh, Moi zapiski,
Chernyi͡a maski, Anfisa, Gaudeamus, Anatema, Prekrasnyi͡a Sabini͡anki,
Professor Storitsyn, Ekaterina Ivanovna and Pis′ma o teatrě, will be
found in
V. L′vov-Rogachevskïĭ, Dvě pravdy: Khiga o Leonidě Andreevě s portretami,
Petrograd, Prometeĭ Cᵒ, 1914. Price, 1½ rubles.
But few of these references are included in the present Bibliography,
since the book of L′vov-Rogachevskïĭ is readily obtainable.