A plainly furnished room; bed, table, sofa. Fédya alone.
_A knock at the door. A woman's voice outside._ Why have you locked
yourself in, Theodore Vasílyevich? Fédya! Open ...!
FÉDYA [gets up and unlocks door] That's right! Thank you for coming.
It's dull, terribly dull!
MÁSHA. Why didn't you come to us? Been drinking again? Eh, eh! And after
you'd promised!
FÉDYA. D'you know, I've no money!
MÁSHA. And why have I taken it into my head to care for you!
FÉDYA. Másha!
MÁSHA. Well, what about "Másha, Másha"? If you were really in love,
you'd have got a divorce long ago. They themselves asked you to. You say
you don't love her, but all the same you keep to her! I see you don't
wish ...
FÉDYA. But you know why I don't wish!
MÁSHA. That's all rubbish. People say quite truly that you're an empty
fellow.
FÉDYA. What can I say to you? That your words hurt me, you know without
being told!
MÁSHA. Nothing hurts you!
FÉDYA. You know that the one joy I have in life is your love.
MÁSHA. _My_ love--yes; but yours doesn't exist.
FÉDYA. All right. I'm not going to assure you. Besides, what's the good?
You know!
MÁSHA. Fédya; why torment me?
FÉDYA. Which of us torments?
MÁSHA [cries] You are unkind!
FÉDYA [goes up and embraces her] Másha! What's it all about? Stop that.
One must live, and not whine. It doesn't suit you at all, my lovely one!
MÁSHA. You do love me?
FÉDYA. Whom else could I love?
MÁSHA. Only me? Well then, read what you have been writing.
FÉDYA. It will bore you.
MÁSHA. It's you who wrote it, so it's sure to be good.
FÉDYA. Well then listen. [Reads] "One day, late in autumn, my friend and
I agreed to meet on the Murýgin fields, where there was a close thicket
with many young birds in it. The day was dull, warm, and quiet. The
mist ..."
Enter two old gipsies, Másha's parents, Iván Makárovich and Nastásia
Ivánovna.
NASTÁSIA [stepping up to her daughter] Here you are then, you damned
runaway sheep! [To Fédya] My respects to you, sir! [To Másha] Is that
how you treat us, eh?
IVÁN [to Fédya] It's wrong, sir, what you're doing! You're ruining the
wench! Oh, but it's wrong ... You're doing a dirty deed.
NASTÁSIA. Put on your shawl! March at once!... Running away like this!
What can I say to the choir? Gallivanting with a beggar--what can you
get out of him?
MÁSHA. I don't gallivant! I love this gentleman, that's all. I've not
left the choir. I'll go on singing, and what ...
IVÁN. Say another word, and I'll pull the hair off your head!...
Slut!... Who behaves like that? Not your father, nor your mother, nor
your aunt!... It's bad, sir! We were fond of you--often and often we
sang to you without pay. We pitied you, and what have you done?
NASTÁSIA. You've ruined our daughter for nothing ... our own, our only
daughter, the light of our eyes, our priceless jewel--you've trodden her
into the mire, that's what you've done! You've no conscience.
FÉDYA. Nastásia Ivánovna, you suspect me falsely. Your daughter is like
a sister to me. I care for her honour. You must think no evil ... but I
love her! What is one to do?
IVÁN. But you didn't love her when you had money! If you'd then
subscribed ten thousand roubles or so to the choir, you might have had
her honourably. But now you've squandered everything, and carry her off
by stealth! It's a shame, sir, a shame!
MÁSHA. He has not carried me off! I came to him myself, and if you take
me away now, I shall come back again. I love him, and there's an end of
it! My love is stronger than all your locks ... I won't!
NASTÁSIA. Come, Másha dearest! Come, my own! Don't sulk. You've done
wrong, and now come along.
IVÁN. Now then, you've talked enough! March! [Seizes her hand] Excuse
us, sir! [Exit the three gipsies].
Enter Prince Abrézkov.
PRINCE ABRÉZKOV. Excuse me. I have been an unwilling witness of an
unpleasant scene....
FÉDYA. Whom have I the honour?... [Recognises the Prince] Ah, Prince
Abrézkov! [They shake hands].
PRINCE ABRÉZKOV. An unwilling witness of an unpleasant scene. I should
have been glad not to hear, but having overheard it, I consider it my
duty to tell you so. I was directed here, and had to wait at the door
for those people to come out--more particularly as their very loud
voices rendered my knocking inaudible.
FÉDYA. Yes, yes--please take a seat. Thank you for telling me: it gives
me the right to explain that scene to you. I don't mind what you may
think of me, but I should like to tell you that the reproaches you heard
addressed to that girl, that gipsy singer, were unjust. That girl is as
morally pure as a dove; and my relations with her are those of a friend.
There may be a tinge of romance in them, but it does not destroy the
purity--the honour--of the girl. That is what I wished to tell you; but
what is it you want of me? In what way can I be of service?
PRINCE ABRÉZKOV. In the first place, I ...
FÉDYA. Forgive me, Prince. My present social standing is such, that my
former slight acquaintance with you does not entitle me to a visit from
you, unless you have some business with me. What is it?
PRINCE ABRÉZKOV. I won't deny it. You have guessed right. I have
business with you; but I beg you to believe that the alteration in your
position in no wise affects my attitude towards you.
FÉDYA. I am sure of it.
PRINCE ABRÉZKOV. My business is this. The son of my old friend, Anna
Dmítrievna Karénina, and she herself, have asked me to ascertain
directly from you what are your relations ... May I speak out?... your
relations with your wife, Elisabeth Andréyevna Protásova.
FÉDYA. My relations with my wife, or rather with her who _was_ my wife,
are entirely at an end.
PRINCE ABRÉZKOV. So I understood, and that is why I accepted this
difficult mission.
FÉDYA. At an end, and, I hasten to add, not by her fault, but by
mine--by my innumerable faults. She is, as she always was, quite
irreproachable.
PRINCE ABRÉZKOV. Well then, Victor Karénin, or rather his mother, asked
me to find out what your intentions are.
FÉDYA [growing excited] What intentions? I have none. I set her quite
free! Moreover, I will never disturb her peace. I know she loves Victor
Karénin. Well, let her! I consider him a very dull, but very good and
honourable man, and I think that she will, as the phrase goes, be happy
with him; and--_que le bon Dieu les bénisse_![20] That's all ...
[20] May God bless them!
PRINCE ABRÉZKOV. Yes, but we ...
FÉDYA [interrupting] And don't suppose that I feel the least bit
jealous. If I said that Victor is dull, I withdraw the remark. He is an
excellent, honourable, moral man: almost the direct opposite of myself.
And he has loved her from childhood. Perhaps she too may have loved him
when she married me--that happens sometimes! The very best love is
unconscious love. I believe she always did love him; but as an honest
woman she did not confess it even to herself. But ... a shadow of some
kind always lay across our family life--but why am I confessing to you?
PRINCE ABRÉZKOV. Please do! Believe me, my chief reason for coming to
you was my desire to understand the situation fully.... I understand
you. I understand that the shadow, as you so well express it, may have
been ...
FÉDYA. Yes, it was; and that perhaps is why I could not find
satisfaction in the family life she provided for me, but was always
seeking something, and being carried away. However, that sounds like
excusing myself. I don't want to, and can't, excuse myself. I was (I say
with assurance, _was_) a bad husband. I say _was_, because in my
consciousness I am not, and have long not been, her husband. I consider
her perfectly free. So there you have my answer to your question.
PRINCE ABRÉZKOV. Yes, but you know Victor's family, and himself too. His
relation to Elisabeth Andréyevna is, and has been all through, most
respectful and distant. He assisted her when she was in trouble ...
FÉDYA. Yes, I by my dissipation helped to draw them together. What's to
be done? It had to be so!
PRINCE ABRÉZKOV. You know the strictly Orthodox convictions of that
family. Having myself a broader outlook on things, I do not share them;
but I respect and understand them. I understand that for him, and
especially for his mother, union with a woman without a Church marriage
is unthinkable.
FÉDYA. Yes, I know his stu ... his strictness, his conservatism in these
matters. But what do they want? A divorce? I told them long ago that I
am quite willing; but the business of taking the blame on myself, and
all the lies connected with it, are very trying....[21]
[21] Under the Russian law divorce was only obtainable if ocular
evidence of adultery was forthcoming, and a great deal of perjury was
usually involved in such cases.
PRINCE ABRÉZKOV. I quite understand you, and sympathise. But how can it
be avoided? I think it might be arranged that way--but you are right. It
is dreadful, and I quite understand you.
FÉDYA [pressing the Prince's hand] Thank you, dear Prince! I always knew
you were a kind and honourable man. Tell me what to do. How am I to act?
Put yourself in my place. I am not trying to improve. I am a
good-for-nothing; but there are things I cannot do quietly. I cannot
quietly tell lies.
PRINCE ABRÉZKOV. I don't understand you! You, a capable, intelligent
man, so sensitive to what is good--how can you let yourself be so
carried away--so forget what you expect of yourself? How have you ruined
your life and come to this?
FÉDYA [forcing back tears of emotion] I have led this disorderly life
for ten years, and this is the first time a man like you has pitied me!
I have been pitied by my boon-companions, by rakes and by women; but a
reasonable, good man like you ... Thank you! How did I come to my ruin?
First, through drink. It is not that drink tastes nice; but do what I
will, I always feel I am not doing the right thing, and I feel ashamed.
I talk to you now, and feel ashamed. As for being a _Maréchal de la
noblesse_, or a Bank Director--I should feel ashamed, so ashamed! It is
only when I drink that I do not feel this shame. And music: not operas
or Beethoven, but gipsies!... That is life! Energy flows into one's
veins! And then those dear black eyes, and those smiles! And the more
delicious it is, the more ashamed one feels afterwards.
PRINCE ABRÉZKOV. How about work?
FÉDYA. I have tried it, but it's no good. I am always dissatisfied with
it--but what's the use of talking about myself! I thank you.
PRINCE ABRÉZKOV. Then what am I to say?
FÉDYA. Tell them I will do what they wish. They want to get married, and
that there should be no obstacle to their marriage?
PRINCE ABRÉZKOV. Of course.
FÉDYA. I'll do it! Tell them I will certainly do it.
PRINCE ABRÉZKOV. But when?
FÉDYA. Wait a bit. Well, say in a fortnight. Will that do?
PRINCE ABRÉZKOV. Then I may tell them so?
FÉDYA. You may. Good-bye, Prince! Thank you once again!
[Exit Prince].
FÉDYA [sits for a long time and smiles silently] That's the way, that's
the way! It must be so, must be, must be! Splendid!
Curtain.