KLESHTCH. Say! You crawl from that stove--and start cleaning house!
Don't play the delicate primrose!
THE ACTOR. None of your business!
KLESHTCH. Wait till Vassilisa comes--she'll show you whose business it
is!
THE ACTOR. To hell with Vassilisa! To-day is the Baron's turn to
clean. . . . Baron!
[_The Baron comes from the kitchen._]
THE BARON. I've no time to clean . . . I'm going to market with
Kvashnya.
THE ACTOR. That doesn't concern me. Go to the gallows if you like.
It's your turn to sweep the floor just the same--I'm not going to do
other people's work . . .
THE BARON. Go to blazes! Nastya will do it. Hey there--fatal love!
Wake up! [_Takes the book away from Nastya_]
NASTYA [_getting up_] What do you want? Give it back to me! You
scoundrel! And that's a nobleman for you!
THE BARON [_returning the book to her_] Nastya! Sweep the floor for
me--will you?
NASTYA [_goes to kitchen_] Not so's you'll notice it!
KVASHNYA [_to the Baron through kitchen door_] Come on--you! They
don't need you! Actor! You were asked to do it, and now you go ahead
and attend to it--it won't kill you . . .
THE ACTOR. It's always I . . . I don't understand why. . . .
[_The Baron comes from the kitchen, across his shoulders a wooden beam
from which hang earthen pots covered with rags._]
THE BARON. Heavier than ever!
SATINE. It paid you to be born a Baron, eh?
KVASHNYA [_to Actor_] See to it that you sweep up! [_Crosses to outer
door, letting the Baron pass ahead_]
THE ACTOR [_climbing down from the stove_] It's bad for me to inhale
dust. [_With pride_] My organism is poisoned with alcohol. [_Sits down
on a bunk, meditating_]
SATINE. Organism--organon. . . .
ANNA. Andrei Mitritch. . . .
KLESHTCH. What now?
ANNA. Kvashnya left me some dumplings over there--you eat them!
KLESHTCH [_coming over to her_] And you--don't you want any?
ANNA. No. Why should I eat? You're a workman--you need it.
KLESHTCH. Frightened, are you? Don't be! You'll get all right!
ANNA. Go and eat! It's hard on me. . . . I suppose very soon . . .
KLESHTCH [_walking away_] Never mind--maybe you'll get well--you can
never tell! [_Goes into kitchen_]
THE ACTOR [_loud, as if he had suddenly awakened_] Yesterday the
doctor in the hospital said to me: "Your organism," he said, "is
entirely poisoned with alcohol . . ."
SATINE [_smiling_] Organon . . .
THE ACTOR [_stubbornly_] Not organon--organism!
SATINE. Sibylline. . . .
THE ACTOR [_shaking his fist at him_] Nonsense! I'm telling you
seriously . . . if the organism is poisoned . . . that means it's bad
for me to sweep the floor--to inhale the dust . . .
SATINE. Macrobistic . . . hah!
BUBNOFF. What are you muttering?
SATINE. Words--and here's another one for you--transcendentalistic
. . .
BUBNOFF. What does it mean?
SATINE. Don't know--I forgot . . .
BUBNOFF. Then why did you say it?
SATINE. Just so! I'm bored, brother, with human words--all our words.
Bored! I've heard each one of them a thousand times surely.
THE ACTOR. In Hamlet they say: "Words, words, words!" It's a good
play. I played the grave-digger in it once. . . .
[_Kleshtch comes from the kitchen._]
KLESHTCH. Will you start playing with the broom?
THE ACTOR. None of your business. [_Striking his chest_] Ophelia!
O--remember me in thy prayers!
[_Back stage is heard a dull murmur, cries, and a police whistle.
Kleshtch sits down to work, filing screechily._]
SATINE. I love unintelligible, obsolete words. When I was a
youngster--and worked as a telegraph operator--I read heaps of books.
. . .
BUBNOFF. Were you really a telegrapher?
SATINE. I was. There are some excellent books--and lots of curious
words . . . Once I was an educated man, do you know?
BUBNOFF. I've heard it a hundred times. Well, so you were! That isn't
very important! Me--well--once I was a furrier. I had my own
shop--what with dyeing the fur all day long, my arms were yellow up to
the elbows, brother. I thought I'd never be able ever to get clean
again--that I'd go to my grave, all yellow! But look at my hands
now--they're plain dirty--that's what!
SATINE. Well, and what then?
BUBNOFF. That's all!
SATINE. What are you trying to prove?
BUBNOFF. Oh, well--just matching thoughts--no matter how much dye you
get on yourself, it all comes off in the end--yes, yes--
SATINE. Oh--my bones ache!
THE ACTOR [_sits, nursing his knees_] Education is all rot. Talent is
the thing. I knew an actor--who read his parts by heart, syllable by
syllable--but he played heroes in a way that . . . why--the whole
theatre would rock with ecstasy!
SATINE. Bubnoff, give me five kopecks.