THE BARON. For what?
NATASHA [_smiling confusedly_] Oh--I think that
perhaps--well--to-morrow somebody will really appear--some
one--oh--out of the ordinary--or something'll happen--also out of the
ordinary. . . . I've been waiting for it--oh--always. . . . But,
really, what is there to wait for? [_Pause_]
THE BARON [_with a slight smile_] Nothing--I expect nothing! What is
past, is past! Through! Over with! And then what?
NATASHA. And then--well--to-morrow I imagine suddenly that I'll
die--and I get frightened . . . in summer it's all right to dream of
death--then there are thunder storms--one might get struck by
lightning . . .
THE BARON. You've a hard life . . . your sister's a wicked-tempered
devil!
NATASHA. Tell me--does anybody live happily? It's hard for all of
us--I can see that . . .
KLESHTCH [_who until this moment has sat motionless and indifferent,
jumps up suddenly_] For all? You lie! Not for all! If it were so--all
right! Then it wouldn't hurt--yes!
BUBNOFF. What in hell's bit you? Just listen to him yelping!
[_Kleshtch lies down again and grunts._]
THE BARON. Well--I'd better go and make my peace with Nastinka--if I
don't, she won't treat me to vodka . . .
BUBNOFF. Hm--people love to lie . . . with Nastka--I can see the
reason why. She's used to painting that mutt of hers--and now she
wants to paint her soul as well . . . put rouge on her soul, eh? But
the others--why do they? Take Luka for instance--he lies a lot . . .
and what does he get out of it? He's an old fellow, too--why does he
do it?
THE BARON [_smiling and walking away_] All people have drab-colored
souls--and they like to brighten them up a bit . . .
LUKA [_appearing from round the corner_] You, sir, why do you tease
the girl? Leave her alone--let her cry if it amuses her . . . she
weeps for her own pleasure--what harm is it to you?
THE BARON. Nonsense, old man! She's a nuisance. Raoul to-day, Gaston
to-morrow--always the same old yarn, though! Still--I'll go and make
up with her. [_Leaves_]
LUKA. That's right--go--and be nice to her. Being nice to people never
does them any harm . . .
NATASHA. You're so good, little father--why are you so good?
LUKA. Good, did you say? Well--call it that! [_Behind the brick wall
is heard soft singing and the sounds of a concertina_] Some one has to
be kind, girl--some one must pity people! Christ pitied everybody--and
he said to us: "Go and do likewise!" I tell you--if you pity a man
when he most needs it, good comes of it. Why--I used to be a watchman
on the estate of an engineer near Tomsk--all right--the house was
right in the middle of a forest--lonely place--winter came--and I
remained all by myself. Well--one night I heard a noise--
NATASHA. Thieves?
LUKA. Exactly! Thieves creeping in! I took my gun--I went out. I
looked and saw two of them opening a window--and so busy that they
didn't even see me. I yell: "Hey there--get out of here!" And they
turn on me with their axes--I warn them to stand back, or I'd
shoot--and as I speak, I keep on covering them with my gun, first the
one, then the other--they go down on their knees, as if to implore me
for mercy. And by that time I was furious--because of those axes, you
see--and so I say to them: "I was chasing you, you scoundrels--and you
didn't go. Now you go and break off some stout branches!"--and they
did so--and I say: "Now--one of you lie down and let the other one
flog him!" So they obey me and flog each other--and then they begin to
implore me again. "Grandfather," they say, "for God's sake give us
some bread! We're hungry!" There's thieves for you, my dear!
[_Laughs_] And with an ax, too! Yes--honest peasants, both of them!
And I say to them, "You should have asked for bread straight away!"
And they say: "We got tired of asking--you beg and beg--and nobody
gives you a crumb--it hurts!" So they stayed with me all that
winter--one of them, Stepan, would take my gun and go shooting in the
forest--and the other, Yakoff, was ill most of the time--he coughed a
lot . . . and so the three of us together looked after the house . . .
then spring came . . . "Good-bye, grandfather," they said--and they
went away--back home to Russia . . .
NATASHA. Were they escaped convicts?
LUKA. That's just what they were--escaped convicts--from a Siberian
prison camp . . . honest peasants! If I hadn't felt sorry for
them--they might have killed me--or maybe worse--and then there would
have been trial and prison and afterwards Siberia--what's the sense of
it? Prison teaches no good--and Siberia doesn't either--but another
human being can . . . yes, a human being can teach another one
kindness--very simply! [_Pause_]
BUBNOFF. Hm--yes--I, for instance, don't know how to lie . . . why--as
far as I'm concerned, I believe in coming out with the whole truth and
putting it on thick . . . why fuss about it?
KLESHTCH [_again jumps up as if his clothes were on fire, and
screams_] What truth? Where is there truth? [_Tearing at his ragged
clothes_] Here's truth for you! No work! No strength! That's the only
truth! Shelter--there's no shelter! You die--that's the truth! Hell!
What do I want with the truth? Let me breathe! Why should I be blamed?
What do I want with truth? To live--Christ Almighty!--they won't let
you live--and that's another truth!
BUBNOFF. He's mad!