THE BARON. Thanks, servant of the goddess--what's her name--? The
goddess of drama--tragedy--whatever is her name--?
THE ACTOR. The muse, idiot! Not the goddess--the muse!
SATINE. Lachesis--Hera--Aphrodite--Atropos--oh! To hell with them all!
You see--Baron--it was the old man who stuffed the actor's head full
with this rot . . .
THE BARON. That old man's a fool . . .
THE ACTOR. Ignoramuses! Beasts! Melpomene--that's her name! Heartless
brutes! Bastards! You'll see! He'll go! "On with the orgy, dismal
spirits!"--poem--ah--by Béranger! Yes--he'll find some spot where
there's no--no . . .
THE BARON. Where there's nothing, sir?
THE ACTOR. Right! Nothing! "This hole shall be my grave--I am
dying--ill and exhausted . . ." Why do you exist? Why?
THE BARON. You! God or genius or orgy--or whatever you are--don't roar
so loud!
THE ACTOR. You lie! I'll roar all I want to!
NASTYA [_lifting her head from the table and throwing up her hands_]
Go on! Yell! Let them listen to you!
THE BARON. Where is the sense, my lady?
SATINE. Leave them alone, Baron! To hell with the lot! Let them
yell--let them knock their damned heads off if they feel like it!
There's a method in their madness! Don't you go and interfere with
people as that old fellow did! Yes--it's he--the damned old fool--he
bewitched the whole gang of us!
KLESHTCH. He persuaded them to go away--but failed to show them the
road . . .
THE BARON. That old man was a humbug!
NASTYA. Liar! You're a humbug yourself!
THE BARON. Shut up, my lady!
KLESHTCH. The old man didn't like truth very much--as a matter of fact
he strongly resented it--and wasn't he right, though? Just look--where
is there any truth? And yet, without it, you can't breathe! For
instance, our Tartar Prince over there, crushed his hand at his
work--and now he'll have to have his arm amputated--and there's the
truth for you!
SATINE [_striking the table with his clenched fist_] Shut up! You sons
of bitches! Fools! Not another word about that old fellow! [_To the
Baron_] You, Baron, are the worst of the lot! You don't understand a
thing, and you lie like the devil! The old man's no humbug! What's the
truth? Man! Man--that's the truth! He understood man--you don't!
You're all as dumb as stones! I understand the old man--yes! He
lied--but lied out of sheer pity for you . . . God damn you! Lots of
people lie out of pity for their fellow-beings! I know! I've read
about it! They lie--oh--beautifully, inspiringly, stirringly! Some
lies bring comfort, and others bring peace--a lie alone can justify
the burden which crushed a workman's hand and condemns those who are
starving! I know what lying means! The weakling and the one who is a
parasite through his very weakness--they both need lies--lies are
their support, their shield, their armor! But the man who is strong,
who is his own master, who is free and does not have to suck his
neighbors' blood--he needs no lies! To lie--it's the creed of slaves
and masters of slaves! Truth is the religion of the free man!
THE BARON. Bravo! Well spoken! Hear, hear! I agree! You speak like an
honest man!
SATINE. And why can't a crook at times speak the truth--since honest
people at times speak like crooks? Yes--I've forgotten a lot--but I
still know a thing or two! The old man? Oh--he's wise! He affected me
as acid affects a dirty old silver coin! Let's drink to his health!
Fill the glasses . . . [_Nastya fills a glass with beer and hands it
to Satine, who laughs_] The old man lives within himself . . . he
looks upon all the world from his own angle. Once I asked him:
"Grand-dad, why do people live?" [_Tries to imitate Luka's voice and
gestures_] And he replied: "Why, my dear fellow, people live in the
hope of something better! For example--let's say there are carpenters
in this world, and all sorts of trash . . . people . . . and they give
birth to a carpenter the like of which has never been seen upon the
face of the earth . . . he's way above everybody else, and has no
equal among carpenters! The brilliancy of his personality was
reflected on all his trade, on all the other carpenters, so that they
advanced twenty years in one day! This applies to all other
trades--blacksmiths and shoemakers and other workmen--and all the
peasants--and even the aristocrats live in the hopes of a higher life!
Each individual thinks that he's living for his own Self, but in
reality he lives in the hope of something better. A hundred
years--sometimes longer--do we expect, live for the finer, higher life
. . ." [_Nastya stares intently into Satine's face. Kleshtch stops
working and listens. The Baron bows his head very low, drumming softly
on the table with his fingers. The Actor, peering down from the stove,
tries to climb noiselessly into the bunk_] "Every one, brothers, every
one lives in the hope of something better. That's why we must respect
each and every human being! How do we know who he is, why he was born,
and what he is capable of accomplishing? Perhaps his coming into the
world will prove to be our good fortune . . . Especially must we
respect little children! Children--need freedom! Don't interfere with
their lives! Respect children!" [_Pause_]
THE BARON [_thoughtfully_] Hm--yes--something better?--That reminds me
of my family . . . an old family dating back to the time of Catherine
. . . all noblemen, soldiers, originally French . . . they served
their country and gradually rose higher and higher. In the days of
Nicholas the First my grandfather, Gustave DeBille, held a high
post--riches--hundreds of serfs . . . horses--cooks--
NASTYA. You liar! It isn't true!