Picture I.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
Prèzhnev, an old man, completely in his dotage, official of high rank; has lost the use of his limbs; is wheeled about in a chair.
Sòfia Ivànovna Prèzhneva, his wife, aged forty-five.
Paul, a young man, her son.
Oustìnya Filimònovna Pereshìvkina, an elderly woman, formerly Paul’s nurse; now a kind of toady and hanger-on in several families.
A large drawing-room; very rich paper-hangings, grown old and shabby, peeling off the walls. Polished parquet, sunk and uneven. Windows, left, looking into garden. Door opening on wooden balcony, with pillars. At back of stage, a door leading to hall. Door, right, to inner rooms. In narrow niches, little marble tables with bronze legs; over them hang long narrow pier-glasses with gilded frames. Furniture old, heavy, with gilding rubbed off. Old bronze-work on tables. Glass chandelier with lozenge-shaped drops. Two or three ivy-screens. A general appearance of former luxury now become shabby.
Scene I.
(Prèzhnev asleep in wheel-chair beside window. Fur dressing-gown; white woollen rug over feet. Madame Prèzhneva, in elegant morning négligé, lies on sofa with a book.)
Madame P. (lays down book). That is cruel! That is dreadful! I would never have acted so! Nous autres femmes ... we ... oh! we believe, we trust blindly, we never analyse. No, I cannot finish this novel. A young man of good birth, handsome, clever, an officer in the army, declares his love to her in such exquisite language; and she—she has the heart to refuse him! No; she is no woman! Woman is a weak creature of impulse! We live only through the heart. And how easy it is to deceive us! We are willing to make all sacrifices for the man we love. If men deceive us—which, alas! happens very often—the blame lies not upon us, but upon them. They, for the most part, are cunning and deceitful.... We women are so loving, so trustful, so ready to believe everything, that only after bitter (meditates)—yes, bitter—experience we realise the immorality of the beings we adore. (Silence.) But, no! Even after a betrayal, even after several betrayals, we are ready again to yield to impulse, to believe once more in the possibility of pure and honourable love! Yes! it is our fate! All the more so, when the whole thing takes place amid such poetical surroundings as in this novel: spring-time, flowers, a beautiful park, gurgling streams; he came to her attired for the hunt, the gun upon his shoulder, the hound at his feet, ah! But men ... how often do they abuse the exquisite tenderness of our loving hearts; they care not to know how much we suffer through them, we poor women! (Silence.) Of course there are women whose whole interest in life consists in vulgar, material considerations and household affairs. But that is prose, prose! Nothing shall make me regard it as anything but prose. There are even women who discuss various learned topics as if they were men; but I cannot recognise their womanhood. They may be clever; they may be learned; but instead of a heart they have a lump of ice. (Silence.) When such ideas come into my mind, I always think of my Paul. Oh! how successful he will be with women! It is a joy to me in anticipation! How sweet is that thought for a mother! Oh! children! children! (smells vinaigrette and rings bell. Enter footman.)
Footman. Did madame ring?
Madame P. Has your master come in yet?
Footman. No, madame.
Madame P. When he comes, say I wish to see him.
Footman. Yes, madame. (Exit.)
Madame P. He is such a sensitive, nervous boy! He has inherited my temperament. He should be watched over and tenderly cared for. But what can I do? I have no fortune! After receiving such a high-class education, he is reduced to the necessity of serving in a Government office! All those head-clerks.... They do wear such extraordinary coats!... and he is so nervous, so nervous!... I believe that they all persecute him out of envy.
(Enter Paul.)
Paul (irreproachably dressed in summer costume, with an exhausted and somewhat affected air). Bonjour, Maman!
Madame P. (kisses his forehead). Bonjour, Paul! Where have you been?
Paul (sits on sofa). Where! In that charming place to which it pleased you to send me.
Madame P. What can we do, Paul?
Paul. I have come home on foot in this dreadful heat!
Madame P. It is charmingly cool in this room.
Paul. Yes; but what is it like in the winter? All the walls are damp-rotted; the floor is sunk in.
Madame P. Yes, my dear one; our affairs are in a very bad condition.
Paul. Your affairs! What affairs have you? There’s papa only half alive; and you, too, have had your day, and finished it. Look at my position!
Madame P. I know, my dear one. I can understand how hard it is for you!
Paul. Hard! I should think so! Listen to me, Maman. By birth, by education, by the circle in which I move—in fact, by everything—I belong, every inch of me, to the best rank of society.
Madame P. Oh, yes!
Paul. And what is wanting? It is shameful, infamous! A fortune! And, indeed, what does it matter that I have no fortune? All the same, I ought to live and do like other people. Am I to go and register myself as an artizan? A cobbler, perhaps! All because I have no fortune! That amounts to an absurdity.
Madame P. We had a fortune once, Paul.
Paul. I know you had. And where is it now? I know more than that.... I know that you squandered it.
Madame P. Ah, Paul! do not blame me! You know that we women are so weak, so confiding. Before your father’s illness we were considered very wealthy people; we had a fine estate in the Simbìrsk country. He knew how to manage all those things. Afterwards, when he was struck down with paralysis, I lived not at all luxuriously, only respectably.
Paul. How much did Mons. Péché cost you? Confess, Maman!
Madame P. Oh! my dear one, he was indispensable for your education. Then I went abroad twice. But I never ran into any heavy expense. And suddenly I was informed that I had spent all the fortune, that we had nothing left. It is dreadful! In all probability it was our stewards and bailiffs that were to blame for the whole thing.
Paul. Canaille!
Madame P. What can we do, my dear one? People are so wicked, so cunning; and you and I are so confiding!
Paul. It’s you that are confiding, Maman. If they got into my hands, I would tell them quite another story! One, two, ... (Makes gesture with his hand.) There’s nothing else to be done with those creatures. It’s good for them to get a thrashing sometimes. It really makes me quite angry; just because of these scoundrels I have to go every morning, on foot, to a miserable office of which I need never have heard; and then either walk home, or jolt along with a wretched cabman. I cannot live in the same fashion as all these copying-clerks that I have to sit side by side with. They buy onion-pies at the costermonger’s, and stand eating them at the street door. They can do that sort of thing—they are made that way—but I can’t. Now, you see, I am in debt to every one—to the cabman, to the tailor, to Chevalier: all our set go to Chevalier, and all the young barristers.... You can hardly expect me to eat onion-pies! And now, I’ve got to go through an examination in some District Institution. It’s dreadful! You see, if I had a fortune, I should never even hear of all these things—Law Courts, and District Institutions, and copying-clerks, with their onion-pies! What do I want with them all?
Madame P. Yes, yes, I understand.... With your sensitive nature.... You are so nervous!
Paul. I really don’t know what to do! If there were a chance, I should have no scruples about cheating some one at cards.
Madame P. Well indeed, in your position——
Prèzhnev (waking up). Paul, have you been to the theatre lately?
Paul. Quite lately.
Prèzhnev. Who plays the marquises now?
Paul. No one has done for some time.
Prèzhnev. I used to play marquises very well once.
(Madame Prèzhneva rings. Enter Footman.)
Madame P. Wheel your master out on to the balcony, and take some old newspapers and read aloud to him. (Footman takes newspapers and wheels Prèzhnev on to balcony.)
Paul. Then there’s my amiable uncle. Just because he’s been a judge somewhere, he puts on superior airs: “You want too much,” he says. What do I want? Have I ever asked for luxury and extravagance? I only want what is necessary, what a man in my set cannot do without. Surely that is plain enough. But no; my kind uncle tells me, “You have no right to want all these things, because you have no fortune.” Why! is it my fault that I have no fortune? What sort of logic is that?
Madame P. No logic at all; it’s absurd.
Paul. He says, “You ought to work!” Many thanks! Your humble servant! I’m not a horse, I suppose.
Madame P. Your uncle has no refinement.
Paul. No, Maman; it is a tragedy.
Madame P. A tragedy, indeed, mon cher!
Paul. And a terrible one! There’s no need of murder and poison to make a tragedy.
Madame P. Do you know, Paul, I think the best thing would be for you to marry.
Paul. I’ve no objection. But whom should I marry?
Madame P. Ah, that is the question. I know you well, Paul. Why are you so highly educated? Why have you such a sensitive nature? It will make you unhappy all your life long. There is no mate for you! To win your love and make you happy, a girl would need too many virtues.
Paul. You perhaps imagine, Maman, that domestic felicity has attractions for me? I’m not a child; I am twenty-one. That is too Arcadian! (Bursts out laughing.) I simply want money.
Madame P. None the less, my dear one, I know your character; I know that you would not care to marry any sort of person.
Paul. Any one you like; I want money in order to be comme il faut; in order to play my proper part in society—in a word, to do that for which I am fitted. I do not know how to save up money; I only know how to spend it with elegance and dignity. For that I have all the necessary gifts. I have tact, I have taste, I am fitted to take a leading position in society.
Madame P. Still, my dear——(Enter Footman.)
Footman. Pereshìvkina asks to see madame.
Madame P. She always comes at the wrong time!
Paul. We shall have time to talk afterwards.
Madame P. Let her come in. (Exit Footman. Enter Pereshìvkina.)
Madame P. What is it, Oustìnya Filimònovna?
Pereshìvkina (kisses Prèzhneva on the shoulder, and then stands a little back.) I came to ask after your health, little mother; I never forget my benefactors.
Paul. Well, old vinegar face, where have you come from?
Pereshìvkina. Ah, Mr. Paul, you’re always full of your jokes!
Paul. She actually expects one to talk seriously with her!
Pereshìvkina. I have a friend, little mother, who makes dimmy-tule. (Paul laughs.) Laugh away, little father; it’s a fine thing to laugh at an old woman.... So I thought perhaps you’d like to buy some; I get it cheap. It’s capital quality, and very wide. Shall I bring you some? You won’t get it for the same price down town.
Madame P. Very well; I’ll look at it.
Paul. How much money have you hoarded up, old hag?
Pereshìvkina. “Old hag,” now, is it!
Paul. Why, dear me! You’re not thinking of getting married, are you?
Pereshìvkina. It’s not right of you, sir, to speak to me like that! I’m an old woman; and I have carried you in my arms.
Paul. She’s going to get offended now; that’ll be the next thing.
Madame P. Let her alone, my dear.
Pereshìvkina. Never mind, little mother, never mind. Let him do as he likes, he was always such a one to joke. When he was quite a little fellow he set my cap on fire behind.
Paul. Ah! so you haven’t forgotten.
Pereshìvkina. Not I. Why, you burnt off all my hair, and even my face got scorched. But you needn’t laugh at me, sir. Maybe I shall come in useful to you yet.
Paul. Why, what use can I make of you? Stick you up in the kitchen garden for a scarecrow?
Pereshìvkina. Maybe I can do you a better service than that, Pàvel Petròvich—who knows? Little mother, you won’t get angry with my nonsense, will you? Maybe, after all, I shall say something worth hearing before I’ve done.
Madame P. Well, what is it?
Pereshìvkina. There’s a lady I know—Serafima Kàrpovna, her name is. She always allows me into her house. You see how it is, little mother. Her people are in trade, but she’s been married to a very grand gentleman—Mr. Aslàmevich. He was an official, you know. Why, little mother, he was a general once.
Paul (laughing). How did that happen?
Pereshìvkina. Why, this way, sir. The general where he served was away for a holiday, so he was general for a whole month.
Paul. I daresay! Well, let’s hear some more lies.
Pereshìvkina. It’s the truth I’m telling you, sir. They were only married one year, and now she’s been a widow for more than a year.... But you won’t be angry with me, little mother?
Madame P. Well, go on!
Pereshìvkina. She’s just a beauty to look at; and very good and kind—and then so modest! It’s quite wonderful. And she’s saving, too, and doesn’t throw away her money on dresses and foolery.
Paul. That’s to say, she’s miserly.
Pereshìvkina. No, no, not miserly, only saving—just a careful housewife. Now, you see, the dowry that she had when she was married all belongs to her. She’s got a hundred and fifty thousand in money alone.
Paul. A hundred and fifty thousand!
Pereshìvkina. I saw it myself, sir. She’s got all the notes in her dressing-case; I saw her count it. Dear me, what a silly old woman I am! You’d much better tell me to hold my tongue, or it’ll get me into trouble. She’s a good woman, and she’s been kind to me, but all the same she’s not the first thing in the world to me. I don’t want you to be angry with me because of her.
Madame P. and Paul. Never mind; go on, go on!
Pereshìvkina. Well, I’ll tell you, if you wish it. You see, little mother, it’s like—well, you know how it is with women.... She’s young, and she’s been a widow for over a year, and so you see ... and don’t think I’m telling you lies—I’d count it a sin. I always wished you well, madame; I haven’t forgotten! Of course, I’m only a poor woman, but all the same, I don’t forget kindnesses. And if ever I can do you a service——
Paul. There, there! (With an impatient gesture.)
Madame P. Well, but go on.
Pereshìvkina. Yes, little mother. Well, you see, she’s a near neighbour of yours—it’s the white stone house on the left-hand side. Pàvel Petròvich often passes.
Madame P. Well, what of that?
Pereshìvkina (whispers). She’s fallen in love.
Madame P. What?
Pereshìvkina (louder). She’s fallen in love. Yes; it’s quite true.
Madame P. Well, what is there wonderful in that? You’re very simple, my good woman. How could she help falling in love with him? She’s not the only one!
Pereshìvkina. Oh! of course, of course, ma’am. Only, you see, she’s rich.
Paul (sings). “La Donna e mobile.”
Pereshìvkina. “Oustìnya Filimònovna,” says she, “I’m in love.” So I asked her, “With who, little mother?” “You look,” says she, “he’ll pass in a minute.” So I looked out of the window, and there was Pàvel Petròvich going past, and she says to me, “That’s he,” says she. You could have knocked me down with a feather.
Paul (sings). “La Donna e mobile.”
Pereshìvkina. Of course Pàvel Petròvich must look at her himself, and see whether he likes her. And if you feel any doubt you might go to the Warden Council and see that the money’s all right; there’s no harm in making sure. Love’s all very well, but money’s money. You see, it’s for all your life.
Paul (goes up to his mother). Maman, I’m going for a walk.
Madame P. Good-bye, my dear. (Kisses his forehead.)
Paul (whispers). Try your hardest. (Exit.)
Madame P. You see, my dear Oustìnya Filimonòvna, it’s not a very great stroke of fortune for my Paul that some Madame Aslàmevich has fallen in love with him. However, if he sees her she may possibly take his fancy.... Of course, for my part, I shall make no difficulties, although she’s only from the merchant class.... All I care for is his happiness. (Rises.) Come with me; I’ll tell the servants to give you some tea.... Only I beg you to behave with discretion.
Pereshìvkina. Little mother, I’d as soon——(Exeunt.)