Stop it! What a boy you are still!
All right. And Kondraty, isn't here yet. I wonder why. Do you think the devil has taken him? The devil is fond of monks, you know.
What strange fancies you have. Why, now you are joking—
SAVVA(somewhat surprised)
They are not fancies.
My fancies are different. You are a dear now, because you talk to me. In the evening I'll tell you all about myself. We'll take a walk together, and I'll tell you everything.
Very well, I'll listen. Why shouldn't I?
Tell me, Savva, if I may ask—are you in love with a woman?
Ah, switched around to the subject of love after all—just like a woman! I hardly know what to say. I did love a girl, in a way, but she didn't stick it out.
Stick out what?
My love, or perhaps myself. All I know is that one fine day she went away and left me.
LIPA(laughing)
And you?
Nothing. I remained alone.
Have you any friends, comrades?
No.
Any enemies? I mean is there anyone whom you particularly dislike, whom you hate?
Yes—God.
LIPA(incredulously)
What?
God, I say—the one whom you call your Saviour.
LIPA(shouting)
Don't dare speak that way! You've gone out of your mind!
Ah! I touched your sensitive spot, did I?
Don't you dare!
I thought you were a gentle dove, but you have a tongue like a snake's.(He imitates the movements of a snake's tongue with his finger)
Good Lord! How dare you, how can you speak like that of the Saviour?Why, one dares not look at him. Why have you come here?
[Kondraty appears at the door of the tavern, looks around, and enters quietly.
In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost!
Amen! You're very late, my gracious lord!
I did the will of him who sent me. I was picking young little cucumbers for the Father Superior. He has them made into a dainty dish which he loves dearly for an appetizer. My, what infernal heat! I was in pools of perspiration before I got through.
SAVVA(to Lipa)
You see, here is a monk. He likes a drink. His cussing vocabulary isn't bad. He is no fool, and as to women—
Don't embarrass the young lady, Mr. Tropinin. In the presence of a lady—
And furthermore, he doesn't believe in God.
He is joking.
I don't like such jokes. What have you come here for?
I am here by invitation.
I have some business with him.
LIPA(without looking at Savva)
What have you come here for?
For nothing that concerns you. You had better have a talk with him. He is a chap that possesses a great deal of curiosity. He's not a fool, either, but knows what's what.
LIPA(looking searchingly at Savva)
I know him well, I know him very well.
To my regret I must admit it's true. I have the unenviable fortune of being known as a man who does not observe the outer forms of conduct. It is on account of that characteristic I was fired from my position as government clerk, and it's on that account I am now frequently condemned to live for weeks on nothing but bread and water. I cannot act in secret. I am open and above-board. In fact, I fairly cry aloud whatever I do. For example, the circumstances under which I met you, Mr. Tropinin, are such that I am ashamed to recall them.
Don't recall them then.
KONDRATY(to Lipa)
I was lying in a mud puddle in all my dignity, like a regular hog.
LIPA(disgusted)
All right.
But I am not ashamed to speak of it; first, because many people saw it, and of course nobody took the trouble to get me out of it except Savva Yegorovich, and secondly, because I regard this as my cross.
A fine cross!
Every man, Miss Olympiada, has his cross. It isn't so very nice to be lying in a mud puddle. Dry ground is pleasanter every time. And do you know, I think half of the water in that puddle was my own tears, and my woeful lamentations made ripples on it—
That's not quite so, Kondraty. You were singing a song: "And we're baptized of him in Jordan"—to a very jolly tune at that.
You don't say! What of it? So much the worse. It shows to what depths a man will descend.
Don't assume a melancholy air, father. You're quite a jovial fellow by nature, and the assumption of grief doesn't go well with your face, I assure you.
True, Savva Yegorovich, I was a jolly fellow; but that was before I entered the monastery. As soon as I came here I took a tumble, so to speak; I lost my joviality and serenity and learned to know what real sorrow is.
[Tony enters and remains standing in the doorway gazing ecstatically at the monk.
Why so?
KONDRATY(stepping nearer and speaking in a lowered voice)There is no God here—there's only the devil. This is a terrible place to live in, on my word it is, Mr. Savva. I am a man with a large experience. It's no easy thing to frighten me. But I am afraid to walk in the hall at night.
What devil?
The ordinary one. To you, educated people, he appears in a nobler aspect of course; but to us plain, simple people, he reveals himself as he really is.
With horns?
How can I tell? I never saw the horns; but that's not the point, although I may say that his shadow clearly shows the horns. The thing is that we have no peace in our monastery; there is always such a noise and clatter there. Everything is quiet outside; but inside there are groans and gnashing of teeth. Some groan, some whine, and some complain about something, you can't tell what. When you pass the doors, you feel as if your soul were taking leave of the world behind every door. Suddenly something glides from around the corner.—and there's a shadow on the wall. Nothing at all—and yet there's a shadow on the wall. In other places it makes no difference. You pay no attention to such a trifle as a shadow; but here, Savva Yegorovich, they are alive, and you can almost hear them speak. On my word of honor! Our hall, you know, is so long that it seems never to end. You enter—nothing! You see a sort of black object moving in front of you, something like the figure of a man. Then it stretches out, grows larger and larger and wider and wider until it reaches across the ceiling, and then it's behind you! You keep on walking. Your senses become paralyzed. You lose all consciousness.
SAVVA(to Tony)
What are you staring at?
What a face!
And God too is impotent here. Of course we have sacred relics and a wonder-working ikon; but, if you'll excuse me for saying so, they have no efficacy.
What are you saying?
None whatever. If you don't believe me, ask the other monks. They'll bear me out. We pray and pray, and beat our foreheads, and the result is nothing, absolutely nothing. If the image did nothing else than drive away the impure power! But it can't do even that. It hangs there as if it were none of its business, and as soon as night comes, the stir and the gliding and the flitting around the corners begin again. The abbot says we are cowards, poor in spirit, and that we ought to be ashamed. But why are the images ineffective? The monks in the monastery say—
Well?
But it's hard to believe it. It's impossible. They say that the devil stole the real image long ago—the one that could perform miracles—and hung up his own picture instead.
Oh, God, what blasphemy! Why aren't you ashamed to believe such vile, horrid stuff? You who are wearing a monk's robe at that! You really ought to be lying in a puddle—it's the proper place for you.
Now, now, don't get mad. Don't mind her, Father Kondraty, she doesn't mean it. She is a good girl. But really, why don't you leave the monastery? Why do you want to be fooling about here with shadows and devils?
KONDRATY(shrugging his shoulders)
I would like to leave; but where am I to go? I dropped work long ago. I am not used to it any more. Here at least I don't have to worry about how to get a piece of bread. And as for the devil(cautiously winking to Savva as he turns to the window and fillips his neck with his fingers)I have a means against him.
Well, let's go out and have a talk. You, face, will you send us some whiskey?
TONY(gloomily)
He isn't telling the truth. There are no devils either. The devil couldn't have hung up his picture if there's no devil. It's impossible. He had better ask me.
All right, we'll speak about that later. Send us whiskey.
TONY(goes)
I won't send you any whiskey either.
What a stupid fellow! I tell you what, father. You go out into the garden through that door. I'll be, with you in a moment. Don't lose yourself.(He goes out after Tony)
Good-bye, Miss Olympiada.
[Lipa doesn't answer. When Kondraty has left, she walks around the room a few times, agitated, waiting for Savva.
SAVVA(entering)
Well, what a fool!
LIPA(barring his way)
I know why you came here. I know! Don't you dare!
What's that?
When I heard you talk, I thought it was just words, but now—Come to your senses! Think! You've gone crazy. What do you mean to do?
Let me go.
I listened to you and laughed! Good Lord! I feel as if I had awakened from a terrible dream. Or is it all a dream? What was the monk here for? What for?
Now that will do. You have had your say; that's enough. Let me go.
Don't you see you have gone crazy? Do you understand? You are out of your mind.
I'm sick of hearing you repeat that. Let's go.
Savva; dear, darling Savva—No? Very well, you won't listen to me? Very well. You'll see, Savva, you'll see. You ought to have your hands and feet tied. And youwillbe bound, too. There are people who will do it. Oh, God! What does this mean? Stay! Stay! Savva!
SAVVA(going)
All right, all right.
LIPA(shouting)
I'll denounce you. Murderer! Ruffian! I'll denounce you.
SAVVA(turning round)
Oho! You had better be more careful.(Puts his hand on her shoulder and looks into her eyes)You had better be more careful, I say.
You—(For about three seconds there is a struggle between the two pairs of eyes, after which Lipa turns aside, biting her lips)I am not afraid of you.
That's better. But don't shout. One should never shout.(Exit)
LIPA(alone)
What does this mean? What am I to do?(The hens cluck)
YEGOR TROPININ(in the door)
What's the matter? What's the row here—hey? I was gone just half an hour, and everything has gone topsy-turvy. Lipa, why did you let the chickens get into the raspberry bushes? Go and drive 'em away, damn you! I am talking to you—yes, to you! Go, or I'll go you, I'll go you, I'll—
_Within the enclosure of the monastery. In the rear, at the left, appear the monastery buildings, the refectory, monks' cells, parts of the church and the steeple, all connected by passageways with arched gates. Board-walks run in different directions in the court. At the right the corner of the steeple wall is seen slightly jutting out. Nestling against it is a small monastic cemetery surrounded by a light, grilled iron fence. Marble monuments and slabs of stone and iron are sunk deep into the earth. All are old and twisted. It is a long time since anyone was buried there. The cemetery contains also some wild rose-bushes and two or three rather small trees.
It is evening, after vespers. Long shadows are falling from the tower and the walls. The monastery and the steeple are bathed in the reddish light of the setting sun. Monks, novices and pilgrims pass along the board-walks. In the beginning of the act may be heard behind the scenes the driving of a village herd, the cracking of a herdsman's whip, the bleating of sheep, the lowing of cattle, and dull cries. Toward the end of the act it grows much darker, and the movement in the yard ceases almost entirely.
Savva, Speransky, and the Young Friar are seated on a bench by the iron fence. Speransky is holding his hat on his knees, and now and then he strokes his long, straight hair, which is hanging in two mournful strands over his long, pale face. He holds his legs together speaks in a low, sad tone, and gesticulates with extended forefinger. The Friar, young, round-faced, and vigorous, pays no attention to the conversation, but is smiling continually, as if at his own thoughts._
SAVVA(preoccupied, looking aside)
Yes. What kind of work do you do here?
None at all, Mr. Savva. How can a man in my condition do any work? Once a man begins to doubt his own existence, the obligation to work naturally ceases to exist for him. But the deacon's wife does not understand it. She is a very stupid woman, utterly lacking in education, and, moreover, of an unlovely, cruel disposition. She insists on making me work. But you can imagine the sort of work I do under the circumstances. You see, the situation is this. I have a splendid appetite. That appetite began to develop while I was yet a student in the seminary. Now this deaconess, if you please, makes a fuss about every piece of bread I eat. She doesn't understand, the ignorant woman, the possibility of the non-existence of this piece of bread. If I had a real existence like the rest of you, I should feel very bad, but in my present condition her attacks don't affect me in the least. Nothing affects me, Mr. Savva, nothing in the wide world.
SAVVA(smiling at the Friar's unconscious joy, but still preoccupied)How long have you been in this condition?
It began in the seminary while I was studying philosophy. It is a dreadful condition, Mr. Savva. I have grown somewhat accustomed to it now, but at first it was unendurable. I tried to hang myself once, and they cut me down. Then I tried a second time, and they cut me down again. Then they turned me out of the seminary. "Go hang yourself in some other place, you madman," they said. As if there were any other place! As if all places were not the same!
Mr. Savva, let's go fishing to-morrow at the mill.
I don't like fishing. It bores me.
I'm sorry. Well then, let's go into the woods and knock down the dry branches of trees. It's fine sport to walk about in the forest and knock off the branches with a stick. And when you shout "Ho-ho-ho!" the echo from the ravine answers back "Ho-ho-ho!" Do you like swimming?
Yes, I like it. I am a good swimmer.
I like it too.
SPERANSKY(with a deep sigh)
Yes, it's a strange condition.
SAVVA(smiling at the Friar)
Eh? Well, how are you now?
When my uncle took me to his house, he made me promise I would never attempt suicide again. That was the only condition oh which he would consent to let me live with him. "All right," I said; "if we really exist, then I won't make any further attempt to hang myself."
Why do you want to know whether you exist or not? There is the sky. Look, how beautiful it is. There are the swallows and the sweet-scented grass. It's fine!(To the Friar)Fine, isn't it, Vassya?
Mr. Savva, do you like to tear up ant-hills?
I don't know. I never tried.
I like it. Do you like to fly kites?
It's a long time since I tried to. I used to like it very much.
SPERANSKY(patiently awaiting the end of their conversation)
Swallows! What good is their flying to me? Anyhow, maybe swallows don't exist either, and it's all a dream.
Suppose it is a dream. Dreams are very beautiful sometimes, you know.
I should like to wake up, but I can't. I wander around and wander around until I am weary and feeble, and when I rouse myself I find I am here, in the very same place. There is the monastery and the belfry, and the clock strikes the hour. And it's all like a dream, a fantasy. You close your eyes, and it does not exist. You open them, and it's there again. Sometimes I go out into the fields at night and close my eyes, and then it seems to me there is nothing at all existing. Suddenly the quail begin to call, and a wagon rolls down the road. Again a dream. For if you stopped up your ears, you wouldn't hear those sounds. When I die, everything will grow silent, and then it will be true. Only the dead know the truth, Mr. Savva.
FRIAR(smiling, cautiously waving his hands at a bird; in a whisper)It's time to go to bed, time to go to bed.
SAVVA(impatiently)
What dead? Listen, my dear sir. I have a plain, simple, peasant mind, and I don't understand those subtleties. What dead are you talking about?
About all the dead, every one without exception. That's why the faces of the dead are so serene. Whatever agonies a man may have suffered before his death, the moment he dies his face becomes serene. That's because he has learned the truth. I always come here to attend the funerals. It's astonishing. There was a woman buried here. She had died of grief because her husband was crushed under a locomotive. You can imagine what must have been going on in her mind before her death. It's too horrible to think of. Yet she lay there, in the coffin, absolutely serene and calm. That's because she had come to know that her grief was nothing but a dream, a mere phantom. I like the dead, Mr. Savva. I think the dead really exist.
I don't like the dead.(Impatiently)You are a very disagreeable fellow. Has anybody ever told you that?
Yes, I have, heard it before.
I would never have taken you out of the noose. What damn fool did it anyway?
The first time it was the Father Steward, the next time my classmates. I am very sorry you disapprove of me, Mr. Tropinin. As you are an educated man, I should have liked to show you a bit of writing I did while I was in the seminary. It's called "The Tramp of Death." It's a sort of story.
No, spare me, please. Altogether I wish you'd—
FRIAR.(rising)
There comes Father Kirill. I had better beat it.
Why?
He came across me in the forest the other day when I was-shouting "Ho! Ho!" "Ah," said he, "you forest sprite with goat's feet!" To-morrow after dinner, all right?(Walks away, sedately at first, but then with a sort of dancing step)
FAT MONK(approaches)
Well, young men, having a pleasant chat? Are you Mr. Tropinin's son?
I am the man.
I have heard about you. A decent, respectable gentleman your father is. May I sit down?(He sits down)The sun has set, yet it's still hot. I wonder if we'll have a storm to-night. Well, young man, how do you like it here? How does this place compare with the metropolis?
It's a rich monastery.
Yes, thank the Lord. It's celebrated all over Russia. There are many who come here even from Siberia. Its fame reaches far. There'll soon be a feast-day, and—
You'll work yourself sick, father. Services day and night.
Yes, we must do our best for the monastery.
Not for the people?
Yes, for the people too. For whom else? Last year a large number of epileptics were cured; quite a lot of them. One blind man had his eyesight restored, and two paralytics were made to walk. You'll see for yourself, young man, and then you won't smile. I have heard that you are an unbeliever.
You have heard correctly. I am an unbeliever.
It's a shame, a shame. Of course, there are many unbelievers nowadays among the educated classes. But are they any happier on that account? I doubt it.
No, there are not so many. They think they are unbelievers because they don't go to church. As a matter of fact, they have greater faith than you. It's more deep-seated.
Is that so?
Yes, yes. The form of their faith is, of course, more refined. They are cultured, you see.
Of course, of course. People feel better, feel more confident and secure, if they believe.
They say the devil is choking the monks here every night.
FAT MONK(laughing)
Nonsense.(To the Gray Monk passing by)Father Vissarion, come here a moment. Sit down. Mr. Tropinin's son here says the devil chokes us every night. Have you heard about it?(The two monks laugh good-naturedly as they look at each other)
Some of the monks can't sleep well because they have overeaten, so they think they are being choked. Why, young man, the devil can't enter within our sacred precincts.
But suppose he does suddenly put in an appearance? What will, you do then?
We'll get after him with the holy-water sprinkler, that's what we'll do. "Don't butt in where you have no business to, you black-faced booby!"(The monk laughs)
Here comes King Herod.
Wait a while, Father Vissarion.(To Savva)You talk about faith and such things. There's a man for you—look at him—see how he walks. And yet he has chains on him weighing four hundred pounds. He doesn't walk, he dances. He visits us every summer, and I must say he is a very valuable guest. His example strengthens others in their faith. Herod! Ho, Herod!
What do you want?
Come here a minute. This gentleman doubts the existence of God. Talk to him.
What's the matter with yourself? Are you so full of booze that you can't wag your own tongue?
You heretic! What a heretic!(Both monks laugh)
KING HEROD(approaching)
What gentleman?
This one.
KING HEROD(scrutinizing him)
He doubts? Let him doubt. It's none of my business.
Oh!
Why, what did you think?
Sit down, please.
Never mind. I'd rather stand.
FAT MONK(to Savva, in a loud whisper)
He is doing that to wear himself out. Until he has reduced himself to absolute faintness he'll neither sleep nor eat.(Aloud)This gentleman is wondering at the kind of chains you have on your body.
Chains? Just baby rattles. Put them on a horse and he too would carry them if he had the strength. I have a sad heart.(Looks at Savva)You know, I killed my own son. Yes, I did. Have they been telling you about me, these chatterboxes?
They have.
Can you understand it?
Why not? Yes, I can.
You lie—you can't. No one can understand it. Go through the whole world, search round the whole globe, ask everybody—no one will be able to tell you, no one will understand. And if anyone says he does, take it from me that he lies, lies just as you do. Why, you can't even see your own nose properly, yet you have the brazenness to say you understand. Go. You are a foolish boy, that's what you are.
And you are wise?
I am wise. My sorrow has made me so. It is a great sorrow. There is none greater on earth. I killed my son with my own hand. Not the hand you are looking at, but the one which isn't here.
Where is it?
I burnt it. I held it in the stove and let it burn up to my elbow.
Did that relieve you?
No. Fire cannot destroy my grief. It burns with a heat that is greater than fire.
Fire, brother, destroys everything.
No, young man, fire is weak. Spit on it and it is quenched.
What fire? It is possible to kindle such a conflagration that an ocean of water will not quench it.
No, boy. Every fire goes out when its time comes. My grief is great, so great that when I look around me I say to myself: Good heavens, what has become of everything else that's large and great? Where has it all gone to? The forest is small, the house is small, the mountain is small, the whole earth is small, a mere poppy seed. You have to walk cautiously and look out, lest you reach the end and drop off.
FAT MONK(pleased)
Fine, King Herod, you are going it strong.
Even the sun does not rise for me. For others it rises, but for me it doesn't. Others don't see the darkness by day, but I see it. It penetrates the light like dust. At first I seem to see a sort of light, but then—good heavens, the sky is dark, the earth is dark, all is like soot. Yonder is something vague and misty. I can't even make out what it is. Is it a human being, is it a bush? My grief is great, immense!(Grows pensive)If I cried, who would hear me? If I shouted, who would respond?
FAT MONK(to the Gray Monk)
The dogs in the village might.
KING HEROD(shaking his head)
O you people! You are looking at me as at a monstrosity—at my hair, my chains—because I killed my son and because I am like King Herod; but my soul you see not, and my grief you know not. You are as blind as earthworms. You wouldn't know if you were struck with a beam on the head. Say, you pot-belly, what are you shaking your paunch, for?
Why—the way he talks to you!
FAT MONK(reassuringly)
It's nothing. He treats us all like that. He upbraids us all.
Yes, and I will continue to upbraid. Fellows like you are not fit to serve God. What you ought to do is to sit in a drinkshop amusing Satan. The devils use your belly to go sleigh-riding on at night.
FAT MONK(good-naturedly)
Well, well, God be with you. You had better speak about yourself; stick to that.
KING HEROD(to Savva)
You see? He wants to feast on my agony. Go ahead, feast all you want.
My, what a scold you are. Where do you get your vocabulary? He once told the Father Superior that if God were not immortal he, the Father Superior, would long ago have sold him piece by piece. But we tolerate him. He can do no harm in a monastery.
He attracts people. Many come here for his sake. And what difference does it make to us? God sees our purity. Isn't that so, King Herod?
Oh, shut up, you old dotard. Look at him; he can scarcely move his legs, old Harry with the evil eye. Keeps three women in the village; one is not enough for him.(The monks laugh good-naturedly)You see, you see? Whew! Look at their brazen, shameless eyes! Might as well spit on them!
Why do you come here?
Not for them. Listen, young man. Have you a grief?
Perhaps I have. Why?
Then listen to me. When you are in sorrow, when you are suffering, don't go to people. If you have a friend, don't go to him. It's more than you'll be able to stand. Better go to the wolves in the forest. They'll make short work of it, devour you at once, and there will be the end of it. I have seen many evil things, but I have never seen anything worse than man. No, never! They say men are created in His image, in His likeness. Why, you skunks, you have no image. If you had one, the tiniest excuse for one, you would crawl away on all fours and hide somewhere from sheer shame. You damned skunks! Laugh at them, cry before them, shout, at them. It doesn't make any difference. They go on licking their chops. King Herod—Damned skunks! And when King Herod—not I, but the real one with a golden crown—killed your children, where were you—hey?
We weren't even in the world then, man.
Then there were others like you. He killed. You accepted it. That's all. I have asked many the question: "What would you have done?" "Nothing," they always reply. "If he killed, what could be done about it?" Fine creatures! Haven't the manliness to stand up even for their children. They are worse than dogs, damn them!
And what would you have done?
I? I should have wrung his neck from off his royal gold crown—the confounded brute!
It says in the scripture: "Render unto Caesar the things that areCaesar's, and to God the things that are God's."
That is to say, don't interfere with other people's business. Do you understand?
KING HEROD(to Savva in despair)
Just listen, listen to what they are saying.
I hear what they are saying.
Just you wait, my precious! You'll get what's coming to you, and mighty quick. The devil will come and hurl you into the fiery pit. To hell, to gehenna, with you! How your fat will melt and run! Do you get the smell, monk?
That's from the refectory.
You are on the run, fast as your feet can carry you! Ah! but where to? Everywhere is hell, everywhere is fire. You refused to hearken unto me, my pet; now you shall hearken unto the fire. Won't I be glad, won't I rejoice! I'll take off my chains so that I can catch them and present them to the devil—first one, then the other. Here, take him. And the howl they'll set up, and the weeping and lamentation. "I am not guilty." Not guilty? Who, then, is—who? To gehenna with you! Burn, you damned hypocrites, until the second Advent. And then we'll build a new fire, then we'll build a new fire.
Isn't it time for us to go, Father Kirill?
Yes, we had better be moving along. It's getting dark, and it's time to retire.
Aha! You don't like to hear the truth. It isn't pleasant, is it?
Hee-hee, brother, talk is cheap. A barking dog doesn't bite. Scold away, scold away. We are listening. God in heaven will decide who is to go to hell and who elsewhere. "The meek, shall inherit the earth," says the Gospel. Good-bye, young gentlemen.
GRAY MONK(to King Herod)
Let me give you a piece of advice, however. Talk, but don't talk too much. Don't go too far. We are only tolerating you because you are a pitiful creature and because you are foolish. But if you give your tongue too free a rein, we can stop it, you know. Yes, indeed.
All right, try—try to stop me.
What's the use, Father Vissarion? Let him talk. It doesn't do any harm. Listen, listen, young gentlemen. He is an interesting fellow. Good night.
[They go. The Fat Monk is heard laughing heartily.
KING HEROD(to Savva)
Fine specimens. I can't stand them.
I like you, uncle.
Do you? So you don't like their kind either?
No, I don't.
Well, I'll sit down for a while. My legs are swollen. Have you got a cigarette?
SAVVA(handing him a cigarette)
Do you smoke?
Sometimes. Excuse me for having talked to you the way I did before. You are a good fellow. But why did you lie and say you understood? No one can understand it. Who is this with you?
Oh, he just happened along.
Well, brother, feeling bad, down in the mouth?
Yes, I feel blue.
Keep still, keep still, I don't want to listen. You are suffering? Keep still. I am a man too, brother, so I don't understand. I'll insult you if you don't look out.(Throws away the cigarette)No, I can't. As long as I keep standing or walking I manage somehow. The moment I sit down, it's hell. Oh! Ow-w!(Writhing in agony)I simply can't catch my breath. Oh, God, do you see my torture? Eh? Well, well, it's nothing. It's gone. Oh! Ow-w!
[The sky has become overcast with clouds. It turns dark quickly. Now and then there are flashes of lightning.
SAVVA(quietly)
One must try to stifle one's grief, old man. Fight it. Say to yourself firmly and resolutely: "I don't want it." And it will cease to be. You seem to be a good, strong man.
No, friend, my grief is such that even death won't remove it. What is death? It is little, insignificant, and my grief is great. No, death won't end my grief. There was Cain. Even when he died, his sorrow remained.
The dead do not grieve. They are serene. They know the truth.
But they don't tell it to anybody. What's the good of such truth? Here am I alive, and yet I know the truth. Here am I with my sorrow. You see what it is—there is no greater on earth. And yet if God spoke to me and said, "Yeremey, I will give you the whole earth if you give me your grief," I wouldn't give it away. I will not give it away, friend. It is sweeter to me than honey; it is stronger than the strongest drink. Through it I have learned the truth.
God?
Christ—that's the one! He alone can understand the sorrow that is in me. He sees and understands. "Yes, Yeremey, I see how you suffer." That's all. "I see." And I answer Him: "Yes, O Lord, behold my sorrow!" That's all. No more is necessary.
What you value in Christ is His suffering for the people, is that it?
You mean his crucifixion? No, brother, that suffering was a trifle. They crucified Him—what did that matter? The important point was that thereby He came to know the truth. As long as He walked the earth, He was—well—a man, rather a good man—talking here and there about this and that. When He met someone, He would talk to him about this and that, teach him, and tell him a few good things to put him on the right track. But when these same fellows carried Him off to the cross and went at Him with knouts, whips, and lashes, then His eyes were opened. "Aha!" He said, "so that's what it is!" And He prayed: "I cannot endure such suffering. I thought it would be a simple crucifixion; but, O Father in Heaven, what is this?" And the Father said to Him: "Never mind, never mind, Son! Know the truth, know what it is." And from then on, He fell to sorrowing, and has been sorrowing to this day.
Sorrowing?
Yes, friend, he is sorrowing.(Pause. Lightning)
It looks like rain, and I am without rubbers and umbrella.
And everywhere, wheresoever I go, wheresoever I turn, I see before me His pure visage. "Do you understand my suffering, O Lord?" "I understand, Yeremey, I understand everything. Go your way in peace." I am to Him like a transparent crystal with a tear inside. "You understand, Lord?" "I understand, Yeremey." "Well, and I understand you too." So we live together. He with me, I with Him. I am sorry for Him also. When I die, I will transmit my sorrow to Him. "Take it, Lord."
But after all, you are not quite right in running down the people the way you do. There are some good men also—very few—but there are some. Otherwise it wouldn't be of any use to live.
No, friend, there are none. I don't want to fool you—there are none.You know, it was they who christened me with the name of King Herod.
Who?
Why, your people. There is no beast more cruel than man. I killed my boy, so I am King Herod to them. Damn them, it never enters their minds how terrible it is for me to be burdened with such a nick-name. Herod! If they only called me so out of spite! But not at all.
What is your real name?
Yeremey. That's my name—Yeremey. But they call me Herod, carefully adding King, so that there may be no mistake. Look, there comes another monk, a plague on him. Say, did you ever see His countenance?
I did.
And did you see His eyes? No? Then look, try to see them—Where is he off to, the bat? To the village to his women.
KONDRATY(enters)
Peace be with you, honest folks. Good evening, Savva. To what lucky chance do I owe this meeting?
Look, monk, the devil's tail is sticking out of your pocket.
It isn't the devil's tail, it's a radish. You're very clever, but you didn't hit it right that time.
KING HEROD(spitting in disgust)
I can't bear to look at them. They turn my stomach. Good-bye, friend.Remember what I told you. When you are in sorrow, don't go to people.
All right, uncle, I understand.
Rather go to the forest to the wolves.(Goes out; his voice is heard out of the darkness)Oh, Lord, do you see?
A narrow-minded fool. Killed his son and puts on airs. You can't get by him. He won't let you alone. It's something to be proud of, isn't it, to have killed one's own son? A great thing.
SPERANSKY(with a sigh)
No, Father Kondraty, you are mistaken. He is a happy man. If his son were brought to life this moment, he would instantly kill him. He wouldn't give him five minutes to live. But of course when he dies, he'll know the truth.
That's what I said, you fool. If it were a cat he killed, he might have some reason to be proud—but his own son! What are you thinking about, Savva Yegorovich?
I am waiting. I should like to know how soon this gentleman will go. The devil brought him, I think. Now, here comes someone else.(Peers into the darkness)
LIPA(approaching. She stops and hesitates)
Is that you, Savva?
Yes, and is that you? What do you want? I don't like people to follow me everywhere I go, sister.
The gate to this place is open. Everybody has a right to come in. Mr. Speransky, Tony has been asking for you. He wants the seminarist, he says.
There, go together—a jolly pair. Good-bye, sir, good-bye.
Good-bye. I hope I'll see you soon again, Mr. Savva, and have another talk.
No, don't try, please. Abandon the hope. Good-bye.
How rude you are, Savva. Come, Mr. Speransky. They have business of their own to attend to.
Still I haven't given up hope. Good-bye.(Goes out)
Just grabbed me and stuck—the devil take him!
KONDRATY(laughing)
Yes, he is a sticker from the word go. If he likes you, you can't shake him off. He'll follow you everywhere. We call him the "shadow"—partly, I suppose, because he is so thin. He has taken a fancy to you, so you'll have a time of it. He'll stick to you like a leech.
I am not in the habit of wasting a lot of words. I'll give him the slip without much ceremony.
They have, even tried beating him, but it doesn't do any good. He is known here for miles around. He is a character.
[A pause. Lightning. Every now and then is heard the roll of distant thunder.
Why did you tell me to meet you here in this public place where everyone may come? They fell on me like a swarm of fleas—monks and all sorts of imbeciles. I'd rather have spoken to you in the woods, where we could be let alone.
I did it to escape suspicion. If I went with you to the woods they'd say: "What has a God-fearing man like Kondraty got to do with such a fellow?" I hope you pardon! "Why is he so thick with him?" I purposely timed my coming so that they'd see us together with others.
SAVVA(looking fixedly at him)
Well?
KONDRATY(turning away his eyes and shrugging his shoulders)I can't.
You are afraid?
To tell the truth, I am.
You're no good, old chap.
Perhaps not. You have a right to draw your own conclusions.(Pause)
But what are you afraid of, you booby? The machine is not dangerous. It won't hurt you. All you have to do is to put it in the right place, set it off, and then you can go to the village to your mistresses.
That's not the point.
What then? Are you afraid of being caught? But I told you, if anything should happen, I'll take the guilt on myself. Don't you believe me?
Why, of course I believe you.
What then? Do you fear God?
Yes, I do.
But you don't believe in God—you believe in the devil.
Who knows? Maybe some day I'll suddenly discover that He does exist. In that case, Mr. Savva, I thank you, but I'd rather not. Why should I? I live a nice, quiet existence. Of course, it's all a humbug, an imposition. But what business is it of mine? The people want to believe—let them. It wasn't I who invented God.
Look here. You know I could have done it myself. All I need have done was to take a bomb and throw it into the procession. That's all. But that would mean the killing of many people, which at the present juncture would serve no useful purpose. I therefore ask you to do it. If you refuse, then the blood will rest on you. You understand?
Why on me? I am not going to throw the bomb. And then, what have I got to do with them—I mean the people that get killed? What concern are they of mine? There are plenty of people in the world. You can't kill them all, no matter how many bombs you throw.
Aren't you sorry for them?
If I were to be sorry for everybody, I should have no sympathy left for myself.
That's right. You are a bright man. You have a good mind. I have already told you so. And yet you hesitate. You are clever, and yet you are afraid to smash a piece of wood.
If it is nothing but a piece of wood, then why go to so much trouble about it? The point is, it is not a piece of wood, it is an image.
For me it is a piece of wood. For the people it is a sacred object. That is why I want to destroy it. Imagine how they'll open their mouths and stare. Ah, brother, if you were not a coward, I would tell you some things.
Go ahead and talk. It's no sin to listen. I am not a coward either. I am simply careful.
This would only be the beginning, brother.
A good beginning, I won't deny it. And what will be the end?
The earth stripped naked, atabula rasa, do you understand? And on this naked earth, naked man, naked as his mother bore him. No breeches on him, no orders, no pockets, nothing. Imagine men without pockets. Queer, isn't it? Yes indeed, brother, the ikon is only the beginning.
Oh, they'll make new ones.
But they won't be the same as before. And they'll never forget this much—that dynamite is mightier than their God, and that man is mightier than dynamite. Look at them; see them yonder praying and kneeling, not daring to raise their heads and look you straight in the face, mean slaves that they are! Then comes a real man, and smash goes the whole humbug. Done for!
Really!
And when a dozen of their idols have gone the same way, the slaves will begin to understand that the kingdom of their God is at an end, and that the kingdom of man has come. Lots of them will drop from sheer terror. Some will lose their wits, and others will throw themselves into the fire. They'll say that Antichrist has come. Think of it, Kondraty!
And aren't you sorry for them?
Sorry for them? Why, they built a prison for me, and I am to be sorry for them. They put me in a torture chamber, and I am to be sorry for them. Bah!
Who are you to be above pity?
I? I am a man who have been born. And having been born, I began to look about. I saw churches and penitentiaries. I saw universities and houses of prostitution. I saw factories and picture galleries. I saw palaces and filthy dens. I calculated the number of prisons there are to each gallery, and I resolved that the whole edifice must go, the whole of it must be overturned, annihilated. And we are going to do it. Our day of reckoning has come. It is time.
Who are "we"?
I, you Kondraty, and others.
The people are stupid. They won't understand.
When the conflagration rages all around them, they will understand.Fire is a good teacher, old boy. Have you ever heard of Raphael?
No, I haven't.
Well, when we are through with God, we'll go for fellows like him. There are lots of them—Titian, Shakespeare, Byron. We'll make a nice pile of the whole lot and pour oil over it. Then we'll burn their cities.
Now, now you are joking. How is that possible? How can you burn the cities?
No, why should I be joking? All the cities. Look here, what are their cities? Graves, stone graves. And if you don't stop those fools, if you let them go on making more, they will cover the whole earth with stone, and then all will suffocate—all.
The poor people will have a hard time of it.
All will be poor then. What is it that makes a man rich? His having a house and money, and the fact that he has surrounded himself with a fence. But when there are no houses, no money, and no fences—
That's so. And there won't be any legal papers either, no stocks, no bonds, no title-deeds. They will all have been burnt up.
No, there will be no legal papers. It's work then—you'll have to go to work even if you are a nobleman.
KONDRATY(laughing)
It's funny. All will be naked as when coming out of a bath.
Are you a peasant, Kondraty?
Yes, I am a peasant, sure enough.
I am a peasant also. We have nothing to lose, brother. We can't fare worse than we do now.
How could it be worse? But a great many people will perish, Mr.Tropinin.
It makes no difference. There'll be enough left. It is the good-for-nothings that will perish, the fools to whom this life is like a shell to a crab. Those who believe will perish, because their faith will be taken away from them. Those who love the old will perish, because everything will be taken away from them. The weak, the sick, those who love quietness. There will be no quietness in the world, brother. There will remain only the free and the brave, those with young and eager souls and clear eyes that can embrace the whole universe.
Like yours? I am afraid of your eyes, Savva Yegorovich, especially in the dark.
Yes, like mine. And emancipated from everything, naked, armed only with their reason, they will deliberate; discuss, talk things over, and build up a new life, a good life, Kondraty, where every man may breathe freely.