EIGHT HUNDRED RUBLES
Noble Kreider
The heart’s an open inn,And from the four winds fare....Vagrants blind with care,Waifs that limp with sin;Ghosts of what has been,...Wraiths of what may be:...But One shall bring the sacred giftAnd which ... is He?And with their wounds of careAnd with their scars of sin....All these shall en-ter inTo find a welcome there;And he who gives with prayerShall be the richer host:...For surely unto him shall comeThe Holy Ghost.
The heart’s an open inn,And from the four winds fare....Vagrants blind with care,Waifs that limp with sin;Ghosts of what has been,...Wraiths of what may be:...But One shall bring the sacred giftAnd which ... is He?And with their wounds of careAnd with their scars of sin....All these shall en-ter inTo find a welcome there;And he who gives with prayerShall be the richer host:...For surely unto him shall comeThe Holy Ghost.
The heart’s an open inn,And from the four winds fare....Vagrants blind with care,Waifs that limp with sin;Ghosts of what has been,...Wraiths of what may be:...But One shall bring the sacred giftAnd which ... is He?
The heart’s an open inn,
And from the four winds fare....
Vagrants blind with care,
Waifs that limp with sin;
Ghosts of what has been,...
Wraiths of what may be:...
But One shall bring the sacred gift
And which ... is He?
And with their wounds of careAnd with their scars of sin....All these shall en-ter inTo find a welcome there;And he who gives with prayerShall be the richer host:...For surely unto him shall comeThe Holy Ghost.
And with their wounds of care
And with their scars of sin....
All these shall en-ter in
To find a welcome there;
And he who gives with prayer
Shall be the richer host:...
For surely unto him shall come
The Holy Ghost.
The last stanza same as second except in second “‘Tis he” at close of stanza take “he” on C for end.
TWO MOTHERS
TWO MOTHERS
TWO MOTHERS
TWO MOTHERS
EIGHT HUNDRED RUBLES
EIGHT HUNDRED RUBLES
EIGHT HUNDRED RUBLES
EIGHT HUNDRED RUBLES
The combined living room and kitchen of a peasant house. Before an open fire, where supper is in preparation, stoops a girl of about sixteen. It is evening and dusk is growing. Vines hang outside and the light of a rising moon comes through the window.
Girl
Girl
Girl
(Singing.)
The heart’s an open inn,And from the four winds fareVagrants blind with care,Waifs that limp with sin;Ghosts of what has been,Wraiths of what may be:But one shall bring the sacred gift—And which is he?And with their wounds of careAnd with their scars of sin,All these shall enter inTo find a welcome there;And he who gives with prayerShall be the richer host;For surely unto him shall comeThe Holy Ghost.
The heart’s an open inn,And from the four winds fareVagrants blind with care,Waifs that limp with sin;Ghosts of what has been,Wraiths of what may be:But one shall bring the sacred gift—And which is he?And with their wounds of careAnd with their scars of sin,All these shall enter inTo find a welcome there;And he who gives with prayerShall be the richer host;For surely unto him shall comeThe Holy Ghost.
The heart’s an open inn,And from the four winds fareVagrants blind with care,Waifs that limp with sin;Ghosts of what has been,Wraiths of what may be:But one shall bring the sacred gift—And which is he?
The heart’s an open inn,
And from the four winds fare
Vagrants blind with care,
Waifs that limp with sin;
Ghosts of what has been,
Wraiths of what may be:
But one shall bring the sacred gift—
And which is he?
And with their wounds of careAnd with their scars of sin,All these shall enter inTo find a welcome there;And he who gives with prayerShall be the richer host;For surely unto him shall comeThe Holy Ghost.
And with their wounds of care
And with their scars of sin,
All these shall enter in
To find a welcome there;
And he who gives with prayer
Shall be the richer host;
For surely unto him shall come
The Holy Ghost.
(Ceases singing and stares into the fire.)
What if he’d vanish like a dream one keepsNo more than starshine when the morning breaks!I’ll look again.
What if he’d vanish like a dream one keepsNo more than starshine when the morning breaks!I’ll look again.
What if he’d vanish like a dream one keepsNo more than starshine when the morning breaks!I’ll look again.
What if he’d vanish like a dream one keeps
No more than starshine when the morning breaks!
I’ll look again.
(Arises, goes softly to the open window and looks out into the garden.)
How peacefully he sleeps!The red rose shields him from the moon that makesThe garden like a witch-tale whispered low.He came a stranger, yet he is not strange;For O, how often I have dreamed it so,Until a sudden, shivering gust of changeWent over things, making the cow-sheds flareOn fire with splendor while one might count three,And riding swiftly down the populous air,Prince-like he came for me.There were no banners when he really came,No clatter of brave steel chafing in the sheath,No trumpets blown to hoarseness with his fame.Silently trudging over the dusky heath,Clad in a weave of twilight, shod with dew,Weary he came and hungry to the door.The lifting latch made music, and I knewMy prince was dream no more.
How peacefully he sleeps!The red rose shields him from the moon that makesThe garden like a witch-tale whispered low.He came a stranger, yet he is not strange;For O, how often I have dreamed it so,Until a sudden, shivering gust of changeWent over things, making the cow-sheds flareOn fire with splendor while one might count three,And riding swiftly down the populous air,Prince-like he came for me.There were no banners when he really came,No clatter of brave steel chafing in the sheath,No trumpets blown to hoarseness with his fame.Silently trudging over the dusky heath,Clad in a weave of twilight, shod with dew,Weary he came and hungry to the door.The lifting latch made music, and I knewMy prince was dream no more.
How peacefully he sleeps!The red rose shields him from the moon that makesThe garden like a witch-tale whispered low.He came a stranger, yet he is not strange;For O, how often I have dreamed it so,Until a sudden, shivering gust of changeWent over things, making the cow-sheds flareOn fire with splendor while one might count three,And riding swiftly down the populous air,Prince-like he came for me.There were no banners when he really came,No clatter of brave steel chafing in the sheath,No trumpets blown to hoarseness with his fame.Silently trudging over the dusky heath,Clad in a weave of twilight, shod with dew,Weary he came and hungry to the door.The lifting latch made music, and I knewMy prince was dream no more.
How peacefully he sleeps!
The red rose shields him from the moon that makes
The garden like a witch-tale whispered low.
He came a stranger, yet he is not strange;
For O, how often I have dreamed it so,
Until a sudden, shivering gust of change
Went over things, making the cow-sheds flare
On fire with splendor while one might count three,
And riding swiftly down the populous air,
Prince-like he came for me.
There were no banners when he really came,
No clatter of brave steel chafing in the sheath,
No trumpets blown to hoarseness with his fame.
Silently trudging over the dusky heath,
Clad in a weave of twilight, shod with dew,
Weary he came and hungry to the door.
The lifting latch made music, and I knew
My prince was dream no more.
(Sings low.)
O weary heart and sore,O yearning eyes that blur,A hand that drips with myrrhIs knocking at the door!The waiting time is o’er,Be glad, look up and seeHow splendid is a dream come true—‘Tis he! ‘Tis he!
O weary heart and sore,O yearning eyes that blur,A hand that drips with myrrhIs knocking at the door!The waiting time is o’er,Be glad, look up and seeHow splendid is a dream come true—‘Tis he! ‘Tis he!
O weary heart and sore,O yearning eyes that blur,A hand that drips with myrrhIs knocking at the door!The waiting time is o’er,Be glad, look up and seeHow splendid is a dream come true—‘Tis he! ‘Tis he!
O weary heart and sore,
O yearning eyes that blur,
A hand that drips with myrrh
Is knocking at the door!
The waiting time is o’er,
Be glad, look up and see
How splendid is a dream come true—
‘Tis he! ‘Tis he!
(During the latter part of the song, the back door opens and the father and mother enter, stooped beneath heavy packs.)
Mother
Mother
Mother
What’s this, eh? Howling like a dog in heat,Snout to the moon! And not a bite to eat,And the pot scorching like the devil’s pit!Bestir yourself there, will you! Here you sitTra-la-ing while the supper goes to rack,And your old father like to break his back,Tramping from market!
What’s this, eh? Howling like a dog in heat,Snout to the moon! And not a bite to eat,And the pot scorching like the devil’s pit!Bestir yourself there, will you! Here you sitTra-la-ing while the supper goes to rack,And your old father like to break his back,Tramping from market!
What’s this, eh? Howling like a dog in heat,Snout to the moon! And not a bite to eat,And the pot scorching like the devil’s pit!Bestir yourself there, will you! Here you sitTra-la-ing while the supper goes to rack,And your old father like to break his back,Tramping from market!
What’s this, eh? Howling like a dog in heat,
Snout to the moon! And not a bite to eat,
And the pot scorching like the devil’s pit!
Bestir yourself there, will you! Here you sit
Tra-la-ing while the supper goes to rack,
And your old father like to break his back,
Tramping from market!
Father
Father
Father
Tut, tut! Girls must sing,And one burned supper is a little thingIn seventy creeping years.
Tut, tut! Girls must sing,And one burned supper is a little thingIn seventy creeping years.
Tut, tut! Girls must sing,And one burned supper is a little thingIn seventy creeping years.
Tut, tut! Girls must sing,
And one burned supper is a little thing
In seventy creeping years.
Mother
Mother
Mother
Ah, there it goes!My hunger makes no difference, I suppose!Tra-la, tut tut, and I can slave and slaveUntil my nose seems sniffing for a grave,I’m bent so—and it’s little that you care!
Ah, there it goes!My hunger makes no difference, I suppose!Tra-la, tut tut, and I can slave and slaveUntil my nose seems sniffing for a grave,I’m bent so—and it’s little that you care!
Ah, there it goes!My hunger makes no difference, I suppose!Tra-la, tut tut, and I can slave and slaveUntil my nose seems sniffing for a grave,I’m bent so—and it’s little that you care!
Ah, there it goes!
My hunger makes no difference, I suppose!
Tra-la, tut tut, and I can slave and slave
Until my nose seems sniffing for a grave,
I’m bent so—and it’s little that you care!
Girl
Girl
Girl
(Who has arisen from window and regards her mother as in a dream.)
Hush, Mother dear, you’ll wake him!
Hush, Mother dear, you’ll wake him!
Hush, Mother dear, you’ll wake him!
Hush, Mother dear, you’ll wake him!
Mother
Mother
Mother
Wake him? Where?Who sleeps that should not wake? Are you bewitched?Hush me again, and you’ll be soundly switched!As though I were a work brute to be dumb!I’ll talk my fill!
Wake him? Where?Who sleeps that should not wake? Are you bewitched?Hush me again, and you’ll be soundly switched!As though I were a work brute to be dumb!I’ll talk my fill!
Wake him? Where?Who sleeps that should not wake? Are you bewitched?Hush me again, and you’ll be soundly switched!As though I were a work brute to be dumb!I’ll talk my fill!
Wake him? Where?
Who sleeps that should not wake? Are you bewitched?
Hush me again, and you’ll be soundly switched!
As though I were a work brute to be dumb!
I’ll talk my fill!
Girl
Girl
Girl
O Mother, he has come——
O Mother, he has come——
O Mother, he has come——
O Mother, he has come——
Mother
Mother
Mother
(Her body straightening slightly from its habitual stoop)
Eh? Who might come that I would care to knowSince Ivan left?—He’s dead.
Eh? Who might come that I would care to knowSince Ivan left?—He’s dead.
Eh? Who might come that I would care to knowSince Ivan left?—He’s dead.
Eh? Who might come that I would care to know
Since Ivan left?—He’s dead.
Father
Father
Father
Aye, years ago,And stubborn grieving is a foolish sin.
Aye, years ago,And stubborn grieving is a foolish sin.
Aye, years ago,And stubborn grieving is a foolish sin.
Aye, years ago,
And stubborn grieving is a foolish sin.
Mother
Mother
Mother
(With the old weary voice.)
One’s head runs empty and the ghosts get inWhen one is old and stooped.
One’s head runs empty and the ghosts get inWhen one is old and stooped.
One’s head runs empty and the ghosts get inWhen one is old and stooped.
One’s head runs empty and the ghosts get in
When one is old and stooped.
(Peevishly to the girl.)
Bestir yourself!Lay plates and light the candles on the shelf.No corpse lies here that it should be so dark.
Bestir yourself!Lay plates and light the candles on the shelf.No corpse lies here that it should be so dark.
Bestir yourself!Lay plates and light the candles on the shelf.No corpse lies here that it should be so dark.
Bestir yourself!
Lay plates and light the candles on the shelf.
No corpse lies here that it should be so dark.
(Girl, moving as in a trance, lights candles with a brand from the fireplace. Often she glances expectantly at the window. The place is fully illumined.)
What ails the hussy?
What ails the hussy?
What ails the hussy?
What ails the hussy?
Father
Father
Father
‘Tis a crazy larkSings in her head all day. Don’t be too rough.Come twenty winters, ‘twill be still enough,God knows!
‘Tis a crazy larkSings in her head all day. Don’t be too rough.Come twenty winters, ‘twill be still enough,God knows!
‘Tis a crazy larkSings in her head all day. Don’t be too rough.Come twenty winters, ‘twill be still enough,God knows!
‘Tis a crazy lark
Sings in her head all day. Don’t be too rough.
Come twenty winters, ‘twill be still enough,
God knows!
Mother
Mother
Mother
(At the fireplace.)
I heard no larks sing at her age.They put me in the field to earn a wageAnd be some use in the world.
I heard no larks sing at her age.They put me in the field to earn a wageAnd be some use in the world.
I heard no larks sing at her age.They put me in the field to earn a wageAnd be some use in the world.
I heard no larks sing at her age.
They put me in the field to earn a wage
And be some use in the world.
(To girl.)
What! Dawdling yet?I’ll lark you in a way you won’t forget,Come forty winters! Speak! What do you mean?
What! Dawdling yet?I’ll lark you in a way you won’t forget,Come forty winters! Speak! What do you mean?
What! Dawdling yet?I’ll lark you in a way you won’t forget,Come forty winters! Speak! What do you mean?
What! Dawdling yet?
I’ll lark you in a way you won’t forget,
Come forty winters! Speak! What do you mean?
Girl
Girl
Girl
(Still staring at the window and speaking dreamily as to herself.)
Up from the valley creeps the loving greenUntil the loneliest hill-top is a bride.
Up from the valley creeps the loving greenUntil the loneliest hill-top is a bride.
Up from the valley creeps the loving greenUntil the loneliest hill-top is a bride.
Up from the valley creeps the loving green
Until the loneliest hill-top is a bride.
Mother
Mother
Mother
The girl’s gone daft!
The girl’s gone daft!
The girl’s gone daft!
The girl’s gone daft!
Father
Father
Father
‘Tis vapors. Let her bide.She’s weaving bride-veils with a woof of the moon,And every wind’s a husband. All too soonShe’ll stitch at grave-clothes in a stuff more stern.
‘Tis vapors. Let her bide.She’s weaving bride-veils with a woof of the moon,And every wind’s a husband. All too soonShe’ll stitch at grave-clothes in a stuff more stern.
‘Tis vapors. Let her bide.She’s weaving bride-veils with a woof of the moon,And every wind’s a husband. All too soonShe’ll stitch at grave-clothes in a stuff more stern.
‘Tis vapors. Let her bide.
She’s weaving bride-veils with a woof of the moon,
And every wind’s a husband. All too soon
She’ll stitch at grave-clothes in a stuff more stern.
Girl
Girl
Girl
(Arousing suddenly.)
I’m sorry that I let the supper burn—‘Tis all so sweet, I scarce know what I do—He came——
I’m sorry that I let the supper burn—‘Tis all so sweet, I scarce know what I do—He came——
I’m sorry that I let the supper burn—‘Tis all so sweet, I scarce know what I do—He came——
I’m sorry that I let the supper burn—
‘Tis all so sweet, I scarce know what I do—
He came——
Mother
Mother
Mother
Who came?
Who came?
Who came?
Who came?
Girl
Girl
Girl
A stranger that I knew;And he was weary, so I took him inAnd gave him supper, thinking ‘twere a sinThat anyone should want and be denied.And while he ate, the place seemed glorified,As though it were the Saviour sitting there!It could not be the sunset bound his hairBriefly with golden haloes—made his eyesSuch depths to gaze in with a dumb surpriseWhile one blinked thrice!—Then suddenly it passed,And he was some old friend returned at lastAfter long years.
A stranger that I knew;And he was weary, so I took him inAnd gave him supper, thinking ‘twere a sinThat anyone should want and be denied.And while he ate, the place seemed glorified,As though it were the Saviour sitting there!It could not be the sunset bound his hairBriefly with golden haloes—made his eyesSuch depths to gaze in with a dumb surpriseWhile one blinked thrice!—Then suddenly it passed,And he was some old friend returned at lastAfter long years.
A stranger that I knew;And he was weary, so I took him inAnd gave him supper, thinking ‘twere a sinThat anyone should want and be denied.And while he ate, the place seemed glorified,As though it were the Saviour sitting there!It could not be the sunset bound his hairBriefly with golden haloes—made his eyesSuch depths to gaze in with a dumb surpriseWhile one blinked thrice!—Then suddenly it passed,And he was some old friend returned at lastAfter long years.
A stranger that I knew;
And he was weary, so I took him in
And gave him supper, thinking ‘twere a sin
That anyone should want and be denied.
And while he ate, the place seemed glorified,
As though it were the Saviour sitting there!
It could not be the sunset bound his hair
Briefly with golden haloes—made his eyes
Such depths to gaze in with a dumb surprise
While one blinked thrice!—Then suddenly it passed,
And he was some old friend returned at last
After long years.
Mother
Mother
Mother
A pretty tale, indeed!And so it was our supper went to feedA sneaking ne’er-do-well, a shiftless scamp!
A pretty tale, indeed!And so it was our supper went to feedA sneaking ne’er-do-well, a shiftless scamp!
A pretty tale, indeed!And so it was our supper went to feedA sneaking ne’er-do-well, a shiftless scamp!
A pretty tale, indeed!
And so it was our supper went to feed
A sneaking ne’er-do-well, a shiftless scamp!
Girl
Girl
Girl
O Mother, wasn’t Jesus Christ a tramp?
O Mother, wasn’t Jesus Christ a tramp?
O Mother, wasn’t Jesus Christ a tramp?
O Mother, wasn’t Jesus Christ a tramp?
Mother
Mother
Mother
Hush, will you! hush! ‘Tis plain the Devil’s here!To think my only child should live to jeerAt holy things!
Hush, will you! hush! ‘Tis plain the Devil’s here!To think my only child should live to jeerAt holy things!
Hush, will you! hush! ‘Tis plain the Devil’s here!To think my only child should live to jeerAt holy things!
Hush, will you! hush! ‘Tis plain the Devil’s here!
To think my only child should live to jeer
At holy things!
Father
Father
Father
Come, don’t abuse the maid.They say He was a carpenter by trade,Yet no one ever saw the house He built.
Come, don’t abuse the maid.They say He was a carpenter by trade,Yet no one ever saw the house He built.
Come, don’t abuse the maid.They say He was a carpenter by trade,Yet no one ever saw the house He built.
Come, don’t abuse the maid.
They say He was a carpenter by trade,
Yet no one ever saw the house He built.
Mother
Mother
Mother
So! Shield the minx! Make nothing of her guilt,And let the Devil get her—as he will!I’ll hold my tongue and work, and eat my fillFrom what the beggars leave, for all you care!Quick! Where’s this scoundrel?
So! Shield the minx! Make nothing of her guilt,And let the Devil get her—as he will!I’ll hold my tongue and work, and eat my fillFrom what the beggars leave, for all you care!Quick! Where’s this scoundrel?
So! Shield the minx! Make nothing of her guilt,And let the Devil get her—as he will!I’ll hold my tongue and work, and eat my fillFrom what the beggars leave, for all you care!Quick! Where’s this scoundrel?
So! Shield the minx! Make nothing of her guilt,
And let the Devil get her—as he will!
I’ll hold my tongue and work, and eat my fill
From what the beggars leave, for all you care!
Quick! Where’s this scoundrel?
Girl
Girl
Girl
‘Sh! He’s sleeping thereOut in the garden.
‘Sh! He’s sleeping thereOut in the garden.
‘Sh! He’s sleeping thereOut in the garden.
‘Sh! He’s sleeping there
Out in the garden.
(Shows a gold piece.)
Mother, see, he paidSo much more than he owed us, I’m afraid.We lose in taking, profit what we give.
Mother, see, he paidSo much more than he owed us, I’m afraid.We lose in taking, profit what we give.
Mother, see, he paidSo much more than he owed us, I’m afraid.We lose in taking, profit what we give.
Mother, see, he paid
So much more than he owed us, I’m afraid.
We lose in taking, profit what we give.
Mother
Mother
Mother
(Taking the coin.)
What! Gold? A clever bargain, as I live!It’s five times what the fowls brought!—Not so bad!And yet—I’ll wager ‘tis not all he had—Eh?
What! Gold? A clever bargain, as I live!It’s five times what the fowls brought!—Not so bad!And yet—I’ll wager ‘tis not all he had—Eh?
What! Gold? A clever bargain, as I live!It’s five times what the fowls brought!—Not so bad!And yet—I’ll wager ‘tis not all he had—Eh?
What! Gold? A clever bargain, as I live!
It’s five times what the fowls brought!—Not so bad!
And yet—I’ll wager ‘tis not all he had—
Eh?
Girl
Girl
Girl
No—eight hundred rubles in a sack!
No—eight hundred rubles in a sack!
No—eight hundred rubles in a sack!
No—eight hundred rubles in a sack!
Mother
Mother
Mother
Eight—hundred—rubles! Yet the times are slack,And coins don’t spawn like fishes, Goodness knows!I’ll warrant he’s some thief that comes and goesAbout the country with a ready smileAnd that soft speech that is the Devil’s guile,Nosing out hoards that reek with honest sweat!Ha, ha—there’s little here that he can get.
Eight—hundred—rubles! Yet the times are slack,And coins don’t spawn like fishes, Goodness knows!I’ll warrant he’s some thief that comes and goesAbout the country with a ready smileAnd that soft speech that is the Devil’s guile,Nosing out hoards that reek with honest sweat!Ha, ha—there’s little here that he can get.
Eight—hundred—rubles! Yet the times are slack,And coins don’t spawn like fishes, Goodness knows!I’ll warrant he’s some thief that comes and goesAbout the country with a ready smileAnd that soft speech that is the Devil’s guile,Nosing out hoards that reek with honest sweat!Ha, ha—there’s little here that he can get.
Eight—hundred—rubles! Yet the times are slack,
And coins don’t spawn like fishes, Goodness knows!
I’ll warrant he’s some thief that comes and goes
About the country with a ready smile
And that soft speech that is the Devil’s guile,
Nosing out hoards that reek with honest sweat!
Ha, ha—there’s little here that he can get.
(Goes to window softly, peers out, then closes the casement.)
Eight—hundred—rubles—
Eight—hundred—rubles—
Eight—hundred—rubles—
Eight—hundred—rubles—
Girl
Girl
Girl
Mother, had you heardHow loving kindness spoke in every word,You could not doubt him. O, his eyes were mild,And there were heavens in them when he smiled!
Mother, had you heardHow loving kindness spoke in every word,You could not doubt him. O, his eyes were mild,And there were heavens in them when he smiled!
Mother, had you heardHow loving kindness spoke in every word,You could not doubt him. O, his eyes were mild,And there were heavens in them when he smiled!
Mother, had you heard
How loving kindness spoke in every word,
You could not doubt him. O, his eyes were mild,
And there were heavens in them when he smiled!
Mother
Mother
Mother
Satan can outsmile God.
Satan can outsmile God.
Satan can outsmile God.
Satan can outsmile God.
Girl
Girl
Girl
No, no, I’m sureHe brought some gift of good that shall endureAnd be a blessing to us!
No, no, I’m sureHe brought some gift of good that shall endureAnd be a blessing to us!
No, no, I’m sureHe brought some gift of good that shall endureAnd be a blessing to us!
No, no, I’m sure
He brought some gift of good that shall endure
And be a blessing to us!
Mother
Mother
Mother
So indeed!Eight—hundred—rubles—with the power to breedLitters of copecks till one need not work!Eight hundred hundred backaches somehow lurkIn that snug wallet.
So indeed!Eight—hundred—rubles—with the power to breedLitters of copecks till one need not work!Eight hundred hundred backaches somehow lurkIn that snug wallet.
So indeed!Eight—hundred—rubles—with the power to breedLitters of copecks till one need not work!Eight hundred hundred backaches somehow lurkIn that snug wallet.
So indeed!
Eight—hundred—rubles—with the power to breed
Litters of copecks till one need not work!
Eight hundred hundred backaches somehow lurk
In that snug wallet.
(To the father.)
What’s the thing to do?
What’s the thing to do?
What’s the thing to do?
What’s the thing to do?
Father
Father
Father
It would be pleasant with a pot of brewTo talk until the windows glimmer pale.‘Tis good to harken to a traveller’s taleOf things far off where almost no one goes.
It would be pleasant with a pot of brewTo talk until the windows glimmer pale.‘Tis good to harken to a traveller’s taleOf things far off where almost no one goes.
It would be pleasant with a pot of brewTo talk until the windows glimmer pale.‘Tis good to harken to a traveller’s taleOf things far off where almost no one goes.
It would be pleasant with a pot of brew
To talk until the windows glimmer pale.
‘Tis good to harken to a traveller’s tale
Of things far off where almost no one goes.
Mother
Mother
Mother
As well to parley with a wind that blowsAcross fat fields, yet has no grain to share.Rubles are rubles, and a tale is air.I’ll have the rubles!
As well to parley with a wind that blowsAcross fat fields, yet has no grain to share.Rubles are rubles, and a tale is air.I’ll have the rubles!
As well to parley with a wind that blowsAcross fat fields, yet has no grain to share.Rubles are rubles, and a tale is air.I’ll have the rubles!
As well to parley with a wind that blows
Across fat fields, yet has no grain to share.
Rubles are rubles, and a tale is air.
I’ll have the rubles!
Girl
Girl
Girl
(Aghast.)
Mother! Mother dear!What if ‘twere Ivan sleeping far from here,And some one else should do this sinful deed!
Mother! Mother dear!What if ‘twere Ivan sleeping far from here,And some one else should do this sinful deed!
Mother! Mother dear!What if ‘twere Ivan sleeping far from here,And some one else should do this sinful deed!
Mother! Mother dear!
What if ‘twere Ivan sleeping far from here,
And some one else should do this sinful deed!
Mother
Mother
Mother
Had they not taken my son, I should not needEight hundred rubles now! The world’s made wrong,And I’ll not live to vex it very long.Who work should take their wages where they can.It should have been my boy come back a man,With this same goodly hoard to bring us cheer.Now let some other mother peer and peerAt her own window through a blurring pane,And see the world go out in salty rain,And start at every gust that shakes the door!What does a green girl know? You never boreA son that you should prate of wrong and right!I tell you, I have wakened in the night,Feeling his milk-teeth sharp upon my breast,And for one aching moment I was blest,Until I minded that ‘twas years agoThese flattened paps went milkless—and I know!
Had they not taken my son, I should not needEight hundred rubles now! The world’s made wrong,And I’ll not live to vex it very long.Who work should take their wages where they can.It should have been my boy come back a man,With this same goodly hoard to bring us cheer.Now let some other mother peer and peerAt her own window through a blurring pane,And see the world go out in salty rain,And start at every gust that shakes the door!What does a green girl know? You never boreA son that you should prate of wrong and right!I tell you, I have wakened in the night,Feeling his milk-teeth sharp upon my breast,And for one aching moment I was blest,Until I minded that ‘twas years agoThese flattened paps went milkless—and I know!
Had they not taken my son, I should not needEight hundred rubles now! The world’s made wrong,And I’ll not live to vex it very long.Who work should take their wages where they can.It should have been my boy come back a man,With this same goodly hoard to bring us cheer.Now let some other mother peer and peerAt her own window through a blurring pane,And see the world go out in salty rain,And start at every gust that shakes the door!What does a green girl know? You never boreA son that you should prate of wrong and right!I tell you, I have wakened in the night,Feeling his milk-teeth sharp upon my breast,And for one aching moment I was blest,Until I minded that ‘twas years agoThese flattened paps went milkless—and I know!
Had they not taken my son, I should not need
Eight hundred rubles now! The world’s made wrong,
And I’ll not live to vex it very long.
Who work should take their wages where they can.
It should have been my boy come back a man,
With this same goodly hoard to bring us cheer.
Now let some other mother peer and peer
At her own window through a blurring pane,
And see the world go out in salty rain,
And start at every gust that shakes the door!
What does a green girl know? You never bore
A son that you should prate of wrong and right!
I tell you, I have wakened in the night,
Feeling his milk-teeth sharp upon my breast,
And for one aching moment I was blest,
Until I minded that ‘twas years ago
These flattened paps went milkless—and I know!
Girl
Girl
Girl
O Mother! ‘twould be sin!
O Mother! ‘twould be sin!
O Mother! ‘twould be sin!
O Mother! ‘twould be sin!
Mother
Mother
Mother
Sin! What is that—When all the world prowls like a hungry cat,Mousing the little that could make us glad?
Sin! What is that—When all the world prowls like a hungry cat,Mousing the little that could make us glad?
Sin! What is that—When all the world prowls like a hungry cat,Mousing the little that could make us glad?
Sin! What is that—
When all the world prowls like a hungry cat,
Mousing the little that could make us glad?
Father
Father
Father
Don’t be forever grieving for the lad.‘Twas hard, but there are troubles worse than death.Let’s eat and think it over.
Don’t be forever grieving for the lad.‘Twas hard, but there are troubles worse than death.Let’s eat and think it over.
Don’t be forever grieving for the lad.‘Twas hard, but there are troubles worse than death.Let’s eat and think it over.
Don’t be forever grieving for the lad.
‘Twas hard, but there are troubles worse than death.
Let’s eat and think it over.
Mother
Mother
Mother
Save your breath,Or share your empty prate with one another!One moment makes a father, but a motherIs made by endless moments, load on load.
Save your breath,Or share your empty prate with one another!One moment makes a father, but a motherIs made by endless moments, load on load.
Save your breath,Or share your empty prate with one another!One moment makes a father, but a motherIs made by endless moments, load on load.
Save your breath,
Or share your empty prate with one another!
One moment makes a father, but a mother
Is made by endless moments, load on load.
(Pause: then to girl.)
I left a bundle three bends down the road.Go fetch it.
I left a bundle three bends down the road.Go fetch it.
I left a bundle three bends down the road.Go fetch it.
I left a bundle three bends down the road.
Go fetch it.
Girl
Girl
Girl
(Pleadingly.)
Mother, promise not to doThis awful thing you think.
Mother, promise not to doThis awful thing you think.
Mother, promise not to doThis awful thing you think.
Mother, promise not to do
This awful thing you think.
Mother
Mother
Mother
(Seizing a stick from the fireplace.)
I’ll promise you,And pay in welts—you simpering hussy!
I’ll promise you,And pay in welts—you simpering hussy!
I’ll promise you,And pay in welts—you simpering hussy!
I’ll promise you,
And pay in welts—you simpering hussy!
(The girl flees through back door. After a pause the woman turns to the man.)
—Well?Eight hundred rubles, and no tale to tell—The fresh earth strewn with leaves—is that the plan?
—Well?Eight hundred rubles, and no tale to tell—The fresh earth strewn with leaves—is that the plan?
—Well?Eight hundred rubles, and no tale to tell—The fresh earth strewn with leaves—is that the plan?
—Well?
Eight hundred rubles, and no tale to tell—
The fresh earth strewn with leaves—is that the plan?
Father
Father
Father
(Startled.)
Eh?—That?—You mean—You would not kill a man?Not that!
Eh?—That?—You mean—You would not kill a man?Not that!
Eh?—That?—You mean—You would not kill a man?Not that!
Eh?—That?—You mean—You would not kill a man?
Not that!
Mother
Mother
Mother
Eight—hundred—rubles.
Eight—hundred—rubles.
Eight—hundred—rubles.
Eight—hundred—rubles.
Father
Father
Father
It is much.Old folk might hobble far with less for crutch—But murder!—Rubles spent are rubles still—Bloodsquandered—‘tis a fearsome thing to kill!I know what rubles cost—they all come hard,But life’s the dearer.
It is much.Old folk might hobble far with less for crutch—But murder!—Rubles spent are rubles still—Bloodsquandered—‘tis a fearsome thing to kill!I know what rubles cost—they all come hard,But life’s the dearer.
It is much.Old folk might hobble far with less for crutch—But murder!—Rubles spent are rubles still—Bloodsquandered—‘tis a fearsome thing to kill!I know what rubles cost—they all come hard,But life’s the dearer.
It is much.
Old folk might hobble far with less for crutch—
But murder!—Rubles spent are rubles still—Blood
squandered—‘tis a fearsome thing to kill!
I know what rubles cost—they all come hard,
But life’s the dearer.
Mother
Mother
Mother
Kill a hog for lard,A thief for gold—one reason and one knife!I tell you, gold is costlier than life!What price shall we have brought when we are gone?When Ivan died, the heartless world went onBreeding more sons that men might still be cheap.And who but I had any tears to weep?I mind ‘twas April when the tale was broughtThat he’d been lost at sea. I thought and thoughtAbout the way all things were mad to breed—One big hot itch to suckle or bear seed—And my boy dead!Life costly?—Cheap as mud!You want the rubles, sicken at the blood,You grey old limping coward!
Kill a hog for lard,A thief for gold—one reason and one knife!I tell you, gold is costlier than life!What price shall we have brought when we are gone?When Ivan died, the heartless world went onBreeding more sons that men might still be cheap.And who but I had any tears to weep?I mind ‘twas April when the tale was broughtThat he’d been lost at sea. I thought and thoughtAbout the way all things were mad to breed—One big hot itch to suckle or bear seed—And my boy dead!Life costly?—Cheap as mud!You want the rubles, sicken at the blood,You grey old limping coward!
Kill a hog for lard,A thief for gold—one reason and one knife!I tell you, gold is costlier than life!What price shall we have brought when we are gone?When Ivan died, the heartless world went onBreeding more sons that men might still be cheap.And who but I had any tears to weep?I mind ‘twas April when the tale was broughtThat he’d been lost at sea. I thought and thoughtAbout the way all things were mad to breed—One big hot itch to suckle or bear seed—And my boy dead!Life costly?—Cheap as mud!You want the rubles, sicken at the blood,You grey old limping coward!
Kill a hog for lard,
A thief for gold—one reason and one knife!
I tell you, gold is costlier than life!
What price shall we have brought when we are gone?
When Ivan died, the heartless world went on
Breeding more sons that men might still be cheap.
And who but I had any tears to weep?
I mind ‘twas April when the tale was brought
That he’d been lost at sea. I thought and thought
About the way all things were mad to breed—
One big hot itch to suckle or bear seed—
And my boy dead!
Life costly?—Cheap as mud!
You want the rubles, sicken at the blood,
You grey old limping coward!
Father
Father
Father
Come now, Mother!I’d kill to live as lief as any other.You women don’t weigh matters like a man.I like the gold—‘tis true—but not the plan.Why not put pebbles where the rubles were,Then send him forth?
Come now, Mother!I’d kill to live as lief as any other.You women don’t weigh matters like a man.I like the gold—‘tis true—but not the plan.Why not put pebbles where the rubles were,Then send him forth?
Come now, Mother!I’d kill to live as lief as any other.You women don’t weigh matters like a man.I like the gold—‘tis true—but not the plan.Why not put pebbles where the rubles were,Then send him forth?
Come now, Mother!
I’d kill to live as lief as any other.
You women don’t weigh matters like a man.
I like the gold—‘tis true—but not the plan.
Why not put pebbles where the rubles were,
Then send him forth?
Mother
Mother
Mother
And set the place a-whirWith a wind of tongues! I tell you, we must kill!No tale dies harder than a tale of ill.Once buried, he will tell none.
And set the place a-whirWith a wind of tongues! I tell you, we must kill!No tale dies harder than a tale of ill.Once buried, he will tell none.
And set the place a-whirWith a wind of tongues! I tell you, we must kill!No tale dies harder than a tale of ill.Once buried, he will tell none.
And set the place a-whir
With a wind of tongues! I tell you, we must kill!
No tale dies harder than a tale of ill.
Once buried, he will tell none.
Father
Father
Father
Let me think—I’ll go down to the tavern for a drinkTo whet my wits—belike the dread will pass.
Let me think—I’ll go down to the tavern for a drinkTo whet my wits—belike the dread will pass.
Let me think—I’ll go down to the tavern for a drinkTo whet my wits—belike the dread will pass.
Let me think—
I’ll go down to the tavern for a drink
To whet my wits—belike the dread will pass.
(He goes out through the back door, shaking his head in perplexity)
Mother
Mother
Mother
(Alone.)
He’ll find a coward’s courage in his glass—Enough to dig a hole when he comes back.
He’ll find a coward’s courage in his glass—Enough to dig a hole when he comes back.
He’ll find a coward’s courage in his glass—Enough to dig a hole when he comes back.
He’ll find a coward’s courage in his glass—
Enough to dig a hole when he comes back.
(She goes to shelf and snuffs the candles. The moon shines brightly through the window and the firelight glows. She takes a knife from a table drawer, feels the edge; goes to the window and peers out; turns about, uneasily scanning the room, then moves toward the side door, muttering.)
Eight hundred shining rubles in a sack!
Eight hundred shining rubles in a sack!
Eight hundred shining rubles in a sack!
Eight hundred shining rubles in a sack!
(She goes out softly and closes the door. A cry is heard as of one in a nightmare. After a considerable interval the mother reënters with a small bag which she is opening with nervous fingers. The moonlight falls upon her. Now and then she endeavors to shake something from her hands, which she finally wipes on her apron, muttering the while.)
When folks get rich they find their fingers dirty.
When folks get rich they find their fingers dirty.
When folks get rich they find their fingers dirty.
When folks get rich they find their fingers dirty.
(She counts the coins in silence for awhile, then aloud.)
Eight and twenty—nine and twenty—thirty—
Eight and twenty—nine and twenty—thirty—
Eight and twenty—nine and twenty—thirty—
Eight and twenty—nine and twenty—thirty—
(Clutching a handful of gold, she suddenly stops counting and stares at the back door. There is the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps. The door flies open and the old man enters excitedly.)
Father
Father
Father
Mother! Mother! Wake him! Wake him—quick!‘Tis Ivan with an old-time, merry trick—They told me at the tavern—‘tis our son!
Mother! Mother! Wake him! Wake him—quick!‘Tis Ivan with an old-time, merry trick—They told me at the tavern—‘tis our son!
Mother! Mother! Wake him! Wake him—quick!‘Tis Ivan with an old-time, merry trick—They told me at the tavern—‘tis our son!
Mother! Mother! Wake him! Wake him—quick!
‘Tis Ivan with an old-time, merry trick—
They told me at the tavern—‘tis our son!
(Rushes toward the side door.)
Ivan! Ivan!
Ivan! Ivan!
Ivan! Ivan!
Ivan! Ivan!
(Stops abruptly, aghast at the look of the woman. The coins jangle on the floor)
God! What have you done!
God! What have you done!
God! What have you done!
God! What have you done!
(As the curtain falls, the singing voice of the returning girl is heard nearer and nearer.)
Girl
Girl
Girl
(Outside.)
O weary heart and sore,O yearning eyes that blur,A hand that drips with myrrhIs knocking at the door!The waiting time is o’er,Be glad, look up and seeHow splendid is a dream come true—‘Tis he! ‘tis he!
O weary heart and sore,O yearning eyes that blur,A hand that drips with myrrhIs knocking at the door!The waiting time is o’er,Be glad, look up and seeHow splendid is a dream come true—‘Tis he! ‘tis he!
O weary heart and sore,O yearning eyes that blur,A hand that drips with myrrhIs knocking at the door!The waiting time is o’er,Be glad, look up and seeHow splendid is a dream come true—‘Tis he! ‘tis he!
O weary heart and sore,
O yearning eyes that blur,
A hand that drips with myrrh
Is knocking at the door!
The waiting time is o’er,
Be glad, look up and see
How splendid is a dream come true—
‘Tis he! ‘tis he!