The Light Shines in Darkness by graf Tolstoy Leo (classic literature books txt) 📕
PRIEST. But we are not asked ...
ALEXÁNDRA IVÁNOVNA. Not asked, indeed! Why, I am asking you! He told me yesterday that the Gospels say, "Give to him that asketh of thee." But then in what sense is that meant?
PRIEST. In its plain sense, I suppose.
ALEXÁNDRA IVÁNOVNA. And I think not in the plain sense; we have always been taught that everybody's position is appointed by God.
PRIEST. Of course, but yet ...
ALEXÁNDRA IVÁNOVNA. Oh, yes. It's just as I was told; you take his side, and that is wrong! I say so straight out. If some young school teacher, or some young lad, lickspittles to him, it's bad enough--but you, in your position, should remember the responsibility that rests on you.
PRIEST. I try to ...
ALEXÁNDRA IVÁNOVNA. What sort of religion is it, when he does not go to church, and does not believe in the s
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LYÚBA. Not at all. I see he has grown fond of you, and he addressed himself chiefly to you last night.
BORÍS [finishes his coffee] Well, I'll go then.
LYÚBA. Yes, do, and I'll go and wake Lisa and Tónya.
Curtain.
Village street. Iván Zyábrev, covered with a sheepskin coat, is lying near a hut.
IVÁN ZYÁBREV. Maláshka!
A tiny girl comes out of the hut with a baby in her arms. The baby is crying.
IVÁN ZYÁBREV. Get me a drink of water.
Maláshka goes back into the hut, from where the baby can be heard screaming. She brings a bowl of water.
IVÁN ZYÁBREV. Why do you always beat the youngster and make him howl? I'll tell mother.
MALÁSHKA. Tell her then. It's hunger makes him howl!
IVÁN ZYÁBREV [drinks] You should go and ask the Démkins for some milk.
MALÁSHKA. I went, but there wasn't any. And there was no one at home.
IVÁN ZYÁBREV. Oh! if only I could die! Have they rung for dinner?
MALÁSHKA. They have. Here's the master coming.
Enter Nicholas Ivánovich.
NICHOLAS IVÁNOVICH. Why have you come out here?
IVÁN ZYÁBREV. Too many flies in there, and it's too hot.
NICHOLAS IVÁNOVICH. Then you're warm now?
IVÁN ZYÁBREV. Yes, now I'm burning all over.
NICHOLAS IVÁNOVICH. And where is Peter? Is he at home?
IVÁN ZYÁBREV. At home, at this time? Why, he's gone to the field to cart the corn.
NICHOLAS IVÁNOVICH. And I hear that they want to put him in prison.
IVÁN ZYÁBREV. That's so, the Policeman has gone to the field for him.
Enter a pregnant Woman, carrying a sheaf of oats and a rake. She immediately hits Maláshka on the back of the head.
WOMAN. What d'you mean by leaving the baby? Don't you hear him howling! Running about the streets is all you know.
MALÁSHKA [howling] I've only just come out. Daddy wanted a drink.
WOMAN. I'll give it you. [She sees the land-owner, N. I. Sarýntsov] Good-day, sir. Children are a trouble! I'm quite done up, everything on my shoulders, and now they're taking our only worker to prison, and this lout is sprawling about here.
NICHOLAS IVÁNOVICH. What are you saying? He's quite ill!
WOMAN. He's ill, and what about me? Am I not ill? When it's work, he's ill; but to merry-make or pull my hair out, he's not too ill. Let him die like a hound! What do I care?
NICHOLAS IVÁNOVICH. How can you say such wicked things?
WOMAN. I know it's a sin; but I can't subdue my heart. I'm expecting another child, and I have to work for two. Other people have their harvest in already, and we have not mowed a quarter of our oats yet. I ought to finish binding the sheaves, but can't. I had to come and see what the children were about.
NICHOLAS IVÁNOVICH. The oats shall be cut—I'll hire someone, and to bind the sheaves too.
WOMAN. Oh, binding's nothing. I can do that myself, if it's only mown down quick. What d'you think, Nicholas Ivánovich, will he die? He is very ill!
NICHOLAS IVÁNOVICH. I don't know. But he really is very ill. I think we must send him to the hospital.
WOMAN. Oh God! [Begins to cry] Don't take him away, let him die here.[28] [To her husband, who utters something] What's the matter?
IVÁN ZYÁBREV. I want to go to the hospital. Here I'm treated worse than a dog.
WOMAN. Well, I don't know. I've lost my head. Maláshka, get dinner ready.
NICHOLAS IVÁNOVICH. What have you for dinner?
WOMAN. What? Why, potatoes and bread, and not enough of that. [Enters hut. A pig squeals, and children are crying inside].
IVÁN ZYÁBREV [groans] Oh Lord, if I could but die!
Enter Borís.
BORÍS. Can I be of any use?
NICHOLAS IVÁNOVICH. Here no one can be of use to another. The evil is too deeply rooted. Here we can only be of use to ourselves, by seeing on what we build our happiness. Here is a family: five children, the wife pregnant, the husband ill, nothing but potatoes to eat, and at this moment the question is being decided whether they are to have enough to eat next year or not. Help is not possible. How can one help? Suppose I hire a labourer; who will he be? Just such another man: one who has given up his farming, from drink or from want.
BORÍS. Excuse me, but if so, what are you doing here?
NICHOLAS IVÁNOVICH. I am learning my own position. Finding out who weeds our gardens, builds our houses, makes our garments, and feeds and clothes us. [Peasants with scythes and women with rakes pass by and bow. Nicholas Ivánovich, stopping one of the Peasants] Ermíl, won't you take on the job of carting for these people?
ERMÍL [shakes his head] I would with all my heart, but I can't possibly do it. I haven't carted my own yet. We are off now to do some carting. But is Iván dying?
ANOTHER PEASANT. Here's Sebastian, he may take on the job. I say, Daddy Sebastian! They want a man to get the oats in.
SEBASTIAN. Take the job on yourself. At this time of year one day's work brings a year's food. [The Peasants pass on].
NICHOLAS IVÁNOVICH. They are all half-starved; they have only bread and water, they are ill, and many of them are old. That old man, for instance, is ruptured and is suffering, and yet he works from four in the morning to ten at night, though he is only half alive. And we? Is it possible, realising all this, to live quietly and consider oneself a Christian? Or let alone a Christian—simply not a beast?
BORÍS. But what can one do?
NICHOLAS IVÁNOVICH. Not take part in this evil. Not own the land, nor devour the fruits of their labour. How this can be arranged, I don't yet know. The fact of the matter is—at any rate it was so with me—I lived and did not realise how I was living. I did not realise that I am a son of God and that we are all sons of God—and all brothers. But as soon as I realised it—realised that we have all an equal right to live—my whole life was turned upside down. But I cannot explain it to you now. I will only tell you this: I was blind, just as my people at home are, but now my eyes are opened and I cannot help seeing; and seeing it all, I can't continue to live in such a way. However, that will keep till later. Now we must see what can be done.
Enter Policeman, Peter, his wife, and boy.
PETER [falls at Nicholas Ivánovich's feet] Forgive me, for the Lord's sake, or I'm ruined. How can the woman get in the harvest? If at least I might be bailed out.
NICHOLAS IVÁNOVICH. I will go and write a petition for you. [To Policeman] Can't you let him remain here for the present?
POLICEMAN. Our orders are to take him to the police-station now.
NICHOLAS IVÁNOVICH [to Peter] Well then go, and I'll do what I can. This is evidently my doing. How can one go on living like this? [Exit].
Curtain.
In the same country-house. It is raining outside. A drawing-room with a grand piano. Tónya has just finished playing a sonata of Schumann's and is sitting at the piano. Styópa is standing by the piano. Borís is sitting. Lyúba, Lisa, Mitrofán Ermílych and the young Priest are all stirred by the music.
LYÚBA. That andante! Isn't it lovely!
STYÓPA. No, the scherzo. Though really the whole of it is beautiful.
LISA. Very fine.
STYÓPA. But I had no idea you were such an artist. It is real masterly play. Evidently the difficulties no longer exist for you, and you think only of the feeling, and express it with wonderful delicacy.
LYÚBA. Yes, and with dignity.
TÓNYA. While I felt that it was not at all what I meant it to be. A great deal remained unexpressed.
LISA. What could be better? It was wonderful.
LYÚBA. Schumann is good, but all the same Chopin takes a stronger hold of one's heart.
STYÓPA. He is more lyrical.
TÓNYA. There is no comparison.
LYÚBA. Do you remember his prelude?
TÓNYA. Oh, the one called the George Sand prelude? [Plays the commencement].
LYÚBA. No, not that one. That is very fine, but so hackneyed. Do play this one. [Tónya plays what she can of it, and then breaks off].
TÓNYA. Oh, that is a lovely thing. There is something elemental about it—older than creation.
STYÓPA [laughs] Yes, yes. Do play it. But no, you are too tired. As it is, we have had a delightful morning, thanks to you.
TÓNYA [rises and looks out of window] There are some more peasants waiting outside.
LYÚBA. That is why music is so precious. I understand Saul. Though I'm not tormented by devils, I still understand him. No other art can make one so forget everything else as music does. [Approaches the window. To Peasants] Whom do you want?
PEASANTS. We have been sent to speak to Nicholas Ivánovich.
LYÚBA. He is not in. You must wait.
TÓNYA. And yet you are marrying Borís who understands nothing about music.
LYÚBA. Oh, surely not.
BORÍS [absently] Music? Oh no. I like music, or rather I don't dislike it. Only I prefer something simpler—I like songs.
TÓNYA. But is not this sonata lovely?
BORÍS. The chief thing is, that it is not important; and it rather hurts me, when I think of the lives men live, that so much importance is attached to music.
They all eat sweetmeats, which are standing on the table.
LISA. How nice it is to have a fiancé here and sweetmeats provided!
BORÍS. Oh that is not my doing. It's mamma's.
TÓNYA. And quite right too.
LYÚBA. Music is precious because it seizes us, takes possession of us, and carries us away from reality. Everything seemed gloomy till you suddenly began to play, and really it has made everything brighter.
LISA. And Chopin's valses. They are hackneyed, but all the same …
TÓNYA. This … [plays].
Enter Nicholas Ivánovich. He greets Borís, Tónya, Styópa, Lisa, Mitrofán Ermílych and the Priest.
NICHOLAS IVÁNOVICH. Where's mamma?
LYÚBA. I think she's in the nursery.
Styópa calls the Man-servant.
LYÚBA. Papa, how wonderfully Tónya plays! And where have you been?
NICHOLAS IVÁNOVICH. In the village.
Enter servant, Afanásy.
STYÓPA. Bring another samovár.
NICHOLAS IVÁNOVICH [greets the Man-servant, and shakes hands with him[29]] Good-day. [Servant becomes confused. Exit Servant. Nicholas Ivánovich also goes off].
STYÓPA. Poor Afanásy! He was terribly confused. I can't understand papa. It is as if we were guilty of something.
Enter Nicholas Ivánovich.
NICHOLAS IVÁNOVICH. I was going back to my room without having told you what I feel. [To Tónya] If what I say should offend you—who are our guest—forgive me, but I cannot help saying it. You, Lisa, say that Tónya plays well. All you here, seven or eight healthy young men and women, have slept till ten o'clock, have eaten and drunk and are still eating; and you play and discuss music: while there, where I have just been, they were all up at three in the morning, and those who pastured the horses at night have not slept at all; and old and young, the sick and the weak, children and nursing-mothers and pregnant women are working to the utmost limits of their strength, so that
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