"Christ is risen from the dead. He has conquered death with death and given life to those lain in their graves. Christ is risen—"
CURTAIN
THE LIFE OF MAN
(ZHIZN CHELOVIEKA)
A PLAY IN FIVE SCENES WITH A PROLOGUE
1906
TO THE BRIGHT MEMORY OF MY FRIEND, MY WIFE
I DEDICATE THIS COMPOSITION
THE LAST
ON WHICH WE WORKED TOGETHER
PERSONS
Someone in Gray called He
Man
His Wife
Man's
Father
Relatives
Neighbors
Friends
Enemies
Guests
Servants
Musicians
Physicians
A Bartender
Drunkards
Old Women
PROLOGUE—Someone in Gray called He, speaking of the Life of Man
SCENE I—The Birth of Man and the Mother's Travail
SCENE II—Love and Poverty
SCENE III—Wealth. Man's Ball
SCENE IV—Man's Misfortune
SCENE V—The Death of Man
THE LIFE OF MAN
PROLOGUE
SOMEONE IN GRAY CALLED HE, SPEAKING OF THE LIFE OF MAN
_A large, rectangular space resembling a room without doors or windows and quite empty. Everything is gray, monocolored, drab—the watts gray, and the ceiling, and the floor. A feeble, even light enters from some invisible source. It too is gray, monotonous, spectral, producing neither lights nor shadows.
Someone in Gray moves noiselessly away from the wall, close against which He has been standing. He wears a broad, gray, formless smock, vaguely outlining the contours of His body; and a hat of the same gray throws the upper part of His face into heavy shadow. His eyes are invisible. All that is seen are His cheekbones, His nose, and His chin, which is massive, heavy, and blunt, as if hewn out of rock. His lips are pressed tight together. Raising His head slightly, He begins to speak in a firm, cold, unemotional, unimpassioned voice, like a reader hired by the hour reading the Book of Fate with brutal indifference._
SOMEONE IN GRAY
Look and listen, you who have come here to laugh and be amused. There will pass before you the whole life of Man, from his dark beginning to his dark ending. Previously non-existant, mysteriously hidden in the infiniteness of time, neither feeling nor thinking and known to no one, he will mysteriously break through the prison of non-being and with a cry announce the beginning of his brief life. In the night of non-existence a light will go up, kindled by an unseen hand. It is the life of Man. Behold the flame—it is the life of Man.
Being born, he will take the form and the name of Man, and in all things will become like other men already living. And their hard lot will be his lot, and his hard lot will be the lot of all human beings. Inexorably impelled by time, he will, with inavertible necessity, pass through all the stages of human life, from the bottom to the top, from the top to the bottom. Limited in vision, he will never see the next step which his unsteady foot, poised in the air, is in the very act of taking. Limited in knowledge, he will never know what the coming day will bring, or the coming hour, or the coming minute. In his unseeing blindness, troubled by premonitions, agitated by hope and fear, he will submissively complete the iron-traced circle foreordained.
Behold him a happy youth. See how brightly the candle burns. From boundless stretches of space the icy wind blows, circling, careering, and tossing the flame. In vain. Bright and clear the candle burns. Yet the wax is dwindling, consumed by the fire. Yet the wax is dwindling.
Behold him a happy husband and father. But see how strangely dim and faint the candle burns, as if the yellowing flame were wrinkling, as if it were shivering with cold and were creeping into concealment. The wax is melting, consumed by the fire. The wax is melting.
Behold him, an old man, ill and feeble. The stages of life are already ended. In their stead nothing but a black void. Yet he drags on with palsied limbs. The flame, now turned blue, bends to the ground and crawls along, trembling and falling, trembling and falling. Then it goes out quietly.
Thus Man will die. Coming from the night, he will return to the night and go out, leaving no trace behind. He will pass into the infinity of time, neither thinking nor feeling, and known to no one. And I, whom all call He, shall remain the faithful companion of Man throughout his life, on all his pathways. Unseen by him, I shall be constantly at hand when he wakes and when he sleeps, when he prays and when he curses. In his hours of joy, when his spirit, free and bold, rises aloft; in his hours of grief and despair, when his soul clouds over with mortal pain and sorrow, and the blood congeals in his heart; in the hours of victory and defeat; in the hours of great strife with the immutable, I shall be with him—I shall be with him.
And you who have come here to be amused, you who are consecrated to death, look and listen. There will pass before you, like a distant phantom echo, the fleet-moving life of Man with its sorrows and its joys.
[Someone in Gray turns silent. The light goes out, and He and the gray, empty room are enveloped in darkness.
THE FIRST SCENE
THE BIRTH OF MAN AND THE MOTHER'S TRAVAIL
Profound darkness; not a stir. Like a swarm of mice in hiding, the gray silhouettes of Old Women in strange headgear are dimly discerned; also vaguely the outline of a large, lofty room. The Old Women carry on a conversation in low, mocking voices.
OLD WOMEN'S CONVERSATIONS
—I wonder whether it'll be a boy or a girl.
—What difference does it make to you?
—I like boys.
—I like girls. They always sit at home waiting till you call on them.
—Do you like to go visiting?
[The Old Women titter.
—He knows.
—He knows. (Silence)
—Our friend would like to have a girl. She says boys are so restless and venturesome and are always seeking danger. Even when they are little, they like to climb tall trees and bathe in deep water. They often fall, and they drown. And when they get to be men, they make wars and kill one another.
—She thinks girls don't drown. I have seen many girls drowned. They look like all drowned people, wet and green.
—She thinks girls don't get killed by stones thrown at them.
—Poor woman, she has such a hard time giving birth to her child. We have been sitting here sixteen hours, and she is still crying. At first she cried out loud. Her screams pierced our ears. Then she cried more quietly, and now she is only moaning.
—The doctor says she'll die.
—No, the doctor says the child will die and she will live.
—Why do they bear children? It is so painful.
—And why do they die? It is still more painful.
[The Old Women laugh suppressedly.
—Yes, they bear children and die.
—And bear children again.
[They laugh. A subdued cry of the suffering woman is heard.
—Beginning again.
—She's recovered her voice. That's good.
—That's good.
—Poor husband. He's lost his head completely. You ought to see him. He's a sight. At first he was glad his wife was pregnant and said he wanted a boy. He thinks his son will be a cabinet minister or a general. Now he doesn't want anything, neither a boy nor a girl. He just goes about grieving and crying.
—Every time she is seized with pain he begins to labor, too, and gets red in the face.
—He was sent to the chemist's shop for medicine, and he hung about there for two hours without being able to remember what he was sent for. He returned without it.
[The Old Women titter. The cries grow louder and die away. Silence.
—What's the matter with her? Maybe she has died already.
—No. If she had, we'd hear crying, and the doctor would come running and begin to talk nonsense. They'd bring her husband out in a faint, and we'd have to work over him. No, she's not dead.
—Then what are we sitting here for?
—Ask Him. What do we know?
—He won't tell.
—He won't tell. He never tells anything.
—He orders us about as he pleases, gets us out of bed, and makes us watch; and then it turns out that our coming wasn't even needed.
—We came of our own accord, didn't we? We must tell the truth. There, she's screaming again.
—Haven't you had as much of it as you want?
—Are you satisfied?
—I keep my mouth shut and wait.
—You're an angel.
[They laugh. The cries grow louder.
—Listen to her. What fearful pain she must be suffering. Have you any idea of what the pain is like? It's as if your insides were being torn to pieces.
—We all have borne children.
—It's just as if she were not herself. I don't recognize our friend's voice. It's naturally so soft and gentle.
—Her screaming is more like the roar of a wild beast.
—You feel the night in it.
—You feel the boundless black forest and hopelessness and terror.
—You feel solitude and grief. There are other people with her. Why can't you hear other voices beside that savage, dismal wail?
—They are talking, but you can't hear them. Have you ever noticed how solitary man's cries are? Any number of men will talk, and you won't hear them. But let one human being cry, and it seems as if the others were all silent, listening.
—I once heard a man scream who had been run over by a Carriage and had his leg crushed. The street was full of people. Yet he seemed to be the only one there.
—But this is more terrible.
—Say rather it is louder.
—I should say it is more prolonged.
—No, it's more terrible. You feel death in it.
—You had a feeling of death then, too. In fact, the man did die.
—Don't dispute. It's all the same to you.
[Silence. Cries.
—How strange man's crying is! When you yourself are ill and cry, you don't notice how strange it is. I can't imagine the mouth that produces such sounds. Can it be a woman's mouth? I can't imagine it.
—It's as if it got twisted and crooked.
—As if the sound issued from some depth. Now it's like the cry of someone drowning. Listen, she's choking.
—A heavy person is sitting on her chest.
—Someone is choking her.
[The crying ceases.
—At last she has quieted down. You get tired of crying. It's monotonous and not beautiful.
—You're looking for beauty here too, are you?
[The Old Women titter.
—Hush! Is He here?
—I don't know.
—He seems to be.
—He doesn't like laughing.
—They say He laughs Himself.
—Whoever heard Him laugh? You are simply repeating hearsay. So many lies are told about Him.
—He hears us. Let us be serious.
[They laugh quietly.
—After all, I'd like to know whether it'll be a boy or a girl.
—I admit, it's interesting to know whom you'll have to deal with.
—I wish it died before it was born.
—What a kind creature you are.
—No better than you.
—I hope it turns out to be a general.
[They laugh.
—You are too merry. I don't like it.
—And you are too sad. I don't like that.
—Don't wrangle. Don't wrangle. We are all both sad and merry. Let each be what she pleases. (Silence)
—When they are born, they are so funny. Babies are very funny.
—And self-satisfied.
—And very exacting, I don't like them. They begin to cry at once and make demands, as if they expected everything to be ready for them. Even before looking, they know there is a breast and milk, and demand them. Then they demand to be put to sleep and rocked and dandled and patted on their red backs. I like them better when they die. Then they're less exacting. They stretch out of themselves and don't ask to be rocked.
—No, they are very funny. I like to wash them when they are born.
—I like to wash them when they are dead.
—Don't dispute. Don't dispute. Each will have her way. One will wash the child when it is born, another when it dies.
—But why do they think they have a right to make demands the moment they are born? I don't like it. They don't think they have. It's their stomachs that make the demands.
—They're forever demanding.
—But their demands are never granted.
[The Old Women laugh. The cries begin again.
—She is screaming again.
—Animals give birth to their offspring more easily.
—And they die more easily, and live more easily; I have a cat. You ought to see how fat and happy she is.
—I have a dog, and I tell him every day: "You are going to die." His only reply is to show his teeth and to wag his tail gayly.
—But they are animals.
—And these are human beings.
[They laugh.
—Now she'll either die or be delivered. I feel that the whole remnant of her strength is in that wail.
—Eyes wide open.
—Cold perspiration on her forehead.
[They listen.
—She is giving birth to the child.
—No, she is dying.
[The cries cease.
—I tell you—
SOMEONE IN GRAY (speaks in a resonant, powerful voice)
Silence! Man is born.
_[Almost simultaneously with His announcement the crying of an infant is heard and the candle in His hand lights. A tall candle. It burns hesitatingly and feebly. Gradually the flame grows stronger. The corner in which Someone in Gray stands motionless is always darker than the other corners, and the yellow flame illumines His blunt chin, His tightly closed lips, and His massive, bony face. The upper part of His face is concealed by His cap. He is somewhat taller than an ordinary man.
He puts the long, thick candle in an antique candlestick. His hand comes into relief against the green bronze. It is gray, firm, with long, thin fingers.
Gradually the room grows brighter. The figures of five hunch-backed Old Women emerge from the gloom, and the room becomes visible. It is rectangular, with high, smooth, monotonously colored walls. Two curtainless windows in the background and two on the right. The night glooms through them. Straight, high-backed chairs against the walls._
THE OLD WOMEN (talking rapidly)
—Hear them running about. They're coming here.
—How bright it is! Let's go.
—Look, the candle is tall and bright.
—Let's go, let's go. Quick!
—But we'll come back. We'll come back.
_[They laugh quietly, mockingly, and disappear into the dusk with odd, zigzagging movements. As they leave, the light grows brighter, but still it remains dim, lifeless, and cold. The corner in which Someone in Gray stands motionless with the burning candle is darker than the others.
Enter the Doctor in a white uniform, and Man's Father, whose face wears an expression of extreme exhaustion and joy. There are lines under his eyes; his cheeks are sunken and his hair is dishevelled; he is very negligently dressed. The Doctor looks very learned._
DOCTOR
Up to the very last moment I didn't know whether your wife would pull through or not. I used all the means at the disposal of medical skill and science. But science can do very little unless nature helps too; I was really excited. My pulse is still going hard. Though I have assisted at so many births, yet I can't rid myself of a sense of uneasiness. But you are not listening to me, sir.
MAN'S FATHER
I'm listening, but I can't hear. Her screams are still ringing in my ears, and it's hard for me to pull myself together. Poor woman, how she suffered! I was a fool, I was stupid and wanted to have children. But hereafter I will renounce. It is criminal.
DOCTOR
You will call me again when your next child comes.
FATHER
No, never. I'm ashamed to admit it, but just now I hate the child for which she suffered so. I didn't even see him. What sort of a boy is he?
DOCTOR
He's a well-fed, strong little youngster, and if I'm not mistaken he resembles you.
FATHER
Me? Fine! Now I'm beginning to love him. I always wanted a boy to look like me. Did you see—his nose is like mine, isn't it?
DOCTOR
Yes, his nose and eyes.
FATHER
His eyes too? Ah, that's good. I'll raise your fee.
DOCTOR
You'll have to pay me for using the instruments also.
FATHER (turning to the corner where He stands motionless)
God, I thank Thee for having granted my wish and given me a son who resembles me. I thank Thee for preserving my wife from death, and bringing my child into the world alive. I pray Thee that he may grow up big, healthy, and strong; that he may be wise and honest, and that he may never cause us grief, but be a constant joy to his mother and me. If Thou wilt do this, I will always believe in Thee and go to church.
[Enter Relatives, six in number. An elderly woman, uncommonly stout, with a double chin and small, proud eyes and an air of extreme haughtiness and self-importance. An elderly man, her husband, very tall and uncommonly thin, so that his coat hangs loosely on his body; a short goatee, long, smooth hair, as if wet, reaching to his shoulders; eye-glasses; has a frightened; yet pedantic expression; a low black silk hat in his hand. A young girl, their daughter, with naïvely upturned nose, blinking eyes, and open mouth. A weazened woman, with contracted features and a sour expression, in her hand a handkerchief, with which she frequently wipes her mouth; Two young men, looking absolutely alike, with extremely high collars that stretch their necks; glossy hair; a hesitating, embarrassed expression. The characteristics of each of the Relatives is exaggerated in the extreme.
ELDERLY LADY
Let me congratulate you on the birth of your son, dear brother. (Kisses him)
ELDERLY MAN
My dear brother, I heartily congratulate you on the birth of your son, to which you have been looking forward so long. (Kisses him)
THE REST
We congratulate you, dear uncle, on the birth of your son.
[They kiss him. Exit the Doctor.
MAN'S FATHER (greatly moved)
Thank you! Thank you! You are all very good, very nice, dear people, and I love you very much. I had my doubts beforehand thought that you, dear sister, were a little too much rapt up in yourself and your own worth and importance; and that you, dear brother, were somewhat too pedantic. The rest of you I thought were too cold to me, and came here only for the sake of the dinners. Now I see I was mistaken. I'm very happy. I get a son who resembles me, and then all at once I see myself surrounded by so many good people who love me. (They kiss)
GIRL
Uncle dear, what are you going to call your son? I hope you'll give him a lovely, poetic name. So much depends on a man's name.
ELDERLY LADY
I should advise a simple, solid name. Men with nice names are usually frivolous and rarely successful.
ELDERLY MAN
It seems to me, brother, you should name your son after some older relative. Keeping the same names in the family tends to preserve and strengthen the line.
FATHER
Yes, my wife and I have already discussed the subject, but have not been able to reach a decision. You see, there are so many new things to think of when a child comes, so many new problems to solve which never arose before.
ELDERLY LADY
It fills up your life.
ELDERLY MAN
It gives life a beautiful purpose. By properly educating a child, preventing it from making the mistakes which we had to pay for so dearly, and strengthening its mind with our own rich experiences, we produce a better man and advance slowly but surely toward the final goal of existence, which is perfection.
FATHER
You are quite right, brother. When I was little I loved to torture animals. That developed cruelty in me. I won't allow my son to torture animals. Even after I had grown up I often made mistakes in my friendships and love. I chose friends who were unworthy and women who were faithless. I'll explain to my son—
DOCTOR (enters and says aloud)
Your wife is feeling very bad. She wants to see you.
FATHER
Oh, my God! (He and the Doctor leave)
[The Relatives seat themselves in a semicircle. Solemn silence for a time. Someone in Gray stands motionless in the corner, His stony face turned toward them.
RELATIVES' CONVERSATION
—Do you think, dear, she may die?
—No, I don't think so. She is a very impatient woman and makes too much of her pains. All women bear children and none of them die. I have borne six children.
—But the way she screamed, mamma?
—Yes, her face was purple from screaming. I noticed it.
—Not from screaming, but from laboring. You don't understand about these things. My face got purple too, but I didn't scream.
—Not long ago an acquaintance of mine, the civil engineer's wife, gave birth to a child, and she scarcely made a sound.
—I know. There's no need for my brother to be so upset. One must be firm and take things calmly. And I'm afraid, too, he'll introduce a lot of his fantastic notions in the bringing up of his children and indulge their every whim.
—He's a very weak character. He has little enough money, and yet he lends it to people who don't deserve to be trusted.
—Do you know how much the child's layette cost?
—Don't talk to me of it! It gets on my nerves, my brother's extravagance does. I often quarrel with him because he's so improvident.
—They say a stork brings babies. What sort of a stork is it?
[The young men burst out laughing.
—Don't talk nonsense. I gave birth to five children right in your presence, and I'm no stork, thank the Lord.
[The young men burst our laughing again. The Elderly Woman eyes them long and sternly.
—It's only a superstition. Children are born in an absolutely natural way, firmly established by science. They've moved to new quarters now.
—Who?
—The engineer and his wife. Their old place was chilly and damp. They complained to the landlord several times, but he paid no attention.
—I think it's better to live in a small place that's warm than in a large place that's damp. You are liable to catch your death of cold and rheumatism if you live in a damp house.
—I have a friend, too, who lives in a very damp house. And I too.
Very damp.
—There are so many damp places nowadays.
—Tell me, please—I've been wanting to ask you a long time—how do you remove a grease stain from light-colored material?
—Woollen?
—No, silk.
[The child's crying is heard behind the scene.
—Take a piece of ice and rub it on the spot hard. Then take a hot iron and press the spot.
—No? Fancy, how simple! I heard benzine was better.
—No, benzine is good for dark material. For light goods ice is better.
—I wonder whether smoking is allowed here. Somehow at never occurred to me before whether one may or may not smoke where there is a new-born baby.
—It never occurred to me either. How strange! I know it isn't proper to smoke at funerals, but here—
—Nonsense! Of course you may smoke.
—Smoking is a bad habit just the same. You are still a very young man and ought to take good care of your health. There are many occasions in life when good health is highly essential.
—But smoking stimulates.
—Believe me, it's a very unhealthy stimulant. When I was young and reckless, I was also guilty of using, or rather abusing, tobacco—
—Mamma, listen to him crying. My, how he's crying! Does he want milk, mamma?
[The young men burst out laughing. The Elderly Woman looks at them sternly.
CURTAIN
THE SECOND SCENE
LOVE AND POVERTY
_The entire place is filled with a warm, bright light. A large, very poor room, high walls, the color of old rose, covered here and there with beautiful, fantastic, roughly drawn designs. To the right are two lofty windows, eight panes in each, with the darkness of night glooming through them. Two poor beds, two chairs, and a bare table, on which stands a half-broken pitcher of water and a pretty bunch of flowers.
In the darkest corner stands Someone in Gray, the candle in His hand now reduced by a third, but the flame still very bright, high, and white. It throws a powerful light on His face and chin.
Enter the Neighbors, dressed in light, gay dresses, their hands full of flowers, grasses, and fresh branches of oak and birch. They run about the room, scattering them. Their faces are merry, simple, and good-natured._
NEIGHBORS' CONVERSATION
—How poor they are! Look, they haven't even a single spare chair.
—And no curtains in the windows.
—And no pictures on the walls.
—How poor they are! All they eat is hard bread.
—And all they drink is water, cold water from the spring.
—They don't own any clothes at all except what they have on. She always goes about in her rosy dress with her neck bare, which makes her look like a young girl.
—And he wears his blouse and loose necktie, which makes him look like an artist, and makes the dogs bark at him.
—And makes all the respectable people disapprove of him.
—Dogs hate the poor. I saw three dogs attack him yesterday. He beat them off with a stick and shouted: "Don't you dare to touch my trousers; they're my last pair!" And he laughed, and the dogs flung themselves at him and showed their teeth and barked viciously.
—I saw two respectable people, a lady and a gentleman, meet him on the street to-day. They were terribly frightened and crossed to the other side. "He'll ask for money," said the gentleman. "He'll kill us," piped the lady. From the other side of the street they looked back at him and held on to their pockets. He shook his head and laughed.
—He's such a jolly good fellow.
—They're always laughing.
—And singing.
—It's he who sings. She dances.
—In her rosy dress, with her little bare neck.
—It does one good to look at them. They are so young and wholesome.
—I am sorry for them. They're starving. Do you understand? They're actually going without food.
—Yes, it's true. They had more clothes and furniture, but they sold every bit, and now they've nothing more to sell.
—I know. She had such pretty earrings, and she sold them to buy bread.
—He had a beautiful black frock-coat, the one in which he was married, and he sold that too.
—The only thing they'll have left is their engagement rings. How poor they are!
—That's nothing. I was once young myself, and I know what it is.
—What did you say, grandpa?
—I said it's nothing, nothing at all.
—Look, the mere thought of them makes grandpa want to sing.
—And dance.
[They laugh.
—He is so kind. He made my boy a bow and arrow.
—She cried with me when my daughter was ill.
—He helped me mend the rickety fence. He's strong.
—It's nice to have such good neighbors. Their youth warms our cold old age. Their jolliness drives away our cares.
—But their room is like a prison, it's so empty.
—No, it's like a temple. It's so bright.
—Look, they have flowers on the table, the flowers she picked on her walk in the country in her rosy dress with her little bare neck. Here are lilies-of-the-valley. The dew hasn't dried on them yet.
—There is the burning campion.
—And violets.
—Don't touch; don't touch the flowers, girls. Her kisses are upon them. Don't throw them on the floor, girls. Her breath is upon them. Don't blow them away with your breath. Don't touch, don't touch the flowers, girls.
—He'll come and he'll see the flowers.
—He'll take the kisses.
—He'll drink her breath.
—How poor they are! How happy they are!
—Come, let's leave.
—Haven't we brought our dear neighbors anything?
—What a shame!
—I brought a bottle of milk and a piece of white, sweet-smelling bread. (Puts them on the table)
—I brought flowers. (Scatters them)
—We brought branches of oak and birch with green leaves. Let's put them up around the walls. The room will look like cheerful green woods.
[They decorate the room with the branches, concealing the dark windows and covering the pinkish nakedness of the walls with leaves.
—I, brought a good cigar. It is a cheap one, but it's strong and fragrant and will give pleasant dreams.
—And I brought a ribbon, a red ribbon. It makes a very pretty fancy bow for the hair. It's a present my sweetheart gave me; but I have so many ribbons and she hasn't even one.
—What did you bring, grandpa? Did you bring anything?
—Nothing, nothing, except my cough. They don't want that, do they, neighbor?
—No more than they want my crutches. Hey, girls, who wants my crutches?
—Do you remember, neighbor?
—Do you remember, neighbor?
—Come, let's go to sleep, neighbor. It's late already. (They sigh and leave, one coughing, the other knocking the floor with his crutches)
—Come, come!
—May God give them happiness. They are such good neighbors.
—God grant that they may always be healthy and merry and always love each other. And may the hideous black cat never pass between them.
—And may the good man find work. It's bad when a man is out of work. (They leave)
[Enter immediately the Wife of Man, very pretty, graceful, and delicate, wearing flowers in her luxuriant hair which is hanging loose. The expression on her face is very sad. She seats herself on a chair, folds her hands in her lap, and speaks in a sad tone, turned toward the audience.
MAN'S WIFE
I've just returned from the city, where I went looking for I don't know what. We are so poor, we have nothing, and it's very hard for us to live. We need money, and I don't know how in the world to get it. People won't give it to you for the asking, and I haven't the strength to take it away from them. I was looking for work, but I can't get work either. There are lots of people and little work, they say. I looked on the ground as I walked to see if some rich person hadn't lost his purse, but either nobody had lost one or somebody luckier than I had already picked it up. I feel so sad. My husband will soon come from his search for work, tired and hungry. What am I to give him except my kisses? But you can't satisfy your hunger on kisses. I feel so sad I could cry.
I can go without eating for a long time and not feel it, but he can't. He has a large body which demands food, and when he's gone a long time without it, he gets pale, sick, and excited. He scolds me and then begs me not to be angry at him. I never am angry at him, because I love him dearly. It only makes me feel so sad.
My husband is a very talented architect. I even think he's a genius. He was left an orphan when a mere boy, and after his parents' death his relatives supported him for some time; but as he was always of an independent nature, sharp in his talk and prone to make unpleasant remarks, and as he showed them no gratitude, they dropped him. He continued to study, nevertheless, supporting himself by giving lessons, and so made his way through college. He often went hungry, my poor husband. Now he is art architect and draws plans of beautiful buildings, but no one wants to buy them, and many stupid persons make fun of them even. To make one's way in the world one must have either patrons or luck. He has neither. So he goes about looking for a chance, and maybe with his eyes on the ground looking for money like me. He is still very young and simple. Of course, some day fortune will come to us, too. But when will it be? In the meantime it's very hard to live. When we were married we had a little property, but we soon spent it. We went to the theatre and ate candy. He still has hopes, but I sometimes lose all hope and cry to myself. My heart breaks when I think he'll be here soon and I have nothing to give him again except my poor kisses.
O God, be a kind, merciful Father to us. You have so much of everything, bread and work and money. Your earth is so rich. She grows corn and fruit in her fields, covers the meadows with flowers, and yields gold and beautiful precious stones from her bowels. And your sun has so much warmth, and your pensive stars have so much quiet joy. Give us, I pray you, a little from your abundance, just a little, as much as you give your birds. A little bread, so that my dear good husband may not be hungry; a little warmth, so that he may not be cold; and a little work, so that he may carry his beautiful head erect. And please do not be angry with my husband because he swears so and laughs, and even sings and makes me dance. He is so young and not a bit staid or serious.
Now, after I have prayed, I feel relieved and hopeful again. Why, indeed, should God not grant one's request when one asks Him for it so earnestly? I'll go and hunt a little to see if somebody hasn't dropped a purse or a diamond. (Exit)
SOMEONE IN GRAY
She knows not that her wish has already been fulfilled. She knows not that this morning two men in a rich house were bending eagerly over a sketch by Man and were delighted with it. They searched for Man the whole day; wealth was looking for him as he was looking for wealth. And to-morrow morning, after the neighbors have gone to work, an automobile will stop in front of this house, and two men bending low will enter the poor room and bring wealth and fame. But neither he nor she knows it. Thus fortune will come to Man, and thus also it will go.
[Enter Man and his Wife. He has, a beautiful proud head, bright eyes, a high forehead, dark eyebrows parting at the root of the nose like two bold wrings, and wavy black hair carelessly tossed back. A low, white, turndown collar reveals a well-formed neck and part of his chest. He is light and quick in his movements, like a young animal.
MAN
Nothing again. I'll lie down and remain in bed the whole day. Anyone wanting me will have to come here. I can't go to him. I'll stay in bed the whole of to-morrow too.
WIFE
Are you tired?
MAN
Yes, I'm tired and hungry. I could eat a whole ox, like the Homeric hero, but I shall have to content myself with a piece of hard bread. Don't you know that a man can't live all the time on bread alone? I want to tear, bite, chew!
WIFE
I'm sorry for you, dear.
MAN
I'm sorry for myself, but that doesn't satisfy my hunger. I stood a whole hour in front of a restaurant to-day, looking at the chickens, pastry, and sausages, as people look at works of art. And then the signs. They describe ham so well that you could eat sign and all.
WIFE
I like ham too.
MAN
Who doesn't like ham? How about lobster? Do you like lobster?
WIFE
Yes.
MAN
You should have seen the lobster I saw. It was a painted one, but it was even more beautiful than a live one. Red like a cardinal, majestic, stern. You could kneel down and do homage to it. I think I could eat two such cardinals and a priest of a carp besides.
WIFE (sadly)
You didn't see my flowers, did you?
MAN
Flowers? You can't eat flowers, can you?
WIFE
You don't love me.
MAN (kisses her)
Excuse me, but really I'm so hungry. Look, my hands are trembling and
I haven't even the strength to throw a stone at a dog.
WIFE (kisses his hand)
My poor husband!
MAN
Where do those leaves, on the floor come from? They smell so good. Is that your work too?
WIFE
No, the neighbors must have done it.
MAN
Fine people our neighbors are. It's strange, there are so many good people in the world, and yet a man can die of hunger. Why is it?
WIFE
You've turned so sad. Your face is growing pale. What is the matter?
Do you see anything?
MAN
Yes, as I was joking, the terrible image of poverty glided in front of me and stopped there, in the corner. Do you see it? Arms stretched out in complaint, a child abandoned in the woods, a praying voice, and the stillness of a human desert. Help! No one hears. Help, I'm dying! No one hears. Look, wife, look! See the dark, gloomy shadows there, quivering and rising like black smoke from a long, terrible chimney leading into hell. Look! And I'm in the midst of them!
WIFE
I'm afraid. I can't look in that dark corner. Did you see all that in the street?
MAN Yes, I saw it in the street, and soon it'll be that way with us.
WIFE
No, God will not permit it.
MAN
Then why does He permit it to happen to others?
WIFE
We're better than others. We are good people. We never offend Him.
MAN
You think so? I do a lot of swearing.
WIFE
You're not bad.
MAN
Yes, I am bad. When I walk along the street and see all the things that don't belong to us, I feel as if I had tusks like a boar. Oh, how much money I haven't got! Listen, my dear wife. I was walking in the park to-day, that lovely park, where the paths are straight as arrows and the beech-trees like kings wearing crowns—
WIFE
And I was walking in the city streets. Shops everywhere, such beautiful shops!
MAN
I saw men, beautifully dressed, carrying canes, and I thought: "I haven't anything like that."
WIFE
I saw elegantly dressed women, wearing dainty shoes that make your feet beautiful, and pretty hats from under which your eyes shine impenetrably, and silk skirts that make such a mysterious rustle; and I thought: "I haven't a good hat or a silk skirt."
MAN
A ruffian jostled me. I showed him my tusks, and he fled in disgrace to hide himself in the crowd.
WIFE
A well-dressed lady jostled me, but I didn't even look at her, I felt so embarrassed.
MAN
Men rode by on proud, fiery horses. And I have nothing like that.
WIFE
She had diamonds in her ears. You felt like kissing them.
MAN
Red and green automobiles glided past noiselessly like phantoms with burning eyes, and people sat in them and laughed and looked lazily from one side to the other. And I have nothing like it.
And I have no diamonds, no emeralds, no pure white pearls.
MAN
I saw a fine restaurant on the Island. It was brightly illuminated, like heaven, and they were eating there. Black-coated monsters carried around butter and bread and wine and beer, and people ate and drank. My little wife, I'm hungry! I want something to eat!
WIFE
Dearie, you're running around all the time, and that makes you still hungrier. You'd better sit down. I'll kneel beside you, and you can take a piece of paper and draw a beautiful, beautiful building.
MAN
My inspiration is also hungry. It draws nothing but edible landscapes. My palaces are like portly cakes with fat stuffing, and my churches like sausages. But I see tears in your eyes. What is it, my dear wife?
WIFE
I feel so miserable not to be able to help you.
MAN
You make me ashamed of myself. I am a strong man with a good mind; I am able, talented, and healthy, and yet I can't do a thing. My dear wife, my little fairy is crying, and I am not able to help her. A woman's tears are her husband's disgrace, I am ashamed.
WIFE
But it isn't your fault that people don't appreciate you.
MAN
My ears are burning just as they used to when I was a boy and had had them boxed. Why, you are hungry too, and I, egoist that I am, haven't noticed it. It's mean of me.
WIFE
My dear, I don't feel hungry.
MAN
It's unfair, it's contemptible. That ruffian who jostled me was right. He saw I was a fat pig and that's all, a boar with sharp tusks but a stupid head.
WIFE.
If you are going to keep on reproaching yourself, I'll cry again.
MAN
Don't, don't. No tears! Tears in your eyes frighten me. I am afraid of those shining crystal drops, as if some other, some terrible person were shedding them, not you. I won't let you cry. We have nothing, we are poor. But I'll tell you of what we are going to have. I will charm you with a bright fairy tale, my queen. I will array you in dazzling dreams as in roses!
WIFE
You mustn't be afraid. You are strong, you are a genius, you will conquer. Your momentary despair will pass away, and divine inspiration will again quicken your proud head.
MAN (assumes a challenging attitude and throws an oak leaf into the corner where the Unknown stands, saying) Ho, you, whatever your name, Fate, Devil, or Life, I fling my glove down before you, I challenge you to combat! The poor in spirit bow before your enigmatic power. Your stony face inspires them with fear; in your silence they hear the approaching tread of misery and terrible ruin. But I am strong and bold, and I challenge you to combat! Come on! Let the swords glitter, the shields clang! Deal and receive blows so that the earth trembles! Ho, come forth to battle!
WIFE (nestling up at his left, somewhat behind, speaking solemnly)
Bolder, my husband, still bolder!
MAN
To your evil-boding inaction I oppose my living, daring strength; to your gloom my clear, resonant laugh! Ho, repel the blows! You have a stone brow, devoid of reason. I will throw the glowing balls of my sparkling thought at it. You have a stone heart, devoid of pity. Take care, I will pour into it the poison of my rebellious outcries. The dark cloud of your grim wrath overshadows the sun. We will light the darkness with our swords. Ho, repel the blows!
WIFE
Bolder, still bolder, my proud knight! Your squire is behind you.
MAN
Victorious, I will sing songs which the whole world will reecho; fallen under your blows, my only thought shall be to rise again and rush into battle. There are weak spots in my armor, but when my red blood is flowing, I will gather my last strength and cry: "You have not conquered, evil Enemy of Man!"
WIFE
Bolder, my knight! I will wash your wounds with my tears. I will stop the flow of your red blood with my kisses.
MAN
And dying on the field of battle as the brave die, with one cry I will destroy your blind joy: "I have conquered!" I have conquered, O cruel Enemy. Unto my last breath I did not recognize your power!
WIFE
Bolder, my knight, bolder! I will die beside you.
MAN
Ho, come forth to battle! Let the swords glitter, the shields clang!
Deal and receive blows to make the earth tremble! Ho, come forth!
[For some time Man and his Wife remain in the same posture; then they turn around, facing each other, and kiss.
MAN
That's the way we'll deal with life, my dear, won't we? Let it frown like a blind owl in the sun—we'll compel it to smile.
WIFE
And to dance to our songs—so we will, we two.
MAN
We two. You're a good wife, you're my true friend, you're a brave little woman, and as long as you are with me I fear nothing. Poverty, what does it amount to? To-day we're poor, to-morrow rich.
WIFE
And what is hunger? To-day we are hungry, to-morrow satisfied.
MAN
Do you think so? It's quite possible. But I'll eat a lot. I shall need so much to satisfy my hunger. Tell me, do you think this will prove enough? In the, morning, tea or coffee or chocolate. You can have your choice. It's free. Then a breakfast of three courses, then lunch, then dinner, then—
WIFE
More fruit. I like fruit.
MAN
Very well. I'll buy fruit by the barrel, direct from the wholesale market. It's cheaper and fresher. Besides, we'll have our own garden.
WIFE
But we have no land.
MAN
I'll buy land. I've always wanted to have my own piece of land. By the way, I'll build a house for us and design it too. Let the rascals see what sort of an architect I am.
WIFE
I should like to live in Italy, close by the sea; in a white marble villa in a grove of lemons and cypresses, with marble steps leading straight down to the blue water.
MAN
I understand. That's all right. But I intend, besides, to build a castle in the mountains of Norway. Below, the fjord; and above, on the steep mountain, the castle. We have no paper. But look, I'll show it to you on the wall here. Here is the fjord, you see?
WIFE
Yes, beautiful.
MAN
Here, sparkling blue water gently beating against the green grass; here, beautiful cinnamon-colored stone; and there, in the recess, where this spot is, a bit of blue sky and serene white clouds.
WIFE
Look, there is a white boat floating on the water—it looks like two swans swimming side by side.
MAN
And up there rises the mountain. Bright and green below, it turns gloomier and sterner as it ascends—rugged crags, dark shadows, fallen boulders, and patches of clouds.
WIFE
Like a ruined castle.
MAN
And there, on that spot—the middle one—I'll build my royal castle.
WIFE
It's cold up there, and windy.
MAN
I'll have thick stone walls and large windows with all the panes made out of a single piece of glass. At night, when the winter snowstorms begin to rage and the fjord below to roar, we'll draw the curtains and make a fire in the huge fireplace. It is such a tremendous fireplace that it will hold a whole log. It will burn up a whole forest of pines.
WIFE
How nice and warm.
MAN
And how quiet too, if you will please notice. Carpets covering the whole, floor and lots of books will make it cosy and quietly lively. And we'll be there, the two of us. The wind howling outside and we two sitting before the fireplace on a white bear-skin rug. "Wouldn't you like to have a look at what's doing outside?" you'll say. "All right!" And we'll go to the largest window and draw aside the curtain. Good heavens! What a sight!
WIFE
See the snow whirling.
MAN
Galloping like white horses, like myriads of frightened little spirits, pale with fear and seeking safety in the night. And what a howling and roaring!
WIFE
Oh, it's cold. I'm shivering.
MAN
Go back to the fireplace, quick! Hey there, fetch me grandfather's goblet—not that one, the golden one from which the vikings drank. Fill it up with sparkling wine—not that way—fill it to the brim with the burning draught. Venison is roasting on the spit. Bring it here. I'll eat some. Quick, or I'll eat you. I'm hungry as the devil.
WIFE
There, they have brought it. Now, go on.
MAN
Go on? I'll eat some, of course. What else do you expect? What are you doing to my head, little wife?
WIFE
I am the goddess of fame. I have woven a crown of the oak leaves that our neighbors scattered here, and I'm crowning you. It's Fame that has come to you, the beautiful goddess Fame. (Puts the wreath on his head)
MAN
Yes, fame; loud, noisy fame. Look at the wall. Do you see this? It's
I, walking. And who is this next to me? Do you see?
WIFE
I.
MAN
Look, they are bowing to us; they are whispering about us; they are pointing their fingers at us. There is a venerable old gentleman saying with tears in his eyes: "Happy the land that has such children!" See how pale this youth here has turned. Fame looked at him and gave him a smile. That's after I built the People's House, which is the pride of the whole country.
WIFE
You are my famous husband. The oak wreath suits you so well. A laurel wreath would become you still better.
MAN
Look, look, there come the representatives of the city where I was born. They bow to me and say: "Our city is proud of the honor—"
WIFE
Oh!
MAN
What is it?
WIFE
I found a bottle of milk.
MAN
Impossible!
WIFE
And bread, soft, sweet-smelling bread. And a cigar.
MAN
Impossible! You are mistaken. It's the dampness from that damned wall, that's what it is. It isn't milk.
WIFE
But it is.
MAN
A cigar? Cigars don't grow on windows. They are sold for fortunes in tobacco stores. It's a black stick, a piece of a branch, I'm sure.
WIFE
Look and see. I suppose our neighbors brought it.
MAN
Our neighbors? I tell you they're people—they're not human—they're divine. But even if the devil himself brought it—quick, give it here, my sweet little wife.
[Man's Wife seats herself on his knees, and so they eat. She breaks off pieces of bread and puts them in his mouth. He feeds her the milk from the bottle.
MAN
Seems to be cream.
WIFE
No, it's milk. Chew better. You'll choke.
MAN.
Give me the crust. It's so brown.
WIFE
I told you, you'd choke.
MAN
No, it went down. I swallowed it.
WIFE
The milk is running down my chin and neck. Oh, it's tickling me.
MAN.
Lean over. I'll lick it off. We mustn't let a drop go to waste.
WIFE
You're a cunning one.
MAN
There! Quick work. All good things soon come to an end. This bottle seems to have a double bottom. It looks so large. The glass manufacturers are terrible cheats.
[He lights the cigar with the air of a man relaxing into beatific repose. His Wife ties the red ribbon in her hair, looking at herself in the dark pane of the window.
WIFE
Don't you see?
MAN
I see everything. I see your ribbon, and I see, you want me to kiss you on your dear little bare neck.
WIFE.
No, sir, I won't permit that. You've grown too forward of late anyway. You take such liberties. Please go on smoking your cigar and leave my neck—
MAN
What, isn't your neck mine? I'll be jiggered! Why, it's an attack on the sacred rights of property (She runs away; he catches her and kisses her) So, the property rights have been restored. Now, my dear, we'll dance. Imagine that this is a magnificent, a luxurious, a wonderful, a supernatural, ah exquisitely beautiful palace.
WIFE
Very well. I'm imagining it.
MAN
Imagine you're the queen of the ball.
WIFE
All right. It is imagined.
MAN
And that counts, marquises, and dukes come up and ask you to dance. But you refuse. You choose that one—What's his name?—the one in uniform—the prince. What's the matter?
WIFE
I don't like princes.
MAN
Indeed? Then whom do you like?
WIFE
Talented artists.