The Complete Plays

ALONG THE HIGHWAY

Chekhov wrote this “dramatic étude” — which he privately referred to as a “little nonsense for the stage” — in autumn 1884. The piece was based on his short story, “Autumn,” which had appeared the previous year. Story and play share the same locale, Uncle Tikhon’s tavern, and the same basic premise: To pay for another shot of vodka, a nobleman on the skids gives the tavernkeeper a locket with the portrait of his unfaithful but still beloved wife. A peasant who used to be in his service recognizes the gentleman and relates his tale of woe.

Adapting this for the stage, Chekhov conscientiously enlarged his canvas. The anonymous “company of cabmen and pilgrims” is differentiated into the pilgrims Nazarovna and Yefimovna, the religious itinerant Savva, and the factory worker Fedya. The important new astringent in the dramatic blend is the ruffian Yegor Merik, who had also suffered an unhappy love affair in the past. Unfortunately, Chekhov felt that his prose sketch was too static as it stood, and so he had recourse to a violent climax. The gentleman’s wife, by the unlike-liest of coincidences, takes shelter in the pothouse and is almost killed by the delirious Merik. The story had ended with the author’s rhetorical question, “Spring, where art thou?” The play concludes with Merik’s overwrought exclamation, “My heart is breaking! My wretched heart is breaking! Take pity on me, Christian folk!”

The mitigating factor are speeches of the transients, especially the workman Fedya, dreaming of perfect cities and free arable land in the East. These, along with the religious quotations of the pilgrims, function like the lyrical metaphors in Gogol, providing a contrast, albeit a Utopian one, to the squalor depicted on the stage.

The play was submitted to the censor, an unavoidable step if it was to be performed on a public stage. This particular censor, a Baltic German named E. I. Kaiser von Nilckheim, indignantly underlined the word “lord” (barin) every time it appeared in the manuscript, and, in his unfavorable report, commented that “among all the vagrants and transients come to the pothouse to get warm and spend the night, there appears a decayed gentleman (dvoryanin) who begs the barman to give him a drink on credit. . . . This gloomy and squalid play, in my opinion, cannot be passed for production.” Kaiser von Nilckheim thus has the dubious distinction of being the first of a long string of critics to complain that Chekhov’s plays are gloomy.

The play was not published until 1914, ten years after Chekhov’s death, when a production was mounted at the Malakhov Theatre in Moscow. Reviewers varied in their assessments from ecstatic — one of them saw Fedya as an archetype of Lopakhin in The Cherry Orchard—to, mostly, hostile. Used to the lyrical qualities of Chekhov’s mature works, they were taken aback by the raw melodrama of Along the Highway.

ALONG THE HIGHWAY

Нa ·oльшoй ‰oрoҐe

A Dramatic Sketch in One Act

CHARACTERS

TIKHON YEVSTIGNEEV, keeper of a wayside tavern

SEMYON SERGEEVICH BORTSOV, a ruined landowner

MARIYA YEGOROVNA, his wife

SAVVA, an old wandering penitent

NAZAROVNA

female pilgrims

YEFIMOVNA

FEDYA, an itinerant factory worker

YEGOR MERIK, a tramp

KUZMA, a vagrant

A POSTAL COURIER

Mariya Yegorovna’s COACHMAN

PILGRIMS, DROVERS, VAGRANTS, etc.

The action takes place in one of the southern Russian provinces.

The stage represents Tikhons tavern. At right the bar and shelves of bottles. Upstage a door, leading outside. Above it on the outside hangs a red oil lantern. The floor and benches along the wall are completely packed with pilgrims and vagrants. Many of them are sleeping sitting up, for want of room. Very late at night. As the curtain rises thunder is heard and lightning flashes in the doorway.

SCENE I

TIKHON is behind the bar. On one of the benches, FEDYA is sprawling, quietly playing the concertina. Near him sits BORTSOV, dressed in threadbare summer clothes. On the floor near the benches SAVVA, NAZAROVNA, and YEFIMOVNA have found places.

YEFIMOVNA (to Nazarovna). Give the old-timer a poke, dearie! Looks as if he’s bound for glory.

NAZAROVNA (pulling an edge of the fustian coat off Savva’s face). God-fearin’ man, hey, god-fearin’ man! Ye alive, or be ye dyin’?

SAVVA. Why should I be dyin’? I’m alive, dearie. (Raises himself on one elbow.) Cover up my legs, ye poor old thing! There ye go. More to the right. There ye go, dearie. God keep ye.

NAZAROVNA (covering Savva’s legs). Sleep, my old dear.

SAVVA. Sleep, d’ye say? If I got the patience to put up with this torture, sleep’s the last thing I need, dearie. A sinner don’t deserve to be left in peace. What’s that noise, sister?

NAZAROVNA. God’s own thunder. The wind’s howling, and the rain’s pelting down cats and dogs. The droplets’re hitting the roof and the winders like dried peas.

Thunder.

Bless us, bless us, bless us . . .

FEDYA. Thundering and hooting and making a racket . . . and no end in sight! Whoosh . . . like a whole forest rustling . . . Whoosh . . . The wind’s howling like a dog . . . (Huddles up.) It’s cold! My clothes is soppin’ wet, you could take ‘n’ wring ‘em out, that door’s wide open . . . (Plays quietly.) My squeeze-box is soaked, good Christians, it’s outa music, otherwise I’d pump you out a concert that would knock your socks off! Wonderful! A quartrill, if you want, or a polka, let’s say . . . or some Russian pop tune . . . we can do it all. In town, when I shined shoes at the Grand Otel, the money was peanuts, but when it came to handling the squeeze-box I had all the notes down pat. And I know guitar too.

VOICE FROM THE CORNER. You fool, don’t talk foolish.

FEDYA. So says the fool.

Pause.

NAZAROVNA (to Savva). Old man, right now you should be lying in the warm, warming your poor leg.

Pause.

Old man! God-fearin’ man! (Nudges Savva.) Hey, you fixing to die?

FEDYA. You should have a little spot of vodka, gramps. You have a drink, and it’ll light a fire in your belly, light a fire, and take your mind off things. Have a drink!

NAZAROVNA. Leave off that blasphemiousness, young fella! Mebbe the old man’s going to glory and repenting his sins, and you with your smart talk and your squeeze-box . . . Stop that music! You shameless thing!

FEDYA. And why are you nagging at him? He may be at death’s door, but you . . . with yer old women’s blather . . . ‘Cause he’s a righteous man, he can’t chew you out, so you’re tickled pink, dee-lighted you got somebody gotta listen to you, you fool . . . Sleep, gramps, don’t listen! Let ‘em blab on, just you pay ‘em no mind. A woman’s tongue is the devil’s broom, it sweeps good sense and wisdom out of the room. Pay ‘em no mind . . . (Clasps his hands in distress.) You’re all skin and bones, pal! This is scary! Just like he was a dead skellington! Not a breath o’ life in him! Hey, you fixing to drop dead?

SAVVA. Why should I drop dead? God forbid, good people, I should die before my time . . . I’ll go through a bit of a bad spell, and then I’ll git up again with God’s help . . . The Mother o’ God won’t let me drop dead in foreign parts . . . I’ll die at home . . .

FEDYA. You come a far piece?

SAVVA. Vologda’s my home.¹ Vologda itself . . . a small tradesman from them parts . . .

FEDYA. And where’s this Vologda?

TIKHON. Other side of Moscow . . . Province of . . .

FEDYA. My, my, my . . . You come a far piece, whiskers! All that way on foot?

SAVVA. On foot, laddie. Been to St. Tikhon’s, and now I’m on my way to the Holy Mountains . . .² From the Holy Mountains, if it’s God’s will, to Odesta . . . From there, folks say, you can get a cheap fare to Jerusalem. S’posed to be twenty-one rubles . . .

FEDYA. So you been to Moscow?

SAVVA. I’ll say! nigh on to five times . . .

FEDYA. Nice sort of town? (Starts to smoke.) Worth the trip?

SAVVA. Plenty o’ shrines, laddie . . . Where there’s plenty o’ shrines, it’s nice all over . . .

BORTSOV (steps up to the bar and Tikhon). I’ll ask you once more! For Christ’s sake let me have one!

FEDYA. The main thing about a town is it should be clean . . . If it’s dusty, then water it down, if it’s muddy, mop it up. There should be tall buildings . . . a the-ayter, policemen . . . cab drivers, the kind that . . . I’ve lived in towns myself, so I know all about it.

BORTSOV. One little shot . . . just a short one. Put it on my tab! Let me have it!

TIKHON. Oh, sure.

BORTSOV. I’m begging you! Have a heart!

TIKHON. Go away!

BORTSOV. You don’t understand me . . . Understand, you ignoramus, if there’s an ounce of brains in your thick peasant’s skull, I’m not the one begging you, it’s, to use your own vulgar way of speaking, my guts begging! My disease begging! Can’t you understand!

TIKHON. There’s nothing to understand . . . Get out of here!

BORTSOV. In fact, if I don’t get a drink right away, understand, if I don’t satisfy this craving, I might do something violent. I’m capable of doing God knows what! You’ve seen in this tavern of yours, you lout, plenty of drunks in your time, and you still can’t figure out what makes them tick? They’re sick! Chain ‘em up, beat ‘em, stab ‘em, but let ‘em have vodka! Now, I’m pleading most humbly! Have a heart! I’m stooping to your level! My God, the way I’m stooping!

TIKHON. Let’s see your money, then you’ll get vodka . . .

BORTSOV. Where am I supposed to get money? It’s all drunk up! Every last bit of it! What am I supposed to give you? All I’ve got left is my overcoat, but I can’t give you that . . . It covers my naked body. You want my cap? (Takes off his cap and hands it to Tikhon.)

TIKHON (inspects the cap). Hm . . . There are caps and then there are caps . . . Full of holes like a sieve.

FEDYA (laughs). A gentleman’s cap! Walk down the street in it and tip it to all the mamzelles. Top o’ the morning, good day to yez! How you doing?

TIKHON (hands back the cap to Bortsov). Wouldn’t have it as a gift. Piece of crap.

BORTSOV. You don’t like it? In that case, put it on my tab! On my way back from town I’ll bring you your five kopeks! Then you can choke on your five kopeks! You can choke! I hope they stick in your craw! (Coughs.) I hate you!

TIKHON (banging his fist on the bar). What are you pestering me for? What kind of a man are you? What kind of a crook? What’re you doing here?

BORTSOV. I want a drink! No, I don’t want it, my disease wants it! Understand!

TIKHON. Don’t make me lose my temper! Or you’ll be on the other side of the door double quick.

BORTSOV. What am I to do? (Walks away from the bar.) What am I to do? (Becomes rapt in thought.)

YEFIMOVNA. It’s the foul fiend tormenting you. Never you mind him, sir. The father o’ lies is whispering in yer ear: “Drink! drink!” Just you say to him: “I won’t drink! I won’t drink!” He’ll leave you be!

FEDYA. That skull o’ yours, I’ll bet, is going bam-bam-bam . . . and your belly’s rumbling! (Roars with laughter.) You’re a funny one, yer honor! Just you lay down and get some sleep! No point flapping around this joint like a scarecrow! This ain’t no corn field!

BORTSOV (viciously). Shut up! Nobody asked you anything, you jackass!

FEDYA. You talk and talk and make no sense! We know your sort! There’s plenty of your sort shambling along the highway here! Talking o’ jackasses, when I wallop you one upside your head, you’ll howl worse’n the storm wind. Jackass yourself! Piece of shit!

Pause.

Son of a bitch!

NAZAROVNA. Mebbe the holy old man’s saying his prayers and giving up his soul to God, while these roughnecks is beating each other up and using all sorts of bad language . . . Shameless creatures!

FEDYA. And you, you sawed-off stump, you’re hanging out in a barroom, so stop sniveling! In a barroom there’s barroom manners.

BORTSOV. What am I to do? What’s there to do? How can I make him undertand? What greater eloquence do I need? (to Tikhon.) The blood’s clotting in my chest! Good old Tikhon! (Weeps.) Good old Tikhon!

SAVVA (groans). There’s shooting pains in my leg, like a bullet o’ fire . . . Sister pilgrim, honey!

YEFIMOVNA. What is it, dearie?

SAVVA. Who’s crying?

YEFIMOVNA. The gent.

SAVVA. Ask the gent to shed a tear for me so’s I’ll get to die in Vologda. Tearful prayers work wonders.

BORTSOV. I’m not praying, granddad! These are not tears! They’re my life’s blood! They’ve squeezed my heart and the lifeblood’s run out. (Sits down at Savva’s feet.) My life’s blood! But how can you grasp that! Your primitive mind, granddad, can’t grasp that. You people are living in the dark ages!

SAVVA. And where’s them with the light?

BORTSOV. Enlightened people do exist, granddad . . . They would understand!

SAVVA. They do, they do, my son . . . The saints was enlightened . . . They understand all kinds of troubles . . . You wouldn’t have to tell ‘em, they’d understand . . . They’d look in your eyes—and understand . . . And you’ve such a comfort once they understand, it’s like there never was no trouble — it’s gone as if by magic!

FEDYA. So you seen any saints?

SAVVA. It comes to pass, young fella . . . There’s all kinds of folks in this world. There be sinners, and there be servants o’ God.

BORTSOV. I’m not following any of this . . . (Gets up quickly.) A conversation ought to be comprehensible, but am I making any sense right now? All I’ve got is instinct, thirst! (Quickly walks over to the bar.) Tikhon, take my overcoat! Understand me? (About to take off his coat.) The overcoat . . .

TIKHON. And what’s under the overcoat? (Looks at Bortsov beneath the overcoat.) A naked body? Don’t take it off, I don’t want it. . . I’m not going to take a sin on my soul.

Enter MERIK.

SCENE II

The same and MERIK.

BORTSOV. Fine, I’ll take the sin on myself! All right?

MERIK (silently removes his fustian coat and stands in his tight, sleeveless jacket. He has an axe in his belt). Some folks feel the cold, but the bear and the man with no family ties is always hot. I’m sweating like a pig! (Puts his axe on the floor and takes off his sleeveless jacket.) Whiles you’re pulling one foot outa the mud, you’re pouring sweat by the bucket. You get that foot out, then the other’s stuck in the mud.

YEFIMOVNA. That’s so . . . Sonny-boy, is it still coming down so hard?

MERIK (after a glance at Yefimovna). I don’t have no truck with womenfolk.

Pause.

BORTSOV (to Tikhon). I’ll take the sin on myself! Did you hear me or not?

TIKHON. I don’t want to hear, leave me alone!

MERIK. It’s dark, like somebody smeared the sky with tar. Can’t see yer nose before yer face. And the rain whips ya in the kisser, like one of yer snowstorms . . . (Bundles his clothes and his axe in his arms.)

FEDYA. Fine times for our pal the robber: even beasts of prey take cover, but it’s Christmas for you jokers.

MERIK. What man said those words?

FEDYA. Looky over here . . . don’t s’pose they jest slipped out.

MERIK. We’ll make a note o’ that . . . (Walks over to Tikhon.) Evening, fat face! Doncha know me?

TIKHON. If you expect me to know every drunk who comes off the highway, I figure I’d need a dozen eyeballs in my head.

MERIK. Jest you take a good look . . .

Pause.

TIKHON. Well, I do know ya, dern it all! I knowed ya by yer eyes! (Gives him his hand.) Andrey Polikarpov?

MERIK. I was Andrey Polikarpov, but now, seems as how I’m Yegor Merik.

TIKHON. Why’s that?

MERIK. Whatever label God sends, that’s my moniker. Two months now I been Merik . . .

Pause.

Rrr . . . Thunder on, I ain’t scared! (Looks around.) No bloodhounds here?

TIKHON. What dy’a mean bloodhounds! Mostly bugs and mosquitoes . . . A squishy bunch . . . These days the bloodhounds are prolly snoozing in their feather-beds . . . (Loudly.) Good Christians, keep an eye on your pockets and your duds, if you care about ‘em! This here’s a bad man! He’ll rob ya!

MERIK. Well, let ‘em look to their money, if they got any, but when it comes to clothes, I won’t touch ‘em. There’s nowhere to fence ‘em.

TIKHON. Where in tarnation are you heading?

MERIK. Kuban River.³

TIKHON. No kidding!

FEDYA. Kuban? Honest to God? (Raises himself up a bit.) That’s a glorious place! A kind o’ land, pals, you wouldn’t see if you dreamed three years running! Wide open spaces! They say there’s all the most of birds, wild game, all kinds o’ animals and—oh, Lordy! The grass grows all year round, the folks are salt o’ the earth, more land than they know what to do with! The gov’ment, they say . . . this soldier fella was telling me the other day . . . will give three hundred acres a head. Good times, dammit!

MERIK. Good times . . . Good times walks behind yer back . . . Where ya can’t see ‘em . . . If you can bite yer own elbow, you’ll see good times . . . Nothin’ but stupidity . . . (Looks at the benches and the people.) Looks like a chain gang . . . Greetings, you huddled masses!

YEFIMOVNA (to Merik). You got the evil eye! . . . The foul fiend’s inside you, my lad . . . Don’t you look at us.

MERIK. Greetings, you huddled masses!

YEFIMOVNA. Turn away! (Shoves Savva.) Savvushka, a wicked man’s got his eye on us! He’ll harm us, dearie! (to Merik.) Turn away, I said, you viper!

SAVVA. He won’t touch you, sister, he won’t touch you . . . God won’t let him.

MERIK. Greetings, good Christians! (Shrugs his shoulders.) Not a word! I don’t s’pose ye’re sleeping, you clumsy louts! Why don’t you say something?

YEFIMOVNA. Turn away those eyes! And turn away from your hellish pride!

MERIK. Shut up, you old bag! It wasn’t hellish pride but affection and a kind word I wanted to bestow on your bitter fate! You look like flies clustered together ‘gainst the cold—so, I felt sorry for ya, I wanted to speak a kind word, ease your misery, and you turn your snouts away! So what? Who needs it! (Walks over to Fedya.) And where would you be from?

FEDYA. Around here, the Khamonev factory town. The brickworks.

MERIK. Get the hell up!

FEDYA (raising himself a bit). What?

MERIK. Get up! Get up and out, I’m gonna bunk there . . .

FEDYA. Izat so . . . So it’s your spot, is it?

MERIK. It’s mine. Go lay on the ground!

FEDYA. Move along, you tramp . . . You don’t scare me.

MERIK. A wiseguy . . . Go on, clear out, no backtalk! Or you’ll be sorry, you stupid man!

TIKHON (to Fedya). Don’t talk back to him, lad! Let it go!

FEDYA. What right have you got to it? Bugs out his big fish eyes at me and thinks I’ll get skeered! (Collects his gear in his arms, goes and makes a bed on the floor.) Devil! (Lies down and covers up his head.)

MERIK (makes up a bed on the bench). I don’t figure you ever seen a devil if you call me one. Devils ain’t like me. (Lies down and puts his axe beside him.) Go to bed, little axe, little brother . . . Let me tuck in your shaft.

TIKHON. Where’d you get the axe?

MERIK Stole it. . . Stole it, and now I’m stuck with it like a kid with a broken toy: it’s a shame to throw it away and I got nowheres to keep it. Like a wife you can’t stand . . . Yeah . . . (Covers himself up.) Devils, pal, ain’t like me.

FEDYA (sticking his head out from under the covers). What are they like?

MERIK. They’re like steam, breath . . . Blow like this (he blows air), that’s what they’re like. No way to see ‘em.

VOICE FROM THE CORNER. If you sit under a harrow, you’ll see ‘em sure enough.

MERIK. I sat under one, never seen ‘em . . . Old women tell lies and so do stupid peasants . . . You ain’t gonna see a devil or a wood goblin or a ghost . . . Our eyes ain’t made so’s we can see everything . . . When I was a kid, I used to go to the forest at night on purpose to see a wood goblin . . . Used to be I’d shout and shout for a ha’nt, I’d call on the wood goblin and wouldn’t blink an eye, but never seen none. I’d go to the graveyard at night, tried to see ghosts—the old women tell lies. All kinds of animals I seen, but anything spooky—nor hide nor hair! Our eyes ain’t the right kind. . . .

VOICE FROM THE CORNER. Don’t say that, it so happens you do see ‘em

. . . In our village a peasant was gutting a wild boar . . . He’s ripping out the tripes, when one pops out of them!

SAVVA (raising himself a bit). Young fellas, don’t talk about the foul fiend! It’s a sin, my dears!

MERIK. Aaah . . . the gray beard! The skellington! (Laughs.) Ain’t no need to go to the graveyard, we got our own ghosts crawling out from under the floorboards to read us the riot act . . . A sin . . . It ain’t yer place with your stupid notions to preach to folks! Ye’re a benighted lot, ignoramuses . . . (Lights up a pipe.) My father was a peasant and he used to love to preach too. One time he steals a sack of apples from the village priest at night, brings it to us and preaches: “Watch out, you kids, don’t gobble up them apples before Transfiguration Day, ‘cause it’s a sin.” . . . Just like you . . . You mustn’t talk about the devil, but you can act like the devil . . . For example, just you take this old bag . . . (Points at Yefimovna.) She seen me as the Antichrist, but I’ll bet in her time she’s sold her soul to . . . the devil at least five times for womenfolk’s hanky-panky.

YEFIMOVNA. Pfoo, pfoo, pfoo!⁴ . . . May the power of the Cross protect us! (Hides her face in her hands.) Savvushka!

TIKHON. Why are you scaring us? Make you happy!

The door bangs in the wind.

Jesus Christ! . . . That’s what I call a wind!

MERIK (stretches). Ech, I should show you how strong I am!

The door bangs in the wind.

Test my strength against this here wind! It can’t rip the door off, but, gimme the chance, I’d tear up this whole barroom by the roots! (Stands up and lies down again.) It gets you down!

NAZAROVNA. Say a prayer, you heathen! What are you raving about?

YEFIMOVNA. Don’t rile him, dern him! He’s looking at us again! (to Merik.) Don’t look at us, you wicked man! Them eyes, them eyes, like Satan’s at morning mass!

SAVVA. Let ‘im look, godly sisters! Say a prayer, the eye won’t harm you . . .

BORTSOV. No, I can’t stand it! It’s more than I can bear! (Walks over to the bar.) Listen, Tikhon, I’m asking you for the last time . . . Just half a shot!

TIKHON (shakes his head no). Money!

BORTSOV. My God, haven’t I told you already! It’s all drunk up! Where am I supposed to get any? Would it ruin you if you gave me a drop of vodka on credit? A shot of vodka costs you a penny, but it will save me from agony! I’m in agony! I’m not faking it, it’s agony! Understand!

TIKHON. Go tell it to the judge, not me . . . Go on, beg outside with good Christians, let them treat you outa Christian charity if they want, but all I give outa Christian charity is bread.

BORTSOV. You’d take from them, the poor creatures, but I . . . excuse me! I haven’t got it in me to rob them! It’s not in me! Understand? (Slams his fist on the bar.) Not in me!

Pause.

Hm . . . Hold on a bit . . . (Turns to the pilgrims.) That’s not a bad idea, good Christians! Sacrifice a mere five kopeks! My guts are pleading! I’m sick!

FEDYA. Looky there, make a sacrifice . . . Swindler . . . Wouldja like a little water?

BORTSOV. How low I’ve sunk! How low I’ve sunk! Never mind! Never mind about me! I was joking!

MERIK. Don’t go begging to him, sir . . . He’s a notorious tightwad . . . Hold on, I got five kopeks rattling around somewheres . . . Let’s us both have a drink . . . fifty-fifty . . . (Rummages in his pockets.) Hell . . . it was stuck in there somewheres . . . Coulda sworn something was jingling in my pocket the other day . . . No, nothin’ . . . Nothin’, pal! Just your luck!

Pause.

BORTSOV. I have got to have a drink, otherwise I’ll commit a crime or kill myself . . . What am I to do, my God! (Looks out the doorway.) Should I leave? Go off into that darkness, wherever my feet take me . . .

MERIK. How about it, godly sisters, why don’t you preach to him? And you, Tikhon, how come you don’t throw him out? He ain’t paid for his night’s lodging, after all. Throw ‘im out, right on his ear! Ech, folks is cruel nowadays. Ain’t got no soft hearts and kindliness in ‘em . . . Folks is mean! A man’s drowning, and they shout at him: “Drown faster, we ain’t got time to watch, it’s a workday!” And as for throwing him a rope, don’t make me laugh . . . A rope costs money.

SAVVA. Judge not, good man!

MERIK. Shut up, you old wolf! You’re vicious folks! Child killers! Dealers in souls! (To Tikhon.) Come here and take off my boots! Step lively!

TIKHON. Hey, he’s gone hog wild! (Laughs.) Reg’lar bogeyman!

MERIK. Git over here, I said! Step lively!

Pause.

You hear me or not? Am I talking to the wall? (Gets up.)

TIKHON. All right . . . that’ll do!

MERIK. I want you, you mule-skinner, to pull off my boots, the boots of a beggar tramp!

TIKHON. All right . . . don’t fly off the handle! Come on, have a little drink . . . Come and drink!

MERIK. Folks, what do I want? For him to treat me to vodka or take off my boots? Did I say it wrong, didn’t you hear me? (To Tikhon.) Mebbe you didn’t catch my drift? I’ll wait just one minute, then I figure you’ll catch it.

Something of a stir among the pilgrims and vagrants. They get up and stare at Tikhon and Merik. Silent suspense.

TIKHON. The foul fiend brought you here! (Comes out from behind the bar.) Some fine gentleman made an entrance! Well, let’s have ‘em, or what? (Pulls off Merik’s boots.) Spawn of Cain . . .

MERIK. That’s it. Line ‘em up neat . . . That’s it . . . Get out!

TIKHON (having taken off the boots, goes behind the bar). Think you’re pretty smart! Get smart with me again, and you’ll fly out of this joint on the double! Right! (to Bortsov, who is approaching.) You again?

BORTSOV. Well, you see, I might let you have some gold . . . Listen here, if you like, I’ll give you . . .

TIKHON. Why are you shaking like that? Talk sense!

BORTSOV. Even though it’s vile and base on my part, what am I to do? I’m resolved to do this dirty deed, since I’m not in my right mind . . . I’d be acquitted by any court . . . Take it, but only on one condition: give it back to me afterwards, when I return from town. I give it to you before witnesses . . . Ladies and gentlemen, please serve as witnesses! (Takes a gold locket out of his bosom.) Here it is . . . I ought to remove the portrait, but there’s nowhere for me to put it; I’m all wet! . . . Well, take it with the portrait! Only, look here . . . you sort of . . . shouldn’t graze the face with your fingers . . . I beg of you . . . I was rude to you, my dear man . . . stupid, but you’ll forgive me and . . . don’t put your fingers on it . . . Don’t cast your eyes upon the face . . . (Gives Tikhon the locket.)

TIKHON (inspects the locket). A stolen watch . . . Well, all right, have a drink . . . (Pours out the vodka.) Guzzle that down.

BORTSOV. Only those fingers of yours . . . don’t sort of . . . (Drinks slowly, with convulsive pauses.)

TIKHON (opens the locket). Hm . . . A fine lady! . . . Where’d you pick up something like that?

MERIK. Show us! (Gets up and walks over to the bar.) Let’s have a look!

TIKHON (pushes his hand away). Where’d you crawl in from? Hands off while you’re looking.

FEDYA (rises and walk over to Tikhon). Lemme look too!

Pilgrims and vagrants walk over to the bar from all directions.

A group.

MERIK (firmly holds in his hands Tikhon’s hand with the locket and silently stares at the portrait.)

Pause.

A beautiful she-devil! A real lady . . .

FEDYA. A real lady . . . Them cheeks, eyes . . . Pull away your hand, I can’t see! Hair down to her waist . . . Real life-like! You’d think she was talking . . .

Pause.

MERIK. For a weak man that’s the first step to ruination. Get a woman like that round your neck and . . . (waves his hand in dismissal) and — you’re done for!

We can hear KUZMA’s voice: “Who-o-oa . . . Stop, my hearties!” Enter KUZMA.

SCENE III

The same and KUZMA.

KUZMA (enters). “Here on the road a tavern’s nigh, Don’t walk past it, don’t drive by.” You can drive past your dear old dad in broad daylight, and take no notice of ‘im, but you can see a tavern in the dark from a hundred miles off. Clear a space, God-fearing folk! Hey, barkeep! (Slams his fist on the bar.) A glass of real Madeira! Make it snappy!

FEDYA. Lookit you, in a hell of a rush!

TIKHON. Stop waving your arms around! You’ll get caught on something!

KUZMA. Why’d God give ‘em to us except to wave around. Melting, are you, my little sugar cubes, sheltering in your auntie’s hen house! Rain got you skeered, my delicate blossoms! (Drinks.)

YEFIMOVNA. You’d be skeered too, good man, if you was caught on the road on a night like this. Nowadays, thank God, we’re blessed with lots o’ villages and farms along the way, there’s somewheres to git out of the wet, but times past, the Lord save us from the way it used to be! Seventy miles you’d tramp and don’t even talk about a village or a farm, no sign of even a wood chip. So you’d spend the night on the bare ground . . .

KUZMA. So how long you been suff’ring in this world, old woman?

YEFIMOVNA. Going on eighty, dearie.

KUZMA. Going on eighty! Soon you’ll be old as Methusaleh. (Looks at Bortsov.) And what sort of stewed fruit have we got here? (Stares straight at Bortsov.) A gent!

BORTSOV recognizes Kuzma and, in his embarrassment, goes to a corner and sits down on the bench.

Semyon Sergeich! Is that you or ain’t it? Huh? How’d you wind up in this joint? This ain’t no place for you!

BORTSOV. Be quiet!

MERIK (to Kuzma). Who is he?

KUZMA. A miserable wretch! (Nervously paces along the bar.) Huh? In a cheap tavern, for pity’s sake! In rags! Drunk! This has really got me spooked, pals . . . Really got me spooked . . . (Speaks to Merik in an undertone.) That’s our master . . . owner of our estate, Semyon Sergeich, Mister Bortsov . . . I can’t believe my eyes! Wouldja lookit the state he’s in now? There you have it . . . drink’ll lay you that low . . . Fill it up, you! (Drinks.) I’m from his village, Bortsovka, maybe you heard of it, about a hundred and fifty miles from these parts, in Yegorov district. His father owned serfs . . . What a shame!

MERIK. Rich was he?

KUZMA. A big man . . .

MERIK. Played fast and loose with the old man’s propitty?

KUZMA. No, it was fate, old pal . . . He was a big-time gent, rich, sober . . . (To Tikhon.) I bet you seen him yourself, once upon a time, driving past the tavern to town. Real classy horses, smart and trim, a carriage on springs—top of the line! He kept five troikas, believe me brother . . . About five years ago, I remember, he’s crossing by the Mikishkin ferry and instead of five kopeks he tosses ‘em a ruble . . . “Got no time,” he says, “to wait for change . . .” How ‘bout that!

MERIK. I s’pose he lost his mind.

KUZMA. Looks like he’s still got his wits about him . . . It’s all ‘cause of gut-lessness! And easy living! Mainly, boys, it was on account of a skirt . . . He fell in love, poor boob, with a woman from town, and figured she was the prettiest thing in all the world . . . Hunt an eagle and bring home a crow. A girl from a good family . . . Not ‘zactly a slut or like that, but sort of . . . flighty . . . Her tail going—wag! wag! Her eyes going—squint! squint! And never stops laughing, never ever! Not a brain in her head . . . Gents go for that kind of thing, figure it’s cute, but our folks down home would kick her out the door . . . Anyhow . . . he falls in love and—now he’s done for, the gent is doomed! He starts carrying on with her, one thing leads to another, tea and sugar, and so on . . . boating all night long, and playing the piano . . .

BORTSOV. Don’t tell them, Kuzma! What’s the point? Is my life any business of theirs?

KUZMA. Excuse me, your lordship, I’ve spoke my piece . . . I told ‘em and that’s all they’ll get . . . I spoke my piece because you got me spooked . . . I was really spooked! Fill ‘er up, boy! (Drinks.)

MERIK (in an undertone). And did she love him back?

KUZMA (in an undertone, which gradually shifts into his usual tone of voice). You kidding? The master ain’t no nobody . . . Not fall in love, when there’s a couple of thousand acres and money that ain’t chicken feed . . . And him so respectable, highfalutin and sober . . . And on good terms with the big shots, like this here . . . takes their hand . . . (takes Merik by the hand) “how do and fare thee well, thank you kindly” . . . Anyhow, this one time it’s night and I’m crossing the master’s garden . . . that garden, pal, wow! Went on for miles . . . I’m walking quiet as you please, and then I sees the two of ‘em sitting on a bench and kissing (makes the sound of kissing) one another. He kisses her once, twice, she, the snake, kisses him a couple o’ times . . . He takes her little white hand, and she’s all—flares up! and squeezes up, squeezes up against him so she can . . . “I love you, Senya,” she says . . . And Senya, like a soul in torment, walks around and brags about how happy he is, being as how he’s so gutless . . . A ruble here, a ruble there . . . Gave me money for a horse. Forgave everyone’s debts, he’s so dee-lighted . . .

BORTSOV. Ah . . . What’s the point of telling that story? These people have no sympathy . . . It’s painful, after all!

KUZMA. Just speaking my piece, sir! They’re asking! Why not tell ‘em a little bit? All right, I won’t, if it makes you angry . . . I won’t . . . To hell with ‘em . . .

The harness bells on a mail coach are heard.

FEDYA. Don’t yell it, just nice and quiet . . .

KUZMA. I am saying it nice and quiet . . . He don’t like it, so nothing doing . . . And there’s no more to tell. They got married — and that’s that . . . All over. Pour out a glass for big-hearted Kuzma! (Drinks.) I don’t hold with drunkenness! At the very minute when the ladies and gents is sitting down to the banquet after the wedding, she ups and runs away in a carriage . . . (in a whisper.) Hurries off to town to some shyster lawyer, her lover boy . . . Eh? How ‘bout that? The very exact minute! Yessir . . . killing’s too good for her!

MERIK (thoughtfully). Right . . . So what happened next?

KUZMA. He went nuts . . . Look, you can see, he started by hitting the bottle and wound up, like they say, bashing the whole brewery . . . First it was bottles, then it was barrels . . . And all that time he’s in love with her. Look at ‘im: he still loves her! I figure he’s walking back to town now just to get an eyeful of her . . . He’ll get a good look and — come back again . . .

The mail coach drives up to the tavern. The POSTAL COURIER enters and drinks.

TIKHON. The mail’s behind schedule!

The POSTAL COURIER silently pays up and exits. The mail coach departs with a jingling of harness bells.

A VOICE FROM THE CORNER. In this foul weather robbing a mail coach’d be a piece of cake!

MERIK. I’ve lived on earth thirty-five years and never yet robbed a mail coach.

Pause.

Now it’s gone and it’s too late . . . Too late . . .

KUZMA. Planning to get a taste of prison life?

MERIK. Stealing don’t guarantee a taste. Big deal, prison! (Sharply.) What next?

KUZMA. You mean about that poor boob?

MERIK. Who else?

KUZMA. The next thing, pals, which led to his downfall is his brother-in-law, his sister’s husband . . . He gets the bright idea of vouching for this brother-in-law to a savings and loan . . . thirty thousand or so . . . The brother-in-law is a brother-outlaw . . . you know how it goes, the crook’s got his eyes on the prize, so he behaves like a skunk . . . Takes the money, but can’t be bothered to pay it back . . . So our boss has to pay the whole thirty thousand. (Sighs.) A fool and his money are soon parted. The wife’s got kids by her shyster, and the brother-in-law buys an estate near Poltava,⁵ while our guy, like a jerk, goes from one bar-room to another belly-aching to us peasants: “I’ve lost faith, pals! There ain’t nobody I trust no more!” Gutlessness! Every fella’s got his own troubles, some snake’s eating his heart out, but does that mean you crawl into a bottle? For example, take our village elder⁶ now. That wife of his carries on with the schoolteacher in broad daylight, spends her husband’s money on booze, and the elder goes around with a big grin on his face . . . Only thing is he’s lost a lot o’ weight . . .

TIKHON (sighs). God grants each man the strength he needs . . .

KUZMA. There’s all kinds of strength, true enough . . . Well? What do I owe you? (Pays up.) Take my heart’s blood! Good-bye, boys! I wish you good night, and sweet dreams! I’m off, it’s time . . . I’m driving the midwife from the infirmary to the boss’s wife . . . I figure the poor woman’s sick and tired of waiting, drenched to the skin . . . (Runs out.)

TIKHON (after a pause). Hey, you! What’s yer name? Sad sack, have a drink! (Pours it out.)

BORTSOV (hesitantly walks over to the bar and drinks). So I suppose I owe you for two drinks now.

TIKHON. Who said anything about owing? Drink—that’s all I said! Drown your sorrows!

FEDYA. Have a drink on me too, sir! Ech! (Tosses a five-kopek coin on the bar.) Drink—and you’ll die, don’t drink—and you’ll die too! You can get along without vodka, but with vodka, honest to God, you loosen up more! When there’s vodka, you forget your troubles . . . Bottoms up!

BORTSOV. Whew! It’s strong!

MERIK. Hand it over! (Takes the locket from Tikhon and examines the portrait.) Hm . . . Ran away right after the wedding . . . What would you call ‘er?

VOICE FROM THE CORNER. Pour him out another little glass, Tisha. Let ‘im have one on me!

MERIK (forcefully slams the locket on the floor). Damn the bitch! (Quickly goes to his place and lies down with his face to the wall.)

Consternation.

BORTSOV. What was that? What’s going on? (Picks up the locket.) How dare you, you brute? What gives you the right? (Tearfully.) You want me to kill you? Huh? Peasant! Ignoramus!

TIKHON. That’ll do, sir, temper, temper. . . . It ain’t made o’ glass, it won’t break . . . Have another drink, then go to sleep . . . (Pours it out.) I’ve had an earful of the bunch of you, it’s high time I closed up shop. (Goes and bolts the door to the outside.)

BORTSOV (drinks). How dare he? What an idiot! (To Merik.) You understand? You’re an idiot, you jackass!

SAVVA. Good boys! Dear sirs! Set a watch over your mouths and keep the doors of your lips!⁷ What good is all this racket? Let folks sleep!

TIKHON. Go to bed, go to bed . . . That’s enough outa you! (Goes behind the bar and locks the cashbox.)

FEDYA. About time! (Lies down.) Sweet dreams, pals!

MERIK (gets up and spreads his sheepskin coat on the bench). Come on, sir, lie down here!

TIKHON. Where’re you gonna sleep?

MERIK. Wherever I can . . . The floor will do . . . (Spreads his fustian coat on the floor.) It don’t matter to me. (Puts his axe beside him.) For him sleeping on the floor’d be hell . . . He’s used to silk and cotton batting . . .

TIKHON (to Bortsov). Lay down, your worship! That’s enough staring at that pitcher! (Puts out the candle.) Throw it away!

BORTSOV (staggering). Where am I to lie down?

TIKHON. In the tramp’s place! You hear, he’s letting you have it!

BORTSOV (walks over to the proffered place). But I’m sort of . . . wee bit drunk . . . This . . . what’s it? I’m supposed to lie there? Huh?

TIKHON. Right there, right there, don’t worry, lay down . . . (Stretches out on the bar.)

BORTSOV (lies down). I’m . . . drunk . . . Everything’s spinning round . . . (Opens the locket.) Do you have a candle end?

Pause.

You’re a strange girl, Masha . . . You stare at me from the frame and laugh . . . (Laughs.) Drunk! Should you be laughing at a drunkard? You mind your own ps and qs, as the comedian says in that play,⁸ and . . . love the drunkard a little.

FEDYA. The way that wind is blowing! Spooky!

BORTSOV (laughs). What a girl . . . How can you whirl around like that? Can’t get hold of you!

MERIK. He’s raving. Started looking at that pitcher again. (Laughs.) That beats the band! Eddicated gents has dreamed up all kinds of machines and medicines, but there still ain’t a guy smart enough to come up with a cure for the female sex . . . They’re aiming to cure all diseases, but it never occurs to them that more folks is ruined by womanfolk than by diseases . . . Sneaky, greedy, never let up, not a brain in their heads . . . The mother-in-law picks on the new bride, the bride works hard to put one over on her husband . . . And there’s no end to it . . .

TIKHON. Womenfolk have run him ragged, he’s an unholy mess.

MERIK. It ain’t just me . . . For ages and ages, ever since the world began, people been in a sorry state . . . It’s no wonder and no accident that in fairy tales and folksongs the devil and the female are on the same side . . . No accident! There’s more than a grain o’ truth in that . . .

Pause.

There’s that gent making a fool of himself, but what about me going screwy and turning tramp, walking out on my folks?

FEDYA. Womenfolk?

MERIK. Just the same as the gent there . . . I went around like a soul in torment, under a spell, bragged about how happy I was . . . like I was on fire night and day, but the time came when my eyes was opened . . . It weren’t love, nothing but a con game . . .

FEDYA. So what’d you do to her?

MERIK. None of yer business . . .

Pause.

I killed her, that what you think? My arms is too short . . . What I did weren’t to kill her, but to . . . feel sorry for her . . . Go on and live and be . . . happy! Only don’t let me set eyes on you, let me forget you, you snake in the grass!

Knocking at the door.

TIKHON. Who the hell is that . . . Who’s there?

Knocking.

Who’s knocking? (Gets up and go to the door.) Who’s knocking? Move along, we’re closed!

VOICE BEHIND THE DOOR. Let us in, Tikhon, for pity’s sake! A spring’s busted in the carriage! Help us out, be a father to us! I’ll patch it up with a bit o’ rope, and then one way or another we’ll get where we’re going . . .

TIKHON. Who’re you driving?

VOICE BEHIND THE DOOR. Driving a lady from town to Varsonofeevo . . . There’s only three miles left to go . . . Help us out, for pity’s sake!

TIKHON. Go ahead and tell the lady that for ten rubles you’ll get your rope and we’ll fix your spring . . .

VOICE BEHIND THE DOOR. You gone crazy or what? Ten rubles! You’re a mad dog! Taking advantage of folks in trouble!

TIKHON. You know best . . . Take it or leave it . . .

VOICE BEHIND THE DOOR. Well, all right, hold on . . .

Pause.

The lady said: Go ahead.

TIKHON. A very warm welcome to you! (Opens the door and lets the COACHMAN in.)

SCENE I V

The same and the COACHMAN.

COACHMAN. Evening, good Christians! Well, let’s have the bit o’ rope! Hurry up! Boys, who’s gonna lend a hand? There’s a tip in it!

TIKHON. Never mind about tips . . . Let ‘em snooze, the two of us can handle it.

COACHMAN. Oof, I’m all done in! Cold, mud, wet to the bone . . . One more thing, friend . . . You got a little room here, so’s the lady can warm up? The carriage is broke down on one side, no way she can go on sitting in it . . .

TIKHON. Now she wants a room too? Let her warm up in here, if she’s froze . . . We’ll make some space. (Walks over to Bortsov and clears off a place beside him.) Get up, you lot, get up! You can spawl on the floor for an hour, whiles a lady gets warm. (To Bortsov.) Get up, your honor! Have a seat! (BORTSOV raises himself a bit.) Here’s a spot for you.

The COACHMAN exits.

FEDYA. So now we got visitors, dern her hide! Now we won’t get to sleep till it’s light!

TIKHON. Sorry I didn’t ask for fifteen rubles . . . She’d have give it . . . (Stands in front of the door expectantly.) You mind yer manners, you lot . . . None of yer backtalk . . .

Enter MARIYA YEGOROVNA followed by the COACHMAN.

SCENE V

The same and MARIYA YEGOROVNA.

TIKHON (bowing). A very warm welcome to you, your ladyship! Ours is just a humble peasant hut, a hangout for spiders. But there’s no call to be finicky!

MARIYA YEGOROVNA. I can’t see a thing here . . . Where am I to go?

TIKHON. This way, your ladyship! (Leads her to a place nearby Bortsov.) This way, if you’ll be so kind! (Blows on the place.) A separate room I ain’t got, sorry, but don’t you fret, ma’am: the folks here is nice and quiet . . .

MARIYA YEGOROVNA (sits next to Bortsov). How dreadfully close it is in here! At least open the door a bit!

TIKHON. Right away, ma’am! (Runs and opens the door to the outside.)

MERIK. Folks is freezin’, but they got to keep the door wide open! (Gets up and slams the door shut.) Who’s she to give orders ‘round here? (Lies down. )

TIKHON. Sorry, your ladyship, we got this here idjit . . . a kind of halfwit . . . But don’t you be skeered, he’s harmless . . . Only, excuse me, ma’am, I can’t fix it for ten rubles . . . Fifteen rubles, if you like . . .

MARIYA YEGOROVNA. Very well, only be quick about it!

TIKHON. Right this minute . . . We’ll just be a second . . . (Fishes out a rope from under the bar.) Right this minute . . .

Pause.

BORTSOV (takes a look at Mariya Yegorovna). Marie . . . Masha . . .

MARIYA YEGOROVNA (staring at Bortsov). What now?

BORTSOV. Marie . . . Is that you? Where did you come from?

MARIYA YEGOROVNA, recognizing Bortsov, cries out and leaps to the middle of the tavern.

(Goes to her.) Marie, it is I . . . I! (Roars with laughter.) My wife! Marie! Where in the world am I? People, let’s have lights!

MARIYA YEGOROVNA. Get away from me! You’re lying, it isn’t you! Impossible! (Hides her face in her hands.) It’s a lie, nonsense!

BORTSOV. That voice, those gestures . . . Marie, it is I! Wait a minute and I’ll stop . . . being drunk . . . My head’s spinning . . . My God! Hold on, hold on . . . I can’t figure it out. (Shouts.) My wife! (Falls at her feet and sobs.)

A group forms around the couple.

MARIYA YEGOROVNA. Will you get away from me! (To the Coachman.) Denis, let’s go! I cannot stay here another minute!

MERIK (jumps up and stares fixedly in her face). The pitcher! (Seizes her by the arm.) It’s her her own self! Hey, folks! It’s the gent’s wife!

MARIYA YEGOROVNA. Get away from me, you clodhopper! (Tries to tear her arm away from him.) Denis, what are staring at? (DENIS and TIKHON run over to her and grab Merik by the arms.) This is a den of thieves! Let go of my arm! I’m not afraid of you! . . . Get away!

MERIK. Take it easy, I’ll let you go right now . . . Just let me speak my piece to you . . . Speak my piece so’s you understand . . . Take it easy . . . (Turns to Tikhon and Denis.) Git off me, you lugs, let go o’ me! I ain’t letting her go till I speak my piece! Take it easy . . . right now. (Beats his fists against his forehead.) No, God ain’t give me the brains! I can’t come up with the right words!

MARIYA YEGOROVNA (tears away her arm). Go away, you! You’re all drunk . . . Let’s go, Denis! (About to walk to the door.)

MERIK (stands in her way). Hey, you should at least take a look at him! You should at least treat him to one kind word. For Christ’s sake!

MARIYA YEGOROVNA. Get this . . . halfwit . . . away from me.

MERIK. Then the hell with you, you goddam bitch! (Swings his axe.)

Terrible commotion. Everyone leaps up noisily and shouts in horror. SAVVA stands between Merik and Mariya Yegorovna . . . DENIS forcefully shoves Merik aside and carries his mistress out of the tavern. After this everyone stands around like blocks of wood. Prolonged pause.

BORTSOV (grasps at the air with his hands). Marie . . . Where are you, Marie!

NAZAROVNA. My God, my God . . .You’ve tore my heart to shreds, you murderers! There’s a curse on this night!

MERIK (dropping the arm holding the axe). Did I kill her or not? . . .

TIKHON. Thanks be to God, you saved your neck . . .

MERIK. I didn’t kill ‘er, I guess . . . (Staggering, he goes to his bedding.) Fate didn’t want me to die over a stolen axe . . . (Falls on the bedding and sobs.) My heart is breaking! My wretched heart is breaking! Take pity on me, good Christians!

Curtain

NOTES

1 Capital of the Vologda Guberniya in northern Russia, noted for its cathedral and cluster of ancient buildings.

2 St. Tikhon of Zadonsk (1724–1783), a famous Russian monk, preacher, and devotional author, gave his name to a monastery in the northern Voronezh province. The Holy Mountains are a monastery in Kharkov in the Ukraine.

3 A river in the Trans-Caucasian part of the Russian Empire; the region around it was proverbial for its rich lands and fertility.

4 Indicates that she spits three times to avert the evil eye.

5 Town in the Ukraine, southwest of Kharkov, noted for its fairs.

6 Peasant communities chose a starshina, or head man, from among themselves to settle disputes and maintain law and order.

7 Paraphrase of Psalm 141, verse 3: “Set a watch, O Lord, before my mouth; and keep the doors of my lips.”

8 Literally, “as Shchastlivtsev says.” A comic actor, whose name means Happy, a central character in Aleksandr Ostrovsky’s play The Forest. The line does not appear in the text but was an actor’s improvisation that became traditional in the last scene.