Redemption and Two Other Plays by Leo Tolstoy et al

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[Drinks wine.

FEDYA (having finished his letter). Oh, go away, please.

IVAN PETROVICH. Away? (With a gesture.) Away? Me? (With profound
resolve.) So be it. (He leans over the table, faces FEDYA.) I shall
away. I'll not deter you from accomplishing what I also shall commit--
all in its proper moment, however. Only I should like to say this----

FEDYA. Later. Later. But now, listen, old man, give this to the head
waiter. (Handing him some money.) You understand?

IVAN PETROVICH. Yes, but for God's sake wait for me to come back.
(Moves away.) I've something rare to tell you, something you'll never
hear in the next world--at least not till I get there---- Look here,
shall I give him all this money?

FEDYA. No, just what I owe him.

[Exit IVAN PETROVICH, whistling. FEDYA sighs with a sense of
relief, takes the revolver, cocks it, stands at mirror on wall
up R., and puts it close to his temple. Then shivers, and lets
his hand drop.

I can't do it. I can't do it.

[Pause. MASHA is heard singing. MASHA bursts into the room.

MASHA (breathless). I've been everywhere looking for you. To Popov's,
Afremov's, then I guessed you'd be here. (Crosses to him. Sees
revolver, turns, faces him quickly, concealing it with her body,
stands very tense and taut, looking at him.) Oh, you fool! You hideous
fool! Did you think you'd----

FEDYA (still completely unnerved). Awful! It's been awful! I tried----
(With a gesture of despair.) I couldn't----

[Crosses to table L. C.--leans against it.

MASHA (puts her hand to her face as if terribly hurt). As if I didn't
exist. (Crosses over to table L. C., puts down revolver.) As if I
weren't in your life at all. Oh, how godless you are! (Brokenly.) Tell
me, tell me, what about all my love for you?

FEDYA (as if suddenly aware of a great fatigue). I wanted to set them
free. I promised to--and when the time came I couldn't.

MASHA. And what about me? What about me?

FEDYA. I thought you'd be free, too. Surely my torturing you can't
make you happy.

MASHA. Oh, I can look out for myself. Maybe I'd rather be unhappy,
miserable, wretched with you every minute than even think of living
without you.

FEDYA (up R.--half to himself). If I'd finished just now, you would
have cried bitterly perhaps, my Masha, but you would have lived past
it.

MASHA. Oh, damn you, don't be so sure I'd cry at all. Can't you even
be sorry for me?

[She tries to conceal her tears.

FEDYA. Oh God, I only wanted to make everybody happier.

MASHA. Yourself happier, you mean.

FEDYA (smiling). Would I have been happier to be dead now?

MASHA (sulkily). I suppose you would. (Suddenly in a tender voice,
crossing to him.) But, Fedya, do you know what you want? Tell me, what
do you want?

FEDYA (R). I want so many things.

MASHA (impatiently and clinging to him). But what? What?

FEDYA. First of all, I want to set them free. How can I lie? How can I
crawl through the muck and filth of a divorce? I can't. (Moves to end
of table and stands there facing front.) But I must set them free
somehow. They're such good people, my wife and Victor. I can't bear
having them suffer.

MASHA (R. of table L. C.--scornfully). Where's the good in her if she
left you?

FEDYA. She didn't. I left her.

MASHA. She made you think she'd be happier without you. But go on----
(Impatiently.) Blame yourself, what else.

FEDYA. There's you, Masha. Young, lovely, awfully dear to me. If I
stay alive, ah, where will you be?

MASHA. Don't bother about me. You can't hurt me.

FEDYA (sighing). But the big reason, the biggest reason of all, is
myself. I'm just lost. Your father is right, my dear. I'm no good.

MASHA (crossing to him, at once tenderly and savagely). I won't
unfasten myself from you. I'll stick to you, no matter where you take
me, no matter what you do. You're alive, terribly alive, and I love
you. Fedya, drop all this horror.

FEDYA. How can I?

MASHA (trying to project the very essence of her vitality into him).
Oh, you can, you can.

FEDYA (slowly). When I look at you, I feel as though I could do
anything.

MASHA (proudly, fondly). My love, my love. You can do anything, get
anywhere you want to. (FEDYA moves away impatiently up R. She sees
letter.) So you have been writing to them--to tell them you'll kill
yourself. You just told them you'd kill yourself, is that it? But you
didn't say anything about a revolver. Oh, Fedya, let me think, there
must be some way. Fedya--listen to me. Do you remember the day we all
went to the picnic to the White Lakes with Mama and Afremov and the
young Cossack officer? And you buried the bottles of wine in the sand
to keep them cool while we went in bathing? Do you remember how you
took my hands and drew me out beyond the waves till the water was
quite silent and flashing almost up to our throats, and then suddenly
it seemed as if there were nothing under our feet? We tried to get
back. We couldn't and you shouted out, "Afremov," and if he hadn't
been almost beside us and pulled us in--and how cross he was with you
for forgetting that you couldn't swim, and after, how wonderful it was
to stretch out safely on the sands in the sunlight. Oh, how nice every
one was to us that day and you kept on being so sorry for forgetting
you couldn't swim! And, Fedya, don't you see? Of course, she must know
you can't swim. Oh, it's all getting as clear as daylight. You will
send her this beautiful letter. Your clothes will be found on the
river bank--but instead of being in the river you will be far away
with me--Fedya, don't you see, don't you see? You will be dead to her,
but alive for me. (Embraces FEDYA.)

[The lights down and out.

CURTAIN

SCENE VI

The PROTOSOVS' drawing-room.

KARENIN and LISA.

KARENIN (sitting chair R.). He's promised me
definitely, and I'm sure he'll keep to it.

LISA (sitting chair R. C.). I'm rather ashamed to confess it, Victor,
but since I found out about this--this gypsy, I feel completely free
of him. Of course, I am not in the least jealous, but knowing this
makes me see that I owe him nothing more. Am I clear to you, I wonder?

KARENIN (coming closer to her). Yes, dear, I think I'll always
understand you.

LISA (smiling). Don't interrupt me, but let me speak as I think. The
thing that tortured me most was I seemed to love both of you at once,
and that made me seem so indecent to myself.

KARENIN (incredulously amused). You indecent?

LISA (continuing). But since I've found out that there's another
woman, that he doesn't need me any more, I feel free, quite free of
him. And now I can say truthfully, I love you. Because everything is
clear in my soul. My only worry is the divorce, and all the waiting to
be gone through before we can---- Ah, that's torturing.

KARENIN. Dearest, everything will be settled soon. After all, he's
promised, and I've asked my secretary to go to him with the petition
and not to leave until he's signed it. Really, sometimes, if I didn't
know him as I do, I'd think he was trying on purpose to discomfort us.

LISA. No. No. It's, only the same weakness and honesty fighting
together in him. He doesn't want to lie. However, I'm sorry you sent
him money.

KARENIN. If I hadn't, it might have delayed things. Lisa. I know, but
money seems so ugly.

KARENIN (slightly ruffled). I hardly think it's necessary to be so
delicate with Fedya.

LISA. Perhaps, perhaps. (Smiling.) But don't you think we are becoming
very selfish?

KARENIN. Maybe. But it's all your fault, dear. After all, this
hopelessness and waiting, to think of being happy at last! I suppose
happiness does make us selfish.

LISA. Don't believe you're alone in your happiness or selfishness. I
am so filled with joy it makes me almost afraid. Misha's all right,
your mother loves me, and above all, you are here, close to me, loving
me as I love you.

KARENIN (bending over her and searching her eyes). You're sure you've
no regret?

LISA. From the day I found out about that gypsy woman, my mind
underwent a change that has set me free.

KARENIN. You're sure?

[Kissing her hands.

LISA (passionately). Darling, I've only one desire now, and that is to
have you forget the past and love as I do.

[Her little boy toddles in R., sees them and stops.

[To the child.

Come here, my sweetheart.

[He goes to her and she takes him on her knees.

KARENIN. What strange contradictory instincts and desires make up our
beings!

LISA. Why?

KARENIN (slowly). I don't know. When I came back from abroad, knew I'd
lost you, I was unhappy, terribly. Yet, it was enough for me to learn
that you at least remembered me. Afterward, when we became friends,
and you were kind to me, and into our friendship wavered a spark of
something more than friendship, ah, I was almost happy! Only one thing
tormented me: fear that such a feeling wronged Fedya. Afterwards, when
Fedya tortured you so, I saw I could help. Then a certain definite
hope sprang up in me. And later, when he became impossible and you
decided to leave him, and I showed you my heart for the first time,
and you didn't say no, but went away in tears--then I was happy through
and through. Then came the possibility of joining our lives. Mamma
loved you. You told me you loved me, that Fedya was gone out of your
heart, out of your life forever, and there was only, only me.... Ah,
Lisa, for what more could I ask! Yet the past tortured me. Awful
fancies would flush up into my happiness, turning it all into hatred
for your past.

LISA (interrupting reproachfully). Victor!

KARENIN. Forgive me, Lisa. I only tell you this because I don't want
to hide a single thought from you. I want you to know how bad I am,
and what a weakness I've got to fight down. But don't worry, I'll get
past it. It's all right, dear. (He bends over, kissing the child on
the head.) And I love him, too.

LISA. Dearest, I'm so happy. Everything has happened in my heart to
make it as you'd wish.

KARENIN. All?

LISA. All, beloved, or I never could say so.

[Enter the NURSE L. U.

NURSE. Your secretary has come back.

[LISA and KARENIN exchange glances.

LISA. Show him in here, nurse, and take Misha, will you?

NURSE. Come along, my pet. It's time for your rest.

[Exit NURSE with the little boy, R.

KARENIN (gets up, walks to the door). This will be Fedya's answer.

LISA (kissing Karenin). At last, at last we shall know when. (She
kisses him.)

[Enter VOZNESENSKY L. U.

KARENIN. Well?

SECRETARY. He's not there, sir.

KARENIN. Not there? He's not signed the petition, then?

SECRETARY. No. But here is a letter addressed to you and Elizaveta
Protosova.

[Takes letter from his pocket and gives it to KARENIN.

KARENIN (interrupting angrily). More excuses, more excuses. It's
perfectly outrageous. How without conscience he is. Really, he has
lost every claim to----

LISA. But read the letter, dear; see what he says.

[KARENIN opens the letter.

SECRETARY. Shall you need me, sir?

Karenin. No. That's all. Thank you.

[Exit SECRETARY. KARENIN reads the letter growing astonishment
and concern. LISA watches his face.

(Reading.)

"Lisa, Victor, I write you both without using terms of
endearment, since I can't feel them, nor can I conquer a sense
of bitterness and reproach, self-reproach principally, when I
think of you together in your love. I know, in spite of being
the husband, I was also the barrier, preventing you from coming
earlier to one another. C'est moi qui suis l'intrue. I stood in
your way, I worried you to death. Yet I can't help feeling
bitterly, coldly, toward you. In one way I love both of you,
especially Lisa Lizenska, but in reality I am more than cold
toward you. Yes, it's unjust, isn't it, but to change is
impossible."

LISA. What's all that for?

KARENIN (standing L. of table C., continuing).

"However, to the point. I am going to fulfill your wishes in
perhaps a little different way from what you desire. To lie, to
act a degrading comedy, to bribe women of the streets for
evidence--the ugliness of it all disgusts me. I am a bad man,
but this despicable thing I am utterly unable to do. My solution
is after all the simplest. You must marry to be happy. I am the
obstacle, consequently that obstacle must be removed."

LISA (R. of table). Victor!

KARENIN (reading). Must be removed? "By the time this letter reaches
you, I shall no longer exist. All I ask you is to be happy, and
whenever you think of me, think tender thoughts. God bless you both.
Good-bye. FEDYA."

LISA. He's killed himself!

KARENIN (going hurriedly up stage L. and calls of). My secretary! Call
back my secretary!

LISA. Fedya! Fedya, darling!

KARENIN. Lisa!

LISA. It's not true! It's not true that I've stopped loving him! He's
the only man in all the world I love! And now I've killed him! I've
killed him as surely as if I'd murdered him with my own two hands!

KARENIN. Lisa, for God's sake!

LISA. Stop it! Don't come near me! Don't be angry with me, Victor. You
see I, too, cannot lie!

CURTAIN

ACT II

SCENE I

A dirty, ill-lighted underground dive; people are lying around
drinking, sleeping, playing cards and making love. Near the front a
small table at which FEDYA sits; he is in rags and has fallen very
low. By his side is PETUSHKOV, a delicate spiritual man, with long
yellow hair and beard. Both are rather drunk.

Candle light is the only lighting in this Scene.

PETUSHKOV (R.C. of table C.). I know. I know. Well, that's real love.
So what happened then?

FEDYA (L. C. of table C., pensively). You might perhaps expect a girl
of our own class, tenderly brought up, to be capable of sacrificing
for the man she loved, but this girl was a gypsy, reared in greed, yet
she gave me the purest sort of self-sacrificing love. She'd have done
anything for nothing. Such contrasts are amazing.

PETUSHKOV. I see. In painting we call that value. Only to realize
bright red fully when there is green around it. But that's not the
point. What happened?

FEDYA. Oh, we parted. I felt it wasn't right to go on taking, taking
where I couldn't give. So one night we were having dinner in a little
restaurant, I told her we'd have to say good-bye. My heart was so
wrung all the time I could hardly help crying.

PETUSHKOV. And she?

FEDYA. Oh, she was awfully unhappy, but she knew I was right. So we
kissed each other a long while, and she went back to her gypsy troupe
--(Slowly.) Maybe she was glad to go----

[A pause.

PETUSHKOV. I wonder.

FEDYA. Yes. The single good act of my soul was not ruining that girl.

PETUSHKOV. Was it from pity?

FEDYA. I sorry for her? Oh, never. Quite the contrary. I worshipped
her unclouded sincerity, the energy of her clear, strong will, and God
in Heaven, how she sang. And probably she is singing now, for some one
else. Yes, I always looked up at her from beneath, as you do at some
radiance in the sky. I loved her really. And now it's a tender
beautiful memory.

PETUSHKOV. I understand. It was ideal, and you left it like that.

FEDYA (ruminatingly). And I've been attracted often, you know. Once I
was in love with a grande dame, bestially in love, dog-like. Well,
she gave me a rendezvous, and I didn't, couldn't, keep it, because
suddenly I thought of her husband, and it made me feel sick. And you
know, it's queer, that now, when I look back, instead of being glad
that I was decent, I am as sorry as if I had sinned. But with Masha
it's so different; I'm filled with joy that I've never soiled the
brightness of my feeling for her. (He points his finger at the floor.)
I may go much further down.

PETUSHKOV (interrupting). I know so well what you mean. But where is
she now?

FEDYA. I don't know. I don't want to know. All that belongs to another
life, and I couldn't bear to mix that life and this life.

[A POLICE OFFICER enters from up R., kicks a man who is lying on
the floor--walks down stage, looks at FEDYA and PETUSHKOV, then
exits.

PETUSHKOV. Your life's wonderful. I believe you're a real idealist.

FEDYA. No. It's awfully simple. You know among our class--I mean the
class I was born in--there are only three courses: the first, to go
into the civil service or join the army and make money to squander
over your sensual appetites. And all that was appalling to me--perhaps
because I couldn't do it. The second thing is to live to clear out, to
destroy what is foul, to make way for the beautiful. But for that
you've got to be a hero, and I'm not a hero. And the third is to
forget it all--overwhelm it with music, drown it with wine. That's
what I did. And look (he spreads his arms out) where my singing led me
to.

[He drinks.

PETUSHKOV. And what about family life? The sanctity of the home and
all that--I would have been awfully happy if I'd had a decent wife. As
it was, she ruined me.

FEDYA. I beg your pardon. Did you say marriage? Oh, yes, of course.
Well, I've been married, too. Oh, my wife was quite an ideal woman. I
don't know why I should say was, by the way, because she's still
living. But there's something--I don't know; it's rather difficult to
explain--But you know how pouring champagne into a glass makes it
froth up into a million iridescent little bubbles? Well, there was
none of that in our married life. There was no fizz in it, no sparkle,
no taste, phew! The days were all one color--flat and stale and gray
as the devil. And that's why I wanted to get away and forget. You
can't forget unless you play. So trying to play I crawled in every
sort of muck there is. And you know, it's a funny thing, but we love
people for the good we do them, and we hate them for the harm. That's
why I hated Lisa. That's why she seemed to love me.

PETUSHKOV. Why do you say seemed?

FEDYA (wistfully). Oh, she couldn't creep into the center of my being
like Masha. But that's not what I mean. Before the baby was born, and
afterwards, when she was nursing him, I used to stay away for days and
days, and come back drunk, drunk, and love her less and less each
time, because I was wronging her so terribly. (Excitedly.) Yes. That's
it, I never realized it before. The reason why I loved Masha was
because I did her good, not harm. But I crucified my wife, and her
contortions filled me almost with hatred.

[FEDYA drinks.

PETUSHKOV. I think I understand. Now in my case----

[ARTIMIEV enters R. U., approaches with a cockade on his cap,
dyed mustache, and shabby, but carefully mended clothes.

ARTIMIEV (stands L. of table). Good appetite, gentlemen! (Bowing to
FEDYA.) I see you've made the acquaintance of our great artist.

FEDYA (coolly). Yes, I have.

ARTIMIEV (to PETUSHKOV). Have you finished your portrait?

PETUSHKOV. No, they didn't give me the commission, after all.

ARTIMIEV (sitting down on end of table). I'm not in your way, am I?

[FEDYA and PETUSHKOV don't answer.

PETUSHKOV. This gentleman was telling me about his life.

ARTIMIEV. Oh, secrets? Then I won't disturb you. Pardon me for
interrupting. (To himself as he moves away.) Damn swine!

[He goes to the next table, sits down and in the dim candlelight
he can just be seen listening to the conversation.

FEDYA. I don't like that man.

PETUSHKOV. I think he's offended.

FEDYA. Let him be. I can't stand him. If he'd stayed I shouldn't have
said a word. Now, it's different with you. You make me feel all
comfortable, you know. Well, what was I saying?

PETUSHKOV. You were talking about your wife. How did you happen to
separate?

FEDYA. Oh, that? (A pause.) It's a rather curious story. My wife's
married.

PETUSHKOV. Oh, I see! You're divorced.

FEDYA. No. (Smiling.) She's a widow.

PETUSHKOV. A widow? What do you mean?

FEDYA. I mean exactly what I say. She's a widow. I don't exist.

PETUSHKOV (puzzled). What?

FEDYA (smiling drunkenly). I'm dead. You're talking to a corpse.

[ARTIMIEV leans towards them and listens intently.

Funny, I seem to be able to say anything to you. And it's so long ago,
so long ago. And what is it after all to you but a story? Well, when I
got to the climax of torturing my wife, when I'd squandered everything
I had or could get, and become utterly rotten, then, there appeared a
protector.

PETUSHKOV. The usual thing, I suppose?

FEDYA. Don't think anything filthy about it. He was just her friend,
mine too, a very good, decent fellow; in fact the opposite of myself.
He'd known my wife since she was a child, and I suppose he'd loved her
since then. He used to come to our house a lot. First I was very glad
he did, then I began to see they were falling in love with each other,
and then--an odd thing began to happen to me at night. Do you know
when she lay there asleep beside me (he laughs shrilly) I would hear
him, pushing open the door, crawling into the room, coming to me on
his hands and knees, grovelling, whining, begging me (he is almost
shouting) for her, for her, imagine it! And I, I had to get up and
give my place to him. (He covers his eyes with his hands in a.
convulsive moment.) Phew! Then I'd come to myself.

PETUSHKOV. God! It must have been horrible.

FEDYA (wearily). Well, later on I left her--and after a while, they
asked me for a divorce. I couldn't bear all the lying there was to be
got through. Believe me it was easier to think of killing myself. And
so I tried to commit suicide, and I tried and I couldn't. Then a kind
friend came along and said, "Now, don't be foolish!" And she arranged
the whole business for me. I sent my wife a farewell letter--and the
next day my clothes and pocketbook were found on the bank of the
river. Everybody knew I couldn't swim. (Pause.) You understand, don't
you?

PETUSHKOV. Yes, but what about the body? They didn't find that?

FEDYA (smiling drunkenly). Oh yes, they did! You just listen! About a
week afterwards some horror was dragged out of the water. My wife was
called in to identify it. It was in pretty bad shape, you know. She
took one glance. "Is that your husband?" they asked her. And she said,
"Yes." Well, that settled it! I was buried, they were married, and
they're living very happily right here in this city. I'm living here,
too! We're all living here together! Yesterday I walked right by their
house. The windows were lit and somebody's shadow went across the
blind. (A pause.) Of course there're times when I feel like hell about
it, but they don't last. The worst is when there's no money to buy
drinks with.

[He drinks.

ARTIMIEV. (rising and approaching them). Excuse me, but you know I've
been listening to that story of yours? It's a very good story, and
what's more a very useful one. You say you don't like being without
money, but really there's no need of your ever finding yourself in
that position.

FEDYA. (interrupting). Look here, I wasn't talking to you and I don't
need your advice!

ARTIMIEV. But I'm going to give it to you just the same. Now you're a
corpse. Well, suppose you come to life again!

FEDYA. What?

ARTIMIEV. Then your wife and that fellow she's so happy with--they'd
be arrested for bigamy. The best they'd get would be ten years in
Siberia. Now you see where you can have a steady income, don't you?

FEDYA. (furiously). Stop talking and get out of here!

ARTIMIEV. The best way is to write them a letter. If you don't know
how I'll do it for you. Just give me their address and afterwards when
the ruble notes commence to drop in, how grateful you'll be!

FEDYA. Get out! Get out, I say! I haven't told you anything!

ARTIMIEV. Oh, yes, you have! Here's my witness! This waiter heard you
saying you were a corpse!

FEDYA. (beside himself). You damn blackmailing beast----

[Rising.

ARTIMIEV. Oh, I'm a beast, am I? We'll see about that! (FEDYA rises to
go, ARTIMIEV seizes him.) Police! Police! (FEDYA struggles frantically
to escape.)

[The POLICE enter and drag him away.

CURTAIN

SCENE II

In the country. A veranda covered by a gay awning; sunlight; flowers;
SOPHIA KARENINA, LISA, her little boy and nurse.

LISA (standing C. in door. To the little boy, smiling), Who do you
think is on his way from the station?

MISHA (excitedly). Who? Who?

LISA. Papa.

MISHA (rapturously). Papa's coming! Papa's coming!

[Exits L. through C. door.

LISA (contentedly, to SOPHIA KARENINA). How much he loves Victor! As
if he were his real father!

SOPHIA KARENINA (on sofa L. knitting--back to audience). Tant mieux.
Do you think he ever remembers his father?

LISA (sighing). I can't tell. Of course I've never said anything to
him. What's the use of confusing his little head? Yet sometimes I feel
as though I ought. What do you think, Mamma?

SOPHIA KARENINA. I think it's a matter of feeling. If you can trust
your heart, let it guide you. What extraordinary adjustments death
brings about! I confess I used to think very unkindly of Fedya, when
he seemed a barrier to all this. (She makes a gesture with her hand.)
But now I think of him as that nice boy who was my son's friend, and a
man who was capable of sacrificing himself for those he loved. (She
knits.) I hope Victor hasn't forgotten to bring me some wool.

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