Read THE LIFE OF MAN: THE FOURTH SCENE of Savva and The Life of Man, free online book, by Leonid Andreyev, on ReadCentral.com.

MAN’S MISFORTUNE

A large, gloomy, quadrangular room, with dark watts, dark floor, and dark ceiling. There are two high, curtainless windows with eight panes in the rear watt, and between them a small, low door. Two similar windows appear in the right wall. Night glooms through the windows, and when the door opens, the same deep blackness of night stares into the room. In general, however bright Man’s rooms may be, the vast darkness of the windows engulfs the light.

On the left wall there is nothing but a small, low door leading to the rest of the house. At the window on the right stands a broad sofa covered with dark oilcloth. Man’s desk is very simple and poor. On it are seen a dimly burning, shaded lamp, a sheet of yellow paper with a sketch drawn on it, and a lot of toys little peaked cap, a wooden horse without a tail, and a red, long-nosed clown with bells. Between the windows there is an old dilapidated bookcase entirely empty. The visible lines of dust left by the books show that they must have been removed recently. The room has only one chair.

In the darkest corner stands Someone in Gray called He. The candle in his hand is now no longer than it is thick. The wax is running over a little. The stump burns with a reddish, flickering light, and casts a red sheen on His stony face and chin.

The only remaining servant of Man, an Old Woman, is sitting on the chair. She speaks in an even voice, addressing an imaginary companion._

OLD WOMAN

There! Man has slipped back into poverty. He had a lot of valuable things, horses and carriages, and even an automobile. Now he has nothing. Of all his servants I am the only one left. There are still some good things in here and in two other rooms. There’s the sofa and the bookcase. But in the other twelve rooms there’s not a thing. They are dark and empty. Rats run around in them day and night and fight and squeak. People are afraid, but I’m not. It’s all the same to me.

An iron sign has been hanging on the gate for ever so long, saying the house is for sale. But no one wants to buy it. The sign’s rusty already, and the rain has worn the letters away. But no one comes to buy the house. No one wants an old house. Yet maybe someone will buy it. Then we’ll be going to look for another place to live in. It’ll be a strange place. My mistress will begin to cry, and I dare say, the old gentleman will too. But I won’t. It’s all the same to me.

You wonder what’s become of all his riches. I don’t know. Maybe it seems strange, but I’ve been living with other people all my life, and many is the time I’ve seen money disappear, quietly running off through some leak or other. That’s the way it has happened to these folks too. They had a lot, then it got to be a little, and then nothing at all. People came and bought things. Then they stopped coming. I once asked my mistress how it came about. She answered: “People have stopped liking what they used to like; they have stopped loving what they used to love.” “How is that possible?” says I. “How can people stop liking what they once liked?” She didn’t answer and fell to crying. But I didn’t. It’s all the same to me. It’s all the same to me.

People say they are surprised at me. It’s terrible, they say, to live in this house; terrible to sit here at night with only the wind whining in the chimney and the rats squeaking and scuffling. Maybe it is terrible, I don’t know; but I don’t think about it. Why should I? There they sit, the two of them, in their room, looking at each other and listening to the whining of the wind; and I sit in the kitchen alone and listen to the whining of the wind. Doesn’t the same wind whine in our ears? Young folks used to come to see their son, and they would all laugh and sing and go through the empty rooms to chase the rats. But nobody comes to me, and I sit alone, all alone. There’s no one to talk to, so I talk to myself, and it’s all the same to me.

I’m sure they had a hard enough time of it no need of more ill luck. But three days ago another misfortune happened to them. The young gentleman went out walking, his hat cocked, his hair dressed in latest fashion. And a bad man went and threw a stone at him from behind a corner and broke his head like a nut. They brought him home, put him to bed, and now he’s dying in there. Maybe he’ll recover and live who knows? The old lady and the old gentleman cried, and then they put all the books on a wagon and sold them. With the money they hired a nurse, bought medicines, and even grapes. So the books, too, were of some good. But he doesn’t eat the grapes. He doesn’t even look at them. They just lie there on the dish, just lie there.

DOCTOR (enters through the outer door; his face looks red and his manner is uneasy) Can you tell me if I am in the right place? I’m a doctor. I have many visits to pay, and I often make mistakes. I’m called here and there and everywhere, and all the houses look alike and the people in them are all sad. Have I struck the right place?

OLD WOMAN

I don’t know.

DOCTOR

I’ll consult my note-book. Is there a child here choking with a sore throat?

OLD WOMAN

No.

DOCTOR

Is there a man here who suddenly went insane from poverty and attacked his wife and two children with a hatchet? Four patients in all, I suppose.

OLD WOMAN

No.

DOCTOR

Is there a girl here whose heart stopped beating? Don’t lie, old woman, I think she is here.

OLD WOMAN

No.

DOCTOR

Well, I believe you. You seem to speak the truth. Is there a young man here whose head was broken by a stone and who is dying?

OLD WOMAN

Yes. Go through that door on the left, but don’t go any farther. The rats will eat you up!

DOCTOR

Very well. They keep ringing, ringing all the time, day and night. Here it is, late at night. All the lights in the street are out, and I am still on the run. Often I make a mistake and enter the wrong house. Yes, old woman, I do. (Exit through the door leading inside)

OLD WOMAN

One doctor has already treated him, but didn’t cure him. Now there’s another, and I guess he won’t cure him either. Well! Then their son will die, and we’ll remain alone in the house. I’ll sit in the kitchen and talk to myself, and they’ll sit in there keeping quiet and thinking. Another room vacated, another room for the rats to scuffle in. Let them squeak and scuffle. It’s all the same to me. It’s all the same to me. You ask me why that bad fellow threw the stone at our young gentleman. I don’t know how could I know why people want to kill each other? One threw a stone from behind a corner and ran away; the other one fell in a heap and is now dying that’s all I know. They say that our young gentleman was a fine chap, very brave, and very kind to poor people. I don’t know anything about it it is all the same to me. Whether they are good or bad, young or old, quick or dead, it is all the same to me. It is all the same to me.

As long as they pay, I’ll stay with them; and when they stop paying, I’ll go to other people to do their housework, and finally I shall stop altogether when I get old, and my eyesight gets poor, so that I can’t tell salt from sugar. Then they’ll turn me out and say: “Go where you please. We’ll hire another one.” What of it? I’ll go. It’s all the same to me. Here, there, or nowhere, it’s all the same to me. It’s all the same to me.

[Enter Doctor, Man and his Wife. Both have aged greatly and are completely gray. Man’s long bristling hair and beard give his face a leonine appearance. He walks slightly stooping, but holds his head erect and looks sternly and resolutely from beneath his gray eyebrows. When he looks at anything closely, he puts on large, silver-framed eye-glasses.

DOCTOR

Your son has fallen into a deep sleep. Don’t wake him. It may bring on a turn for the better. You go to sleep too. When one has a chance to sleep one should grab it and not stay up talking.

WIFE

Thank you, doctor, it’s been such a relief. Will you call to-morrow again?

DOCTOR

Yes, to-morrow and the day after to-morrow. Old woman, you go to bed too. It’s late, it’s time for all to go to bed. Is that the door to leave by? I often make mistakes.

[He goes out. The Old Woman goes also. Man and his Wife are left alone.

MAN

Look, wife, I began to draw this while our son was still well. I stopped at this line and thought I’d rest and resume the work later. See what a simple, placid line it is, yet horrible to look at. It may be the last line I shall have drawn in our boy’s lifetime. What malicious ignorance there is graven in its simplicity and placidity.

WIFE

Don’t get excited, my dear. Don’t think those evil thoughts. I believe the doctor told the truth and our son will recover.

MAN

Aren’t you excited too? Look at yourself in the mirror. You’re as white as your hair, my old friend.

WIFE

Of course, I am a little excited, but I’m convinced there’s no danger.

MAN

Now, as always, you encourage me and fool me so sincerely, so guilelessly. My poor squire, true guardian of my dulled sword, your knight is a poor, broken-down man. He cannot hold a weapon in his feeble hand. What do I see? Our son’s toys. Who put them there?

WIFE

My dear, you put them there yourself long ago. Have you forgotten? You said you found it easier to work with the child’s innocent toys beside you.

MAN

Yes, I had forgotten. But now it’s terrible to look at them, as terrible as it is for a convict to look at instruments of torture. If the child dies, his toys will remain as a curse to the living. Wife, wife, the sight of them is terrible to me!

WIFE

It was when we were still poor that we bought them. How touching it is to look at them, those poor, dear toys!

MAN

I can’t help it, I must take them in my hands. Here’s the horse with the tail torn off. Hop, hop, horsie! Where are you galloping off to? I’m going far, far away, papa, to where the fields are and the green woods. Take me along, horsie. Hop, hop, hop! Sit down, dear papa. And there’s the soldier’s cap, the cheap cap I tried on myself in fun when I bought it. Who are you? I’m a knight, papa. I’m the bravest, the strongest knight. Where are you going, my little knight? I’m going to kill the dragon, dear papa. I’m going to free the captives, papa. Go, go, my little knight. (The Wife cries) And there’s our everlasting clown, with his kind, stupid face. But how ragged he is, as if he had come out of a hundred frays. Tinkle, friend, the way you used to tinkle. What, you can’t? Only one bell left, you say? Well, I’ll throw you on the floor. (Throws down the toy)

WIFE

What are you doing? Remember how often our boy kissed his funny face.

MAN

Yes, that was wrong of me. Forgive me, friend, forgive me. (He bends down with difficulty and picks up the clown) Still laughing? Don’t. I’ll put you away, out of sight. Don’t be angry, I can’t bear your smile now. Go and laugh in a place where I can’t see you.

WIFE

It breaks my heart to hear you speak like that. Believe me, our son will get well. It wouldn’t be just if the young were to die before the old, would it?

MAN

Just? Where have you ever seen justice, wife?

WIFE

Please, dear husband, I beg you, kneel down beside me, and let us both pray to God.

MAN

It’s hard for an old man to bend his old knees.

WIFE

Bend them. You should you must.

MAN

He will not hear me, He whose ear I’ve never troubled with either praise or entreaty. You pray. You are the mother.

WIFE

You pray you are the father. If a father is not to pray for his son, who is? To whom are you leaving him? Can one person tell the same things in the same way as the two of us together?

MAN

Very well. Maybe eternal justice will answer the prayers of an old man who bends his old knees.

[Both go down on their knees, their faces turned to the corner where the Unknown stands motionless; their arms are folded over their breasts while they pray.

THE MOTHER’S PRAYER

God, I beg you, let my son live. I can understand only one thing, I can say only one thing, only one thing God, let my son live. I have no other words, all is dark around me, everything is falling. I understand nothing, and there’s such a terror in my heart, O Lord, that I can say only this one thing God, let my son live! Let him live! Forgive me for praying so poorly. But I cannot pray in any other way. You understand, O Lord, I can’t. Look at me! Just look at me! Do you see? Do you see how my head shakes, do you see how my hands shake? But what are my hands, O Lord! Have pity on him. He is so young he has a birthmark on his right hand. Let him live, even if only a little while, a little while. He is so young, such a mere foolish child he’s still fond of sweets. I bought him grapes. Pity have pity!

[She weeps in a subdued way, covering her face with her hands. Man speaks without looking at her.

THE FATHER’S PRAYER

Here I am praying, you see. I’ve bent my old knees. I’ve prostrated myself in the dust before you. I’m kissing the ground, do you see? Maybe I have sometimes offended you. If so, forgive me, forgive me. It is true, I was haughty, arrogant. I demanded and did not beg. Often I condemned forgive me. And if you wish, if this be your will, punish me, but spare my son. Spare him, I beg you. Not for mercy, not for pity do I pray you. I pray for justice. You are old, and I am old too. You will understand more easily than I. Bad people wanted to kill him, people who insult you by their deeds and defile your earth bad, heartless people, who throw stones from behind corners. From behind corners, the scoundrels! Do not then, I pray you, permit the fulfilment of this evil deed. Stay the blood, give back the life give back the life to my noble son! You took everything away from me, but did I ever ask you like a beggar: “Give me back my wealth, give me back my friends, give me back my talent”? No, never. I did not even ask you for my talent, and you know what his talent means to a man. It is more than life. I thought perhaps that’s the way it ought to be, and I bore everything, bore everything with pride. But now I ask you on my knees, in the dust, kissing the earth: “Give back my son’s life.” I kiss your earth!

[He rises. Someone called He listens indifferently to the father’s and mother’s prayers.

WIFE

I’m afraid your prayer was not humble enough. There was a certain tone of pride in it.

MAN

No, no, my wife, I spoke well to Him, the way a man should speak. He cannot love cringing flatterers better than brave, proud men who speak the truth. No, wife, you cannot understand. Now I believe also and feel reassured in fact, I am happy. I feel that I too still signify something to my boy, and it makes me glad. Go and see if he’s asleep. He needs a lot of good, hard sleep.

[The Wife goes out. Man, with a friendly look to the corner where Someone in Gray stands, picks up the toy clown, plays with it, and gives its red nose a quick kiss. At that instant his Wife enters and Man speaks shamefacedly.

MAN

I was begging his pardon. I insulted this fool. Well, how is our dear boy?

WIFE

He is so pale.

MAN

That’s nothing. It’ll pass away. He lost a lot of blood.

WIFE

It makes me so sad to look at his poor shorn head. He had such beautiful golden curls.

MAN

They had to be cut so that the wound could be washed. Never mind, wife, his hair will grow again and be still finer. Did you keep what was cut off? Be sure to keep it. His precious, blood is on it.

WIFE

Yes, I put it away in the chest, the last one left of all our wealth.

MAN

Don’t worry about wealth. Just wait until our son begins to work. He’ll restore all we’ve lost. I feel well again, wife, and I firmly believe in our future. Do you remember our poor little rosy room? The good neighbors scattered oak leaves in it, and you made a wreath of them and put it on my head and said I was a genius.

WIFE

I say so still. Other people have ceased to appreciate you, but not I.

MAN

No, my dear little wife, you’re wrong. What genius creates outlives the old dirty bundle of rags known as the body, whereas I am still living, and my productions

WIFE

No, they’re not dead and they never will die. Do you remember that corner house you built ten years ago? Every evening at sunset you go to look at it. Is there a more beautiful building in the whole city, is there any with more depth to it?

MAN

Yes, I purposely built it so that the last rays of the setting sun should fall upon it and set its windows aglow. When the whole city is in darkness, my house is still taking leave of the sun. It was well done, and perhaps it will survive me a little while at least. What do you think?

WIFE

Of course, my friend.

MAN

The only thing that hurts, wife, is that the people have forgotten me so soon. They might have remembered me a little longer, just a little longer.

WIFE

They have forgotten what they knew, and ceased to love what they loved.

MAN

They might have remembered me a little longer, a little longer.

WIFE

I saw a young artist near that house. He studied it carefully and made a sketch of it in his sketchbook.

MAN

Ah, why didn’t you tell me that before? It’s highly significant, highly significant. It means that my ideas are accepted and handed down by others, and even if I am forgotten, my ideas will live. It is tremendously significant.

WIFE

Yes, my dear, you are not forgotten. Do you remember the young man who bowed so reverently to you on the street?

MAN

Yes, that’s so, wife. He was a fine, very fine youth. He had such a nice young face. It’s good you reminded me of his bow. It has sent a ray of brightness into my heart. But I feel sleepy. I must be tired. I am old too, my dear little gray wife. Have you noticed it?

WIFE

You’re just as handsome as ever.

MAN

And my eyes are bright?

WIFE

Yes, your eyes are bright.

MAN

And my hair is black as pitch?

WIFE

It’s so white, so like snow that it’s even more beautiful.

MAN

And no wrinkles?

WIFE

Yes, there are little wrinkles on your face, but

MAN

Of course, I know I’m a beauty. To-morrow I’ll buy myself a uniform and enter the light cavalry. Yes? (His Wife laughs)

WIFE

There, you’re joking too, as in olden times. But lie down here and sleep a little. I’ll go to look after our boy. Don’t worry, I won’t leave him. I’ll call you when he wakes. You don’t care to kiss an old wrinkled hand, do you?

MAN (kissing her hand)

Go, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.

WIFE

And the wrinkles?

MAN

What wrinkles? I only see a dear, kind, good, sensible face. Nothing else. Don’t take offence at my stern tone. Go to the boy, watch him, stay with him like a quiet shadow of gentleness and love. And if he is disturbed in his sleep, sing him a song as you used to do. And put the grapes nearer, so that he can reach them.

[The Wife goes out. Man lies down on the sofa, his head toward the spot where Someone in Gray stands immobile, so that His hand almost touches Man’s gray, dishevelled hair. Man falls asleep quickly.

SOMEONE IN GRAY

Man has fallen into a sound, sweet sleep, deceived by hope. His breath is soft as a child’s, his heart beats calmly and evenly, bringing him relief. He knows not that in a few moments his son will die. In mysterious dream-fancies a picture of impossible happiness arises before him.

It seems to him that he and his son are drifting in a white boat along a beautiful, quiet stream. It seems to him that it is a glorious day, and he sees the deep sky and the transparent crystal water. He hears the rustling of the reeds as they part before the boat. It seems to him that he is happy and glad. All his feelings betray him.

Suddenly he is disturbed. The terrible truth has entered through the thick veil of sleep and stung his thoughts.

“Why is your golden hair cut so short, my boy? Why?”

“I had a headache, papa, that’s why.”

And deceived once more, he feels happy again, sees the deep sky, and hears the rustling of the parting reeds.

He knows not that his son is already dying. He hears not how, in a last senseless hope, with a child’s faith in the power of adults, his son is calling him without words, with his heart: “Papa, papa, I am dying! Hold me!” Man sleeps soundly and sweetly, and in the deceptive, mysterious fancies there arises before him the picture of impossible happiness. Awake, Man! Your son is dead.

[Man lifts his head, frightened, and rises.

MAN

Ha! What is it? I thought I heard someone call me.

[At that moment many women behind the scenes burst into a wail the loud, long-drawn wail over the dead. The Wife enters, frightfully pale.

MAN

Dead?

WIFE

Yes, he is dead.

MAN

Did he call me?

WIFE

No, he never awoke. He didn’t call anyone. He is dead my son, my dear, darling boy!

[She falls on her knees before Man and sobs, clasping his knees. Man puts his hand on her hand and, turning to the corner where Someone in Gray stands indifferently, speaks in a sobbing, but terrible voice.

MAN

You insulted a woman, scoundrel! You killed a boy! (His Wife sobs. Man softly strokes her hair with his trembling hand) Don’t cry, my dear, don’t cry. He will scoff at our tears, just as He scoffed at our prayers. And you I don’t know who you are God, Devil, Fate, or Life I curse you!

[Man speaks the following in a loud, powerful voice, one arm about his wife as if to protect her, the other arm fiercely extended toward the Unknown.

MAN’S CURSE

I curse everything that you have given. I curse the day on which I was born. I curse the day on which I shall die. I curse the whole of my life, its joys and its sorrows. I curse myself. I curse my eyes, my ears, my tongue. I curse my heart and my head, and I fling everything back at your cruel face, a senseless Fate! Be accursed, be forever accursed! With my curses I conquer you. What else can you do to me? Hurl me to the ground, I will laugh and shout in your face: “Be accursed!” Seal my mouth with the clamps of death, with my last thought I will shout into your stupid ears: “Be accursed, be accursed!” Take my body, tear at it like a dog, drag it into the darkness I am not in it. I have disappeared, but disappearing I shall repeat: “Be accursed, be accursed!” Through the woman whom you have insulted, through the boy whom you have killed, I convey to you the curses of Man!

[He turns in silence, with fiercely uplifted hand. Someone in Gray listens passively to the curses. The flame of the candle flickers as if blown by the wind. Thus they stand for some time in tense silence confronting each other, Man and Someone in Gray. The wailing behind the scenes grows louder and more prolonged, passing into a doleful chant.

CURTAIN