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