He Who Gets Slapped Part 1

He Who Gets Slapped.

by Leonid Nikolayevich Andreyev.

INTRODUCTION

Leonid Andreyev as a literary figure was born in the gloomy atmosphere of depression of the 'nineties. He thus appeared upon the literary stage at a period when the old and splendid generation of Turgenev and Dostoevsky had already pa.s.sed away and when Chekhov had begun to demonstrate before the reader the gloom and colourlessness of Russia life.

This was a period when the social forces of Russia were half destroyed by the reaction under Alexander III, and when the young generation was trying to rest and to get away from the strain of social hopes and despair. This period, briefly speaking, was a period of melancholy, of commonplace, every-day preoccupations, and of dull _terre a terre_ philosophy.

It must be borne in mind that literature was the only outlet for the moral and intellectual forces of Russia. Political reaction, censorship, complete absence of civil liberties, and the cult of popular ignorance upon which Czardom based its power, all these made the written artistic word almost the sole expression of Russian social longings and idealistic expectations.

It is therefore only natural that Russian literature in its general development is closely interwoven with the political and social conditions of Russia at the given moment. The 'nineties were a period of depression. After the a.s.sa.s.sination of Alexander II (1881) and the subsequent tightening of the chain of reaction, combined with a general _debacle_ in progressive and radical circles, the Russian intellectual fell into a state of pessimism. His faith in an early liberation was shattered, his hope of recovery was broken. Chekhov is the most characteristic representative of that period; he himself called his heroes "the dull-grey people."

Maxim Gorki and Leonid Andreyev appeared almost simultaneously at that time. The former brought the message of a rebel spirit which forecast a new moral upheaval, a new social protest; the latter appeared clad in the gloom of his time, which he strangely combined with a spirit of almost anarchistic revolt. From the point of view of historical completeness Leonid Andreyev is more representative of the epoch, demonstrating at once two contradictory elements of the Russia of the 'nineties: lack or even absence of faith interwoven with protest and mutiny.

Andreyev is symbolic and romantic. Her Majesty Fate and His Excellency Accident, these are the two dark, unknown, at times brutal forces which dwelt ever before the mind's eye. His symbols are full of horror and at times unbending atrocity. Beginning with his short stories, In Fog, The Life of Basil of Thebes, through his dramas, The Life of Man, and Anathema, until his last writings, he saw human beings in the form of ghosts and ghosts in the form of human beings dominating every step, every breath of life. Still his gruesome symbolism, despite his genius for rendering his images in a clear-cut, almost crystalline manner, did not appeal to many of his contemporaries because the dark shroud in which Andreyev enveloped life was impenetrable and at times it was impossible to discern in that gloom the few values which Andreyev still found in life. Leo Tolstoy said once: "Leonid Andreyev tries to frighten me, but I am not afraid."

Even in his splendid realistic dramas it is difficult for Andreyev to rid himself of the habit of symbolizing and dimming the few rays of light which try to filter through.

There was nevertheless a little corner in Andreyev's artistic heart where there appeared some indefinite hope which never acquired a specific artistic form, but which was alluded to many times in his writings. In his short story, Thought, he makes fragmentary allusions to his half-hope, half-idea: "If the lot of the Man be to become a G.o.d, his throne will be the Book," says the hero.

But the red laugh of the Russo-j.a.panese war, the abortive revolution of 1905, the general ignorance and darkness of the ma.s.ses, the strain of the last war, the depreciation of human life as a value in itself, brought Leonid Andreyev to the last step of the pessimistic ladder which he was ever descending into the abyss of hopelessness. This state of mind is best ill.u.s.trated by his last dramatic work, HE, the One Who Gets Slapped.

Here we see a man of high education, of great intellectual achievement, who leaves life, willingly in appearance, but forcibly in fact. The relations of man to man, of group to group, according to Andreyev are such that the Man is forced to efface himself. Even Thought, or the Book, could not help the Man to become a G.o.d. He becomes a clown. He performs stunts, he gets slaps; the public laughs, being unaware that this laughter is a mockery at itself, at its culture, at its thought, at its achievement.

The characters of the play, as the reader will see, are depicted with a bitter sarcasm and unfriendliness, for Andreyev seems to have lost his last faith in the Man. The good, the innocent and clean heart is bound to suffer and die. His Consuelo, Zinida, Bezano are only stray rays of light out of place in the world and even in the world-circus which is full of spiders, champagne, and human outcasts. Andreyev does not blame these outcasts. On the contrary, he feels sympathy, if for anybody, for just these clowns, jugglers, and bareback-riders; but life, this strange combination of fate, accident, and cowardly slander, is stronger, and they collapse under the burden of this combination.

HE is perhaps the best work of Andreyev, at any rate his best dramatic work. It is more adapted to stage conditions than his previous plays and is not overcrowded with symbolic ghosts. Furthermore, HE is a remarkable summary of Andreyev's philosophy.

GREGORY ZILBOORG

HE WHO GETS SLAPPED

ACT I

_A very large, rather dirty room, with whitewashed walls. To the left, in a niche, is a window, the only outside window in the room, opening on a court-yard. The light from it is so dim that even by day the electricity has to be turned on._

_At the very top of the centre-back wall is a row of small dusty windows. They open on the circus hall. At night, when the performance is going on, a bright light shines through. By day they are dark. In the same wall is a large white door, reached by two stone steps, and nailed fast._

_On the right, almost in the corner, is a high, wide, arched doorway which leads to the stables and the ring. By day it opens into pale darkness, at night into pale light._

_The room is used for many purposes. It is the office of Papa Briquet, manager of the circus; here he keeps his little desk. It is the cloak-room of some of the actors. It is also the room where the cast gathers between calls, during rehearsals or performances. Again, it is a check-room for used circus property, such as gilt armchairs, scenery for pantomimes, and other wares of the circus household. The walls are covered with circus announcements and glaring posters._

_The time is morning. In the circus hall a rehearsal is going on, and preparations are being made for the evening performance. As the curtain goes up, the cracking whip and the shouts of the riding-master are heard from the ring. The stage is empty for a few seconds, then enter Tilly and Polly, the musical clowns, practising a new march. Playing on tiny pipes, they step from the dark doorway to the window. Their music is agreeable to the ear, but small, mincing, artificially clown-like, like their mincing steps; they wear jackets and resemble each other; same smooth-shaven face, same height; Tilly, the younger, has a scarf around his neck; both have their derbies on the backs of their heads. Tilly glances through the window, then they turn about, still marching._

POLLY

[_Interrupting the march_]: Stop, you're out again! Now, listen--[_He stands close to Tilly and plays into his face. Tilly absent-mindedly listens, scratching his nose._] There! Come on now! [_They resume their music and marching. As they reach the door they meet the manager and_ MANCINI; _the latter walks behind the manager, and is gnawing at the k.n.o.b of his goldmounted cane_. COUNT MANCINI _is tall and slight. The seams of his clothes are worn and he keeps his coat b.u.t.toned tight. He a.s.sumes extremely graceful manners, takes affected poses, and has a special fondness for toying with his cane, with aristocratic stylishness. When he laughs, which happens often, his thin sharp face takes on a marked resemblance to a satyr. The manager_, "PAPA" BRIQUET, _is a stout quiet man of average height_. _His bearing is hesitant. The clowns make room for the gentlemen. The manager looks questioningly at the older man._]

POLLY

[_With an affected accent_]: Our moosic for the pantomime! The March of the Ants!

BRIQUET

Ha! Yes!

[_The gentlemen walk in. The clowns resume their music_, POLLY _marching on, then turning, the younger following._]

POLLY

Papa Briquet, Jack is working very badly to-day.

BRIQUET

What's the matter with him?

POLLY

He has a sore throat. You'd better take a look at him.

BRIQUET

All right. Come on, Jack. Open your mouth! Wider--wider. [_Turns clown's face to the light near the window and examines him closely and seriously._] Just smear it with iodine.

POLLY

I told him so. I said it was nothing! Oh! Come on. [_They go away playing, marching, practising their funny mincing steps. The manager sits down._ MANCINI _strikes a pose by the wall, smiling ironically._]

MANCINI

So. You give them medical treatment, too! Look out, Papa Briquet, you have no licence.

BRIQUET

Just a little advice. They're all so afraid for their lives.

MANCINI