Redemption and two other plays Part 12

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 G.o.d'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 cla.s.s, 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 G.o.d 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, b.e.s.t.i.a.lly 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 cla.s.s--I mean the cla.s.s 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 appet.i.tes. 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 sanct.i.ty 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 gla.s.s 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 c.o.c.kade on his cap, dyed mustache, and shabby, but carefully mended clothes.

ARTIMIEV (stands L. of table). Good appet.i.te, 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.) d.a.m.n 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?