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The Victorian Novel Blackwell Guides to Literature 1st
Edition Louis James Digital Instant Download
Author(s): Louis James
ISBN(s): 9781405152280, 1405152281
Edition: 1
File Details: PDF, 1.09 MB
Year: 2006
Language: english
The Victorian Novel
Louis James
The Victorian Novel
BLACKWELL GUIDES TO LITERATURE
Series editor: Jonathan Wordsworth

This new series offers the student thorough and lively introductions to literary
periods, movements, and, in some instances, authors (Shakespeare) and genres
(the novel), from Anglo-Saxon to the Postmodern. Each volume is written by a
leading specialist to be invitingly accessible and informative. Chapters are
devoted to the coverage of cultural context, the provision of brief but detailed
biographical essays on the authors concerned, critical coverage of key works, and
surveys of themes and topics, together with bibliographies of selected further
reading. Students new to a period of study (for example, the English Renaissance,
or the Romantic period) or to a period genre (the nineteenth-century novel, Vic-
torian poetry) will discover all they need to know, to orientate and ground them-
selves in their studies, in volumes that are as stimulating to read as they are
convenient to use.

Published
The English Renaissance Andrew Hadfield
The Victorian Novel Louis James
Twentieth-Century American Poetry Christopher MacGowan
Children’s Literature Peter Hunt
The Gothic David Punter and Glennis Byron

Forthcoming
Anglo-Saxon Literature Mark C. R. Amodio
Renaissance Drama Peter Womack
Literary Theory Gregory Castle
Modernism Heesok Chang
The Victorian Novel
Louis James
© 2006 by Louis James

BLACKWELL PUBLISHING
350 Main Street, Malden, MA 02148-5020, USA
9600 Garsington Road, Oxford OX4 2DQ, UK
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The right of Louis James to be identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted
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Designs, and Patents Act 1988, without the prior permission of the publisher.

First published 2006 by Blackwell Publishing Ltd

1 2006

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

James, Louis, Dr.

The Victorian novel / Louis James.
p. cm.—(Blackwell guides to literature)
Includes bibliographical references (p.) and index.
ISBN-13: 978-0-631-22627-7 (hardcover : alk. paper)
ISBN-10: 0-631-22627-3 (hardcover : alk. paper)
ISBN-13: 978-0-631-22628-4 (pbk. : alk. paper)
ISBN-10: 0-631-22628-1 (pbk. : alk. paper) 1. English fiction—19th century—
History and criticism. 2. Romanticism—Great Britain. I. Title. II. Series.
PR871.J36 2006
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Contents

List of Illustrations ix
Acknowledgements x
How to Use This Book xi
Chronology xiii
Introduction 1

Context 1: Time Maps 9

Prelude: 1830–1846 11
Revolutions: 1847–1849 16
Equipoise: 1850–1870 18
Turning the Tide: 1871–1880 22
The Last Decades: 1881–1901 24

Context 2: Changing Perspectives 27

‘Things As They Are’ 29
History 35
Biography 44
Religion and Morals 50
Evolution 59
Detectives 62

Context 3: Foundations 65
The Truth of the Heart 67
Affairs of the Heart(h) 72
Ways of Seeing 80
The Modality of Melodrama 88
The White Rabbit’s Watch 97
C

Key Authors 103

William Harrison Ainsworth (1805–82) 105
Walter Besant (1836–1910) 105
Mary Elizabeth Braddon [later Maxwell] (1835–1915) 106
Charlotte Brontë, ‘Currer Bell’ (1816–55), Emily [Jane] Brontë,
‘Ellis Bell’ (1818–48), Anne Brontë, ‘Acton Bell’ (1820–49) 107
Rhoda Broughton (1840–1920) 109
[William] Wilkie Collins (1824–89) 109
Marie [Isabel Marie] Corelli [née Mills, later Mackay]
(1855–1924) 110
Charles [John Huffam] Dickens (1812–70) 111
Benjamin Disraeli (1804–81) 114
[Sir] Arthur Conan Doyle (1859–1930) 114
George Eliot [née Mary Anne/Marian Evans] (1819–80) 115
Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell [née Stevenson] (1810–65) 117
George [Robert] Gissing (1857–1903) 119
[Sir] H[enry] Rider Haggard (1856–1925) 120
Thomas Hardy (1840–1928) 120
G[eorge] P[ayne] R[ainsford] James (1801–60) 122
Henry James (1843–1916) 123
Douglas [William] Jerrold (1803–57) 124
Geraldine E[ndsor] Jewsbury (1812–80) 125
Charles Kingsley (1819–75) 125
[Joseph] Rudyard Kipling (1830–76) 126
[Joseph Thomas] Sheridan Le Fanu (1814–73) 127
Edward Bulwer-Lytton [until 1843, Edward George Earle Lytton]
(1803–73) 128
George Macdonald (1824–1905) 129
Frederick Marryat (1792–1848) 130
Harriet Martineau (1802–76) 130
George Meredith (1828–1909) 131
George [Augustus] Moore (1852–1933) 132
Margaret Oliphant [née Wilson] (1828–97) 133
Ouida [Marie Louise de la Ramée] (1839–1908) 134
Charles Reade (1814–84) 135
G[eorge] W[illiam] M[acarthur] Reynolds (1814–79) 136
James Malcolm Rymer (1803?–84) 137
Robert Louis [Lewis Balfour] Stevenson (1850–94) 138
R[obert] S[mith] Surtees (1805–64) 139
William Makepeace Thackeray (1811–63) 140
Anthony Trollope (1815–82) 141

vi
 C

Mrs T[homas] Humphry Ward [née Mary Augusta Arnold]

(1851–1920) 143
H[erbert] G[eorge] Wells (1866–1946) 144
[William Hale White] Mark Rutherford (1831–1913) 144
Ellen Wood [Mrs Henry Wood, née Ellen Price] (1814–87) 145
Charlotte Mary Yonge (1823–1901) 146

Key Texts 149

Major Presences
John Bunyan, The Pilgrim’s Progress from this World to the Next
(Part I, 1678; Part II, 1684) 151
Sir Walter Scott, Waverley; or, ’Tis Sixty years Since (1814) 152
Mary Shelley, Frankenstein; or, the Modern Prometheus
(1818; revised 1831) 153
Pierce Egan, Sr, Life in London (1820–1) 154
Thomas Carlyle, Sartor Resartus (1833–4) 155

Main Texts
Charles Dickens, Oliver Twist (1837–8) 156
G. W. M. Reynolds, The Mysteries of London (1844–6) 159
Geraldine Jewsbury, Zoe (1845) 160
Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre (1847) 160
Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights (1847) 161
W. M. Thackeray, Vanity Fair (1847–8) 162
W. M. Thackeray, Pendennis (1848–50) 163
Charles Dickens, Bleak House (1852–3) 164
Charlotte Brontë, Villette (1853) 165
Elizabeth Gaskell, North and South (1854–5) 167
Anthony Trollope, Barchester Towers (1857) 168
George Eliot, Adam Bede (1859) 169
Wilkie Collins, The Woman in White (1860) 169
Charles Dickens, Great Expectations (1860–1) 170
Mrs Henry [Ellen] Wood, East Lynne (1861) 171
Mary Elizabeth Braddon, Lady Audley’s Secret (1861–2) 172
Charles Kingsley, The Water-Babies (1863) 173
Lewis Carroll [Charles Lutwidge Dodgson], Alice’s Adventures in
Wonderland (1865), Through the Looking Glass (1871) 174
Ouida [Marie Louise de la Ramée], Under Two Flags (1867) 174
R[ichard] D[oddridge] Blackmore, Lorna Doone (1869) 175

vii
C

George Eliot, Middlemarch (1871–2) 176

Anthony Trollope, The Way We Live Now (1874–5) 177
George Meredith, The Egoist (1879) 178
Henry James, Portrait of a Lady (1881) 179
[Olive Schreiner] Ralph Iron, The Story of an African Farm (1883) 180
Robert Louis Stevenson, The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and
Mr Hyde (1886) 181
Sir Henry Rider Haggard, She (1887) 181
George Gissing, New Grub Street (1891) 182
Thomas Hardy, Tess of the D’Urbervilles (1891) 183
George Moore, Esther Waters (1894) 184
Marie Corelli, The Sorrows of Satan (1895) 185
H. G. Wells, The Time Machine (1895) 185
Arthur Morrison, A Child of the Jago (1896) 186
Bram [Abraham] Stoker, Dracula (1897) 187
Samuel Butler, The Way of All Flesh (1902) 188

Topics 189
Children’s Novels 191
Colonial Novels 194
Historical Novels 197
Illustrated Novels 199
Irish Novels 202
‘New Woman’ Novels 204
Publishing Formats 205
Regional Novels 209
Religious Novels 210
Science, Utopias and Dystopias 213
Sensation Novels 215
Social Problem Novels 217
The Supernatural 220
Working-class Novels 223
Further Reading 225
Index 241

viii
Illustrations

1 Hablôt K. Browne, ‘Godfrey’s Interview with the Publisher’,

from Thomas Miller, Godfrey Malvern; or the Life of an Author 47

2 ‘Horror’, from Henry Siddons, Practical Illustrations of

Rhetorical Gesture and Action (1822) 94

3 George Cruikshank, ‘THE FIENDS FRYING PAN or Annual

Festival of Tom Foolery & Vice . . . In the AGE OF
INTELLECT!!’ (1832), from Cruikshank, Scraps and
Sketches (1828–32) 157

4 George Cruikshank, ‘Oliver introduced to the Respectable

Old Gentleman’, from Charles Dickens, Oliver Twist
(1837–8) 158

5 Hablôt K. Browne, ‘Florence and Edith on the Staircase’,

from Charles Dickens, Dombey and Son (1846–8) 201

6 George Du Maurier, ‘ “Et maintenant dors, ma mignonne!” ’,

Du Maurier’s own illustration to his novel Trilby (1894) 221
Acknowledgements

I would like particularly to acknowledge the kindness and assistance given

me from the beginning of my interest in the nineteenth century by Geof-
frey and Kathleen Tillotson, Humphry House, Philip Collins, Raphael
Samuel and Robert Colby. More recently I have been indebted to Michael
Slater, Sally Ledger, Rowan McWilliam, Joanne Shattock, Laurel Brake
and, in particular, Hugh Cunningham and Anne Humpherys, both of
whom nobly read the manuscript in whole or part in its final stages: they
are not, however, responsible for the mistakes. Teaching is a learning expe-
rience, and over the years other insights have come from my students,
particularly those in my classes on Dickens and on Melodrama. I would
like also to thank the editors at Blackwell, Andrew McNeillie, who first
proposed this project, and those who have seen it through the press, for
their encouragement, assistance and patience. My greatest gratitude,
however, goes to my wife Louise McConnell, without whose untiring
encouragement and textual corrections this Guide would never have
emerged into print.
How to Use This Book

This study is aimed at graduates and postgraduates, but it should be of

interest also to members of reading groups, and to all who enjoy Vic-
torian literature. It is intended to be a practical tool, concerned both with
what to read and how to read. So, for instance, the section on melodrama
and the novel gives the factual background, but also shows how the con-
ventions of nineteenth-century drama shaped characters, mise-en-scène
and plot in fiction. A discussion of the novels’ ‘implied readers’ aims to
give a better understanding of the way a work’s style and approach were
shaped by its intended audience. Context is there for its historical inter-
est, but also to demonstrate the different ways novels were being read
through the century, both for entertainment and in response to specific
situations and events, and to show how this can affect their content.
The first section reveals the great diversity of the ‘Victorian’ period,
and shows how novels became a means through which readers defined
their social identity and formed their attitudes to such issues as national-
ism, gender differences and the nature of the family. This leads to a con-
sideration of how the novel emerged as a ‘realist’ form, closely linked to
history and biography, responding to the religious and scientific contro-
versies of the time. The study continues with a discussion of the way Vic-
torian assumptions about society, ethics, and even time and space, can
differ from our own.
Sections on ‘key’ authors, texts and topics are designed to help those
looking for specific information about the Victorian novel. Because the
field is so large, entries had to be selective. However, I have tried to strike
a balance between novels distinguished as major literary achievements,
and lesser works whose popularity makes them nevertheless important
H  U T B

in the history of the novel. The ‘topics’ range widely, from the methods
of novel publication to the significance of the ‘sensation’ novel and the
issues raised by colonialism.
While this study aims to inform, it does not try to give definitive
‘answers’. Its main purpose is to recover the fresh immediacy of litera-
ture too often dulled by familiarity or the routine of academic study, and
to allow the reader the pleasure of recovering its power, not as a ‘text’,
but as an original work of the creative imagination. If in the reading this
book makes itself redundant, it will have performed its task.

Note: Throughout this Guide, an asterisk (*) is used to indicate that

an author or title is described in a separate main entry.

xii
Chronology
[P.] = poetry; [D.] = drama; [I.] = ideas

Date Novels Events

1830 Bulwer Lytton, Paul Clifford; Lyell, Principles of Geology (to 1833); Accession of William IV; Reform Bill
Tennyson, Poems Chiefly Lyrical [P]; Fraser’s Magazine begun proposed; Manchester and Liverpool
(to 1882); Comte, Cours de philosophie positive (France) [I.] prepares Railway opens; cholera epidemic (to 1832)
way for sociology
1831 Disraeli, The Young Duke; Gore, Mothers and Daughters; Peacock, Reform Bill passed by House of Commons,
Crotchet Castle; Surtees, Jorrock’s Jaunts and Jollities (serial to 1832); vetoed by the Lords, followed by riots in
Hugo, Notre Dame de Paris (France) Bristol and Nottingham; ‘Swing’
agricultural riots in southern England;
Dickens (anonymously) reports debates for
Mirror of Parliaments
1832 Bulwer Lytton, Eugene Aram; Scott, Tales of My Landlord (4th Reform Bill forced through
series); Byron, Works and Letters (to 1835) [P.]; Harriet Martineau,
Illustrations of Political Economy (to 1834); Darwin, Narrative of the
Beagle (to 1836) [I.]
1833 Dickens’ short story, ‘A Dinner at Poplar Walk’, appears in Monthly Factory Acts restrict child labour; slavery
Magazine; Newman, Pusey, Keble et al., Tracts for the Times abolished throughout British Empire
(to 1841) starts the Oxford Movement; Bulwer Lytton, England
and the English [I.]; Carlyle, Sartor Resartus in Fraser’s Magazine
(to 1834); Charles Knight, Penny Cyclopedia (to 1844)
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
 BUBNOFF. What’s over, is over. Remain only trivialities. We know no
class distinctions here. We’ve shed all pride and self-respect. Blood
and bone—man—just plain man—that’s what we are!
LUKA. In other words, we’re all equal . . . and you, friend, were
you really a Baron?
THE BARON. Who are you? A ghost?
LUKA [laughing] I’ve seen counts and princes in my day—this is
the first time I meet a baron—and one who’s decaying—at that!
PEPEL [laughing] Baron, I blush for you!
THE BARON. It’s time you knew better, Vassily . . .
LUKA. Hey-hey—I look at you, brothers—the life you’re leading . . .
BUBNOFF. Such a life! As soon as the sun rises, our voices rise, too
—in quarrels!
THE BARON. We’ve all seen better days—yes! I used to wake up in
the morning and drink my coffee in bed—coffee—with cream! Yes—
LUKA. And yet we’re all human beings. Pretend all you want to,
put on all the airs you wish, but man you were born, and man you
must die. And as I watch I see that the wiser people get, the busier
they get—and though from bad to worse, they still strive to improve
—stubbornly—
THE BARON. Who are you, old fellow? Where do you come from?
LUKA. I?
THE BARON. Are you a tramp?
LUKA. We’re all of us tramps—why—I’ve heard said that the very
earth we walk on is nothing but a tramp in the universe.
THE BARON [severely] Perhaps. But have you a passport?
LUKA [after a short pause] And what are you—a police inspector?
PEPEL [delighted] You scored, old fellow! Well, Barosha, you got it
this time!
BUBNOFF. Yes—our little aristocrat got his!
THE BARON [embarrassed] What’s the matter? I was only joking,
old man. Why, brother, I haven’t a passport, either.
 BUBNOFF. You lie!
THE BARON. Oh—well—I have some sort of papers—but they have
no value—
LUKA. They’re papers just the same—and no papers are any good
—
PEPEL. Baron—come on to the saloon with me—
THE BARON. I’m ready. Good-bye, old man—you old scamp—
LUKA. Maybe I am one, brother—
PEPEL [near doorway] Come on—come on!
[Leaves, Baron following him quickly.]
LUKA. Was he really once a Baron?
BUBNOFF. Who knows? A gentleman—? Yes. That much he’s even
now. Occasionally it sticks out. He never got rid of the habit.
LUKA. Nobility is like small-pox. A man may get over it—but it
leaves marks . . .
BUBNOFF. He’s all right all the same—occasionally he kicks—as he
did about your passport . . .
[Alyoshka comes in, slightly drunk, with a concertina in his hand,
whistling.]
ALYOSHKA. Hey there, lodgers!
BUBNOFF. What are you yelling for?
ALYOSHKA. Excuse me—I beg your pardon! I’m a well-bred man—
BUBNOFF. On a spree again?
ALYOSHKA. Right you are! A moment ago Medyakin, the precinct
captain, threw me out of the police station and said: “Look here—I
don’t want as much as a smell of you to stay in the streets—d’you
hear?” I’m a man of principles, and the boss croaks at me—and
what’s a boss anyway—pah!—it’s all bosh—the boss is a drunkard. I
don’t make any demands on life. I want nothing—that’s all. Offer me
one ruble, offer me twenty—it doesn’t affect me. [Nastya comes
from the kitchen] Offer me a million—I won’t take it! And to think
that I, a respectable man, should be ordered about by a pal of mine
—and he a drunkard! I won’t have it—I won’t!
[Nastya stands in the doorway, shaking her head at Alyoshka.]
LUKA [good-naturedly] Well, boy, you’re a bit confused—
BUBNOFF. Aren’t men fools!
ALYOSHKA [stretches out on the floor] Here, eat me up alive—and I
don’t want anything. I’m a desperate man. Show me one better!
Why am I worse than others? There! Medyakin said: “If you show
yourself on the streets I smash your face!” And yet I shall go out—
I’ll go—and stretch out in the middle of the street—let them choke
me—I don’t want a thing!
NASTYA. Poor fellow—only a boy—and he’s already putting on such
airs—
ALYOSHKA [kneeling before her] Lady! Mademoiselle! Parlez
français—? Prix courrant? I’m on a spree—
NASTYA [in a loud whisper] Vassilisa!
VASSILISA [opens door quickly; to Alyoshka] You here again?
ALYOSHKA. How do you do—? Come in—you’re welcome—
VASSILISA. I told you, young puppy, that not a shadow of you
should stick around here—and you’re back—eh?
ALYOSHKA. Vassilisa Karpovna . . . shall I tune up a funeral march
for you?
VASSILISA [seizing him by the shoulders] Get out!
ALYOSHKA [moving towards the door] Wait—you can’t put me out
this way! I learned this funeral march a little while ago! It’s
refreshing music . . . wait—you can’t put me out like that!
VASSILISA. I’ll show whether I can or not. I’ll rouse the whole
street against you—you foul-mouthed creature—you’re too young to
bark about me—
ALYOSHKA [running out] All right—I’ll go—
VASSILISA. Look out—I’ll get you yet!
 ALYOSHKA [opens the door and shouts] Vassilisa Karpovna—I’m not
afraid of you—[Hides]
[Luka laughs.]
VASSILISA. Who are you?
LUKA. A passer-by—a traveler . . .
VASSILISA. Stopping for the night or going to stay here?
LUKA. I’ll see.
VASSILISA. Have you a passport?
LUKA. Yes.
VASSILISA. Give it to me.
LUKA. I’ll bring it over to your house—
VASSILISA. Call yourself a traveler? If you’d say a tramp—that
would be nearer the truth—
LUKA [sighing] You’re not very kindly, mother!
[Vassilisa goes to door that leads to Pepel’s room, Alyoshka pokes
his head through the kitchen door.]
ALYOSHKA. Has she left?
VASSILISA [turning around] Are you still here?
[Alyoshka disappears, whistling. Nastya and Luka laugh.]
BUBNOFF [to Vassilisa] He isn’t here—
VASSILISA. Who?
BUBNOFF. Vaska.
VASSILISA. Did I ask you about him?
BUBNOFF. I noticed you were looking around—
VASSILISA. I am looking to see if things are in order, you see? Why
aren’t the floors swept yet? How often did I give orders to keep the
house clean?
BUBNOFF. It’s the actor’s turn to sweep—
 VASSILISA. Never mind whose turn it is! If the health inspector
comes and fines me, I’ll throw out the lot of you—
BUBNOFF [calmly] Then how are you going to earn your living?
VASSILISA. I don’t want a speck of dirt! [Goes to kitchen; to
Nastya] What are you hanging round here for? Why’s your face all
swollen up? Why are you standing there like a dummy? Go on—
sweep the floor! Did you see Natalia? Was she here?
NASTYA. I don’t know—I haven’t seen her . . .
VASSILISA. Bubnoff! Was my sister here?
BUBNOFF. She brought him along.
VASSILISA. That one—was he home?
BUBNOFF. Vassily? Yes—Natalia was here talking to Kleshtch—
VASSILISA. I’m not asking you whom she talked to. Dirt
everywhere—filth—oh, you swine! Mop it all up—do you hear? [Exit
rapidly]
BUBNOFF. What a savage beast she is!
LUKA. She’s a lady that means business!
NASTYA. You grow to be an animal, leading such a life—any human
being tied to such a husband as hers . . .
BUBNOFF. Well—that tie isn’t worrying her any—
LUKA. Does she always have these fits?
BUBNOFF. Always. You see, she came to find her lover—but he isn’t
home—
LUKA. I guess she was hurt. Oh-ho! Everybody is trying to be boss
—and is threatening everybody else with all kinds of punishment—
and still there’s no order in life . . . and no cleanliness—
BUBNOFF. All the world likes order—but some people’s brains aren’t
fit for it. All the same—the room should be swept—Nastya—you
ought to get busy!
NASTYA. Oh, certainly? Anything else? Think I’m your servant?
[Silence] I’m going to get drunk to-night—dead-drunk!
BUBNOFF. Fine business!
 LUKA. Why do you want to get drunk, girlie? A while ago you were
crying—and now you say you’ll get drunk—
NASTYA [defiantly] I’ll drink—then I cry again—that’s all there’s to
it!
BUBNOFF. That’s nothing!
LUKA. But for what reason—tell me! Every pimple has a cause!
[Nastya remains silent, shaking her head] Oh—you men—what’s to
become of you? All right—I’ll sweep the place. Where’s your broom?
BUBNOFF. Behind the door—in the hall—
[Luka goes into the hall.]
Nastinka!
NASTYA. Yes?
BUBNOFF. Why did Vassilisa jump on Alyoshka?
NASTYA. He told her that Vaska was tired of her and was going to
get rid of her—and that he’s going to make up to Natasha—I’ll go
away from here—I’ll find another lodging-house—
BUBNOFF. Why? Where?
NASTYA. I’m sick of this—I’m not wanted here!
BUBNOFF [calmly] You’re not wanted anywhere—and, anyway, all
people on earth are superfluous—
[Nastya shakes her head. Rises and slowly, quietly, leaves the
cellar. Miedviedieff comes in. Luka, with the broom, follows him.]
MIEDVIEDIEFF. I don’t think I know you—
LUKA. How about the others—d’you know them all?
MIEDVIEDIEFF. I must know everybody in my precinct. But I don’t
know you.
LUKA. That’s because, uncle, the whole world can’t stow itself
away in your precinct—some of it was bound to remain outside . . .
[Goes into kitchen]
MIEDVIEDIEFF [crosses to Bubnoff] It’s true—my precinct is rather
small—yet it’s worse than any of the very largest. Just now, before
getting off duty, I had to bring Alyoshka, the shoemaker, to the
station house. Just imagine—there he was, stretched right in the
middle of the street, playing his concertina and yelping: “I want
nothing, nothing!” Horses going past all the time—and with all the
traffic going on, he could easily have been run over—and so on! He’s
a wild youngster—so I just collared him—he likes to make mischief—
BUBNOFF. Coming to play checkers to-night?
MIEDVIEDIEFF. Yes—I’ll come—how’s Vaska?
BUBNOFF. Same as ever—
MIEDVIEDIEFF. Meaning—he’s getting along—?
BUBNOFF. Why shouldn’t he? He’s able to get along all right.
MIEDVIEDIEFF [doubtfully] Why shouldn’t he? [Luka goes into
hallway, carrying a pail] M-yes—there’s a lot of talk about Vaska.
Haven’t you heard?
BUBNOFF. I hear all sorts of gossip . . .
MIEDVIEDIEFF. There seems to have been some sort of talk
concerning Vassilisa. Haven’t you heard about it?
BUBNOFF. What?
MIEDVIEDIEFF. Oh—why—generally speaking. Perhaps you know—
and lie. Everybody knows—[Severely] You mustn’t lie, brother!
BUBNOFF. Why should I lie?
MIEDVIEDIEFF. That’s right. Dogs! They say that Vaska and Vassilisa
. . . but what’s that to me? I’m not her father. I’m her uncle. Why
should they ridicule me? [Kvashnya comes in] What are people
coming to? They laugh at everything. Aha—you here?
KVASHNYA. Well—my love-sick garrison—? Bubnoff! He came up to
me again on the marketplace and started pestering me about
marrying him . . .
BUBNOFF. Go to it! Why not? He has money and he’s still a husky
fellow.
MIEDVIEDIEFF. Me—? I should say so!
 KVASHNYA. You ruffian! Don’t you dare touch my sore spot! I’ve
gone through it once already, darling. Marriage to a woman is just
like jumping through a hole in the ice in winter. You do it once, and
you remember it the rest of your life . . .
MIEDVIEDIEFF. Wait! There are different breeds of husbands . . .
KVASHNYA. But there’s only one of me! When my beloved husband
kicked the bucket, I spent the whole day all by my lonely—just
bursting with joy. I sat and simply couldn’t believe it was true. . . .
MIEDVIEDIEFF. If your husband beat you without cause, you should
have complained to the police.
KVASHNYA. I complained to God for eight years—and he didn’t
help.
MIEDVIEDIEFF. Nowadays the law forbids to beat your wife . . . all
is very strict these days—there’s law and order everywhere. You
can’t beat up people without due cause. If you beat them to
maintain discipline—all right . . .
LUKA [comes in with Anna] Well—we finally managed to get here
after all. Oh, you! Why do you, weak as you are, walk about alone?
Where’s your bunk?
ANNA [pointing] Thank you, grand-dad.
KVASHNYA. There—she’s married—look at her!
LUKA. The little woman is in very bad shape . . . she was creeping
along the hallway, clinging to the wall and moaning—why do you
leave her by herself?
KVASHNYA. Oh, pure carelessness on our part, little father—forgive
us! Her maid, it appears, went out for a walk . . .
LUKA. Go on—poke fun at me . . . but, all the same, how can you
neglect a human being like that? No matter who or what, every
human life has its worth . . .
MIEDVIEDIEFF. There should be supervision! Suppose she died
suddenly—? That would cause a lot of bother . . . we must look after
her!
LUKA. True, sergeant!
 MIEDVIEDIEFF. Well—yes—though I’m not a sergeant—ah—yet!
LUKA. No! But you carry yourself most martially!
[Noise of shuffling feet is heard in the hallway. Muffled cries.]
MIEDVIEDIEFF. What now—a row?
BUBNOFF. Sounds like it?
KVASHNYA. I’ll go and see . . .
MIEDVIEDIEFF. I’ll go, too. It is my duty! Why separate people
when they fight? They’ll stop sooner or later of their own accord.
One gets tired of fighting. Why not let them fight all they want to—
freely? They wouldn’t fight half as often—if they’d remember former
beatings . . .
BUBNOFF [climbing down from his bunk] Why don’t you speak to
your superiors about it?
KOSTILYOFF [throws open the door and shouts] Abram! Come quick
—Vassilisa is killing Natasha—come quick!
[Kvashnya, Miedviedieff, and Bubnoff rush into hallway; Luka
looks after them, shaking his head.]
ANNA. Oh God—poor little Natasha . . .
LUKA. Who’s fighting out there?
ANNA. Our landladies—they’re sisters . . .
LUKA [crossing to Anna] Why?
ANNA. Oh—for no reason—except that they’re both fat and healthy
...
LUKA. What’s your name?
ANNA. Anna . . . I look at you . . . you’re like my father—my dear
father . . . you’re as gentle as he was—and as soft. . . .
LUKA. Soft! Yes! They pounded me till I got soft! [Laughs
tremulously]

CURTAIN.
MAXIM GORKY: RUSSIA’S GREATEST LIVING PLAYWRIGHT
 ACT TWO.
Same as Act I—Night.
On the bunks near the stove Satine, the Baron, Krivoy Zob, and
the Tartar play cards. Kleshtch and the Actor watch them. Bubnoff,
on his bunk, is playing checkers with Miedviedieff. Luka sits on a
stool by Anna’s bedside. The place is lit by two lamps, one on the
wall near the card players, the other is on Bubnoff’s bunk.

THE TARTAR. I’ll play one more game—then I’ll stop . . .

BUBNOFF. Zob! Sing! [He sings]

“The sun rises and sets . . .”

ZOB [joining in]

“But my prison is dark, dark . . .”

THE TARTAR [to Satine] Shuffle the cards—and shuffle them well.
We know your kind—
ZOB AND BUBNOFF [together]

“Day and night the wardens

Watch beneath my window . . .”

ANNA. Blows—insults—I’ve had nothing but that all my life long

...
LUKA. Don’t worry, little mother!
MIEDVIEDIEFF. Look where you’re moving!
BUBNOFF. Oh, yes—that’s right . . .
 THE TARTAR [threatening Satine with his fist] You’re trying to palm
a card? I’ve seen you—you scoundrel . . .
ZOB. Stop it, Hassan! They’ll skin us anyway . . . come on,
Bubnoff!
ANNA. I can’t remember a single day when I didn’t go hungry . . .
I’ve been afraid, waking, eating, and sleeping . . . all my life I’ve
trembled—afraid I wouldn’t get another bite . . . all my life I’ve been
in rags—all through my wretched life—and why . . . ?
LUKA. Yes, yes, child—you’re tired—never you mind!
THE ACTOR [to Zob] Play the Jack—the Jack, devil take you!
THE BARON. And we play the King!
KLESHTCH. They always win.
SATINE. Such is our habit.
MIEDVIEDIEFF. I have the Queen!
BUBNOFF. And so have I!
ANNA. I’m dying . . .
KLESHTCH. Look, look! Prince, throw up the game—throw it up, I
tell you!
THE ACTOR. Can’t he play without your assistance?
THE BARON. Look out, Andrushka, or I’ll beat the life out of you!
THE TARTAR. Deal once more—the pitcher went after water—and
got broke—and so did I!
[Kleshtch shakes his head and crosses to Bubnoff.]
ANNA. I keep on thinking—is it possible that I’ll suffer in the other
world as I did in this—is it possible? There, too?
LUKA. Nothing of the sort! Don’t you disturb yourself! You’ll rest
there . . . be patient. We all suffer, dear, each in our own way. . . .
[Rises and goes quickly into kitchen]
BUBNOFF [sings]

“Watch as long as you please . . .”

 ZOB. “I shan’t run away . . .”
BOTH [together]

“I long to be free, free—

Alas! I cannot break my chains. . . .”

THE TARTAR [yells] That card was up his sleeve!

THE BARON [embarrassed] Do you want me to shove it up your
nose?
THE ACTOR [emphatically] Prince! You’re mistaken—nobody—ever
...
THE TARTAR. I saw it! You cheat! I won’t play!
SATINE [gathering up the cards] Leave us alone, Hassan . . . you
knew right along that we’re cheats—why did you play with us?
THE BARON. He lost forty kopecks and he yelps as if he had lost a
fortune! And a Prince at that!
THE TARTAR [excitedly] Then play honest!
SATINE. What for?
THE TARTAR. What do you mean “what for”?
SATINE. Exactly. What for?
THE TARTAR. Don’t you know?
SATINE. I don’t. Do you?
[The Tartar spits out, furiously; the others laugh at him.]
ZOB [good-naturedly] You’re a funny fellow, Hassan! Try to
understand this! If they should begin to live honestly, they’d die of
starvation inside of three days.
THE TARTAR. That’s none of my business. You must live honestly!
ZOB. They did you brown! Come and let’s have tea. . . . [Sings]

“O my chains, my heavy chains . . .”

BUBNOFF [sings]
 “You’re my steely, clanking wardens . . .”

ZOB. Come on, Hassanka! [Leaves the room, singing]

“I cannot tear you, cannot break you . . .”

[The Tartar shakes his fist threateningly at the Baron, and follows
the other out of the room.]
SATINE [to Baron, laughing] Well, Your Imperial Highness, you’ve
again sat down magnificently in a mud puddle! You’ve learned a lot
—but you’re an ignoramus when it comes to palming a card.
THE BARON [spreading his hands] The Devil knows how it
happened. . . .
THE ACTOR. You’re not gifted—you’ve no faith in yourself—and
without that you can never accomplish anything . . .
MIEDVIEDIEFF. I’ve one Queen—and you’ve two—oh, well . . .
BUBNOFF. One’s enough if she has brains—play!
KLESHTCH. You lost, Abram Ivanovitch?
MIEDVIEDIEFF. None of your business—see? Shut up!
SATINE. I’ve won fifty-three kopecks.
THE ACTOR. Give me three of them . . . though, what’ll I do with
them?
LUKA [coming from kitchen] Well—the Tartar was fleeced all right,
eh? Going to have some vodka?
THE BARON. Come with us.
SATINE. I wonder what you’ll be like when you’re drunk.
LUKA. Same as when I’m sober.
THE ACTOR. Come on, old man—I’ll recite verses for you . . .
LUKA. What?
THE ACTOR. Verses. Don’t you understand?
LUKA. Verses? And what do I want with verses?
THE ACTOR. Sometimes they’re funny—sometimes sad.
 SATINE. Well, poet, are you coming? [Exit with the Baron]
THE ACTOR. I’m coming. I’ll join you. For instance, old man, here’s
a bit of verse—I forget how it begins—I forget . . . [brushes his hand
across his forehead]
BUBNOFF. There! Your Queen is lost—go on, play!
MIEDVIEDIEFF. I made the wrong move.
THE ACTOR. Formerly, before my organism was poisoned with
alcohol, old man, I had a good memory. But now it’s all over with
me, brother. I used to declaim these verses with tremendous success
—thunders of applause . . . you have no idea what applause means
. . . it goes to your head like vodka! I’d step out on the stage—stand
this way—[Strikes a pose]—I’d stand there and . . . [Pause] I can’t
remember a word—I can’t remember! My favorite verses—isn’t it
ghastly, old man?
LUKA. Yes—is there anything worse than forgetting what you
loved? Your very soul is in the thing you love!
THE ACTOR. I’ve drunk my soul away, old man—brother, I’m lost
. . . and why? Because I had no faith. . . . I’m done with . . .
LUKA. Well—then—cure yourself! Nowadays they have a cure for
drunkards. They treat you free of charge, brother. There’s a hospital
for drunkards—where they’re treated for nothing. They’ve owned up,
you see, that even a drunkard is a human being, and they’re only
too glad to help him get well. Well—then—go to it!
THE ACTOR [thoughtfully] Where? Where is it?
LUKA. Oh—in some town or other . . . what do they call it—? I’ll
tell you the name presently—only, in the meanwhile, get ready. Don’t
drink so much! Take yourself in hand—and bear up! And then, when
you’re cured, you’ll begin life all over again. Sounds good, brother,
doesn’t it, to begin all over again? Well—make up your mind!
THE ACTOR [smiling] All over again—from the very beginning—
that’s fine . . . yes . . . all over again . . . [Laughs] Well—then—I
can, can’t I?
 LUKA. Why not? A human being can do anything—if he only makes
up his mind.
THE ACTOR [suddenly, as if coming out of a trance] You’re a queer
bird! See you anon! [Whistles] Old man—au revoir! [Exit]
ANNA. Grand-dad!
LUKA. Yes, little mother?
ANNA. Talk to me.
LUKA [close to her] Come on—let’s chat . . .
[Kleshtch, glancing around, silently walks over to his wife, looks at
her, and makes queer gestures with his hands, as though he wanted
to say something.]
LUKA. What is it, brother?
KLESHTCH [quietly] Nothing . . .
[Crosses slowly to hallway door, stands on the threshold for a few
seconds, and exit.]
LUKA [looking after him] Hard on your man, isn’t it?
ANNA. He doesn’t concern me much . . .
LUKA. Did he beat you?
ANNA. Worse than that—it’s he who’s killed me—
BUBNOFF. My wife used to have a lover—the scoundrel—how
clever he was at checkers!
MIEDVIEDIEFF. Hm-hm—
ANNA. Grand-dad! Talk to me, darling—I feel so sick . . .
LUKA. Never mind—it’s always like this before you die, little dove—
never mind, dear! Just have faith! Once you’re dead, you’ll have
peace—always. There’s nothing to be afraid of—nothing. Quiet!
Peace! Lie quietly! Death wipes out everything. Death is kindly. You
die—and you rest—that’s what they say. It is true, dear! Because—
where can we find rest on this earth?
[Pepel enters. He is slightly drunk, dishevelled, and sullen. Sits
down on bunk near door, and remains silent and motionless.]
 ANNA. And how is it—there? More suffering?
LUKA. Nothing of the kind! No suffering! Trust me! Rest—nothing
else! They’ll lead you into God’s presence, and they’ll say: “Dear
God! Behold! Here is Anna, Thy servant!”
MIEDVIEDIEFF [sternly] How do you know what they’ll say up
there? Oh, you . . .
[Pepel, on hearing Miedviedieff’s voice, raises his head and
listens.]
LUKA. Apparently I do know, Mr. Sergeant!
MIEDVIEDIEFF [conciliatory] Yes—it’s your own affair—though I’m
not exactly a sergeant—yet—
BUBNOFF. I jump two!
MIEDVIEDIEFF. Damn—play!
LUKA. And the Lord will look at you gently and tenderly and He’ll
say: “I know this Anna!” Then He’ll say: “Take Anna into Paradise.
Let her have peace. I know. Her life on earth was hard. She is very
weary. Let Anna rest in peace!”
ANNA [choking] Grandfather—if it were only so—if there were only
rest and peace . . .
LUKA. There won’t be anything else! Trust me! Die in joy and not
in grief. Death is to us like a mother to small children . . .
ANNA. But—perhaps—perhaps I get well . . . ?
LUKA [laughing] Why—? Just to suffer more?
ANNA. But—just to live a little longer . . . just a little longer! Since
there’ll be no suffering hereafter, I could bear it a little longer down
here . . .
LUKA. There’ll be nothing in the hereafter . . . but only . . .
PEPEL [rising] Maybe yes—maybe no!
ANNA [frightened] Oh—God!
LUKA. Hey—Adonis!
MIEDVIEDIEFF. Who’s that yelping?
 PEPEL [crossing over to him] I! What of it?
MIEDVIEDIEFF. You yelp needlessly—that’s what! People ought to
have some dignity!
PEPEL. Block-head! And that’s an uncle for you—ho-ho!
LUKA [to Pepel, in an undertone] Look here—don’t shout—this
woman’s dying—her lips are already grey—don’t disturb her!
PEPEL. I’ve respect for you, grand-dad. You’re all right, you are!
You lie well, and you spin pleasant yarns. Go on lying, brother—
there’s little fun in this world . . .
BUBNOFF. Is the woman really dying?
LUKA. You think I’m joking?
BUBNOFF. That means she’ll stop coughing. Her cough was very
disturbing. I jump two!
MIEDVIEDIEFF. I’d like to murder you!
PEPEL. Abramka!
MIEDVIEDIEFF. I’m not Abramka to you!
PEPEL. Abrashka! Is Natasha ill?
MIEDVIEDIEFF. None of your business!
PEPEL. Come—tell me! Did Vassilisa beat her up very badly?
MIEDVIEDIEFF. That’s none of your business, either! It’s a family
affair! Who are you anyway?
PEPEL. Whoever I am, you’ll never see Natashka again if I choose!
MIEDVIEDIEFF [throwing up the game] What’s that? Who are you
alluding to? My niece by any chance? You thief!
PEPEL. A thief whom you were never able to catch!
MIEDVIEDIEFF. Wait—I’ll catch you yet—you’ll see—sooner than you
think!
PEPEL. If you catch me, God help your whole nest! Do you think
I’ll keep quiet before the examining magistrate? Every wolf howls!
They’ll ask me: “Who made you steal and showed you where?”
“Mishka Kostilyoff and his wife!” “Who was your fence?” “Mishka
Kostilyoff and his wife!”
 MIEDVIEDIEFF. You lie! No one will believe you!
PEPEL. They’ll believe me all right—because it’s the truth! And I’ll
drag you into it, too. Ha! I’ll ruin the lot of you—devils—just watch!
MIEDVIEDIEFF [confused] You lie! You lie! And what harm did I do
to you, you mad dog?
PEPEL. And what good did you ever do me?
LUKA. That’s right!
MIEDVIEDIEFF [to Luka] Well—what are you croaking about? Is it
any of your business? This is a family matter!
BUBNOFF [to Luka] Leave them alone! What do we care if they
twist each other’s tails?
LUKA [peacefully] I meant no harm. All I said was that if a man
isn’t good to you, then he’s acting wrong . . .
MIEDVIEDIEFF [uncomprehending] Now then—we all of us here
know each other—but you—who are you? [Frowns and exit]
LUKA. The cavalier is peeved! Oh-ho, brothers, I see your affairs
are a bit tangled up!
PEPEL. He’ll run to complain about us to Vassilisa . . .
BUBNOFF. You’re a fool, Vassily. You’re very bold these days, aren’t
you? Watch out! It’s all right to be bold when you go gathering
mushrooms, but what good is it here? They’ll break your neck before
you know it!
PEPEL. Well—not as fast as all that! You don’t catch us Yaroslavl
boys napping! If it’s going to be war, we’ll fight . . .
LUKA. Look here, boy, you really ought to go away from here—
PEPEL. Where? Please tell me!
LUKA. Go to Siberia!
PEPEL. If I go to Siberia, it’ll be at the Tsar’s expense!
LUKA. Listen! You go just the same! You can make your own way
there. They need your kind out there . . .
PEPEL. My way is clear. My father spent all his life in prison, and I
inherited the trait. Even when I was a small child, they called me
thief—thief’s son.
LUKA. But Siberia is a fine country—a land of gold. Any one who
has health and strength and brains can live there like a cucumber in
a hot-house.
PEPEL. Old man, why do you always tell lies?
LUKA. What?
PEPEL. Are you deaf? I ask—why do you always lie?
LUKA. What do I lie about?
PEPEL. About everything. According to you, life’s wonderful
everywhere—but you lie . . . why?
LUKA. Try to believe me. Go and see for yourself. And some day
you’ll thank me for it. What are you hanging round here for? And,
besides, why is truth so important to you? Just think! Truth may
spell death to you!
PEPEL. It’s all one to me! If that—let it be that!
LUKA. Oh—what a madman! Why should you kill yourself?
BUBNOFF. What are you two jawing about, anyway? I don’t
understand. What kind of truth do you want, Vaska? And what for?
You know the truth about yourself—and so does everybody else . . .
PEPEL. Just a moment! Don’t crow! Let him tell me! Listen, old
man! Is there a God?
[Luka smiles silently.]
BUBNOFF. People just drift along—like shavings on a stream. When
a house is built—the shavings are thrown away!
PEPEL. Well? Is there a God? Tell me.
LUKA [in a low voice] If you have faith, there is; if you haven’t,
there isn’t . . . whatever you believe in, exists . . .
[Pepel looks at Luka in staring surprise.]
BUBNOFF. I’m going to have tea—come on over to the restaurant!
LUKA [to Pepel] What are you staring at?
PEPEL. Oh—just because! Wait now—you mean to say . . .
 BUBNOFF. Well—I’m off.
[Goes to door and runs into Vassilisa.]
PEPEL. So—you . . .
VASSILISA [to Bubnoff] Is Nastasya home?
BUBNOFF. No. [Exit]
PEPEL. Oh—you’ve come—?
VASSILISA [crossing to Anna] Is she alive yet?
LUKA. Don’t disturb her!
VASSILISA. What are you loafing around here for?
LUKA. I’ll go—if you want me to . . .
VASSILISA [turning towards Pepel’s room] Vassily! I’ve some
business with you . . .
[Luka goes to hallway door, opens it, and shuts it loudly, then
warily climbs into a bunk, and from there to the top of the stove.]
VASSILISA [calling from Pepel’s room] Vaska—come here!
PEPEL. I won’t come—I don’t want to . . .
VASSILISA. Why? What are you angry about?
PEPEL. I’m sick of the whole thing . . .
VASSILISA. Sick of me, too?
PEPEL. Yes! Of you, too!
[Vassilisa draws her shawl about her, pressing her hands over her
breast. Crosses to Anna, looks carefully through the bed curtains,
and returns to Pepel.]
Well—out with it!
VASSILISA. What do you want me to say? I can’t force you to be
loving, and I’m not the sort to beg for kindness. Thank you for
telling me the truth.
PEPEL. What truth?
VASSILISA. That you’re sick of me—or isn’t it the truth? [Pepel
looks at her silently. She turns to him] What are you staring at?
Don’t you recognize me?
PEPEL [sighing] You’re beautiful, Vassilisa! [She puts her arm
about his neck, but he shakes it off] But I never gave my heart to
you. . . . I’ve lived with you and all that—But I never really liked you
...
VASSILISA [quietly] That so? Well—?
PEPEL. What is there to talk, about? Nothing. Go away from me!
VASSILISA. Taken a fancy to some one else?
PEPEL. None of your business! Suppose I have—I wouldn’t ask you
to be my match-maker!
VASSILISA [significantly] That’s too bad . . . perhaps I might
arrange a match . . .
PEPEL [suspiciously] Who with?
VASSILISA. You know—why do you pretend? Vassily—let me be
frank. [With lower voice] I won’t deny it—you’ve offended me . . . it
was like a bolt from the blue . . . you said you loved me—and then
all of a sudden . . .
PEPEL. It wasn’t sudden at all. It’s been a long time since I . . .
woman, you’ve no soul! A woman must have a soul . . . we men are
beasts—we must be taught—and you, what have you taught me—?
VASSILISA. Never mind the past! I know—no man owns his own
heart—you don’t love me any longer . . . well and good, it can’t be
helped!
PEPEL. So that’s over. We part peaceably, without a row—as it
should be!
VASSILISA. Just a moment! All the same, when I lived with you, I
hoped you’d help me out of this swamp—I thought you’d free me
from my husband and my uncle—from all this life—and perhaps,
Vassya, it wasn’t you whom I loved—but my hope—do you
understand? I waited for you to drag me out of this mire . . .
PEPEL. You aren’t a nail—and I’m not a pair of pincers! I thought
you had brains—you are so clever—so crafty . . .
 VASSILISA [leaning closely towards him] Vassa—let’s help each
other!
PEPEL. How?
VASSILISA [low and forcibly] My sister—I know you’ve fallen for
her. . . .
PEPEL. And that’s why you beat her up, like the beast you are!
Look out, Vassilisa! Don’t you touch her!
VASSILISA. Wait. Don’t get excited. We can do everything quietly
and pleasantly. You want to marry her. I’ll give you money . . . three
hundred rubles—even more than that . . .
PEPEL [moving away from her] Stop! What do you mean?
VASSILISA. Rid me of my husband! Take that noose from around
my neck . . .
PEPEL [whistling softly] So that’s the way the land lies! You
certainly planned it cleverly . . . in other words, the grave for the
husband, the gallows for the lover, and as for yourself . . .
VASSILISA. Vassya! Why the gallows? It doesn’t have to be yourself
—but one of your pals! And supposing it were yourself—who’d
know? Natalia—just think—and you’ll have money—you go away
somewhere . . . you free me forever—and it’ll be very good for my
sister to be away from me—the sight of her enrages me. . . . I get
furious with her on account of you, and I can’t control myself. I
tortured the girl—I beat her up—beat her up so that I myself cried
with pity for her—but I’ll beat her—and I’ll go on beating her!
PEPEL. Beast! Bragging about your beastliness?
VASSILISA. I’m not bragging—I speak the truth. Think now, Vassa.
You’ve been to prison twice because of my husband—through his
greed. He clings to me like a bed-bug—he’s been sucking the life out
of me for the last four years—and what sort of a husband is he to
me? He’s forever abusing Natasha—calls her a beggar—he’s just
poison, plain poison, to every one . . .
PEPEL. You spin your yarn cleverly . . .
 VASSILISA. Everything I say is true. Only a fool could be as blind as
you. . . .
[Kostilyoff enters stealthily and comes forward noisily.]
PEPEL [to Vassilisa] Oh—go away!
VASSILISA. Think it over! [Sees her husband] What? You? Following
me?
[Pepel leaps up and stares at Kostilyoff savagely.]
KOSTILYOFF. It’s I, I! So the two of you were here alone—you were
—ah—conversing? [Suddenly stamps his feet and screams] Vassilisa
—you bitch! You beggar! You damned hag! [Frightened by his own
screams which are met by silence and indifference on the part of the
others] Forgive me, O Lord . . . Vassilisa—again you’ve led me into
the path of sin. . . . I’ve been looking for you everywhere. It’s time
to go to bed. You forgot to fill the lamps—oh, you . . . beggar!
Swine! [Shakes his trembling fist at her, while Vassilisa slowly goes
to door, glancing at Pepel over her shoulder]
PEPEL [to Kostilyoff] Go away—clear out of here—
KOSTILYOFF [yelling] What? I? The Boss? I get out? You thief!
PEPEL [sullenly] Go away, Mishka!
KOSTILYOFF. Don’t you dare—I—I’ll show you.
[Pepel seizes him by the collar and shakes him. From the stove
come loud noises and yawns. Pepel releases Kostilyoff who runs into
the hallway, screaming.]
PEPEL [jumping on a bunk] Who is it? Who’s on the stove?
LUKA [raising his head] Eh?
PEPEL. You?
LUKA [undisturbed] I—I myself—oh, dear Jesus!
PEPEL [shuts hallway door, looks for the wooden closing bar, but
can’t find it] The devil! Come down, old man!
LUKA. I’m climbing down—all right . . .
PEPEL [roughly] What did you climb on that stove for?
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