The Power of Darkness
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PETER. Of course one must not forget God.
AKÍM. It turns out worse! But when it's the right way – God's way – it what d'you call it, it gives one joy; seems pleasant, I mean. So I reckon, you see, get him, the lad, I mean, get him to marry her, to keep him from sin, I mean, and let him what d'you call it at home, as it's lawful, I mean, while I go and get the job in town. The work is of the right sort – it's payin', I mean. And in God's sight it's what d'you call it – it's best, I mean. Ain't she an orphan? Here, for example, a year ago some fellows went and took timber from the steward, – thought they'd do the steward, you know. Yes, they did the steward, but they couldn't what d'you call it – do God, I mean. Well, and so …
Enter Nikíta and Nan.
NIKÍTA. You called me? [Sits down and takes out his tobacco-pouch].
PETER [in a low, reproachful voice] What are you thinking about – have you no manners? Your father is going to speak to you, and you sit down and fool about with tobacco. Come, get up!
Nikíta rises, leans carelessly with his elbow on the table, and smiles.
AKÍM. It seems there's a complaint, you know, about you, Nikíta – a complaint, I mean, a complaint.
NIKÍTA. Who's been complaining?
AKÍM. Complaining? It's a maid, an orphan maid, complaining, I mean. It's her, you know – a complaint against you, from Marína, I mean.
NIKÍTA [laughs] Well, that's a good one. What's the complaint? And who's told you – she herself?
AKÍM. It's I am asking you, and you must now, what d'you call it, give me an answer. Have you got mixed up with the lass, I mean – mixed up, you know?
NIKÍTA. I don't know what you mean. What's up?
AKÍM. Foolin', I mean, what d'you call it? foolin'. Have you been foolin' with her, I mean?
NIKÍTA. Never mind what's been! Of course one does have some fun with a cook now and then to while away the time. One plays the concertina and gets her to dance. What of that?
PETER. Don't shuffle, Nikíta, but answer your father straight out.
AKÍM [solemnly] You can hide it from men but not from God, Nikíta. You, what d'you call it – think, I mean, and don't tell lies. She's an orphan; so, you see, any one is free to insult her. An orphan, you see. So you should say what's rightest.
NIKÍTA. But what if I have nothing to say? I have told you everything – because there isn't anything to tell, that's flat! [Getting excited] She can go and say anything about me, same as if she was speaking of one as is dead. Why don't she say anything about Fédka Mikíshin? Besides, how's this, that one mayn't even have a bit of fun nowadays? And as for her, well, she's free to say anything she likes.
AKÍM. Ah, Nikíta, mind! A lie will out. Did anything happen?
NIKÍTA [aside] How he sticks to it; it's too bad. [To Akím] I tell you, I know nothing more. There's been nothing between us. [Angrily] By God! and may I never leave this spot [crosses himself] if I know anything about it. [Silence. Then still more excitedly] Why! have you been thinking of getting me to marry her? What do you mean by it? – it's a confounded shame. Besides, nowadays you've got no such rights as to force a fellow to marry. That's plain enough. Besides, haven't I sworn I know nothing about it?
MATRYÓNA [to her husband] There now, that's just like your silly pate, to believe all they tell you. He's gone and put the lad to shame all for nothing. The best thing is to let him live as he is living, with his master. His master will help us in our present need, and give us ten roubles, and when the time comes …
PETER. Well, Daddy Akím, how's it to be?
AKÍM [looks at his son, clicking his tongue disapprovingly] Mind, Nikíta, the tears of one that's been wronged never, what d'you call it – never fall beside the mark but always on, what's name – the head of the man as did the wrong. So mind, don't what d'you call it.
NIKÍTA [sits down] What's there to mind? mind yourself.
NAN [aside] I must run and tell mother. [Exit].
MATRYÓNA [to Peter] That's always the way with this old mumbler of mine, Peter Ignátitch. Once he's got anything wedged in his pate there's no knocking it out. We've gone and troubled you all for nothing. The lad can go on living as he has been. Keep him; he's your servant.
PETER. Well, Daddy Akím, what do you say?
AKÍM. Why, the lad's his own master, if only he what d'you call it… I only wish that, what d'you call it, I mean.
MATRYÓNA. You don't know yourself what you're jawing about. The lad himself has no wish to leave. Besides, what do we want with him at home? We can manage without him.
PETER. Only one thing, Daddy Akím – if you are thinking of taking him back in summer, I don't want him here for the winter. If he is to stay at all, it must be for the whole year.
MATRYÓNA. And it's for a year he'll bind himself. If we want help when the press of work comes, we can hire help, and the lad shall remain with you. Only give us ten roubles now…
PETER. Well then, is it to be for another year?
AKÍM. [sighing] Yes, it seems, it what d'you call it … if it's so, I mean, it seems that it must be what d'you call it.
MATRYÓNA. For a year, counting from St. Dimítry's day. We know you'll pay him fair wages. But give us ten roubles now. Help us out of our difficulties. [Gets up and bows to Peter].
Enter Nan and Anísya. The latter sits down at one side.
PETER. Well, if that's settled we might step across to the inn and have a drink. Come, Daddy Akím, what do you say to a glass of vódka?
AKÍM. No, I never drink that sort of thing.
PETER. Well, you'll have some tea?
AKÍM. Ah, tea! yes, I do sin that way. Yes, tea's the thing.
PETER. And the women will also have some tea. Come. And you, Nikíta, go and drive the sheep in and clear away the straw.
NIKÍTA. All right. [Exeunt all but Nikíta. Nikíta lights a cigarette. It grows darker] Just see how they bother one. Want a fellow to tell 'em how he larks about with the wenches! It would take long to tell 'em all those stories – “Marry her,” he says. Marry them all! One would have a good lot of wives! And what need have I to marry? Am as good as married now! There's many a chap as envies me. Yet how strange it felt when I crossed myself before the icón. It was just as if some one shoved me. The whole web fell to pieces at once. They say it's frightening to swear what's not true. That's all humbug. It's all talk, that is. It's simple enough.
AKOULÍNA [enters with a rope, which she puts down. She takes off her outdoor things and goes into closet] You might at least have got a light.
NIKÍTA. What, to look at you? I can see you well enough without.
AKOULÍNA. Oh, bother you!
Nan enters and whispers to Nikíta.
NAN. Nikíta, there's a person wants you. There is!
NIKÍTA. What person?
NAN. Marína from the railway; she's out there, round the corner.
NIKÍTA. Nonsense!
NAN. Blest if she isn't!
NIKÍTA. What does she want?
NAN. She wants you to come out. She says, “I only want to say a word to Nikíta.” I began asking, but she won't tell, but only says, “Is it true he's leaving you?” And I say, “No, only his father wanted to take him away and get him to marry, but he won't, and is going to stay with us another year.” And she says, “For goodness' sake send him out to me. I must see him,” she says, “I must say a word to him somehow.” She's been waiting a long time. Why don't you go?
NIKÍTA. Bother her! What should I go for?
NAN. She says, “If he don't come, I'll go into the hut to him.” Blest if she didn't say she'd come in!
NIKÍTA. Not likely. She'll wait a bit and then go away.
NAN. “Or is it,” she says, “that they want him to marry Akoulína?”
Re-enter Akoulína, passing near Nikíta to take her distaff.
AKOULÍNA. Marry whom to Akoulína?
NAN. Why, Nikíta.
AKOULÍNA. A likely thing! Who says it?
NIKÍTA [looks at her and laughs] It seems people do say it. Would you marry me, Akoulína?
AKOULÍNA. Who, you? Perhaps I might have afore, but I won't now.
NIKÍTA. And why not now?
AKOULÍNA. 'Cos you wouldn't love me.
NIKÍTA. Why not?
AKOULÍNA. 'Cos you'd be forbidden to. [Laughs].
NIKÍTA. Who'd forbid it?
AKOULÍNA. Who? My step-mother. She does nothing but grumble, and is always staring at you.
NIKÍTA [laughing] Just hear her! Ain't she cute?
AKOULÍNA. Who? Me? What's there to be cute about? Am I blind? She's been rowing and rowing at dad all day. The fat-muzzled witch! [Goes into closet].
NAN [looking out of the window] Look, Nikíta, she's coming! I'm blest if she isn't! I'll go away. [Exit].
MARÍNA [enters] What are you doing with me?
NIKÍTA. Doing? I'm not doing anything.
MARÍNA. You mean to desert me.
NIKÍTA [gets up angrily] What does this look like, your coming here?
MARÍNA. Oh, Nikíta!
NIKÍTA. Well, you are strange! What have you come for?
MARÍNA. Nikíta!
NIKÍTA. That's my name. What do you want with Nikíta? Well, what next? Go away, I tell you!
MARÍNA. I see, you do want to throw me over.
NIKÍTA. Well, and what's there to remember? You yourself don't know. When you stood out there round the corner and sent Nan for me, and I didn't come, wasn't it plain enough that you're not wanted? It seems pretty simple. So there – go!
MARÍNA. Not wanted! So now I'm not wanted! I believed you when you said you would love me. And now that you've ruined me, I'm not wanted.
NIKÍTA. Where's the good of talking? This is quite improper. You've been telling tales to father. Now, do go away, will you?
MARÍNA. You know yourself I never loved any one but you. Whether you married me or not, I'd not have been angry. I've done you no wrong, then why have you left off caring for me? Why?
NIKÍTA. Where's the use of baying at the moon? You go away. Goodness me! what a duffer!
MARÍNA. It's not that you deceived me when you promised to marry me that hurts, but that you've left off loving. No, it's not that you've stopped loving me either, but that you've changed me for another, that's what hurts. I know who it is!
NIKÍTA [comes up to her viciously] Eh! what's the good of talking to the likes of you, that won't listen to reason? Be off, or you'll drive me to do something you'll be sorry for.
MARÍNA. What, will you strike me, then? Well then, strike me! What are you turning away for? Ah, Nikíta!
NIKÍTA. Supposing some one came in. Of course, it's quite improper. And what's the good of talking?
MARÍNA. So this is the end of it! What has been has flown. You want me to forget it? Well then, Nikíta, listen. I kept my maiden honour as the apple of my eye. You have ruined me for nothing, you have deceived me. You have no pity on a fatherless and motherless girl! [Weeping] You have deserted, you have killed me, but I bear you no malice. God forgive you! If you find a better one you'll forget me, if a worse one you'll remember me. Yes, you will remember, Nikíta! Good-bye, then, if it is to be. Oh, how I loved you! Good-bye for the last time. [Takes his head in her hands and tries to kiss him].
NIKÍTA [tossing his head back] I'm not going to talk with the likes of you. If you won't go away I will, and you may stay here by yourself.
MARÍNA [screams] You are a brute. [In the doorway] God will give you no joy. [Exit, crying].
AKOULÍNA [comes out of closet] You're a dog, Nikíta!
NIKÍTA. What's up?
AKOULÍNA. What a cry she gave! [Cries].
NIKÍTA. What's up with you?
AKOULÍNA. What's up? You've hurt her so. That's the way you'll hurt me also. You're a dog. [Exit into closet].
Silence.
NIKÍTA. Here's a fine muddle. I'm as sweet as honey on the lasses, but when a fellow's sinned with 'em it's a bad look-out!
CurtainACT II
The scene represents the village street. To the left the outside of Peter's hut, built of logs, with a porch in the middle; to the right of the hut the gates and a corner of the yard buildings. Anísya is beating hemp in the street near the corner of the yard. Six months have elapsed since the First Act .
ANÍSYA [stops and listens] Mumbling something again. He's probably got off the stove.
Akoulína enters, carrying two pails on a yoke.
ANÍSYA. He's calling. You go and see what he wants, kicking up such a row.
AKOULÍNA. Why don't you go?
ANÍSYA. Go, I tell you! [Exit Akoulína into hut] He's bothering me to death. Won't let out where the money is, and that's all about it. He was out in the passage the other day. He must have been hiding it there. Now, I don't know myself where it is. Thank goodness he's afraid of parting with it, so that at least it will stay in the house. If only I could manage to find it. He hadn't it on him yesterday. Now I don't know where it can be. He has quite worn the life out of me.
Enter Akoulína, tying her kerchief over her head.
ANÍSYA. Where are you off to?
AKOULÍNA. Where? Why, he's told me to go for Aunt Martha. “Fetch my sister,” he says. “I am going to die,” he says. “I have a word to say to her.”
ANÍSYA [aside] Asking for his sister? Oh my poor head! Sure he wants to give it her. What shall I do? Oh! [To Akoulína] Don't go! Where are you off to?
AKOULÍNA. To call Aunt.
ANÍSYA. Don't go I tell you, I'll go myself. You go and take the clothes to the river to rinse. Else you'll not have finished by the evening.
AKOULÍNA. But he told me to go.
ANÍSYA. You go and do as you're bid. I tell you I'll fetch Martha myself. Take the shirts off the fence.
AKOULÍNA. The shirts? But maybe you'll not go. He's given the order.
ANÍSYA. Didn't I say I'd go? Where's Nan?
AKOULÍNA. Nan? Minding the calves.
ANÍSYA. Send her here. I dare say they'll not run away. [Akoulína collects the clothes, and exit].
ANÍSYA. If one doesn't go he'll scold. If one goes he'll give the money to his sister. All my trouble will be wasted. I don't myself know what I'm to do. My poor head's splitting. [Continues to work].
Enter Matryóna, with a stick and a bundle, in outdoor clothes.
MATRYÓNA. May the Lord help you, honey.
ANÍSYA [looks round, stops working, and claps her hands with joy] Well, I never expected this! Mother Matryóna, God has sent the right guest at the right time.
MATRYÓNA. Well, how are things?
ANÍSYA. Ah, I'm driven well-nigh crazy. It's awful!
MATRYÓNA. Well, still alive, I hear?
ANÍSYA. Oh, don't talk about it. He doesn't live and doesn't die!
MATRYÓNA. But the money – has he given it to anybody?
ANÍSYA. He's just sending for his sister Martha – probably about the money.
MATRYÓNA. Well, naturally! But hasn't he given it to any one else?
ANÍSYA. To no one. I watch like a hawk.
MATRYÓNA. And where is it?
ANÍSYA. He doesn't let out. And I can't find out in any way. He hides it now here, now there, and I can't do anything because of Akoulína. Idiot though she is, she keeps watch, and is always about. Oh my poor head! I'm bothered to death.
MATRYÓNA. Oh, my jewel, if he gives the money to any one but you, you'll never cease regretting it as long as you live! They'll turn you out of house and home without anything. You've been worriting, and worriting all your life with one you don't love, and will have to go a-begging when you are a widow.
ANÍSYA. No need to tell me, mother. My heart's that weary, and I don't know what to do. No one to get a bit of advice from. I told Nikíta, but he's frightened of the job. The only thing he did was to tell me yesterday it was hidden under the floor.
MATRYÓNA. Well, and did you look there?
ANÍSYA. I couldn't. The old man himself was in the room. I notice that sometimes he carries it about on him, and sometimes he hides it.
MATRYÓNA. But you, my lass, must remember that if once he gives you the slip there's no getting it right again! [Whispering] Well, and did you give him the strong tea?
ANÍSYA. Oh! oh!.. [About to answer, but sees neighbour and stops].
The neighbour (a woman) passes the hut, and listens to a call from within.
NEIGHBOUR [to Anísya] I say, Anísya! Eh, Anísya! There's your old man calling, I think.
ANÍSYA. That's the way he always coughs, – just as if he were screaming. He's getting very bad.
NEIGHBOUR [approaches Matryóna] How do you do, granny? Have you come far?
MATRYÓNA. Straight from home, dear. Come to see my son. Brought him some shirts – can't help thinking of these things, you see, when it's one's own child.
NEIGHBOUR. Yes, that's always so. [To Anísya] And I was thinking of beginning to bleach the linen, but it is a bit early, no one has begun yet.
ANÍSYA. Where's the hurry?
MATRYÓNA. Well, and has he had communion?
ANÍSYA. Oh dear yes, the priest was here yesterday.
NEIGHBOUR. I had a look at him yesterday. Dearie me! one wonders his body and soul keep together. And, O Lord, the other day he seemed just at his last gasp, so that they laid him under the holy icóns.1 They started lamenting and got ready to lay him out.
ANÍSYA. He came to, and creeps about again.
MATRYÓNA. Well, and is he to have extreme unction?
ANÍSYA. The neighbours advise it. If he lives till to-morrow we'll send for the priest.
NEIGHBOUR. Oh, Anísya dear, I should think your heart must be heavy. As the saying goes, “Not he is sick that's ill in bed, but he that sits and waits in dread.”
ANÍSYA. Yes, if it were only over one way or other!
NEIGHBOUR. Yes, that's true, dying for a year, it's no joke. You're bound hand and foot like that.
MATRYÓNA. Ah, but a widow's lot is also bitter. It's all right as long as one's young, but who'll care for you when you're old? Oh yes, old age is not pleasure. Just look at me. I've not walked very far, and yet am so footsore I don't know how to stand. Where's my son?
ANÍSYA. Ploughing. But you come in and we'll get the samovár ready; the tea'll set you up again.
MATRYÓNA [sitting down] Yes, it's true, I'm quite done up, my dears. As to extreme unction, that's absolutely necessary. Besides, they say it's good for the soul.
ANÍSYA. Yes, we'll send to-morrow.
MATRYÓNA. Yes, you had better. And we've had a wedding down in our parts.
NEIGHBOUR. What, in spring?2
MATRYÓNA. Ah, now if it were a poor man, then, as the saying is, it's always unseasonable for a poor man to marry. But it's Simon Matvéyitch, he's married that Marína.
ANÍSYA. What luck for her!
NEIGHBOUR. He's a widower. I suppose there are children?
MATRYÓNA. Four of 'em. What decent girl would have him! Well, so he's taken her, and she's glad. You see, the vessel was not sound, so the wine trickled out.
NEIGHBOUR. Oh my! And what do people say to it? And he, a rich peasant!
MATRYÓNA. They are living well enough so far.
NEIGHBOUR. Yes, it's true enough. Who wants to marry where there are children? There now, there's our Michael. He's such a fellow, dear me …
PEASANT'S VOICE. Hullo, Mávra. Where the devil are you? Go and drive the cow in.
Exit Neighbour.
MATRYÓNA [while the Neighbour is within hearing speaks in her ordinary voice] Yes, lass, thank goodness, she's married. At any rate my old fool won't go bothering about Nikíta. Now [suddenly changing her tone], she's gone! [Whispers] I say, did you give him the tea?
ANÍSYA. Don't speak about it. He'd better die of himself. It's no use – he doesn't die, and I have only taken a sin on my soul. O-oh, my head, my head! Oh, why did you give me those powders?
MATRYÓNA. What of the powders? The sleeping powders, lass, – why not give them? No evil can come of them.
ANÍSYA. I am not talking of the sleeping ones, but the others, the white ones.
MATRYÓNA. Well, honey, those powders are medicinal.
ANÍSYA [sighs] I know, yet it's frightening. Though he's worried me to death.
MATRYÓNA. Well, and did you use many?
ANÍSYA. I gave two doses.
MATRYÓNA. Was anything noticeable?
ANÍSYA. I had a taste of the tea myself – just a little bitter. And he drank them with the tea and says, “Even tea disgusts me,” and I say, “Everything tastes bitter when one's sick.” But I felt that scared, mother.
MATRYÓNA. Don't go thinking about it. The more one thinks the worse it is.
ANÍSYA. I wish you'd never given them to me and led me into sin. When I think of it something seems to tear my heart. Oh dear, why did you give them to me?
MATRYÓNA. What do you mean, honey? Lord help you! Why are you turning it on to me? Mind, lass, don't go twisting matters from the sick on to the healthy. If anything were to happen, I stand aside! I know nothing! I'm aware of nothing! I'll kiss the cross on it; I never gave you any kind of powders, never saw any, never heard of any, and never knew there were such powders. You think about yourself, lass. Why, we were talking about you the other day. “Poor thing, what torture she endures. The step-daughter an idiot; the old man rotten, sucking her life-blood. What wouldn't one be ready to do in such a case!”
ANÍSYA. I'm not going to deny it. A life such as mine could make one do worse than that. It could make you hang yourself or throttle him. Is this a life?
MATRYÓNA. That's just it. There's no time to stand gaping; the money must be found one way or other, and then he must have his tea.
ANÍSYA. O-oh, my head, my head! I can't think what to do. I am so frightened; he'd better die of himself. I don't want to have it on my soul.
MATRYÓNA [viciously] And why doesn't he show the money? Does he mean to take it along with him? Is no one to have it? Is that right? God forbid such a sum should be lost all for nothing. Isn't that a sin? What's he doing? Is he worth considering?
ANÍSYA. I don't know anything. He's worried me to death.
MATRYÓNA. What is it you don't know? The business is clear. If you make a slip now, you'll repent it all your life. He'll give the money to his sister and you'll be left without.
ANÍSYA. O-oh dear! Yes, and he did send for her – I must go.
MATRYÓNA. You wait a bit and light the samovár first. We'll give him some tea and search him together – we'll find it, no fear.
ANÍSYA. Oh dear, oh dear; supposing something were to happen.
MATRYÓNA. What now? What's the good of waiting? Do you want the money to slip from your hand when it's just in sight? You go and do as I say.
ANÍSYA. Well, I'll go and light the samovár.
MATRYÓNA. Go, honey, do the business so as not to regret it afterwards. That's right! [Anísya turns to go. Matryóna calls her back].
MATRYÓNA. Just a word. Don't tell Nikíta about the business. He's silly. God forbid he should find out about the powders. The Lord only knows what he would do. He's so tender-hearted. D'you know, he usen't to be able to kill a chicken. Don't tell him. 'Twould be a fine go, he wouldn't understand things. [Stops horror-struck as Peter appears in the doorway].
PETER [holding on to the wall, creeps out into the porch and calls with a faint voice] How's it one can't make you hear? Oh, oh, Anísya! Who's there? [Drops on the bench].
ANÍSYA [steps from behind the corner] Why have you come out? You should have stayed where you were lying.
PETER. Has the girl gone for Martha? It's very hard… Oh, if only death would come quicker!
ANÍSYA. She had no time. I sent her to the river. Wait a bit, I'll go myself when I'm ready.
PETER. Send Nan. Where's she? Oh, I'm that bad! Oh, death's at hand!
ANÍSYA. I've sent for her already.
PETER. Oh dear! Then where is she?
ANÍSYA. Where's she got to, the plague seize her!
PETER. Oh, dear! I can't bear it. All my inside's on fire. It's as if a gimlet were boring me. Why have you left me as if I were a dog?.. no one to give me a drink… Oh … send Nan to me.
ANÍSYA. Here she is. Nan, go to father.