Plays, series 2 | Page 3

title-page and cover.
J. W.

RUSSIAN WEIGHTS AND MEASURES AND MONEY
EMPLOYED IN THE PLAYS, WITH ENGLISH EQUIVALENTS
1 verst = 3600 feet = 2/3 mile (almost) 1 arshin = 28 inches 1 dessiatin
= 2.7 acres 1 copeck = 1/4 d 1 rouble = 100 copecks = 2s. 1d.

ON THE HIGH ROAD A DRAMATIC STUDY
CHARACTERS
TIHON EVSTIGNEYEV, the proprietor of a inn on the main road

SEMYON SERGEYEVITCH BORTSOV, a ruined landowner MARIA
EGOROVNA, his wife SAVVA, an aged pilgrim NAZAROVNA and
EFIMOVNA, women pilgrims FEDYA, a labourer EGOR MERIK, a
tramp KUSMA, a driver POSTMAN BORTSOV'S WIFE'S
COACHMAN PILGRIMS, CATTLE-DEALERS, ETC.
The action takes place in one of the provinces of Southern Russia
ON THE HIGH ROAD
[The scene is laid in TIHON'S bar. On the right is the bar-counter and
shelves with bottles. At the back is a door leading out of the house.
Over it, on the outside, hangs a dirty red lantern. The floor and the
forms, which stand against the wall, are closely occupied by pilgrims
and passers-by. Many of them, for lack of space, are sleeping as they sit.
It is late at night. As the curtain rises thunder is heard, and lightning is
seen through the door.]
[TIHON is behind the counter. FEDYA is half-lying in a heap on one
of the forms, and is quietly playing on a concertina. Next to him is
BORTSOV, wearing a shabby summer overcoat. SAVVA,
NAZAROVNA, and EFIMOVNA are stretched out on the floor by the
benches.]
EFIMOVNA. [To NAZAROVNA] Give the old man a nudge dear!
Can't get any answer out of him.
NAZAROVNA. [Lifting the corner of a cloth covering of SAVVA'S
face] Are you alive or are you dead, you holy man?
SAVVA. Why should I be dead? I'm alive, mother! [Raises himself on
his elbow] Cover up my feet, there's a saint! That's it. A bit more on the
right one. That's it, mother. God be good to us.
NAZAROVNA. [Wrapping up SAVVA'S feet] Sleep, little father.
SAVVA. What sleep can I have? If only I had the patience to endure
this pain, mother; sleep's quite another matter. A sinner doesn't deserve
to be given rest. What's that noise, pilgrim-woman?
NAZAROVNA. God is sending a storm. The wind is wailing, and the
rain is pouring down, pouring down. All down the roof and into the
windows like dried peas. Do you hear? The windows of heaven are
opened ... [Thunder] Holy, holy, holy ...
FEDYA. And it roars and thunders, and rages, sad there's no end to it!
Hoooo ... it's like the noise of a forest. ... Hoooo. ... The wind is wailing
like a dog. ... [Shrinking back] It's cold! My clothes are wet, it's all

coining in through the open door ... you might put me through a
wringer. ... [Plays softly] My concertina's damp, and so there's no
music for you, my Orthodox brethren, or else I'd give you such a
concert, my word!--Something marvellous! You can have a quadrille,
or a polka, if you like, or some Russian dance for two. ... I can do them
all. In the town, where I was an attendant at the Grand Hotel, I couldn't
make any money, but I did wonders on my concertina. And, I can play
the guitar.
A VOICE FROM THE CORNER. A silly speech from a silly fool.
FEDYA. I can hear another of them. [Pause.]
NAZAROVNA. [To SAVVA] If you'd only lie where it was warm now,
old man, and warm your feet. [Pause.] Old man! Man of God! [Shakes
SAVVA] Are you going to die?
FEDYA. You ought to drink a little vodka, grandfather. Drink, and it'll
burn, burn in your stomach, and warm up your heart. Drink, do!
NAZAROVNA. Don't swank, young man! Perhaps the old man is
giving back his soul to God, or repenting for his sins, and you talk like
that, and play your concertina. ... Put it down! You've no shame!
FEDYA. And what are you sticking to him for? He can't do anything
and you ... with your old women's talk ... He can't say a word in reply,
and you're glad, and happy because he's listening to your nonsense. ...
You go on sleeping, grandfather; never mind her! Let her talk, don't
you take any notice of her. A woman's tongue is the devil's broom--it
will sweep the good man and the clever man both out of the house.
Don't you mind. ... [Waves his hands] But it's thin you are, brother of
mine! Terrible! Like a dead skeleton! No life in you! Are you really
dying?
SAVVA. Why should I die? Save me, O Lord, from dying in vain. ...
I'll suffer a little, and then get up with God's help. ... The Mother