Redemption and Two Other Plays | Page 4

P��VLOVNA. What was it? Another secret?
LISA. No, not a secret. I simply asked him to take a letter to F��dya.
ANNA P��VLOVNA. To Fedor Protosov?
LISA. Oh, to F��dya, F��dya.
ANNA P��VLOVNA. Then it's not going to be over?
LISA. I can't let him leave me.
ANNA P��VLOVNA. Oh, so we shall commence all over again?
LISA. I'll do anything you like, but I can't give him up.
ANNA P��VLOVNA. You don't mean you want him to come back?
LISA. Yes, yes.
ANNA P��VLOVNA. Let that reptile into the house again!
LISA. Please don't talk like that. He's my husband.
ANNA P��VLOVNA. Was your husband.
LISA. No. He's still my husband.
ANNA P��VLOVNA. Spendthrift. Drunkard. Reprobate. And you'll not part from him!
LISA. Oh, Mother, why do you keep on hurting me! You seem to enjoy it.
ANNA P��VLOVNA. Hurt you, do I? Enjoy it, do I? Very well, then, if that's the case, I'd better go.
[Pause.
I see I'm in your way. You want me to go. Well, all I can say is I can't make you out. I suppose you're being "modern" and all that. But to me, it's just plain disgusting. First, you make up your mind to separate from your husband, and then you up and send for another man who's in love with you--
LISA. Mother, he's not.
ANNA P��VLOVNA. You know Kar��nin proposed to you, and he's the man you pick out to bring back your husband. I suppose you do it just to make him jealous.
LISA. Oh, Mother, stop it. Leave me alone.
ANNA P��VLOVNA. That's right. Send off your mother. Open the door to that awful husband. Well, I can't stand by and see you do it. I'll go. I'm going. And God be with you and your extraordinary ways.
[Exit L. U. with suppressed rage.
LISA (sinking into a chair R. of table C.). That's the last straw.
SASHA. Oh, she'll come back. We'll make her understand. (Going to the door and following after her mother.) Now, Mother darling, listen-- listen--
[Exit L. U.
[All lights dim to black out.
CURTAIN

SCENE II
A room at the gypsies', dark but beautifully lit. The actual room is scarcely seen, and although at first it appears squalid, there are flaring touches of Byzantine luxury. Gypsies are singing. F��DYA is lying on the sofa, his eyes closed, coat off. An OFFICER sits at the table, on which there are bottles of champagne and glasses. Beside him sits a musician taking down the song.
AFR��MOV (standing L. U.). Asleep?
F��DYA (on couch L. Raising his hand warningly). Sh! Don't talk! Now let's have "No More at Evening."
GYPSY LEADER. Impossible, Fedor Protosov. Masha must have her solo first.
F��DYA. Afterwards. Now let's have "No More at Evening."
[Gypsies sing.
GYPSY WOMAN (R. C., when they finish singing, turning to Musician who is sitting at table R., with his back to audience). Have you got it?
MUSICIAN. It's impossible to take it down correctly. They change the tune each time, and they seem to have a different scale, too. (He calls a gypsy woman.) Is this it?
[He hums a bar or two.
GYPSY WOMAN (clapping her hands). Splendid! Wonderful! How can you do it?
F��DYA (rising. Goes to table L. back of couch and pours out glass of wine). He'll never get it. And even if he did and shovelled it into an opera, he'd make it seem absolutely meaningless.
AFR��MOV. Now we'll have "The Fatal Hour."
[Gypsies sing quartette. During this song, F��DYA is standing down R., keeping time with the wine glass from which he has drunk. When they finish he returns to the couch and falls into MASHA'S arms.
F��DYA. God! That's it! That's it! That's wonderful. What lovely things that music says. And where does it all come from, what does it all mean?
[Another pause.
To think that men can touch eternity like that, and then--nothing-- nothing at all.
MUSICIAN. Yes, it's very original.
[Taking notes.
F��DYA. Original be damned. It's real.
MUSICIAN. It's all very simple, except the rhythm. That's very strange.
F��DYA. Oh, Masha, Masha! You turn my soul inside out.
[Gypsies hum a song softly.
MASHA (sitting on couch L. with F��DYA). Do I? But what was it I asked you for?
F��DYA. What? Oh, money. Voil��, mademoiselle.
[He takes money front his trousers pocket. MASHA laughs, takes the money, counts it swiftly, and hides it in her dress.
F��DYA. Look at this strange creature. When she sings she rushes me into the sky and all she asks for is money, little presents of money for throwing open the Gates of Paradise. You don't know yourself, at all, do you?
MASHA. What's the use of me wondering about myself? I know when I'm in love, and I know that I sing best when my love is singing.
F��DYA. Do you love me?
MASHA (murmuring). I love you.
F��DYA. But I am a married man, and you belong to this gypsy troupe. They wouldn't let you leave it, and--
MASHA (interrupting). The troupe's one thing, and my heart's another. I love those I love, and