Chapter I: Act I

SCENE: _Two house painters are singing a song behind the wall.
They sing it softly, without words, monotonously. CARL TILE, a
student, is sitting at his brother HENRY TILE’S writing table.
The apartment is new, not yet completely finished or furnished;
nor is the room in which CARL TILE is sitting completely
finished. It is intended as a drawing room, and the new
furniture is arranged in strict order: armchairs, plain chairs,
a small round table near a couch, an oval mirror; but there
are no rugs, no draperies, and no paintings. In the middle of
the room a table is set for dinner. Everything in the room is
angular, cold, lifeless—life had not yet begun there. The new
little piano is very glossy; music is arranged on the music
stand. CARL TILE is busying himself with a skeleton key._

CARL

The house painters are singing.

_He whistles softly to the tune of the quiet song without
words. Then he strikes the table with his palm softly
and says_:

Yes.

_He strikes the table twice again after measured pauses,
repeating_:

Yes—Yes.

_Pause._

I have just opened my brother Henry’s table with a skeleton key. I was looking for money. But I found only twenty-five rubles—only twenty-five rubles. That’s too little.

_Again he strikes the table after measured pauses._

Yes—Yes—Yes. I wonder whether my brother Henry—Henry Tile—knows that I am a cardsharp, a gambler, a thief, that I am looking for a woman to support me! No, he does not know. My brother Henry is not wise. No. No. Now he’ll think the house painters stole the twenty-five rubles, he may not even notice that they are missing. “Brother Carl!” he says, “Brother Carl.” Yes.—But could I?—If Henry had much money, oh, a lot of money, of course—and if it could be done unnoticed, oh, of course, unnoticed—could I kill Henry, my brother Henry Tile?

_He rises and walks up and down the room twice. He is tall,
straight, in a long student’s coat, hanging clumsily and
loosely upon him. His hair is brushed back smoothly, and is
glossy. The dark blue collar of his coat is unusually high.
Carl’s face is dry, somewhat stern, with regular features, and
very decorous. He sits down at the table again and taps it
three times, saying_:

Yes—Yes—Yes. The house painters are singing. A sad tune. A quiet tune. I am a scamp, yet I am fond of sad songs, while my brother Henry has no taste at all. And his new apartment is dreadful. There is something here that inspires crime. The house painters are singing.

_He whistles softly to the accompaniment of the tune. He hears
the sound of the door opening in the corridor, voices; and
rising slowly, he walks up and down the room with measured
steps as before. Enter HENRY TILE, and his associates,
DMITRY YERMOLAYEV, a stumpy man of Russian type, and ANDREY
TIZENHAUSEN. Behind them walks ALEXANDROV, smiling confusedly
and happily. He is nicknamed “Feklusha”—he had been a
schoolmate of HENRY TILE in the first classes of the gymnasium._

HENRY

Hello, Carl. How are you?

CARL

Hello, Henry. Thank you. And how are _you_?

HENRY

Thank you, I’m well. Gentlemen, are you all acquainted with my brother Carl? Carl, these are my associates at the bank—they are all gentlemen for whom I have a great deal of respect.

TIZENHAUSEN

How do you do, Mr. Tile?

YERMOLAYEV

Very pleased to make your acquaintance. You resemble your older brother very much, very much.

HENRY

O, yes, we resemble each other a great deal. He is a fine fellow, a serious worker.

_To Carl_:

And this gentleman is known as Feklusha—are you acquainted? They call him Feklusha.

_Laughs._

We used to go to school together—to the Peter school. He was expelled from the second class, and he has had hard luck all his life. Feklusha, you were expelled from the second class, weren’t you?

_Laughs._

FEKLUSHA

From the third, Mr. Tile. For lack of ability. My conduct was excellent.

HENRY

He says, for lack of ability!

_Laughs._

I met him on the Nevsky yesterday. It was raining hard—Twenty years have passed since we parted, still I recognized him. And he was walking very fast. You were running, Feklusha, weren’t you?

FEKLUSHA

It was raining, and I had no umbrella. I was running!

HENRY

I invited him to dinner to-day. But, gentlemen, I hope you will forgive me if the dinner is not as good as I should like you to have in my new home. This is my first dinner at home, and I cannot guarantee that my new cook is an expert.

YERMOLAYEV

Mr. Tile, why should you excuse yourself? I only hope we are not inconveniencing you.

HENRY

Oh, no, I am glad.

TIZENHAUSEN

What excuses! On the contrary, I am highly flattered that you invited me to the first dinner at your own home. When you are married, and you will have everything in order, you will forget your old friend Andrey Tizenhausen.

HENRY

Everything will be in order, but I will never forget old friends. Sit still and smoke your cigar.

YERMOLAYEV

_To Carl_:

Didn’t I see you last week at Donon’s restaurant? You were sitting there with a lady and an officer—I believe he was an officer of the guards?

CARL

_Lying._

No. I never go to Donon’s.

HENRY

Carl can’t afford such expensive restaurants.

YERMOLAYEV

Then I must be mistaken. Excuse me. But he looked exactly like you.

HENRY

You were mistaken, Dmitry.

_To Carl_:

Well, how are you getting on with your work? I like to hear about your achievements.

CARL

_Lying._

I delivered the second installment yesterday.

HENRY

Oh, that’s good. You are a serious worker. But, gentlemen, isn’t this song annoying you? I hear it again. My house painters are singing there.

TIZENHAUSEN

It’s without words. I didn’t think they called that a song.

YERMOLAYEV

_Listening._

But it’s good! There is something of the stage-coach driver in it.

_To Henry_:

My father was a stage-coach driver.

HENRY

It sounds very good to me, too. Although my father was of Swedish descent, I feel that I am a Russian, and I understand _this_. This is Russian sadness.

TIZENHAUSEN

Although my name is Tizenhausen, I don’t even know how to speak German. I am a Russian. Nevertheless—you will pardon me, Henry, I don’t understand the meaning of this Russian sadness.

HENRY

Oh, one must feel it.

TIZENHAUSEN

Do you feel it?

HENRY

Not now. Oh, now I am so happy that I cannot feel any sadness—Russian, Swedish, or German!

_All laugh._

TIZENHAUSEN

Manly words, Henry! But won’t you show us your new apartment before it gets dark? I am dying of curiosity, I want to see how you are building your nest. Look out, Henry, I am an old and experienced man!

HENRY

Oh, you can’t frighten me, you old grumbler!

_Laughs._

I am only a happy fiancé, but you will see what a definite plan I have. Oh, you’ll see!

YERMOLAYEV

I’d be delighted to see.

HENRY

Please follow me. Carl, be so kind as to stay here with Feklusha while I show them my home. Feklusha, please smoke, the cigarettes are on the table.

_They go out. FEKLUSHA, confused, takes a cigarette. CARL
lights a match and holds it out to him, while he examines him
coldly._

FEKLUSHA

_Bending over to the match_,

Thank you very much, I’ll do it myself.

CARL

Please. Why do they call you by such an absurd name—“Feklusha”? It’s a woman’s name.

FEKLUSHA

How shall I tell you, Mr. Tile? I suppose it’s on account of my character. I am always somewhat timid, inclined to tears, and in the same manner, too hasty—quick in my thoughts.

CARL

Why “in the same manner”?

FEKLUSHA

They say so.

CARL

No, they don’t. But you are not very quick to-day. Where are you employed?

FEKLUSHA

How shall I tell you, Mr. Tile? I’m employed by the police.

CARL

What!

FEKLUSHA

No, no, I am working in the office of the chief of police, in the passport department. Mr. Henry Tile knows about it.

CARL

Are you getting much?

FEKLUSHA

Forty rubles—well, together with gratuities and extras, and so on, it comes to about ninety rubles. A very trivial sum.

CARL

A large family?

FEKLUSHA

Enormous!

CARL

Why don’t you get into the detective service? It’s more profitable, you could earn more.

FEKLUSHA

You’re joking. How can I?

CARL

No. I am serious. You are hardly suited to be a _provocateur_, but as an ordinary detective you might do. It isn’t as hard as it seems. How much does a good detective get?

FEKLUSHA

A trifle—they don’t get much.

CARL

I mean a good detective?

FEKLUSHA

Oh, a really good detective gets enormous sums. But since you are talking to me in such a friendly spirit, I must confess to you, I have tried it, I have made all kinds of efforts—but—

CARL

But what?

FEKLUSHA

Nothing. I have no abilities of any kind, I am not fit for anything worth while. That’s my misfortune. That’s why I’m doomed—I have no abilities.

CARL

None?

FEKLUSHA

Not the slightest! You know, there are so many opportunities around me that if God had only given me some talent, I could have provided for my family perfectly. But without talents, I run about, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t earn another kopek. How can I?

CARL

Feklusha, could you make or get—I don’t know what you call it there—could you get me a false foreign passport?

FEKLUSHA

No. I couldn’t! How could I?

CARL

But if you tried—for a substantial sum?

FEKLUSHA

What do you need it for?

CARL

One must always have a foreign passport for an emergency. No, I am only jesting, of course. Were you really running when my brother Henry met you?

FEKLUSHA

You are laughing at me, Mr. Tile? Pardon me, but I don’t quite understand your conversation.

CARL

No, Feklusha, I am not laughing. Do I look like a man who is fond of laughing? Henry asked me to entertain you, and I am entertaining you. Does Henry intend to assist you?

FEKLUSHA

I would be extremely happy! He told me that he was giving financial aid to his brother—he meant you, Mr. Tile?

CARL

Yes. But I prefer to speak about you, Feklusha. Tell me, when you were a detective, did you often have dealings with murderers?

FEKLUSHA

With murderers?

_Henry and his friends return, talking. Henry is laughing._

HENRY

You are surprised, you old grumbler? Let me brush off your coat, you have soiled your sleeve, Dmitry.

CARL

I’ll bring the brush.

YERMOLAYEV

It isn’t worth bothering, really, it isn’t.

HENRY

He’ll bring the brush. Carl, fetch it. Well, gentlemen, how do you like it?

_Laughs happily._

YERMOLAYEV

It’s a wonderful little apartment, Henry.

TIZENHAUSEN

Yes, I am astounded, Henry.

HENRY

In the dining room I will have oak-colored wall paper, eventually I will change it to oak veneer. The windows of the nursery, as I said before, will always have the sun. It will always be light there. That’s hygienic, and essential in Petrograd. Unfortunately, I had too little sunshine during my own childhood, so I want my children to have plenty. Sunlight is essential.

TIZENHAUSEN

But, Henry, you talk as if you already had children, and a heap of them! That is the self-assurance of a bachelor!

HENRY

I _will_ have them.

_Enter CARL with a brush._

HENRY

Please, Dmitry, Carl will brush your sleeve. I _will_ have them. I have already bought a children’s cot—in a week from now it will be in its proper place waiting for its master.

_Laughs._

YERMOLAYEV

And when is the wedding to take place?

HENRY

In a week from now the apartment will be ready. In seventeen days, counting from to-day, the wedding will take place. To-day, by the next mail, in about twenty minutes from now, just before dinner, I will get a letter from Elizabeth, in which she will inform me exactly on what day she arrives. Elizabeth went to Moscow to see her parents. Now this room, Andrey! Here, rugs. There, portières. In these vases, always fresh flowers.

TIZENHAUSEN

That’s a luxury, Henry.

HENRY

Fresh flowers are not a luxury. And here, over the piano, I will have two gravures—meanwhile I haven’t enough money for paintings—the head of Beethoven and Giorgoni’s “Concert.” Are you looking, Feklusha?

FEKLUSHA

I am staring!

HENRY

_Laughing._

Staring! And here, Andrey, in this corner, will be an armchair in which I will sit quietly while Elizabeth plays Beethoven and Grieg. You see, I have already secured the music from which she will play for the first time, while I will be sitting in my armchair.

_Shakes the dust off the music and replaces it carefully and
tenderly._

How dusty!

TIZENHAUSEN

That’s from the workmen, Henry.

HENRY

There will be no dust in my home. Have you a piano, Feklusha?

FEKLUSHA

Where would I get it, Henry?

HENRY

_Laughs._

He says, where would he get it? Let me tell you, Andrey, this nook where I am going to sit and listen is my particular joy.

YERMOLAYEV

Have you a lease for this apartment?

HENRY

Yes. I have a lease for three years, with the privilege of renewing. I don’t want to change apartments every three years. Yes, Andrey. My mind is dry and practical, I have no talent for music, but I am extremely fond of it, just as my brother Carl is.

CARL

But you play, Henry.

HENRY

What! Don’t joke, Carl.

CARL

Have you forgotten? You played well in our nursery days.

TIZENHAUSEN

So that’s the sort of man you are, Henry! At the bank we are under the impression that you are only a splendid financier, with a most remarkable head for figures, while now it appears that you are also a musician. Henry—a Mozart!

HENRY

_Laughs._

Not quite so important. Yes, I recall. There’s a little piece I used to play with two fingers, that my mother taught me to play when I was a child. It is called by a strange name—“The Waltz of the Dogs.”

CARL

Play it, Henry.

HENRY

_Threatening with his finger_:

Now, now, Carl!

TIZENHAUSEN

No, you must!

_To Yermolayev_:

Don’t you think he ought to play it for us, or we’ll be offended and leave.

YERMOLAYEV

So that’s the kind of talents you have, Henry! I never suspected it, never! And at the bank we don’t know anything about it. Play!

HENRY

_Laughs._

Now, now. But I must admit that Elizabeth is very fond of my “Waltz of the Dogs,” very!

_All laugh._

CARL

Well, then, Henry?

HENRY

Carl, you are a jester.

_Mockingly_:

But since the audience demands it——

_Sits down by the piano, says with mock solemnity_:

I beg the audience to listen attentively. I will now play “The Waltz of the Dogs.”

_He plays “The Waltz of the Dogs.” During the playing he sits
straight, serious, his face is immobile, almost petrified, but
after finishing his play, he bursts into laughter. While HENRY
is playing, CARL watches him coldly and closely, then he is the
first to applaud. General applause, but as there are only few
listeners, the sound is light._

HENRY

_Bowing mockingly_:

Ladies and gentlemen, your humble servant! I cannot play an encore, but whoever wishes to hear this music again, is invited to come in seventeen days to the wedding ceremony of Henry Tile and the maiden Elizabeth Molchanova. Then I shall play it again.

_He laughs and closes the piano cover._

FEKLUSHA

At what time will the wedding take place?

HENRY

At half past seven. And don’t be late! But you will learn all this from the invitations which are already being printed.

TIZENHAUSEN

Are you happy, Henry?

HENRY

Yes, my friend! Let me clasp your hand, but silently, silently, Andrey. This way. And now, gentlemen, don’t you feel that after my music your appetite has grown stronger? Aren’t you hungry? Carl, please tell my new cook that in ten minutes we shall be ready to have her pass an examination.

CARL

I am going.

_Exit, soon returns._

HENRY

Are you hungry, Feklusha?

FEKLUSHA

Yes. It wouldn’t do any harm to eat.

HENRY

_Laughs._

He says, it wouldn’t do any harm! And the cognac? Will that do any harm?

FEKLUSHA

That surely wouldn’t do any harm.

_All laugh._

TIZENHAUSEN

I suppose you think that your schoolmate doesn’t drink anything but sacred water? Then you are making a great mistake—he drinks cognac.

HENRY

_Laughs._

He drinks cognac!

FEKLUSHA

_Laughs._

A pleasant occupation! There’s no use in hiding the fact: in spite of my general lack of ability, _this_ talent——

_Sighs._

I _have_.

YERMOLAYEV

It’s most remarkable, Henry. I have watched you for eight years, we have been in restaurants together, but I have never seen you drink too much!

HENRY

_Laughing._

Really?

YERMOLAYEV

Never!

TIZENHAUSEN

And you never will, Dmitry! He has a strong head, such as this world has never seen before!

HENRY

Do you think so? Perhaps you are right. And what is more—Gentlemen, the bell! That’s the postman, bringing a letter from Elizabeth. Carl, please.

_Exit CARL. HENRY is agitated, but restrained._

HENRY

_To Feklusha_:

So you are fond of cognac?

CARL

_Entering._

A letter from Moscow, registered. Sign here, Henry.

HENRY

_Signing._

I always asked her to send it registered. Here are twenty kopeks for the postman. So. Now they are writing us from Moscow.

_Tearing the envelope open._

You will pardon me, gentlemen?

TIZENHAUSEN

How can we prevent a lover from reading his letters? Go ahead, Henry, we are not here.

_HENRY reads slowly and long. He turns pale at the first lines,
and keeps growing ever paler. No one but CARL is watching him._

YERMOLAYEV

_Softly_:

A wonderful little apartment! It’s very hard to find one like it nowadays.

FEKLUSHA

You can’t even touch any apartments now—it’s simply terrible.

TIZENHAUSEN

Have you a family?

FEKLUSHA

An enormous one!

CARL

_Loudly_:

Aren’t you feeling well, Henry?

_All look with alarm at HENRY. He gets up, walks two steps, and
without saying a word strikes the table with a powerful blow
of his fist. Bottles and glasses fall. All jump to their feet._

CARL

Henry!

TIZENHAUSEN

Henry!

_HENRY strikes the table once more just as forcefully with his
fist, without saying a word. He stands silently, surveying them
all with red eyes, as if looking for some one to attack._

YERMOLAYEV

Bring him some water!

HENRY

I need no water!

TIZENHAUSEN

Henry! My dear Henry! Has anything terrible happened?

HENRY

No, nothing terrible.

CARL

Henry, calm yourself.

HENRY

I am calm.

TIZENHAUSEN

No. Something terrible has happened. My dear Henry! We are here! We are all your friends, Henry!

HENRY

I must ask you to excuse me, but there will be no dinner to-day. Carl, tell the new cook that she may go home now.

_Exit CARL, returns soon._

TIZENHAUSEN

Who cares about the dinner! You shouldn’t worry about such trifles, Henry!

YERMOLAYEV

Who cares about the dinner?

HENRY

There will be no dinner here to-day.

_He suddenly strikes the table again._

TIZENHAUSEN

_Almost crying._

Oh, my God! What a misfortune, Henry!

HENRY

Yes? Here is a very strange letter, Andrey. Either there’s something wrong in this letter, or I can’t read it. Read it, Andrey, and tell me. Perhaps I have grown blind.

TIZENHAUSEN

_Reads._

No, you haven’t grown blind, my poor Henry.

_Reads._

No, it’s impossible!

HENRY

And does it say there, “I still love you”?

TIZENHAUSEN

Yes, yes, Henry.

HENRY

So. Then I am not blind. And does it say there “But because of the insistence of my parents I am going to be married.”

TIZENHAUSEN

Henry! She is already married. She is already married!

HENRY

She is already married to a wealthy man. What is his name, Andrey?

TIZENHAUSEN

His name is not mentioned.

HENRY

Not mentioned. So. And how did she sign it?

TIZENHAUSEN

_Reading_:

“Your unworthy Elizabeth.”

HENRY

Unworthy Elizabeth. Yes. Unworthy Elizabeth.

_Suddenly strikes the table forcefully._

Unworthy Elizabeth!

TIZENHAUSEN

But my dear friend, my unfortunate friend.

CARL

Keep up your courage, Henry!

HENRY

I will not do it any more.

YERMOLAYEV

Henry, it isn’t worth worrying about. Such things happen in life. You will find a better bride for yourself.

HENRY

I will not do it any more. But, Andrey, don’t you find that it is written with precise exactness: “Unworthy Elizabeth.” Who? “Unworthy Elizabeth.” Who? Henry Tile. And who else? “Unworthy Elizabeth.” Don’t you feel like laughing, Feklusha?

FEKLUSHA

_Frightened._

No, Henry.

HENRY

You must not laugh. I will not allow any laughter. But, Andrey, don’t you think that the whole letter is written in very precise language?

TIZENHAUSEN

Excuse me, Henry, but in my opinion—the opinion of an honest man—this is a contemptible letter. Yes.

HENRY

And in my opinion it is simply a very precise letter. Henry Tile loves accuracy—all his life he never made a mistake in a single kopek, he never made a mistake in addition, he never made a mistake in a single cipher, and now they have written a precise letter to Henry Tile. And it is signed: “Unworthy Elizabeth.” Gentlemen, I should like to remain here alone.

TIZENHAUSEN

But how can you stay here alone, my dear friend?

HENRY

Never mind. I’ll stay here alone.

CARL

If you like, I’ll stay with you.

HENRY

No, Carl. I don’t need you. Good night. To-morrow we will meet at the bank. Carl I want to say a few words to you.

_Quietly_:

Here is some money, please take these people to a restaurant and treat them to a good dinner.

CARL

May I clasp your hand, Henry?

HENRY

It’s hardly necessary, but, please. Press it firmly.

CARL

I am pressing it firmly.

HENRY

_Smiling_:

No, press harder still.

CARL

I am. What do you want?

_They strangely measure their strength. The others look on
uneasily._

HENRY

Are you pressing with all your strength? Press harder.

CARL

I can’t press harder.

HENRY

And I?

_Presses Carl’s hand._

TIZENHAUSEN

Don’t, Henry. Leave him!

CARL

Henry, stop!

HENRY

_Smiling_:

And I?

CARL

_Turning pale and shrinking_,

It hurts. Stop! You’ll break my hand!

_Henry releases his brother’s hand and laughs._

HENRY

You are very strong, Carl.

CARL

I don’t like such jokes!

HENRY

_Morosely_:

Excuse me, Carl. That was really wrong. Excuse me. Good night, gentlemen. The door shuts itself, so I will not come out with you. Carl, I ask you once more to forgive me.

_All go out irresolutely, one by one, with different
expressions upon their faces, shaking HENRY’S hand. HENRY
remains alone; walks up and down the room. He is tall, wears a
dark coat, with round flaps, gray trousers, neatly creased—his
usual costume. All new and strong, and his shoes are also
strong and new. His face is regular, dark-complexioned, stern.
His hair is short. He wears a small mustache. The house
painters resume their song. HENRY stops and listens._

HENRY

What’s that again? Who is there? What’s that?

_Listens; suddenly strikes the back of the armchair violently._

Stop!

_The song is continued. It is sung softly, sadly, monotonously.
HENRY walks over to the door and shouts._

Eh, you! Stop! Quit your work! Go home!

_He walks up and down the room again, pauses, walks again,
looking at the door impatiently._

They call this “Russian sadness.” What nonsense, “Russian sadness!” Is there also such a thing as Swedish sadness? Then I feel it too! Who? Henry Tile. Who? Unworthy Elizabeth? And who else? And again Henry Tile, Henry Tile—O my God!

_Sighs, whistling, as one who has a toothache. The two house
painters, frightened, slip by quietly in the dark like two
shadows._

Wait! It isn’t necessary to work any longer—it’s dark already—you can’t see anything. And tell your master that I don’t need your work any more, anyway. Where are you going? This way, there’s no one there. The door shuts itself.

_The house painters go out, HENRY roams about the room, going
to unexpected nooks, taps on the wall, as though looking for
some forgotten door. He gradually blends with the gathering
darkness._

There is no one there, and there is no one here. Alone. Oh, Elizabeth, Elizabeth! Alone! Now I can break everything, smash and throw to the ground!

_Throws something on the floor._

I can destroy—and no one can stop me. I can destroy everything. Here is the piano.

_He strikes the piano forcefully, and it resounds._

How it sounds! And if I strike it again?

_He strikes it again and it sounds again._

How it sounds! When I banged the table, they were frightened and they cried: “Henry, Henry, Henry!” I suppose I must have struck it powerfully, for my hand hurts. They cried, “Henry!” then, but now nobody will cry. I can strike, break, destroy. Nobody will stop me—I am alone. And I can take the revolver from the table, put it against my head and fire. What then? Then I will lie on the floor until morning. Then some one will break the door—who?

_Pause._

No! But she is already married. My God! My God! My God! She is already married—already! My God! I hadn’t thought of this. What shall I do, what am I going to do all night long—_all night_. She is already married—How am I going to pass the night? It is so early, darkness has just set in. What am I going to do all night long! Elizabeth! Liza!

_Pause._

No.

_Pause._

_Suddenly his figure stirs in the darkness and he walks
quickly._

But that is impossible! I have forgotten! I have taken the apartment for three years. That’s impossible, that’s stupid—I cannot. Three years! I am ashamed. I have made a nursery, but I am not so ashamed of that. And my apartment? My God! And I have placed music upon the piano. Music. I bought it. Yes. What was I thinking about? She would have played, and I would have been sitting quietly, listening. I would have kissed her hand. Perhaps it would have been just as dark as it is now. I would have taken her gentle hand and put it to my lips. How is it done? This way.

_Silence. In the darkness his soft voice is heard, full of
longing_:

What a long night! What a dark night! Liza!

_Curtain_