The Borzoi Plays I 
 
 WAR 
 
 A play in four acts translated by 
 Thomas Seltzer from the Russian of \ 
 
 Michael 
 Artzibashef
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 Kenneth. Macgowan
 
 War
 
 THE BORZOI PLAYS 
 
 I WAR 
 
 By Michael Artzibashef 
 II MOLOCH 
 
 By Beulah Marie Dix 
 
 III MORAL 
 
 By Ludwig Thoma 
 
 IV THE INSPECTOR-GENERAL 
 By Nicolay Gogol
 
 The Borzoi Plays I 
 
 WAR 
 
 A play in four acts translated by 
 Thomas Seltzer from the Russian of 
 
 Michael 
 Artzibashef 
 
 New York Alfred A Knopf -1916
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY 
 ALFRED A. KNOPF 
 
 NOTE 
 
 This play was published in The Drama, Chicago, February, 1916. I 
 am grateful to Mr. Theodore B. Hinckley, its editor, for his kind per- 
 mission to reprint it. 
 
 The proper transliteration of the author's name is Artzybashev, not 
 Artzibashef. But as the latter spelling has been made familiar by the 
 English translator of his novels, it is used here to prevent possible eon- 
 fusion. 
 
 T. S. 
 
 PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
 
 College 
 Library. 
 
 MICHAEL ARTZIBASHEF 
 
 OF the three living Russian authors who have achieved 
 world fame, Gorky, Andreyev and Artzibashef, Gorky is 
 better known than read in this country, Andreyev is both 
 known and read, though by more limited numbers, while 
 Artzibashef is read more and known less. To enjoy 
 Gorky and Andreyev one must, it seems, be a devotee of 
 literature, and a devotee of literature is always interested 
 in the personalities of its creators. But one can enjoy 
 Artzibashef's writings and concern oneself little about 
 Artzibashef the man. Like the English servant girl 
 who asked the librarian for a copy of Pamela to read it 
 for the twentieth time and could not name Richardson, 
 its author, unconscious apparently that it had an author, 
 so many an American will devour a novel like Sanine 
 without bothering to pronounce the name of its writer. 
 
 Richardson and Artzibashef a strange collocation ! 
 It would seem on the face of it that they are farther 
 removed from each other in the nature and quality of 
 their works than they are even in time. And yet there 
 is a fundamental kinship between the two. The book on 
 which Richardson's fame rests has made its wide appeal 
 by the predominance of that element in it which is also 
 the predominant note in Sanine love, sex. This ele- 
 ment in Sanine it is that has given it hundreds of 
 thousands of readers in Russia, Germany, and France 
 and has spread its fame to England and America, where 
 temporarily surrendering our second nature, puritanism, 
 to our primal instincts, we too are beginning to read it 
 by the thousands. 
 
 Nevertheless, in the treatment of their basic material, 
 v 
 
 572313
 
 vi War 
 
 the natural instincts of man, Richardson and Artzibashef 
 are, as may well be expected, poles apart. Strange as 
 it may seem, the eighteenth century Englishman, for all 
 his artistic crudity and insular narrowness, sees life 
 from a broader, more comprehensively human viewpoint 
 than the consummate Russian artist, the highest expres- 
 sion of extreme modernity. Let this much be said in 
 despite of all the sneers and contemptuous shruggings 
 of the shoulders of our individualist anarchs: Richard- 
 son takes a less one-sided view of life than Artzibashef. 
 He finds men living not only by their instincts but by 
 their conventions as well. And he does not inquire 
 whether these conventions were superimposed by tra- 
 dition, prejudice, or superannuated reason, which is now 
 the very opposite of reason. His task as an artist is 
 merely to take account of them. To ignore them is to 
 ignore factors in human life which are as surely existent 
 as the natural instincts. Because the question as to 
 whether these conventions are merely secondary forces 
 in human life didn't even present itself to him, he was 
 able to give a more complete picture of life as it actually 
 was in his time. He was not great enough artist to 
 remain impartial. Virtue must be rewarded, and to that 
 end the natural instincts, though not ignored, must be 
 fought and brought to terms. 
 
 Yet the animal part of man fares far better in Pamela 
 than virtue does in Sanine. Even granting the su- 
 premacy of the former, the English novelist gives his 
 enemy, the animal impulses, a fairer chance, relatively 
 to the actual part they play in human conduct, than 
 Artzibashef does to his pet aversion, moral restraint. 
 From first to last in Sanine, in the short story, The Wife, 
 and in numerous other works, morality, and chiefly sex 
 morality, is made to seem such a small, feeble, pitiful 
 thing, that apart from all other considerations, just in 
 the interest of unprejudiced truth, it must be said: " It
 
 War vii 
 
 is not so. The facts do not warrant it. Sanine's pres- 
 entation of the case is at least as much of an under- 
 valuation of the strength of the ethical factors, as the 
 Puritan's is an exaggeration of them." We turn to 
 page 49 of the Russian edition and find Sanine saying: 
 
 " I have always wondered why people are so opposed 
 to drink. In my opinion it is only a drunken man who 
 lives the way a man should live." 
 
 " Or an animal," Novikov remarked. 
 
 "All right. What of it?" Sanine retorted. "The 
 fact remains that a drunken man does nothing but what 
 he wants to do. If he wants to drink, he drinks. And 
 he is not ashamed of being jolly and making merry." 
 
 " Sometimes he fights, too," Raznichev observed. 
 
 " Yes, that's sometimes the case." 
 
 "You don't fight when you are drunk? " asked Novi- 
 kov. 
 
 " No. I am more quarrelsome when I am sober. 
 When I am drunk, I am the kindest of men because I 
 forget such a lot of meanness." 
 
 " But everybody else is not like you in that respect." 
 
 " I am sorry. But what do I care for everybody else? 
 Everybody else isn't anything in the world to me." 
 
 " That's not the right way to speak," remarked Novi- 
 kov. 
 
 " Why not, if it's the truth? " 
 
 " A nice truth," said Lilya, tossing her head. 
 
 " The best I know of," said Ivanov for Sanine. 
 
 A very interesting discussion pro and con of the liquor 
 question, and in perfect character, too. Artzibashef is 
 too fine an artist to strike a false note. But when we 
 are left to infer that Sanine has spoken the last word 
 on this, as on all other subjects upon which he pro- 
 nounces his demolishing dicta, then we must enter our 
 demurrer. 
 
 Then what is Artibashef's strength? It is this:
 
 viii War 
 
 within the limits of that part of the world in which his 
 characters move, he is powerfully, fearfully, mercilessly, 
 often irritatingly true to life. With a touch as sure as 
 Tolstoy's and with his simplicity, too, he conjures before 
 us a picture, a situation, a character, a mood to which 
 we must in honesty bow assent. And it is all the more 
 wonderful because of the simple mechanism with which 
 he produces his effects. There is no straining, nothing 
 in each unit of composition which a child could not do 
 as well. Yet the net result is a product of rare harmony 
 and beauty bringing that satisfaction which only a work 
 of real art can inspire. 
 
 When Sanine was published, it immediately produced 
 a sensation and aroused a discussion that in volume and 
 intensity was unusual even in Russia, where literary dis- 
 cussions are frequent and serious. No book since the 
 publication of Turgenev's Fathers and Children, as 
 Artzibashef himself tells us, stirred up such interest. 
 It was hailed with wild enthusiasm and attacked with 
 savage ferocity. And the author himself frankly admits 
 that " both the eulogies and the condemnations are 
 equally one-sided." His own story of the fortunes and 
 the significance of the book is interesting and illuminat- 
 ing. 
 
 " In the year 1903, I wrote Sanine. This fact is will- 
 fully suppressed by Russian critics; moreover, they try 
 to persuade the public that Sanine is an outcome of the 
 reaction of the year 1907, and that I have followed the 
 fashionable tendency of contemporary Russian literature. 
 In reality, however, the novel had been read by editors 
 of two reviews and by many celebrated authors as early 
 as 1903. Again I owe it to the censorship and the 
 timidity of publishers that it was not brought out at 
 the time. It is an interesting fact that the novel was 
 refused on account of its ideas by the editorial staff of 
 the same monthly review, Sovremienny Mir, which some
 
 War ix 
 
 years later begged me to give it to them for publication. 
 In this way Sanine made its appearance five years too 
 late. This was very much against it: at the time of its 
 appearance literature had been flooded by streams of 
 pornographic and even homosexual works, and my novel 
 was likely to be judged with these. 
 
 " Sanine is neither a novel of ethics nor a libel on the 
 younger generation. Sanine is the apology for individ- 
 ualism ; the hero of the novel is a type. In its pure form 
 this type is still new and rare, but its spirit is in every 
 frank, bold and strong representative of the new Russia. 
 A number of imitators who have never grasped my ideas 
 hastened to turn the success of Sanine to their own ad- 
 vantage; they injured me greatly by inundating the 
 literary world with wantonly obscene writings, thus de- 
 grading in the reader's eyes what I wished to express in 
 Sanine. 
 
 " The critics persisted in ranking me with the number 
 of second-rate imitators of Sanine who displayed their 
 ' marketable wares ' full of all sorts of offensiveness. 
 Not until recently, when Sanine had crossed the fron- 
 tiers, and translations had appeared in Germany, France, 
 Italy, Bohemia, Bulgaria, Hungary, Denmark, and also, 
 in part, in Japan, were other voices to be heard among 
 the critics. Russia always does grovel before foreign 
 opinion." 
 
 The sensational success of Sanine has thrust Artzi- 
 bashef's other works into the background and, as usually 
 happens, has resulted in a one-sided estimate of the 
 author. The fact, however, is that Artzibashef has by 
 no means confined himself to the question of sex. True 
 to the best literary traditions, he reflects the manifold 
 changing interests of Russian contemporary society. 
 His first story, Pasha Tumanov, written in 1901, dealt 
 with the evils of the Russian grammar schools, a hotbed 
 of suicides. Some of his best creations, which he began
 
 x War 
 
 in 1905, are to be found in the stories of the revolution. 
 They are vivid pictures of Russian radical types, and 
 in the rendering of the atmosphere of the Revolution and 
 in the revelation of the motive forces that impelled its 
 actors, they are unexcelled even by Ropshin, who gained 
 signal fame several years later by the publication of his 
 two remarkable books on the same subj ect. Occasionally 
 Artzibashef takes an excursion into the lower depths, as 
 in the psychologic study of The Shoe Maker, which is 
 quite in the vein of Gorky. But all this Artzibashef 
 considers as just incidental, foreign to his real mission, 
 which, he says, is to preach the gospel of " anarchic in- 
 dividualism." 
 
 Of the two plays he has written, Jealousy, published 
 in 1913, bears a strong kinship to Sanine, with the erotic 
 element accented to the abnormal. The outbreak of the 
 war turned Russian literature away from the wild cur- 
 rent of sex, into which it had been caught up at the end 
 of the Revolution and in which it ran with ever increas- 
 ing impetus for several years. It is to be hoped that the 
 banishment of exaggerated emotion from the field of 
 Russian literature will be permanent. It has had ample 
 time to do its best and worst, and it has done it. What 
 further function is left to it? Russian life as well as 
 Russian literature can only gain if with the disappear- 
 ance of the " Sanine Clubs " that sprang up like mush- 
 rooms after the publication of the book, has come also 
 the culmination of the cheap literature in imitation of 
 Sanine without the genius of its author.* 
 
 * Since the above was written a new novel by Artzibashef 
 has appeared bearing the Biblical title The Woman Standing 
 in the Midst. It is quite in the vein of Sanine and even more 
 relentless in detail. There is this important difference, how- 
 ever the heroine revolts against the men who have brought 
 moral ruin upon her in the pursuit of their pleasure, and the 
 men themselves appear in anything but a favorable light. So 
 that the whole creates the impression of being a homily against 
 Saninism.
 
 War xi 
 
 The effect of new conditions upon Artzibashef himself 
 has been marvelously purifying. It seems scarcely 
 credible that the author of Jealousy could have written 
 War only a little over a year later. With the bigness 
 of his theme the author's art has grown big. In its 
 classic simplicity and restraint War is worthy of Tur- 
 genev; in its cruel exposition of the logic of horrible 
 facts it reaches the loftiness of the Greek tragedy. In 
 the technique, to be sure, Artzibashef is as anarchic as in 
 his philosophy; but it is the anarchy of the very events 
 the play depicts, an anarchy that makes the play equiva- 
 lent to life. Artzibashef is not bothered, as many a 
 smaller playwright might have been bothered, by the fact 
 that the first act is just a picture that might easily have 
 been omitted, and thus have made the action more con- 
 centrated. What he gains by the contrast between the 
 peaceful happy situation in the first act and the havoc 
 in the next three amply repays for the looseness in con- 
 struction. Observe, too, the subtle use of the two char- 
 acters, the consumptive Semyonov and the Prince, both 
 of them weaklings in the first act, the one to be pitied 
 for his physical disability, the other for his moral in- 
 feriority. In the next three acts the tables are turned. 
 In the world left after the war has done its work and 
 marked its impress upon its victims, Semyonov and the 
 Prince have become the strong ones. 
 
 Of course, the militarist may say of this play what I 
 have said before of Sanine. It exaggerates one side. 
 The other side is not given a hearing. But this is a 
 question about which millions see only one side, and for 
 an artist to be of those millions does not condemn him 
 for narrowness. 
 
 The following extracts from a short autobiographical 
 sketch contain the essential facts of Artzibashef 's career. 
 The passage I quoted on Sanine is also taken from this 
 sketch.
 
 xii War 
 
 "I was born in the year 1878 in a small town in 
 Southern Russia. By name and extraction I am Tar- 
 tar, but not of pure descent, since there is Russian, 
 French, Georgian, and Polish blood in my veins. There 
 is one of my ancestors of whom I am proud, and that is 
 the well-known Polish rebel leader Kosciusko, my great- 
 grandfather on the maternal side. My father was a 
 small landowner, a retired officer; my mother died of 
 consumption when I was three years old, bequeathing me 
 a legacy of tuberculosis. I did not become seriously ill 
 until 1907, but even before that the tuberculosis never 
 left me in peace, as it manifested itself in various forms 
 of illness. 
 
 " I went to a grammar-school in the provinces ; but as 
 I had taken the keenest interest in painting from my 
 childhood, I left it at the age of sixteen and went to a 
 school of art. I was very poor; I had to live in dirty 
 garrets without enough to eat, and the worst of it all 
 was that I had not enough money for my principal needs 
 paints and canvas. So it was not given to me to be- 
 come an artist; to earn anything at all I was obliged to 
 do caricatures and write short essays and humorous tales 
 for all kinds of cheap papers. 
 
 " Quite by chance, in the year 1901, I wrote my first 
 story, Pasha Tumanov. An actual occurrence and my 
 own hatred for the superannuated schools suggested the 
 subject. But the censorship at that time categorically 
 forbade any statements to be made which did not show 
 life in the schools in a pleasing light. Thus it was im- 
 possible for the story to achieve publicity at the right 
 time, and it did not appear until some years later in 
 book form. That has been the fate, moreover, of many 
 of my things. In spite of this the story was not without 
 favorable results for me; it attracted the attention of the 
 editorial staff and stimulated me to further work. I 
 renounced my dream of becoming an artist and trans-
 
 War xiii 
 
 f erred my allegiance to literature. This was very hard; 
 even to-day I cannot see paintings without emotion. I 
 love colors more than words. 
 
 " Pasha Tumanov was followed by two or three stories 
 which interested the editor of a small review, a man 
 named Miroliubov. My first introduction to literary 
 circles I owe to him. Up till then I had never been in 
 editorial offices, but had always sent my tales by post. 
 This was because I imagined them as temples conse- 
 crated to literature, which I revered. Nowadays we live 
 in other times and have other customs in Russia; adver- 
 tisement and influence dominate the literary world. 
 However, Miroliubov's name will leave its mark on the 
 history of Russian literature, although he did not write 
 himself. 
 
 " In the year 1905, during the bloody Revolution much 
 that I had written for purposes of agitation was con- 
 fiscated. I myself was indicted, but the temporary suc- 
 cess of the Revolution at the end of 1905 saved me from 
 punishment. 
 
 " My development was very strongly influenced by 
 Tolstoy, although I never shared his views on non-resist- 
 ance to evil. As an artist he overpowered me, and I 
 found it difficult not to model my work on his. Dostoev- 
 sky, and to a certain extent, Chekhov, played almost as 
 great a part, and Victor Hugo and Goethe were con- 
 stantly before my eyes. These five names are those of 
 my teachers and literary masters. 
 
 " It is often thought here that Nietzsche exercised a 
 great influence over me. This surprises me, for the sim- 
 ple reason that I never read Nietzsche. This brilliant 
 thinker is out of sympathy with me, both in his ideas 
 and in the bombastic form of his works, and I have never 
 got beyond the beginnings of his books. Max Stirner is 
 to me much nearer and more comprehensible." 
 
 THOMAS SELTZER.
 
 WAR 
 
 A Play in Four Acts, translated from the Russian of 
 Michael Artzibashef by Thomas Seltzer
 
 PERSONS OF THE PLAY 
 
 PIOTR IVANOVICH, a retired colonel. 
 
 OLGA PETROVNA, his wife. 
 
 VOLODYA, a student, their son. 
 
 NINA, their daughter. 
 
 VLADIMIR ALEKSANDROVICH, an officer, her husband. 
 
 ASYA, a young girl. 
 
 DAUE, a second lieutenant. 
 
 PRINCE VORONETZKY, a landowner. 
 
 SEMYONOV, a student. 
 
 SONYA and KOLYA, children of an officer killed in the war. 
 
 SIDORENKO, an officer's servant. 
 
 KATYA, a maid. 
 
 A medical student, a Sister of Mercy, and soldiers. 
 
 The action takes place in the house of Piotr in the Russia 
 of to-day.
 
 WAR 
 
 ACT I 
 
 It is a bright, sunny day in spring. The trees in front 
 of an old nobleman's house are in blossom. Broad 
 steps lead from a columned terrace down to the garden. 
 On the terrace is a large rush-bottom armchair, and on 
 one side under a large tree a garden bench. In front of 
 the house a circular plot with early spring flowers. Be- 
 yond the trees is seen a railing and a wicket gate open- 
 ing into a city street. Olga Petrovna, the mother, is at 
 work in the flower bed, while Piotr Ivanovich, her hus- 
 band stands looking on, smoking. He wears a light uni- 
 form and is hatless. 
 
 OLGA. You had better put your cap on, Piotr. 
 You'll catch cold. 
 
 PIOTR. Oh, no; I'm warm. 
 
 OLGA. Yes, warm. You think so. It's just the kind 
 of weather one is apt to catch a cold in. I'll tell Katya 
 to bring you your cap. 
 
 PIOTR. Don't; I don't need it. 
 
 OLGA [not heeding him, she calls]. Katya, Katya. 
 
 KATYA [coming out on the terrace]. What is it? 
 
 OLGA. Bring the master's cap, and tell Aksinya to 
 start a fire in the fireplace. 
 
 KATYA. Yes, ma'am. [She goes out.] 
 
 PIOTR [looking at his watch]. It's time for coffee. 
 Will you be done soon? 
 
 3
 
 4s War 
 
 OLGA. What time is it? 
 
 PIOTR. Half past twelve time long ago. 
 
 OLGA. I'll be through in a moment. I must tell 
 Sidorenko to water the flowers every evening. He never 
 does a stroke of work, anyway just runs after Katya 
 the whole day. 
 
 KATYA [coming down the steps]. Here's your cap, 
 Master. 
 
 OLGA. Is Vladimir Aleksandrovich up yet? 
 
 KATYA. Yes, he's washing. Shall I get the coffee 
 ready ? 
 
 OLGA. Yes, yes. Take a clean tablecloth from the 
 sideboard. And be careful not to soil it at once the way 
 you always do. I can never keep a large enough supply 
 of tablecloths. 
 
 KATYA. All right, ma'am; I'll be careful. [She goes 
 into the house.] 
 
 PIOTR [pulling his cap down on his head with an 
 air of gravity]. I don't remember a spring like this for 
 ever so long. Last year at this time it was still quite 
 cold. 
 
 OLGA. You just imagine it, Piotr. Last year was 
 warm too. It's the month of May, thank God! 
 
 PIOTR. I remember distinctly wearing an overcoat 
 when I went out on the tenth of May. 
 
 OLGA. You don't remember any such thing. It's 
 your imagination, nothing else, I assure you. 
 
 PIOTR [heatedly]. But I remember it distinctly. 
 [After a pause.] But I never saw a spring like the one 
 in the year 1877, when we crossed the frontier. 
 
 OLGA [without heeding him]. I haven't planted 
 any resedas this year. 
 
 PIOTR. When we arrived at the Danube 
 
 OLGA. Here is Nina. Why are you dressed so 
 lightly, Ninochka? I'll tell Vladimir on you. 
 
 NINA [in a light summer dress, comes out on the
 
 War 5 
 
 terrace and sits down on the top step]. All right, 
 Mamma; tell him. What were you talking about so 
 animatedly, Papa? 
 
 PIOTR. I was saying that in 1877, when we crossed 
 the frontier 
 
 OLGA [annoyed]. We've heard all that before, 
 Piotr. 
 
 PIOTR [with heat]. Why, I declare! Nina asked 
 me a question, and I answered her. Why, why 
 
 NINA [smiling quietly]. Papa, isn't it time for you 
 to take your coffee? 
 
 PIOTR [instantly forgetting the dispute]. Yes, high 
 time. But you can't tear your mother away from her 
 flowers ! 
 
 OLGA. One moment, one moment! 
 
 PIOTR. I know your " one moment." Nina, has 
 Vladimir come back yet? 
 
 NINA. He'll be here presently. 
 
 PIOTR. Well, Olga. 
 
 OLGA. You go, go. I'll be coming soon. 
 
 PIOTR [good-naturedly, rubbing his hands and walk- 
 ing into the house]. Nina, make her come in soon, or 
 she'll be at it the rest of the day. [He goes into the 
 house.] 
 
 There is silence as Olga potters over the flowers, 
 passing from one side of the plot to the other. Nina, 
 sitting on the terrace, looks around with a bright, con- 
 templative expression. 
 
 NINA. I woke up today thinking it will soon be three 
 years that I'm married. How strange ! 
 
 OLGA. Why strange? 
 
 NINA. I don't know. When I first met Vladimir I 
 didn't like him a bit, and if somebody had told me I was 
 going to marry him I'd have laughed at the idea. 
 
 OLGA. It's always like that. 
 
 NINA [after a silence], I had just graduated from
 
 6 War 
 
 college, and my head was all awhirl with the expectation 
 of something unusual. Prince Voronetsky was courting 
 me, and I almost fell in love with him. In fact, I was 
 a little in love with him. Suddenly I stopped caring for 
 the Prince and began to feel that Vladimir was the best, 
 the dearest of men. How stupid I was then, so afraid 
 people would find out that Vladimir and I had kissed. 
 I thought something dreadful would happen if it were 
 found out. But then it did come out, and there was 
 nothing terrible about it, and everybody was glad. 
 [After a silence.] It was a great time. [Sadly.] It 
 seems to me nothing like it will ever come into my life 
 again. 
 
 OLGA [in a philosophical tone]. It was good, and 
 it will be better still. 
 
 NINA. No; nothing like it again for me. It was 
 something like a fairy tale, like a dream. I some- 
 times think there will never again be such nights, with 
 such a moon; that there cannot possibly be such nights 
 again. I am happy, and yet it's sad to think that the 
 best is all behind me and can never return. 
 
 OLGA. How do you know, Ninochka? 
 
 NINA [surprised]. But I can't be Vladimir's sweet- 
 heart all over again. 
 
 OLGA [slyly]. Why just Vladimir's? 
 
 NINA [looking at her in amazement, with sudden 
 embarrassment]. Mamma, what are you saying? It's 
 ugly ! I don't like it. 
 
 OLGA [amused at her embarrassment]. Why ugly? 
 Lots of things happen in the world. Suppose a war 
 were suddenly to be declared, and Vladimir were to be 
 killed Heaven forbid ! Then you'd marry again. 
 
 NINA. No, never. Even if Vladimir were killed, I 
 would never marry again. 
 
 OLGA. That's what they all say, Ninochka; but all
 
 War 7 
 
 the same, when it comes to it, they do marry again and 
 bear children. 
 
 NINA. Disgusting. How can a woman ever forget 
 what has been, especially if the man she loved is killed? 
 It's horrid. 
 
 OLOA. Of course it's horrid. But what is one to do? 
 Bury oneself in a monastery ? You cry and cry and 
 then you forget. One must live some way. 
 
 NINA. I don't see why it's so absolutely necessary. 
 And then, even if I should marry again, I should feel 
 miserable and awkward. 
 
 OLGA. It only seems so to you now, Ninochka. 
 
 NINA. No, it doesn't only seem so; I know it. How 
 can one feel the same way a second time? No matter 
 how much I loved my second husband, I'd always be re- 
 membering and comparing! No, it's ugly. 
 
 OLGA. There is nothing ugly about it. 
 
 NINA. It is ugly. Anyway, I think it would be far 
 better to fall in love and then die, than to have to return 
 again to a dull, prosaic, every-day existence. 
 
 OLGA. If that's the way you take it, then life isn't 
 worth living. 
 
 NINA. Perhaps it isn't. 
 
 OLGA. And yet here have we been living together, 
 your father and I, and have both grown old, and still 
 we have no desire to die. 
 
 NINA. Oh, you; that's different. 
 
 OLGA. You only think it's different. 
 
 NINA. Why only think? What do you mean? 
 
 OLGA. Exactly what I say. You imagine it's dif- 
 ferent, but it isn't. It's because you have no children. 
 When you get children, you'll settle down at once. 
 
 NINA [blushing]. I shall never have children. 
 
 OLGA. And, pray, why not? 
 
 NINA. Because because I don't like children.
 
 8 War 
 
 OLGA. You don't like them because you haven't got 
 them. When I was young, I, too, thought I didn't like 
 children; but when I lost my Sandy, I nearly went 
 crazy. 
 
 Silence. 
 
 NINA. Still, it's all very sad. 
 
 OLGA. Sad, sad ! You had better put more clothes 
 on, or you'll catch cold. 
 
 NINA. Now, Mother ! how can one catch cold in such 
 weather ? 
 
 OLGA [insistently]. This is just the kind of weather 
 one is apt to catch cold in. 
 
 KATYA [appearing on the steps]. The master is call- 
 ing you. 
 
 OLGA. I am coming; I am coming. [She straightens 
 herself, shakes her hands, smoothes down her gray hair, 
 and goes quickly into the house.] Really Ninochka, you 
 had better put something on. I'll have Katya get you 
 a jacket. Yes? Shall I? 
 
 NINA. Why, Mamma, upon my word! 
 
 OLGA. See here, Nina, you'll catch cold, and then 
 you'll be coughing like Senya Semyonov. [She goes out, 
 accompanied by Katya.] 
 
 NINA [sitting alone on the steps, all bathed in the sun- 
 light, smiles gently and brightly at some thought that 
 passes through her mind]. Oh, how good! 
 
 She folds her hands behind her head, stretches her 
 supple body languidly, looks once more into the blossom- 
 ing garden, and walks slowly into the house. 
 
 It is quiet. The sun is shining. Somewhere in the 
 garden, the sparrows chirp roguishly. Asya Kachalova 
 and Semyonov appear at the gate, Asya in a light dress 
 and with a light sunshade in her hand, Semyonov in a 
 student's coat buttoned to the chin, notwithstanding the 
 warm weather, and with a stout, crooked cane hang-
 
 War 9 
 
 ing from a button. He carries Asya's book in his 
 hands. 
 
 SEMYONOV. Volodya is still in bed fast asleep, I sup- 
 pose. 
 
 ASYA. Why, it's one o'clock already. 
 
 SEMYONOV. What does he care? Go in and see. 
 I'll wait here. If I go in, Piotr Ivanovich will start off 
 again on the war of seventy-seven. 
 
 ASYA [laughing]. All right. Sit down. I'll be 
 back soon. [She mounts the steps lightly and rapidly 
 and enters the house.] 
 
 SEMYONOV [he is homely and thin, and his face is 
 drawn by suffering. He sits down on the bench under the 
 tree, and coughs drily]. Yes, that's the way. [He 
 beats the tip of his shoe lightly with his cane.] It's a 
 rotten deal I am getting, though yes, a rotten deal. 
 [He whistles quietly, tapping the ground with his cane, 
 and hanging his head. Vladimir Aleksandrovich, back 
 from the drill, enters from the street.] 
 
 VLADIMIR. Ah, Semyon Nikolayevich ! How do you 
 do ? All alone here ! Where are the others ? 
 
 SEMYONOV. I don't know. I've just come. 
 
 VLADIMIR. Why don't you come in, then? They're 
 having coffee, I suppose. 
 
 SEMYONOV. No, thanks; I'd rather stay here. I am 
 bored to death by the war of 1877. 
 
 VLADIMIR [laughing]. Well, well! I didn't know 
 Piotr Ivanovich had made you his victim too. 
 
 SEMYONOV [with an expression of horror]. I tell you, 
 it's frightful. Whew ! 
 
 VLADIMIR. Piotr Ivanovich is an eccentric. Very 
 well, then, if you wish to stay here, I'll send Volodya to 
 keep you company. [As he goes into the house, he 
 calls.] Sidorenko ! 
 
 Semyonov whistles quietly and taps his cane. 
 
 ASYA [comes out on the terrace, beaming with joy].
 
 10 War 
 
 Why, Volodya has really j ust got up. What a lazy fel- 
 low! 
 
 SEMYONOV [bitterly]. He's a darling! 
 
 ASYA [turning a quick glance upon him]. You are 
 horrid, Senya. 
 
 SEMYONOV. Not at all. It only hurts me to see you 
 so much in love. 
 
 ASYA [bursting out]. What makes you think that? 
 
 SEMYONOV. For a woman to go off into raptures over 
 a man's sleeping till one o'clock in the afternoon is a 
 very bad sign indeed. To my mind sleeping till one 
 o'clock is just plain dissipation and nothing else. 
 
 ASYA [pouting, and going into the garden]. You are 
 jealous because other people are in good health and 
 you 
 
 SEMYONOV [bitterly]. That's cruel, Aleksandra Ivan- 
 ovna. 
 
 ASYA [flinging herself towards him, penitently]. 
 Forgive me, Senya. I did not mean to offend you. 
 Don't be angry. 
 
 SEMYONOV [without looking at her]. I am not angry. 
 What business have I to be angry? You are perfectly 
 right. It is jealousy though no wonder a man's 
 jealous to see everybody and everything around him 
 blooming, rejoicing, making love, and himself dying. 
 
 ASYA. Senya, don't talk that way. You mustn't. 
 
 SEMYONOV. Why? It's true. I am dying; that's all 
 there is to it. [Asya looks at him with pity, at a loss 
 what to say.] 
 
 SEMYONOV [without looking at her, and tapping his 
 cane as before]. Yes, such is the law of nature, and 
 there's no help for it. As a matter of fact, it is all quite 
 natural, quite in conformity with the purpose of nature. 
 Only it's a damn shame that Nature in following out her 
 purpose should have fixed just upon me, the devil take 
 it ! However, someone has got to die if not I, then
 
 War 11 
 
 someone else. And I shouldn't gain so very much if I 
 were to live twenty years more. 
 
 ASYA. Why are you so bitter against life, Senya? 
 
 SEMYONOV. What has life given me, Asya? If I 
 were as strong as your Volodya, and if "I were loved by 
 a girl like you, then I too would sing hosannahs. But, 
 as it is, it isn't worth while, upon my word! [With an 
 unnatural smile.'] Fall in love with me, Asya, yes? 
 
 ASYA. What nonsense ! [In her embarrassment, she 
 begins to draw circles around her with her sun-shade.] 
 
 SEMYONOV. To you it's nonsense; but to me 
 
 ASYA. It's nonsense to you, too. 
 
 SEMYONOV. Not quite. In your relations to Volodya, 
 I 
 
 ASYA [interrupting him~\. First of all, what has that 
 got to do with you ? 
 
 SEMYONOV [with a bitter smile']. Absolutely nothing. 
 [After a silence.] And yet it's all extremely unjust. 
 
 ASYA. What is? 
 
 SEMYONOV. Everything. Why are things given to 
 cne and taken away from another? Here is Volodya, 
 and here am I. He has an iron constitution, health, love. 
 He has life before him, and he has the joy of living. 
 Like all people in good health, he is happy just to be 
 alive. And I have nothing except tuberculosis and the 
 prospect of dying a perhaps painful death in the near 
 future. 
 
 ASYA. Again, Senya! 
 
 SEMYONOV. It's a fact, Aleksandra Ivanovna. You 
 can't get away from it. In my opinion, it would be 
 fairer by far if you loved, not Volodya, but me. 
 
 ASYA. Again! Aren't you sick of it, Senya? 
 
 SEMYONOV. I am and have been for a long time 
 and yet [In an unnatural, ironical tone.] It 
 would really be much more poetical if, instead of loving 
 Volodya, you would cheer and beautify the last days of
 
 12 War 
 
 my life. This way, what is it? You will marry, bear 
 children 
 
 ASYA. You are talking nonsense, Mr. Semyonov, and 
 are insolent besides. 
 
 SEMYONOV [sadly']. I know it! Forgive me, Asya; 
 I really feel very ill. 
 
 ASYA [softening at once']. I am not angry, but you 
 mustn't speak about it. 
 
 There is a silence. Asya bends over towards the 
 flowers and smells them. Semyonov looks at her, and, 
 as he looks, his face gradually assumes an angry expres- 
 sion. 
 
 SEMYONOV [with a sinister smile]. But my, how des- 
 perately in love you are, Asya ! 
 
 ASYA [quickly drawing herself up]. This is getting 
 to be intolerable, really. 
 
 SEMYONOV [laughing maliciously]. ,1 am a fool. 
 Why should I have asked your pardon? What for? 
 You are in love; you enjoy life; you are happy. But 
 why should I respect your happiness? Why should I 
 be glad of it? [Rising and flourishing his cane.] I 
 spit upon your happiness and upon your love; I have 
 a right not only to refuse to respect your love; I have 
 a right to be jealous of you, to hate you, despise you, 
 ridicule you anything I please. You happy people 
 should be thankful to us unhappy ones that we tolerate 
 your happiness. All right. Live, enjoy yourselves, 
 love each other, think that the whole world was created 
 for nothing but your pleasure, be fruitful and multiply, 
 and be damned ! Goodby ! [He turns abruptly and 
 goes out of the garden., Asya looks after him, fright- 
 ened and surprised. Volodya enters.] 
 
 VOLODYA [on the terrace]. Semyonov, where are you 
 going? Hello, Asya. [He runs down to her and 
 presses her hand hard.] Semyonov!
 
 War 13 
 
 SEMYONOV [turning around for a moment, bitterly]. 
 Go to the devil! 
 
 He goes out. A silence ensues. 
 
 VOLODYA. What's the matter? What's happened? 
 
 ASYA [embarrassed"] . I don't know, really. He is 
 so queer. 
 
 VOLODYA. Yes; isn't it a pity? His sickness has 
 soured him. Oh, well, it's nothing, a momentary fit. 
 He gets attacks like that now and then, but he is a fine 
 fellow at bottom. [He takes Asya's hand.] How well 
 you look today, Asya! 
 
 ASYA [laughing]. You tell me the same thing each 
 time. 
 
 VOLODYA [taking her other hand also]. Don't you 
 like it? Don't you? [Bending his head and looking 
 into her eyes.] Don't you like it, Asya? \Katya comes 
 out on the terrace and shakes the tablecloth.] 
 
 VOLODYA [letting go of Asya's hands and looking at 
 Katya; in an unnatural tone of voice]. Have you been 
 to the library today? 
 
 ASYA [confused]. Yes, I got you [Frightened.] 
 He carried off my books. 
 
 VOLODYA. Who? 
 
 ASYA. Senya. I got the novels for you, but he has 
 taken them away. 
 
 Katya goes out. 
 
 VOLODYA. Never mind; he'll bring them back. 
 Come into the garden, Asya. 
 
 ASYA [with a shy look]. What for? 
 
 VOLODYA. Just for a little walk. 
 
 ASYA [shyly shaking her head and closing her eyes]. 
 
 VOLODYA. Why not?
 
 14 War 
 
 ASYA [suddenly lowering her eyes, in an undertone]. 
 You'll begin to speak about that again. 
 
 VOLODYA. About what? [He takes her hand.] 
 About what, Asya? 
 
 ASYA [making a slight effort to pull her hand away]. 
 Why, about that . . . 
 
 VOLODYA. What's the use of talking? Don't I love 
 you, Asya? 
 
 ASYA. Is that love? 
 
 VOLODYA [passionately]. Yes, of course. You are 
 a woman) Asya. Why shouldn't I speak about it? 
 Anyway, it's got to come sooner or later. 
 
 ASYA [lowering her eyes]. No, it never will. 
 
 VOLODYA. Yes, it will! It will! [He seizes her 
 hand in a tight pressure and draws her to him.] Asya ! 
 
 ASYA. Volodya, Volodya, you have gone out of your 
 mind ! 
 
 Sidorenko enters from the garden with a watering- 
 can in his hand; they fly apart. 
 
 VOLODYA [confused]. What do you want? 
 
 SIDORENKO [frightened]. Nothing, Mr. Volodya. 
 I I was going to water the flowers. 
 
 VOLODYA. You'll do it some other time. Vladimir 
 Aleksandrovich wants you. 
 
 SIDORENKO. Yes, sir. [He sets the can near the 
 flowers and slowly passes into the house.] 
 
 ASYA [in a low voice]. Let's go away somewhere, 
 Volodya. 
 
 VOLODYA [slyly]. Where to? 
 
 ASYA [blushing and smiling, and looking at him with 
 bright, loving eyes]. Well, into the garden, if you want 
 to; it's all the same. 
 
 VOLODYA [rapturously]. My dear girl, my sweet- 
 heart ! 
 
 ASYA. Only please, Volodya, not like yesterday. . . . 
 You mustn't .
 
 War 15 
 
 VOLODYA. Why mustn't I ? 
 
 ASYA. You mustn't, and that's all. It's bad. 
 
 Volodya suddenly flings his arms around her and 
 kisses her. 
 
 ASYA [struggling to free herself and frightened], 
 Volodya, Volodya ! You are mad. Let me go ! [For 
 a moment she remains still, abandoning herself to his 
 kisses, then tears herself away, looks at him with happy, 
 mist-covered eyes, and runs into the garden, Volodya 
 following her.] 
 
 The stage is empty. Sidorenko comes out of the 
 house, takes the can, yawns, crosses to the other side, 
 and goes out. Nina and Vladimir enter. 
 
 NINA. Where are our young people ? 
 
 VLADIMIR. I don't know. They were here a few 
 minutes ago. They must have gone into the garden. 
 
 NINA [sitting down on the top step]. I feel so 
 happy today. Maybe it's because the sun is so bright. 
 
 VLADIMIR [seating himself next to her on the broad 
 stone balustrade]. And maybe it's because I love you. 
 [He takes her hand, kisses it, and puts it on his knee.] 
 My dear, sweet Nina ! 
 
 NINA [laughing]. We are all dear and sweet. 
 
 VLADIMIR [after a short silence, stroking her hand]. 
 It's good to be living in the world, after all. 
 
 NINA [thoughtfully]. Sometimes too good, even. 
 
 VLADIMIR. Why too good? 
 
 NINA. Because it's awful. 
 
 VLADIMIR. Awful? 
 
 NINA. Yes, awful! Nothing is lasting. We know 
 that things cannot continue the same forever. 
 
 VLADIMIR [catching her thought]. Oh! 
 
 NINA [seizing his hand and looking at him wide-eyed], 
 So that when you know your happiness will not last 
 forever, and that after happiness must come sorrow, 
 you begin to feel so awful, awful!
 
 16 War 
 
 VLADIMIR. Why think about it, Nina? 
 
 NINA. I don't know; it keeps running in my head. 
 I am very, very happy, Vladimir. 
 
 VLADIMIR [bending down and kissing her fingers'], 
 You are bored, darling. You know, I sometimes think 
 I am committing a crime by living with you. 
 
 NINA. What are you talking about? 
 
 VLADIMIR. You see, I am such a simple, uninteresting 
 fellow, I must bore you. You should have had a different 
 kind of husband. 
 
 NINA [putting her hand over his lips]. Don't talk 
 nonsense. 
 
 VLADIMIR [kissing her hand and gently pulling it 
 away~\. No, Nina; I'm not joking. Who am I? An 
 ordinary, humdrum army officer, that's all, whereas you 
 are a fine, clever, beautiful, unusual woman. You should 
 have had a talented, educated, rich man for a husband, 
 and you ought to live in a large city, meet lots of people, 
 and shine in society. Why didn't you marry the Prince, 
 Nina? 
 
 NINA [laughing]. Because I married you. That's all. 
 
 VLADIMIR [a little jealous]. He is much more of 
 your sort than I am. 
 
 NINA. Vladimir, I'll get angry. 
 
 VLADIMIR. I won't any more ; I won't. [After a brief 
 silence]. Oh, it will be all right. Next fall I'll pass 
 the examinations for the Academy, and then we'll move to 
 St. Petersburg. Our whole life is still before us; isn't 
 it, my little Nina? 
 
 NINA. Of course it is, dear. 
 
 VLADIMIR [kissing her hand]. My dear, precious 
 Nina. We are still going to enjoy life. One must have 
 faith, and work; that's all. You know, Nina, when I 
 look at you, it seems to me that the sun shines only be- 
 cause you are here [Looking around.] I hear 
 someone coming.
 
 War 17 
 
 Prince Voronetsky and Second Lieutenant Dane come 
 in through the wicket gate. 
 
 VLADIMIR [in involuntary excitement]. The Prince 
 again ! 
 
 NINA [hurriedly]. Never mind. I'll say I am not 
 feeling well. 
 
 VLADIMIR [trying to conceal his excitement]. No, 
 don't. Why should you? [Rising to meet the guests], 
 How do you do, Prince! How are you, Daue! Is this 
 a social call, or have you come on business ? 
 
 DAUE. I am just coming from the office. Mak- 
 simych asked me to bring this to you. [He hands him a 
 paper.] Good afternoon, Nina Petrovna. [He kisses 
 her hand.] I've brought you a delightful piece of 
 music. We'll play it together. [The Prince silently 
 kisses Nina's hand and salutes Vladimir Aleksandro- 
 vich.] 
 
 VLADIMIR [rapidly glancing over the paper]. Daue, 
 will you step into my room a moment? I'd like to talk 
 to you. Prince, you'll excuse us, won't you? 
 
 PRINCE. Certainly. 
 
 VLADIMIR. We'll be back soon, Nina. Come, 
 Daue. 
 
 Vladimir and Daue go into the house. During a 
 silence Nina remains sitting, with a listless, indifferent 
 air, and with her eyes turned away -from the Prince. 
 
 PRINCE [with a smirk.] You seem to be angry with 
 me, Nina Petrovna? 
 
 NINA [coldly]. I am not angry. I feel queer; that's 
 all. I thought it was all at an end. 
 
 PRINCE [his face darkening]. But if I can't? 
 
 NINA [coldly, shrugging her shoulders]. I don't 
 know. It's your affair. But if you really love me as 
 you say, then you ought to spare me ; you ought to leave 
 me alone. 
 
 PRINCE [quickly]. So my presence excites you?
 
 18 War 
 
 NINA. Not in the sense that you mean. It is simply 
 unpleasant. 
 
 PRINCE. To whom? To you or your husband? 
 NINA [haughtily]. Please leave my husband out. 
 What has my husband got to do with it? It's very 
 disagreeable to me. 
 
 PRINCE. But why? Do tell me why? 
 
 NINA [excitedly pulling at her handkerchief and not 
 looking at him]. You ought to understand, Prince. I 
 respect you, hold you in high esteem as a man. But 
 really it's time at last that you realized how exceedingly 
 unpleasant it is to me [growing irritated] these con- 
 stant explanations, your dogged pursuit of me. It's all 
 very tiresome and difficult, really. 
 
 PRINCE [sadly, twirling his moustache and looking 
 sidewise at her]. It's your own fault, Nina Petrovna. 
 
 NINA [in surprise]. My fault? That's strange. 
 
 PRINCE. Yes, yours. Whose fault is it that no other 
 woman exists for me beside you, that I think only of 
 you, see only you? If your voice, your walk, the scent 
 of your perfumes, even the rustle of your dress turn 
 my head and drive me crazy, whose fault is it? Who 
 did it? 
 
 NINA. I don't know. I certainly didn't mean to do 
 it. 
 
 PRINCE [bitterly]. It isn't true. 
 
 NINA [offended]. Prince! 
 
 PRINCE. Yes, it's not true. You are not really what 
 you can make yourself seem to be. You are just an 
 ordinary woman, but you have acquired the art of seem- 
 ing to be very different. Your hair lies on your head as 
 on no other woman's, your walk excites, and your dress 
 seems part of yourself, so that you produce the impres- 
 sion of being altogether out of the ordinary, a woman 
 of rare beauty. But tell me frankly, when you stand 
 for hours in front of the mirror, when you stretch and
 
 War 19 
 
 massage and coddle your body, when you move, laugh, 
 or dance, do you do it quite naturally, quite uncon- 
 sciously, with absolutely no design? 
 
 NINA [confused]. An odd question! You've gone 
 out of your mind, Prince. 
 
 PRINCE. Maybe. I sometimes think so myself. 
 
 Silence. 
 
 NINA [agitated, without looking at him]. Perhaps 
 you are right. [The Prince utters a short, queer chuckle. 
 Nina gives him a quick, almost frightened look.] All 
 right, if you insist; it's partly my own fault. I 
 shouldn't have allowed it to come to this. I have enough 
 sense not to be insulted at being told the truth, and 
 enough courage to admit it. There once was a time 
 when I tried to please you. 
 
 PRINCE [sarcastically]. Once? 
 
 NINA [greatly agitated]. Well, yes, and afterwards, 
 too, I didn't always act as I should have. But, after 
 all, I am only a woman, j ust an ordinary woman, 
 as you say. I am to blame, but now it's all at an 
 end. 
 
 PRINCE [somberly]. It cannot end this way, Nina 
 Petrovna. 
 
 NINA [in distress]. But understand me, for heaven's 
 sake ! I don't want to You are torturing me. I 
 love my husband! 
 
 PRINCE [obstinately]. What do I care about that? 
 
 NINA. But I implore you! [In sudden anger.] 
 But what do you mean by this? Can you force me? I 
 have a right to demand that you let me alone. 
 
 PRINCE. This is a question about which I could say 
 a lot to you, Nina Petrovna. But your people are com- 
 ing. Another time. 
 
 Both are silent. Vladimir and Dane -walk down from 
 the terrace.
 
 20 War 
 
 VLADIMIR. So your mind is quite made up? 
 
 DAUE. Oh, yes; I'll leave the regiment in August and 
 enter the Conservatory next fall. 
 
 VLADIMIR. We'll meet in St. Petersburg, then. 
 
 DAUE. You'll be in the Academy? 
 
 VLADIMIR. I hope so. [Walking up to Nina and the 
 Prince.] Here we are again. 
 
 DAUE [gleefully]. Well, Nina Petrovna, shall we 
 play that piece now ? 
 
 NINA [distracted, not having yet completely regained 
 her composure]. What piece? Oh, yes of course. 
 
 DAUE. I brought the music with me, too. [With 
 animation.] I am very anxious to play it for you. It's 
 so bright and sunny. 
 
 PRINCE [glumly], Daue seems to be in love with 
 Nina Petrovna. 
 
 DAUE [with quiet ease]. Oh, no. If I am in love 
 with anything it's with music. 
 
 PRINCE. Get out! I don't believe you. 
 
 DAUE. Upon my word! You know, I often wonder 
 how one can fall in love with women, suffer, and plague 
 one's self on account of them, when there is music in the 
 world. To my mind, the most beautiful woman in ex- 
 istence is not worth a single Beethoven sonata. 
 
 VLADIMIR. It seems to me that the whole world and 
 all that is in it is not worth as much to you as that 
 Beethoven sonata. How did you ever come to be an 
 officer, Daue? 
 
 DAUE. I have always thought it strange myself. 
 You see, I never dared to dream that I could be a real 
 musician. I thought a real musician was something ex- 
 traordinary. I had to choose an ordinary occupation. 
 My father was a soldier; so I became a soldier, too. 
 But I am going to leave now. My mind is positively 
 made up. I'll devote myself entirely to music, and I
 
 War 21 
 
 think I can still turn out to be something. [He looks 
 round, smiling diffidently.] 
 
 VLADIMIR. I have no doubt of it. 
 
 DAUE [a-quiver with impatience]. Well, Nina Pe- 
 trovna ? 
 
 NINA. I am ready. You stay here and listen. 
 
 VLADIMIR. All right. Will you have a cigarette, 
 Prince ? 
 
 Nina and Daue go into the house. 
 
 VLADIMIR [lighting a cigarette]. He is a remarkable 
 man Daue is. Nothing exists for him outside of mu- 
 sic. 
 
 PRINCE [mechanically, thinking of something else]. 
 Yes he is a talented chap. 
 
 VLADIMIR. When there was talk of war last year, 
 Daue was in despair. It was distressing to see him. 
 And it wasn't because he is a coward, but because for 
 him to give up his violin is like giving up his life. 
 [Musing.] But every one of us has something he holds 
 especially dear. 
 
 There is a pause. The tuning of a violin and the 
 sounds of a piano along with the tuning are heard com- 
 ing from the house. 
 
 VLADIMIR. Yes, every one has something which he 
 values above everything else. And yet, let war be de- 
 clared, and we'd all drop what's dearest to us and go out 
 to kill and die. Come to think of it, it's queer, isn't 
 it? But we'd do it, just the same. Yes, we'd go. And 
 Daue would be among the first. He'd drop his violin 
 and go with the rest. 
 
 PRINCE [mechanically]. Yes, it's so, of course. 
 
 Olga and Piotr come out on the balcony. 
 OLGA. The Prince is here, too. Good afternoon.
 
 22 War 
 
 Ninochka and Daue are going to give us some music. 
 Let's listen. 
 
 PIOTR [with an air of lively satisfaction]. I like to 
 hear them play. I always listen to them with great 
 pleasure. Daue is a genuine musician. In our regiment 
 there was an officer who 
 
 OLGA [sitting down on the stoop]. Hush, Piotr. 
 Listen. 
 
 Daue plays a bright, cheerful melody on the violin, 
 accompanied by Nina. All listen. Olga nods her head 
 in time to the music. Vladimir smiles with satisfaction. 
 But the Prince listens with an expression of pain on his 
 face. Asya and Volodya come in at the sound of the 
 music. They greet the Prince from a distance, and 
 stop short. 
 
 PIOTR. Wonderful. What is it? 
 
 OLGA [annoyed, motioning him to keep quiet]. Sh-sh, 
 Piotr; don't talk. 
 
 The music rises to a high, joyous note and stops. 
 
 ALL. Bravo! Bravo, Daue! Encore! [There is 
 general animation. Asya and Volodya cross over to the 
 others.] 
 
 ASYA. What a beautiful piece! What is it? I've 
 never heard it before. It's exquisite ! Once more, once 
 more. [She runs into the house.] Play it again, please, 
 Nina Petrovna. 
 
 OLGA [reproachfully]. Out here again without your 
 cap, Piotr. 
 
 PIOTR. For heaven's sake! Let me alone, please. 
 Do me the favor, won't you? 
 
 OLGA. A favor, yes. And if you catch cold, who 
 will look after you? 
 
 Piotr Ivanovich throws up his hands in despair. All 
 laugh. 
 
 VLADIMIR. I didn't know Asya was here. xShe is a 
 dear girl. Nina is very fond of her, too.
 
 War 23 
 
 OLGA. Everybody likes her. 
 
 VLADIMIR [with a twinkle in his eyes]. And Volodya 
 more than anybody else. 
 
 OLGA. Thank God for that. We'll marry them, and 
 then we'll all live together even more nicely than before. 
 We must marry off the Prince, too. You ought to find 
 yourself a nice, good girl, Prince, and marry; and then 
 you and your wife would be coming to see us and have 
 tea with us, and all would be just right. It would be 
 so nice. 
 
 PRINCE [with a scarcely perceptible touch of irony]. 
 I am afraid it would turn out to be too nice. 
 
 Dane plays again. All are silent. 
 
 CURTAIN
 
 ACT II 
 
 A few weeks later. 
 
 It is the dining-room in the house of Piotr. The 
 table is spread for a farewell luncheon. A door on the 
 right leads to the hallway in which Sidorenko is locking 
 and strapping up trunks. The bell rings. Sidorenko 
 opens the door, admitting Asya and Semyonov. Asya 
 takes off her hat, Semyonov hangs up his overcoat, and 
 both enter the dining-room. 
 
 ASYA. Nobody in. We had better wait here, Senya. 
 I suppose they are not thinking about us now. They 
 have enough to occupy them. 
 
 SEMYONOV. All right, let's wait. [He sits down at 
 the window and lights a cigarette.] 
 
 ASYA. Smoking again, Senya? That's bad for you. 
 
 SEMYONOV. What's the difference? I'll die if I 
 smoke, and I'll die if I don't. I can't last much longer, 
 no matter what I do. 
 
 Asya nervously paces the room, smoothing down a 
 wrinkled corner of the tablecloth, and gazing through 
 the window. 
 
 SEMYONOV. Why are you so nervous, Asya? 
 
 ASYA. I don't know. I can't get it into my head. 
 It's all so unexpected. 
 
 SEMYONOV. Unexpected? Hardly. On the con- 
 trary, it was to be expected long ago. Do you think 
 the Germans have been preparing for war these forty 
 years for their own private satisfaction, eh? 
 
 24
 
 War 25 
 
 ASYA. I didn't mean it that way. You could have 
 told it was coming, I suppose; you know about such 
 things; but to me it would have been unexpected, no 
 matter when it came. I can't imagine how people can 
 make up their minds to such a horror. The misery and 
 tears it has brought into almost every home ! In the 
 whole city there isn't one who hasn't some relative or 
 some dear friend to take leave of. The soldiers are so 
 jolly, and they sing as they go. Even the officers look 
 as though they are glad. But my heart contracts when 
 I think of the many of them that are doomed to death 
 and terrible agony and suffering. And yet you know, 
 Senya, I don't feel so sorry for those who leave for the 
 front as for those who stay behind. Why, it's terri- 
 ble to see those you love go off to war. How many of 
 them will never return ! Yet every one of them has a 
 mother, a wife, children. What must they be feeling 
 now ! What will they be thinking all the time ! How 
 many tears they will shed ! No ; it's terrible, terrible ! 
 It's easier to die oneself. 
 
 SEMYONOV. For some it is; for some it isn't. It all 
 depends. 
 
 Silence. 
 
 ASYA. Poor Nina! Poor Vladimir! And how he 
 looked forward to entering the Academy next fall and 
 going to St. Petersburg and beginning a new life ! Nina 
 cries and cries all the time ; she never stops. 
 
 SEMYONOV. Yes, it's a bad business. Take care that 
 you don't have to be weeping, too. 
 
 ASYA [stopping short, frightened"]. I? What for? 
 
 SEMYONOV. Volodya might go off to the war, and 
 then you'll be left behind, a straw widow. 
 
 ASYA. Volodya isn't in the army. 
 
 SEMYONOV. He'll go as a volunteer. He is a strong, 
 healthy chap. All are going. Why shouldn't he?
 
 26 War 
 
 ASYA. You are not going? 
 
 SEMYONOV. I? I, too? The trouble is, I'd get no 
 farther than the first hospital. So it's hardly worth 
 while But why are you so frightened? 
 
 ASYA [confused]. It's impossible. You are saying 
 it just to frighten me. 
 
 SEMYONOV. Not a bit of it. He told me so himself, 
 yesterday. And I think it would be a fine thing for him 
 to do. Why, even Daue is going. 
 
 ASYA [impatiently]. What do I care about Daue? 
 
 SEMYONOV [spitefully]. There you are. You are 
 all heroines until it strikes home. It's Daue, and none 
 but Daue, that I'm sorry for. He is worth all the 
 Volodyas in the world put together. If Daue should be 
 killed, it would be a genuine loss. 
 
 ASYA. You are not sorry for the others? 
 
 SEMYONOV. For some I am; for others I am not. 
 For your Volodya, for example, I am not. Upon my 
 word, I'm not. 
 
 ASYA [indignantly]. Aren't you ashamed of yourself, 
 Senya ? 
 
 SEMYONOV. Why should I be ? It is only to you that 
 he is so precious. But for humanity to be minus one 
 Volodya is really no great loss. 
 
 ASYA. Why, he is your friend. 
 
 SEMYONOV [darkly]. I have no friends. 
 
 ASYA. So much the worse for you. 
 
 SEMYONOV. Perhaps. But try to look at it objec- 
 tively. All right; Volodya remains at home, goes 
 through the university, becomes an instructor in mathe- 
 matics, marries you, begets children. What boredom ! 
 Is it worth being born into the world for that ? 
 
 ASYA. But to be killed or crippled in war, it is ? 
 
 SEMYONOV. One may get run over by a motor or 
 trolley. War at least is life, fight. I'd honestly advise 
 him to go.
 
 War 27 
 
 ASYA [her whole body trembles, as she fixes him with 
 a look of hatred]. Yes, I know; it's you who put the 
 idea into his head, you who advised him to go. It was 
 an ugly, mean thing to do. 
 
 SEMYONOV. Why was it mean? Is it mean to advise 
 a man to go and defend his country? 
 
 ASYA [embarrassed], I didn't mean that And 
 you [She suddenly covers her face with her hands, 
 and goes towards the door.] 
 
 SEMYONOV. Asya, don't run away. [Asya pays no 
 attention to him, and goes out.] Well, as you please. 
 [He shrugs his shoulders and absent-mindedly pokes 
 his already extinguished cigarette into the ash-tray.] 
 Yes, yes ; that's the way. And you, Sidorenko, you are 
 going, too? 
 
 SIDORENKO. Yes, sir. 
 
 SEMYONOV. Aren't you afraid? 
 
 SIDORENKO [smiling]. Of course I am. It's no joke. 
 But I am sorry more for her as is left at home. 
 
 SEMYONOV. At home? What home? 
 
 SIDORENKO. My home, sir, of course. I have a wife, 
 living in the village, and of course she is a foolish 
 woman, and she cries and carries on. Naturally, I feel 
 sorry. But, just the same, maybe it's all right. We'll 
 get back all right, if God means us to. Perhaps it 
 looks so awful only from a distance. [He slams the 
 trunk lid shut and carries it over to one side. The bell 
 rings and he opens the door. Daue enters, in khaki, 
 carrying a violin case in his hand. He crosses into the 
 dining-room.] 
 
 DAUE. Good morning, Semyon Nikolayevich. You 
 have come to say good-by to us, too? [Holding out his 
 hand to him.] That's fine. I thought I shouldn't have 
 a chance to see you again before I left. 
 
 SEMYONOV. So you are going? 
 
 DAUE [laying the violin case on the table, with a
 
 28 War 
 
 flight shrug]. What's to be done? It's got to be. 
 
 SEMYONOV. But you were going to leave the army, 
 weren't you? 
 
 DAUE. Oh, yes, I was. It's too late now, though. 
 Fate has decreed otherwise, it seems. [He laughs. ,] 
 Written in the Book of Life, I suppose; or is it in the 
 Book of Death? Besides, I'd feel ashamed every- 
 body going, and I staying here and scraping on the 
 fiddle. No; if we are to die, then let's die together. 
 [With a sigh.'] Yes, I guess I shall have to give 
 it up. Here is my violin. I've brought it here to 
 ask Nina Petrovna to keep it for me. It's a fine instru- 
 ment, very expensive. Maybe I won't get killed, after 
 all. 
 
 SEMYONOV. You won't; I am sure of it. 
 
 DAUE. We shall see. And if they do kill me well, 
 what of it? There'll be one poor fiddler the less in the 
 world. One must die some time, anyway. I'd only like 
 to make sure about the violin. It would be a pity to 
 lose it. 
 
 SEMYONOV. Don't worry about the violin. It will 
 be taken good care of here. 
 
 DAUE. Thank you. I rely on Nina Petrovna. She 
 loves music herself, and she has always treated me well. 
 
 Vladimir comes in, also in khaki, looking sad and pre- 
 occupied. He forgets that he has not yet seen Sem- 
 yonov, and greets only Daue. 
 
 VLADIMIR. Good morning, Daue. Well ? I sent 
 for you, but you weren't at home. 
 
 DAUE. I have been running about the city the whole 
 morning, trying to get my affairs in order. Thank God, 
 it's all settled now. I sold my piano to Kokhanovsky. 
 The only thing left is the violin. 
 
 VLADIMIR [absent-mindedly]. Oh, the violin. [He
 
 War 29 
 
 puts out his hand towards the violin, but the next moment 
 forgets about it]. What a crowd there was in the church 
 today ! 
 
 SEMYONOV. Good morning, Vladimir Aleksandro- 
 vich. 
 
 VLADIMIR. Oh, excuse me; I didn't see you. Glad 
 to see you! Thanks very much for coming. [Recol- 
 lecting himself.] But why don't you come into the next 
 room, gentlemen? They are all in there the Prince 
 is here. 
 
 DAUE. The Prince has come, too? 
 
 VLADIMIR [with an exaggerated air of indifference], 
 Yes; he has come to see us off. Come, gentlemen. 
 [Smiling faintly.] I see you are holding on to your 
 violin and won't let go of it. 
 
 DAUE. I want to ask Nina to put it away for me 
 in some safe place. It's a very good one, and very 
 expensive, you know. It would be a pity for something 
 to happen to it. 
 
 VLADIMIR [without hearing -what he has said]. Yes, it 
 would be a pity. Well, then, come in. [He turns 
 round abruptly, and goes out without waiting for them. 
 Semyonov and Daue go out after him. There is a pause. 
 Katya enters, and places beer and wine on the table. 
 Asya and Volodya come in quickly. On seeing Katya, 
 they stop short.] 
 
 VOLODYA. Please leave the room for a moment, 
 Katya. 
 
 KATYA. Yes, sir. [She goes out through the ante- 
 chamber, whispering something to Sidorenko on the 
 way, and Sidorenko passes out after her.] 
 
 VOLODYA [following them with his eyes until they are 
 gone]. I have been meaning to have a talk with you 
 for some time. Of course you, as a woman, can't un- 
 derstand, but, really, a fellow is ashamed to stay at 
 home when all are leaving.
 
 30 War 
 
 ASYA [suppressing her tears]. Not all. There is 
 Senya. He is staying behind, and so is the Prince. 
 
 VOLODYA. Senya! Senya is an invalid. And as 
 for the Prince, he is a well-fed animal who has had 
 a disappointment in love and hugs his tragedy, which 
 is dearer to him than the whole world. Asya, you 
 won't keep me from doing what I feel I ought to do, 
 will you? 
 
 ASYA [through her tears']. How can I keep you? 
 
 VOLODYA [frightened]. Now there! What are you 
 crying about, Asya? Dear me! Look at you now! 
 Why, it isn't settled yet! It's by no means certain that 
 I am going. Maybe I won't go. So far it's nothing but 
 an idea. 
 
 ASYA [incredulously]. You are only saying that to 
 cheer me, but I feel that [She breaks into sobs.] 
 
 VOLODYA. Asya! aren't you ashamed? I give you 
 my word of honor, I haven't made up my mind yet. 
 
 ASYA [with a glimmer of hope]. Are you telling me 
 the truth? 
 
 VOLODYA. Of course I am telling you the truth. 
 Upon my word, Asya ! Don't cry ; it's bad enough as 
 it is. 
 
 ASYA. I won't, any more. [Smiling through her 
 tears.] It's Senya's fault. He frightened me. I know 
 it's stupid. Don't be angry with me. 
 
 VOLODYA. I couldn't be angry with you if I tried, 
 Asya. 
 
 ASYA. Couldn't you? Then it's all right; then I'll 
 get over it soon. You see, it's all gone already. I am 
 perfectly calm again. [She laughs through her tears.] 
 I am a goose. 
 
 VOLODYA. No ; you are not a goose you are a dear. 
 [He takes her hands and puts them on his shoulders.] 
 Asya, suppose I really went to the war would you 
 would you in that case agree h'm to be my wife ?
 
 War 31 
 
 ASYA. What? [She regards him with tenderness, 
 then suddenly kisses him and runs away.] 
 
 VOLODYA. Asya! [Asya runs into Olga in the door- 
 way.] 
 
 OLGA [distracted, her face discolored from weeping], 
 Where are you going, Asya? We'll have lunch soon. 
 Don't go. They are leaving us, Asya. It's terrible, 
 isn't it? 
 
 ASYA [not yet recovered from the excitement of the 
 kiss]. Yes I'll be back soon. [She disappears 
 through the door. Volodya sits down at the window 
 and lights a cigarette. Olga goes over to him and gently 
 strokes his hair.] 
 
 OLGA. Ah, Volodya, Volodya! What is this war 
 for ? Can you tell me ? What is it for ? I don't under- 
 stand it. Here we were, living quietly, and all of a 
 sudden ! I am so sorry for Nina. 
 
 Volodya takes her hand and kisses it, without reply- 
 ing. 
 
 OLGA. But maybe nothing will happen, after all? 
 Eh, Volodya? 
 
 VOLODYA. How so? The war has begun already, 
 Mamma. 
 
 OLGA. I know it has. But maybe they'll settle it 
 somehow over there. They'll just take a look at each 
 other, and they'll say, " We are fools that's what we 
 are ! " Then they'll break up and go each his own 
 way. 
 
 VOLODYA [involuntarily smiling]. Things don't hap- 
 pen that way, Mamma. 
 
 OLGA. But it's such a pity, Volodya. It's raining 
 and wet outside. They might all catch cold there. God 
 forbid ! I think the best thing would be if they j ust 
 dropped the whole business and went home. 
 
 VOLODYA. It's not so simple. 
 
 OLGA. But it would be better if it were simple.
 
 32 War 
 
 VOLODYA. Oh, better ! That doesn't count. Mother, 
 would you let me go? 
 
 OLGA. Where ? 
 
 VOLODYA. There, to the war. 
 
 OLGA [angrily]. What! You too? Aren't there 
 enough ? What are you talking about ? Do you imagine 
 I'll let you go? 
 
 VOLODYA. I'll go of myself. 
 
 OLGA [indignantly throwing up her hands]. Don't 
 talk nonsense, please. My heart is sore enough as it 
 is. However such a thing could have come into your 
 head! Just you wait; I'll tell Asya. She'll give it to 
 you. for talking such rubbish. [Volodya laughs.] He 
 laughs! The idea! He thinks it's funny, a matter 
 to laugh about. Piotr says that if he were younger he'd 
 go, too. What has come over you, for heaven's sake? 
 You all act as though you had gone crazy. [She goes to 
 the table, aggrieved.] You'd better go and tell them to 
 come to lunch. Vladimir has to leave soon, and if they 
 don't hurry, he'll have to go away hungry. 
 
 Volodya goes out, and soon returns with Piotr, the 
 Prince, Daue and Semyonov. 
 
 OLGA. Sit down, gentlemen. Sit down, Daue, my 
 boy. I have made you your favorite dish, cutlets. 
 Eat for your health. No one will make cutlets for you 
 out there. And then you will remember me. 
 
 DAUE. I will not forget you, even without the cutlets. 
 
 PIOTR. Where are Nina and Vladimir? 
 
 SEMYONOV. They'll be here in a moment. 
 
 OLGA. Eat; help yourselves, please. Will you have 
 some whiskey, Prince? Piotr? 
 
 Nina and Vladimir come in, Nina's eyes are red 
 from crying. 
 
 OLGA. Sit down here, Ninochka, Vladimir!
 
 War 33 
 
 PIOTR [picking up a flask]. Vladimir, will you have 
 a drink? Will you, Daue? 
 
 DAUB. I think I will although 
 
 Asya enters quietly and takes a seat at the end of 
 the table farthest removed from Folodya. She tries 
 not to look at him. 
 
 OLGA. Drink, drink. It will keep you in good con- 
 dition for the journey. Else you might catch cold 
 God forbid. It's a long way. 
 
 PRINCE. Are you going on horseback? 
 
 DAUE. Yes, to the station. 
 
 PRINCE. When does the train leave? 
 
 DAUE. They say at six o'clock. But I don't believe 
 it'll start till much later. 
 
 PRINCE [making a conscious effort to keep up the con- 
 versation]. Strange, a large town like ours, with sol- 
 diers always stationed here, and no railroad in case of 
 emergency. Such a state of things can exist only in 
 Russia. 
 
 SEMYONOV. I know a city, one of our government 
 capitals, with a population of more than one hundred 
 thousand, and the nearest railway station is about sixty 
 miles away. 
 
 PIOTR. They are going to begin to build a railroad 
 here next year. The engineers have already come to 
 make the preliminary survey. Yes, nowadays things 
 are different. In 1877, when we marched to the fron- 
 tier 
 
 OLGA. Now, now! We have heard the story before. 
 
 PIOTR. Upon my word! What does it mean? Why 
 can't I tell 
 
 Nina begins to weep quietly; Vladimir throws a quick 
 glance at her, and hangs his head. 
 
 OLGA. Ninochka, don't! It's enough Why do
 
 34 War 
 
 you go on that way, really? You are only upsetting 
 Vladimir. 
 
 NINA [hurriedly]. It's nothing it's only nerv- 
 ousness. [With a queer, nervous smile.] Yet I can't 
 help thinking it's awfully funny. Really, just funny. 
 
 Everyone tries to avoid looking at her, pretending to 
 be occupied with preparations for the journey. Vladi- 
 mir hangs his head still lower. 
 
 OLGA [cautiously]. Shall I give you some medicine 
 drops ? 
 
 NINA [starting]. What for? You think I am get- 
 ting hysterical, Mamma? No; it's not that. It really 
 struck me as funny all of a sudden, that's all. Look at 
 Daue, for example. Where is your violin, Daue? 
 
 DAUE. I just meant to ask you to 
 
 NINA [not listening to him]. Can't you see what a 
 terrible comedy it is? Somewhere, in some place, there 
 is a Wilhelm, a Germany. You have never seen Ger- 
 many, Daue. Neither have I. And yet we are all cry- 
 ing, taking leave of each other, breaking up our lives 
 completely. Daue is going to the war! Isn't it ridicu- 
 lous ? Do you want to go to war, Daue ? 
 
 DAUE. It isn't a question of my personal wish, Nina 
 Petrovna. Everybody is going. 
 
 NINA [with hectic irritation]. Everybody! What 
 do you care about everybody ? 
 
 OLGA. Don't you think you had better take some 
 valerian, Ninochka? I'll bring it to you; will you take 
 it, yes ? 
 
 NINA [with growing unnatural excitement]. Oh, 
 Mamma, let me alone! What do you want of me? I 
 want to say 
 
 OLGA [with tears], Ninochka, my dear girl! 
 
 NINA [pushing her mother aside], I have my life 
 to live. I don't interfere with anybody. I don't harm
 
 War 35 
 
 anybody. It may be a small, insignificant life I am 
 leading, but I don't want anybody to mar and destroy 
 it. No, I don't! 
 
 OLGA [patting her vigorously on the head]. But 
 what's to be done, Ninochka? You are not the only 
 one. Everybody is hit by it in the same way as you. 
 
 NINA. Is it my fault? That's their business. I 
 don't want to have my life sacrificed to anybody. 
 
 PIOTR [quite unexpectedly]. Only people without a 
 country can speak that way, Nina! 
 
 OLGA. Oh, leave her alone, Piotr. As if you don't 
 see that 
 
 PIOTR [without listening, and not understanding]. 
 Only Russia's enemies can speak that way. [Striking 
 the table with his fist.] In such a time as this we have 
 no right to speak about our own personal life. We have 
 no right to argue and reason. 
 
 OLGA. Piotr! Piotr! 
 
 PIOTR. We must all go and die, and we mustn't 
 reason about it. I am an old man, but, should it become 
 necessary, I will go without question, because the whole 
 of Russia, my country, needs my life. What are you in 
 comparison to the destiny of Russia? I will not permit 
 it. No one in my house shall dare to 
 
 OLGA [shouting], Piotr! 
 
 NINA fin a subdued voice], I know, I know, Papa 
 dear. [She weeps.] 
 
 OLGA [vexed and in tears]. Ah, Piotr, you always 
 jump in like that! Good heavens! 
 
 PIOTR [embarrassed]. What did I do? I am only 
 saying that in a time such as Russia is going through 
 now 
 
 OLGA. Oh, go along; stop it. Ninochka, calm your- 
 self. You mustn't go on that way. Vladimir ! 
 
 NINA. I'll soon get over it I only just Don't 
 pay any attention to me. It will pass away.
 
 36 War 
 
 A long, oppressive silence follows. 
 
 SEMYONOV [with studied simplicity]. Will you have 
 some beer, Daue ? 
 
 OLGA. Will anyone have tea? I have had the 
 samovar prepared. Prince, will you have a glass of tea ? 
 
 PRINCE. No, thank you. 
 
 There is silence again. Suddenly Nina rises and 
 walks out. All remain silent, following her with their 
 eyes. 
 
 OLGA. You had better go to her, Vladimir. Go on, 
 my dear. 
 
 VLADIMIR. Yes. Excuse me, gentlemen. 
 SEMYONOV. Certainly, certainly. 
 
 Vladimir gets up and leaves quickly. 
 
 PRINCE [after a pause]. Yes, it's hard for those who 
 have near ones. 
 
 DAUE [in an unnaturally buoyant voice]. I am all 
 right. I have nothing except my violin. If I get killed, 
 it won't play by itself. [He laughs.] 
 
 SEMYONOV [with an artificial smile]. Yes, that's so. 
 
 SIDORENKO [appearing in the door]. The quarter- 
 master has just run in, sir, and said that the commander 
 has arrived. 
 
 DAUE. Already? [He rises quickly and looks at the 
 clock.] Yes, it's really time. We are late. I'll have 
 to hurry. 
 
 All get up and make hurried motions, not knowing 
 what to do. 
 
 DAUE. Yes so we are off. [He hesitates a mo-
 
 War 37 
 
 ment, smiles awkwardly, then, with a resolute shake of 
 the head.] Well now Goodby, Olga Petrovna. 
 Thank you for everything. [He kisses her hand.] 
 
 OLGA [with tears, kissing him on the forehead]. 
 Goodby, my boy, goodby. God grant that you return 
 home alive and sound. 
 
 DAUE [with a show of boldness]. We'll get back, 
 with the help of God. Not everybody is going to be 
 killed, you know. Goodby, Piotr Ivanovich. Let me 
 kiss you maybe we'll never see each other again. 
 
 PIOTR. Now, now! Why goodby? Goodby! 
 
 DAUE. All right, goodby. Everything is possible. 
 Well, Volodya, are you going to the station with us ? 
 That's good. Goodby, Prince. I wish you all the very 
 best for yourselves. And now Where is Nina 
 Petrovna? I suppose she has no time to think of me 
 now. Tell her goodby for me, and give her my thanks 
 for everything. Let her remember sometimes how we 
 made music together. I have been meaning to ask her 
 to take care of my violin. It's a very good, very ex- 
 pensive violin. 
 
 OLGA. Don't worry about the violin, Daue. We'll 
 keep it safe for you. You just come back safe and 
 sound. You are going to perform some fine concerts 
 for us still with Ninochka, I am sure. 
 
 DAUE [with a faint smile]. Hardly. It's all over 
 with my music. [Throwing up his hands.] Oh, well, 
 it's all the same. I haven't said goodby to you yet, 
 Aleksandra Ivanovna. I wish you a happy life, Miss 
 Aleksandra. 
 
 Asya remains silent, weeping. 
 
 
 
 DAUE. What else was it I wanted to say? No 
 nothing. Goodby once more. 
 
 ALL. Goodby! Goodby! A safe return!
 
 38 War 
 
 DAUE [stopping abruptly at the door, with an embar- 
 rassed smile]. You won't laugh at me, will you? 
 I'd like to take another look at it. [He opens the violin 
 case, but instantly slaps it shut again. Flinging up his 
 hands.] Oh, nonsense. Goodby for good now. Thank 
 you all. 
 
 He walks out rapidly, followed by the others, and the 
 dining-room is emptied. Outside on the steps are 
 heard the calls of, "Goodby! Goodby! Come back 
 soon ! " Then the door falls to with a bang, and there 
 is silence. Only Sidorenko remains on the stage, in the 
 hallway. 
 
 There is a pause. Vladimir enters hurriedly and 
 passes directly to the hallway. Sidorenko hands him his 
 cap and hangs his sword on him. Vladimir takes a step 
 toward the door, stops, stands still for a moment, then 
 quickly returns to the dining-room. Nina rushes in and, 
 silently, without tears, flings herself on his neck. 
 
 VLADIMIR. Nina ! Nina ! My darling ! My own ! 
 [He repeatedly strokes her head and kisses her hair, and 
 then looks about helplessly. Asya quietly re-enters the 
 room and rushes towards them.] 
 
 VLADIMIR. Asya, help ! Ninochka ! 
 
 Asya holds Nina back. Vladimir tears himself away 
 from her embrace and goes out quickly, almost running. 
 Nina pushes Asya aside and, with a piercing shriek, 
 flings herself after her husband. She staggers and 
 drops into the arms of Asya and Sidorenko. 
 
 CURTAIN
 
 ACT III 
 
 The time is two months later. 
 
 The scenery is the same as in the second act. It is 
 evening. The lamp is burning. The samovar is on the 
 table. Olga Petrovna is sitting at the table near the 
 samovar; on the opposite side, Piotr Ivanovich with 
 his own special tea cup and a newspaper before him. 
 Asya is giving tea to a little boy and a little girl, the 
 children of an officer killed in the war. Semyonov is 
 sitting at a small table aside from the rest, smoking. 
 On the wall is a large war map with tiny flags of differ- 
 ent colors stuck into it. 
 
 ASYA. Sonya, do you want some more? 
 
 SONYA [quietly]. Thank you. 
 
 ASYA. Kolya, you mustn't rattle the spoon. Drink 
 nicely. 
 
 OLGA. Sonya, how is your mother? Is she well? 
 
 SONYA. Yes, thank you. 
 
 KOLYA [gleefully]. Mamma cries all the time. Her 
 eyes are we-ed, we-ed, like a lobster's. 
 
 ASYA [with a faint smile]. Lobsters' eyes aren't 
 red. 
 
 KOLYA. Aren't they? What color are they? 
 
 ASYA. Black. 
 
 KOLYA. Black? Why are they black? 
 
 ASYA. Because God made them so. 
 
 KOLYA. Why did God make them so? 
 
 ASYA [patiently]. Because it's the way He thought 
 they ought to be. 
 
 39
 
 40 War 
 
 KOLYA. Ought to be? 
 ASYA. Yes, ought to be. 
 
 KOLYA. Our Jerry has yellow eyes, like a cat's. 
 ASYA. All right, drink your tea, drink Sonyechka, 
 will you have some jam? 
 SONYA. Thank you. 
 
 There is a silence. 
 
 OLGA. It's a month today since Volodya left. I 
 wonder where he is now, poor boy? 
 
 Another silence ensues. Then the bell rings. Sem- 
 yonov quietly steps into the antechamber and opens the 
 door. The Prince enters, takes off his overcoat, and 
 walks into the dining-room. 
 
 PIOTR. Ah, the Prince ! 
 
 PRINCE [he goes round the table and shakes hands 
 with everyone; when he comes near Sonya, she jumps 
 off the chair and makes a courtesy]. It's so dreary 
 everywhere one doesn't know where to go to or what to 
 do with oneself. I hope you are not mortally sick of 
 me, Olga Petrovna. 
 
 OLGA. How, Prince, what makes you say that? Of 
 course we are not. We are always very glad to see 
 you. Ninochka is in better spirits, too, when you are 
 around. She is so dejected, poor girl. 
 
 PRINCE. Is she well? 
 
 OLGA. How can she be well when she doesn't eat 
 anything? She keeps brooding and brooding. Will 
 you have a glass of tea, Prince? 
 
 PRINCE. Yes, thank you. [He takes the glass. ~\ 
 It's cold and cloudy outside. The city is all dead, no 
 life at all. Have you had word from your people 
 recently ?
 
 War 41 
 
 OLGA. There was a letter from Vladimir yesterday, 
 but nothing from Volodya for a whole week. He used 
 to write every day. Then the letters suddenly stopped. 
 Asya is beginning to worry fearfully, and I am terribly 
 worried too. Something might happen, God forbid. It 
 doesn't take long to catch cold. Piotr Ivanovich reads 
 the papers every day, but I am afraid to. When I look 
 at a newspaper and see all the killed and wounded and 
 lost lost with no trace of them left behind I feel 
 as if I had been knocked in the head with a club. 
 
 PRINCE. I think if anything happened they would 
 let you know. And as to your not getting any letters, 
 that's not surprising. 
 
 PIOTR. They have nothing to write; so they don't 
 write. We here have nothing to do; but out there they 
 have no time for trifles they have work to do. 
 
 OLGA. I know, Piotr, but yet there is Asya she 
 is worrying herself to death. I am not speaking about 
 myself, though I am so, so sorry for them. Piotr Ivan- 
 ovich is just trying to put up a bold front. Don't let 
 him fool you. I know he can't sleep nights. He keeps 
 pacing the room to and fro, to and fro like a pendulum. 
 
 PIOTR [angrily]. It's insomnia, that's all. You 
 know very well I always suffer from insomnia at this 
 time of the year. 
 
 OLGA. Don't be telling stories, Piotr. Insomnia? 
 Nonsense ! 
 
 Silence. 
 
 PRINCE. You are still taking care of the children, 
 Aleksandra Ivanovich? 
 
 ASYA [quietly]. Yes. 
 
 OLGA. Taking care of the children! She should 
 have been taking care of her own by this time. Upon 
 my word, I cannot understand you! Are you crazy, 
 all of you, or what! What nonsense to marry and then
 
 42 War 
 
 part! Neither a wife nor a widow! The idiocy of it 
 passes my comprehension. 
 
 ASYA. I wanted it myself, Mother. 
 
 KOLYA [in a ringing voice]. My father got killed in 
 the war. The Germans killed him. 
 
 PRINCE [startled by the unexpectedness of the child's 
 remark]. What? 
 
 ASYA [hurriedly]. Drink your tea, Kolya; drink, 
 it'll get cold. 
 
 KOLYA. I am drinking. 
 
 ASYA. Go on, go on, drink. 
 
 There is silence, during which Nina comes in quietly. 
 
 NINA. The Prince? I didn't know you were here. 
 Why didn't you let me know, Mamma? 
 
 PRINCE. I've just come. 
 
 NINA [seating herself at the table opposite the 
 Prince]. What a long, dreary day this has been. 
 
 OLGA. Don't think so much about it and it won't 
 seem so long to you. 
 
 NINA [with a faint smile]. I should be glad not to 
 think, Mamma, but it thinks itself. 
 
 Silence. 
 
 PRINCE. I have a piece of sad news. Daue's body 
 arrived at the station today. 
 
 At this remark all raise their heads. Olga Petrovna 
 wipes her eyes with her handkerchief. Piotr Ivanovich 
 frowns and buries his face in the newspaper. There is 
 silence. 
 
 NINA. Poor Daue! An end to all his music now. 
 You remember how he had set his heart on going to 
 Petrograd to study, and how he had made all his plans 
 for giving up the army and following his great ambition? 
 
 PRINCE. Fate decreed differently, it seems.
 
 
 War 43 
 
 SEMYONOV [with heat]. What Fate? A monstrous 
 insane outrage, not Fate ! 
 PRINCE. Yes of course. 
 
 Silence. 
 
 OLOA. You remember, Asya, how he came back and 
 wanted to take a last look at his violin? " If I get 
 killed," he said, " the violin won't play by itself." 
 [Sobbing.] God! God! What is happening in the 
 world ! 
 
 SEMYONOV. A lot of stupidity and wickedness is hap- 
 pening. 
 
 Silence. 
 
 NINA. We knew a week ago that Daue had been 
 killed. But what does it mean "Killed?" It's so 
 hard to grasp the significance of it. Only now I seem 
 to realize what it implies when I know that he has been 
 brought here, that somewhere at the station there is a 
 car and that in a coffin Daue is lying that he is lying 
 there and doesn't know we are talking about him. It's 
 so heart-rending ! How terrible war is ! 
 
 PRINCE. Yes, it is terrible. And yet there is a great 
 deal of tragic beauty in it. I don't know how it is, but 
 I feel drawn to the war myself; something pulls me to it. 
 
 SEMYONOV [in an undertone]. It seems to be a very 
 mild form of attraction. 
 
 ASYA [reprovingly]. Senya! 
 
 PRINCE [who has not caught Semyonov's remark], 
 What's that, Semyon Nikolayevich ? 
 
 SEMYONOV. Nothing, nothing. 
 
 PRINCE. What is life here? It is not even a game; 
 it is just a long-drawn-out agony. We don't live here; 
 we just exist. All our interests, our little troubles and 
 preoccupations, are so trivial, so insignificant. Our ac-
 
 44 War 
 
 tions are commonplace. But there, face to face with 
 death, the everyday shell drops off, and man becomes 
 that which he ought always to be the tragic bearer of 
 heroic ideas. 
 
 SEMYONOV [to himself]. He's going it hard. 
 
 Asya shakes her head at him reproachfully. 
 
 PRINCE [contemplatively]. It may seem strange, 
 perhaps, but I honestly envy those who are in the thick 
 of it. There is movement, fight, real life out there. 
 
 NINA. You say you envy them, but my heart bleeds 
 for them. Hungry, cold, always facing death and pain 
 and misery ; what sort of life can it be ! It is one con- 
 tinuous agony, not life. How many killed, how many 
 maimed, how many widows and orphans, how much 
 wretchedness and suffering! And all this on account 
 of one man's whim. What an injustice! What an 
 atrocity! No, my whole being revolts against this 
 butchery. 
 
 Silence. 
 
 NINA [disconsolately]. It's so hard! My God, it's 
 so hard ! I don't know maybe I am a silly woman, 
 but I began to sew underwear for the wounded soldiers. 
 I worked till I got so tired I couldn't work any more. 
 And suddenly I had the feeling that all that didn't make 
 out my life; it didn't represent me; it didn't make me 
 forget my own cares and experiences. I mean to take 
 up work in the hospital. I'll try. I don't know if my 
 nerves will stand it. And so I drift from one thing to 
 another, torn out of my element. No one needs me; 
 I am good for nothing. The most terrible thing is that 
 I hardly ever get any letters, and when I do get them, 
 they have been so long coming that they have lost almost 
 all significance. I read, see the familiar hand, and
 
 War 45 
 
 think: But this letter was written twelve days ago. 
 Maybe [Her voice quivers.] 
 
 PIOTR. Cowardice and nothing else. It's painful to 
 listen to. The wife of a Russian officer ought to take it 
 differently. 
 
 NINA [with a mournful, submissive smile]. Ah, 
 Papa, what sort of officer's wife am I? I am a wife, 
 that's all an insignificant woman whose husband is all 
 in all to her. 
 
 PIOTR [shrugging his shoulders]. There! There! 
 There! And I think 
 
 OLOA. Piotr ! 
 
 PIOTR. But if I can't listen to these everlasting 
 whinings and lamentations ! [Drawing up his shoul- 
 ders.] Why, the idea! A man is defending his coun- 
 try, is fulfilling his sacred duty ; and what does his wife 
 think about ? Nothing but how to take away his courage 
 and honor. She wants to keep him in the nursery and 
 bedroom. 
 
 OLOA. Piotr ! 
 
 NINA. I don't want that, you know it, Papa. 
 
 PIOTR [brushing the remark aside, and rising and 
 flourishing the newspaper in the air, without addressing 
 anyone in particular], I can imagine the letters she 
 writes to him. I'll tell you plainly that if I had had a 
 wife like that in my time I'd simply have turned her out 
 of the house. Yes, I'd have turned her out turned 
 her out. [To Olga.] Oh, let me alone. I say it be- 
 cause it's the way I feel about it. It's abominable! 
 
 He shrugs his shoulders, waves the newspaper and 
 goes out. There is silence. Nina weeps quietly. The 
 children look with fright from one to another. The 
 Prince remains sitting with downcast eyes. Semyonov 
 puffs vigorously at his cigarette. 
 
 OLOA. There. It's always that way. Don't cry,
 
 46 War 
 
 Ninochka. Don't you know your father? He himself 
 suffers, more than anybody else, but he carries on that 
 way just to relieve his feelings a little. It seems to do 
 him good. 
 
 NINA. I know, Mamma dear. 
 
 ASYA. Well, children, have you had enough? 
 
 SONYA. Yes, thank you. 
 
 ASYA. Come, then, I'll take you home. It's time to 
 go to bed. Your mother will be worrying about you. 
 Senya, will you go with us? 
 
 SEMYONOV [rising]. Yes, of course I will. 
 
 ASYA. Say goodby now, children, and come. 
 
 Sonya and Kolya walk up to each one in turn, Sonya 
 making a pretty courtesy, and Kolya awkwardly scrap- 
 ing his feet. Olga Petrovna kisses them. Then Asya 
 takes them into the anteroom, puts on their hats and 
 coats, and they go out, followed by Semyonov. 
 
 OLGA. Poor children. They are orphans now 
 and with no means of support, either. His salary was 
 all they had to live on. She'll get a pension. But it's 
 not like having a father. 
 
 PRINCE. Why does Aleksandra Ivanovna look after 
 them ? 
 
 OLGA. Out of pity. She has a good heart, that's 
 why. The mother is still crazy with grief. She does 
 nothing but cry the whole day long. If Asya hadn't 
 looked out for the children, they would have had to 
 go to bed without supper, I suppose. No, Prince, don't 
 talk to me about the beauty of war. Maybe I don't 
 understand, but I cannot see anything beautiful in it. 
 No, no, your war is ugly. [She waves her hand depre- 
 catingly, lays her napkin on the table, and goes towards 
 the door. As she passes Nina, she strokes her head.] 
 Don't be offended by what Papa says ; Papa is old. He 
 is troubled and is grieving for you and Volodya; so he
 
 War 47 
 
 shouts he doesn't know what about himself. You 
 stay here and have a chat together. I'll go and see 
 about supper. [She goes out. There is a long silence. 
 Somewhere a clock strikes the hour of nine.'] 
 
 NINA. What an awful evening! It's so dreary. In 
 my room you can hear the wind whine in the garden. 
 My heart feels so heavy I seem scarcely able to breathe. 
 Why do I feel so today, Prince? 
 
 PRINCE. I don't know. Your nerves are all un- 
 strung. 
 
 NINA. Maybe. But if you knew how hard it is ! I 
 am so glad you came. The whole day I am by myself. 
 You know what my father is like, and Mamma and Asya 
 have their own troubles. So I wander about alone all 
 the time, like a loafer. There is no one to talk to, no 
 one to pour one's heart out to. Nobody knows; nobody 
 understands. [She folds her hands on the table with a 
 look of distress and lets her head drop on them.] 
 
 PRINCE [bending over across the table towards her 
 and gently touching her hands]. You know you have 
 no friend more devoted than I. 
 
 NINA [lifting her head and unconsciously drawing 
 back her hands]. I know it, but I can't speak to you 
 about it. 
 
 PRINCE. Why not? 
 
 NINA [with a sad smile]. Because I know it can't be 
 pleasant to you to hear me speak about him. I know 
 you won't say anything, but I can see that every word I 
 say pains you. 
 
 PRINCE [with a tragic air]. But what's to be done, 
 Nina Petrovna? Of course I am not going to dissemble 
 and lie. I love you, and now that you are so unhappy 
 and lonely I love you still more. Of course it costs me 
 a terrific effort to understand your feelings when you 
 mention Vladimir Aleksandrovich, and when I see you 
 suffering so on his account. But I love you so much that
 
 48 War 
 
 I suffer what you suffer. I strive to forget that you are 
 suffering for a man who stands between me and you, and 
 sometimes I actually succeed. I see that you are suffer- 
 ing, and God knows that if it were possible I would go 
 there and take his place and let him come to you. 
 
 NINA [putting out her hand to him across the table], 
 Thank you, Prince. [He kisses her hand reverently 
 and immediately lets it go. There is silence.] 
 
 NINA [musingly]. Who knows? Maybe after all, 
 if [She breaks off abruptly and remains silent.] 
 
 PRINCE [quickly]. What? If what? 
 
 NINA [with averted gaze]. Nothing. [She gets up, 
 goes to the window and, leaning her face against the 
 pane, looks out into the dark night.] How dark it is ! 
 Only the one little light out there! One might think it 
 was late at night, not early in the evening. 
 
 PRINCE [coming up to her]. Nina Petrovna, what 
 were you going to say ? 
 
 NINA [starting and trembling without turning 
 around] . Nothing. 
 
 PRINCE [in a tremulous voice]. I implore you. It 
 seemed to me that you can't imagine what it would 
 mean to me. Nina Petrovna, one word! [Nina turns 
 slowly around, looking at him with strange, wide-open 
 eyes.] 
 
 PRINCE [stretching out his arm towards her], I beg 
 of you, Nina ! For God's sake ! 
 
 Nina, smiling queerly, puts out her arms to him and 
 lays her hands on his shoulders, drawing him lightly 
 towards her and looking long and fixedly into his eyes 
 with an enigmatic expression on her face. Then she 
 pushes him back, covers her face with her hands, and 
 turns her back to him again. 
 
 PRINCE. Nina Petrovna, what does it mean? Nina? 
 
 NINA [without turning around, hoarsely]. It means 
 that I am a low, ugly, depraved woman.
 
 War 49 
 
 PRINCE. Nina Petrovna! 
 
 NINA [imploringly]. Leave me alone! Go. For 
 heaven's sake leave me ! I don't know myself what is 
 the matter with me. 
 
 There is silence. The Prince looks intently at Nina, 
 and she, as though feeling his gaze upon her, bows her 
 head lower and lower as if something were pressing it 
 down. The Prince suddenly flings his arms rudely 
 around her shoulders and forcibly swings her toward 
 him, looking into her eyes with wild passion. 
 
 PRINCE. Nina you you love me too? 
 
 Nina does not resist him, but merely closes her eyes 
 and shakes her head faintly in denial. 
 
 PRINCE. No? You don't love me? Then what 
 does all this mean? 
 
 NINA. I told you. 
 
 PRINCE. What? I don't understand you. 
 
 NINA. I 
 
 PRINCE [almost shaking her]. What? What? 
 Don't torture me. You do not love me? No? 
 
 NINA [she opens her eyes; they look strange and as 
 though covered with a mist]. No. [Suddenly she 
 pushes him away almost venomously and walks past him, 
 stopping at the door with her back toward him.] I love 
 nobody. [She turns around with a quick gesture and 
 faces the Prince with a look half of fright and half of 
 detestation.'] I told you I was a low, depraved crea- 
 ture. [Rapidly.'] You know what? I love my hus- 
 band with all my heart, with all my soul. I am all out 
 there, with him I think only of him I don't want 
 you ; you disgust me. But if you wanted to, I 
 
 PRINCE [making a step towards her~], Nina! 
 
 NINA [drawing back in terror and putting out her 
 hands as though for protection]. Prince! for God's 
 sake!
 
 50 War 
 
 PRINCE [coming quickly to Tier], Why do you torture 
 me and yourself? 
 
 NINA [pressing against the door post]. It isn't I 
 I don't want this. 
 
 PRINCE [seizing her outstretched arms and pulling 
 her to him], Nina! 
 
 NINA [struggling fiercely to twist her hands free], 
 Let me go! How dare you! Let me go! [She tears 
 herself away, looking savagely at him out of the corners 
 of her eyes, and rushes out, banging the door after her.] 
 
 PRINCE [remains standing a long time with head 
 hanging as if dazed. Then he turns around and sees 
 Semyonov, who has entered unobserved, standing at the 
 door]. Ah! 
 
 SEMYONOV [with derision in his voice]. Yes. That's 
 right. Not bad for a beginning. 
 
 PRINCE. What? 
 
 SEMYONOV [in the same tone of derision]. Nothing. 
 [He sits down with a cool, leisurely air and pulls out the 
 cigarette case from his pocket.] On general principles 
 it's contemptible enough. And yet, after all animal 
 instincts law of nature. . . . 
 
 PRINCE [controlling himself]. What do you mean? 
 
 SEMYONOV. Just what I say. 
 
 PRINCE [haughtily]. What precisely? 
 
 SEMYONOV. You deign to be interested? Very well, 
 as you please. Naturally, a young, healthy, good-look- 
 ing woman her husband driven away to the war it's 
 a plain case. But if you wish to know my opinion of it, 
 I'll tell you. I don't like your role at all. 
 
 PRINCE [contemptuously]. No? 
 
 SEMYONOV [with perfect composure]. No. Imagine! 
 I'll even go further and say it isn't a nice role. And 
 inasmuch as the expression on your face is so plain as to 
 admit no doubt of its meaning, I have no objection to 
 telling you what I mean.
 
 War 51 
 
 PRINCE [curtly]. I demand an explanation. 
 
 SEMYONOV [sardonically]. You can't demand any- 
 thing of me, Your Excellency, for I would send you 
 straight to hell. 
 
 PRINCE [making a step forward]. How dare you? 
 
 SEMYONOV [coolly]. Sh! Sh! 
 
 PRINCE. But I insist. 
 
 SEMYONOV [mockingly]. Insist! Oh, well, what's 
 the difference? [In an even voice, pronouncing every 
 word with deliberate emphasis.] You know very well 
 that she does not love you, that she loves her husband. 
 You simply excite her as a man. Therefore, even should 
 you succeed in catching the right moment, I tell you 
 frankly I shouldn't envy you. Your position would be 
 an extremely humiliating one. 
 
 PRINCE [he shrugs his shoulders and, laughing con- 
 temptuously, goes to the table and sits down]. All this 
 is very interesting, and I hope to talk to you about it at 
 another time and in another place. 
 
 SEMYONOV [scowling and tilting his head to one side]. 
 What? A duel? No, no. Drop that talk. It's true 
 these are war times. Still I don't propose to give up my 
 life for anything like this. It will have to be something 
 more interesting. 
 
 PRINCE [contemptuously]. You decline? 
 
 SEMYONOV. Yes, I decline. Just fancy! 
 
 PRINCE. Oh, well, you will change your mind. 
 
 SEMYONOV. No. This is final. I assure you, I 
 haven't the slightest inclination to fight with you, and 
 if you are going to try to force me by petty annoyances, 
 then let me tell you again that, after all, these are war 
 times and I have the proper kind of weapon to put an 
 end to them forever. 
 
 PRINCE [sneeringly]. A revolver? 
 
 SEMYONOV. Yes, a revolver. And not a bad re- 
 volver, either; a present from the late Daue. [Chang-
 
 52 War 
 
 ing his tone.] And if you will permit yourself to badger 
 me in any way, I promise you I'll shoot your head off as 
 calmly and deliberately as I am talking to you now. 
 
 PRINCE. We shall see. 
 
 SEMYONOV. We shall see. 
 
 PRINCE. At any rate, I shall get ahead of you, Mr. 
 Semyonov. 
 
 Tine bell rings. Semyonov rises and slowly goes to 
 the door and opens it. He is heard speaking to someone. 
 Then the door shuts and Semyonov returns, looking trou- 
 bled and uneasily eyeing a telegram which he holds in his 
 hand. 
 
 PRINCE. I want to tell you only this 
 
 SEMYONOV [frowning fiercely]. Let's stop this con- 
 versation for the present. We'll finish it some other 
 time. Here is a telegram. [He goes over to the 
 door and half opens it.] Piotr Ivanovich ! Ho, Piotr 
 Ivanovich ! What's the matter with them out there ? 
 Are they asleep? [He looks at the telegram.] Do 
 you know what I think, Prince? 
 
 PRINCE [still contemptuously]. What do you want? 
 
 SEMYONOV [ignoring his sneer] . I don't like this tele- 
 gram. 
 
 PRINCE [alarmed, rising]. What is it? 
 
 SEMYONOV. It's from out there addressed to Piotr 
 Ivanovich direct. [Speaking quickly.] I think we 
 ought to open and read it first. 
 
 PRINCE. But 
 
 SEMYONOV [impatiently]. What "but"? The cir- 
 cumstances call for it. I don't do it out of curiosity. 
 Suppose something has happened? Then we can at 
 least prepare them, break the news as gently as possible. 
 Who knows what fool concocts these telegrams, anyway? 
 [He opens the telegram, reads it, and then, lifting his 
 face, which has turned strangely grave, holds it out to
 
 War 53 
 
 the Prince.] It has come. [He steps quickly to the 
 wall and remains standing there with his back turned.] 
 
 PRINCE [after rapidly glancing over the telegram, and 
 looking at Semyonov with an expression of horror], 
 Good God! What's to be done now? What does it 
 mean? 
 
 SEMYONOV [he remains standing in the same position 
 with his back to the Prince. He speaks hoarsely], 
 What? Killed! That's all! They've killed him. 
 [He turns around swiftly, snatches the telegram from 
 the Prince's hands and sticks it in his pocket]. My! 
 How stupid ! Why are you standing there like that ? 
 Go tell Nina Petrovna. She'll know how to manage it 
 better than we and I'll try to break it to Asya. 
 Well? Why aren't you going? Go, please. 
 
 The Prince obediently crosses over to the door and 
 goes out. 
 
 SEMYONOV. There! Volodya, too! The devil! 
 
 He bites his moustache, and remains standing in the 
 middle of the room, sunk in thought. A shrill, piercing 
 cry is heard from a distance inside the house. Semyonov 
 trembles, lets his moustache drop out of his mouth, and 
 listens. The cry is repeated. Hurried steps are heard 
 and the Prince runs in. 
 
 PRINCE. She heard me tell her. Do you hear? 
 How terrible! 
 
 SEMYONOV. Who? Olga Petrovna? 
 
 PRINCE. Yes I told Nina she heard me. I 
 think we must call a doctor. 
 
 SEMYONOV. What's the good of a doctor? The 
 devil ! And Asya will be here any minute, too. 
 
 The wild shriek draws nearer; the door opens noisily 
 and Olga Petrovna rushes in with her gray hair undone,
 
 54 War 
 
 looking pitiful and terrible. Nina comes running after 
 her, weeping, distracted and trying to quiet her. 
 
 NINA. Mamma! Dear Mamma! For Heaven's 
 sake! 
 
 OLGA. Where is it? Where? It is not true not 
 true ! Killed ! It's not true! Volodya killed! 
 Who said it? [She reels and falls. Nina and the 
 Prince catch her and put her in a chair. Nina puts her 
 arms around her neck, kisses her, strokes her head and 
 cries. ] 
 
 NINA. Mamma! My dear little mother! Mamma! 
 You mustn't. My darling mother. 
 
 PIOTR [entering, and with quick, firm steps crossing 
 directly over to Olga. His face is gravely solemn and 
 seems as though turned into stone]. Olga! 
 
 OLGA [flinging herself at him and clutching his 
 hands] . Piotr they are lying, aren't they ? Volodya 
 killed ! Piotr ! [She seizes him with her hands, but 
 instantly pushes him back and tears herself away from 
 Nina's embrace.] It isn't true. It cannot be. Leave 
 me alone ! [She breaks away from her seat, runs into 
 a corner, goes down on her knees and, as in a fit of mad- 
 ness, begins to bow her head rapidly to the ground.] 
 Lord, Lord, Lord ! Lord ! 
 
 Piotr Ivanovich drops heavily on a chair near the 
 table and covers his face with his hands. Asya appears 
 at the door, in a hat and jacket, pale and frightened. At 
 sight of Olga Petrovna kneeling and bowing she stops as 
 though anchored to the spot and her hands drop limply 
 to her sides. 
 
 OLGA [bowing her head]. They have killed Volodya! 
 Volodya ! Oh, Lord, Lord, help ! Help, O Lord ! 
 [Seeing Asya.] Asya! Asya darling! Our Volodya 
 is no more. They have killed our Volodya ! [Crawling
 
 War 55 
 
 to her on her knees, she takes both Asya's hands and 
 kisses them again and again.] Killed! Asya, Asya 
 darling ! No more Volodya. O Lord, Lord, Lord ! 
 
 Asya stands absolutely rigid, wide-eyed, and staring 
 blankly before her. Nina sits with her head on the 
 table, sobbing. The Prince and Semyonov stand aside 
 with bowed heads. Piotr Ivanovich sits at the table, his 
 face buried in his hands, but dry-eyed. 
 
 CURTAIN
 
 ACT IV 
 
 It is golden autumn. The house and garden are the 
 same as in the first act. Occasionally dead leaves de- 
 tach themselves from the trees, and float circling to the 
 ground. Through the trees, now bare, are seen the 
 roofs of houses and the churches of the little town. 
 Piotr Ivanovich, wearing an oldish military cloak and 
 a cap pulled down over his ears, is sitting with bent 
 back on the balustrade. Near him are a paper and a 
 cigar-case, but he neither reads nor smokes; he stares 
 blankly straight ahead of him. For a considerable 
 while he remains alone on the stage in this pose. 
 Then the Prince and Nina appear on the terrace. 
 Nina is not in mourning costume, but smartly and ele- 
 gantly dressed as though for some festive occasion. Her 
 face is animated and beaming. At sight of her father 
 she turns serious, though not without a slight effort. 
 
 NINA. Papa, sitting alone again ! [She seats herself 
 beside him and puts her arm around him.'] You'll get 
 sick if you go on this way. It's enough, Papa. It can't 
 be helped. You can't bring him back to life. 
 
 PIOTR IVANOVICH [assuming a bold and care-free air"]. 
 Oh, I just came out to get some fresh air. The weather 
 is splendid. I have been reading the paper. Lemberg 
 has been taken. Have you read it, Prince? 
 
 PRINCE [hesitatingly]. Why er yes of course. 
 
 NINA [pityingly, stroking him on the shoulder], 
 Pap^, Lemberg was taken long ago. Have you forgot- 
 ten? 
 
 PieTR IVANOVICH [with an air of interest]. Was it? 
 When? I didn't know. 
 
 56
 
 War 57 
 
 NINA [with a stealthy, significant look at the Prince']. 
 You have simply forgotten, Papa. 
 
 PIOTR IVANOVICH. Maybe. 
 
 NINA [heaving a deep sigh]. Of course you have. 
 You are not doing right, staying away by yourself all 
 the time and avoiding people. It will hurt you. 
 
 PIOTR IVANOVICH [with sudden animation]. It's 
 nothing a trifle. You remember Volodya's letter 
 from Yaroslav, Nina? 
 
 NINA. Yes, yes, I remember. You mustn't speak 
 about it, Papa. 
 
 PIOTR IVANOVICH [bowing his head]. Yes, of course. 
 
 NINA. You are only exciting yourself. What can be 
 done ? Volodya is not the only one lots of people 
 have lost their lives. 
 
 PIOTR IVANOVICH [listlessly]. Yes, lots, lots. 
 What can be done ? 
 
 PRINCE [in an effort to console him]. After all, your 
 son Volodya died an enviable death. 
 
 Piotr Ivanovich looks with fright at the Prince as 
 though afraid he might make some tactless, uncalled-for 
 remark, then quickly lowers his eyes. 
 
 PRINCE. He died like a hero. That ought to be some 
 comfort to you after all. An officer who was wounded in 
 the same action told me that if it hadn't been for your 
 son the whole regiment would have been annihilated. 
 
 PIOTR IVANOVICH [with a queer, sickly frown]. Yes, 
 yes I know yes. 
 
 PRINCE. He said that in spite of the terrible fire, 
 Volodya never once went down into the trench. He re- 
 mained above, calmly directing the firing. 
 
 PIOTR IVANOVICH. Yes, yes I know yes. 
 
 PRINCE. At last the Austrians concentrated almost 
 their entire fire on his division. And when he was 
 wounded, he told his comrades he was happy to die like 
 that. It was a heroic death, say what you will. Im-
 
 58 War 
 
 agine the strength of soul required to die feeling happy in 
 the cause of one's death. It denotes the highest will 
 power, the sublimest enthusiasm, and you have a right to 
 be proud of your son's memory. 
 
 PIOTR [rising with a nervous movement and picking 
 up now the paper, now the cigar-case, and letting them 
 drop]. Yes, yes I know he died a heroic death - 
 proud of his memory yes, yes. [Suddenly straighten- 
 ing himself and flourishing the newspaper in the air.] 
 I know myself that Volodya died the death of a hero. 
 Yes, sir, I know it; I know he couldn't have done 
 otherwise! Yes, a hero, a hero! What's the use of 
 talking about it? No use! No use, at all! Excuse 
 me ! . . . [He wraps the cloak nervously around him, 
 presses the newspaper to his chest, and quickly walks 
 into the house. Nina and the Prince, a little embar- 
 rassed, follow him with their eyes. There is silence.] 
 
 NINA [quietly]. You must pardon my father, Prince. 
 Volodya's terrible death has made a perfect baby of him. 
 He is only the wreck of his former self. 
 
 PRINCE [deferentially and sadly]. I understand, 
 Nina Petrovna. 
 
 NINA [sitting down on the balustrade where her father 
 had been sitting]. Papa cannot endure to hear anything 
 about Volodya. You know, he never wept a tear. He 
 just keeps quiet. And his silence is more horrible than 
 the worst crying and sobbing. It is so awfully hard to 
 look at him, so hard! Good God, when will this war 
 end? When will it end? And will those who caused it 
 never be brought to account for all the tears, all the 
 misery ? 
 
 PRINCE. I think they will. 
 
 NINA. Is it possible that after all these horrors there 
 will again be wars and people will again die and be 
 killed? Is it possible that the people will never come 
 to their senses, never understand what they are doing?
 
 War 59 
 
 PRINCE. I don't think they ever will. 
 There is silence. 
 
 NINA [musingly]. Semyonov said that war can never 
 be done away with because war is not opposed to human 
 nature, but on the contrary is quite in keeping with hu- 
 man nature. Can that be true? 
 
 PRINCE. Oh, well, there may be a difference of 
 opinion as to that. 
 
 NINA. I don't see how there can be any difference of 
 opinion. [With heat.] If it were as Semyonov says, 
 then I think the human race ought simply be wiped off 
 the face of the earth. It would have no right to exist. 
 
 The Prince shrugs his shoulders in indecision. There 
 is a pause. 
 
 NINA. What beauty all around ! See how the leaves 
 are falling. And the sun is shining as though it were 
 afraid it might interfere with the beauty and the still- 
 ness. [She laughs.] I am happy, Prince. Mamma 
 thinks me shocking for having given up mourning; she 
 says I must have forgotten Volodya. But how can I 
 meet Vladimir in a black dress? I can't think without 
 tears of poor Volodya, who lies buried somewhere out 
 there in a strange, horrible soil, but still I am happy. 
 I may be an egotist, I may be a bad woman, but I am 
 happy. When I received the telegram from Vladimir, 
 I thought I'd go mad with joy. I wanted to sing, to 
 dance. 
 
 PRINCE [dolefully]. Yes, of course. But don't you 
 think, Nina Petrovna, it is a little cruel to tell me so? 
 
 NINA [recollecting herself, with a wayward smile]. 
 Oh, I beg your pardon, Prince, but, upon my word, I am 
 so happy that I have forgotten everything. I was in-
 
 60 War 
 
 considerate. Forgive me. [She puts out her hand to 
 him.] 
 
 PRINCE [declining to take it]. I have no right either 
 to forgive or to resent your conduct. I have forced my- 
 self into your life, and I can lay no claim to a place in 
 it. 
 
 NINA [grieved and sorry, yet with a smile]. Why 
 do you speak that way, Prince? You know I am very 
 fond of you. 
 
 PRINCE [with an affected smile]. Thank you I 
 value it very highly but it's not exactly the sentiment 
 I wanted. 
 
 NINA [grieved]. But what can I do? 
 
 PRINCE. You can do nothing. Well, let's drop it. 
 [He shakes his head.] What I wanted to say is this. 
 As long as everything was uncertain, I did not think I 
 had a right to leave you. I thought that after all I 
 might be useful that if the worst should happen, it 
 might be easier for you in your ordeal to know that you 
 had a friend near you, ready to do everything for you. 
 
 NINA [quietly]. I am so grateful to you, Prince. 
 
 PRINCE. But now circumstances have altered. Vlad- 
 imir Aleksandrovich is returning home. His wound can- 
 not be serious, or he would have written you about it. 
 I feel that my further presence here is not needed, that 
 I would be in your own and your husband's way. 
 
 NINA [sadly]. You mean to leave us? 
 
 PRINCE. Yes; I am going to Moscow this evening 
 and I think we shall never see each other again. 
 
 NINA [after a pause]. Well, perhaps you are right. 
 You had better go. 
 
 PRINCE [bitterly]. Is that all you have to tell me for 
 our last farewell? 
 
 NINA [throwing up her arms in a gesture of help- 
 lessness]. What else can I say? 
 
 PRINCE. This, Nina let me frankly call you by
 
 War 61 
 
 your first name for the first and last time. In my heart 
 I always call you so. [Nina, in embarrassment, hangs 
 her head and locks her fingers.] Tell me, have you 
 never had any other feeling for me ? Don't be surprised, 
 and don't be frightened at my putting this question to 
 you. I want nothing from you any more; but it would 
 make it easier for me to go if I could think the ruin of 
 my life was only an accident, that the role I played in 
 relation to you was not so ridiculous, after all! Spare 
 my masculine self-love. [He gives a short laugh.] 
 
 NINA. I don't know I can't tell myself. 
 
 PRINCE. So, after all ? 
 
 NINA [with sudden resolution]. Listen, Prince! you 
 have been so good to me all this time, I am so thankful 
 to you, I'll tell you. I'll tell you the truth. [After a 
 second's hesitation.] Well, yes, there were moments 
 when I loved you. 
 
 PRINCE [grasping her hand]. Nina! 
 
 NINA [pulling her hand away]. But those were 
 moments of weakness, when I felt all alone in the world, 
 convinced that I should never see Vladimir again. 
 [Lowering her head.] I am a woman, Prince, just an 
 ordinary woman, as you once said. You remember ? I 
 cannot live without love. And so, when I thought that 
 Vladimir was killed [Fidgeting uneasily, and not 
 looking at him.] It's ugly, mean but I [She 
 breaks off as under a strain.] 
 
 PRINCE. That means that if 
 
 NINA [frightened, quickly raising her eyes to him], 
 Prince ! Don't ! You mustn't say that. It was simply 
 stronger than myself. [With lowered voice.] I am an 
 ugly, immoral person a woman to be despised. 
 
 PRINCE. Maybe. But I love you just as you are, 
 and now more than ever. 
 
 NINA [rising quickly], Goodby, Prince. You mustn't 
 speak about it any more.
 
 62 War 
 
 PRINCE. One word, Nina, one word! So, if your 
 husband had really been killed 
 
 NINA [silently for a while she struggles with herself, 
 then with resolution says quickly:] Well, yes! 
 
 There is silence. Nina stands with her face turned 
 away from the Prince, her hands trembling. 
 
 PRINCE. So! How stupid the ways of life are! 
 Just accident. It's absurd. Thousands of people killed 
 in the war, and 
 
 NINA [drawing herself up and stiffening straight as a 
 cord~\ . Prince ! 
 
 PRINCE [stubbornly and dolefully]. You are afraid 
 of the words. But if it is the truth ! Why should I 
 mince it, why should I sham and lie, when that which 
 makes you so happy and radiant today means for me the 
 end of all my hopes, the end of love and happiness? If 
 you can so lightly and so easily sacrifice me to another, 
 then why should I dissemble? I'll tell you the truth 
 why shouldn't I ? When you were looking over the lists 
 of the dead, trembling lest your husband's name be there, 
 I, too, was looking for it. 
 
 NINA [indignantly]. Could you do a thing like that? 
 That was vile. 
 
 PRINCE. What was vile? Is it vile to love? 
 
 NINA [contemptuously]. Love! Let that word 
 alone! How dare you talk about love? 
 
 PRINCE [surprised]. Nina! 
 
 NINA [proudly]. I am no Nina to you. How dare 
 you call me Nina? You loved me? [Laughing con- 
 temptuously.] You wanted a good-looking woman, 
 that's all. Why, men like you cannot love. They don't 
 know what it is. Let me tell you now: I never, 
 never loved you, not for a single moment. Let me 
 alone. Do you hear? [She turns quickly and goes into 
 the house.]
 
 War 63 
 
 PRINCE. Nina. [He remains standing for a long 
 time with head bowed, then turns around resolutely and 
 goes to the gate. Before he reaches it, he is met by 
 Asya and Semyonov. Asya is in deep mourning. On 
 the sleeve of Semyonov's top-coat is a red cross. ] 
 
 SEMYONOV. Ah, Your Excellency! Going already? 
 
 PRINCE. Yes, I am going. I want to say goodby to 
 you, Aleksandra Ivanovna. 
 
 ASYA [mechanically], Goodby. 
 
 SEMYONOV. Why this formal leave-taking? Are you 
 going away? 
 
 PRINCE. Yes ; I am going to Moscow tonight. 
 
 SEMYONOV. That so? H'm Well, I guess it's 
 best. 
 
 PRINCE [with an affected smile]. I suppose it is. 
 
 SEMYONOV. Well, goodby, then. You are going away 
 for good, I suppose? 
 
 PRINCE. Yes! 
 
 SEMYONOV. Goodby. 
 
 They shake hands and part. 
 
 SEMYONOV [to the Prince at the gate]. One moment, 
 Prince. [The Prince stops; Semyonov goes over to 
 him.] I wanted to tell you that I had a very bad 
 opinion of you and I am glad to find that you have 
 force and will and dignity. I thought excuse me 
 that you were j ust a plain rascal. Now I see you have 
 suffered a great deal. Forgive the past. I wish you 
 well. 
 
 PRINCE [with a touch of haughty irony]. Thank you; 
 I am deeply moved. 
 
 SEMYONOV. Goodby. [He gives the Prince a vigor- 
 ous handshake and follows him a while with his eyes. 
 The Prince goes out without looking around. Semyonov 
 runs up the steps to overtake Asya.] Asya, wait. 
 
 ASYA [stopping]. What is it?
 
 64 War 
 
 SEMYONOV. Tell you what, let's sit down here a 
 little. The atmosphere inside is stifling; upon my word, 
 it's impossible to breathe. Piotr Ivanovich never says a 
 word, Olga Petrovna cries, and Nina is crazy with joy. 
 We don't exist for her now. Let's sit down here. 
 
 ASYA [obediently]. All right. [She quietly goes 
 down the steps and takes a seat on the bench under the 
 trees.] I just wanted to see what Mother was doing. 
 
 SEMYONOV. You mean Olga Petrovna? 
 
 ASYA [quietly]. Yes, Mother. She mustn't be al- 
 lowed to remain alone for long. 
 
 SEMYONOV [mechanically]. You still call her 
 " Mother " ? 
 
 ASYA [quietly]. Yes. 
 
 SEMYONOV. H'm well, oh, yes ! [After a pause.] 
 So the Prince is going away. That's good. The fact 
 is, it would all be ridiculous if it weren't so tragic. 
 Strange what a jumble of things life is tragedy, com- 
 edy, with a little merry farce thrown in. 
 
 ASYA [mechanically, and hardly listening]. Where is 
 the farce? 
 
 SEMYONOV [with an insincere laugh]. Well, between 
 you and me, isn't it a farce? Why not? 
 
 ASYA [wearily]. Oh, stop, Semyon Nikolayevich. 
 
 SEMYONOV. I'd be glad to stop, Aleksandra Ivan- 
 ovna, but I can't. 
 
 ASYA [pained]. It's a bore. 
 
 SEMYONOV. For you it's a bore; for me it's misery. 
 What's to be done? You see, the Prince is going away. 
 That means that they have talked themselves to a con- 
 clusion, after all. But you and I seem to be absolutely 
 deadlocked; we don't seem to be able to reach a con- 
 clusion. 
 
 ASYA [pained, glancing all around]. Really, Senya 
 I don't know what conclusion ? All there is to be
 
 War 65 
 
 said has been said over and over again. What good 
 is your persistence? 
 
 SEMYONOV. You may think all has been said, but I 
 don't. There is still the last word to be said. 
 
 ASYA. Say it then. 
 
 SEMYONOV. It's easy to say " say it." 
 
 ASYA [indifferently']. Don't say it, then. 
 
 SEMYONOV. Pshaw! How you throw ice water on a 
 fellow's head! It's cruel, Aleksandra Ivanovna. 
 
 ASYA. I won't; I won't. Say what you intended to 
 say. [There is silence. Semyonov looks at Asya out 
 of the corners of his eyes, twirls his moustache, and 
 raises it to his mouth.] Well, I have to go, Senya. 
 
 SEMYONOV. One moment. Listen, Asya. 
 
 ASYA. I am listening. 
 
 SEMYONOV. Listen, then. [Hesitating, then making 
 up his mind.] I know that you are unhappy, and that 
 you don't care for me. But the situation is this No, 
 that's not what I wanted to say. I'll tell you straight 
 out. I love you, Asya, and I haven't much longer to 
 live. 
 
 ASYA [annoyed]. You know what, Senya. You have 
 said so much about dying that we have ceased to believe 
 it. For three years now you've been telling us that you 
 are dying. [She turns away with a mild wave of her 
 hand.] 
 
 SEMYONOV [his face changing]. I beg your pardon 
 for not having died. Honestly, it isn't my fault. 
 
 ASYA [sighing]. Goodness gracious! Words, words, 
 words! Nothing but words! What's it all for? 
 
 SEMYONOV [with an affected laugh]. For this 
 
 ASYA [throwing up her hands and shrugging her 
 shoulders]. Stop, Semyon Nikolayevich ! 
 
 SEMYONOV. But if I love you! 
 
 ASYA. Oh, for God's sake, how sick I am of it! [In
 
 66 War 
 
 a burst of vexation.] You are standing with one foot 
 in the grave and talk about love. [She rises. ] 
 
 SEMYONOV [also rising, his face pale with rage]. Yes. 
 So ? Fine ! What of it ? I am standing with one 
 foot in the grave, but your Volodya has been all in the 
 grave a long time. 
 
 ASYA [utters a short shriek and drops down on the 
 bench and covers her face with her hands] . Oh, Senya ! 
 
 There is silence. Semyonov looks at her, his whole 
 body trembling. 
 
 SEMYONOV [coming to himself]. Asya! Asya! 
 Forgive me ! I I didn't mean to. I don't know 
 
 ASYA [suddenly letting her hands fall, in a dead 
 voice]. It's all the same. [She rises and slowly goes 
 towards the house.'] 
 
 SEMYONOV [following her, not knowing how to undo 
 the effect of the remark he allowed to slip in his heat], 
 Asya, I swear I didn't mean to say it. 
 
 NINA [appearing on the balcony]. Ah, you here? 
 Where is the Prince ? Is he gone ? 
 
 SEMYONOV. Yes. 
 
 NINA [with a momentary expression of sadness flitting 
 across her face]. Is he? Have you been to the 
 station, Semyon Nikolayevich ? [To Asya as she passes 
 by her towards the house.] What's the matter? You 
 look so queer. Has anything happened? 
 
 ASYA. No; I have a headache. [She goes out.] 
 
 NINA. Haven't you been at the station? 
 
 SEMYONOV. No; I called them up. The train will 
 arrive at three. 
 
 NINA [disappointed]. You said it was due at two. 
 
 SEMYONOV. So it is, according to the timetable, but 
 the station master said it will probably be an hour late. 
 So far, not a single train has arrived on schedule time.
 
 War 67 
 
 NINA. Are you going there? 
 
 SEMYONOV. No. No soldiers are coming today ex- 
 cept Vladimir Aleksandrovich. It's a regular train. 
 
 NINA. I ought to go, but [Smiling constrain- 
 edly.] I can't. I am so excited I can scarcely contain 
 myself. Even here I am almost crazy. It seems to me, 
 somehow, that he would like it better if I met him at 
 home with no strangers around. 
 
 SEMYONOV [mechanically]. Yes, certainly. The 
 Prince has offered to bring him here in his motor. So 
 you needn't worry. 
 
 NINA. What? The Prince? 
 
 SEMYONOV. Yes; he said he would go to the station 
 and bring Vladimir Aleksandrovich home. 
 
 NINA [her eyes cloud over with a mist]. How kind 
 of him ! Don't you think he is a very kind man, Semyon 
 Nikolayevich ? 
 
 SEMYONOV. Who ? The Prince ? Yes, he is not 
 without a sense of gratitude. So you are going to re- 
 main at home ? 
 
 NINA. Yes! I can't [She smiles sadly.] You 
 know, I am afraid. 
 
 SEMYONOV. Of what? 
 
 NINA. I am just afraid afraid that when I see the 
 wound 
 
 SEMYONOV. There's nothing to be afraid of. He 
 wrote you it was healing already ; so it can't be very 
 serious. He would have prepared you beforehand, if it 
 were. 
 
 NINA [with a sickly smile], I know it isn't dan- 
 gerous and yet Well, I don't know I am 
 afraid. 
 
 SEMYONOV. You had better stay at home, then, if 
 you are so excited. 
 
 NINA [sitting down on the balustrade]. Sit down, 
 Semyon Nikolayevich I don't know why, but I have
 
 68 War 
 
 a horror of remaining alone. Asya has gone to Mamma. 
 
 SEMYONOV. All right. I'll stay with you. [He 
 takes a seat opposite Nina.} 
 
 NINA [musingly]. Now we'll all be together again. 
 
 SEMYONOV. Not exactly all. 
 
 NINA [sorrowfully"]. No, not all; you are right. 
 Poor Volodya! Poor Daue! I am happy, but I'm 
 ashamed to be. I am so sorry for Mother, for Asya, for 
 Father. 
 
 SEMYONOV [lighting a cigarette'] . Yes, you are lucky, 
 after all. 
 
 NINA. He is wounded, though. 
 
 SEMYONOV. What if he is? The wound will heal. 
 You know, it's even better so. If he hadn't been 
 wounded, he might have been killed later. Now it's all 
 over. Even if he should want to go again when he is 
 cured, you won't let him. In the meantime the war will 
 end, and then you can begin to live. With the cross of 
 St. George, all roads are open to him. He can get any- 
 thing he wants. You'll move to Petrograd I can't for 
 the life of me get used to that name Petrograd. 
 
 NINA [smiling gayly~\. No, no; I won't let him go 
 again. Let others go now. Vladimir has done his part. 
 
 SEMYONOV. And has distinguished himself doing it, 
 too. 
 
 NINA [radiant]. Try as I may, I can't imagine 
 Vladimir in war a hero under fire. As I see him, 
 he is just a plain, dear man. 
 
 SEMYONOV. It's men like him that make heroes. 
 
 NINA [ecstatically]. Ah, Semyon Nikolayevich, if 
 you only knew how happy I am! 
 
 SEMYONOV [with a friendly smile]. I am glad you 
 are, from the bottom of my heart. 
 
 NINA [plaintively]. Mamma is angry at me because 
 I'm not in black. I haven't forgotten Volodya, but I
 
 War 69 
 
 simply couldn't wear mourning today. My heart is full 
 of sunshine, so how can I put on crepe ? 
 
 SEMYONOV. Why should you? What good is it? 
 
 The mother enters, with stooped back, wrinkled face, 
 and hair turned completely gray. Asya follows close 
 behind her. 
 
 NINA. There is Mamma. 
 
 OLOA PETROVNA [listleffly]. How do you do, Sem- 
 yon Nikolayevich ? Thank you for coming. At least 
 you haven't forgotten. [Sitting down on the top step.] 
 Nina, she has forgotten her brother Volodya. 
 
 NINA [vexed]. Oh, Mamma! I have not forgotten 
 him. Can't you understand? 
 
 OLGA [looking disapprovingly at her]. Yes, yes; 
 don't tell me. You have forgotten, and that's all. 
 
 NINA [excitedly]. All right, I'll go and put on a 
 black dress. I don't know what you want of me. 
 
 ASYA. Nina ! 
 
 NINA [instantly calming herself]. But really I 
 don't know Mother has been after me that way the 
 whole day long! 
 
 She turns away. The mother follows her with the 
 same disapproving look, shaking her head. 
 
 SEMYONOV [to change the subject]. How is your 
 health, Olga Petrovna? 
 
 OLGA. What health! And what do I want health 
 for? Volodichka is gone. [She sobs.] 
 
 ASYA. Mamma, you mustn't. [She sits down beside 
 her and presses up close to her.] 
 
 OLGA [stroking her hair]. Here is Asenka; I have 
 her left. Asenka has not forgotten Volodya. So we'll 
 live with her. [She presses Asya's head to her bosom.] 
 My poor little widow !
 
 70 War 
 
 There is silence. 
 
 SEMYONOV. Soon Vladimir Aleksandrovich will be 
 here. 
 
 OLGA [crossly']. Yes, he'll be here. Well, thank 
 God! But Volodichka will not be here. Our Volo- 
 dichka will never be here again. You remember how 
 you used to call them? Volodya the Big, and Volodya 
 the Little. So Volodya the Big is coming, and Volodya 
 the Little is not. 
 
 Asya cries. 
 
 NINA. Mamma, you are always exciting her. 
 
 OLGA. I am not exciting her. Am I exciting you, 
 Asenka ? 
 
 ASYA [trying to keep back her tears~\. No, Mamma; 
 don't mind me. 
 
 OLGA. Yes; Volodya the Big is coming. 
 
 NINA [shrugging her shoulders]. You say it as 
 though you were sorry he wasn't killed. 
 
 There is silence. 
 
 OLGA. Don't be angry, Ninochka. I am so sorry for 
 Volodya. 
 
 NINA. Why, Mamma, aren't we all sorry? 
 
 OLGA. Oh, for you it's different. Your husband is 
 coming home, and you'll console yourself with him. 
 You are young; there is a long life ahead of you. But 
 for your father and me there is nothing left now but to 
 die. 
 
 NINA. Am I not your daughter? Am I nothing to 
 you any more ? 
 
 OLGA [quietly, without listening to her]. They have 
 killed Volodya killed him. 
 
 KATYA [appearing at the door~\. Shall I set the 
 table?
 
 War 71 
 
 NINA [rising quickly]. Yes, of course; it's going on 
 
 three already. Mamma, I'll go and attend to every- 
 thing. 
 
 OLGA [mechanically]. Go, go. 
 
 Nina and Katya go out. 
 
 OLGA. Ninochka is annoyed with me. She thinks me 
 a nuisance. 
 
 ASYA. Mamma, how can you talk like that! You 
 ought to be ashamed of yourself. 
 
 OLGA. Well, it's only natural. She is young, and I 
 am boring her sick. 
 
 ASYA. She loves you, too. 
 
 OLGA. I know she does. But no one will ever love as 
 Volodya did. 
 
 ASYA. And I, Mamma? 
 
 OLGA. You are a darling. But, after all, you are not 
 my flesh and blood. You will forget Volodichka, and 
 you will marry. 
 
 ASYA. I will never marry. 
 
 OLGA [shaking her head]. God knows, God knows, 
 Asenka. 
 
 The chugging of an automobile and the tooting of a 
 horn are heard from a distance. Asya and Semyonov sit 
 up and listen. 
 
 SEMYONOV [getting up]. What's that? Is it they, 
 already? It's only a little after two. 
 
 ASYA [almost frightened]. I don't know; the car 
 seems to be coming this way. 
 
 Asya and Semyonov walk down the steps and listen. 
 
 ASYA. It's they. There is Sidorenko. Nina ! 
 Nina! 
 
 She runs towards the house, then stops. Sidorenko,
 
 72 War 
 
 tattered, sunburnt, but beaming, pushes through the gate 
 tenth the trunk. 
 
 SEMYONOV. Hello, Sidorenko! 
 
 SIDORENKO. How do you do, Mr. Semyonov. [He 
 puts the trunk down on the ground.] 
 
 SEMYONOV. Where is Vladimir Aleksandrovich ? 
 
 SIDORENKO. He is here. The machine had to stop a 
 little way off, it couldn't get through the lane. 
 
 The Prince rushes in, looking pale and distracted, fol- 
 lowed by a Red Cross surgeon and a soldier. 
 
 PRINCE [goes up to Semyonov, takes his arm, and pulls 
 him aside. In a subdued voice]. Prepare Nina Pe- 
 trovna. Vladimir Aleksandrovich is very severely 
 wounded. 
 
 SEMYONOV [frightened]. What? Severely? Then 
 why didn't he 
 
 PRINCE [hastily]. He didn't want to write [In 
 a low voice]. Both of his legs are torn off. 
 
 SEMYONOV [recoiling] . Impossible ! Asya ! 
 
 ASYA [who has heard all the Prince has said to Sem- 
 yonov] . I am going at once, and [She runs into 
 the house.] 
 
 PRINCE. The car can't drive up here. We must get 
 an armchair or something. 
 
 SEMYONOV. Armchair? Yes, directly. Here is one. 
 [He grabs hold of the rush-bottomed chair.] 
 
 PRINCE. Take it, gentlemen. 
 
 The surgeon and the soldier quickly carry off the arm- 
 chair. The Prince starts after them, but instantly turns 
 back. 
 
 PRINCE. Please go and see to Nina Petrovna, and I'll 
 stay here.
 
 War 73 
 
 SEMYONOV. All right. [He runs out.] 
 
 OLGA [in alarm]. What is it, Prince? Is Vladimir 
 Aleksandrovich very sick? 
 
 PRINCE. Yes. 
 
 OLGA [rising quickly]. Poor Ninochka! Why, how 
 is that? What's the matter with him? 
 
 PRINCE. Both his legs are torn off. 
 
 Olga Petrovna silently crosses herself and drops 
 limply on her seat. Piotr Ivanovich walks in rapidly. 
 Immediately after, Nina runs by, closely followed by 
 Asya. 
 
 NINA. What is it, Prince? Vladimir is wounded? 
 Dangerously ? Impossible ! Prince ! 
 
 PRINCE. Steady ! Be calm ! Steady, Nina Pe- 
 trovna ! 
 
 NINA [running down into the garden]. Where is he? 
 Where am I to go? 
 
 PRINCE. He'll be brought in soon. Don't go. 
 
 NINA. Brought in? [She stares at him, horrified. 
 The Prince lowers his eyes, then runs to the gate. A 
 group of people appear at the gate, carrying Vladimir 
 Aleksandrovich in the armchair. He is lean, haggard, 
 and emaciated. The stumps of his legs are covered with 
 a blanket. On seeing Nina, the men put the armchair 
 on the ground, the blanket slips off, and shows the 
 stumps wrapped up in white, formless, ugly rags.] 
 
 VLADIMIR [putting out his hand]. Nina! Ninochka! 
 
 Nina starts back from him in terror, reels, and falls 
 straight into the Prince's arms as he holds them out to 
 catch her. 
 
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