KALIAYEV [gazing at her with despair in his eyes]: Yes, that’s our lot on earth; love is … impossible. But I shall kill the Grand Duke, and then at last there will be peace for you and me.
DORA: Peace? When shall we find peace?
KALIAYEV [violently]: The next day.
[ANNENKOV and STEPAN enter. DORA and KALIAYEV move away from each other.]
ANNENKOV: Yanek!
KALIAYEV: I’m ready. [Draws a deep breath.] At last! At last!
STEPAN [going up to him]: Brother, I’m with you.
KALIAYEV: Good-by, Stepan. [Turning to DORA] Good-by, Dora.
[DORA comes toward him. They are standing very close, but neither touches the other.]
DORA: No, not good-by. Au revoir. Au revoir, mon chéri. We shall meet again.
[They gaze at each other in silence for some moments.]
KALIAYEV: Au revoir, Dora. I … I … Russia will be free.
DORA [weeping]: Russia will be free.
[KALIAYEV crosses himself as he passes the icon; then walks out of the room with ANNENKOV. STEPAN goes to the window. DORA remains statue-still, staring at the door.]
STEPAN: How straight he’s walking! Yes, I was wrong not to feel confidence in Yanek. But his enthusiasm was too … too romantic for my liking. Did you notice how he crossed himself just now? Is he religious?
DORA: Well, he’s not a churchgoer.
STEPAN: Still, he has leanings toward religion. That’s why we didn’t hit it off. I’m more bitter than he. For people like me, who don’t believe in a God, there is no alternative between total justice and utter despair.
DORA: To Yanek’s mind there’s an element of despair in justice itself.
STEPAN: Yes, he has a weak soul. But happily he’s better than his soul, his arm won’t falter. Yanek will kill the Grand Duke, I’d swear to it. And it will be a good day’s work, a very good day’s work. Destruction, that’s what’s wanted. But you’re not saying anything. [Scans her face attentively.] Are you in love with him?
DORA: Love calls for time, and we have hardly time enough for—justice.
STEPAN: You are right. There’s so much still to do; we must smash this world we live in, blast it to smithereens! And after that … [Looks down into the street.] They’re out of sight. They must have reached their posts by now.
DORA: Yes? “After that,” you said. What will happen after that?
STEPAN: After that we shall love each other.
DORA: If we are still alive.
STEPAN: Then others will love each other. Which comes to the same thing.
DORA: Stepan, say hatred.
STEPAN: What?
DORA: I just want you to utter that word: hatred.
STEPAN: Hatred.
DORA: Yes, that’s right. Yanek could never say it well.
[A short silence. Then STEPAN comes toward her.]
STEPAN: I understand; you despise me. Still, are you quite sure you’re right to despise me? [Pauses. Then goes on speaking, with rising passion.] You’re all alike. Counting the cost of what you do in terms of your despicable love! I’m different, I love nothing, and I hate, yes I hate my fellow men. Why should I want their precious love? I learned all about it three years ago, in the convict prison. For three years I’ve borne its marks on me. And you want me to turn sentimental, and carry the bomb as if it were a cross. But I’m damned if I will! [He tears his shirt open. DORA makes a gesture of horror and shrinks away when she sees the marks of the lash.] There you are! There are the marks of their love! Now, do you still despise me?
[She goes up to him, and kisses him hastily.]
DORA: Who could despise suffering? I love you, too.
STEPAN [gazing at her, murmurs]: Sorry, Dora. [After a short silence he turns away.] Perhaps it’s only weariness, the burden of all those years of struggle and suspense, of police spies, hard labor in the prison and—to crown everything!—this. [Points to the scars.] How could I have the energy to love? But, anyhow, I still have the energy to hate. And that’s better than feeling nothing at all.
DORA: Yes, you’re right, it’s better.
[He looks at her. A clock strikes seven.]
STEPAN [swinging round]: The Grand Duke will be going by. [DORA goes to the window, pressing her forehead against a pane. A long silence. Then, in the distance, a rumble of carriage wheels. It grows louder, then recedes.] Let’s hope he is by himself.… [The rumble of wheels dies into the distance. A violent explosion rattles the windows. DORA gives a start and buries her head in her hands. A long silence.] Boria hasn’t thrown his bomb. That means Yanek has brought it off! The people have triumphed!
DORA [bursting into tears and flinging herself against him]: And it’s we who have killed him. It’s we who have killed him. It’s I!
STEPAN [shrilly]: What do you mean? Killed whom? Yanek?
DORA: The Grand Duke.
CURTAIN
ACT IV
A cell in the Pugatchev Tower of the Butirki Prison. Morning light is filtering through a barred window. When the curtain rises Kaliayev is looking toward the door. A GUARD enters, followed by a prisoner carrying a mop and bucket.
THE GUARD: Now then! Get down to it!
[The GUARD takes his stand at the window. FOKA, the prisoner, begins to wash the floor; he takes no notice of KALIAYEV. A short silence.]
KALIAYEV: What’s your name, brother?
FOKA: Foka.
KALIAYEV: Are you a convict?
FOKA: What else should I be?
KALIAYEV: What did you do?
FOKA: I killed.
KALIAYEV: You were hungry, no doubt?
THE GUARD: Ssh! Not so loud!
KALIAYEV: What?
THE GUARD: Don’t speak so loud. It’s really against the rules for you to talk. So I’d advise you to talk quietly, like the old man.
KALIAYEV: Is that why you killed—because you were hungry?
FOKA: No. I was thirsty.
KALIAYEV: Yes? And then?
FOKA: There was a hatchet lying around and I laid about with it good and proper. I killed three people, so they tell me. [KALIAYEV gazes at him.] Ah, my young gentleman, I see you don’t call me brother any more. Cooled off, have you?
KALIAYEV: No. I, too, have killed.
FOKA: How many?
KALIAYEV: I’ll tell you, brother, if you want me to. But tell me first; you’re sorry for … for what happened, aren’t you?
FOKA: Sure, I’m sorry. Twenty years’ hard, that’s a long stretch. Enough to make anyone feel sorry.
KALIAYEV: Twenty years. I come here when I’m twenty-three—and when I go out, my hair is gray.
FOKA: Oh, cheer up! There’s no knowing with a judge; depends on whether he’s married, and what his wife is like. Maybe he’ll be in a good humor and let you off easy. And then you’re a fine gentleman. It ain’t the same for a gentleman and people like me. You’ll get off lightly.
KALIAYEV: I doubt it. And anyhow I don’t want to. Feeling shame for twenty years—how horrible that would be!
FOKA: Shame? Where does the shame come in? That’s just one of those crackbrained notions you gentlemen have.… How many people did you kill?
KALIAYEV: One man.
FOKA: One man? Why, that’s nothing!
KALIAYEV: I killed the Grand Duke Serge.
FOKA: The Grand Duke? Well, I’ll be damned! You fine gentlemen never know where to draw the line. Yes, it looks black for you.
KALIAYEV: Very black. But I had to do it.
FOKA: Why? What business does a man like you have getting himself into trouble like that? Ah, I see. Over a woman, wasn’t it? A good-looking young lad like you … I see!
KALIAYEV: I am a socialist.
THE GUARD: Not so loud.
KALIAYEV [deliberately raising his voice]: I am a revolutionary socialist.
FOKA: What a story! And why the hell did you have to be … what you said just now? You had only to stay put, and you were on velvet. The world is made for bright young noblemen like you.
KALIAYEV: No. It is made for you, my friend. There are too many crimes, there’s too much poverty in the world today. When some day there is less poverty, there will be fewer crimes. If Russia were free you would not be here.
FOKA: That’s as it may be. One thing’s sure: whether one’s free or not, it doesn’t pay to take a drop too much.
KALIAYEV: That’s so. Only a man usually takes to drink because he is oppressed. A day will come when there’s no more point in drinking, when nobody will feel ashamed, neither the fine gentleman, nor the poor devil who is down and out. We shall all be brothers and justice will make our hearts transparent. Do you know what I’m talking about?
FOKA: Yes. The Kingdom of God, they call it.
THE GUARD: Not so loud.
KALIAYEV: No, you’re wrong there, brother. God can’t do anything to help; justice is our concern. [A short silence.] Don’t you understand? Do you know that old tale about Saint Dimitri?
FOKA: No.
KALIAYEV: He had made a date with God, far out in the steppes. When he was on his way to keep the appointment he came on a peasant whose cart was stuck in the mud. And Saint Dimitri stopped to help him. The mud was thick and the wheels were so deeply sunk that it took him the best part of an hour, helping to pull the cart out. When this was done Dimitri made haste to the appointed place. But he was too
