The Russian Masters: Works by Dostoevsky, Chekhov, Tolstoy, Pushkin, Gogol, Turgenev and More. Максим Горький

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The Russian Masters: Works by Dostoevsky, Chekhov, Tolstoy, Pushkin, Gogol, Turgenev and More - Максим Горький


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the rascals see what sort of an architect I am.

      WIFE

      I should like to live in Italy, close by the sea; in a white marble villa in a grove of lemons and cypresses, with marble steps leading straight down to the blue water.

      MAN

      I understand. That's all right. But I intend, besides, to build a castle in the mountains of Norway. Below, the fjord; and above, on the steep mountain, the castle. We have no paper. But look, I'll show it to you on the wall here. Here is the fjord, you see?

      WIFE

      Yes, beautiful.

      MAN

      Here, sparkling blue water gently beating against the green grass; here, beautiful cinnamon-colored stone; and there, in the recess, where this spot is, a bit of blue sky and serene white clouds.

      WIFE

      Look, there is a white boat floating on the water—it looks like two swans swimming side by side.

      MAN

      And up there rises the mountain. Bright and green below, it turns gloomier and sterner as it ascends—rugged crags, dark shadows, fallen boulders, and patches of clouds.

      WIFE

      Like a ruined castle.

      MAN

      And there, on that spot—the middle one—I'll build my royal castle.

      WIFE

      It's cold up there, and windy.

      MAN

      I'll have thick stone walls and large windows with all the panes made out of a single piece of glass. At night, when the winter snowstorms begin to rage and the fjord below to roar, we'll draw the curtains and make a fire in the huge fireplace. It is such a tremendous fireplace that it will hold a whole log. It will burn up a whole forest of pines.

      WIFE

      How nice and warm.

      MAN

      And how quiet too, if you will please notice. Carpets covering the whole, floor and lots of books will make it cosy and quietly lively. And we'll be there, the two of us. The wind howling outside and we two sitting before the fireplace on a white bear-skin rug. "Wouldn't you like to have a look at what's doing outside?" you'll say. "All right!" And we'll go to the largest window and draw aside the curtain. Good heavens! What a sight!

      WIFE

      See the snow whirling.

      MAN

      Galloping like white horses, like myriads of frightened little spirits, pale with fear and seeking safety in the night. And what a howling and roaring!

      WIFE

      Oh, it's cold. I'm shivering.

      MAN

      Go back to the fireplace, quick! Hey there, fetch me grandfather's goblet—not that one, the golden one from which the vikings drank. Fill it up with sparkling wine—not that way—fill it to the brim with the burning draught. Venison is roasting on the spit. Bring it here. I'll eat some. Quick, or I'll eat you. I'm hungry as the devil.

      WIFE

      There, they have brought it. Now, go on.

      MAN

      Go on? I'll eat some, of course. What else do you expect? What are you doing to my head, little wife?

      WIFE

      I am the goddess of fame. I have woven a crown of the oak leaves that our neighbors scattered here, and I'm crowning you. It's Fame that has come to you, the beautiful goddess Fame. (Puts the wreath on his head)

      MAN

      Yes, fame; loud, noisy fame. Look at the wall. Do you see this? It's

       I, walking. And who is this next to me? Do you see?

      WIFE

      I.

      MAN

      Look, they are bowing to us; they are whispering about us; they are pointing their fingers at us. There is a venerable old gentleman saying with tears in his eyes: "Happy the land that has such children!" See how pale this youth here has turned. Fame looked at him and gave him a smile. That's after I built the People's House, which is the pride of the whole country.

      WIFE

      You are my famous husband. The oak wreath suits you so well. A laurel wreath would become you still better.

      MAN

      Look, look, there come the representatives of the city where I was born. They bow to me and say: "Our city is proud of the honor—"

      WIFE

      Oh!

      MAN

      What is it?

      WIFE

      I found a bottle of milk.

      MAN

      Impossible!

      WIFE

      And bread, soft, sweet-smelling bread. And a cigar.

      MAN

      Impossible! You are mistaken. It's the dampness from that damned wall, that's what it is. It isn't milk.

      WIFE

      But it is.

      MAN

      A cigar? Cigars don't grow on windows. They are sold for fortunes in tobacco stores. It's a black stick, a piece of a branch, I'm sure.

      WIFE

      Look and see. I suppose our neighbors brought it.

      MAN

      Our neighbors? I tell you they're people—they're not human—they're divine. But even if the devil himself brought it—quick, give it here, my sweet little wife.

       [Man's Wife seats herself on his knees, and so they eat. She breaks off pieces of bread and puts them in his mouth. He feeds her the milk from the bottle.

      MAN

      Seems to be cream.

      WIFE

      No, it's milk. Chew better. You'll choke.

      MAN.


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