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.