Maksim Gorky
The Lower Depths / A Drama in Four Acts
INTRODUCTION
De profundis ad te clamavi. In this phrase, with his penchant for epitome, the late James Huneker summarized the masterpiece of Russias single living master of the drama, Maxim Gorky, as he saw it in Berlin under the German title of Nachtasyl or Night Lodging. Na Dnye is the Russian literally On the Bottom. Partly because The Lower Depths is a more faithful rendering of the original than Night Lodging and partly because it implies so vividly the plays keynote as the shrewd Huneker detected it beneath a guise alien to both Russian and English, the title adopted by Laurence Irving for the British version has been preferred for its introduction to American audiences by the company which discovered it and first set it on its stage in Moscow, December 31 (our calendar), 1902.
In The Lower Depths more than in any other single play throughout its history, the Moscow Art Theatre concentrates its dramatic ideals and methods, its esthetic theory and practice, and through the production of this play it most emphatically justifies its artistic faith in spiritual or psychological realism as a dramatic medium of expression. The plays of Tchekhoff, of course, serve the same ends, but no single one of them does so quite as richly as does Gorkys masterpiece. At the hands of Stanislavsky and his associates, The Lower Depths draws much of its convincing power from its unusual use of and dependence on the channels of expression which are peculiar to the art of the theatre. It is almost wholly independent of drama as literature. Less than any play I know, is it possible to imagine its potential effect in the theatre from a reading of its printed lines. In my book, The Russian Theatre, I have thus analyzed this factor:
The Lower Depths is not so much a matter of utterable line and recountable gesture as it is of the intangible flow of human souls in endlessly shifting contact with one another. Awkward but eloquent pauses and emphases, the scarcely perceptible stress or dulling of word or gesture, the nuances and the shadings of which life is mostly made and by which it reveals its meaning these, and the instinctive understanding of the vision of the playwright by those who seek to interpret him, are the incalculable and unrecordable channels through which The Lower Depths becomes articulate at the Moscow Art Theatre.
Just as this theatre discovered or, rather, rescued Tchekhoff as a dramatist, so it first stood sponsor for the author of Foma Gordeyeff as a playwright. During the first half of the season of 1902-1903, two of his plays were produced Smug Citizens and The Lower Depths. The latter was recognized at once as a work of supreme merit and moment. Tchekhoff himself had written to its youthful author five months before its première: I have read your play. It is new and unmistakably fine. The second act is very good, it is the best, the strongest, and when I was reading it, especially the end, I almost danced with joy. At the première, the rival dramatists verdict was publicly ratified, for Gorky was called before the curtain twenty times, and the press was unanimously enthusiastic. The play has held its place in the repertory of the Moscow Art Theatre ever since, and eight of its most important rôles are still played by those who created them, just two decades ago.
Miss Covans translation of this play, I believe, deserves particular attention. There have been numerous translations, differing only in the nature of their ineptitude. Here for the first time, the vigor, the virility, the humanity and the humor of the original survive the transfer from the Russian tongue to our own, without mysterious and vaguely symbolic meanings gratuitously appended. As nearly as it is possible with printed words to convey the impression which Gorky desires and obtains through the intangible media of the living stage, the following version succeeds. I realized for the first time, as I read it, that the overwhelming impression of the play at the hands of the Moscow Art Theatre is due as much to the genius of the playwright as to that of his interpreters.
THE EDITOR.CAST OF CHARACTERS
MIKHAIL IVANOFF KOSTILYOFF Keeper of a night lodging.
VASSILISA KARPOVNA His wife.
NATASHA Her sister.
MIEDVIEDIEFF Her uncle, a policeman.
VASKA PEPEL A young thief.
ANDREI MITRITCH KLESHTCH A locksmith.
ANNA His wife.
NASTYA A street-walker.
KVASHNYA A vendor of meat-pies.
BUBNOFF A cap-maker.
THE BARON.
SATINE.
THE ACTOR.
LUKA A pilgrim.
ALYOSHKA A shoemaker.
KRIVOY ZOB} Porters.
THE TARTAR }
NIGHT LODGERS, TRAMPS AND OTHERS.
The action takes place in a Night Lodging and in The Waste, an area in its rearACT ONE
A cellar resembling a cave. The ceiling, which merges into stone walls, is low and grimy, and the plaster and paint are peeling off. There is a window, high up on the right wall, from which comes the light. The right corner, which constitutes Pepels room, is partitioned off by thin boards. Close to the corner of this room is Bubnoffs wooden bunk. In the left corner stands a large Russian stove. In the stone wall, left, is a door leading to the kitchen where live Kvashnya, the Baron, and Nastya. Against the wall, between the stove and the door, is a large bed covered with dirty chintz. Bunks line the walls. In the foreground, by the left wall, is a block of wood with a vise and a small anvil fastened to it, and another smaller block of wood somewhat further towards the back. Kleshtch is seated on the smaller block, trying keys into old locks. At his feet are two large bundles of various keys, wired together, also a battered tin samovar, a hammer, and pincers. In the centre are a large table, two benches, and a stool, all of which are of dirty, unpainted wood. Behind the table Kvashnya is busying herself with the samovar. The Baron sits chewing a piece of black bread, and Nastya occupies the stool, leans her elbows on the table, and reads a tattered book. In the bed, behind curtains, Anna lies coughing. Bubnoff is seated on his bunk, attempting to shape a pair of old trousers with the help of an ancient hat shape which he holds between his knees. Scattered about him are pieces of buckram, oilcloth, and rags. Satine, just awakened, lies in his bunk, grunting. On top of the stove, the Actor, invisible to the audience, tosses about and coughs.
It is an early spring morning.
THE BARON. And then?
KVASHNYA. No, my dear, said I, keep away from me with such proposals. Ive been through it all, you see and not for a hundred baked lobsters would I marry again!
BUBNOFF [to Satine] What are you grunting about? [Satine keeps on grunting]
KVASHNYA. Why should I, said I, a free woman, my own mistress, enter my name into somebody elses passport and sell myself into slavery no! Why I wouldnt marry a man even if he were an American prince!
KLESHTCH. You lie!
KVASHNYA. Wha-at?
KLESHTCH. You lie! Youre going to marry Abramka..
THE BARON [snatching the book out of Nastyas hand and reading the title] Fatal Love.. [Laughs]
NASTYA [stretching out her hand] Give it back give it back! Stop fooling!
[The Baron looks at her and waves the book in the air]
KVASHNYA [to Kleshtch] You crimson goat, you calling me a liar! How dare you be so rude to me?
THE BARON [hitting Nastya on the head with the book] Nastya, you little fool!
NASTYA [reaching for the book] Give it back!
KLESHTCH. Oh what a great lady.. but youll marry Abramka just the same thats all youre waiting for.
KVASHNYA. Sure! Anything else? You nearly beat your wife to death!
KLESHTCH. Shut up, you old bitch! Its none of your business!
KVASHNYA. Ho-ho! cant stand the truth, can you?
THE BARON. Theyre off again! Nastya, where are you?
NASTYA [without lifting her head] Hey go away!
ANNA [putting her head through the curtains] The day has started. For Gods sake, dont row!
KLESHTCH. Whining again!
ANNA. Every blessed day.. let me die in peace, cant you?
BUBNOFF. Noise wont keep you from dying.
KVASHNYA [walking up to Anna] Little mother, how did you ever manage to live with this wretch?
ANNA. Leave me alone get away from me..
KVASHNYA. Well, well! You poor soul.. hows the pain in the chest any better?
THE BARON. Kvashnya! Time to go to market..
KVASHNYA. Well go presently. [To Anna] Like some hot dumplings?
ANNA. No, thanks. Why should I eat?
KVASHNYA. You must eat. Hot food good for you! Ill leave you some in a cup. Eat them when you feel like it. Come on, sir! [To Kleshtch] You evil spirit! [Goes into kitchen]
ANNA [coughing] Lord, Lord.
THE BARON [painfully pushing forward Nastyas head] Throw it away little fool!
NASTYA [muttering] Leave me alone I dont bother you.
[The Baron follows Kvashnya, whistling.]
SATINE [sitting up in his bunk] Who beat me up yesterday?
BUBNOFF. Does it make any difference who?
SATINE. Suppose they did but why did they?
BUBNOFF. Were you playing cards?
SATINE. Yes!
BUBNOFF. Thats why they beat you.
SATINE. Scoundrels!
THE ACTOR [raising his head from the top of the stove] One of these days theyll beat you to death!
SATINE. Youre a jackass!
THE ACTOR. Why?
SATINE. Because a man can die only once!
THE ACTOR [after a silence] I dont understand
KLESHTCH. Say! You crawl from that stove and start cleaning house! Dont play the delicate primrose!
THE ACTOR. None of your business!
KLESHTCH. Wait till Vassilisa comes shell show you whose business it is!
THE ACTOR. To hell with Vassilisa! To-day is the Barons turn to clean Baron!
[The Baron comes from the kitchen.]
THE BARON. Ive no time to clean.. Im going to market with Kvashnya.
THE ACTOR. That doesnt concern me. Go to the gallows if you like. Its your turn to sweep the floor just the same Im not going to do other peoples work.
THE BARON. Go to blazes! Nastya will do it. Hey there fatal love! Wake up! [Takes the book away from Nastya]
NASTYA [getting up] What do you want? Give it back to me! You scoundrel! And thats a nobleman for you!
THE BARON [returning the book to her] Nastya! Sweep the floor for me will you?
NASTYA [goes to kitchen] Not sos youll notice it!
KVASHNYA [to the Baron through kitchen door] Come on you! They dont need you! Actor! You were asked to do it, and now you go ahead and attend to it it wont kill you.
THE ACTOR. Its always I.. I dont understand why..
[The Baron comes from the kitchen, across his shoulders a wooden beam from which hang earthen pots covered with rags.]
THE BARON. Heavier than ever!
SATINE. It paid you to be born a Baron, eh?
KVASHNYA [to Actor] See to it that you sweep up! [Crosses to outer door, letting the Baron pass ahead]
THE ACTOR [climbing down from the stove] Its bad for me to inhale dust. [With pride] My organism is poisoned with alcohol. [Sits down on a bunk, meditating]
SATINE. Organism organon..
ANNA. Andrei Mitritch..
KLESHTCH. What now?
ANNA. Kvashnya left me some dumplings over there you eat them!
KLESHTCH [coming over to her] And you dont you want any?
ANNA. No. Why should I eat? Youre a workman you need it.
KLESHTCH. Frightened, are you? Dont be! Youll get all right!
ANNA. Go and eat! Its hard on me I suppose very soon.
KLESHTCH [walking away] Never mind maybe youll get well you can never tell! [Goes into kitchen]
THE ACTOR [loud, as if he had suddenly awakened] Yesterday the doctor in the hospital said to me: Your organism, he said, is entirely poisoned with alcohol.
SATINE [smiling] Organon.
THE ACTOR [stubbornly] Not organon organism!
SATINE. Sibylline..
THE ACTOR [shaking his fist at him] Nonsense! Im telling you seriously.. if the organism is poisoned.. that means its bad for me to sweep the floor to inhale the dust.
SATINE. Macrobistic.. hah!
BUBNOFF. What are you muttering?
SATINE. Words and heres another one for you transcendentalistic.
BUBNOFF. What does it mean?
SATINE. Dont know I forgot.
BUBNOFF. Then why did you say it?
SATINE. Just so! Im bored, brother, with human words all our words. Bored! Ive heard each one of them a thousand times surely.
THE ACTOR. In Hamlet they say: Words, words, words! Its a good play. I played the grave-digger in it once..
[Kleshtch comes from the kitchen.]
KLESHTCH. Will you start playing with the broom?
THE ACTOR. None of your business. [Striking his chest] Ophelia! O remember me in thy prayers!
[Back stage is heard a dull murmur, cries, and a police whistle. Kleshtch sits down to work, filing screechily.]
SATINE. I love unintelligible, obsolete words. When I was a youngster and worked as a telegraph operator I read heaps of books..
BUBNOFF. Were you really a telegrapher?
SATINE. I was. There are some excellent books and lots of curious words.. Once I was an educated man, do you know?
BUBNOFF. Ive heard it a hundred times. Well, so you were! That isnt very important! Me well once I was a furrier. I had my own shop what with dyeing the fur all day long, my arms were yellow up to the elbows, brother. I thought Id never be able ever to get clean again that Id go to my grave, all yellow! But look at my hands now theyre plain dirty thats what!
SATINE. Well, and what then?
BUBNOFF. Thats all!
SATINE. What are you trying to prove?
BUBNOFF. Oh, well just matching thoughts no matter how much dye you get on yourself, it all comes off in the end yes, yes
SATINE. Oh my bones ache!
THE ACTOR [sits, nursing his knees] Education is all rot. Talent is the thing. I knew an actor who read his parts by heart, syllable by syllable but he played heroes in a way that.. why the whole theatre would rock with ecstasy!