A room at the gypsies’, dark but beautifully lit. The actual room is scarcely seen, and although at first it appears squalid, there are flaring touches of Byzantine luxury. Gypsies are singing. FÉDYA is lying on the sofa, his eyes closed, coat off. An OFFICER sits at the table, on which there are bottles of champagne and glasses. Beside him sits a musician taking down the song.

Afrémov (standing L. U.). Asleep?

Fédya (on couch L. Raising his hand warningly). Sh! Don’t talk! Now let’s have “No More at Evening.”

Gypsy Leader. Impossible, Fedor Protosov. Masha must have her solo first.

Fédya. Afterwards. Now let’s have “No More at Evening.”

[Gypsies sing.

Gypsy Woman (R. C., when they finish singing, turning to Musician who is sitting at table R., with his back to audience). Have you got it?

Musician. It’s impossible to take it down correctly. They change the tune each time, and they seem to have a different scale, too. (He calls a gypsy woman.) Is this it?

[He hums a bar or two.

Gypsy Woman (clapping her hands). Splendid! Wonderful! How can you do it?

Fédya (rising. Ges to table L. back of couch and pours out glass of wine). He’ll never get it. And even if he did and shoveled it into an opera, he’d make it seem absolutely meaningless.

Afrémov. Now we’ll have “The Fatal Hour.”

[Gypsies sing quartet. During this song, FÉDYA is standing down R., keeping time with the wine glass from which he has drunk. When they finish he returns to the couch and falls into MASHA’S arms.

Fédya. God! That’s it! That’s it! That’s wonderful. What lovely things that music says. And where does it all come from, what does it all mean?

[Another pause.

To think that men can touch eternity like that, and then—nothing—nothing at all.

Musician. Yes, it’s very original.

[Taking notes.

Fédya. Original be damned. It’s real.

Musician. It’s all very simple, except the rhythm. That’s very strange.

Fédya. Oh, Masha, Masha! You turn my soul inside out.

[Gypsies hum a song softly.

Masha (sitting on couch L. with FÉDYA). Do I? But what was it I asked you for?

Fédya. What? Oh, money. Voilà, mademoiselle.

[He takes money front his trousers pocket. MASHA laughs, takes the money, counts it swiftly, and hides it in her dress.

Fédya. Look at this strange creature. When she sings she rushes me into the sky and all she asks for is money, little presents of money for throwing open the Gates of Paradise. You don’t know yourself, at all, do you?

Masha. What’s the use of me wondering about myself? I know when I’m in love, and I know that I sing best when my love is singing.

Fédya. Do you love me?

Masha (murmuring). I love you.

Fédya. But I am a married man, and you belong to this gypsy troupe. They wouldn’t let you leave it, and—

Masha (interrupting). The troupe’s one thing, and my heart’s another. I love those I love, and I hate those I hate.

Fédya. Oh, you must be happy to be like that.

Masha. I’m always happy when handsome gentlemen come and say nice things to me. (Gypsies stop singing.)

[A gypsy entering speaks to FÉDYA.

Gypsy. Some one asking for you.

Fédya. Who?

Gypsy. Don’t know. He’s rich, though. Fur coat.

Fédya. Fur coat? O my God, show him in.

Afrémov. Who the devil wants to see you here?

Fédya (carelessly). God knows, I don’t. (Begins to hum a song.)

[KARÉNIN comes in, looking around the room.

(Exclaiming). Ha! Victor! You’re the last man in the world I expected to break into this enchanting milieu. Take off your coat, and they’ll sing for you.

Karénin. Je voudrais vous parler sans témoins.

[MASHA rises and joins the group R.

Fédya. Oh.... What about?

Karénin. Je viens de chez vous. Votre femme ma chargé de cette lettre, et puis—

[FÉDYA takes the letter, opens it, reads. He frowns, then smiles affectionately at KARÉNIN.

Fédya. You know what’s in this letter, Victor?

[He is smiling gently all the time.

Karénin (looking at Fédya rather severely). Yes, I know. But really, Fédya, you’re in no—

Fédya (interrupting). Please, please don’t think I’m drunk and don’t realize what I’m saying. Of course I’m drunk, but I see everything very clearly. Now go ahead. What were you told to tell me?

Karénin (is standing L. C. Shrugging his shoulders). Your wife asked me to find you and to tell you she’s waiting for you. She wants you to forget everything and come back.

[Pause.

Karénin (stiffly). Elizaveta Protosova sent for me and suggested that I—

Fédya (as he hesitates). Yes.

Karénin (finishing rather lamely). But I ask you not so much for her as for myself—Fédya, come home.

Fédya (looking up at him, smiling rather whimsically). You’re a much finer person than I am, Victor. Of course that’s not saying much. I’m not very much good, am I? (Laughing gently.) But that’s exactly why I’m not going to do what you want me to. It’s not the only reason, though. The real reason is that I just simply can’t. How could I?

Karénin (persuasively). Come along to my rooms, Fédya, and I’ll tell her you’ll be back to-morrow.

Fédya (wistfully). To-morrows can’t change what we are. She’ll still be she, and I will still be I to-morrow. (Ges to the table and drinks.) No, it’s better to have the tooth out in one pull. Didn’t I say that if I broke my word she was to leave me? Well, I’ve broken it, and that’s enough.

Karénin. Yes. For you, but not for her.

Fédya (down L. Politely insolent). You know ... it’s rather odd, that you, of all men, should take so much trouble to keep our marriage from going to pieces.

Karénin (revolted). Good God, Fédya! You don’t think—

[MASHA crosses L., goes to FÉDYA. FÉDYA interrupting him with a return of his former friendliness.

Fédya. Come now, my dear Victor, you shall hear them sing.

Masha (whispering to Fédya). What’s his name? We must honor him with a song.

Fédya (laughing). O good God, yes! Honor him by all means. His name is Victor Michaelovitch. (Saluting Karénin.) Victor, my lord! son of Michael!

[The gypsies sing a song of greeting and laudation. As they begin to sing, MASHA and FÉDYA sit on couch L.

(When song is finished.)

Karénin (in an imploring tone). Fédya!

[Exits quietly L. U.

Fédya (business with Masha). Where’s the fur coat? Gone, eh? All right. May the devil go with it.

Fédya. Do you know who that was?

Masha. I heard his name.

Fédya. Ah, he’s a splendid fellow. He came to take me home to my wife. You see she loves even a fool like me, (caressing her hair) and look what I’m doing.

Masha. You should go back to her and be very sorry.

Fédya. Do you think I should? (He kisses her.) Well, I think I shouldn’t.

Masha. Of course, you needn’t go back to her if you don’t love her. Love is all that counts.

Fédya (smiling). How do you know that?

Masha (looking at him timidly). I don’t know, but I do.

Fédya. Now, let’s have “No More at Evening.” (As the gypsies sing, MASHA lies on her back across his lap, looking up into his face, which she draws down to her, and they kiss until the music begins to cease.) That’s wonderful! Divine! If I could only lie this way forever, with my arms around the heart of joy, and sleep ... and die.... (He closes his eyes; his voice trails away.)

[Lights dim and out, then the

CURTAIN

(Source: 1918 translation by Arthur Hopkins for the production at Plymouth Theatre, New York.)