Colonel. Innkeeper!
Peter. Yes, Colonel.
Colonel (pointing to Nihilists). Give these men some bread and water.
Peter (to himself). I shan’t make much out of that order.
Colonel. As for myself, what have you got fit to eat?
Peter. Some good dried venison, your Excellency — and some rye whisky.
Colonel. Nothing else?
Peter. Why, more whisky, your Excellency.
Colonel. What clods these peasants are! You have a better room than this?
Peter. Yes, sir.
Colonel. Bring me there. Sergeant, post your picket outside, and see that these scoundrels do not communicate with any one. No letter writing, you dogs, or you’ll be flogged for it. Now for the venison. (To Peter bowing before him.) Get out of the way, you fool! Who is that girl? (sees Vera).
Peter. My daughter, your Highness.
Colonel. Can she read and write?
Peter. Ay, that she can, sir.
Colonel. Then she is a dangerous woman. No peasant should be allowed to do anything of the kind. Till your fields, store your harvests, pay your taxes, and obey your masters — that is your duty.
Vera. Who are our masters?
Colonel. Young woman, these men are going to the mines for life for asking the same foolish question.
Vera. Then they have been unjustly condemned.
Peter. Vera, keep your tongue quiet. She is a foolish girl, sir, who talks too much.
Colonel. Every woman does talk too much. Come, where is this venison? Count, I am waiting for you. How can you see anything in a girl with coarse hands? (He passes with Peter and his aide-de-camp into an inner room.)
VERA (to one of the Nihilists). Won’t you sit down? you must be tired.
Sergeant. Come now, young woman, no talking to my prisoners.
Vera. I shall speak to them. How much do you want?
Sergeant. How much have you?
Vera. Will you let these men sit down if I give you this? (Takes off her peasant’s necklace.) It is all I have; it was my mother’s.
Sergeant. Well, it looks pretty enough, and is heavy too. What do you want with these men?
Vera. They are hungry and tired. Let me go to them?
One of the Soldiers. Let the wench be, if she pays us.
Sergeant. Well, have your way. If the Colonel sees you, you may have to come with us, my pretty one.
VERA (advances to the Nihilists). Sit down; you must be tired. (Serves them food.) What are you?
A Prisoner. Nihilists.
Vera. Who put you in chains?
Prisoner. Our Father the Czar.
Vera. Why?
Prisoner. For loving liberty too well.
Vera (to prisoner who hides his face). What did you want to do?
Dmitri. To give liberty to thirty millions of people enslaved to one man.
VERA (startled at the voice). What is your name?
Dmitri. I have no name.
Vera. Where are your friends?
Dmitri. I have no friends.
Vera. Let me see your face!
Dmitri. You will see nothing but suffering in it. They have tortured me.
Vera (tears the cloak from his face). Oh, God! Dmitri! my brother!
Dmitri. Hush! Vera; be calm. You must not let my father know; it would kill him. I thought I could free Russia. I heard men talk of Liberty one night in a café. I had never heard the word before. It seemed to be a new god they spoke of. I joined them. It was there all the money went. Five months ago they seized us. They found me printing the paper. I am going to the mines for life. I could not write. I thought it would be better to let you think I was dead; for they are bringing me to a living tomb.
VERA (looking round). You must escape, Dmitri. I will take your place.
Dmitri. Impossible! You can only revenge us.
Vera. I shall revenge you.
Dmitri. Listen! there is a house in Moscow —
Sergeant. Prisoners, attention! — the Colonel is coming — young woman, your time is up.
(Enter Colonel, Aide-de-Camp and Peter.)
Peter. I hope your Highness is pleased with the venison. I shot it myself.
Colonel. It had been better had you talked less about it. Sergeant, get ready. (Gives purse to Peter.) Here, you cheating rascal!
Peter. My fortune is made! long live your Highness. I hope your Highness will come often this way.
Colonel. By Saint Nicholas, I hope not. It is too cold here for me. (To Vera.) Young girl, don’t ask questions again about what does not concern you. I will not forget your face.
Vera. Nor I yours, or what you are doing.
Colonel. You peasants are getting too saucy since you ceased to be serfs, and the knout is the best school for you to learn politics in. Sergeant, proceed.
(The Colonel turns and goes to top of stage. The prisoners pass out double file; as Dmitri passes Vera he lets a piece of paper fall on the ground; she puts her foot on it and remains immobile.) Peter (who has been counting the money the Colonel gave him). Long life to your Highness. I will hope to see another batch soon. (Suddenly catches sight of Dmitri as he is going out of the door, and screams and rushes up.) Dmitri! Dmitri! my God! what brings you here? he is innocent, I tell you. I’ll pay for him. Take your money (flings money on the ground), take all I have, give me my son. Villains! Villains! where are you bringing him?
Colonel. To Siberia, old man.
Peter. No, no; take me instead.
Colonel. He is a Nihilist.
Peter. You lie! you lie! He is innocent. (The soldiers force him back with their guns and shut the door against him. He beats with his fists against it.) Dmitri! Dmitri! a Nihilist! (Falls down on floor.)
Vera (who has remained motionless, picks up paper now from under her feet and reads). “99 Rue Tchernavaya, Moscow. To strangle whatever nature is in me; neither to love nor to be loved; neither to pity nor to be pitied; neither to marry nor to be given in marriage, till the end is come.” My brother, I shall keep the oath. (Kisses the paper.) You shall be revenged!
(Vera stands immobile, holding paper in her lifted hand. Peter is lying on the floor. Michael, who has just come in, is bending over him.)
End of Prologue.
ACT I.
Scene. — 99 Rue Tchernavaya, Moscow. A large garret lit by oil lamps hung from ceiling. Some masked men standing silent and apart from one another. A man in a scarlet mask is writing at a table. Door at back. Man in yellow with drawn sword at it. Knocks heard. Figures in cloaks and masks enter.
Password. Per crucem ad lucem.
Answer. Per sanguinem ad libertatem.
(Clock