INTRODUCTION

De profundis ad te clamavi. In this phrase, with his penchant for epitome, the late James Huneker summarized the masterpiece of Russia’s 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 play’s 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 Gorky’s 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 dramatist’s 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 Covan’s 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 rear

ACT 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 Pepel’s room, is partitioned off by thin boards. Close to the corner of this room is Bubnoff’s 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. I’ve 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 else’s passport and sell myself into slavery – no! Why – I wouldn’t marry a man even if he were an American prince!

KLESHTCH. You lie!

KVASHNYA. Wha-at?

KLESHTCH. You lie! You’re going to marry Abramka..

THE BARON [snatching the book out of Nastya’s 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 you’ll marry Abramka just the same – that’s all you’re waiting for.

KVASHNYA. Sure! Anything else? You nearly beat your wife to death!

KLESHTCH. Shut up, you old bitch! It’s none of your business!

KVASHNYA. Ho-ho! can’t stand the truth, can you?

THE BARON. They’re 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 God’s sake, don’t row!

KLESHTCH. Whining again!

ANNA. Every blessed day.. let me die in peace, can’t you?

BUBNOFF. Noise won’t 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.. how’s the pain in the chest – any better?

THE BARON. Kvashnya! Time to go to market..

KVASHNYA. We’ll go presently. [To Anna] Like some hot dumplings?

ANNA. No, thanks. Why should I eat?

KVASHNYA. You must eat. Hot food – good for you! I’ll 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 Nastya’s head] Throw it away – little fool!

NASTYA [muttering] Leave me alone – I don’t 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. That’s why they beat you.

SATINE. Scoundrels!

THE ACTOR [raising his head from the top of the stove] One of these days they’ll beat you to death!

SATINE. You’re a jackass!

THE ACTOR. Why?

SATINE. Because a man can die only once!

THE ACTOR [after a silence] I don’t understand —

KLESHTCH. Say! You crawl from that stove – and start cleaning house! Don’t play the delicate primrose!

THE ACTOR. None of your business!

KLESHTCH. Wait till Vassilisa comes – she’ll show you whose business it is!

THE ACTOR. To hell with Vassilisa! To-day is the Baron’s turn to clean… Baron!

[The Baron comes from the kitchen.]

THE BARON. I’ve no time to clean.. I’m going to market with Kvashnya.

THE ACTOR. That doesn’t concern me. Go to the gallows if you like. It’s your turn to sweep the floor just the same – I’m not going to do other people’s 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 that’s a nobleman for you!

THE BARON [returning the book to her] Nastya! Sweep the floor for me – will you?

NASTYA [goes to kitchen] Not so’s you’ll notice it!

KVASHNYA [to the Baron through kitchen door] Come on – you! They don’t need you! Actor! You were asked to do it, and now you go ahead and attend to it – it won’t kill you.

THE ACTOR. It’s always I.. I don’t 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] It’s 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 – don’t you want any?

ANNA. No. Why should I eat? You’re a workman – you need it.

KLESHTCH. Frightened, are you? Don’t be! You’ll get all right!

ANNA. Go and eat! It’s hard on me… I suppose very soon.

KLESHTCH [walking away] Never mind – maybe you’ll 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! I’m telling you seriously.. if the organism is poisoned.. that means it’s bad for me to sweep the floor – to inhale the dust.

SATINE. Macrobistic.. hah!

BUBNOFF. What are you muttering?

SATINE. Words – and here’s another one for you – transcendentalistic.

BUBNOFF. What does it mean?

SATINE. Don’t know – I forgot.

BUBNOFF. Then why did you say it?

SATINE. Just so! I’m bored, brother, with human words – all our words. Bored! I’ve heard each one of them a thousand times surely.

THE ACTOR. In Hamlet they say: “Words, words, words!” It’s 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. I’ve heard it a hundred times. Well, so you were! That isn’t 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 I’d never be able ever to get clean again – that I’d go to my grave, all yellow! But look at my hands now – they’re plain dirty – that’s what!

SATINE. Well, and what then?

BUBNOFF. That’s 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!

SATINE. Bubnoff, give me five kopecks.

BUBNOFF. I only have two —

THE ACTOR. I say – talent, that’s what you need to play heroes. And talent is nothing but faith in yourself, in your own powers —

SATINE. Give me five kopecks and I’ll have faith that you’re a hero, a crocodile, or a police inspector – Kleshtch, give me five kopecks.

KLESHTCH. Go to hell! All of you!

SATINE. What are you cursing for? I know you haven’t a kopeck in the world!

ANNA. Andrei Mitritch – I’m suffocating – I can’t breathe —

KLESHTCH. What shall I do?

BUBNOFF. Open the door into the hall.

KLESHTCH. All right. You’re sitting on the bunk, I on the floor. You change places with me, and I’ll let you open the door. I have a cold as it is.

BUBNOFF [unconcernedly] I don’t care if you open the door – it’s your wife who’s asking —

KLESHTCH [morosely] I don’t care who’s asking —

SATINE. My head buzzes – ah – why do people have to hit each other over the heads?

BUBNOFF. They don’t only hit you over the head, but over the rest of the body as well. [Rises] I must go and buy some thread – our bosses are late to-day – seems as if they’ve croaked. [Exit]

[Anna coughs; Satine is lying down motionless, his hands folded behind his head.]

THE ACTOR [looks about him morosely, then goes to Anna] Feeling bad, eh?

ANNA. I’m choking —

THE ACTOR. If you wish, I’ll take you into the hallway. Get up, then, come! [He helps her to rise, wraps some sort of a rag about her shoulders, and supports her toward the hall] It isn’t easy. I’m sick myself – poisoned with alcohol.

[Kostilyoff appears in the doorway.]

KOSTILYOFF. Going for a stroll? What a nice couple – the gallant cavalier and the lady fair!

THE ACTOR. Step aside, you – don’t you see that we’re invalids?

KOSTILYOFF. Pass on, please! [Hums a religious tune, glances about him suspiciously, and bends his head to the left as if listening to what is happening in Pepel’s room. Kleshtch is jangling his keys and scraping away with his file, and looks askance at the other] Filing?

KLESHTCH. What?

KOSTILYOFF. I say, are you filing? [Pause] What did I want to ask? [Quick and low] Hasn’t my wife been here?

KLESHTCH. I didn’t see her.

KOSTILYOFF [carefully moving toward Pepel’s room] You take up a whole lot of room for your two rubles a month. The bed – and your bench – yes – you take up five rubles’ worth of space, so help me God! I’ll have to put another half ruble to your rent —

KLESHTCH. You’ll put a noose around my neck and choke me.. you’ll croak soon enough, and still all you think of is half rubles —