The First Act

The interior of a house in a monastic suburb. Two rooms, with a third seen back of them. They are old, ramshackle, and filthy. The first one is a sort of dining-room, large, with dirty, low ceiling and smeared wall-paper that in places has come loose from the wall. There are three little windows; the one giving on the yard reveals a shed, a wagon, and some household utensils. Cheap wooden furniture; a large, bare table. On the walls, which are dotted with flies, appear pictures of monks and views of the monastery. The second room, a parlor, is somewhat cleaner. It has window curtains of muslin, two flower-pots with dried geraniums, a sofa, a round table covered with a tablecloth, and shelves with dishes. The door to the left in the first room leads to the tavern. When open, it admits the sound of a man's doleful, monotonous singing.

It is noon of a hot and perfectly still summer's day. Now and then the clucking of hens is heard under the windows. The clock in the belfry of the monastery strikes every half-hour, a long, indistinct wheeze preceding the first stroke.

Pelagueya, who is pregnant, is scrubbing the floor. Seized with giddiness, she staggers to her feet and leans against the wall, staring before her with a vacant gaze.

PELAGUEYA

Oh, God! (She starts to scrub the floor again)

LIPA (enters, faint from heat)

How stifling! I don't know what to do with myself. My head seems full of pins and needles. (She sits down) Polya, say, Polya.

PELAGUEYA

What is it?

LIPA

Where's father?

PELAGUEYA

He's sleeping.

LIPA

Oh, I can't stand it. (She opens the window, then takes a turn round the room, moving aimlessly and, glancing into the tavern) Tony's sleeping too--behind the counter. It would be nice to go in, bathing, but it's too hot to walk to the river. Polya, why don't you speak? Say something.

PELAGUEYA

What?

LIPA

Scrubbing, scrubbing, all the time.

PELAGUEYA

Yes.

LIPA

And in a day from now the floors will be dirty again. I don't see what pleasure you get from working the way you do.

PELAGUEYA.

I have to.

LIPA

I just took a peep at the street. It's awful. Not a human being in sight, not even a dog. All is dead. And the monastery has such a queer look. It seems to be hanging in the air. You have the feeling that if you were to blow on it, it would begin to swing and fly away. Why are you so silent, Polya? Where is Savva? Have you seen him?

PELAGUEYA

He's in the pasture playing jackstones with the children.

LIPA

He's a funny fellow.

PELAGUEYA

I don't see anything funny about it. He ought to be working, that's what he ought to be doing, not playing like a baby. I don't like your Savva.

LIPA