by Leo Tolstoy
Chief appears out of the ground.
CHIEF. Time's up! Have you redeemed your bread-blunder? I told you I'd come and see for myself. Have you managed the Peasant?
LABOURER. Done him completely! Judge for yourself. Some of them will meet here soon. Get into the oven, and see what they'll do. You'll be well satisfied!
CHIEF [climbs into the oven] We'll see!
Enter the Peasant and four old men. The Wife follows. The men sit down round the table. The Wife lays the cloth, sets ox-foot brawn and pies on the table. The old men exchange greetings with Labourer.
FIRST ELDER. Well, have you made more of the drink?
LABOURER. Yes, we've distilled as much as we need. Why let valuable stuff be wasted?
SECOND ELDER. And is it a success?
LABOURER. Better than the first lot.
SECOND ELDER. But where did you learn to make it?
LABOURER. Going about in the world one learns many things!
THIRD ELDER. Yes, yes, you're a knowing fellow.
Wife brings spirits and glasses.
PEASANT. Have a drop!
Wife takes a decanter and fills glasses.
WIFE. Do us the honour!
FIRST ELDER [drinks] Your health! Ah, that's good. It runs right through all one's joints. That's what I call proper drink!
The other three Elders do the same. Chief gets out of the oven. Labourer goes and stands by him.
LABOURER [to Chief] See what will happen now! I'll trip up the woman with my foot and she'll spill the liquor. Formerly he did not grudge his last crust, but now see what he'll do about a glass of spirits!
PEASANT. Now then, wife, fill again and hand it round in due order--first to our friend here, then to Daddy Michael.
Wife fills a glass and goes round the table. The Labourer trips her up; she stumbles and upsets the glass.
WIFE. Gracious goodness, I've spilt it! Why do you get in my way, confound you?
PEASANT [to Wife] There now, what a clumsy beast! Her fingers are all thumbs, and she goes swearing at others! See what fine stuff she goes spilling on the ground!
WIFE. I didn't do it on purpose.
PEASANT. On purpose indeed! Wait till I get up; I'll teach you how to pour spirits on the ground. [To Labourer] And you too, you confounded fool, what are you prancing round the table for? Go to the Devil!
Wife again fills and hands the glasses round.
LABOURER [goes back to the oven to the Chief] You see? Formerly he did not grudge his last crust, and now for a glass of spirits he nearly beat his wife and sent me to you--to the Devil!
CHIEF. It's good, very good! I'm satisfied.
LABOURER. You wait a bit. Let them empty the bottle--and you'll see what will happen. Even now they are giving each other smooth oily words; presently they'll start flattering each other,--as cunning as foxes.
PEASANT. Well, old friends, what's your opinion of my business? My grandfather has been living with me, and I have been feeding him and feeding him, and now he's gone to live with my uncle, and wants to take his share of the property and give it to uncle! Consider it well; you are wise men. We could as well do without our own heads as without you. There's no one in the whole village to come near you. Take you for example, Iván Fedótitch--doesn't every one say you're first among men? And as for me, I'll tell you the truth, Iván Fedótitch, I'm fonder of you than of my own father or mother. As for Michael Stepánitch, he's an old friend.
FIRST ELDER [to Peasant] It's good to talk with a good man. It's the way to get wisdom. It's just the same with you. One can't find any one to compare with you either.
SECOND ELDER. Wise and affectionate--that's what I like you for.
THIRD ELDER. You have my best sympathy. I can't find words to express it. I was saying to my old woman only to-day ...
FOURTH ELDER. A friend, a real friend!
LABOURER [nudges the Chief] Do you hear? All lies! They abuse one another behind their backs, but see how thick they are laying it on now,--like foxes wagging their tails! And it all comes from that drink.
CHIEF. That drink is good, very good! If they take to lying like that, they'll all be ours. Very good; I'm satisfied!
LABOURER. Wait a bit. When they've finished a second bottle it will be better still!
WIFE [serves] Do have another glass.
FIRST ELDER. Won't it be too much? Your health! [Drinks] It's pleasant to drink in the company of a good man.
SECOND ELDER. How can one help drinking? Health to the host and hostess!
THIRD ELDER. Friends, your health!
FOURTH ELDER. This is a brew of the right sort! Let's be merry! We'll arrange things for you. 'Cos it all depends on me!
FIRST ELDER. On you? No, not on you, but on what your seniors say.
FOURTH ELDER. My seniors are greater fools. Go where you came from!
SECOND ELDER. What are you up to now? You fool!
THIRD ELDER. It's true what he's saying! 'Cos why? The host is not entertaining us for nothing. He means business. The business can be arranged. Only you must stand treat! Show us due respect. 'Cos it's you as wants me, and not I you! You're own brother to the pig!
PEASANT. And you're itself! What are you yelling for? Think to surprise me? You are all good at stuffing yourselves!
FIRST ELDER. What are you giving yourself airs for? See if I don't twist your nose to one side!
PEASANT. We'll see whose nose will get twisted!
SECOND ELDER. Think yourself such a marvel? Go to the Devil! I won't speak to you--I'll go away!
PEASANT [holds him] What, will you break up the company?
SECOND ELDER. Let me go, or I'll call for help!
PEASANT. I won't! What right have you to ...?
SECOND ELDER. This right! [Beats him].
PEASANT [to the other Elders] Help me!
They fall on one another, and all speak at once.
FIRST ELDER. That's why. 'Cos it means we're all having a spree-ee!
SECOND ELDER. I can arrange everything!
THIRD ELDER. Let's have some more!
PEASANT [to Wife] Bring another bottle!
All sit round the table again and drink.
LABOURER [to Chief] Have you noticed? The wolf's blood in them was aroused, and they've turned as fierce as wolves.
CHIEF. The drink is good! I'm satisfied!
LABOURER. Wait a bit. Let them empty a third bottle. Things will be better still!
Curtain.
ACT VI
The scene represents a village street. To the right some old women are sitting on logs of wood with the Grandfather. In the centre, is a ring of women, girls, and lads. Dance music is played and they dance. Noise is heard from the hut, and drunken screams. An old man comes out and shouts in a tipsy voice. The Peasant follows him and leads him back.
GRANDFATHER. Ah, what doings! what doings! One would think, what more would any one want than to do his work on week days, and when Sunday comes round, to have a good wash, clean the harness, and rest a bit and sit with his family; or go outside and have a talk with the old folk about matters concerning the Commune. Or, if you're young, have a game. There they are playing,--and it's pleasant to look at them. It's all pleasant and good. [Screams inside the hut] But this sort of thing, what is it? It only leads men astray, and pleases the Devils. And it all comes of fat living!
Tipsy men come tumbling out of the hut, shout, and catch hold of the girls.
GIRLS. Leave off, Daddy Tom! What do you mean by it?
LADS. Let's go into the lane. It's impossible to play here.
Exeunt all who were playing in the ring.
PEASANT [goes up to Grandfather] What have you got now? The Elders will allot everything to me! [Snaps his fingers at him] That's what you'll get! So there you are! It's all mine and you've nothing! They'll tell you so themselves!
The four Elders speak all at once.
FIRST ELDER. 'Cos I know what's what!
SECOND ELDER.
"'For
e all I'll be heard, 'Cos I'm an old bird!"
THIRD ELDER. Friend! dear friend, dearest friend!
FOURTH ELDER.
"Jog along hut, jog along bed, The missis has nowhere to lay down her head!"
Now then, come along!
The Elders take each other's arms in couples and go off reeling, one couple following the other. The Peasant turns back to the hut, but stumbles before he reaches it,--falls down, and lies muttering incomprehensible words that sound like grunts. The Grandfather and those he was with, rise and exeunt.
Enter Labourer and Chief of Devils.
LABOURER. Did you see? Now the swine's blood has been roused in them, and from wolves they have turned into swine! [Points to Peasant] There he lies in the dirt and grunts like a hog!
CHIEF. You have succeeded! First like foxes, then like wolves, and now like swine! Well, that is a drink! But tell me, how did you make it? I suppose it's made of a mixture of foxes', wolves', and swine's blood?
LABOURER. Oh no! I only supplied him with too much corn! As long as he had only as much corn as he needed, he did not grudge his last crust, but when he had more than he knew what to do with, the fox's, the wolf's, and the swine's blood in him awoke. He always had beast's blood in him, only it could not get the upper hand.
CHIEF. Well, you're a fine fellow! You've atoned for your crust-blunder. Now they only need to drink spirits, and they're altogether ours!
Curtain.
END OF "THE FIRST DISTILLER."
The Forged Coupon and Other Stories
INTRODUCTION
IN an age of materialism like our own the phenomenon of spiritual power is as significant and inspiring as it is rare. No longer associated with the "divine right" of kings, it has survived the downfall of feudal and theocratic systems as a mystic personal emanation in place of a coercive weapon of statecraft.
Freed from its ancient shackles of dogma and despotism it eludes analysis. We know not how to gauge its effect on others, nor even upon ourselves. Like the wind, it permeates the atmosphere we breathe, and baffles while it stimulates the mind with its intangible but compelling force.
This psychic power, which the dead weight of materialism is impotent to suppress, is revealed in the lives and writings of men of the most diverse creeds and nationalities. Apart from those who, like Buddha and Mahomet, have been raised to the height of demi-gods by worshipping millions, there are names which leap inevitably to the mind-- such names as Savonarola, Luther, Calvin, Rousseau-- which stand for types and exemplars of spiritual aspiration. To this high priesthood of the quick among the dead, who can doubt that time will admit Leo Tolstoy--a genius whose greatness has been obscured from us rather than enhanced by his duality; a realist who strove to demolish the mysticism of Christianity, and became himself a mystic in the contemplation of Nature; a man of ardent temperament and robust physique, keenly susceptible to human passions and desires, who battled with himself from early manhood until the spirit, gathering strength with years, inexorably subdued the flesh.
Tolstoy the realist steps without cavil into the front rank of modern writers; Tolstoy the idealist has been constantly derided and scorned by men of like birth and education with himself-- his altruism denounced as impracticable, his preaching compared with his mode of life to prove him inconsistent, if not insincere. This is the prevailing attitude of politicians and literary men.
Must one conclude that the mass of mankind has lost touch with idealism? On the contrary, in spite of modern materialism, or even because of it, many leaders of spiritual thought have arisen in our times, and have won the ear of vast audiences. Their message is a call to a simpler life, to a recognition of the responsibilities of wealth, to the avoidance of war by arbitration, and sinking of class hatred in a deep sense of universal brotherhood.
Unhappily, when an idealistic creed is formulated in precise and dogmatic language, it invariably loses something of its pristine beauty in the process of transmutation. Hence the Positivist philosophy of Comte, though embodying noble aspirations, has had but a limited influence. Again, the poetry of Robert Browning, though less frankly altruistic than that of Cowper or Wordsworth, is inherently ethical, and reveals strong sympathy with sinning and suffering humanity, but it is masked by a manner that is sometimes uncouth and frequently obscure. Owing to these, and other instances, idealism suggests to the world at large a vague sentimentality peculiar to the poets, a bloodless abstraction toyed with by philosophers, which must remain a closed book to struggling humanity.
Yet Tolstoy found true idealism in the toiling peasant who believed in God, rather than in his intellectual superior who believed in himself in the first place, and gave a conventional assent to the existence of a deity in the second. For the peasant was still religious at heart with a naive unquestioning faith-- more characteristic of the fourteenth or fifteenth century than of to-day--and still fervently aspired to God although sunk in superstition and held down by the despotism of the Greek Church. It was the cumbrous ritual and dogma of the orthodox state religion which roused Tolstoy to impassioned protests, and led him step by step to separate the core of Christianity from its sacerdotal shell, thus bringing upon himself the ban of excommunication.
The signal mark of the reprobation of "Holy Synod" was slow in coming-- it did not, in fact, become absolute until a couple of years after the publication of "Resurrection," in 1901, in spite of the attitude of fierce hostility to Church and State which Tolstoy had maintained for so long. This hostility, of which the seeds were primarily sown by the closing of his school and inquisition of his private papers in the summer of 1862, soon grew to proportions far greater than those arising from a personal wrong. The dumb and submissive moujik found in Tolstoy a living voice to express his sufferings.
Tolstoy was well fitted by nature and circumstances to be the peasant's spokesman. He had been brought into intimate contact with him in the varying conditions of peace and war, and he knew him at his worst and best. The old home of the family, Yasnaya Polyana, where Tolstoy, his brothers and sister, spent their early years in charge of two guardian aunts, was not only a halting-place for pilgrims journeying to and from the great monastic shrines, but gave shelter to a number of persons of enfeebled minds belonging to the peasant class, with whom the devout and kindly Aunt Alexandra spent many hours daily in religious conversation and prayer.
In "Childhood" Tolstoy apostrophises with feeling one of those "innocents," a man named Grisha, "whose faith was so strong that you felt the nearness of God, your love so ardent that the words flowed from your lips uncontrolled by your reason. And how did you celebrate his Majesty when, words failing you, you prostrated yourself on the ground, bathed in tears" This picture of humble religious faith was amongst Tolstoy's earliest memories, and it returned to comfort him and uplift his soul when it was tossed and engulfed by seas of doubt. But the affection he felt in boyhood towards the moujiks became tinged with contempt when his attempts to improve their condition--some of which are described in "Anna Karenina" and in the "Landlord's Morning"--ended in failure, owing to the ignorance and obstinacy of the people. It was not till he passed through the ordeal of war in Turkey and the Crimea that he discovered in the common soldier who fought by his side an unconscious heroism, an unquestioning faith in God, a kindliness and simplicity of heart rarely possessed by his commanding officer.
The impressions made upon Tolstoy during this period of active service gave vivid reality to the battle-scenes in "War and Peace," and are traceable in the reflections and conversation of the two heroes, Prince Andre and Pierre Besukhov. On the eve of the battle of Borodino, Prince Andre, talking with Pierre in the presence of his devoted soldier-servant Timokhine, says,--"'Success cannot possibly be, nor has it ever been, the result of strategy or fire-arms or numbers.'
"'Then what does it result from?' said Pierre.
"'From the feeling that is in me, that is in him'-- pointing to Timokhine--'and that is in each individual soldier.'"
He the
n contrasts the different spirit animating the officers and the men.
"'The former,' he says, 'have nothing in view but their personal interests. The critical moment for them is the moment at which they are able to supplant a rival, to win a cross or a new order. I see only one thing. To-morrow one hundred thousand Russians and one hundred thousand Frenchmen will meet to fight; they who fight the hardest and spare themselves the least will win the day.'
"'There's the truth, your Excellency, the real truth,' murmurs Timokhine; 'it is not a time to spare oneself. Would you believe it, the men of my battalion have not tasted brandy? "It's not a day for that," they said.'"
