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diff --git a/3488-h/3488-h.htm b/3488-h/3488-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d33ec13 --- /dev/null +++ b/3488-h/3488-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2889 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="us-ascii"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Great Catherine, by George Bernard Shaw + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Great Catherine, by George Bernard Shaw + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Great Catherine + +Author: George Bernard Shaw + +Release Date: February 1, 2009 [EBook #3488] +Last Updated: December 10, 2012 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GREAT CATHERINE *** + + + + +Produced by Eve Sobol, and David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + GREAT CATHERINE (WHOM GLORY STILL ADORES) + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By George Bernard Shaw + </h2> + <h4> +<br /> <br /> + "In Catherine's reign, whom Glory still adores"<br /> BYRON + <br /> <br /> + </h4> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> THE AUTHOR'S APOLOGY FOR GREAT CATHERINE + </a> + </p> + <br /> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> <b>GREAT CATHERINE</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> THE FIRST SCENE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> THE SECOND SCENE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> THE THIRD SCENE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> THE FOURTH SCENE </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + THE AUTHOR'S APOLOGY FOR GREAT CATHERINE + </h2> + <p> + Exception has been taken to the title of this seeming tomfoolery on the + ground that the Catherine it represents is not Great Catherine, but the + Catherine whose gallantries provide some of the lightest pages of modern + history. Great Catherine, it is said, was the Catherine whose diplomacy, + whose campaigns and conquests, whose plans of Liberal reform, whose + correspondence with Grimm and Voltaire enabled her to cut such a + magnificent figure in the eighteenth century. In reply, I can only confess + that Catherine's diplomacy and her conquests do not interest me. It is + clear to me that neither she nor the statesmen with whom she played this + mischievous kind of political chess had any notion of the real history of + their own times, or of the real forces that were moulding Europe. The + French Revolution, which made such short work of Catherine's Voltairean + principles, surprised and scandalized her as much as it surprised and + scandalized any provincial governess in the French chateaux. + </p> + <p> + The main difference between her and our modern Liberal Governments was + that whereas she talked and wrote quite intelligently about Liberal + principles before she was frightened into making such talking and writing + a flogging matter, our Liberal ministers take the name of Liberalism in + vain without knowing or caring enough about its meaning even to talk and + scribble about it, and pass their flogging Bills, and institute their + prosecutions for sedition and blasphemy and so forth, without the faintest + suspicion that such proceedings need any apology from the Liberal point of + view. + </p> + <p> + It was quite easy for Patiomkin to humbug Catherine as to the condition of + Russia by conducting her through sham cities run up for the occasion by + scenic artists; but in the little world of European court intrigue and + dynastic diplomacy which was the only world she knew she was more than a + match for him and for all the rest of her contemporaries. In such intrigue + and diplomacy, however, there was no romance, no scientific political + interest, nothing that a sane mind can now retain even if it can be + persuaded to waste time in reading it up. But Catherine as a woman with + plenty of character and (as we should say) no morals, still fascinates and + amuses us as she fascinated and amused her contemporaries. They were great + sentimental comedians, these Peters, Elizabeths, and Catherines who played + their Tsarships as eccentric character parts, and produced scene after + scene of furious harlequinade with the monarch as clown, and of tragic + relief in the torture chamber with the monarch as pantomime demon + committing real atrocities, not forgetting the indispensable love interest + on an enormous and utterly indecorous scale. Catherine kept this vast + Guignol Theatre open for nearly half a century, not as a Russian, but as a + highly domesticated German lady whose household routine was not at all so + unlike that of Queen Victoria as might be expected from the difference in + their notions of propriety in sexual relations. + </p> + <p> + In short, if Byron leaves you with an impression that he said very little + about Catherine, and that little not what was best worth saying, I beg to + correct your impression by assuring you that what Byron said was all there + really is to say that is worth saying. His Catherine is my Catherine and + everybody's Catherine. The young man who gains her favor is a Spanish + nobleman in his version. I have made him an English country gentleman, who + gets out of his rather dangerous scrape, by simplicity, sincerity, and the + courage of these qualities. By this I have given some offence to the many + Britons who see themselves as heroes: what they mean by heroes being + theatrical snobs of superhuman pretensions which, though quite groundless, + are admitted with awe by the rest of the human race. They say I think an + Englishman a fool. When I do, they have themselves to thank. + </p> + <p> + I must not, however, pretend that historical portraiture was the motive of + a play that will leave the reader as ignorant of Russian history as he may + be now before he has turned the page. Nor is the sketch of Catherine + complete even idiosyncratically, leaving her politics out of the question. + For example, she wrote bushels of plays. I confess I have not yet read any + of them. The truth is, this play grew out of the relations which + inevitably exist in the theatre between authors and actors. If the actors + have sometimes to use their skill as the author's puppets rather than in + full self-expression, the author has sometimes to use his skill as the + actors' tailor, fitting them with parts written to display the virtuosity + of the performer rather than to solve problems of life, character, or + history. Feats of this kind may tickle an author's technical vanity; but + he is bound on such occasions to admit that the performer for whom he + writes is "the onlie begetter" of his work, which must be regarded + critically as an addition to the debt dramatic literature owes to the art + of acting and its exponents. Those who have seen Miss Gertrude Kingston + play the part of Catherine will have no difficulty in believing that it + was her talent rather than mine that brought the play into existence. I + once recommended Miss Kingston professionally to play queens. Now in the + modern drama there were no queens for her to play; and as to the older + literature of our stage: did it not provoke the veteran actress in Sir + Arthur Pinero's Trelawny of the Wells to declare that, as parts, queens + are not worth a tinker's oath? Miss Kingston's comment on my suggestion, + though more elegantly worded, was to the same effect; and it ended in my + having to make good my advice by writing Great Catherine. History provided + no other queen capable of standing up to our joint talents. + </p> + <p> + In composing such bravura pieces, the author limits himself only by the + range of the virtuoso, which by definition far transcends the modesty of + nature. If my Russians seem more Muscovite than any Russian, and my + English people more insular than any Briton, I will not plead, as I + honestly might, that the fiction has yet to be written that can exaggerate + the reality of such subjects; that the apparently outrageous Patiomkin is + but a timidly bowdlerized ghost of the original; and that Captain + Edstaston is no more than a miniature that might hang appropriately on the + walls of nineteen out of twenty English country houses to this day. An + artistic presentment must not condescend to justify itself by a comparison + with crude nature; and I prefer to admit that in this kind my dramatic + personae are, as they should be, of the stage stagey, challenging the + actor to act up to them or beyond them, if he can. The more heroic the + overcharging, the better for the performance. + </p> + <p> + In dragging the reader thus for a moment behind the scenes, I am departing + from a rule which I have hitherto imposed on myself so rigidly that I + never permit myself, even in a stage direction, to let slip a word that + could bludgeon the imagination of the reader by reminding him of the + boards and the footlights and the sky borders and the rest of the + theatrical scaffolding, for which nevertheless I have to plan as carefully + as if I were the head carpenter as well as the author. But even at the + risk of talking shop, an honest playwright should take at least one + opportunity of acknowledging that his art is not only limited by the art + of the actor, but often stimulated and developed by it. No sane and + skilled author writes plays that present impossibilities to the actor or + to the stage engineer. If, as occasionally happens, he asks them to do + things that they have never done before and cannot conceive as presentable + or possible (as Wagner and Thomas Hardy have done, for example), it is + always found that the difficulties are not really insuperable, the author + having foreseen unsuspected possibilities both in the actor and in the + audience, whose will-to-make-believe can perform the quaintest miracles. + Thus may authors advance the arts of acting and of staging plays. But the + actor also may enlarge the scope of the drama by displaying powers not + previously discovered by the author. If the best available actors are only + Horatios, the authors will have to leave Hamlet out, and be content with + Horatios for heroes. Some of the difference between Shakespeare's Orlandos + and Bassanios and Bertrams and his Hamlets and Macbeths must have been due + not only to his development as a dramatic poet, but to the development of + Burbage as an actor. Playwrights do not write for ideal actors when their + livelihood is at stake: if they did, they would write parts for heroes + with twenty arms like an Indian god. Indeed the actor often influences the + author too much; for I can remember a time (I am not implying that it is + yet wholly past) when the art of writing a fashionable play had become + very largely the art of writing it "round" the personalities of a group of + fashionable performers of whom Burbage would certainly have said that + their parts needed no acting. Everything has its abuse as well as its use. + </p> + <p> + It is also to be considered that great plays live longer than great + actors, though little plays do not live nearly so long as the worst of + their exponents. The consequence is that the great actor, instead of + putting pressure on contemporary authors to supply him with heroic parts, + falls back on the Shakespearean repertory, and takes what he needs from a + dead hand. In the nineteenth century, the careers of Kean, Macready, Barry + Sullivan, and Irving, ought to have produced a group of heroic plays + comparable in intensity to those of Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides; + but nothing of the kind happened: these actors played the works of dead + authors, or, very occasionally, of live poets who were hardly regular + professional playwrights. Sheridan Knowles, Bulwer Lytton, Wills, and + Tennyson produced a few glaringly artificial high horses for the great + actors of their time; but the playwrights proper, who really kept the + theatre going, and were kept going by the theatre, did not cater for the + great actors: they could not afford to compete with a bard who was not for + an age but for all time, and who had, moreover, the overwhelming + attraction for the actor-managers of not charging author's fees. The + result was that the playwrights and the great actors ceased to think of + themselves as having any concern with one another: Tom Robertson, Ibsen, + Pinero, and Barrie might as well have belonged to a different solar system + as far as Irving was concerned; and the same was true of their respective + predecessors. + </p> + <p> + Thus was established an evil tradition; but I at least can plead that it + does not always hold good. If Forbes Robertson had not been there to play + Caesar, I should not have written Caesar and Cleopatra. If Ellen Terry had + never been born, Captain Brassbound's Conversion would never have been + effected. The Devil's Disciple, with which I won my cordon bleu in America + as a potboiler, would have had a different sort of hero if Richard + Mansfield had been a different sort of actor, though the actual commission + to write it came from an English actor, William Terriss, who was + assassinated before he recovered from the dismay into which the result of + his rash proposal threw him. For it must be said that the actor or actress + who inspires or commissions a play as often as not regards it as a + Frankenstein's monster, and will have none of it. That does not make him + or her any the less parental in the fecundity of the playwright. + </p> + <p> + To an author who has any feeling of his business there is a keen and + whimsical joy in divining and revealing a side of an actor's genius + overlooked before, and unsuspected even by the actor himself. When I + snatched Mr Louis Calvert from Shakespeare, and made him wear a frock coat + and silk hat on the stage for perhaps the first time in his life, I do not + think he expected in the least that his performance would enable me to + boast of his Tom Broadbent as a genuine stage classic. Mrs Patrick + Campbell was famous before I wrote for her, but not for playing illiterate + cockney flower-maidens. And in the case which is provoking me to all these + impertinences, I am quite sure that Miss Gertrude Kingston, who first made + her reputation as an impersonator of the most delightfully feather-headed + and inconsequent ingenues, thought me more than usually mad when I + persuaded her to play the Helen of Euripides, and then launched her on a + queenly career as Catherine of Russia. + </p> + <p> + It is not the whole truth that if we take care of the actors the plays + will take care of themselves; nor is it any truer that if we take care of + the plays the actors will take care of themselves. There is both give and + take in the business. I have seen plays written for actors that made me + exclaim, "How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds makes deeds ill + done!" But Burbage may have flourished the prompt copy of Hamlet under + Shakespeare's nose at the tenth rehearsal and cried, "How oft the sight of + means to do great deeds makes playwrights great!" I say the tenth because + I am convinced that at the first he denounced his part as a rotten one; + thought the ghost's speech ridiculously long; and wanted to play the king. + Anyhow, whether he had the wit to utter it or not, the boast would have + been a valid one. The best conclusion is that every actor should say, "If + I create the hero in myself, God will send an author to write his part." + For in the long run the actors will get the authors, and the authors the + actors, they deserve. + </p> + <p> + Great Catherine was performed for the first time at the Vaudeville Theatre + in London on the 18th November 1913, with Gertrude Kingston as Catherine, + Miriam Lewes as Yarinka, Dorothy Massingham as Claire, Norman McKinnell as + Patiomkin, Edmond Breon as Edstaston, Annie Hill as the Princess Dashkoff, + and Eugene Mayeur and F. Cooke Beresford as Naryshkin and the Sergeant. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + GREAT CATHERINE + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div class="play"> + <h2> + THE FIRST SCENE + </h2> + <p> + 1776. Patiomkin in his bureau in the Winter Palace, St. Petersburgh. + Huge palatial apartment: style, Russia in the eighteenth century + imitating the Versailles du Roi Soleil. Extravagant luxury. Also dirt + and disorder. + </p> + <p> + Patiomkin, gigantic in stature and build, his face marred by the loss of + one eye and a marked squint in the other, sits at the end of a table + littered with papers and the remains of three or four successive + breakfasts. He has supplies of coffee and brandy at hand sufficient for + a party of ten. His coat, encrusted with diamonds, is on the floor. It + has fallen off a chair placed near the other end of the table for the + convenience of visitors. His court sword, with its attachments, is on + the chair. His three-cornered hat, also bejewelled, is on the table. He + himself is half dressed in an unfastened shirt and an immense + dressing-gown, once gorgeous, now food-splashed and dirty, as it serves + him for towel, handkerchief, duster, and every other use to which a + textile fabric can be put by a slovenly man. It does not conceal his + huge hairy chest, nor his half-buttoned knee breeches, nor his legs. + These are partly clad in silk stockings, which he occasionally hitches + up to his knees, and presently shakes down to his shins, by his restless + movement. His feet are thrust into enormous slippers, worth, with their + crust of jewels, several thousand roubles apiece. + </p> + <p> + Superficially Patiomkin is a violent, brutal barbarian, an upstart + despot of the most intolerable and dangerous type, ugly, lazy, and + disgusting in his personal habits. Yet ambassadors report him the ablest + man in Russia, and the one who can do most with the still abler Empress + Catherine II, who is not a Russian but a German, by no means barbarous + or intemperate in her personal habits. She not only disputes with + Frederick the Great the reputation of being the cleverest monarch in + Europe, but may even put in a very plausible claim to be the cleverest + and most attractive individual alive. Now she not only tolerates + Patiomkin long after she has got over her first romantic attachment to + him, but esteems him highly as a counsellor and a good friend. His love + letters are among the best on record. He has a wild sense of humor, + which enables him to laugh at himself as well as at everybody else. In + the eyes of the English visitor now about to be admitted to his presence + he may be an outrageous ruffian. In fact he actually is an outrageous + ruffian, in no matter whose eyes; but the visitor will find out, as + everyone else sooner or later fends out, that he is a man to be reckoned + with even by those who are not intimidated by his temper, bodily + strength, and exalted rank. + </p> + <p> + A pretty young lady, Yarinka, his favorite niece, is lounging on an + ottoman between his end of the table and the door, very sulky and + dissatisfied, perhaps because he is preoccupied with his papers and his + brandy bottle, and she can see nothing of him but his broad back. + </p> + <p> + There is a screen behind the ottoman. + </p> + <p> + An old soldier, a Cossack sergeant, enters. + </p> + <p> + THE SERGEANT [softly to the lady, holding the door handle]. Little + darling honey, is his Highness the prince very busy? + </p> + <p> + VARINKA. His Highness the prince is very busy. He is singing out of + tune; he is biting his nails; he is scratching his head; he is hitching + up his untidy stockings; he is making himself disgusting and odious to + everybody; and he is pretending to read state papers that he does not + understand because he is too lazy and selfish to talk and be + companionable. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN [growls; then wipes his nose with his dressing-gown]!! + </p> + <p> + VARINKA. Pig. Ugh! [She curls herself up with a shiver of disgust and + retires from the conversation.] + </p> + <p> + THE SERGEANT [stealing across to the coat, and picking it up to replace + it on the back of the chair]. Little Father, the English captain, so + highly recommended to you by old Fritz of Prussia, by the English + ambassador, and by Monsieur Voltaire (whom [crossing himself] may God in + his infinite mercy damn eternally!), is in the antechamber and desires + audience. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN [deliberately]. To hell with the English captain; and to hell + with old Fritz of Prussia; and to hell with the English ambassador; and + to hell with Monsieur Voltaire; and to hell with you too! + </p> + <p> + THE SERGEANT. Have mercy on me, Little Father. Your head is bad this + morning. You drink too much French brandy and too little good Russian + kvass. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN [with sudden fury]. Why are visitors of consequence announced + by a sergeant? [Springing at him and seizing him by the throat.] What do + you mean by this, you hound? Do you want five thousand blows of the + stick? Where is General Volkonsky? + </p> + <p> + THE SERGEANT [on his knees]. Little Father, you kicked his Highness + downstairs. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN [flinging him dawn and kicking him]. You lie, you dog. You + lie. + </p> + <p> + THE SERGEANT. Little Father, life is hard for the poor. If you say it is + a lie, it is a lie. He FELL downstairs. I picked him up; and he kicked + me. They all kick me when you kick them. God knows that is not just, + Little Father! + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN [laughs ogreishly; then returns to his place at the table, + chuckling]!!! + </p> + <p> + VARINKA. Savage! Boot! It is a disgrace. No wonder the French sneer at + us as barbarians. + </p> + <p> + THE SERGEANT [who has crept round the table to the screen, and + insinuated himself between Patiomkin's back and Varinka]. Do you think + the Prince will see the captain, little darling? + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN. He will not see any captain. Go to the devil! + </p> + <p> + THE SERGEANT. Be merciful, Little Father. God knows it is your duty to + see him! [To Varinka.] Intercede for him and for me, beautiful little + darling. He has given me a rouble. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN. Oh, send him in, send him in; and stop pestering me. Am I + never to have a moment's peace? + </p> + <p> + The Sergeant salutes joyfully and hurries out, divining that Patiomkin + has intended to see the English captain all along, and has played this + comedy of fury and exhausted impatience to conceal his interest in the + visitor. + </p> + <p> + VARINKA. Have you no shame? You refuse to see the most exalted persons. + You kick princes and generals downstairs. And then you see an English + captain merely because he has given a rouble to that common soldier. It + is scandalous. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN. Darling beloved, I am drunk; but I know what I am doing. I + wish to stand well with the English. + </p> + <p> + VARINKA. And you think you will impress an Englishman by receiving him + as you are now, half drunk? + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN [gravely]. It is true: the English despise men who cannot + drink. I must make myself wholly drunk [he takes a huge draught of + brandy.] + </p> + <p> + VARINKA. Sot! + </p> + <p> + The Sergeant returns ushering a handsome strongly built young English + officer in the uniform of a Light Dragoon. He is evidently on fairly + good terms with himself, and very sure of his social position. He + crosses the room to the end of the table opposite Patiomkin's, and + awaits the civilities of that statesman with confidence. The Sergeant + remains prudently at the door. + </p> + <p> + THE SERGEANT [paternally]. Little Father, this is the English captain, + so well recommended to her sacred Majesty the Empress. God knows, he + needs your countenance and protec— [he vanishes precipitately, + seeing that Patiomkin is about to throw a bottle at him. The Captain + contemplates these preliminaries with astonishment, and with some + displeasure, which is not allayed when, Patiomkin, hardly condescending + to look at his visitor, of whom he nevertheless takes stock with the + corner of his one eye, says gruffly]. Well? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. My name is Edstaston: Captain Edstaston of the Light + Dragoons. I have the honor to present to your Highness this letter from + the British ambassador, which will give you all necessary particulars. + [He hands Patiomkin the letter.] + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN [tearing it open and glancing at it for about a second]. What + do you want? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. The letter will explain to your Highness who I am. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN. I don't want to know who you are. What do you want? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. An audience of the Empress. [Patiomkin contemptuously throws + the letter aside. Edstaston adds hotly.] Also some civility, if you + please. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN [with derision]. Ho! + </p> + <p> + VARINKA. My uncle is receiving you with unusual civility, Captain. He + has just kicked a general downstairs. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. A Russian general, madam? + </p> + <p> + VARINKA. Of course. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. I must allow myself to say, madam, that your uncle had better + not attempt to kick an English officer downstairs. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN. You want me to kick you upstairs, eh? You want an audience of + the Empress. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. I have said nothing about kicking, sir. If it comes to that, + my boots shall speak for me. Her Majesty has signified a desire to have + news of the rebellion in America. I have served against the rebels; and + I am instructed to place myself at the disposal of her Majesty, and to + describe the events of the war to her as an eye-witness, in a discreet + and agreeable manner. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN. Psha! I know. You think if she once sets eyes on your face + and your uniform your fortune is made. You think that if she could stand + a man like me, with only one eye, and a cross eye at that, she must fall + down at your feet at first sight, eh? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [shocked and indignant]. I think nothing of the sort; and I'll + trouble you not to repeat it. If I were a Russian subject and you made + such a boast about my queen, I'd strike you across the face with my + sword. [Patiomkin, with a yell of fury, rushes at him.] Hands off, you + swine! [As Patiomkin, towering over him, attempts to seize him by the + throat, Edstaston, who is a bit of a wrestler, adroitly backheels him. + He falls, amazed, on his back.] + </p> + <p> + VARINKA [rushing out]. Help! Call the guard! The Englishman is murdering + my uncle! Help! Help! + </p> + <p> + The guard and the Sergeant rush in. Edstaston draws a pair of small + pistols from his boots, and points one at the Sergeant and the other at + Patiomkin, who is sitting on the floor, somewhat sobered. The soldiers + stand irresolute. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Stand off. [To Patiomkin.] Order them off, if you don't want + a bullet through your silly head. + </p> + <p> + THE SERGEANT. Little Father, tell us what to do. Our lives are yours; + but God knows you are not fit to die. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN [absurdly self-possessed]. Get out. + </p> + <p> + THE SERGEANT. Little Father— + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN [roaring]. Get out. Get out, all of you. [They withdraw, much + relieved at their escape from the pistol. Patiomkin attempts to rise, + and rolls over.] Here! help me up, will you? Don't you see that I'm + drunk and can't get up? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [suspiciously]. You want to get hold of me. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN [squatting resignedly against the chair on which his clothes + hang]. Very well, then: I shall stay where I am, because I'm drunk and + you're afraid of me. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. I'm not afraid of you, damn you! + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN [ecstatically]. Darling, your lips are the gates of truth. Now + listen to me. [He marks off the items of his statement with ridiculous + stiff gestures of his head and arms, imitating a puppet.] You are + Captain Whatshisname; and your uncle is the Earl of Whatdyecallum; and + your father is Bishop of Thingummybob; and you are a young man of the + highest spr—promise (I told you I was drunk), educated at + Cambridge, and got your step as captain in the field at the GLORIOUS + battle of Bunker's Hill. Invalided home from America at the request of + Aunt Fanny, Lady-in-Waiting to the Queen. All right, eh? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. How do you know all this? + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN [crowing fantastically]. In er lerrer, darling, darling, + darling, darling. Lerrer you showed me. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. But you didn't read it. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN [flapping his fingers at him grotesquely]. Only one eye, + darling. Cross eye. Sees everything. Read lerrer inceince—istastaneously. + Kindly give me vinegar borle. Green borle. On'y to sober me. Too drunk + to speak porply. If you would be so kind, darling. Green borle. + [Edstaston, still suspicious, shakes his head and keeps his pistols + ready.] Reach it myself. [He reaches behind him up to the table, and + snatches at the green bottle, from which he takes a copious draught. Its + effect is appalling. His wry faces and agonized belchings are so + heartrending that they almost upset Edstaston. When the victim at last + staggers to his feet, he is a pale fragile nobleman, aged and quite + sober, extremely dignified in manner and address, though shaken by his + recent convulsions.] Young man, it is not better to be drunk than sober; + but it is happier. Goodness is not happiness. That is an epigram. But I + have overdone this. I am too sober to be good company. Let me redress + the balance. [He takes a generous draught of brandy, and recovers his + geniality.] Aha! That's better. And now listen, darling. You must not + come to Court with pistols in your boots. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. I have found them useful. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN. Nonsense. I'm your friend. You mistook my intention because I + was drunk. Now that I am sober—in moderation—I will prove + that I am your friend. Have some diamonds. [Roaring.] Hullo there! Dogs, + pigs: hullo! + </p> + <p> + The Sergeant comes in. + </p> + <p> + THE SERGEANT. God be praised, Little Father: you are still spared to us. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN. Tell them to bring some diamonds. Plenty of diamonds. And + rubies. Get out. [He aims a kick at the Sergeant, who flees.] Put up + your pistols, darling. I'll give you a pair with gold handgrips. I am + your friend. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [replacing the pistols in his boots rather unwillingly]. Your + Highness understands that if I am missing, or if anything happens to me, + there will be trouble. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN [enthusiastically]. Call me darling. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. It is not the English custom. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN. You have no hearts, you English! [Slapping his right breast.] + Heart! Heart! + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Pardon, your Highness: your heart is on the other side. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN [surprised and impressed]. Is it? You are learned! You are a + doctor! You English are wonderful! We are barbarians, drunken pigs. + Catherine does not know it; but we are. Catherine's a German. But I have + given her a Russian heart [he is about to slap himself again.] + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [delicately]. The other side, your Highness. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN [maudlin]. Darling, a true Russian has a heart on both sides. + </p> + <p> + The Sergeant enters carrying a goblet filled with precious stones. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN. Get out. [He snatches the goblet and kicks the Sergeant out, + not maliciously but from habit, indeed not noticing that he does it.] + Darling, have some diamonds. Have a fistful. [He takes up a handful and + lets them slip back through his fingers into the goblet, which he then + offers to Edstaston.] + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Thank you, I don't take presents. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN [amazed]. You refuse! + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. I thank your Highness; but it is not the custom for English + gentlemen to take presents of that kind. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN. Are you really an Englishman? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [bows]! + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN. You are the first Englishman I ever saw refuse anything he + could get. [He puts the goblet on the table; then turns again to + Edstaston.] Listen, darling. You are a wrestler: a splendid wrestler. + You threw me on my back like magic, though I could lift you with one + hand. Darling, you are a giant, a paladin. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [complacently]. We wrestle rather well in my part of England. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN. I have a Turk who is a wrestler: a prisoner of war. You shall + wrestle with him for me. I'll stake a million roubles on you. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [incensed]. Damn you! do you take me for a prize-fighter? How + dare you make me such a proposal? + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN [with wounded feeling]. Darling, there is no pleasing you. + Don't you like me? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [mollified]. Well, in a sort of way I do; though I don't know + why I should. But my instructions are that I am to see the Empress; and— + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN. Darling, you shall see the Empress. A glorious woman, the + greatest woman in the world. But lemme give you piece 'vice—pah! + still drunk. They water my vinegar. [He shakes himself; clears his + throat; and resumes soberly.] If Catherine takes a fancy to you, you may + ask for roubles, diamonds, palaces, titles, orders, anything! and you + may aspire to everything: field-marshal, admiral, minister, what you + please—except Tsar. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. I tell you I don't want to ask for anything. Do you suppose I + am an adventurer and a beggar? + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN [plaintively]. Why not, darling? I was an adventurer. I was a + beggar. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Oh, you! + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN. Well: what's wrong with me? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. You are a Russian. That's different. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN [effusively]. Darling, I am a man; and you are a man; and + Catherine is a woman. Woman reduces us all to the common denominator. + [Chuckling.] Again an epigram! [Gravely.] You understand it, I hope. + Have you had a college education, darling? I have. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Certainly. I am a Bachelor of Arts. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN. It is enough that you are a bachelor, darling: Catherine will + supply the arts. Aha! Another epigram! I am in the vein today. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [embarrassed and a little offended]. I must ask your Highness + to change the subject. As a visitor in Russia, I am the guest of the + Empress; and I must tell you plainly that I have neither the right nor + the disposition to speak lightly of her Majesty. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN. You have conscientious scruples? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. I have the scruples of a gentleman. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN. In Russia a gentleman has no scruples. In Russia we face + facts. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. In England, sir, a gentleman never faces any facts if they + are unpleasant facts. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN. In real life, darling, all facts are unpleasant. [Greatly + pleased with himself.] Another epigram! Where is my accursed chancellor? + these gems should be written down and recorded for posterity. [He rushes + to the table: sits down: and snatches up a pen. Then, recollecting + himself.] But I have not asked you to sit down. [He rises and goes to + the other chair.] I am a savage: a barbarian. [He throws the shirt and + coat over the table on to the floor and puts his sword on the table.] Be + seated, Captain. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON Thank you. + </p> + <p> + They bow to one another ceremoniously. Patiomkin's tendency to grotesque + exaggeration costs him his balance; he nearly falls over Edstaston, who + rescues him and takes the proffered chair. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN [resuming his seat]. By the way, what was the piece of advice + I was going to give you? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. As you did not give it, I don't know. Allow me to add that I + have not asked for your advice. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN. I give it to you unasked, delightful Englishman. I remember + it now. It was this. Don't try to become Tsar of Russia. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [in astonishment]. I haven't the slightest intention— + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN. Not now; but you will have: take my words for it. It will + strike you as a splendid idea to have conscientious scruples—to + desire the blessing of the Church on your union with Catherine. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [racing in utter amazement]. My union with Catherine! You're + mad. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN [unmoved]. The day you hint at such a thing will be the day of + your downfall. Besides, it is not lucky to be Catherine's husband. You + know what happened to Peter? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [shortly; sitting down again]. I do not wish to discuss it. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN. You think she murdered him? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. I know that people have said so. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN [thunderously; springing to his feet]. It is a lie: Orloff + murdered him. [Subsiding a little.] He also knocked my eye out; but + [sitting down placidly] I succeeded him for all that. And [patting + Edstaston's hand very affectionately] I'm sorry to say, darling, that if + you become Tsar, I shall murder you. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [ironically returning the caress]. Thank you. The occasion + will not arise. [Rising.] I have the honor to wish your Highness good + morning. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN [jumping up and stopping him on his way to the door]. Tut tut! + I'm going to take you to the Empress now, this very instant. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. In these boots? Impossible! I must change. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN. Nonsense! You shall come just as you are. You shall show her + your calves later on. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. But it will take me only half an hour to— + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN. In half an hour it will be too late for the petit lever. Come + along. Damn it, man, I must oblige the British ambassador, and the + French ambassador, and old Fritz, and Monsieur Voltaire and the rest of + them. [He shouts rudely to the door.] Varinka! [To Edstaston, with tears + in his voice.] Varinka shall persuade you: nobody can refuse Varinka + anything. My niece. A treasure, I assure you. Beautiful! devoted! + fascinating! [Shouting again.] Varinka, where the devil are you? + </p> + <p> + VARINKA [returning]. I'll not be shouted for. You have the voice of a + bear, and the manners of a tinker. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN. Tsh-sh-sh. Little angel Mother: you must behave yourself + before the English captain. [He takes off his dressing-gown and throws + it over the papers and the breakfasts: picks up his coat: and disappears + behind the screen to complete his toilette.] + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Madam! [He bows.] + </p> + <p> + VARINKA [courtseying]. Monsieur le Capitaine! + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. I must apologize for the disturbance I made, madam. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN [behind the screen]. You must not call her madam. You must + call her Little Mother, and beautiful darling. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. My respect for the lady will not permit it. + </p> + <p> + VARINKA. Respect! How can you respect the niece of a savage? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [deprecatingly]. Oh, madam! + </p> + <p> + VARINKA. Heaven is my witness, Little English Father, we need someone + who is not afraid of him. He is so strong! I hope you will throw him + down on the floor many, many, many times. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN [behind the screen]. Varinka! + </p> + <p> + VARINKA. Yes? + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN. Go and look through the keyhole of the Imperial bed-chamber; + and bring me word whether the Empress is awake yet. + </p> + <p> + VARINKA. Fi donc! I do not look through keyholes. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN [emerging, having arranged his shirt and put on his diamonded + coat]. You have been badly brought up, little darling. Would any lady or + gentleman walk unannounced into a room without first looking through the + keyhole? [Taking his sword from the table and putting it on.] The great + thing in life is to be simple; and the perfectly simple thing is to look + through keyholes. Another epigram: the fifth this morning! Where is my + fool of a chancellor? Where is Popof? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [choking with suppressed laughter]!!!! + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN [gratified]. Darling, you appreciate my epigram. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Excuse me. Pop off! Ha! ha! I can't help laughing: What's his + real name, by the way, in case I meet him? + </p> + <p> + VARINKA [surprised]. His real name? Popof, of course. Why do you laugh, + Little Father? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. How can anyone with a sense of humor help laughing? Pop off! + [He is convulsed.] + </p> + <p> + VARINKA [looking at her uncle, taps her forehead significantly]!! + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN [aside to Varinka]. No: only English. He will amuse Catherine. + [To Edstaston.] Come, you shall tell the joke to the Empress: she is by + way of being a humorist [he takes him by the arm, and leads him towards + the door]. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [resisting]. No, really. I am not fit— + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN. Persuade him, Little angel Mother. + </p> + <p> + VARINKA [taking his other arm]. Yes, yes, yes. Little English Father: + God knows it is your duty to be brave and wait on the Empress. Come. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. No. I had rather— + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN [hauling him along]. Come. + </p> + <p> + VARINKA [pulling him and coaxing him]. Come, little love: you can't + refuse me. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. But how can I? + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN. Why not? She won't eat you. + </p> + <p> + VARINKA. She will; but you must come. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. I assure you—it is quite out of the question—my + clothes— + </p> + <p> + VARINKA. You look perfect. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN. Come along, darling. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [struggling]. Impossible— + </p> + <p> + VARINKA. Come, come, come. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. No. Believe me—I don't wish—I— + </p> + <p> + VARINKA. Carry him, uncle. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN [lifting him in his arms like a father carrying a little boy]. + Yes: I'll carry you. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Dash it all, this is ridiculous! + </p> + <p> + VARINKA [seizing his ankles and dancing as he is carried out]. You must + come. If you kick you will blacken my eyes. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN. Come, baby, come. + </p> + <p> + By this time they have made their way through the door and are out of + hearing. + </p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE SECOND SCENE + </h2> + <p> + The Empress's petit lever. The central doors are closed. Those who enter + through them find on their left, on a dais of two broad steps, a + magnificent curtained bed. Beyond it a door in the panelling leads to + the Empress's cabinet. Near the foot of the bed, in the middle of the + room, stands a gilt chair, with the Imperial arms carved and the + Imperial monogram embroidered. + </p> + <p> + The Court is in attendance, standing in two melancholy rows down the + side of the room opposite to the bed, solemn, bored, waiting for the + Empress to awaken. The Princess Dashkoff, with two ladies, stands a + little in front of the line of courtiers, by the Imperial chair. + Silence, broken only by the yawns and whispers of the courtiers. + Naryshkin, the Chamberlain, stands by the head of the bed. + </p> + <p> + A loud yawn is heard from behind the curtains. + </p> + <p> + NARYSHKIN [holding up a warning hand]. Ssh! + </p> + <p> + The courtiers hastily cease whispering: dress up their lines: and + stiffen. Dead silence. A bell tinkles within the curtains. Naryshkin and + the Princess solemnly draw them and reveal the Empress. + </p> + <p> + Catherine turns over on her back, and stretches herself. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [yawning]. Heigho—ah—yah—ah—ow—what + o'clock is it? [Her accent is German.] + </p> + <p> + NARYSHKIN [formally]. Her Imperial Majesty is awake. [The Court falls on + its knees.] + </p> + <p> + ALL. Good morning to your Majesty. + </p> + <p> + NARYSHKIN. Half-past ten, Little Mother. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [sitting up abruptly]. Potztausend! [Contemplating the + kneeling courtiers.] Oh, get up, get up. [All rise.] Your etiquette + bores me. I am hardly awake in the morning before it begins. [Yawning + again, and relapsing sleepily against her pillows.] Why do they do it, + Naryshkin? + </p> + <p> + NARYSHKIN. God knows it is not for your sake, Little Mother. But you see + if you were not a great queen they would all be nobodies. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [sitting up]. They make me do it to keep up their own little + dignities? So? + </p> + <p> + NARYSHKIN. Exactly. Also because if they didn't you might have them + flogged, dear Little Mother. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [springing energetically out of bed and seating herself on the + edge of it]. Flogged! I! A Liberal Empress! A philosopher! You are a + barbarian, Naryshkin. [She rises and turns to the courtiers.] And then, + as if I cared! [She turns again to Naryshkin.] You should know by this + time that I am frank and original in character, like an Englishman. [She + walks about restlessly.] No: what maddens me about all this ceremony is + that I am the only person in Russia who gets no fun out of my being + Empress. You all glory in me: you bask in my smiles: you get titles and + honors and favors from me: you are dazzled by my crown and my robes: you + feel splendid when you have been admitted to my presence; and when I say + a gracious word to you, you talk about it to everyone you meet for a + week afterwards. But what do I get out of it? Nothing. [She throws + herself into the chair. Naryshkin deprecates with a gesture; she hurls + an emphatic repetition at him.] Nothing!! I wear a crown until my neck + aches: I stand looking majestic until I am ready to drop: I have to + smile at ugly old ambassadors and frown and turn my back on young and + handsome ones. Nobody gives me anything. When I was only an Archduchess, + the English ambassador used to give me money whenever I wanted it—or + rather whenever he wanted to get anything out of my sacred predecessor + Elizabeth [the Court bows to the ground]; but now that I am Empress he + never gives me a kopek. When I have headaches and colics I envy the + scullerymaids. And you are not a bit grateful to me for all my care of + you, my work, my thought, my fatigue, my sufferings. + </p> + <p> + THE PRINCESS DASHKOFF. God knows, Little Mother, we all implore you to + give your wonderful brain a rest. That is why you get headaches. + Monsieur Voltaire also has headaches. His brain is just like yours. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE. Dashkoff, what a liar you are! [Dashkoff curtsies with + impressive dignity.] And you think you are flattering me! Let me tell + you I would not give a rouble to have the brains of all the philosophers + in France. What is our business for today? + </p> + <p> + NARYSHKIN. The new museum, Little Mother. But the model will not be + ready until tonight. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [rising eagerly]. Yes, the museum. An enlightened capital + should have a museum. [She paces the chamber with a deep sense of the + importance of the museum.] It shall be one of the wonders of the world. + I must have specimens: specimens, specimens, specimens. + </p> + <p> + NARYSHKIN. You are in high spirits this morning, Little Mother. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [with sudden levity.] I am always in high spirits, even when + people do not bring me my slippers. [She runs to the chair and sits + down, thrusting her feet out.] + </p> + <p> + The two ladies rush to her feet, each carrying a slipper. Catherine, + about to put her feet into them, is checked by a disturbance in the + antechamber. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN [carrying Edstaston through the antechamber]. Useless to + struggle. Come along, beautiful baby darling. Come to Little Mother. [He + sings.] + </p> + <p> + March him baby, Baby, baby, Lit-tle ba-by bumpkins. + </p> + <p> + VARINKA [joining in to the same doggerel in canon, a third above]. March + him, baby, etc., etc. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [trying to make himself heard]. No, no. This is carrying a + joke too far. I must insist. Let me down! Hang it, will you let me down! + Confound it! No, no. Stop playing the fool, will you? We don't + understand this sort of thing in England. I shall be disgraced. Let me + down. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [meanwhile]. What a horrible noise! Naryshkin, see what it is. + </p> + <p> + Naryshkin goes to the door. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [listening]. That is Prince Patiomkin. + </p> + <p> + NARYSHKIN [calling from the door]. Little Mother, a stranger. + </p> + <p> + Catherine plunges into bed again and covers herself up. Patiomkin, + followed by Varinka, carries Edstaston in: dumps him down on the foot of + the bed: and staggers past it to the cabinet door. Varinka joins the + courtiers at the opposite side of the room. Catherine, blazing with + wrath, pushes Edstaston off her bed on to the floor: gets out of bed: + and turns on Patiomkin with so terrible an expression that all kneel + down hastily except Edstaston, who is sprawling on the carpet in angry + confusion. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE. Patiomkin, how dare you? [Looking at Edstaston.] What is + this? + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN [on his knees, tearfully]. I don't know. I am drunk. What is + this, Varinka? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [scrambling to his feet]. Madam, this drunken ruffian— + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN. Thas true. Drungn ruffian. Took dvantage of my being drunk. + Said: take me to Lil angel Mother. Take me to beaufl Empress. Take me to + the grea'st woman on earth. Thas whas he he said. I took him. I was + wrong. I am not sober. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE. Men have grown sober in Siberia for less, Prince. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN. Serve em right! Sgusting habit. Ask Varinka. + </p> + <p> + Catherine turns her face from him to the Court. The courtiers see that + she is trying not to laugh, and know by experience that she will not + succeed. They rise, relieved and grinning. + </p> + <p> + VARINKA. It is true. He drinks like a pig. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN [plaintively]. No: not like pig. Like prince. Lil Mother made + poor Patiomkin prince. Whas use being prince if I mayn't drink? + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [biting her lips]. Go. I am offended. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN. Don't scold, Lil Mother. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [imperiously]. Go. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN [rising unsteadily]. Yes: go. Go bye bye. Very sleepy. Berr go + bye bye than go Siberia. Go bye bye in Lil Mother's bed [he pretends to + make an attempt to get into the bed]. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [energetically pulling him back]. No, no! Patiomkin! What are + you thinking of? [He falls like a log on the floor, apparently dead + drunk.] + </p> + <p> + THE PRINCESS DASHKOFF. Scandalous! An insult to your Imperial Majesty! + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE. Dashkoff: you have no sense of humor. [She steps down to the + door level and looks indulgently at Patiomkin. He gurgles brutishly. She + has an impulse of disgust.] Hog. [She kicks him as hard as she can.] Oh! + You have broken my toe. Brute. Beast. Dashkoff is quite right. Do you + hear? + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN. If you ask my pi-pinion of Dashkoff, my pipinion is that + Dashkoff is drunk. Scanlous. Poor Patiomkin go bye bye. [He relapses + into drunken slumbers.] + </p> + <p> + Some of the courtiers move to carry him away. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [stopping them]. Let him lie. Let him sleep it off. If he goes + out it will be to a tavern and low company for the rest of the day. + [Indulgently.] There! [She takes a pillow from the bed and puts it under + his head: then turns to Edstaston: surveys him with perfect dignity: and + asks, in her queenliest manner.] Varinka, who is this gentleman? + </p> + <p> + VARINKA. A foreign captain: I cannot pronounce his name. I think he is + mad. He came to the Prince and said he must see your Majesty. He can + talk of nothing else. We could not prevent him. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [overwhelmed by this apparent betrayal]. Oh! Madam: I am + perfectly sane: I am actually an Englishman. I should never have dreamt + of approaching your Majesty without the fullest credentials. I have + letters from the English ambassador, from the Prussian ambassador. + [Naively.] But everybody assured me that Prince Patiomkm is all-powerful + with your Majesty; so I naturally applied to him. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN [interrupts the conversation by an agonized wheezing groan as + of a donkey beginning to bray]!!! + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [like a fishfag]. Schweig, du Hund. [Resuming her impressive + royal manner.] Have you never been taught, sir, how a gentleman should + enter the presence of a sovereign? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Yes, Madam; but I did not enter your presence: I was carried. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE. But you say you asked the Prince to carry you. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Certainly not, Madam. I protested against it with all my + might. I appeal to this lady to confirm me. + </p> + <p> + VARINKA [pretending to be indignant]. Yes, you protested. But, all the + same, you were very very very anxious to see her Imperial Majesty. You + blushed when the Prince spoke of her. You threatened to strike him + across the face with your sword because you thought he did not speak + enthusiastically enough of her. [To Catherine.] Trust me: he has seen + your Imperial Majesty before. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [to Edstaston]. You have seen us before? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. At the review, Madam. + </p> + <p> + VARINKA [triumphantly]. Aha! I knew it. Your Majesty wore the hussar + uniform. He saw how radiant! how splendid! your Majesty looked. Oh! he + has dared to admire your Majesty. Such insolence is not to be endured. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. All Europe is a party to that insolence, Madam. + </p> + <p> + THE PRINCESS DASHKOFF. All Europe is content to do so at a respectful + distance. It is possible to admire her Majesty's policy and her eminence + in literature and philosophy without performing acrobatic feats in the + Imperial bed. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. I know nothing about her Majesty's eminence in policy or + philosophy: I don't pretend to understand such things. I speak as a + practical man. And I never knew that foreigners had any policy: I always + thought that policy was Mr. Pitt's business. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [lifting her eyebrows]. So? + </p> + <p> + VARINKA. What else did you presume to admire her Majesty for, pray? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [addled]. Well, I—I—I—that is, I—[He + stammers himself dumb.] + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [after a pitiless silence]. We are waiting for your answer. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. But I never said I admired your Majesty. The lady has twisted + my words. + </p> + <p> + VARINKA. You don't admire her, then? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Well, I—naturally—of course, I can't deny that + the uniform was very becoming—perhaps a little unfeminine—still—Dead + silence. Catherine and the Court watch him stonily. He is wretchedly + embarrassed. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [with cold majesty]. Well, sir: is that all you have to say? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Surely there is no harm in noticing that er—that er—[He + stops again.] + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE. Noticing that er—? [He gazes at her, speechless, like a + fascinated rabbit. She repeats fiercely.] That er—? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [startled into speech]. Well, that your Majesty was—was—[soothingly] + Well, let me put it this way: that it was rather natural for a man to + admire your Majesty without being a philosopher. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [suddenly smiling and extending her hand to him to be kissed]. + Courtier! + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [kissing it]. Not at all. Your Majesty is very good. I have + been very awkward; but I did not intend it. I am rather stupid, I am + afraid. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE. Stupid! By no means. Courage, Captain: we are pleased. [He + falls on his knee. She takes his cheeks in her hands: turns up his face: + and adds] We are greatly pleased. [She slaps his cheek coquettishly: he + bows almost to his knee.] The petit lever is over. [She turns to go into + the cabinet, and stumbles against the supine Patiomkin.] Ach! [Edstaston + springs to her assistance, seizing Patiomkin's heels and shifting him + out of the Empress's path.] We thank you, Captain. + </p> + <p> + He bows gallantly and is rewarded by a very gracious smile. Then + Catherine goes into her cabinet, followed by the princess Dashkoff, who + turns at the door to make a deep courtsey to Edstaston. + </p> + <p> + VARINKA. Happy Little Father! Remember: I did this for you. [She runs + out after the Empress.] + </p> + <p> + Edstaston, somewhat dazed, crosses the room to the courtiers, and is + received with marked deference, each courtier making him a profound bow + or curtsey before withdrawing through the central doors. He returns each + obeisance with a nervous jerk, and turns away from it, only to find + another courtier bowing at the other side. The process finally reduced + him to distraction, as he bumps into one in the act of bowing to another + and then has to bow his apologies. But at last they are all gone except + Naryshkin. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Ouf! + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN [jumping up vigorously]. You have done it, darling. Superbly! + Beautifully! + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [astonished]. Do you mean to say you are not drunk? + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN. Not dead drunk, darling. Only diplomatically drunk. As a + drunken hog, I have done for you in five minutes what I could not have + done in five months as a sober man. Your fortune is made. She likes you. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. The devil she does! + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN. Why? Aren't you delighted? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Delighted! Gracious heavens, man, I am engaged to be married. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN. What matter? She is in England, isn't she? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. No. She has just arrived in St. Petersburg. + </p> + <p> + THE PRINCESS DASHKOFF [returning]. Captain Edstaston, the Empress is + robed, and commands your presence. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Say I was gone before you arrived with the message. [He + hurries out. The other three, too taken aback to stop him, stare after + him in the utmost astonishment.] + </p> + <p> + NARYSHKIN [turning from the door]. She will have him knouted. He is a + dead man. + </p> + <p> + THE PRINCESS DASHKOFF. But what am I to do? I cannot take such an answer + to the Empress. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN. P-P-P-P-P-P-W-W-W-W-W-rrrrrr [a long puff, turning into a + growl]! [He spits.] I must kick somebody. + </p> + <p> + NARYSHKIN [flying precipitately through the central doors]. No, no. + Please. + </p> + <p> + THE PRINCESS DASHKOFF [throwing herself recklessly in front of Patiomkin + as he starts in pursuit of the Chamberlain]. Kick me. Disable me. It + will be an excuse for not going back to her. Kick me hard. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN. Yah! [He flings her on the bed and dashes after Naryshkin.] + </p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE THIRD SCENE + </h2> + <p> + In a terrace garden overlooking the Neva. Claire, a robust young English + lady, is leaning on the river wall. She turns expectantly on hearing the + garden gate opened and closed. Edstaston hurries in. With a cry of + delight she throws her arms round his neck. + </p> + <p> + CLAIRE. Darling! + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [making a wry face]. Don't call me darling. + </p> + <p> + CLAIRE [amazed and chilled]. Why? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. I have been called darling all the morning. + </p> + <p> + CLAIRE [with a flash of jealousy]. By whom? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. By everybody. By the most unutterable swine. And if we do not + leave this abominable city now: do you hear? now; I shall be called + darling by the Empress. + </p> + <p> + CLAIRE [with magnificent snobbery]. She would not dare. Did you tell her + you were engaged to me? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Of course not. + </p> + <p> + CLAIRE. Why? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Because I didn't particularly want to have you knouted, and + to be hanged or sent to Siberia myself. + </p> + <p> + CLAIRE. What on earth do you mean? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Well, the long and short of it is—don't think me a + coxcomb, Claire: it is too serious to mince matters—I have seen + the Empress; and— + </p> + <p> + CLAIRE. Well, you wanted to see her. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Yes; but the Empress has seen me. + </p> + <p> + CLAIRE. She has fallen in love with you! + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. How did you know? + </p> + <p> + CLAIRE. Dearest: as if anyone could help it. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Oh, don't make me feel like a fool. But, though it does sound + conceited to say it, I flatter myself I'm better looking than Patiomkin + and the other hogs she is accustomed to. Anyhow, I daren't risk staying. + </p> + <p> + CLAIRE. What a nuisance! Mamma will be furious at having to pack, and at + missing the Court ball this evening. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. I can't help that. We haven't a moment to lose. + </p> + <p> + CLAIRE. May I tell her she will be knouted if we stay? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Do, dearest. + </p> + <p> + He kisses her and lets her go, expecting her to run into the house. + </p> + <p> + CLAIRE [pausing thoughtfully]. Is she—is she good-looking when you + see her close? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Not a patch on you, dearest. + </p> + <p> + CLAIRE [jealous]. Then you did see her close? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Fairly close. + </p> + <p> + CLAIRE. Indeed! How close? No: that's silly of me: I will tell mamma. + [She is going out when Naryshkin enters with the Sergeant and a squad of + soldiers.] What do you want here? + </p> + <p> + The Sergeant goes to Edstaston: plumps down on his knees: and takes out + a magnificent pair of pistols with gold grips. He proffers them to + Edstaston, holding them by the barrels. + </p> + <p> + NARYSHKIN. Captain Edstaston: his Highness Prince Patiomkin sends you + the pistols he promised you. + </p> + <p> + THE SERGEANT. Take them, Little Father; and do not forget us poor + soldiers who have brought them to you; for God knows we get but little + to drink. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [irresolutely]. But I can't take these valuable things. By + Jiminy, though, they're beautiful! Look at them, Claire. + </p> + <p> + As he is taking the pistols the kneeling Sergeant suddenly drops them; + flings himself forward; and embraces Edstaston's hips to prevent him + from drawing his own pistols from his boots. + </p> + <p> + THE SERGEANT. Lay hold of him there. Pin his arms. I have his pistols. + [The soldiers seize Edstaston.] + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Ah, would you, damn you! [He drives his knee into the + Sergeant's epigastrium, and struggles furiously with his captors.] + </p> + <p> + THE SERGEANT [rolling on the ground, gasping and groaning]. Owgh! + Murder! Holy Nicholas! Owwwgh! + </p> + <p> + CLAIRE. Help! help! They are killing Charles. Help! + </p> + <p> + NARYSHKIN [seizing her and clapping his hand over her mouth]. Tie him + neck and crop. Ten thousand blows of the stick if you let him go. + [Claire twists herself loose: turns on him: and cuffs him furiously.] + Yow—ow! Have mercy, Little Mother. + </p> + <p> + CLAIRE. You wretch! Help! Help! Police! We are being murdered. Help! + </p> + <p> + The Sergeant, who has risen, comes to Naryshkin's rescue, and grasps + Claire's hands, enabling Naryshkin to gag her again. By this time + Edstaston and his captors are all rolling on the ground together. They + get Edstaston on his back and fasten his wrists together behind his + knees. Next they put a broad strap round his ribs. Finally they pass a + pole through this breast strap and through the waist strap and lift him + by it, helplessly trussed up, to carry him of. Meanwhile he is by no + means suffering in silence. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [gasping]. You shall hear more of this. Damn you, will you + untie me? I will complain to the ambassador. I will write to the + Gazette. England will blow your trumpery little fleet out of the water + and sweep your tinpot army into Siberia for this. Will you let me go? + Damn you! Curse you! What the devil do you mean by it? I'll—I'll—I'll— + [he is carried out of hearing]. + </p> + <p> + NARYSHKIN [snatching his hands from Claire's face with a scream, and + shaking his finger frantically]. Agh! [The Sergeant, amazed, lets go her + hands.] She has bitten me, the little vixen. + </p> + <p> + CLAIRE [spitting and wiping her mouth disgustedly]. How dare you put + your dirty paws on my mouth? Ugh! Psha! + </p> + <p> + THE SERGEANT. Be merciful, Little angel Mother. + </p> + <p> + CLAIRE. Do not presume to call me your little angel mother. Where are + the police? + </p> + <p> + NARYSHKIN. We are the police in St Petersburg, little spitfire. + </p> + <p> + THE SERGEANT. God knows we have no orders to harm you, Little Mother. + Our duty is done. You are well and strong; but I shall never be the same + man again. He is a mighty and terrible fighter, as stout as a bear. He + has broken my sweetbread with his strong knees. God knows poor folk + should not be set upon such dangerous adversaries! + </p> + <p> + CLAIRE. Serve you right! Where have they taken Captain Edstaston to? + </p> + <p> + NARYSHKIN [spitefully]. To the Empress, little beauty. He has insulted + the Empress. He will receive a hundred and one blows of the knout. [He + laughs and goes out, nursing his bitten finger.] + </p> + <p> + THE SERGEANT. He will feel only the first twenty and he will be + mercifully dead long before the end, little darling. + </p> + <p> + CLAIRE [sustained by an invincible snobbery]. They dare not touch an + English officer. I will go to the Empress myself: she cannot know who + Captain Edstaston is—who we are. + </p> + <p> + THE SERGEANT. Do so in the name of the Holy Nicholas, little beauty. + </p> + <p> + CLAIRE. Don't be impertinent. How can I get admission to the palace? + </p> + <p> + THE SERGEANT. Everybody goes in and out of the palace, little love. + </p> + <p> + CLAIRE. But I must get into the Empress's presence. I must speak to her. + </p> + <p> + THE SERGEANT. You shall, dear Little Mother. You shall give the poor old + Sergeant a rouble; and the blessed Nicholas will make your salvation his + charge. + </p> + <p> + CLAIRE [impetuously]. I will give you [she is about to say fifty + roubles, but checks herself cautiously]—Well: I don't mind giving + you two roubles if I can speak to the Empress. + </p> + <p> + THE SERGEANT [joyfully]. I praise Heaven for you, Little Mother. Come. + [He leads the way out.] It was the temptation of the devil that led your + young man to bruise my vitals and deprive me of breath. We must be + merciful to one another's faults. + </p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE FOURTH SCENE + </h2> + <p> + A triangular recess communicating by a heavily curtained arch with the + huge ballroom of the palace. The light is subdued by red shades on the + candles. In the wall adjoining that pierced by the arch is a door. The + only piece of furniture is a very handsome chair on the arch side. In + the ballroom they are dancing a polonaise to the music of a brass band. + </p> + <p> + Naryshkin enters through the door, followed by the soldiers carrying + Edstaston, still trussed to the pole. Exhausted and dogged, he makes no + sound. + </p> + <p> + NARYSHKIN. Halt. Get that pole clear of the prisoner. [They dump + Edstaston on the floor and detach the pole. Naryshkin stoops over him + and addresses him insultingly.] Well! are you ready to be tortured? This + is the Empress's private torture chamber. Can I do anything to make you + quite comfortable? You have only to mention it. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Have you any back teeth? + </p> + <p> + NARYSHKIN [surprised]. Why? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. His Majesty King George the Third will send for six of them + when the news of this reaches London; so look out, damn your eyes! + </p> + <p> + NARYSHKIN [frightened]. Oh, I assure you I am only obeying my orders. + Personally I abhor torture, and would save you if I could. But the + Empress is proud; and what woman would forgive the slight you put upon + her? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. As I said before: Damn your eyes! + </p> + <p> + NARYSHKIN [almost in tears]. Well, it isn't my fault. [To the soldiers, + insolently.] You know your orders? You remember what you have to do when + the Empress gives you the word? [The soldiers salute in assent.] + </p> + <p> + Naryshkin passes through the curtains, admitting a blare of music and a + strip of the brilliant white candlelight from the chandeliers in the + ballroom as he does so. The white light vanishes and the music is + muffled as the curtains fall together behind him. Presently the band + stops abruptly: and Naryshkin comes back through the curtains. He makes + a warning gesture to the soldiers, who stand at attention. Then he moves + the curtain to allow Catherine to enter. She is in full Imperial + regalia, and stops sternly just where she has entered. The soldiers fall + on their knees. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE. Obey your orders. + </p> + <p> + The soldiers seize Edstaston, and throw him roughly at the feet of the + Empress. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [looking down coldly on him]. Also [the German word], you have + put me to the trouble of sending for you twice. You had better have come + the first time. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [exsufflicate, and pettishly angry]. I haven't come either + time. I've been carried. I call it infernal impudence. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE. Take care what you say. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. No use. I daresay you look very majestic and very handsome; + but I can't see you; and I am not intimidated. I am an Englishman; and + you can kidnap me; but you can't bully me. + </p> + <p> + NARYSHKIN. Remember to whom you are speaking. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [violently, furious at his intrusion]. Remember that dogs + should be dumb. [He shrivels.] And do you, Captain, remember that famous + as I am for my clemency, there are limits to the patience even of an + Empress. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. How is a man to remember anything when he is trussed up in + this ridiculous fashion? I can hardly breathe. [He makes a futile + struggle to free himself.] Here: don't be unkind, your Majesty: tell + these fellows to unstrap me. You know you really owe me an apology. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE. You think you can escape by appealing, like Prince Patiomkin, + to my sense of humor? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Sense of humor! Ho! Ha, ha! I like that. Would anybody with a + sense of humor make a guy of a man like this, and then expect him to + take it seriously? I say: do tell them to loosen these straps. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [seating herself]. Why should I, pray? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Why! Why! Why, because they're hurting me. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE. People sometimes learn through suffering. Manners, for + instance. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Oh, well, of course, if you're an ill-natured woman, hurting + me on purpose, I have nothing more to say. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE. A monarch, sir, has sometimes to employ a necessary, and + salutary severity— + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [Interrupting her petulantly]. Quack! quack! quack! + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE. Donnerwetter! + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [continuing recklessly]. This isn't severity: it's tomfoolery. + And if you think it's reforming my character or teaching me anything, + you're mistaken. It may be a satisfaction to you; but if it is, all I + can say is that it's not an amiable satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [turning suddenly and balefully on Naryshkin]. What are you + grinning at? + </p> + <p> + NARYSHKIN [falling on his knees in terror]. Be merciful, Little Mother. + My heart is in my mouth. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE. Your heart and your mouth will be in two separate parts of + your body if you again forget in whose presence you stand. Go. And take + your men with you. [Naryshkin crawls to the door. The soldiers rise.] + Stop. Roll that [indicating Edstaston] nearer. [The soldiers obey.] Not + so close. Did I ask you for a footstool? [She pushes Edstaston away with + her foot.] + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [with a sudden squeal]. Agh!!! I must really ask your Majesty + not to put the point of your Imperial toe between my ribs. I am + ticklesome. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE. Indeed? All the more reason for you to treat me with respect, + Captain. [To the others.] Begone. How many times must I give an order + before it is obeyed? + </p> + <p> + NARYSHKIN. Little Mother: they have brought some instruments of torture. + Will they be needed? + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [indignantly]. How dare you name such abominations to a + Liberal Empress? You will always be a savage and a fool, Naryshkin. + These relics of barbarism are buried, thank God, in the grave of Peter + the Great. My methods are more civilized. [She extends her toe towards + Edstaston's ribs.] + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [shrieking hysterically]. Yagh! Ah! [Furiously.] If your + Majesty does that again I will write to the London Gazette. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [to the soldiers]. Leave us. Quick! do you hear? Five thousand + blows of the stick for the soldier who is in the room when I speak next. + [The soldiers rush out.] Naryshkin: are you waiting to be knouted? + [Naryshkin backs out hastily.] + </p> + <p> + Catherine and Edstaston are now alone. Catherine has in her hand a + sceptre or baton of gold. Wrapped round it is a new pamphlet, in French, + entitled L'Homme aux Quarante Ecus. She calmly unrolls this and begins + to read it at her ease as if she were quite alone. Several seconds + elapse in dead silence. She becomes more and more absorbed in the + pamphlet, and more and more amused by it. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [greatly pleased by a passage, and turning over the leaf]. + Ausgezeiehnet! + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Ahem! + </p> + <p> + Silence. Catherine reads on. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE. Wie komisch! + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Ahem! ahem! + </p> + <p> + Silence. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [soliloquizing enthusiastically]. What a wonderful author is + Monsieur Voltaire! How lucidly he exposes the folly of this crazy plan + for raising the entire revenue of the country from a single tax on land! + how he withers it with his irony! how he makes you laugh whilst he is + convincing you! how sure one feels that the proposal is killed by his + wit and economic penetration: killed never to be mentioned again among + educated people! + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. For Heaven's sake, Madam, do you intend to leave me tied up + like this while you discuss the blasphemies of that abominable infidel? + Agh!! [She has again applied her toe.] Oh! Oo! + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [calmly]. Do I understand you to say that Monsieur Voltaire is + a great philanthropist and a great philosopher as well as the wittiest + man in Europe? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Certainly not. I say that his books ought to be burnt by the + common hangman [her toe touches his ribs]. Yagh! Oh don't. I shall + faint. I can't bear it. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE. Have you changed your opinion of Monsieur Voltaire? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. But you can't expect me as a member of the Church of England + [she tickles him] —agh! Ow! Oh Lord! he is anything you like. He + is a philanthropist, a philosopher, a beauty: he ought to have a statue, + damn him! [she tickles him]. No! bless him! save him victorious, happy + and glorious! Oh, let eternal honors crown his name: Voltaire thrice + worthy on the rolls of fame! [Exhausted.] Now will you let me up? And + look here! I can see your ankles when you tickle me: it's not ladylike. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [sticking out her toe and admiring it critically]. Is the + spectacle so disagreeable? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. It's agreeable enough; only [with intense expression] for + heaven's sake don't touch me in the ribs. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [putting aside the pamphlet]. Captain Edstaston, why did you + refuse to come when I sent for you? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Madam, I cannot talk tied up like this. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE. Do you still admire me as much as you did this morning? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. How can I possibly tell when I can't see you? Let me get up + and look. I can't see anything now except my toes and yours. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE. Do you still intend to write to the London Gazette about me? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Not if you will loosen these straps. Quick: loosen me. I'm + fainting. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE. I don't think you are [tickling him]. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Agh! Cat! + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE. What [she tickles him again]. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [with a shriek]. No: angel, angel! + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [tenderly]. Geliebter! + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. I don't know a word of German; but that sounded kind. + [Becoming hysterical.] Little Mother, beautiful little darling angel + mother: don't be cruel: untie me. Oh, I beg and implore you. Don't be + unkind. I shall go mad. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE. You are expected to go mad with love when an Empress deigns + to interest herself in you. When an Empress allows you to see her foot + you should kiss it. Captain Edstaston, you are a booby. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [indignantly]. I am nothing of the kind. I have been mentioned + in dispatches as a highly intelligent officer. And let me warn your + Majesty that I am not so helpless as you think. The English Ambassador + is in that ballroom. A shout from me will bring him to my side; and then + where will your Majesty be? + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE. I should like to see the English Ambassador or anyone else + pass through that curtain against my orders. It might be a stone wall + ten feet thick. Shout your loudest. Sob. Curse. Scream. Yell [she + tickles him unmercifully]. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [frantically]. Ahowyou!!!! Agh! oh! Stop! Oh Lord! Ya-a-a-ah! + [A tumult in the ballroom responds to his cries]. + </p> + <p> + VOICES FROM THE BALLROOM. Stand back. You cannot pass. Hold her back + there. The Empress's orders. It is out of the question. No, little + darling, not in there. Nobody is allowed in there. You will be sent to + Siberia. Don't let her through there, on your life. Drag her back. You + will be knouted. It is hopeless, Mademoiselle: you must obey orders. + Guard there! Send some men to hold her. + </p> + <p> + CLAIRE'S VOICE. Let me go. They are torturing Charles in there. I WILL + go. How can you all dance as if nothing was happening? Let me go, I tell + you. Let—me—go. [She dashes through the curtain, no one + dares follow her.] + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [rising in wrath]. How dare you? + </p> + <p> + CLAIRE [recklessly]. Oh, dare your grandmother! Where is my Charles? + What are they doing to him? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [shouting]. Claire, loosen these straps, in Heaven's name. + Quick. + </p> + <p> + CLAIRE [seeing him and throwing herself on her knees at his side]. Oh, + how dare they tie you up like that! [To Catherine.] You wicked wretch! + You Russian savage! [She pounces on the straps, and begins unbuckling + them.] + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [conquering herself with a mighty effort]. Now self-control. + Self-control, Catherine. Philosophy. Europe is looking on. [She forces + herself to sit down.] + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Steady, dearest: it is the Empress. Call her your Imperial + Majesty. Call her Star of the North, Little Mother, Little Darling: + that's what she likes; but get the straps off. + </p> + <p> + CLAIRE. Keep quiet, dear: I cannot get them off if you move. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [calmly]. Keep quite still, Captain [she tickles him.] + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Ow! Agh! Ahowyow! + </p> + <p> + CLAIRE [stopping dead in the act of unbuckling the straps and turning + sick with jealousy as she grasps the situation]. Was THAT what I thought + was your being tortured? + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [urbanely]. That is the favorite torture of Catherine the + Second, Mademoiselle. I think the Captain enjoys it very much. + </p> + <p> + CLAIRE. Then he can have as much more of it as he wants. I am sorry I + intruded. [She rises to go.] + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [catching her train in his teeth and holding on like a + bull-dog]. Don't go. Don't leave me in this horrible state. Loosen me. + [This is what he is saying: but as he says it with the train in his + mouth it is not very intelligible.] + </p> + <p> + CLAIRE. Let go. You are undignified and ridiculous enough yourself + without making me ridiculous. [She snatches her train away.] + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Ow! You've nearly pulled my teeth out: you're worse than the + Star of the North. [To Catherine.] Darling Little Mother: you have a + kind heart, the kindest in Europe. Have pity. Have mercy. I love you. + [Claire bursts into tears.] Release me. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE. Well, just to show you how much kinder a Russian savage can + be than an English one (though I am sorry to say I am a German) here + goes! [She stoops to loosen the straps.] + </p> + <p> + CLAIRE [jealously]. You needn't trouble, thank you. [She pounces on the + straps: and the two set Edstaston free between them.] Now get up, + please; and conduct yourself with some dignity if you are not utterly + demoralized. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Dignity! Ow! I can't. I'm stiff all over. I shall never be + able to stand up again. Oh Lord! how it hurts! [They seize him by the + shoulders and drag him up.] Yah! Agh! Wow! Oh! Mmmmmm! Oh, Little Angel + Mother, don't ever do this to a man again. Knout him; kill him; roast + him; baste him; head, hang, and quarter him; but don't tie him up like + that and tickle him. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE. Your young lady still seems to think that you enjoyed it. + </p> + <p> + CLAIRE. I know what I think. I will never speak to him again. Your + Majesty can keep him, as far as I am concerned. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE. I would not deprive you of him for worlds; though really I + think he's rather a darling [she pats his cheek]. + </p> + <p> + CLAIRE [snorting]. So I see, indeed. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Don't be angry, dearest: in this country everybody's a + darling. I'll prove it to you. [To Catherine.] Will your Majesty be good + enough to call Prince Patiomkin? + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [surprised into haughtiness]. Why? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. To oblige me. + </p> + <p> + Catherine laughs good-humoredly and goes to the curtains and opens them. + The band strikes up a Redowa. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [calling imperiously]. Patiomkin! [The music stops suddenly.] + Here! To me! Go on with your music there, you fools. [The Redowa is + resumed.] + </p> + <p> + The sergeant rushes from the ballroom to relieve the Empress of the + curtain. Patiomkin comes in dancing with Yarinka. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [to Patiomkin]. The English captain wants you, little darling. + </p> + <p> + Catherine resumes her seat as Patiomkin intimates by a grotesque bow + that he is at Edstaston's service. Yarinka passes behind Edstaston and + Claire, and posts herself on Claire's right. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Precisely. [To Claire. ] You observe, my love: "little + darling." Well, if her Majesty calls him a darling, is it my fault that + she calls me one too? + </p> + <p> + CLAIRE. I don't care: I don't think you ought to have done it. I am very + angry and offended. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. They tied me up, dear. I couldn't help it. I fought for all I + was worth. + </p> + <p> + THE SERGEANT [at the curtains]. He fought with the strength of lions and + bears. God knows I shall carry a broken sweetbread to my grave. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. You can't mean to throw me over, Claire. [Urgently.] Claire. + Claire. + </p> + <p> + VARINKA [in a transport of sympathetic emotion, pleading with clasped + hands to Claire]. Oh, sweet little angel lamb, he loves you: it shines + in his darling eyes. Pardon him, pardon him. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN [rushing from the Empress's side to Claire and falling on his + knees to her]. Pardon him, pardon him, little cherub! little wild duck! + little star! little glory! little jewel in the crown of heaven! + </p> + <p> + CLAIRE. This is perfectly ridiculous. + </p> + <p> + VARINKA [kneeling to her]. Pardon him, pardon him, little delight, + little sleeper in a rosy cradle. + </p> + <p> + CLAIRE. I'll do anything if you'll only let me alone. + </p> + <p> + THE SERGEANT [kneeling to her]. Pardon him, pardon him, lest the mighty + man bring his whip to you. God knows we all need pardon! + </p> + <p> + CLAIRE [at the top of her voice]. I pardon him! I pardon him! + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN [springing up joyfully and going behind Claire, whom he raises + in his arms]. Embrace her, victor of Bunker's Hill. Kiss her till she + swoons. + </p> + <p> + THE SERGEANT. Receive her in the name of the holy Nicholas. + </p> + <p> + VARINKA. She begs you for a thousand dear little kisses all over her + body. + </p> + <p> + CLAIRE [vehemently]. I do not. [Patiomkin throws her into Edstaston's + arms.] Oh! [The pair, awkward and shamefaced, recoil from one another, + and remain utterly inexpressive.] + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [pushing Edstaston towards Claire]. There is no help for it, + Captain. This is Russia, not England. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [plucking up some geniality, and kissing Claire ceremoniously + on the brow]. I have no objection. + </p> + <p> + VARINKA [disgusted]. Only one kiss! and on the forehead! Fish. See how I + kiss, though it is only my horribly ugly old uncle [she throws her arms + round Patiomkin's neck and covers his face with kisses]. + </p> + <p> + THE SERGEANT [moved to tears]. Sainted Nicholas: bless your lambs! + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE. Do you wonder now that I love Russia as I love no other place + on earth? + </p> + <p> + NARYSHKIN [appearing at the door]. Majesty: the model for the new museum + has arrived. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [rising eagerly and making for the curtains]. Let us go. I can + think of nothing but my museum. [In the archway she stops and turns to + Edstaston, who has hurried to lift the curtain for her.] Captain, I wish + you every happiness that your little angel can bring you. [For his ear + alone.] I could have brought you more; but you did not think so. + Farewell. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [kissing her hand, which, instead of releasing, he holds + caressingly and rather patronizingly in his own]. I feel your Majesty's + kindness so much that I really cannot leave you without a word of plain + wholesome English advice. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [snatching her hand away and bounding forward as if he had + touched her with a spur]. Advice!!! + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN. Madman: take care! + </p> + <p> + NARYSHKIN. Advise the Empress!! + </p> + <p> + THE SERGEANT. Sainted Nicholas! + </p> + <p> + VARINKA. Hoo hoo! [a stifled splutter of laughter]. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [following the Empress and resuming kindly but judicially]. + After all, though your Majesty is of course a great queen, yet when all + is said, I am a man; and your Majesty is only a woman. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE. Only a wo— [she chokes]. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [continuing]. Believe me, this Russian extravagance will not + do. I appreciate as much as any man the warmth of heart that prompts it; + but it is overdone: it is hardly in the best taste: it is really I must + say it—it is not proper. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [ironically, in German]. So! + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Not that I cannot make allowances. Your Majesty has, I know, + been unfortunate in your experience as a married woman— + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [furious]. Alle Wetter!!! + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [sentimentally]. Don't say that. Don't think of him in that + way. After all, he was your husband; and whatever his faults may have + been, it is not for you to think unkindly of him. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [almost bursting]. I shall forget myself. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Come! I am sure he really loved you; and you truly loved him. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [controlling herself with a supreme effort]. No, Catherine. + What would Voltaire say? + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Oh, never mind that vile scoffer. Set an example to Europe, + Madam, by doing what I am going to do. Marry again. Marry some good man + who will be a strength and support to your old age. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE. My old—[she again becomes speechless]. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Yes: we must all grow old, even the handsomest of us. + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [sinking into her chair with a gasp]. Thank you. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. You will thank me more when you see your little ones round + your knee, and your man there by the fireside in the winter evenings—by + the way, I forgot that you have no fireside here in spite of the + coldness of the climate; so shall I say by the stove? + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE. Certainly, if you wish. The stove by all means. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON [impulsively]. Ah, Madam, abolish the stove: believe me, there + is nothing like the good old open grate. Home! duty! happiness! they all + mean the same thing; and they all flourish best on the drawing-room + hearthrug. [Turning to Claire.] And now, my love, we must not detain the + Queen: she is anxious to inspect the model of her museum, to which I am + sure we wish every success. + </p> + <p> + CLAIRE [coldly]. I am not detaining her. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Well, goodbye [wringing Patiomkin's hand] goo-oo-oodbye, + Prince: come and see us if ever you visit England. Spire View, Deepdene, + Little Mugford, Devon, will always find me. [To Yarinka, kissing her + hand.] Goodbye, Mademoiselle: goodbye, Little Mother, if I may call you + that just once. [Varinka puts up her face to be kissed.] Eh? No, no, no, + no: you don't mean that, you know. Naughty! [To the Sergeant.] Goodbye, + my friend. You will drink our healths with this [tipping him]. + </p> + <p> + THE SERGEANT. The blessed Nicholas will multiply your fruits, Little + Father. + </p> + <p> + EDSTASTON. Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye. + </p> + <p> + He goes out backwards, bowing, with Claire curtseying, having been + listened to in utter dumbfoundedness by Patiomkin and Naryshkin, in + childlike awe by Yarinka, and with quite inexpressible feelings by + Catherine. When he is out of sight she rises with clinched fists and + raises her arms and her closed eyes to Heaven. Patiomkin: rousing + himself from his stupor of amazement, springs to her like a tiger, and + throws himself at her feet. + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN. What shall I do to him for you? Skin him alive? Cut off his + eyelids and stand him in the sun? Tear his tongue out? What shall it be? + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [opening her eyes]. Nothing. But oh, if I could only have had + him for my—for my—for my— + </p> + <p> + PATIOMKIN [in a growl of jealousy]. For your lover? + </p> + <p> + CATHERINE [with an ineffable smile]. No: for my museum. + </p> + <br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Great Catherine, by George Bernard Shaw + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GREAT CATHERINE *** + +***** This file should be named 3488-h.htm or 3488-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/4/8/3488/ + +Produced by Eve Sobol, and David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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