Read Delphi Complete Works of Oscar Wilde (Illustrated) Online
Authors: OSCAR WILDE
Delphi Complete Works of Oscar Wilde (Illustrated) (2 page)
The author’s father, Sir William Robert Wills Wilde (1815-1876), was an eye and ear surgeon, as well as an author of significant works on medicine, archaeology and folklore, particularly concerning his native
Ireland
.
The playwright’s mother, Jane Agnes, Lady Wilde (1821-1896), was an Irish poet under the pen name “Speranza” and supporter of the nationalist movement.
Wilde in childhood
OR, THE NIHILISTS.
A DRAMA IN A PROLOGUE AND FOUR ACTS.
Wilde’s first attempt at drama is a melodramatic tragedy set in
Russia
, concerning the real life figure of Vera Ivanovna Zasulich, a Marxist writer and revolutionary. The play was first performed in
New York
in 1882, whilst Wilde was lecturing in
America
, but it was not a success and quickly folded, being rarely performed today.
The drama introduces Vera, who works as a barmaid in her father’s tavern, situated near the prison camps in
Siberia
. One day, as a gang of prisoners stop at the tavern, Vera recognises her brother Dmitri as one of the prisoners. In an impassioned speech, he begs her to go to
Moscow
and join the Nihilists, a terrorism group trying to assassinate the Czar and avenge his imprisonment. Vera at once finds herself immersed in a dangerous world of terrorism and intrigue.
Vera Ivanovna Zasulich (1849-1919)
Union Square Theatre, where Wilde’s play was first performed in
New York
in 1882
Wilde, 1883
PERSONS IN THE PROLOGUE.
Peter Sabouroff
(an Innkeeper).
Vera Sabouroff
(his Daughter).
Michael
(a Peasant).
Colonel Kotemkin.
Scene
,
Russia
. Time, 1795.
PERSONS IN THE PLAY.
Ivan the Czar.
Prince Paul Maraloffski
(Prime Minister of
Russia
).
Prince Petrovitch.
Count Rouvaloff.
Marquis de Poivrard.
Baron Raff.
General Kotemkin.
A Page.
Nihilists.
Peter Tchernavitch
, President of the Nihilists.
Michael.
Alexis Ivanacievitch
, known as a Student of Medicine.
Professor Marfa.
Vera Sabouroff.
Soldiers, Conspirators, &c.
Scene, Moscow. Time, 1800.
Scene.
—
A Russian Inn.
Large door opening on snowy landscape at back of stage.
Peter Sabouroff
and
Michael
.
Peter
(
warming his hands at a stove
). Has Vera not come back yet, Michael?
Mich.
No, Father Peter, not yet; ’tis a good three miles to the post office, and she has to milk the cows besides, and that dun one is a rare plaguey creature for a wench to handle.
Peter.
Why didn’t you go with her, you young fool? she’ll never love you unless you are always at her heels; women like to be bothered.
Mich.
She says I bother her too much already, Father Peter, and I fear she’ll never love me after all.
Peter.
Tut, tut, boy, why shouldn’t she? you’re young and wouldn’t be ill-favoured either, had God or thy mother given thee another face. Aren’t you one of Prince Maraloffski’s gamekeepers; and haven’t you got a good grass farm, and the best cow in the village? What more does a girl want?
Mich.
But Vera, Father Peter —
Peter.
Vera, my lad, has got too many ideas; I don’t think much of ideas myself; I’ve got on well enough in life without ‘em; why shouldn’t my children? There’s Dmitri! could have stayed here and kept the inn; many a young lad would have jumped at the offer in these hard times; but he, scatter-brained featherhead of a boy, must needs go off to Moscow to study the law! What does he want knowing about the law! let a man do his duty, say I, and no one will trouble him.
Mich.
Ay! but Father Peter, they say a good lawyer can break the law as often as he likes, and no one can say him nay.
Peter.
That is about all they are good for; and there he stays, and has not written a line to us for four months now — a good son that, eh?
Mich.
Come, come, Father Peter, Dmitri’s letters must have gone astray — perhaps the new postman can’t read; he looks stupid enough, and Dmitri, why, he was the best fellow in the village. Do you remember how he shot the bear at the barn in the great winter?
Peter.
Ay, it was a good shot; I never did a better myself.
Mich.
And as for dancing, he tired out three fiddlers Christmas come two years.
Peter.
Ay, ay, he was a merry lad. It is the girl that has the seriousness — she goes about as solemn as a priest for days at a time.
Mich.
Vera is always thinking of others.
Peter.
There is her mistake, boy. Let God and our Little Father look to the world. It is none of my work to mend my neighbour’s thatch. Why, last winter old Michael was frozen to death in his sleigh in the snowstorm, and his wife and children starved afterwards when the hard times came; but what business was it of mine? I didn’t make the world. Let God and the Czar look to it. And then the blight came, and the black plague with it, and the priests couldn’t bury the people fast enough, and they lay dead on the roads — men and women both. But what business was it of mine? I didn’t make the world. Let God and the Czar look to it. Or two autumns ago, when the river overflowed on a sudden, and the children’s school was carried away and drowned every girl and boy in it. I didn’t make the world — let God and the Czar look to it.
Mich.
But, Father Peter —
Peter.
No, no, boy; no man could live if he took his neighbour’s pack on his shoulders. (
Enter
Vera
in peasant’s dress.
) Well, my girl, you’ve been long enough away — where is the letter?
Vera.
There is none to-day, Father.
Peter.
I knew it.
Vera.
But there will be one to-morrow, Father.
Peter.
Curse him, for an ungrateful son.
Vera.
Oh, Father, don’t say that; he must be sick.
Peter.
Ay! sick of profligacy, perhaps.
Vera.
How dare you say that of him, Father? You know that is not true.
Peter.
Where does the money go, then? Michael, listen. I gave Dmitri half his mother’s fortune to bring with him to pay the lawyer folk of Moscow. He has only written three times, and every time for more money. He got it, not at my wish, but at hers (
pointing to
Vera
), and now for five months, close on six almost, we have heard nothing from him.
Vera.
Father, he will come back.
Peter.
Ay! the prodigals always return; but let him never darken my doors again.
Vera
(
sitting down pensive
). Some evil has come on him; he must be dead! Oh! Michael, I am so wretched about Dmitri.
Mich.
Will you never love any one but him, Vera?
Vera
(
smiling
). I don’t know; there is so much else to do in the world but love.
Mich.
Nothing else worth doing, Vera.
Peter.
What noise is that, Vera? (
A metallic clink is heard.
)
Vera
(
rising and going to the door
). I don’t know, Father; it is not like the cattle bells, or I would think Nicholas had come from the fair. Oh! Father! it is soldiers! — coming down the hill — there is one of them on horseback. How pretty they look! But there are some men with them with chains on! They must be robbers. Oh! don’t let them in, Father; I couldn’t look at them.
Peter.
Men in chains! Why, we are in luck, my child! I heard this was to be the new road to Siberia, to bring the prisoners to the mines; but I didn’t believe it. My fortune is made! Bustle, Vera, bustle! I’ll die a rich man after all. There will be no lack of good customers now. An honest man should have the chance of making his living out of rascals now and then.
Vera.
Are these men rascals, Father? What have they done?
Peter.
I reckon they’re some of those Nihilists the priest warns us against. Don’t stand there idle, my girl.
Vera.
I suppose, then, they are all wicked men.
(
Sound of soldiers outside; cry of “Halt!” enter Russian officer with a body of soldiers and eight men in chains, raggedly dressed; one of them on entering hurriedly puts his coat above his ears and hides his face; some soldiers guard the door, others sit down; the prisoners stand.
)
Colonel.
Innkeeper!
Peter.
Yes, Colonel.
Colonel
(
pointing to Nihilists
). Give these men some bread and water.
Peter
(
to himself
). I shan’t make much out of that order.
Colonel.
As for myself, what have you got fit to eat?
Peter.
Some good dried venison, your Excellency — and some rye whisky.
Colonel.
Nothing else?
Peter.
Why, more whisky, your Excellency.
Colonel.
What clods these peasants are! You have a better room than this?
Peter.
Yes, sir.
Colonel.
Bring me there. Sergeant, post your picket outside, and see that these scoundrels do not communicate with any one. No letter writing, you dogs, or you’ll be flogged for it. Now for the venison. (
To
Peter
bowing before him.
) Get out of the way, you fool! Who is that girl? (
sees
Vera
).
Peter.
My daughter, your Highness.
Colonel.
Can she read and write?
Peter.
Ay, that she can, sir.
Colonel.
Then she is a dangerous woman. No peasant should be allowed to do anything of the kind. Till your fields, store your harvests, pay your taxes, and obey your masters — that is your duty.
Vera.
Who are our masters?
Colonel.
Young woman, these men are going to the mines for life for asking the same foolish question.
Vera.
Then they have been unjustly condemned.
Peter.
Vera, keep your tongue quiet. She is a foolish girl, sir, who talks too much.
Colonel.
Every woman does talk too much. Come, where is this venison? Count, I am waiting for you. How can you see anything in a girl with coarse hands? (
He passes with
Peter
and his aide-de-camp into an inner room.
)
Vera
(
to one of the Nihilists
). Won’t you sit down? you must be tired.
Sergeant.
Come now, young woman, no talking to my prisoners.
Vera.
I shall speak to them. How much do you want?
Sergeant.
How much have you?
Vera.
Will you let these men sit down if I give you this? (
Takes off her peasant’s necklace.
) It is all I have; it was my mother’s.
Sergeant.
Well, it looks pretty enough, and is heavy too. What do you want with these men?
Vera.
They are hungry and tired. Let me go to them?
One of the Soldiers.
Let the wench be, if she pays us.
Sergeant.
Well, have your way. If the Colonel sees you, you may have to come with us, my pretty one.
Vera
(
advances to the Nihilists
). Sit down; you must be tired. (
Serves them food.
) What are you?
A Prisoner.
Nihilists.
Vera.
Who put you in chains?
Prisoner.
Our Father the Czar.
Vera.
Why?
Prisoner.
For loving liberty too well.
Vera
(
to prisoner who hides his face
). What did you want to do?
Dmitri.
To give liberty to thirty millions of people enslaved to one man.
Vera
(
startled at the voice
). What is your name?
Dmitri.
I have no name.
Vera.
Where are your friends?
Dmitri.
I have no friends.
Vera.
Let me see your face!
Dmitri.
You will see nothing but suffering in it. They have tortured me.
