Herzen and Natalie leave, holding hands.
GEORGE (to Turgenev) Are you writing anything?
TURGENEV Well … no …
EMMA Yes, he is. It’s a comedy.
TURGENEV Here it comes.
Turgenev puts his palm out to the first drops. They leave, following Herzen and Natalie.
SEPTEMBER 1850
Nice (at this time an Italian town).
Herzen is writing on the verandah of a large house on the Promenade. The light is Mediterranean, the sea washing the shingles is audible, part of the garden is visible. The verandah is a large area containing a family dining table and chairs, and some comfortable chairs around a smaller table. There is a door to the interior. Mother and Kolya are absorbed together, at a distance from Herzen, using a hand mirror (in which Kolya studies his mouth movements). An Italian servant, ROCCA, is laying the table and singing for his own enjoyment. As he goes indoors, he passingly ‘serenades’ Mother and Kolya. Mother manages a game smile. With her collusion, Kolya trots over to Herzen. Herzen slightly over-enunciates for Kolya.
HERZEN Was moechtest du denn? [What do you want, darling?]
Kolya looks back to Mother for assurance. She smiles him on.
KOLYA Ich spreche Russisch! [I speak Russian!] (in ‘English’) ‘Sunny day! My name is Kolya!’
HERZEN Wunderbar! [Wonderful!]
Great delight, made physical, on all sides.
HERZEN (cont.) Jetzt sprichst du Russisch! [Now you speak Russian!]
KOLYA Ich spreche Russisch! [I speak Russian!]
Rocca returns, singing, with more things for the table.
HERZEN Zeig es Mami! [Show Mummy!] Do vei Signora? [Where is the Signora?]
ROCCA Sta nel giardino. [She was in the garden.]
Rocca leaves singing.
MOTHER I suppose the next one will juggle.
Herzen places Kolya’s hands on Herzen’s face and enunciates while Kolya lip-reads.
HERZEN (to Kolya) Garten. [Garden.]
Kolya trots off out of sight.
MOTHER But Italy is friendlier than Switzerland, especially to children and old ladies. The school in Zurich was the last straw—what a shock when they discovered they were harbouring the child of a dangerous revolutionary instead of a Russian nobleman.
HERZEN I was pleased that my little book made such an impression on the good burghers of Zurich … and we stole the school’s best teacher for Kolya, so it’s ended well—(He looks at his watch.)—and I have to meet him off the diligence at Genoa. He’ll soon have Kolya orating on the seashore like Demosthenes with a pebble in his mouth. But I want you to be happy here, too.
MOTHER I, too? (She kisses him.)
HERZEN I liked Nice when we came through here on our way to Rome three years ago, do you remember?
MOTHER I remember the shingle beach when we were on our way back after the French Republic was declared … and the excitement, when we reached the border, of having Republican stamps in our passports … A French stamp, even before the Republic, would get you into trouble at home, Sasha …
HERZEN How can I go back? I’ve tried suffocation, darkness, fear and censorship—and I’ve tried air, light, security and freedom to publish—and I know which is better. There’s no emperor or king or pope in Europe who can match the Tsar for despotism, especially now, after the almighty scare he got … The people here have had a civilisation for two thousand years, and they keep something of themselves which no passing tyranny can eradicate. But I’ll show you why I can’t go home again. (He goes to the table where he has been working and picks up a French journal.) Here’s a man writing about us. It’s a French paper. He’s the first person in France to write about the Russian people, and he can prove that the Russian people are not human, because they are devoid of moral sense. The Russian is a thief and a liar, and is so innocently because it’s his nature.
MOTHER He doesn’t mean us, he means the peasants.
HERZEN Yes, they lie to landowners, officials, judges, policemen … and steal from them—and they are right, because they are denied every kind of self-protection and dignity. What have our moral categories got to do with the Russians we’ve abandoned? Not to steal would be to concede the fairness of their portion. For two hundred years their whole life has been one long dumb passive protest against the existing order. They have no one to speak for them.
MOTHER What time is the diligence?
HERZEN God give me Medea!
MOTHER (indicating the garden) Kolya’s nagging Natalie to go to the beach—and she’s in no fit state—where’s the nurse?
HERZEN (throwing down the journal) This is not some demented pamphleteer, he’s a distinguished historian famous for his humanitarian views, writing for intelligent Frenchmen—(shouting after her) It’s about time to acquaint Europe with Russia, don’t you think?
Mother leaves.
Herzen looks at his watch, hurries away, reverses direction and shouts towards the garden.
HERZEN (cont.) Don’t let go of his hand in the water!
Leaving again, he encounters Emma, who is no longer pregnant, wheeling a small baby carriage.
HERZEN (cont.) Is there any news of George? When is he coming?
EMMA I don’t know.
HERZEN Well, it’s too bad of him. We’re not complete without him.
Natalie, seven months pregnant, comes into view.
HERZEN (cont.) (to Natalie) I’m going to pick up Spielmann. That’s his name!—Spielmann!
Laughing, he runs off calling for Rocca. Natalie comes forward.
NATALIE Was there a letter?
Emma gives Natalie a sealed letter.
NATALIE (cont.) Thank you. (Natalie puts the letter in her bosom.)
EMMA If he says when he’s coming, perhaps you’ll tell me.
NATALIE Yes, of course.
EMMA If you loved him, you’d leave Alexander.
NATALIE (shakes her head) Alexander must be spared this. The one time he began to wonder … he nearly lost his mind. I would have done anything to reassure him.
EMMA You did the simplest thing. If you weren’t in a state where you can hardly be said to be of practical use, George would be here now.
NATALIE You mustn’t humiliate yourself, Emma. He loves you, too.
EMMA I’m a post office, and living upstairs in your house like a lodger, which is all we can afford to be—there is no further humiliation I could suffer. But I’m glad to do it for my George. He was unrecognisable when I came from Paris. He was suffering more than I. If you can’t make him happy—or cure him—give him back. He’ll come back anyway. This is not love, it’s exaltation.