GRANOVSKY To whom?
HERZEN To me. Not just me. The future is being scrawled on the factory walls of Paris.
GRANOVSKY Why? Why necessarily? We have no factory districts. Why should we wait to be inundated from within by our very own industrialised Goths? Everything you hold dear in civilisation will be smashed on the altar of equality … the equality of the barracks.
HERZEN You judge the common people after they’ve been brutalised. But people are good, by nature. I have faith in them.
GRANOVSKY Without faith in something higher, human nature is animal nature.
HERZEN Without superstition, you mean.
GRANOVSKY Superstition? Did you say superstition?
Herzen forgets to keep his temper, and Granovsky starts to respond in kind until they are rowing.
HERZEN Superstition! The pious and pitiful belief that there’s something outside or up there, or God knows where, without which men can’t find their nobility.
GRANOVSKY Without ‘up there,’ as you call it, scores have to be settled down here—that’s the whole truth about materialism.
HERZEN How can you—how dare you—throw away your dignity as a human being? You can choose well or badly without deference to a ghost!—you’re a free man, Granovsky, there’s no other kind.
Natalie arrives hurriedly and frightened. Her distress is at first misinterpreted. She runs to Alexander and hugs him, unable to speak. There are some mushrooms in her basket.
NATALIE Alexander …
HERZEN (apologetically to Natalie) It’s only a little argument …
GRANOVSKY (to Natalie) It grieves me deeply to have to absent myself from a household in which I have always received a kind welcome. (Granovsky starts to leave.)
NATALIE There’s a policeman come to the house—I saw him from the field.
HERZEN A policeman?
A Servant comes from the house, overtaken by a uniformed
POLICEMAN.
HERZEN (cont.) Oh God, not again … Natalie, Natalie …
POLICEMAN Is one of you Herzen?
HERZEN I am.
POLICEMAN You’re to read this. From Count Orlov.
The Policeman gives Herzen a letter. Herzen tears it open.
NATALIE (to the Policeman) I want to go with him.
POLICEMAN I wasn’t told …
Herzen hugs Natalie.
HERZEN It’s all right. (announces) After twelve years of police surveillance in and out of exile, Count Orlov has graciously let it be known, I can now apply to travel abroad … !
The others gather round him in relief and congratulation. The Policeman hesitates. Natalie snatches the letter.
KETSCHER You’ll see Sazonov again.
GRANOVSKY He’s changed.
TURGENEV And Bakunin …
GRANOVSKY He hasn’t, I’m afraid.
NATALIE ‘… to travel abroad to seek medical assistance in respect of your son Nikolai Alexandrovich …’
HERZEN (lifting her up) Paris, Natalie!
Her basket of mushrooms falls and spills.
NATALIE (weeping with joy) … Kolya! … (Natalie runs off.)
HERZEN Where’s Nick?
POLICEMAN Good news, then.
Herzen takes the hint and tips him. The Policeman leaves.
NATALIE (returning) Where’s Kolya?
HERZEN Kolya? I don’t know. Why?
NATALIE Where is he?
Natalie runs out, calling the name.
HERZEN (following hurriedly) He can’t hear you …
Turgenev rushes out after them, Granovsky and Ketscher following anxiously.
After a pause, during which Natalie can be heard distantly, silence falls.
Distant thunder.
Sasha enters from another direction and turns to look back. He comes forward and sees the spilled mushrooms. He rights the basket. Ogarev enters at peace, carrying Sasha’s fishing cane and jar, glancing behind him.
OGAREV (calls) Come on, Kolya!
SASHA He can’t hear you.
OGAREV Come along!
SASHA He can’t hear you.
Ogarev goes back towards Kolya.
Distant thunder.
OGAREV There, you see? He heard that.
He goes out.
Sasha starts putting the mushrooms into the basket.
JULY 1847
Salzbrunn, a small spa town in Germany.
[VISSARION BELINSKY and Turgenev took rooms on the ground floor of a small wooden house in the main street. A shack in the courtyard served them as a summer pavilion.] Belinsky and Turgenev are reading separate manuscripts, a short story and a long letter respectively, while drinking water from large beakers. Belinsky is thirty-six and less than a year from death. His face is pale and smooth. He has a stout walking stick to hand. Turgenev finishes first. He puts the letter on the table. He waits for Belinksy to finish reading, and drinks from his beaker, making a face. Belinsky finishes reading and gives the manuscript to Turgenev. Turgenev waits for the verdict. Belinsky nods thoughtfully, drinks from his beaker.
BELINSKY Hm. You don’t tell the reader what you think.
TURGENEV What I think? What has that got to do with the reader?
Belinsky laughs, coughs, slams his stick, recovers.
BELINSKY And what do you think about my letter to Gogol?
TURGENEV Oh … well, I don’t see the necessity for it.
BELINSKY Be careful, boy, or I’ll stand you in the corner.
TURGENEV You said what you had to say about his book in the Contemporary. Is this the future of criticism?—first the bad notice, then the abusive letter to the author?
BELINSKY The censor cut at least a third of my review. But that’s not the point. Gogol evidently thinks I rubbished his book, because he took a swipe at me. I’m not having that. He has to be made to understand that I took personal offence from cover to cover! I loved that man. I found him. Now he’s gone mad—and this apostle of Tsar Nicholas, this champion of serfdom, corporal punishment, censorship, ignorance and obscurantist piety, thinks I gave him a bad notice out of pique. His book is a crime against humanity and civilisation.
TURGENEV No—it’s a book … a bad, stupid book but with all the sincerity of religious mania—why drive him madder? You should pity him.
Belinsky thumps angrily with his stick.