Vera: or, The Nihilists

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.

Vera (tears the cloak from his face). Oh, God! Dmitri! my brother!

Dmitri. Hush! Vera; be calm. You must not let my father know; it would kill him. I thought I could free Russia. I heard men talk of Liberty one night in a café. I had never heard the word before. It seemed to be a new god they spoke of. I joined them. It was there all the money went. Five months ago they seized us. They found me printing the paper. I am going to the mines for life. I could not write. I thought it would be better to let you think I was dead; for they are bringing me to a living tomb.

Vera (looking round). You must escape, Dmitri. I will take your place.

Dmitri. Impossible! You can only revenge us.

Vera. I shall revenge you.

Dmitri. Listen! there is a house in Moscow —

Sergeant. Prisoners, attention! – the Colonel is coming – young woman, your time is up.

(Enter Colonel, Aide-de-Camp and Peter.)

Peter. I hope your Highness is pleased with the venison. I shot it myself.

Colonel. It had been better had you talked less about it. Sergeant, get ready. (Gives purse to Peter.) Here, you cheating rascal!

Peter. My fortune is made! long live your Highness. I hope your Highness will come often this way.

Colonel. By Saint Nicholas, I hope not. It is too cold here for me. (To Vera.) Young girl, don't ask questions again about what does not concern you. I will not forget your face.

Vera. Nor I yours, or what you are doing.

Colonel. You peasants are getting too saucy since you ceased to be serfs, and the knout is the best school for you to learn politics in. Sergeant, proceed.

(The Colonel turns and goes to top of stage. The prisoners pass out double file; as Dmitri passes Vera he lets a piece of paper fall on the ground; she puts her foot on it and remains immobile.)

Peter (who has been counting the money the Colonel gave him). Long life to your Highness. I will hope to see another batch soon. (Suddenly catches sight of Dmitri as he is going out of the door, and screams and rushes up.) Dmitri! Dmitri! my God! what brings you here? he is innocent, I tell you. I'll pay for him. Take your money (flings money on the ground), take all I have, give me my son. Villains! Villains! where are you bringing him?

Colonel. To Siberia, old man.

Peter. No, no; take me instead.

Colonel. He is a Nihilist.

Peter. You lie! you lie! He is innocent. (The soldiers force him back with their guns and shut the door against him. He beats with his fists against it.) Dmitri! Dmitri! a Nihilist! (Falls down on floor.)

Vera (who has remained motionless, picks up paper now from under her feet and reads). "99 Rue Tchernavaya, Moscow. To strangle whatever nature is in me; neither to love nor to be loved; neither to pity nor to be pitied; neither to marry nor to be given in marriage, till the end is come." My brother, I shall keep the oath. (Kisses the paper.) You shall be revenged!

(Vera stands immobile, holding paper in her lifted hand. Peter is lying on the floor. Michael, who has just come in, is bending over him.)

End of Prologue

ACT I

Scene. —99 Rue Tchernavaya, Moscow. A large garret lit by oil lamps hung from ceiling. Some masked men standing silent and apart from one another. A man in a scarlet mask is writing at a table. Door at back. Man in yellow with drawn sword at it. Knocks heard. Figures in cloaks and masks enter.

Password. Per crucem ad lucem

Answer. Per sanguinem ad libertatem

(Clock strikes. Conspirators form a semicircle in the middle of the stage.)

President. What is the word?

First Consp. Nabat.

Pres. The answer?

Second Consp. Kalit.

Pres. What hour is it?

Third Consp. The hour to suffer.

Pres. What day?

Fourth Consp. The day of oppression.

Pres. What year?

Fifth Consp. Since the Revolution of France, the ninth year.

Pres. How many are we in number?