TATIANA Are you a writer?

  TURGENEV No. But I thought I was. (He shoots’ at birds flying over. Laughs.) I'm a sportsman. (Pause.) But I'd still like to write a decent poem one day. Tomorrow, for example. It's lovely here. I'd like to stay.

  TATIANA (too quickly) You can. (Pause.) Michael's letter said, ‘Ivan Turgenev is my brother …’

  TURGENEV Michael described every inch of Premukhino … strolling down Unter den Linden to our favourite café. He talks about home all the time.

  TATIANA When he was here he talked about nothing but going to Berlin. Nicholas Stankevich was there, and Michael schemed and begged for years … and then when he got to Berlin at last, he heard Nicholas had died a month before in Italy.

  TURGENEV Yes, what a cure that turned out to be. It makes one angry, a death like that. Beside it, Pushkin's death is a comedy.

  Tatiana gasps, distressed.

  TURGENEV (cont.) An absurdity. If we weren't in tears, it would be sidesplitting. No other social class but ours could count it natural behaviour, to march grimly into the snow with loaded pistols and bang away because according to some anonymous lampoon a woman who once stirred your blood, and now only irritates you, is being kept occupied by someone as yet in the first stage of discovery. If we lived somewhere like … the Sandwich Islands, it would be the seducer who gets the sniggers while the husband hands out cigars to his friends … (Pause.) But the White Death that slips into the breast of the young and brave, blind to sense as a slow-worm, and makes itself at home, feeding on blood and breath … How do they like it now, those fine catchwords which sound even nobler in German?—the Universal, the Eternal, the Absolute, the Transcendent? How they must blush and shift about when they bump up against death by wasting and coughing—(He realises that Tatiana is upset.)—of course, of course—I'm so clumsy.

  TATIANA I always think of Liubov at this time of day in the garden … Once, not long before she died, Michael made a bonfire, just over there in the copse, and we brought Liubov out in a carriage like a queen coming to the dance … and I mulled the wine in a warming-pan … !

  The bonfire becomes audible, luciferous offstage.

  Liubov, brought from bed, reclining in a bed made up on a cart, is drawn into view by Michael, Varenka and Alexandra, who are in high spirits, calling, Here she is! Careful, careful!’, with Varvara keeping up and fussing over her. Liubov has a bouquet of the flowers picked by Alexander and Michael, which also decorate the cart. Two Serf Musicians accompany her. Alexander comes to meet the cart, with a glass in his hand.

  ALEXANDER This way, this way! Gluhwein!

  TATIANA It was the last time we were all together, and somehow we were happy! … even Varenka. She'd sent Dyakov away after one last effort to be his wife, and she was going to Germany with her son. It was Dyakov's final service.

  The cart is pulled out of sight. Varenka hangs back. Michael comes to fetch her.

  VARENKA But how will I live?

  MICHAEL (airily) Oh, you can … give music lessons, I don't know, what does it matter?

  They leave, laughing. The past fades.

  TATIANA (laughs to herself) The liberation of Varenka! She sold her bits of jewelry, and everyone was offering advice, Nicholas writing from Berlin …

  TURGENEV When I was in Rome I saw Nicholas and

  Varenka every day. Then, when I got back to Berlin, I had a letter from them, from Florence. He said he was doing better, and that he and Varenka were going to spend the summer by Lake Como. That was two weeks before he died in her arms. (Pause.) Yes … if you can't write a poem here, there's no hope. And not much if you can. (responding to her glance) At Premukhino the eternal, the ideal, seems to be in every breath around you, like a voice telling you how much more sublime is the unattainable, imagined happiness of the inner life, compared with the vulgar happiness of the crowd! And then you're dead. There's something missing in this picture. Stankevich was coming round to it, before the end. He said: ‘For happiness, apparently, something of the real world is necessary.’

  TATIANA Would you like me to show you the—(Stuck, she indicates vaguely.)—fishpond?

  TURGENEV Yes, very much. (He offers her his arm.) Oh yes, we're all Hegelians now. ‘What's rational is real, and what's real is rational.’ But Nicholas brought me and Michael together. I've got written in my Hegel: ‘Stankevich died June 24th 1840. I met Bakunin July 20th. In my life up to now, these are the only two dates I wish to remember.’ (Pause.) No, it must have been the beginning of August. (He ‘shoots’ a bird flying over.) By the Western calendar. I always think—our situation in Russia isn't hopeless while we've still got twelve days to catch up.

  They stroll away.

  ACT TWO

  MARCH 1834

  Moscow. The Zoo Gardens, near the skating ground. A sunny day on the cusp of spring. Bandstand music at a distance. There are some tables and chairs set out on the grass in an area served by a waiter from offstage. NICHOLAS OGAREV, aged twenty-one, and NICHOLAS SAZONOV, aged twenty-two, are at a table. ALEXANDER HERZEN, aged twenty-two, is of the party but standing aside, eating an ice cream with a spoon. A fourth young man, Stankevich, aged twenty-one, is lying on the grass, unidentified as yet, apparently asleep with his cap over his face. Sazonov and Ogarev wear home-made ‘French tricolour’ neckerchiefs. Sazonov also wears a beret.

  Liubov and Varvara, accompanying MRS BEYER, a well-to-do widow of about fifty, stroll into view.

  HERZEN What is wrong with this picture?

  VARVARA Varenka's engaged to an officer in the Cavalry … Nicholas Dyakov. He can't say boo to a goose—I don't think he's quite sure about that horse either—but otherwise very satisfactory. I was amazed Varenka accepted him without batting an eye, but thank God her future is settled. Unlike some.

  MRS BEYER (wagging her finger humorously at Liubov) You'll die an old maid. The Baron was a catch.

  VARVARA You see? You should listen to Mrs Beyer. But what's done is done, and it was Michael's doing, impossible boy, the sooner he's in the Army …

  MRS BEYER Children!

  LIUBOV There's your Natalie on the ice, Mrs Beyer.

  They leave towards the skating ground.

  HERZEN You remember those puzzle pictures, when we were children … there'd be a drawing with things wrong in it, a clock with no hands, a shadow going the wrong way, the sun and stars out at the same time … and it would say, ‘What is wrong with this picture?’ … Someone sitting next to you in class disappears overnight, nobody knows anything. In the public gardens ice creams are eaten, in all the usual flavours. What is wrong with this picture? The Kritski brothers disappeared for insulting the Tsar's portrait, Antonovich and his friends for forming a secret society, meaning they met in somebody's room to read a pamphlet you can buy on the street in Paris. Young men and women are pairing off like swans on the skating ground. A crocodile of Poles goes clanking by in leg-irons on the Vladimir road. There is something wrong with this picture. Are you listening? You're in the picture. Professor Pavlov, with a twinkle in his eye, has taken to button-holing us with philosophy—'You wish to understand the nature of reality? Ah, but what do we mean by reality? By nature? What do we mean by understand?’ So that's philosophy, well, well, and at Moscow University teaching philosophy is forbidden as a threat to public order. Professor Pavlov's class is physics and agriculture, it's only by centrifugal force that he goes flying off from crop rotation to Schelling's philosophy of nature … but what with Father Ternovsky substituting on female diseases and the professor of gynaecology returning the favour on the Immaculate Conception, nobody is the wiser, so that's all right … (looking out) Ketscher!

  NICHOLAS KETSCHER enters, greeted by Ogarev and Sazonov. He is older, twenty-eight, and is something of an irascible uncle-figure to the younger men. He is tall and thin, with glasses, and wears a black cape.

  KETSCHER (to Ogarev and Sazonov) Why are you dressed up like Frenchmen?

  A Waiter enters with a tray of glasses of tea, which he puts on the table.

  SAZONOV Ah!—you noticed. Because France is the flower of civilisation, and also the home of revolution which will lop off the head of the flower.

  KETSCHER (to the Waiter as he leaves) Thank you … (to Sazonov, nettled) Then you might at least speak French in front of the waiter …

  SAZONOV D'accord. Mille pardons!

  KETSCHER It's a bit late now.

  OGAREV You're drunk, Sazonov.

  SAZONOV You sang The Marseillaise’ outside the Maly Theatre.

  OGAREV I was drunk. I'm still drunk. (He smashes his hand down on a glass, breaking it.) Twenty-one and nothing done!

  NICHOLAS POLEVOY enters. He is thirty-eight but seems a generation older than the young men. He encounters the group on his stroll.

  POLEVOY Gentlemen …

  HERZEN Mr Polevoy! … Good day to you!

  POLEVOY Good day … good day …

  Polevoy raises his hat in general greeting, and, noticing the sleeping man, greets him also with a slight bow, raising Stankevich's cap slightly with his stick, to see his face.

  POLEVOY Please don't disturb yourself. Ah, Mr Ketscher! I received your article. I liked it. If you wish me to make it public in the Telegraph … would you take some friendly advice? Before it goes to the censor … one or two expressions … allusions … if you'd allow me …

  KETSCHER But it's an article about translating Shakespeare.

  Polevoy smiles knowingly, steadfastly, until Ketscher concedes.

  POLEVOY Will you trust me? Splendid. I'm delighted to have it … And what are those pretty scarves? Is it a club?

  OGAREV It is.

  Ogarev starts humming ‘The Marseillaise,’ Herzen and Sazonov joining in.

  POLEVOY (alarmed) Now, stop—stop that! Please! Such foolishness!—and inconsiderate of my own position. Every issue of the Telegraph plays with fire—not my words; words spoken in the Third Section and carried back to me. They can close me down like that—(snapping his fingers)—for a word out of place, and send me to Siberia.

  SAZONOV How long before it's our turn?

  KETSCHER I suppose that depends on the waiter.

  Sazonov thoughtfully puts his neckerchief in his pocket.

  SAZONOV I think I'm sober.

  OGAREV We made the scarves ourselves.

  POLEVOY Well, of course you did, Mr Ogarev.

  OGAREV Did you hear what happened? Five of our fellows arrested and sent into the Army. We got up a subscription for them … Ketscher and I were hauled in by Police General Lesovsky … our final warning, by the gracious clemency of Tsar Nicholas.

  POLEVOY Well, thank God for His Majesty! I'm surprised at you, Mr Ketscher, in your station in life.

  KETSCHER That's what Police General Lesovsky said.

  POLEVOY (stung) That's unfair …

  KETSCHER I'm a doctor, I'm not the Minister for Public Instruction.

  POLEVOY Everyone knows where I stand. I've been a lone voice for reform … but reform from above, not revolution from below. What can a handful of students do? They destroyed themselves for nothing. Their names will be forgotten.

  OGAREV Or live forever, perhaps.

  HERZEN (to Ogarev) Are you writing a poem?

  Ogarev jumps up, agitated by embarrassment, and starts to leave. He returns to the table to put some coins on it, then leaves again, but only as far as the next table, where he sits down with his back turned.

  HERZEN (cont.) Sorry! (confidentially) He writes poetry … very good, too.

  Stankevich rouses himself, ignoring everyone.

  SAZONOV He's awake. Stankevich, tea has made a phenomenal appearance, look.

  KETSCHER (looking out) There's someone out there keeping an eye on us … see him?

  POLEVOY (nervously) Where?

  KETSCHER Let's move.

  Stankevich takes a glass of tea.

  SAZONOV (to Ogarev) We're going, Nick, (to Stankevich, putting a coin on the table) Ten absolute kopecks, Stankevich.

  POLEVOY We shouldn't stay together.

  OGAREV (to Herzen) Are you coming, Sasha?

  POLEVOY You understand, Herzen. They can ban the Telegraph like that—(He snaps his fingers.)—and the voice of reform in Russia will be silenced for a generation.

  HERZEN To reform this oriental despotism will take more than the oriental tact of the Telegraph, Mr Polevoy.

  POLEVOY (stung) And what are you for, Herzen, you and your circle? Republicanism? Socialism? Anarchism?

  HERZEN Yes. We have renounced our right to be the gaolers in a population of prisoners. There's no air, no movement. Words are become deeds. Thoughts are deeds. They're punished more severely than ordinary crimes. We are revolutionaries with secret arsenals of social theory.

  POLEVOY What are you reading?

  HERZEN Saint-Simon.

  POLEVOY A cloak for sensuality and immoral behaviour! … God protect our young men and women from Saint-Simon!

  HERZEN Why, Mr Polevoy, I do believe you're as old-fashioned a conservative as the people you've been fighting all your life.

  Polevoy is deeply offended.

  POLEVOY I see how it is. Well, it will happen to you one day … some young man with a smile on his face, telling you, ‘Be off with you, you're behind the times!’ … So, I'll oblige you. My respects, sir …

  HERZEN (contrite) And mine, Mr Polevoy, believe me.

  Polevoy hurries away.

  HERZEN (cont.) (looking out) He's still there … Shoulder-first along the tree line like a wolf breaking cover, a starved wolf … well, good luck to him, he needs a new coat.

  STANKEVICH (ignoring, looking about) Yes … you're right … something wrong … Summer sunshine and the skating ground still frozen, it's a day made up of different days, unaccountable to the diurnal round, (looking out) No … he's waiting for me. (to Herzen) You offended Mr Polevoy for nothing, you know. Political arrangements are merely changing forms in the world of appearances.

  HERZEN (politely) I hope you're better soon. (Looks out.) Why don't you go and see what he wants? (He finishes his ice cream and puts money on the table.) What are we going to do about Russia? I exclude you, Stankevich, but what is to be done? Do you remember Sungurov? When Sungurov was being taken to Siberia, he managed to give his escorting officer the slip … but the police got on his track and when he saw there was no escape, he cut his throat but not enough, so they tried him again, and sent him to the mines, and his property was confiscated. This property consisted of two hundred and fifty souls in the Bronnitsky district of Moscow, and four hundred and fifty souls in Nizhny Novgorod. What is wrong with this picture? Nothing. It's Russia. A landowner's estate is reckoned not in acres but in adult male serfs, and the agent of reform is not the rebellious slave but the repentant master. What a country! Napoleon had to drag us into Europe before our embarrassment at ourselves put seditious thoughts of reform into the heads of the returning army officers. I was thirteen at the time of the December revolt. One day, not long after the Tsar celebrated his coronation by hanging the Decembrists, my father took me and Ogarev for a drive into the country. Until I met Nick I thought I was the only boy like me in the whole of Russia. At Luzhniki we crossed the river. Nick and I ran on ahead, up to the Sparrow Hills. At the top you could see all the roofs and cupolas of the city shining in the setting sun … and we suddenly embraced and made a sacred vow to dedicate our lives—yes, sacrifice them if need be—to avenge the Decembrists. It was the hinge of my life.

  STANKEVICH For me it was reading Schelling's System of Transcendental Idealism.

  HERZEN That is … almost unforgivable.

  STANKEVICH Reform can't come from above or below, only from within. The material world is nothing but the shadow on the wall of the cave. The convulsions of whole societies, in their frantic adjustment of advantage, are the perturbed, deformed spirit objectified on the wall of the cave. (He raises an arm in farewell.) Until we meet again.

  HERZEN (coldly) But we may not meet again.

  They separate and Herzen leaves. Belinsky enters. He looks and is almost reduced to beggary, and badly needs a new coat. He is excited.

  BELINSKY (calls out) Stankevich! Something good at last. Nadezhdin has offered me work on the Telescope. He's going to pay me sixty-four roubles a month.

  STANKEVICH You can't live on that.

  BELINSKY I've been living without it.

  STANKEVICH Of course you have, look at you, but you can't live on it.

  BELINSKY But what else can I do?

  STANKEVICH Be … an artist. Or a philosopher. Everything now depends on artists and philosophers. Great artists to express what can't be explained, philosophers to explain it!

  BELINSKY What I want to be is a literary critic.

  STANKEVICH That's a job for people whose second book didn't come up to expectations. Nadezhdin will have you reviewing twenty books a month for your sixty-four roubles, cookbooks, jokebooks, guidebooks …

  BELINSKY No, the job is to translate French novels for the Telescope … I'm translating Paul de Kock …

  STANKEVICH Oh, you're going to be a translator. That's a completely different matter. That is a gentleman's occupation.

  BELINSKY You approve.

  STANKEVICH But … you don't know French.

  BELINSKY I know I don't. Can you lend me a dictionary?

  They are interrupted by NATALIE BEYER calling from offstage.

  NATALIE Nicholas! Nicholas!