OGAREV I don't find that position entirely clear.

  SASHA Natalie was with a visitor.

  IVAN TURGENEV comes from the house, wearing a top hat, with a boutonniere in his frock coat.

  TURGENEV Friends!

  HERZEN Turgenev! … The wanderer returns.

  TURGENEV Oh, I thought I was the Russian on his wanderings, but it's a close thing, you're right. How are you, gentlemen? And young Sasha … Is Olga with us? No, she's not. So I can't send her in …

  HERZEN What's the news? Tell us at once.

  TURGENEV First tell me the shotgun I ordered from Lang has found you safely.

  HERZEN It's here. We never even took it out of its case.

  TURGENEV Well, thank God. I was worried, the way you change houses as if the law was after you.

  OGAREV Sasha, perhaps a drink for …

  TURGENEV No, nothing, (to Sasha) I have a message from Natalie. Please find Tata, dead or alive, and nothing more will be said about you-know-what.

  SASHA I don't know what. (Laughs.) Tata?

  TURGENEV I'm only quoting. And Olga, if you see her.

  SASHA She's always hiding. Are you going to the opera?

  TURGENEV (put out) The opera … ? Why?

  OGAREV He means dressed like that.

  TURGENEV Ah …

  OGAREV How is everything with your opera singer?

  TURGENEV Ogarev, that is slightly presumptuous.

  OGAREV Well, I'm slightly drunk, (to Sasha) He's going to his club.

  TURGENEV (to Sasha) Dead or alive.

  Sasha leaves, calling for Tata.

  TURGENEV (cont.) (confidentially) A little matter of becetroot juice on the cheekbones, (to Ogarev) I've got a club. I'm a member of the Athenaeum. I've met Carlyle, Macaulay, Thackeray, Disraeli, I nearly met Lord Palmerston. I think you'll agree, none of your couriers has covered his tracks with half my panache. There's a package of letters I've left indoors, and the latest Contemporary, though God knows one doesn't take much pleasure in it. How did a magazine started by Pushkin get into the hands of these literary Jacobins? That's somebody else I've met—D'Antes, the man who killed Pushkin, met him in Paris, you'll never guess where. Dinner at the Russian Embassy! Can you imagine? ‘Ere those shoes were old …’ So that's what our masters think of literature.

  OGAREV Did you leave?

  TURGENEV Leave? No. I should have done. I never thought of that. Can't we go inside? It's damp.

  HERZEN It's damp inside. There's nothing the matter with you.

  TURGENEV How would you know? You haven't got my bladder.

  OGAREV How long were you in Paris?

  TURGENEV Hardly at all, I was … in the country, shooting. (to Ogarev) Yes, with my friends the Viardots.

  OGAREV There's rumours, you know, that she's never let you … It's a scandal! (Ogarev leaves towards the house.)

  TURGENEV What's the matter with him?

  HERZEN He needs a drink.

  TURGENEV Hardly.

  HERZEN What's the news from home?

  TURGENEV I'm going to give my new novel to Katkov.

  HERZEN To the Russian Herald? Everyone will think you've joined the reactionary camp.

  TURGENEV I can't help that. You've seen what those thugs Chernyshevsky and Dobrolyubov have done to the Contemporary. They despise me. I have my dignity … Well, not to mention artistic principles. I was the one who defended Chernyshevsky, you know, when he made his debut with the discovery that you can't eat a painted apple, so art is merely life's poor relation; paintings of the sea are only useful for people living in the middle of Russia who don't know what the sea looks like. I stood up for him. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘yes, these are the ravings of an infantile bigot, the stinking vomit of a vulture without the first understanding of art—but,’ I said, ‘there is something here which shouldn't be ignored; the man has made a connection with something vital in the times.’ I invited him to dinner. It didn't stop him using my last story as a stick to beat me for being a gentleman and therefore incapable of the positive action needed to save Russia … all because the hero of my tale is an indecisive lover! Apparently, that means he's a liberal. Oh, yes, that's the other thing. The word ‘liberal’ has now entered the scatological vocabulary, like ‘halfwit’ or ‘hypocrite’ … It means anyone who supports peaceful reform over violent revolution. Our generation of repentant gentry comes off very badly, lumped in with indecisive lovers and slugabeds from Onegin to Oblomov—we're all examples of the same disease, an egotistical upper-class weakness with its roots in the social corruption of a society based on serfdom. (Pause.) Well, that makes sense, probably. Dobrolyubov is only twelve years old, you know. Well, he's a child, anyway, he may be twenty-two. I was introduced to him when I looked in at the office. A surly specimen, utterly humourless, a fanatic, he gave me the creeps. I invited him to dinner. Do you know what he said? He said, ‘Ivan Sergeyevich, don't let's go on talking to each other. It bores me.’ And he walked off to the far corner of the room. I'm their star writer! Well, I was. (Pause.) There's something fascinating about them.

  HERZEN ‘Very dangerous!’ It's as if some people only half read the Bell, the half that infuriates them. Chernyshevsky denounces us because we urge the Tsar not to let up on the landowners and the bureaucracy. The liberals and the conservatives denounce us because we urge the peasants to keep their axes ready if all else fails. But reform from above or revolution from below, freeing the serfs is an absolute.

  TURGENEV And then what? The Bell is as coy as an old maid, but every so often you and Ogarev can't resist lifting your skirts to show what's hiding there—and look!—it's the Russian peasant! He's so different from those Western peasants, so natural and unspoiled, just wait till he comes out from under the skirts and rises to his full height, he'll show those French intellectuals how Russian socialism will redeem their bankrupt revolution … smothering capitalism in the cradle while the West continues down the road to famine, war, pestilence and useless ornaments in dubious taste. Personally, I only denounce you as sentimental fantasists. You're talking to a man who's made a literary reputation out of the Russian peasantry, and they're no different from Italian, French or German peasants. Conservatives par excellence. Give them time and they'll be a match for any Frenchman when it comes to bourgeois aspirations and middle-class mediocrity. We're Europeans, we're just late, that's all. Would you mind if I emptied my bladder into your laurels? (He moves away.)

  HERZEN Isn't that what you just did? So what if we are cousins in the European family?—It doesn't mean we have to develop in the same way, knowing where it leads to. (angrily) I can't have this conversation while you're—

  He is interrupted by Turgenev's startled exclamation, followed by a greeting. Turgenev returns discomfited, with Olga.

  TURGENEV Hello. Did I startle you? I was just … looking at …

  Tata and Sasha follow unconcernedly. Ogarev and Natalie come from the house.

  NATALIE Olga! In! …

  Olga runs to the house.

  TATA (to Turgenev) It's our blackbird's nest.

  NATALIE Tata, there you are.

  TATA Did you see it?

  NATALIE I've got something for you, my darling.

  TATA (grudgingly) What?

  NATALIE Well, I wouldn't like to waste it on a face like that … Here you are. (She gives Tata a little pot of rouge.)

  TATA Rouge … ? Oh—thank you, Natalie … I'm sorry.

  Natalie and Tata go into a weeping embrace, thanking, apologising, forgiving, etc.

  HERZEN (to Turgenev) All finished?

  Turgenev shakes his head.

  TATA Can I go and try it?

  NATALIE Let me.

  HERZEN What's all this?

  Natalie applies a little rouge to Tata's cheeks.

  NATALIE Woman's business. Don't go out wearing it, mind.

  HERZEN (to Sasha) Will you show Turgenev where …

  SASHA (pointing to the laurels) There.

  TURGENEV How grown up everyone is. (to Sasha) Natalie tells me you're going to do your studies in Switzerland.

  SASHA Yes—medical school. I'll be coming home for vacation.

  HERZEN (to Turgenev) You'll stay to dinner.

  NATALIE He can't, he's going to the opera.

  TATA I want to go and look in the mirror. (Tata leaves to the house.)

  TURGENEV Yes, yes, I am, as a matter of fact.

  OGAREV Ah. Good.

  Turgenev leaves with Sasha.

  Herzen, Natalie and Ogarev settle themselves.

  HERZEN (Pause.) So, how are you today? Still cross? No—just say. Are you cross or not? Oh, I can see you are.

  NATALIE Why, what am I doing?

  HERZEN You're just cross, don't deny it. It's because of what I said yesterday at the zoo.

  NATALIE What did you say?

  HERZEN Listen, you mustn't take every general remark personally.

  NATALIE I don't know what you're talking about.

  HERZEN Now, don't get cross.

  Ogarev, irritated beyond patience, abruptly leaves, to the house.

  Natalie starts crying.

  HERZEN (cont.) And he's all nerves, too. Please don't cry.

  NATALIE He's in pain. We've broken his heart. His worst enemy couldn't have hurt him more.

  HERZEN He's gone to get a drink.

  NATALIE And why do you think he drinks?

  HERZEN Oh, come, come, Ogarev used to drink the alcohol out of the test tubes at university.

  NATALIE You're so right all the time. Even when you're in the wrong, you're so sure you know better than anyone. Nick, who's truly in the right, is the only one of us who makes no fuss about this … this mistaken dream of a beautiful life together. You love me, but it's not the deep pure love we talked about, not the love which transcends the day-to-day pettiness of normal human failings, which are mostly mine, I know …

  HERZEN Not at all, only—you mustn't get so …

  NATALIE I only wish Nicholas could love me with your indifference.

  HERZEN Natalie, Natalie—

  NATALIE No, I can't do it anymore. I've thought about it. I'm going home to Russia. I've told Nick.

  HERZEN What … ?

  NATALIE He says I shouldn't sacrifice myself—that I should let myself enjoy your love as best I can—but—

  HERZEN As best you can? How can you go to Russia—how can you leave the children?

  NATALIE I can take Liza.

  HERZEN Take our daughter to Russia? For how long?

  NATALIE I don't know. I want to see my sister.

  HERZEN What about Olga? Who'll look after her?

  NATALIE Malwida will.

  HERZEN Malwida … ? How do you know? My God, am I the last one to be told … ?

  NATALIE I'm going to Russia! I've done enough harm here. Nick's killing himself because of me!

  There is a gunshot. Natalie jumps up and runs towards the house, meeting Ogarev, who has an opened letter. Natalie collapses weeping on his breast.

  OGAREV Now, now … now, now … what's all this? Look what I've got here—a letter from Bakunin!—from Siberia!

  HERZEN Bakunin! Is he free?

  OGAREV Released into exile. A reader's letter!

  HERZEN Praise be! Is he well?

  OGAREV Quite his old self, I'd say. It's a letter of complaint about the Bell.

  NATALIE (to Ogarev) I've told Alexander—I'm going home!

  Natalie leaves. Herzen takes the letter and starts reading it.

  OGAREV Ah, that's another thing. (Ogarev takes an envelope from his pocket.) From the Russian Embassy—a formal summons to return … I can't obey it, so … they won't let Natalie go home now, we'll both be banished. She's going to be dreadfully …

  Turgenev enters with his new double-barrelled shotgun.

  TURGENEV Your son is a joker. I asked him if there were any birds of prey in Fulham, and he very kindly allowed me to shoot his kite.

  Sasha enters backwards, tugging on a nearly vertical kite string. Turgenev aims and fires the second barrel.

  HERZEN It's some kind of dream.

  The blackbird sings in the laurels. Turgenev takes a mock shot at it.

  JUNE 1859

  There is a small area of gaslight: a street corner in a West End slum. Sounds include drunken argument, laughter, a pianola. Ogarev is with MARY SUTHERLAND.

  Mary, aged thirty, is not on the bottom-most rung of society nor of prostitution. She speaks schooled English in a London working-class accent. Ogarev speaks broken English in a heavy Russian accent. The dialogue as written does not take account of pronunciation.

  OGAREV Mary!

  MARY You turned up again, (friendly) Do you want to go with me? (Ogarev hesitates, searching for words.) I pleased you, didn't I? (Ogarev nods.) Well, then, what's the long face for?

  OGAREV You are right, of course. There was no arrangement. And, after all, thirty shillings is not a fortune.

  MARY God, your accent is something chronic!

  OGAREV How is Henry?

  MARY Oh, well, so you remember his name.

  OGAREV Of course.

  MARY Now, listen, I know what you said, but it's easy to say, it's not money in the bank. It could have been the last I saw of you.

  OGAREV But I was serious.

  MARY They're always serious.

  OGAREV But I am serious.

  MARY Oh, all right, then. If you're serious. Seventeen-and- six Henry's boarding-out costs me. If I have him with me, we'll get along nicely on thirty shillings, and you could visit, there'll be nobody else, I swear.

  OGAREV Then all is good. We will meet on Putney Bridge tomorrow, twelve o’ clock, and we find you and Henry a nice lodging.

  MARY Putney! Will there be cows?

  OGAREV Perhaps.

  MARY All right. Why not?

  Ogarev takes Sasha's old harmonica from his coat pocket.

  OGAREV For Henry. It's a little broken. (He plays a little broken tune and offers it to her.)

  MARY You give it to him tomorrow. Do you want to—? It's paid for.

  OGAREV With your permission.

  MARY Have you got a little boy, too, then?

  OGAREV Ah, it is a sad Russian story.

  MARY Oh dear, I'm sorry. What happened?

  OGAREV It was winter. With my children I make hurry home through the forest in my … whoosh … !

  MARY Your sledge!

  OGAREV Precisely. Then I hear the wolves!

  MARY No!

  OGAREV I see the wolves coming after, coming closer … One by one I am forced to throw the children from the sledge …

  MARY What?!

  OGAREV First little Ivan, then Pavel, Fyodor … Katerina, Vasilly, Elizaveta, the twins, Anna and Mikhail …

  They leave arm in arm, Mary laughing.

  JULY 1859

  The garden. Herzen is alone with NICHOLAS CHERNYSHEVSKY, who is thirty-one, red-haired, with a tenor voice which is sometimes shrill, though presently he is calm and serious. He is to become, after his death, one of the early saints of the Bolshevik calendar. He is glancing negligently at a copy of the Bell.

  CHERNYSHEVSKY (accented) ‘Very Dangerous!’ … (continuing unaccented) Dobrolyubov and I argued about why the title was in English.

  HERZEN (shrugs) I saw it on a sign somewhere.

  CHERNYSHEVSKY At the zoo, perhaps. Your article made you many friends, not just among liberals—among the reactionaries, too.

  HERZEN Of course. They're delighted when there's a disagreement in our ranks, even if it's only about … well, what was it about, in reality?—a tone of voice, a certain lack of grace towards your predecessors. Why shouldn't I defend my generation from the ingratitude of history? They gave up social position, career, the comfortable advancement which was their inheritance—because in the Tsar's autocracy, there was no place for them that could be filled by sensitive human beings. But the tone of dissent has altered. It's harsh, jaundiced … a monastic order that excommunicates men for enjoying their dinner, and pictures and music. The gaiety has gone out of opposition.

  CHERNYSHEVSKY Gaiety.

  HERZEN Yes.

  CHERNYSHEVSKY I wanted to serve humanity, but I was a physical coward, so I spent part of my youth trying to invent a perpetual motion machine. In the end, I … lost my momentum. When I got married—this was eight years ago, when I returned home to Saratov from university—I told my bride how I thought my life would be. ‘Revolution is only a matter of time,’ I told her. ‘When it comes, I'll have to take part. It could end in forced labour or the gallows.’ I asked her, ‘Are you upset by this talk? Because I can't talk of anything else. It may go on for years. And what are the chances for a man who thinks this way? Here's an example for you,’ I said. ‘Herzen. I admire him more than any other Russian. There's nothing I wouldn't do for him’. (Pause.) I read From the Other Shore and Letters from France and Italy. It wasn't your gaiety, it was your grief, your fury … but yes, the stylishness, too, oh the flash and slash of your scorn, your logic, how you dealt with pomposity, delusion, pettiness … ! I marvelled at you. And now I find I can't read you anymore. I don't want brilliance. It turns my stomach. I want the black bread of facts and figures, analysis, projection. It's hard graft. I'm crushed by work. You and your friends lived the usual life of the upper classes. Your generation were the romantics of the cause, the dilettanti of revolutionary ideas. You liked being revolutionaries, if that's what you were. Well, that's better than wanting to be senators and generals. But with people like me, it wasn't a case of sacrificing our social position, it was because of our social position. Every day was a fight for life—against crop failure, cholera, horse thieves, brigands, huge packs of wolves … The only escape from the misery was to be a drunkard or a holy fool, of which we had many. I don't like my life. And there are things now I won't do for you.

  HERZEN Such as what?

  CHERNYSHEVSKY I won't believe in the good intentions of the Tsar. I won't believe in the good intentions of the government: authority will not undermine itself. Above all, I won't listen to babbling about progress. While the commission argues about terms, the serfs are being exploited more than ever as the nobility fights to keep its privileges. The case for reform is delusion. Only the axe will do.