Stankevich waves to her.

  BELINSKY Where will you be later?

  STANKEVICH Don't run away—you're clever enough to look Natalie Beyer in the eye, so don't look at her boots.

  Natalie, aged twenty, enters from the skating ground, tottering on skates.

  NATALIE Nicholas, you're just in time to help me.

  She puts one foot up on his thigh and gives him her skate key.

  NATALIE (cont.) There, mon chevalier.

  STANKEVICH A votre service. Belinsky's got a job on the Telescope.

  NATALIE (rapidly) C'est merveilleux. Vous voulez dire que vous allez écrire pour la revue? Mais c'est formidable. Nous allons vous lire. Nous lisons le Télescope tous les mois, maisje ne comprends pas la moitié—vous devez être très intelligent! Vous serez célèbre sous peu, Monsieur Belinsky! [How wonderful! Do you mean to say you'll be writing things in the magazine? But how exciting. We'll be your readers! We take the Telescope every month, but I don't understand half the stuff in it—you must be so clever! You'll be famous in no time, Mr Belinsky! We'll all be proud to know you.]

  Belinsky stares at her boots.

  BELINSKY Au revoir, then.

  STANKEVICH You'll come on Friday?

  BELINSKY (going) I don't think so … I have to do three chapters by next week.

  Mrs Beyer, Varvara and Liubov return, to meet Natalie. Belinsky, seeing them coming, hastens his exit.

  MRS BEYER They've got an estate at Voronezh, seven thousand souls. He's teaching Natalie how everything's philosophical underneath on Fridays.

  VARVARA Why only on Fridays?

  NATALIE Liubov! Hello, Mrs Bakunin.

  MRS BEYER Take your foot down, whatever next? Mr Stankevich, how are you? You must come and see us soon.

  NATALIE You'll have to kneel at my feet instead. This is my friend Liubov Bakunin and her mama.

  Stankevich bows.

  LIUBOV Let me do it. Where's the key?

  Stankevich gives Liubov the skate key. The moment of contact increases Liubov's shyness.

  MRS BEYER The ice is melting, look … The year can get on now …

  NATALIE You must come to the Philosophical Circle, Liubov. We meet every week in Nicholas's rooms.

  STANKEVICH DO you live in Moscow?

  LIUBOV No.

  VARVARA We're just up for a few days. But we have philosophy in Tver, too. You must meet my son Michael.

  STANKEVICH Is he studying philosophy?

  VARVARA Yes, he's at the Artillery School.

  Liubov comes up with the skates.

  LIUBOV There.

  MRS BEYER We must keep moving. Don't forget, Mr Stankevich.

  Mrs Beyer leaves with Varvara. Stankevich bows the group on its way, then changes his mind.

  STANKEVICH I'll come as far as your carriage. (to Liubov, offering to carry the skates) Allow me …

  Liubov gives him the skates.

  STANKEVICH (cont.) (to Liubov) We're reading Schelling at the moment. Perhaps you … ?

  NATALIE Are you going to carry my skates? How gallant!

  Natalie, Liubov and Stankevich follow Varvara and Mrs Beyer out.

  The weather changes … storm clouds, rain, darkness visible.

  Belinsky, with his hunched-over averted gait, is on his way to the Soiree, now wearing a better coat.

  MARCH 1835

  The Soirée is a regular ‘open house’ at Mrs Beyer's residence. The presence of liveried servants does not betoken great wealth or opulent surroundings. The livery is more likely to be shabby, and the scale of things is domestic rather than ducal. A Liveried Servant takes Belinsky's dripping coat. The party within is more peripatetic than sedentary. People move into view as occasion requires them. There is more movement and overlap than would be inferred from the sequential description of the scene. Wine, food, Footmen, Guests and music and dancing as may be. Tatiana and Alexandra hurry by, laughing conspiratorially, holding hands.

  TATIANA She didn't!

  ALEXANDRA She did. But he wouldn't.

  They are convulsed with laughter again. PETER CHAADAEV, aged forty-one, high-domed and bald, a gentleman philosopher, bows to them as they run off with their secret. He establishes himself in a tucked-away chair, more given to receiving an audience than seeking it.

  CHAADAEV Delightful … delightful … Young people …

  Elsewhere STEPAN SHEVYREV, a young professor, is reading indignantly from a journal (the Telescope) to Polevoy, who is slightly drunk and paying little attention.

  SHEVYREV (reading) ‘… I stubbornly hold to the fateful belief—listen to this—'I stubbornly hold to the fateful belief—’

  POLEVOY (gloomily) Closed down. (He snaps his fingers.) Like that. I made the Telegraph the lone voice of reform.

  SHEVYREV Do you want to hear this?

  POLEVOY Of course, of course. What?

  SHEVYREV This upstart—a raznochinetz—a failed student, in fact, picked out of the gutter by Nadezhdin—using the Telescope to hold up to ridicule our best, our finest—listen to this—'I stubbornly hold—’

  POLEVOY Nadezhdin should try editing a real magazine. The Telegraph played with fire—not my words, words spoken in the Third Section and carried back to me!

  SHEVYREV You don't want me to read it.

  POLEVOY Yes, I do.

  SHEVYREV ‘I stubbornly—’

  POLEVOY But to be closed down— (He snaps his fingers.)—like that—for giving a play a bad notice!

  SHEVYREV ‘I stubbornly hold to the fateful belief that despite the fact that our Sumarokov far outstrips Corneille and Racine in tragedy, despite the fact that our Kheraskov has made himself the equal of Homer and Virgil—that our Russian wit Brambeus leaves Voltaire trampled in his dust—’

  Ketscher, moderately drunk, enters Polevoy's orbit.

  POLEVOY Ketscher! You heard? (He snaps his fingers.) The Telegraph played with fire once too often!

  SHEVYREV ‘—that our young lion Kukolnik has at his first bound overtaken the genius of Goethe—’

  Belinsky enters the party timidly, and, hearing his own words being read aloud, turns tail.

  SHEVYREV (cont.) ‘—and at his second, fallen short only of Kryukovsky—despite all this, I say and say again—’

  Belinsky, leaving, collides with Michael, who is in military uniform. They don't know each other. Belinsky apologises blindly and leaves.

  SHEVYREV (cont.) ‘—we have no literature!’

  POLEVOY (to Ketscher) I'm lucky not to be in Siberia. And so are you, by the way. Why didn't they arrest you when they arrested Herzen and the others?

  KETSCHER (shrugs) Russia.

  SHEVYREV (interrupting) It's not literary criticism, it's iconoclasm for its own sake!

  Polevoy draws Ketscher aside as Mrs Beyer and Varvara enter, meeting Michael, who now has Tatiana on his arm.

  POLEVOY I warned them. They destroyed themselves for nothing.

  VARVARA Michael! I don't understand why you aren't with your regiment.

  MICHAEL (leaving) My commanding officer keeps asking me the same thing.

  VARVARA (following Michael and Tatiana out) Michael … !

  Shevyrev fastens himself on Varvara, leaving with her.

  SHEVYREV Have you seen the Telescope? Listen to this—'I stubbornly hold to the fateful belief

  Mrs Beyer spots Chaadaev and heads for him. Stankevich, entering, bows to her. To his bewilderment Mrs Beyer cuts him.

  STANKEVICH Mrs Beyer.

  POLEVOY (snapping his fingers at Mrs Beyer) Like that!

  MRS BEYER (vaguely) Mr Polevoy … (to Chaadaev) Peter!

  Stankevich leaves. Chaadaev greets Mrs Beyer.

  KETSCHER (to Polevoy, meanwhile) Sentenced in secret after nine months in custody. Three got prison, six got exile, Herzen the furthest—to Perm. All for some loose talk at a supper party Herzen wasn't even at. The joke is, Sazonov, who was there, wasn't even arrested, and now they've given him a passport to go abroad for his health! If these people were doctors, they'd look up your arse for your tonsils …

  CHAADAEV (to Mrs Beyer) Your house is a haven from, in my case, idleness.

  MRS BEYER I've been telling everybody that you've written that très méchant article in the Telescope.

  CHAADAEV Yes, I saw it … It's an interesting moment.

  MRS BEYER A moment?

  CHAADAEV A moment, yes.

  Polevoy, unbidden, includes them in his orbit, deserting Ketscher.

  POLEVOY Yes, the Telegraph played with fire once too often!

  MRS BEYER We're speaking of the Telescope, Mr Polevoy.

  POLEVOY I beg to correct you, dear lady. I should know—I made the Telegraph the voice of reform, I flatter myself I had the ear of His Majesty … But who'd have guessed it? Closed down for a bad review of Kukolnik's new play!

  CHAADAEV You might have guessed that a play which unites the interests of God and His Majesty's ancestors would have the approval of the Royal Family.

  POLEVOY Have you seen it, sir?

  CHAADAEV No, I wasn't in St Petersburg.

  MRS BEYER You're going to look very silly, Mr Polevoy, aren't you, in a hundred years when The Hand of the Almighty Saved the Fatherland is a classic and the name of Kukolnik is synonymous with Russian theatre.

  Offstage, a table is knocked over, with a sound of toppling glasses and local alarm and dismay. Belinsky backs into view, apologising and followed by Stankevich. Ketscher hastens grandly to the mishap.

  KETSCHER Stand back! I'm a doctor!

  MRS BEYER Now what?

  BELINSKY I knew it would be like this!

  STANKEVICH It's all right, Belinsky …

  Belinsky tries to flee. Stankevich, trying to hold him back, pulls him by the coat pocket, which rips. A coin or two and a small penknife fall to the floor. Belinsky heedlessly blunders away.

  STANKEVICH (cont.) Wait … You've dropped your …

  Stankevich picks up the coins as Mrs Beyer, leaving to investigate, encounters him in what appears to her a posture of supplication. She indicates her impatience and continues out.

  POLEVOY (to Chaadaev) But no doubt you have read Kukolnik's play?

  CHAADAEV No … I started to read it, but after a while I seemed to lose interest, and I was still on the title.

  Stankevich, searching the floor, is interrupted by Natalie entering.

  NATALIE What are you doing?

  STANKEVICH Natalie!—your mother … What have I done?

  NATALIE She … (firmly) Well, Nicholas, you've let her believe you … you've been playing with my affections!

  POLEVOY (leaving, snaps his fingers, to no one) Like that!

  STANKEVICH (staggered) But … in all the times I've come to your house, in the whole year you've been coming to our meetings, have I ever by word or gesture sullied the pure spirituality of our—

  NATALIE (losing her temper) It's more than a year!

  She goes out, leaving Stankevich baffled, and returns immediately.

  NATALIE (cont.) (changing tack) You … you have been cruel to my friend Liubov Bakunin!

  STANKEVICH How? I never even …

  NATALIE Can't you see she likes you?

  STANKEVICH (with interest) Really?

  Natalie leaves furiously. Michael, entering, tries to detain her.

  MICHAEL Natalie … ?

  Michael sees Stankevich. They acknowledge each other with a small bow.

  MICHAEL (cont.) Are you Stankevich?

  STANKEVICH You're Bakunin.

  Michael shakes Stankevich's hand energetically.

  MICHAEL I thought we were never going to meet.

  STANKEVICH Your sisters …

  MICHAEL Have mentioned my existence?

  STANKEVICH In a word. How long are you here?

  MICHAEL A week or so. They're going home tomorrow, but I've got business in Moscow, Army business.

  STANKEVICH You're in the Artillery?

  MICHAEL Don't be deceived by appearances.

  STANKEVICH I'm studying not to be.

  MICHAEL Study is difficult in the Artillery, owing to the loud explosions which are a regular feature of Artillery life. The System of Transcendental Idealism is a closed book in the Army, which works on completely different principles.

  STANKEVICH You're reading Schelling!

  MICHAEL Of course! You see before you a single spark from the indivisible fire of creation, a moment in the eternal struggle of Nature towards consciousness.

  STANKEVICH But you must read Kant. We are all Kantians, including Schelling.

  MICHAEL Thank God I met you. Where can we go and talk? Do you like oysters? Good. Wait here—I'll get my cap, back in a moment. (turning back) Have you got any money on you?

  STANKEVICH (obliging) Yes …

  MICHAEL Later.

  Michael leaves. Stankevich after a moment remembers the lost penknife and vaguely resumes his search.

  Alexandra and Tatiana pass through rapidly, intercepted by Natalie, who changes course to exit with them.

  NATALIE My friends! I know everything!

  SISTERS What? What?

  NATALIE His heart beats for another!—wait till I tell you!

  SISTERS No! Who? How do you know? I thought he liked you!

  NATALIE He led me up the garden!

  As they leave, Liubov enters.

  SISTERS Liubov! Hello, Liubov! Guess what!

  Natalie veers away, pulling Alexandra and Tatiana with her. The three leave, Alexandra and Tatiana questioningly, Natalie whispering to them.

  CHAADAEV Delightful, delightful …

  Stankevich becomes aware of Liubov. He straightens up from his search and bows to her, struck dumb with reserve.

  LIUBOV Have you lost something?

  STANKEVICH I … I'm looking for … I think it was a penknife … (Pause.) So you're going home tomorrow.

  LIUBOV Yes. But perhaps …

  Before Liubov can continue, Stankevich is swept up in Michael's return and departure.

  MICHAEL Let's go! Liubov! … I've met Stankevich, as you see. We're off to talk about Kant. Kant is the man. Oh, the time I've wasted! From now on …

  LIUBOV Michael …

  MICHAEL What?

  LIUBOV (improvising) What about … the Army?

  MICHAEL Don't worry, I've got it in hand, (as they go) You must come and stay with us at Premukhino. Will you come?

  He sweeps Stankevich out, almost colliding with Belinsky.

  LIUBOV Premukhino … !

  Belinsky notices her. He knows her. Liubov is unaware of him. As she turns to leave, she sees the penknife on the floor. She gives a little cry of joy and picks it up.

  BELINSKY Oh … I think that's my …

  Liubov presses the penknife to her lips and puts it in her neckline. She sees Belinsky.

  LIUBOV Oh …

  Belinsky, stupefied, bows to her.

  BELINSKY I am deeply … deeply …

  LIUBOV Forgive me … I'm so …

  BELINSKY Don't be! I am deeply … deeply …

  LIUBOV I've got such an awful memory, you see.

  BELINSKY Memory? Oh. (adjusting) Belinsky. Philosophy Circle. Friday.

  LIUBOV Yes. That's where it was. I'm so sorry. Goodbye, Mr Belinsky. We're going home tomorrow.

  Liubov leaves.

  Shevyrev enters, intent on Chaadaev.

  BELINSKY (to himself) Fool!

  Shevyrev hesitates, surprised. Belinsky recovers.

  BELINSKY (cont.) Professor Shevyrev!—It's Belinsky. I was in your History of Russian Literature class.

  SHEVYREV That's impossible. We have no literature.

  Snubbed, Belinsky retreats as Shevyrev obsequiously approaches Chaadaev.

  SHEVYREV (cont.) I believe I have the honour of addressing Peter Chaadaev. May I offer my admiration for your book …

  CHAADAEV My book?

  SHEVYREV The Philosophical Letters …

  CHAADAEV Ah. Thank you. I was not aware that it had been published.

  SHEVYREV That has not prevented it from attracting a host of admirers … few, I daresay, as enthusiastic as—(He bows.)— Stepan Shevyrev, Professor of the History of Literature at Moscow University. (He takes a sheaf of manuscript pages from his pocket.) My copy of the first Letter, sir—a late and undistinguished progeny of the archetype.

  CHAADAEV May I see? (He glances at it.) Not even that. I wrote in French. I wrote, as it happens, that we Russians, belonging neither to East nor West, have never advanced with other people in the march of enlightenment. The Renaissance passed us by while we remained squatting in our hovels … And here are my words, copied, translated, and copied again … as though bearing witness to an age before the printing press.

  SHEVYREV Yes, a difficult book from the point of view of publication. It is in that regard that I make myself known to you. A group of us at the University have been granted a licence to publish a new literary journal which will be called the Moscow Observer … and it would give us great pleasure to bring The Philosophical Letters to the reading public. (Pause.) If you would do us the honour. (Pause.) Subject, of course, to getting it through the censor. (Pause.) Which I believe we can do by altering a word or two. (Pause.) Two, in fact. I would ask your permission to alter two words. (Pause.) ‘Russia’ … and … ‘We.’

  CHAADAEV ‘Russia’ and ‘We’.

  SHEVYREV ‘We,’ ‘us,’ ‘our’ … they're like warning flags to the Censor.

  CHAADAEV And in their place … what … ?

  SHEVYREV I would suggest ‘Certain people.’

  CHAADAEV ‘Certain people.’

  SHEVYREV Yes.

  CHAADAEV Ingenious.

  SHEVYREV Thank you.

  CHAADAEV (experimentally) ‘Certain people, belonging neither to East nor West, have never advanced with other people … The Renaissance passed certain people by … certain people remained squatting in certain people's hovels (He returns the pages.) … Would you allow me to think it over?