Short Plays

me. Edstaston But how can I? Patiomkin Why not? She won’t eat you. Varinka She will; but you must come. Edstaston I assure you⁠—it is quite out of the question⁠—my clothes⁠— Varinka You look perfect. Patiomkin Come along, darling. Edstaston Struggling. Impossible⁠— Varinka Come, come, come. Edstaston No. Believe me⁠—I don’t wish⁠—I⁠— Varinka Carry him, uncle. Patiomkin Lifting him in his arms like a father carrying a little boy. Yes: I’ll carry you. Edstaston Dash it all, this is ridiculous! Varinka Seizing his ankles and dancing as he is carried out. You must come. If you kick you will blacken my eyes. Patiomkin Come, baby, come. By this time they have made their way through the door and are out of hearing.

The Second Scene

The Empress’s petit lever. The central doors are closed. Those who enter through them find on their left, on a dais of two broad steps, a magnificent curtained bed. Beyond it a door in the panelling leads to the Empress’s cabinet. Near the foot of the bed, in the middle of the room, stands a gilt chair, with the Imperial arms carved and the Imperial monogram embroidered.

The Court is in attendance, standing in two melancholy rows down the side of the room opposite to the bed, solemn, bored, waiting for the Empress to awaken. The Princess Dashkoff, with two ladies, stands a little in front of the line of courtiers, by the Imperial chair. Silence, broken only by the yawns and whispers of the courtiers. Naryshkin, the Chamberlain, stands by the head of the bed.

	A loud yawn is heard from behind the curtains.
Naryshkin	Holding up a warning hand. Ssh!
	The courtiers hastily cease whispering; dress up their lines; and stiffen. Dead silence. A bell tinkles within the curtains. Naryshkin and the Princess solemnly draw them and reveal the Empress.
	Catherine turns over on her back, and stretches herself.
Catherine	Yawning. Heigho⁠—ah⁠—yah⁠—ah⁠—ow⁠—what o’clock is it? Her accent is German.
Naryshkin	Formally. Her Imperial Majesty is awake. The Court falls on its knees.
All	Good morning to your Majesty.
Naryshkin	Half-past ten, Little Mother.
Catherine	Sitting up abruptly. Potztausend! Contemplating the kneeling courtiers. Oh, get up, get up. All rise. Your etiquette bores me. I am hardly awake in the morning before it begins. Yawning again, and relapsing sleepily against her pillows. Why do they do it, Naryshkin?
Naryshkin	God knows it is not for your sake, Little Mother. But you see if you were not a great queen they would all be nobodies.
Catherine	Sitting up. They make me do it to keep up their own little dignities? So?
Naryshkin	Exactly. Also because if they didn’t you might have them flogged, dear Little Mother.
Catherine	Springing energetically out of bed and seating herself on the edge of it. Flogged! I! A Liberal Empress! A philosopher! You are a barbarian, Naryshkin. She rises and turns to the courtiers. And then, as if I cared! She turns again to Naryshkin. You should know by this time that I am frank and original in character, like an Englishman. She walks about restlessly. No: what maddens me about all this ceremony is that I am the only person in Russia who gets no fun out of my being Empress. You all glory in me: you bask in my smiles: you get titles and honors and favors from me: you are dazzled by my crown and my robes: you feel splendid when you have been admitted to my presence; and when I say a gracious word to you, you talk about it to everyone you meet for a week afterwards. But what do I get out of it? Nothing. She throws herself into the chair. Naryshkin deprecates with a gesture: she hurls an emphatic repetition at him. Nothing!! I wear a crown until my neck aches: I stand looking majestic until I am ready to drop: I have to smile at ugly old ambassadors and frown and turn my back on young and handsome ones. Nobody gives me anything. When I was only an Archduchess, the English ambassador used to give me money whenever I wanted it⁠—or rather whenever he wanted to get anything out of my sacred predecessor Elizabeth the Court bows to the ground; but now that I am Empress he never gives me a kopek. When I have headaches and colics I envy the scullerymaids. And you are not a bit grateful to me for all my care of you, my work, my thought, my fatigue, my sufferings.
The Princess Dashkoff	God knows, Little Mother, we all implore you to give your wonderful brain a rest. That is why you get headaches. Monsieur Voltaire also has headaches. His brain is just like yours.
Catherine	Dashkoff: what a liar you are! Dashkoff curtsies with impressive dignity. And you think you are flattering me! Let me tell you I would not give a rouble to have the brains of all the philosophers in France. What is our business for today?
Naryshkin	The new museum, Little Mother. But the model will not be ready until tonight.
Catherine	Rising eagerly. Yes: the museum. An enlightened capital should have a museum. She paces the chamber with a deep sense of the importance of the museum. It shall be one of the wonders of the world. I must have specimens: specimens, specimens, specimens.
Naryshkin	You are in high spirits this morning, Little Mother.
Catherine	With sudden levity. I am always in high spirits, even when people do not bring me my slippers. She runs to the chair and sits down, thrusting her feet out.
	The two ladies rush to her feet, each carrying a slipper. Catherine, about to put her feet into them, is checked by a disturbance in the antechamber.
Patiomkin	Carrying Edstaston through the antechamber. Useless to struggle. Come along, beautiful baby darling. Come to Little Mother. He sings. March