The characters
AGLAIA
, ZENOVIA
, GENERAL
RADU, Aglaia’s
son ALEXANDRU, Zenovia’s son
Aglaia and Zenovia are two sisters whose husbands have gone off to war. The sisters’ house is situated on the road along which people are fleeing from the front, from Bucharest to Iași.
ACT I
AGLAIA: All right. I’ve been to the kitchen. Everything’s fine. We’ll have the meal ready on time. The duck’s already tender. Goodness me! Haven’t you finished here yet? Come on, get a move on! They’ll be here any minute now.
ZENOVIA: Stop niggling at me so much—it’s not a ball! We didn’t ask him to stay with us. Our servants are at the front… at least don’t be so prickly now. It’s war… there are different rules…
AGLAIA: Right, let’s serve the general some beans in a mess tin! I’m glad he’s staying with us and I want everything to go as smoothly as possible. This man is a hero. Everyone’s pinning their hopes on him… not to mention that he might be able to help our people too…
ZENOVIA (startled): You mean…
AGLAIA: Our husbands, that’s what I mean. Or have you forgotten about Costache and Ioan? All you can think about is…
ZENOVIA: Well, my mind’s on it, my mind’s on it… thank goodness it is… don’t tell me yours isn’t, because I won’t believe you! If Costache and Ioan were to find out what we’ve done… I don’t even want to think about it!
AGLAIA: But they won’t find out… if you keep your mouth shut and your wits about you, they won’t find out, not now, not later… but let’s just get to that ‘later’, because it seems to be getting worse and worse. Look! And that’s why I’m glad the general’s coming! I’m so fed up with all this conflicting information! This uncertainty is killing me more than the war itself. And you, stop whingeing so much – the idea that could cost us our lives right now was yours!
ZENOVIA: It’s always been like this, ever since we were little: the idea’s mine, but you’re the one who puts it into practice. If it goes wrong, it was my idea; if it goes right, you get the credit!
AGLAIA: Zenovia, for goodness’ sake, don’t start again! I’ve got no time, no patience and no desire for all your accusations! Today is a special day. Today we’re closer to war than ever before. It’s as if the front line were running right through our house.
ZENOVIA: The only thing missing is for you to say that today we can win the war! Sometimes, you’re even more carried away than I am. The general is just a man like any other: he goes to the latrine, he sleeps, he gets headaches, he might even have lice. Not to mention that he’s one of those who sends men to their deaths. Perhaps even our own Costache and Ioan, if not others like him. You should know that he’s coming on horseback, not on a pedestal.
AGLAIA: You’d better make sure that fork isn’t sitting properly! Speaking of horses: have you checked the stables? Do we have hay and fodder for the general’s horses?
ZENOVIA: Instead of straw, I’ve put in wool, and instead of fodder, foie gras – after all, it’s the General’s horse.
AGLAIA: I hope it’s all right… that everything turns out all right!
ZENOVIA: Admit it, that’s all you’re thinking about too – our little arrangement!
AGLAIA: Of course I’m thinking about it – it’s war, after all; anything could happen… If the general’s staying with us, perhaps we’ll find out how much longer it’ll last. Anyway, we’ll pick up a thing or two ourselves…
ZENOVIA: I just hope he doesn’t find out anything… that he doesn’t hear a sound…
AGLAIA: Give it a rest, what noise could he possibly hear? It’s wartime, you hear all sorts of noises… we’ve got an owl in the loft, some birds in the yard, and you can hear the air-raid siren now and then… there are all sorts of noises.
ZENOVIA: All right, if you say so… but you should know that my nerves are a right mess. I jump at the slightest noise… I imagine things everywhere…
AGLAIA: If you were in Bucharest, what would you do?
ZENOVIA: What does Bucharest have to do with my nerves?
AGLAIA: I’m saying that over there you’d have every reason to be on edge. The zeppelin visits it night after night; the anti-aircraft defences are a joke, as they don’t reach it – it’s only the aeroplanes that manage to chase it away… not to mention that you can hear the cats’ concert all the way to Bragadiru!
ZENOVIA: Oh dear, sister! What a poetic streak you’ve got! I’ll just fetch my violin to accompany you. Come on, I don’t think it’s that bad! You’re exaggerating!
AGLAIA: Am I exaggerating? I don’t even know what an egg looks like anymore, they haven’t seen any meat for months, they get everything on ration cards, and the ration cards are more of a joke, because they don’t even get that little bit on the card, they’re queuing up to fight for a crust of bread, they’ve got no firewood… And here you are complaining that you’re on edge? It’s quiet and peaceful here, we’ve got food, thank God, the children are fine… a sanatorium, for goodness’ sake!
ZENOVIA: Yes, I know, I spoke to Safta a few days ago too, about how she’d gone to look for her son… She still hasn’t found him, you know? They say he’s been taken to Bucharest, but the poor woman has searched everywhere for him – round Colțea, round Filantropia. They say she’s now lighting candles for him, both for the living and the dead. How on earth could the earth have swallowed him up like that, without anyone knowing, I don’t know… I don’t know what we ever needed this war for…
AGLAIA: Don’t start again! And, look, don’t go on about the futility of war in front of the general!
ZENOVIA: On the other hand, you can go on about ideals and unity… Your topic’s a good one, though it might cost us our eyes, our fortunes, our men and our children… Have you seen the havoc typhus is wreaking! Our poor farmhand Ioan – you looked after him so well, and yet he’s gone. Can you imagine what it’s like in the barracks?! Don’t tell me you’re not sorry there’s no peace! Don’t tell me you don’t regret, at least once a day, that this calamity has begun! Don’t tell me you pray at night for Unification and not for our men to come back safe and sound, for peace to return, for the earth to cease groaning with sickness, blood and death! I can hear you crying from my room, you know! And those are the moments when I think that you’re human after all! Because of your night-time weeping, I’ve turned a blind eye to many things during the day, just so you know!
AGLAIA: Yes, yes, all right! Come on, my head’s aching! It feels as if my eyes are burning too…
ZENOVIA: Your eyes always burn when something bad is about to happen…
AGLAIA: Oh dear, shut up! I was just saying I’ve got an owl in the loft, but I’ve got one in the living room too! You need to learn to keep quiet, girl, I tell you!
ZENOVIA: Well, since you’ve called me a girl—and what a marvellous compliment that is—I’ll keep quiet!
AGLAIA: At least for a few days… When we’re sitting at the table with that man, don’t let me hear you launching into your speeches about peace! I don’t think you’d last a day under the Germans. Your Germans… because, if we’d sided with them, I’m convinced you wouldn’t be so fired up against the war now! In your mind, if the Germans were to occupy us, they’d play Mozart, Beethoven and Wagner all day long, and we’d eat apfelstrudel and dance the waltz.
ZENOVIA: Mozart was Austrian, and so was the waltz…
AGLAIA: Never mind culture for now! You get the point.
ZENOVIA: Yes, I get it! You want the Russians to trample your garden, dancing the kazachok with the farmhands in the yard. That’s what you want! Death is death, whether it comes from a Russian, French or Bulgarian bayonet. The blood flows just the same… the heart stops just the same…
AGLAIA: That’s all I’m saying! Let the man eat his meal in peace! Treat him as you’d like someone else to treat Costache, because perhaps our own people are being treated the same way somewhere! Because this is the lucky sort of situation, when you’re staying with someone, not in those wretched tents.
ZENOVIA: Right, right, that’s enough! Stop nagging me! As far as I’m concerned, you’re the war, you’re my heavy artillery. All day long: taca taca taca …
AGLAIA: Look at the world’s quiet one now!!! And don’t let me catch you getting hooked on cherry brandy!
ZENOVIA: Oh come on, that’s taking the biscuit! You’re calling me a drunk! Just because I soothe my frayed nerves with the odd cherry brandy now and then!
AGLAIA: I’m not turning you into one at all! I’m just saying you like cherry brandy. Or isn’t that true? Don’t you like it? Perhaps only ‘from time to time’: in the morning, at lunchtime and in the evening, at mealtimes and between meals, on an empty stomach or after a meal… Do you think I don’t see how a demijohn disappears? It’s just us and the cook. I don’t drink, Frosa doesn’t drink…
ZENOVIA: Come on now! Who doesn’t like cherry brandy?
AGLAIA: I don’t like it.
ZENOVIA: You don’t like anything.
AGLAIA: Oh, don’t start! Please, give me a break! I’m tired and I’ve got a headache. Shouldn’t I have set out the other cutlery? Or is the cutlery fine, but I should have set out the other set of plates?
ZENOVIA: Look, if you had a little sip of cherry brandy every now and then, you wouldn’t get headaches so often!
AGLAIA: Stop going on about the cherry brandy! You know it really sets your tongue running. Who knows what else you might say, and we’ll end up in front of a court-martial… Anyway, you know full well that we should be listening rather than talking…
ZENOVIA: Oh, come on, don’t exaggerate! A court-martial… Over something like that! We’re just mothers! Who wouldn’t understand a mother’s love!?
AGLAIA: I reckon you’re not quite right in the head! Honestly, you’re a colonel’s wife… it’s wartime… and you think a court-martial is a joke! ‘Who wouldn’t understand a mother’s love’?! All the mums and dads whose children are fighting at the front! They wouldn’t understand! Sometimes, it seems to me you’re still the same as when you were 15… when Dad caught you with Agaton in the maizefield and you told him you were counting the ears of maize, that you’d bet our harvest was better than theirs. Dad thought at the time that you were making fun of him, but in fact Agaton was making fun of you – or would have been, if Dad hadn’t caught on. You really did believe, like a silly girl, that you were just there counting corn cobs and that he was out to get you…
ZENOVIA: Look, you see, at least I have to drink cherry brandy to talk nonsense; you don’t even have that excuse! You really do love that story, sister! Maybe you’ll tell it to the general too, so he can have a laugh at your naive sister, who likes cherry brandy and counting corn cobs with Agaton. By the way, did you know he’s dead?
AGLAIA: Who, Agaton?
ZENOVIA: Yes.
AGLAIA: How do you know?
ZENOVIA: A letter I’d sent him came back to me.
AGLAIA: You wrote to Agaton? You were writing to Agaton? You just go from one mistake to the next…
ZENOVIA: From your point of view, everything in life is a mistake. You’d keep us all preserved in formaldehyde. You’ve always taken pleasure in exaggerating my mistakes. I wrote to him, he wrote to me – what’s the big deal!? It’s wartime! People need anything good to cling to.
AGLAIA: You never realise how serious things are around you, and you’re always saying that others are exaggerating! You’re incapable of realising the consequences! Neither with Agaton, nor with… The Court Martial will devour us because of you!
ZENOVIA: Well, that’s just it! It’s just a mother’s love. It’s only natural to love your children, to protect them.
AGLAIA: What does the Court Martial have to do with a mother’s love?
Silence
AGLAIA: I think it would have been better if we’d put on a plain white tablecloth. This one’s too cheerful, all flowery like that…
ZENOVIA: The white one was too formal… Never mind, this is better! It shows we’re optimistic… Listen, sister? Let’s have a dance!
AGLAIA: What shall we do?
ZENOVIA: Let’s dance… just the two of us. Look, I’ll put some music on… and we’ll have a waltz, to take our minds off pain and death. You’ll see, it’ll take your mind off things too!
AGLAIA laughs: I reckon it’s your head that’s playing up!
Zenovia puts on some music and comes over to ask her to dance. Whilst they’re dancing
ZENOVIA: We’d better warn them that the general’s coming…
AGLAIA: Don’t warn them at all; you’ll just rile them up more. Radu’s a nervous wreck, and Alexandru’s a hothead.
ZENOVIA: Hot-headed!? You’re joking! Not a chance. It’s your Radu who’s hot-headed. One minute he’s all fired up about the monastery, the next he’s all fired up about the war.
AGLAIA: Anyway, it’s not me, because I’m anything but hot-headed. His father drummed into him from a young age the pride of being a soldier… The idea that the country must be defended. I just went along with it. Because, in theory, I believe it needs defending too… it’s just that…
ZENOVIA: …Not necessarily from the age of 16.
They stop dancing
AGLAIA: There’s one thing we do agree on.
ZENOVIA: It’s just that you wouldn’t admit that to the general! Wouldn’t you? You wouldn’t admit that you only support the war in theory, that in practice, you’ve walled your child up… to save him. I don’t know why you’re ashamed of that!? That’s what makes you human. Otherwise, you’d just be a sterile propaganda machine.
AGLAIA: You really don’t realise how ashamed we ought to be of what we’ve done, do you?
ZENOVIA: Should I be ashamed that I saved my child from death? Never! Only I know how much I struggled to have him. Other women my age already had five children by the time I managed to have Alexandru. Then, when he was little… all those troubles… you know full well how sickly he was!
AGLAIA: So what are you getting at? That only children with lots of siblings should go to war? Or only those who were healthy, whose mothers didn’t stay up all night watching over them?
ZENOVIA: I’m just saying that I don’t think all mothers love their children as much as I love my Alexandru.
AGLAIA: Zenovia, you’re talking nonsense. You’d be better off keeping quiet! I’m thinking that if we get through this all right, I’ll give him my blessing to become a monk. I’m sorry I didn’t give it to him sooner. Monks don’t go to war.
ZENOVIA: Monks are clever people; that’s why they don’t go to war. Do you see how we always end up back at the idea that it’s best to avoid going to war? Or is it that if he’s a monk, it’s better than if he were walled up?
AGLAIA: Of course it’s different! If Costache and Ioan were to hear us, they’d skin us alive. I’m off to do a shift in the kitchen. Stay away from the cherry brandy!
Aglaia exits. Zenovia pours herself a small glass of cherry brandy. She opens a little book of poems lying on the table
ZENOVIA: “Of the hundreds of masts leaving the shores, how many will the winds and waves break...”
ACT II
A walled-in room, like a corridor—long and narrow, with no windows… two mattresses on the floor, an oil lamp, a chamber pot.
RADU: Come on, please! Let’s light the candle! I can’t take it any more!
ALEXANDRU: You know full well it’s using up all our air!
Light the candle
RADU: Now’s the time! I’ve heard them say a general’s coming. I’m banging on the wall as hard as I can. I’m banging with my fists, with my head, I’m howling, I’m shouting – I’ll do anything just to get out of here, shout the truth and go to the front!
ALEXANDRU: You’ll end up straight in front of the firing squad. That’s what you’ll do!
RADU: And that’s better, more honourable than being locked up in this hole, like the traitorous rat that I am!
ALEXANDRU: You’re only thinking of yourself! Don’t you realise that the whole family will be to blame? They’ll take me before the firing squad too, even though I don’t want to die as stupidly as you.
RADU: Very well! It’s all your fault! You and your mum! It all started with you lot!
ALEXANDRU: And your mum went along with it! She’s to blame too! She’ll have to pay the price as well!
RADU: Very well! Let her pay too! She deserves it, if she let herself be taken in by her sister, who’s done nothing all her life but get the family into trouble!
ALEXANDRU: Don’t talk like that about Mum! You’ve no right to speak to her like that! She’s always been kind to you.
RADU: But do you have the right to tear me apart like this?
ALEXANDRU: Come on, you wanted it too! Stop playing the victim so much! I’m the one who should be having a harder time than you. I can’t paint anything anymore. I long for the sky, the air, the birds...
RADU: I wanted it?! Aren’t you ashamed to say that? You got me drunk on wine, plum brandy and cherry brandy, and the next day I woke up walled up. You told me we were having a party because you’d found out the conscription order was on its way.
ALEXANDRU: Yes, but the next day the three of us had a chat with you and we convinced you.
RADU: If you convinced me, why do I now want to scream and tear down this wall that my grandfather built with his own hands? Why do I feel like banging my head against the wall until I break it?
ALEXANDRU: Because you’re losing your temper, that’s why! It’s not easy being stuck here, breathing through these tiny holes in the wall, hidden behind the painting… it’s not easy spending most of the time in the dark, because the candle’s using up all the air!
RADU: I’d rather be in a proper prison; we might as well give ourselves up and let them put us in a proper prison! At least there you’ve got air, you can have a bit of a chat… a priest comes round to hear your confession… These thoughts are killing me…
ALEXANDRU: What thoughts?
RADU: The thought that I’m a traitor, the thought that I’ve let my father down, let God down, let myself down. The thought that I’ve started my adult life with an act of cowardice. The thought that one day I’ll have to tell my children that, during the Great War, their father stayed hidden away. They’ll read in their history books about their grandfather’s acts of heroism, but they’ll have the living example of their father right in front of them.
ALEXANDRU: You’re taking this far too far. What children? Didn’t you say you wanted to become a monk?
RADU: Yes, but does God need cowards like me?! The walls of the churches are full of cowards! Is that how you become a saint, by hiding in a hole until the storm passes? Is that how they all became famous, through cowardice? Is that why they’re given a halo, because they were cowards?
ALEXANDRU: They’re given halos because they’re dead. You, for now, are alive, prone to error. Don’t you know what Father Tache used to say? It doesn’t matter how many times you fall, but that you get up one more time!
RADU: Well, let’s get back on our feet! Let’s wage war against our own cowardice! Let’s break down the wall!
ALEXANDRU: Don’t you realise that the firing squad is waiting for us if we admit what we’ve done? You’ve joined the dance, so you have to play along! Besides, if they kill you, you won’t even have time to repent!
RADU: What nonsense are you talking about, mate! You don’t even believe it yourself! What time for repentance? How much time for repentance did the thief on the cross have?
ALEXANDRU: Yes, but he was on the cross with Jesus beside him; you’ll just be facing a firing squad, who’ll put their rifles to their eyes, and bang! It’s all over. Besides, they don’t take any pleasure in shooting one of their own, however much of a coward he may have been. Maybe what I did was wrong, maybe I wouldn’t do it again either, but now this is the dance we’ve got ourselves into, we’ve got to see it through to the end. You can only repent whilst you’re alive – remember that!
RADU: I feel like I’m losing my mind, I feel like I can’t go on. You’ve all made mistakes, you’ve all got to pay: you, Mum, and Aunt Aglaia! Anything’s better than here, anything – the front, prison, the firing squad… I don’t care!
ALEXANDRU: But do you care about your dad? At least about him?
RADU: But what’s Dad got to do with it? Dad’s been away at the front for ages. Who knows what’s become of him? What’s Dad’s got to do with it?
ALEXANDRU: Do you think a spit in the face from his own son would look good alongside his epaulettes and medals?
RADU: But Dad doesn’t know anything. Dad didn’t plot this. Dad has no reason to answer for my actions.
ALEXANDRU: Not in the eyes of the law, no! But how do you think he’ll feel when, after the war, everyone else is counting their missing sons and he knows that his own son has been holed up like a little girl to escape the war?
RADU: Aha! So you admit we’re sitting here like two boarding-school girls?!
ALEXANDRU: Yes, but we’re sitting here like two living boarding-school girls, which makes all the difference, don’t you think?
RADU: Does it? Do you think so? Do you really think that?
Alexandru falls silent
RADU: And us, after the war – assuming we’re holed up here like a couple of rats until it’s all over – will we get married after the war?
ALEXANDRU: The way I see it, neither one nor the other! You’ll become a monk, just to escape the guilt!
RADU: Not even a life in a monastery could wash away all this filth! But how do you cope? You’re always so calm and peaceful, as if we were staying at the Ritz…
ALEXANDRU: Well, I’ve got a few strategies. First of all, I think about Mioara. I wonder what she’s up to right now. Whether she’s finished her chores around the house. Whether she’s hung out the washing… The way she bends over the washbasin like that! The way she stretches to hang them on the line! I used to watch her for hours on end, and that image is etched in my mind.
RADU: I don’t have a Mioara to think about…
ALEXANDRU: I told you you’d end up like a monk!
RADU: Right! Move on to the next strategy!
ALEXANDRU: I’m playing tunes in my head.
RADU: What sort of music? Brass band? Harpsichord?
ALEXANDRU: No, mate, you cultured one! Listen to him! Brass band and harpsichord, folk tunes, doinas, ballads… whatever else I can remember… Sometimes I lose hours on end because I remember the music, but the exact lyrics don’t come to mind. And then I just keep going over it in my head until I remember.
RADU: That doesn’t help me either! I’ve never had an ear for music and it’s practically impossible for me to play anything. What do you mean, sitting here thinking about Mioara and humming folk tunes in your head, whilst others are dying left, right and centre on the front line?
ALEXANDRU: Most of them, apparently, are dying of typhus.
RADU: Don’t be having a laugh!
ALEXANDRU: Who’s making a joke of it? It seems the biggest enemy is the lice bred by the filth in the tents and the non-existent hygiene conditions.
RADU: I’d give anything for some air, some light… Even typhus seems like an escape, a way out to me. I’m telling you, I’ll scream until the general hears me.
ALEXANDRU: You’re not going to do that, because I won’t let you! I’d rather kill you with my own hands than have you give us both away and drag us all through the mud!
RADU: What a brilliant idea! I hadn’t thought of that. It’s perfect! Kill me yourself! If I kill myself, it’s a shame; if you kill me…
ALEXANDRU: You can’t be serious…
RADU: Yes, I am, as serious as can be. Anything’s better than staying here any longer. But what will you kill me with? And what will you do with me afterwards? I’ll start to smell. There’s no air, it’s hot, it’s just like being in a coffin in here, so I’ll start to decompose pretty quickly. You’ll have to ask our mums to knock down the wall and rebuild it. Come to think of it, it’s not exactly impossible. But what are you going to kill me with? Because you’ve got nothing. If you slit my throat, you’ll just make a mess of blood. We can’t hang me, because we’ve got nothing to hang me from. I reckon the best option would be to suffocate me… or some sleeping tablets… But where are we going to get them from? We could tell our mums I’m restless, that I can’t sleep… and get hold of a few more. But no! Because that would mean I’d have to be patient, to collect them, but I’ve run out of patience. It has to be now, right now, today! You’ll have to strangle me! Squeeze my throat! I’ll try, as best I can, not to resist, although you know that the instinct for self-preservation is stronger. But I’ll try. I promise! Come on, you’ve always had strong arms…
ALEXANDRU (shouts): Stoppppp!
RADU: I’m not stopping at all! I can’t go on! Don’t you understand I can’t go on?
ALEXANDRU: Pray! Here’s your chance to pray. What do you need ‘Mioară’ for? What folk songs? You, who used to say you’d become a monk, have your prayers. If you prayed, you’d be more bearable, I reckon. You used to say you wanted to be a monk!?
RADU: So what if I wanted to be a monk? Why have you brought that up?
ALEXANDRU: I brought it up because I’m clever, that’s why! Look, see how you’ve already calmed down?! A monk who wants to kill himself?!
RADU: I didn’t want to kill myself…
ALEXANDRU: Well, what was that about the pills then?
RADU: A bad idea!…
ALEXANDRU: And for me to kill you with my strong arms – was that a good idea? Can’t you see, Radule, that you’re going off the deep end? You wanted to be a monk; now you’ve got the chance. You’re all on your own here, like in the wilderness; there’s darkness as far as the eye can see – just the thing for prayer. I sit quietly in my corner and think of Mioara, of the sky, of the birds… To each his own, quiet, peace… Why should we rush off pointlessly to the green pastures? When the time comes, it’ll come! Until then, let’s make the most of what we’ve got: you’ve got your prayers, I’ve got Mioara. If you like, every now and then, we can swap: I’ll say a prayer, and you can think of Mioara…
RADU: Cut it out with your Mioara!
ALEXANDRU: Admit it, you like her too! It’s only because of you that I’ve caught the bug. You were staring at her once, whilst she was pottering about the house. You were in the hall, watching her through the open door… So I went over to see what my cousin was so focused on…
RADU: Is it my fault that you’re like this…?
ALEXANDRU: What am I like, then? Come on, tell me, you saint, what am I like?
RADU: A womaniser, a lecher, a debauched, dissolute, wild…
ALEXANDRU: You’ve always loved reading. Look at all the synonyms you know when it comes to calling out your brother’s sins, right out loud!
RADU:…
ALEXANDRU: It seems healthier to me than ending up having to ask my cousin to strangle me!
RADU: You’re mixing things up. Come on, let’s read instead, and see what else Iorga has to say! Mum left us the newspaper with our food…
ALEXANDRU: That’s torture! You, if you didn’t go off to war, you’re torturing yourself!
RADU: How so?
ALEXANDRU: All you read in Iorga’s newspapers are calls for sacrifice, to go to the front, mobilisation propaganda. Iorga has the power to make you send your child into the line of fire with the idea that you’re doing something good.
RADU: Well, that’s exactly how it is… don’t you understand that even now?
ALEXANDRU: Don’t you realise that you’re a traitor, a coward who reads calls for courage and for drawing the sword from its scabbard almost every day? You’ve got no sword, no scabbard, nothing at all, just a shroud of cowardice. Why don’t you stop? Why don’t you accept that this is who you are? At least now. This is who you are: a coward, a traitor, a disgrace to your parents, to your country, a living dead man! If you accept this death, then you have a chance – the chance to be reborn in sincerity.
RADU: How can you talk like that? You’re in the same situation!
ALEXANDRU: I’ve never pretended to be anything other than what I am. I love life; I love that deep blue spring sky with the scent of earth from which fresh green emerges; I love the way the birds stand out against the sky; I love how the colours of the air change as the sun climbs higher in the sky… I love women; as you say, I love watching them – the way they arch their necks when they’re focused on something, the way they straighten their backs when someone they like appears… They do it instinctively, to draw attention to themselves, but there’s something very elegant about it… I’ll do penance through painting for all my cowardice. And, if God forgives me, perhaps one day I’ll become a very good painter who saved his life from cowardice by staying shut away. And when I die, what I leave behind will matter… My work.
RADU: Is that your hope – that your art will save your humanity? Do you really believe that’s true? You’ll go to the Last Judgement with your paintings rolled up and say to Him: ‘Lord, look, I was a coward, a liar, a scoundrel, a womaniser, but look at the beautiful paintings I’ve made!’ The Hermitage, the Musée d’Orsay and the Metropolitan are all fighting over them… Let’s just read the paper instead! Or I’ll read it. You just go on thinking about birds and the colours of the sky, and curvaceous women…
Let’s start reading the paper…
RADU:
IORGA’S SPEECH: “Turning towards us at the same time are the gazes, filled with the silent prayer of a shy people who, for centuries, have not so often found grand words for their sufferings, but which has felt them all the more deeply, with all its silent voice. Yet the hateful gaze of the stranger is also fixed upon us; he wishes to know how we suffer from the wound he has inflicted, and to this stranger, in the end, we must reply. We must answer him that, wherever we may be, we are determined to see this through to the end, in the belief that, if a religion has ever arisen in the world, if there has ever been talk of justice and ideals, it is simply impossible, even in the face of the most savage organised force, for a people’s rights to perish on the land where not a single speck of soil is not covered by the noblest blood.(...) Today, an army looks upon us—the Army of Romania—which is morally whole; it is even greater than it was at the moment when the first detachment shattered the stone of injustice at the border with the butt of their rifles. Back then, man standing shoulder to shoulder with man, it represented only physical strength and confidence in victory; today, those who live carry with them the spiritual legacy of those who fell on the battlefield.”
THE GENERAL:
Just as we leave our wealth and our name to others, so those who fall for the Country and the future of the Nation leave their whole soul—as great as it was at the moment of their sacrifice—to those amongst whom they fall. The last soldier, his uniform torn by long-endured suffering and endurance in the face of nature’s harshness and the enemy’s cruelty, embodies in his moral being all those whom we shall never again see in the flesh. And never has the Romanian flag been prouder than at the moment when it showed the finest military force in Europe that peasants—uneducated and without modern weapons—could march march before an army equipped with everything that a formidable and ruthless culture bestows upon the armed slaves who represent it. (…) The Romanian people comprise those who hold weapons in their hands, those who give them every support so that they may turn it against the enemy, and those who live solely to admire this heroism, to reap its rewards for the people, and to lend a helping hand, which is necessary to guarantee victory. (…) In this corner where we have gathered, let us cherish the seed of faith, and we too shall see the darkness of foreign rule fade away, and we shall be able to say, like Petru Rareș, son of Ștefan, that ‘we shall be once more what we were, and even more than that’.
In our past, many people have suffered. If we are anything at all, it is only through their suffering. All our strength is nothing other than their sacrifice, gathered together and transformed into energy. And one of these ancestors, a great man, for he too was brought to ruin in a moment of supreme distress, when he was told: ‘Leave the country and go under the yoke’, he, Gheorghe Ștefan from the region where our lads are fighting at Oituz, cried out: ‘Rather than leave this place forever, let the dogs of this land devour me!’ Three centuries have passed since 1650, when Gheorghe Vodă Ștefan declared this resolve of his to his forebears, and in the face of which we too can say nothing other than: ‘Let the dogs of this land devour us sooner than that we should find happiness, peace and prosperity through the favour of a foreign enemy’.
ACT III
From time to time, thuds can be heard coming from the wall.
At such moments, the ladies waltz with even greater vigour.
He, too, reads the end of Iorga’s article.
ZENOVIA: Did you see that, General? If you didn’t want to dance with me, my sister will!
AGLAIA (coming over to the table): This sister of mine, ever since she was little, wouldn’t give up until she got what she wanted, so, General, this time I’ve saved you, but next time, I think you’ll have to put up a much stiffer fight to avoid being asked to dance.
THE GENERAL: Ladies, please do not take this amiss, especially as you have overwhelmed me with your hospitality, but I really cannot dance any more. Ever since the war began, the only swaying I allow myself is in the saddle of my horse, and the only rhythm I know is that of the artillery and the cannon.
AGLAIA: It’s a different kind of music…
ZENOVIA: Yes, it’s deadly music, pointless music…
AGLAIA (quietly): Stop it!
THE GENERAL (surprised): Useless, you say? How can a colonel’s wife say such a thing? Isn’t your husband at the front? And your son, too, I believe? Have they gone off to do something useless? Is it useless to fight for our country’s land?
ZENOVIA: Forgive me, but if there end up being more people in the ground than on it, what’s the point? You hardly see a young, healthy man anymore…
AGLAIA: Please forgive my sister! Ever since the war began, her nervous problems have got worse.
THE GENERAL: Ladies, I’ll let you in on a secret! I’ve had the same discussion with my wife, almost every evening, for two years. Two years! Throughout the entire period of neutrality, when we were all on edge, when one day we thought we’d side with the Germans and tried to come up with arguments that it was a good thing to side with them… and tried to assess the war from that perspective; and the next day from the Allies’ perspective. And we’d go through the whole calculation again, this time taking into account the French, the Russians and the Bulgarians… And every time we’d tell ourselves that, whichever side we joined, our war was a just one. But however just it might be, we wouldn’t have wanted to pay for it with our own lads…
AGLAIA: And yet, someone’s lads have to pay the price, don’t they?
ZENOVIA: Everyone agrees that it has to be paid for with someone’s sons, as long as it’s not their own.
THE GENERAL: It’s very difficult to weigh things up. On the one hand, everyone’s lives, including those of the enemy—after all, they’re lives too, and they’re Christians as well… on the other hand, the idea of rebuilding the country, of being Greater Romania once more… if you speak to someone from Bessarabia or Transylvania, it breaks your heart to see how lonely and marginalised they feel… The humiliation they endure is unbearable. Just imagine, ladies, that someone comes along and draws a line through your home with paint, and you find yourselves on one side, the other on the other side, and, all of a sudden, you have a different official language, different holidays to celebrate, different customs imposed upon you, and you are no longer mistresses of your own home; others are making the rules for you…
ZENOVIA: As far as we’re concerned—Aglaia and I—perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad thing if someone were to draw a line between us…
AGLAIA: Stop it! Don’t keep interrupting the general!
THE GENERAL: Ideals always boil down to concrete, everyday details… That’s what you understand as a soldier… When you’ve got the map in front of you and the politician insists it must be done this way and that… He can’t see a thing… You, as a soldier, see the darkness, the cold and death; you see the soldier suffering from frostbite, you see the soldier starving to death, the outdated weaponry, the disarray…
ZENOVIA: ‘Greater Romania’ this, ‘Greater Romania’ that – that’s all we ever hear! But how can there be a ‘Greater Romania’ without Romanians?
THE GENERAL: Romania cannot be great without great Romanians! And Romanians have always been great, only when they died, when they sacrificed themselves for their ideals!
AGLAIA: So then, General, coming back to the balance, what is to be done? On the one hand, we have thousands of human lives cut short; on the other, we have the idea – just the idea – of a Greater Romania. Because, you must admit, there is a possibility that we might give up our lives and yet Romania might still remain small…
THE GENERAL: True! And the only solution is not to weigh it up. To consider that the idea of a Greater Romania cannot be counterbalanced by anything… that whatever the price, it must be paid. The very idea of weighing things up, when it comes to your own country, strikes me as wrong.
ZENOVIA: Do you have any children, General?
THE GENERAL: I do. And all four of them are at the front.
ZENOVIA: And how does your wife cope with the thought that she might be left without a family?
THE GENERAL: My wife knew she was marrying a soldier. And she’s a very devout woman. How are you coping?
ZENOVIA: As for me, with my cherry brandy…
AGLAIA: I think it’s getting late. Perhaps the General would like to call it a night.
ZENOVIA: It’s not good for generals to retire.
THE GENERAL: I want to tell you that I understand both your fears and your reservations. I understand them, sitting here at the dinner table. But when you’re on the front line, there are no longer ‘so-and-so’s children’ or ‘such-and-such’s children’; there’s just a single collective body struggling to survive. Every soldier who falls is a cell, and just as an organism does not mourn a cell that dies, because it carries on surviving… It is no longer Petre or Ion or Gheorghe who falls, but the organism called Petre or Ion or Gheorghe that survives. Everything is judged in the grand scheme of things, not in the small details; Greater Romania is judged in the grand scheme of things.
ZENOVIA: Broadly speaking, I agree with you.
AGLAIA: Let’s go to bed; the General must be tired!
There is a knock at the door. Aglaia goes to open it and returns with a letter. The General reads the letter.
THE GENERAL: I’ve been informed that we must leave this place immediately. The Germans have broken through the front line and are dangerously close. Pack up whatever you can as quickly as possible; take the servants with you too. Is there anyone left in the village?
AGLAIA: No, just us and our servants.
ZENOVIA: How can we leave? We can’t leave! There’s no way we can leave! Aglaia, have you lost your mind? Have you forgotten?
AGLAIA: I haven’t forgotten anything—I’m just thinking!
THE GENERAL: Ladies, hurry up! I’m going to my room to pack a few things and write a letter. Then, in 30 minutes, we’ll meet here again to set off. Don’t get too attached to your belongings; don’t take too much. They might not touch anything, and we might manage to regain the lost territory quickly, so you can return sooner than you’d hoped.
The general leaves.
ZENOVIA: What shall we do? How shall we do it? We can’t break through the wall – we’ll make too much noise!
AGLAIA: Stop talking nonsense! How can we start breaking through the wall now? We’ll leave them plenty of food, tell them what’s going on, and leave with the general! We’ll see how far we get and come back in a day or two to see what they’re up to, and maybe then we can break through the wall! We can’t do that with the general – it’s far too risky!
ZENOVIA: Let’s tell him we’re staying, that we’re not afraid of the Germans! He can’t force us to leave our home!
AGLAIA: Yes, he can! It’s his duty to protect both civilians and military personnel, and besides, the two of us aren’t just any two people… We’re the wives of senior officers in the Romanian Army. I don’t think he’d let us stay, just as I don’t think he’d let his own wife stay. And what reason would we have?
ZENOVIA: Let’s say I’m feeling unwell, that I’m fainting, that I can’t travel. Anything, but we simply cannot leave Radu and Alexandru here. You know full well we cannot leave them walled up in that coffin. Who would feed them? Who would change their pot? Who would give them clothes?
AGLAIA: Zenovia, if the general finds out, he’ll have them shot; there’s no way round it – martial law is hanging over them…
ZENOVIA: But if the Germans move into our house… how will we ever get back to them? Because if they come and find a house like ours, they’ll certainly want to set up camp in it…
AGLAIA: They can’t stay long. The front line is shifting… they don’t stay in one place for long… let’s gather up some food to give them, as much as we can… sausages, water, as much bread as we’ve got…
ZENOVIA: And we’ll tell them we’re leaving, and just leave them here…!?
AGLAIA: No, that’s not right, we can’t do that! Can you imagine!? They’re having a hard time as it is; my Radu’s already at the end of his tether… he’s completely despairing… who knows what ideas might still cross their minds?
ZENOVIA: Well, what then? What do we do? Do we just leave like this, without a word? And why are we telling them we’re leaving them more food? Besides, they need to know how to make it last… We don’t know how long this might take… If, for example, they kill us on the way or take us prisoner or who knows what else might happen… It is war, after all… This general is getting in our way! If he were to leave first… or if we were to get rid of him… we’d sort the problem out. We’d break through the wall and we’d all make our escape…
AGLAIA: You’ve lost your mind, stop talking! Goodness, what a headache I’ve got! Nobody’s going to die: not us, not the general, not our children…
ZENOVIA: And what will save us?
AGLAIA: Typhus will save us.
ZENOVIA: Typhus?
AGLAIA: I’ll tell the General that two weeks ago I looked after a patient with exanthematic typhus and that now, because of the shock, I think I’m coming down with it…
ZENOVIA: But you really did look after Ioan, Mioara’s father. May God rest his soul! Are you unwell, Aglaia? Have you fallen ill too? That’s all we needed! The children trapped, the front closing in on us, the retreat… and now you, Aglaia, falling ill…
AGLAIA: No, what nonsense are you talking about? I’m not ill… I can bring on a fever, I can feign all the symptoms. You’ll stay, of course, to look after me… The Germans won’t come in, because we’ll be flying the typhus flag. That is, unless we somehow manage to escape before they arrive… Actually, I don’t think I even need to bring on a fever. It feels as though all this stress has made me ill!
ZENOVIA: Your cheeks are flushed, your eyes are glassy… Could it be that you really do have typhus?
AGLAIA: Oh, come on! It’s just tiredness… Take me to bed! I’m just dizzy from all these events. So many decisions to make, so much fear…
The General enters
THE GENERAL: Right then, ladies, let’s be off!
ZENOVIA: My sister isn’t feeling well. She’s been looking after one of our servants who died of typhus. We can’t leave. I’ll stay here with her!
THE GENERAL: Are you sure that’s the best decision? Could I help you find a doctor?
AGLAIA: No! There’s no need! Thank you. I’m a strong woman… Neither war nor any illness can bring me down so easily… Go with God! You’re very much needed at the front!
THE GENERAL: Thank you for everything! Whenever you need anything, you can count on my help!
At that very moment, there was a loud thud from the wall and a voice shouting: ‘Get me out of here… I can’t take it any more… I’m going mad… General!’
THE GENERAL: What’s that? What’s that noise? Where’s that voice coming from?
AGLAIA: What voice?
The voice again: ‘Get me out of here…’
THE GENERAL: That! Who else is here with us? You told me we were alone!
Zenovia goes over and moves a cupboard aside. Behind it is a door; she opens it, and the two of them come out.
THE GENERAL: What’s going on? Who are these two young men? Are they sick as well?
ZENOVIA: They’re our sons, Radu and Alexandru. We walled them in so we wouldn’t lose them in the war.
THE GENERAL: What do your husbands, the decorated colonels of the Romanian Army, think of this?
AGLAIA: Our husbands know nothing about it. We planned this after they’d left. They think their sons are at the front. We’ve written to them saying we’ve had news from them, that they’ve been fighting the Bulgarians.
THE GENERAL: Do you realise what a terrible crime you have committed? You have betrayed your country, but you have also betrayed your husbands! Two equally serious offences, I would say.
RADU: I didn’t mean to! They forced me against my will! They got me drunk and I woke up to find myself walled in.
ALEXANDRU: You snitch! As if cowardice wasn’t enough…
THE GENERAL: Is that true, ladies?
AGLAIA: Yes, that’s how it was…
THE GENERAL: And you, young man, what do you have to say in your defence?
ALEXANDRU: I love life! That is my only defence.
THE GENERAL: So, those of us who go off to fight for our country are people who do not love life, are we not? We love death and sow it everywhere knowingly; we like to invent noble causes, just to tear our lads away from their mothers and turn them into a heap of bloody entrails—is that what you think, young man?
ALEXANDRU: I don’t believe that. I’ve told you why I agreed to be conscripted rather than go off to fight. I think we’re being fed some grand ideals, so that we’ll give up our comfortable clothes and put on military uniforms. I reckon that if we were told the truth—that we’re fighting because someone wants to get rich, or because someone wants access to resources they don’t have, or because someone’s dream is that their country has become too small—then nobody would fight! But if we’re told we must fight for our country, for our nation, for the land steeped in the blood of our forefathers, then we do it. As if our blood upon theirs were what history is all about…
THE GENERAL: But what does history mean? Ladies, I’d like to ask you a favour!
ZENOVIA: Of course, anything!
AGLAIA: You’re always jumping straight to favours! Be patient! Let’s see what this is all about!
THE GENERAL: Ladies, I’d like to have a man-to-man chat with these young men! May I?
ZENOVIA: Of course! See? It wasn’t a big deal.
AGLAIA: General, we’ll step out; do let us know when you’ve finished!
The two sisters leave.
THE GENERAL: Right then, lads, now you’re going to explain to me, like men, what punishment you deserve for what you’ve done! The case, in a nutshell, is this: you’re traitors! The country needed you, and your response was to turn your backs on it.
ALEXANDRU: General, we’re always asking ourselves what the country wants from us, and it’s clear what it wants: it wants blood, it wants sacrifice, it wants love with every fibre of our being. I understand what the country wants from me, what it wants me to do for it; that’s clear to me. What it does for me, though… Why should I give my life for the country? After all, it’s just a twist of fate that I was born here. And not even a very good one at that…
THE GENERAL: You’re a colonel’s son – that is, a man trained to sacrifice anything and everything for his country at any time – and you dare to tell me, the commander of the Romanian Army, that it’s just a game of chance? That for you, language, traditions and culture mean nothing…?!
ALEXANDRU: If I die, how does that help our customs and our country? I’ll have a Romanian funeral, with mourners and the whole shebang. All I’m saying is that, had I been born in France, I would have loved the French language and French customs, and I would have had the added advantage of a rich culture. As a painter, I would have had access to the very best schools.
THE GENERAL: Lad, stop it! Or you’ll get a resounding slap! What you’re saying is sheer blasphemy.
ALEXANDRU: What’s blasphemy? That I want to live? That I’m a universal spirit who doesn’t cling to a patch of earth and a few places where I happened to be born?
RADU: Alexandru, stop it! You’re downright cheeky! You’re completely losing the plot!
ALEXANDRU: I’m losing my mind?! Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? You were making me want to strangle you, and I’m the one losing my mind? Yes, in times of war, wanting to live does seem like you’re losing your mind!
RADU: So, you really do think you’re better, that you’re above this country, that you’re too good for it! This country’s too small for you! You empty-headed genius… You’ll conquer the world with your paintings! And what will you say? That your name is no longer Radu Ionescu, but Radu von Ionescu or Radu Ionesco… Your arrogance knows no bounds; you’re already terrifying me! I lose my mind in the darkness, without air; you lose yours in the light…
ALEXANDRU: What light, mate, what air? It’s just a pigsty, a pigsty full of lice and disease, of poverty, and of hunger! You’d recognise the Romanian uniform anywhere! It’s shabby. The French one, yes, it’s imposing; the German one, the same… I’m sick of our uniform: faded, patched up, filthy… I’m sick of all those toothless peasants marching to the front singing… I’m sick of the chaos in the army… I’m sick of Iorga, sitting in his mansion at Văleni, spouting one speech after another! He sits amidst the greenery whilst sending the young men back to the front! I’m sick of all those fat cats who build their fortunes on the backs of simpletons who can’t quite put a sentence together, but are good with a hoe and die gloriously, stabbed by a bayonet…
The general fires a shot into the air. Silence. The panicked mothers rush in
ZENOVIA: Oh dear, what’s happened? Radu, Mum, are you all right?
AGLAIA: Goodness, Alexandru, you’ve given me such a fright!
THE GENERAL: Don’t be alarmed, ladies! I’ve just shown them how to use a pistol. Give us a little while longer and we’ll call for you.
THE GENERAL: Are you any good at painting?
ALEXANDRU: Yes. But I don’t see what that has to do with our discussion…
THE GENERAL: Is it just a coincidence that you’re talented? Do you think it’s a given or not?
ALEXANDRU: It is, of course it is! You only need to get my cousin to draw for you to see that it is…
THE GENERAL: So, we accept that a talent for painting is a given, but the country in which we are born, our language and our family are mere coincidences by which a universal spirit such as yours cannot allow itself to be constrained…
ALEXANDRU: What do you mean? I’m not quite following…
THE GENERAL: Listen, lad, you came into this life with a knapsack into which God has stuffed a country, a family, a language, a talent! If you give up what you have in your knapsack of your own free will, you become poorer – do you understand that? And there is also a knapsack belonging to the country. If there are many clever lads like you who lighten their knapsacks, the whole country stands to lose… And we’ll end up as a light country, a country as flimsy as a snowflake, which the wind picks up and tosses hither and thither, just as it pleases. These heavy, oppressive, perhaps sometimes humiliating rucksacks are our anchor – only it’s not an anchor pointing downwards, but upwards. Our uniform may be faded and tattered, but it’s never like Adam’s fig leaf; it never covers our shame, mark my words! And when God asks us where we are, we don’t hide behind a fig tree…
RADU: Don’t tell him that sort of thing, he doesn’t know…
THE GENERAL: Lad, what’s in your knapsack?
RADU: Cowardice, fear of life… Fear of death, shame… I wanted to kill myself, but I didn’t have the courage. I feel completely lost, disoriented… Most of the time, I feel like an anomaly, a mistake! I look at my family and tell myself that maybe I’m not even their child, that maybe they just picked me up off the street, from somewhere…
THE GENERAL: It’s normal to feel that way. You’ve betrayed yourself! That’s what you lot don’t understand: that you can’t betray your country without betraying yourself, because you are part of the country. And there’s no turning back from here. There’s a price you pay to transform yourself from Radu Ionescu into Radu von Ionescu. And that price is inner death.
ALEXANDRU: What do you mean? Are you saying I won’t be able to paint any more?
THE GENERAL: I mean that nothing will hold any appeal for you anymore: neither life, nor death, nor the sky, nor curvaceous women, nor the colours of the air, or whatever else you used to call it...
ALEXANDRU: Did you hear that?
THE GENERAL: For a general, hearing is part of the kit; it can save my life better than a bayonet or a pistol. On the first night, I heard three people crying and two snoring.
ALEXANDRU: Safta and I snore…
THE GENERAL: At first, I thought perhaps you were hiding some Germans; there are still stragglers like that who desert and beg the Romanians to hide them until the war is over. And the merciful Romanian…
ALEXANDRU: Not to say they’re stupid…
THE GENERAL: Then, from the mothers’ behaviour, I realised what they’d done. But I didn’t want to expose them directly, as if in a play… I don’t like waging war on women, on a bunch of mothers. But at the same time, I couldn’t leave things as they were. I know your fathers; I know how they’d feel if they found out about such a shameful arrangement, so things must be put right.
RADU: The question is, how? Is it still possible? Isn’t it too late?
THE GENERAL: As long as we’re alive, it’s never too late.
ALEXANDRU: So, you admit that it’s important to be alive…
THE GENERAL: For your father’s sake, I pray, my boy, that you’ll be talented – very talented indeed. What you always forget is that we’re fighting this war for those we love; it’s a war waged out of love…
ALEXANDRU: Now I think you’ve run out of breath and you’re not thinking straight…
THE GENERAL: There’s only one bullet in my pistol; you can shoot yourself, you can shoot Radu or me – whoever you prefer…
ALEXANDRU: With all due respect and in all sincerity, you…
THE GENERAL: Correct, that’s the right answer. And why would you do that?
ALEXANDRU: Because I’m me, and I’ve known Radu since I was a child…
THE GENERAL: Exactly! What binds you together?
ALEXANDRU: Family, language, childhood memories, Mioara…
THE GENERAL: Once again, correct answer. What do we do now that there are Romanians in Transylvania, in Moldavia, and in Bukovina? If we have just one bullet, who do we shoot? History always gives us just one bullet. Now it’s ours, and we’d best use it wisely. …Call the ladies in!
AGLAIA: General, what will you do with us? With them? Will you send them before a court-martial…
THE GENERAL: No! I’ve thought of something else. I’ve thought of putting you all on trial right here, right now. To try you, to sentence you and, if necessary, to execute you… Exceptional circumstances call for exceptional measures.
ZENOVIA: You’re joking, aren’t you?
THE GENERAL: I have no time for jokes, madam! And humour hasn’t driven me out of my house. Besides, as I’m sure you’re all aware, the front is drawing ever closer. So I shall conduct a brief and concise trial. I shall ask each of you two questions. I shall let you discuss it amongst yourselves for a moment, and then you shall come and give me your answer.
ALEXANDRU: Are we all giving a single answer?
THE GENERAL: Yes, you’ll have to agree to give a single answer.
ZENOVIA: You’re judging us all together. Is that fair?
THE GENERAL: My dear lady, you plotted this crime together. You carried it out together, so I shall judge you together! I have no time for subtleties now. Or perhaps you’d prefer me to call my orderly to arrest you all…
ZENOVIA: No, of course not! And if we answer properly, if you like our answers, what will you do?
THE GENERAL: I’ll leave you in peace, as if we’d never met. In other words… you’ll be free.
AGLAIA: General, let’s not waste any more of your time! Tell us what the first question is…
GENERAL: Very well. The first question is: what is worth living for? I’ll give you a few minutes to discuss it amongst yourselves. Mrs Aglaia, I’ll leave you a note here with the second question, but please only open it once you’ve found the answer to the first one – the answer you’ve all agreed on. And once you’re ready with the second answer, give me a shout. I’m going to speak to the radio operator to find out more details about the front line. In any case, do hurry up! The Germans are already very close.
The general leaves
ALEXANDRU: What nonsense! What’s worth living for… For life, quite simply, for the sun, the air… for colours, shapes, for women, first and foremost, for women…
ZENOVIA: Alexandru, for goodness’ sake, be quiet for a moment! Let us hear the thoughts in our own heads… It’s worth living for yourself, for everything around you; it’s worth living so that you can love…
ALEXANDRU: On this business of love, I agree with you…
ZENOVIA: Aglaia, what do you think makes life worth living?
AGLAIA: I don’t know… I’m really tired… and confused… But I’d say it’s worth living because God has given you life… that it’s worth living for love, as you said yourself, only that by love we must mean sacrifice… For your family… life is worth living so that you can fulfil your destiny and, at the same time, help others to fulfil theirs… And the more people fulfil their destiny with your help, the more you fulfil your own…
ZENOVIA: And when there are more of them, it’s a question of a country’s destiny… If it’s worth sacrificing yourself for one person, it’s all the more worth sacrificing yourself for many people…
RADU: And many people make up a people, a nation.
ALEXANDRU: Does dying mean fulfilling your destiny? That’s just empty rhetoric, the ravings of a sick man… Life is worth living so that you can enjoy everything it has to offer, so that you can indulge yourself. Life is a delight… There’s no pleasure in death…
RADU: How do you know? Have you died often? Have you ever died for anything before? Apart from the agony caused by your longing for Mărioara…
ALEXANDRU: I don’t see what’s wrong with wanting to be with Mărioara.
ZENOVIA: Stop this nonsense!
AGLAIA (exhausted): Can’t you see what the general’s game is here? He doesn’t want answers; he wants to stir our consciences, he wants us to feel remorse, he wants us to understand that the things worth living for are also the things worth dying for, that in fact that’s what gives them value…
RADU (looking out of the window): Mum’s right!
ZENOVIA: Why do you say that?
RADU: Because I can see the general riding away, and he’s already gone far… He wasn’t interested in our answer… He just wanted to set our conscience in motion; he gave it a nudge, so to speak. He hoped that afterwards we’d manage on our own.
ZENOVIA: Come on, Aglaia, let’s hear the second question!
AGLAIA: The second question is: what is worth dying for?
RADU: So, I was right! Because that’s how it is, just as Mum said. The things worth living for are exactly the same as those worth dying for.
ALEXANDRU: I can’t wait to get out into the woods, into the tree hollows, to safety…
AGLAIA: There’s no such thing as safety. Never! Not in times of peace, nor in times of war. There’s only God’s mercy.
From outside we can hear ‘schnell, schnell’…
ZENOVIA: If we didn’t go to war, war has come to us. What shall we do now?
ALEXANDRU: We’ll leave as quickly as we can. Come on, Radu! Let’s go and hide in the woods. We know all the ravines, all the tree hollows, all the snake holes, as the saying goes…
RADU: No! You go! I’m staying with Mum, and if we make it out alive, after the war, I’ll turn myself in. And come what may! As God wills!
ALEXANDRU: Mum, what are you going to do? Are you staying with Aglaia or coming with me?
AGLAIA: You’d all better go! I don’t want anyone to stay with me… I’ll manage on my own… The Germans won’t do me any harm.
ZENOVIA: Let me stay here to look after you… I’m not afraid of the illness and I know exactly what I have to do.
AGLAIA: Do you really know?
ZENOVIA: Of course, I’ve seen how you looked after Ioan, and I’ve read up on it too…
AGLAIA: Well then, go to the front! You’ve been my sister for long enough; now be a sister to many!
RADU: Mum, don’t you want me to stay with you?
AGLAIA: I didn’t let you go to war, and now you want me to give you typhus? Go with God! I was wrong. Pray for me! Come on, go…! No, no hugs…! Go! There’s no time left.
RADU: No, Mum! I’m staying here with you.
ZENOVIA: Just leave her here. She’s the heart and soul of this house. You come with us, Radu!
Everyone leaves. She pours herself a small glass of cherry brandy. She drinks it. Then she begins to cover the furniture with white sheets. Finally, she takes down the icon and the photograph of their two men from the walls.
AGLAIA: It’s fine, it’s very fine. Zenovia, a nurse on the front line, is caring and resourceful when she wants to be, and she’ll infect everyone with her cheerfulness… Radu, at the front, dignified, proud, just as his father actually wanted him to be. Alexandru, out in the woods, but perhaps he’ll come to his senses too… Or who knows? Perhaps something will come of that painting of his in the end… And me, here, the heart and soul of the house… Yes, the heart and soul of the house never dies…
She comes in with a rope; we get the impression she wants to kill herself. In fact, she climbs into the wall and pulls the cupboard with the rope after her. She buries herself. Her sobbing can be heard from inside the wall.
AGLAIA: I’m staying here until there’s life and laughter and dancing once more…
