CORNELL 
 UNIVERSITY 
 , ; -^ LIBRARY 
 
 . GIFT OF 
 
 H. J. Patten 
 
CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 
 
 924 063 791 770 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924063791770 
 
PLAYS 
 
 BT 
 
 ANTON TCHEKOFF 
 
PLAYS 
 
 BY 
 
 ANTON TCHEKOFF 
 
 UNCLE VANYA 
 
 IVANOFF 
 
 THE SEA-GULL 
 
 THE SWAN SONG 
 
 TKANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN, WITH AN INTRODUCTION BT 
 
 MARIAN FELL 
 
 NEW YORK 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 1913 
 
Copyright, 1912, bt 
 CHARLES SCRIBNEB'S SONS 
 
 Published September, 1912 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 rAQB 
 
 Introduction 1 
 
 Chbonologicaii List of Anton Tchekoff's Works 11. 
 
 Uncle Vanta 13 ' 
 
 IVANOFF 73 
 
 The Sea-Gull 155 
 
 The Swan Song 223 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
ANTON TCHEKOFF 
 
 The last years of the nineteenth century were for Russia 
 tinged with doubt and gloom. The high-tide of vitality that 
 had risen during the Turkish war ebbed in the early eighties, 
 leaving behind it a dead level of apathy which lasted until 
 life was again quickened by the high interests of the Revolu- 
 tion. During these grey years the lonely country and stag- 
 nant provincial towns of Russia buried a peasantry which was 
 enslaved by want and-toil, and an educated upper class which 
 was enslaved_by idleness and tedium. Most of the "Intel-_ 
 lectuals." with no outlet for their energies, were content to 
 forget their ennui in vodka and card-playing; only the more 
 idealistic gasped for air in the stifling atmosphere, crying 
 out in despair against life as they saw it, and looking for- 
 ward with a pathetic hope to happiness for humanity in 
 "two or three hundred years." It^^ is the mevitable tragedy 
 of their existence, and the pitiful humour of their surround- 
 ings, that are portrayed with such insight and sympathy 
 by Anton Tchekoflf who is, perhaps, of modern writers, the 
 dearest to the Russian people. 
 
 Anton Tchekoff was born in the old Black Sea port of 
 Taganrog on January 17, 1860. His grandfather had been a 
 serf; his father married a merchant's daughter and settled 
 in Taganrog, where, during Anton's boyhood, he carried on 
 a small and unsuccessful trade in provisions. The young 
 TchekoflE was soon impressed into the services of the large, 
 poverty-stricken family, and he spoke regretfully in after 
 years of bis hard-worked childhood. But he was obedient 
 
 3 
 
4 INTRODUCTION 
 
 and good-natured, and worked cheerfully in his father's shop, 
 closely observing the idlers that assembled there, and 
 gathering the drollest stories, which he would afterward 
 whisper in class to his laughing schoolfellows. Many were 
 the punishments which he incurred by this habit, which 
 was incorrigible. 
 
 His grandfather had now become manager of an estate near 
 Taganrog, in the wild steppe country of the Don Cossacks, 
 and here the boy spent his summers, fishing in the river, and 
 roving about the countryside as brown as a gipsy, sowing 
 the seeds of that love for nature which he retained all his 
 life. His evenings he liked best to spend in the, kitchen of 
 the master's house among the work people and peasants who 
 gathered there, taking part in their games, and setting them 
 all laughing by his witty and telling observations. 
 
 When Tcheko£F was about fourteen, his father moved the 
 family to Moscow, leaving Anton in Taganrog, and now, re- 
 lieved of work in the shop, his progress at school became 
 remarkable. At seventeen he wrote a long tragedy, which 
 was afterward destroyed, and he already showed flashes of the 
 wit that was soon to blaze into genius. 
 
 He graduated from the high school at Taganrog with every 
 
 •{honour, entered the University of Moscow as a student of 
 
 medicine, and threw himself headlong into a double life of 
 
 student and author, in the attempt to help his struggling 
 
 family. 
 
 His first story appeared in a Moscow paper in 1880, and 
 after some difficulty he secured a position connected with 
 several of the smaller periodicals, for which, during his stu- 
 dent years, he poured forth a succession of short stories and 
 sketches of Russian life with incredible rapidity. He wrote, 
 he tells us, during every spare minute, in crowded rooms 
 where there was "no light and less air," and never spent 
 
INTRODUCTION 5 
 
 more than a day on any one story. He also wrote at this 
 time a very stirring blood-and-thunder play which was sup- 
 pressed by the censor, and the fate of which is not known. 
 
 His audience demanded laughter above all things, and, with 
 his deep sense of the ridiculous, Tchekoff asked nothing bet- 
 ter. His stories, though often based on themes profoundly 
 tragic, are penetrated by the light and subtle satire that has 
 won him his reputation as a great humourist. But though 
 there was always a smile on his lips, it was a tender one, and 
 his sympathy with suffering often brought his laughter near 
 to tears. 
 
 This delicate and original genius was at first subjected to 
 harsh criticism, which Tchekoff felt keenly, and Trigorin's 
 description in "The Sea-GuU" of the trials of a young author 
 is a cry from Tchekoff's own soul. A passionate enemy of, 
 air lies and oppression, he already foreshadows in these early \ 
 writings the protest against conventions and rules, which he \ 
 afterward put into Treplieff's reply to Sarin in "The Sea- 1 
 Gull": "Iiet us have new forms, or else nothing at all.". 
 
 In 1884 he took his degree as doctor of medicine, and de- 
 cided to practise, although his writing had by now taken on 
 a professional character. He always gave his calling a high 
 place, and the doctors in his works are drawn with affection 
 and understanding. If any one spoke slightingly of doctors 
 in his presence, he would exclaim: "Stop! You don't know 
 what country doctors do for the people ! " 
 
 Tchekoff fully realised later the influence which his pro- 
 fession had exercised on his literary work, and sometimes 
 regretted the too vivid insight it gave him, but, on the other 
 hand, he was able to write: "Only a doctor can know what 
 value my knowledge of science has been to me," and "It 
 seems to me that as a doctor I have described the sicknesses of 
 the soul correctly." For instance, Trigorin's analysis in "The 
 
6 INTRODUCTION 
 
 Sea-Gull" of the state of mind of an author has well been 
 called "artistic diagnosis." 
 
 The young doctor-writer is described at this time as mod- 
 est and grave, with flashes of brilliant gaiety. A son of the 
 people, there was in his face an expression that recalled the 
 simple-hearted village lad; his eyes were blue, his glance full 
 of intelligence and kindness, and his manners unaffected and 
 simple. He was an untiring worker, and between his patients 
 and his desk he led a life of ceaseless activity. His restless 
 mind was dominated by a passion of energy and he thought 
 continually and vividly. Often, while jesting and talking, he 
 would seem suddenly to plunge into himself, and his look 
 would grow fixed and deep, as if he were contemplating some- 
 thing important and strange. Then he would ask some un- 
 expected question, which showed how far his mind had 
 roamed. 
 
 Success was now rapidly overtaking the young author; his 
 first collection of stories appeared in 1887, another one in the 
 same year had immediate success, and both went through 
 many editions; but, at the same time, the shadows that dark- 
 ened his later works began to creep over his light-hearted 
 humour. 
 
 His impressionable mind began to take on the grey tinge 
 of his time, but much of his sadness may also be attributed 
 to his ever-increasing iU health. 
 
 ^ Weary and with an obstinate cough, he went south in 1888, 
 took a little cottage on the banks of a little river "abound- 
 ing in fish and crabs," and surrendered himself to his touch- 
 ing love for nature, happy in his passion for fishing, in the 
 quiet of the country, and in the music and gaiety of the peas- 
 ants. "One would gladly sell one's soul," he writes, "for the 
 pleasure of seeing the warm evening sky, and the streams 
 and pools reflecting the darkly mournful sunset." He de- 
 
INTRODUCTION 7 
 
 scribed visits to his country neighbours and long drives in gay 
 company, during which, he says, "we ate every half hour, 
 and laughed to the verge of colic." 
 
 His health, however, did not improve. In 1889 he began 
 to have attacks of heart trouble, and the sensitive artist's 
 nature appears in a remark which he made after one of them. 
 "I walked quickly across the terrace on which the guests 
 were assembled," he said, "with one idea in my mind, how 
 awkward it would be to fall down and die in the presence 
 of strangers." 
 
 It was during this transition period of his life, when his 
 youthful spirits were failing him, that the stage, for which 
 he had always felt a fascination, tempted him to write 
 "Ivanoff," and also a dramatic sketch in one act entitled 
 "The Swan Song," though he often declared that he had 
 no ambition to become a dramatist. "The Novel," he wrote, 
 "is a lawful wife, but the Stage is a noisy, flashy, and 
 insolent mistress." He has put his opinion of the stage of 
 his day in the mouth of Treplieff, in "The Sea-GuU," and he 
 often refers to it in his letters as "an evil disease of 
 the towns" and "the gallows on which dramatists are 
 hanged." ^ 
 
 He wrote "Ivanoff" at white-heat in two and a half weeks, x 
 as a protest against a play he had seen at one of the Moscow 
 theatres. Ivanoff (from Ivan, the commonest of Russian 
 names) was by no means meant to be a hero, but a most 
 ordinary, weak man oppressed by the "immortal common- 
 places of life," with his heart and soul aching in the grip of 
 circumstance, one of the many "useless people" of Russia for 
 whose sorrow Tchekoff felt such overwhelming pity. He 
 saw nothing in their lives that could not be explained and 
 pardoned, and he returns to his ill-fated, "useless people" 
 again and again, not to preach any doctrine of pessimism. 
 
8 INTRODUCTION 
 
 but simply because lie thought that the world was the better 
 for a certain fragile beauty of their natures and their touch- 
 ing faith in the ultimate salvation of humanity. 
 
 Both the writing and staging of "Ivanoff" gave Tchekoff 
 great difficulty. The characters all being of almost equal 
 importance, he found it hard to get enough good actors to 
 take the parts, but it finally appeared in Moscow in 1889, 
 , a decided failure! The author had touched sharply several 
 sensitive spots of Russian life — for instance, in his warning 
 not to marry a Jewess or a blue-stocking — and the play 
 was also marred by faults of inexperience, which, however, 
 he later corrected. The critics were divided in condemning 
 a certain novelty in it and in praising its freshness and 
 originality. The character of Ivanoff was not understood, 
 and the weakness of the man blinded many to the lifelike 
 portrait. Tchekoff himself was far from pleased with what 
 he called his "literary abortion," and rewrote it before it 
 was produced again in St. Petersburg. Here it was received 
 with the wildest applause, and the morning after its perform- 
 ance the papers burst into unanimous praise. The author 
 was enthusiastically feted, but the burden of his growing 
 fame was beginning to be very irksome to him, and he wrote 
 wearily at this time that he longed to be in the country, 
 fishing in the lake, or lying in the hay. 
 J- His next play to appear was a farce entitled "The Boor," 
 which he wrote in a single evening and which had a great 
 success. This was followed by "The Demon," a failure, re- 
 written ten years later as "Uncle Vanya." 
 
 All Russia now combined in urging Tchekoff to write some 
 important work, and this, too, was the writer's dream; but 
 his only long story is "The Steppe," which is, after all, but 
 a series of sketches, exquisitely drawn, and strung together 
 on the slenderest connecting thread. Tchekoff's delicate and 
 
INTRODUCTION 9 
 
 elusive descriptive power did not lend itself to painting on a 
 large canvas, and his strange little tragi-comedies of Russian 
 life, his "Tedious Tales," as he called them, were always to 
 remain his masterpieces. 
 
 In 1890 Tchekoflf made a journey to the Island of Sagha- 
 lien, after which his health definitely failed, and the consump- 
 tion, with which he had long been threatened, finally declared 
 itself. His illness exiled him to the Crimea, and he spent his 
 last ten years there, making frequent trips to Moscow to su- 
 perintend the production of his four important plays, written 
 during this period of his life. 
 
 "The Sea-Gull" appeared in 1896, and, after a failure in. 
 St. Petersburg, won instant success as soon as it was given 
 on the stage of the Artists' Theatre in Moscow. Of all Tchek- 
 off's plays, this one conforms most nearly to our Western 
 conventions, and is therefore most easily appreciated here."^ 
 In Trigorin the author gives us one of the rare glimpses 
 of his own mind, for Tchekofif seldom put his own personal- 
 ity into the pictures of the life in which he took such im- 
 mense interest. ^ 
 
 In "The Sea-Gull" we see clearly the increase of TchekofiE's \ o 
 power of analysis, which is remarkable in his next play, "The \ 
 Three Sisters," gloomiest of all his dramas. , _) 
 
 "The Three Sisters," produced in 1901, depends, even more '^ 
 than most of Tchekoff's plays, on its interpretation, and it is 
 almost essential to its appreciation that it should be seen 
 rather than read, (jhe atmosphere of gloom with which it ' 
 is pervaded is a thousand times more intense when it comes 
 to us across the foot-lights^ In it Tchekoff probes the depths ; 
 of human life with so sure a touch, d.nd lights them with an 
 insight so piercing, that the play made a deep impression 
 when it appeared. This was also partly owing to(the mas- 
 terly waj) in which it was acted at the Artists' Theatre in 
 
10 INTRODUCTION 
 
 Moscow. The theme is, as usual, the greyness of provincial 
 life, and the night is lit for his little group of characters by 
 a flash of passion so intense that the darkness which suc- 
 ceeds it seems wellnigh intolerable. 
 
 "Uncle Vanya" followed "The Three Sisters," and the 
 poignant truth of the picture, together with the tender 
 iDeauty of the last scene, touched his audience proToundly, 
 both on the stage and when the play was afterward published. 
 
 "The Cherry Orchard" appeared in 1904 and was Tchek- 
 off's last play. At its production, just before his death, the 
 author was fSted as one of Russia's greatest dramatists. 
 Here it is not only country life that Tchekhoff shows us, but 
 Russian life and character in general, in which the old order 
 is giving place to the new, and we see the practical, mod- 
 ern spirit invading the vague, aimless existence so dear to the 
 owners of the cherry orchard. A new epoch was beginning, 
 and at its dawn the singer of old, dim Russia was silenced. 
 
 In the year that saw the production of "The Cherry Or- 
 chard," Tchekoff, the favourite of the Russian people, whom 
 Tolstoi declared to be comparable as a writer of stories only 
 to Maupassant, died suddenly in a little village of the Black 
 Forest, whither he had gone a few weeks before in the hope 
 of recovering his lost health. 
 
 Tchekoff, with an art peculiar to himself,' in scattered 
 scenes, in haphazard glimpses into the lives of his characters, 
 in seemingly trivial conversations, has succeeded in so con- 
 centrating the atmosphere of the Russia of his day that we 
 feel it in every line we read, oppressive as the mists that 
 hang over a lake at dawn, and, like those mists, made visible 
 to us by the light of an approaching day. 
 
CHRONOLOGICAL LIST OF 
 
 THE PRINCIPAL WORKS 
 
 OF ANTON TCHEKOFF 
 
 PLAYS 
 
 <^ The Swan Song" 1889 
 
 ^" The Proposal" 1889 
 
 >Ivano|f" 1889 
 
 *^heBoor" 1890 ■ 
 
 ^The Sea-Guir" 1896v/ 
 
 ►•"The Tragedian in Spite of Himself" 1899 
 
 "The Three Sisters" 1901^^ 
 
 ^ncleVanya" 1902 ^ 
 
 ^he Cherry Orchard" 1904 ^ 
 
 NOVELS AND SHORT STORIES 
 
 "Humorous Folk" 1887 
 
 "Twilight, and Other Stories" 1887 
 
 "Morose Folk" 1890 
 
 "Variegated Tales" 1894 
 
 "Old Wives of Russia" 1894 
 
 "The Duel" 1895 
 
 "The Chestnut Tree" 1895 
 
 "Ward Number Six" 1897 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS SKETCHES 
 
 "The Island of Saghalien" 1895 
 
 "Peasants" 1898 
 
 "Life in the Provinces" 1898 
 
 "Children" 1899 
 
 11 
 
UNCLE VANYA 
 
 SCENES FROM COUNTRY LIFE 
 In Foxjb Acts 
 
CHARACTERS 
 
 Alexander Sekebrakoff, a retired projessor 
 
 Helena, his loife, twenty-seven years old 
 
 SoNLA, his daughter by a former marriage 
 
 Mme. Voitskata, vndow of a privy councilor, and mother of 
 
 Serehrakof s first wife 
 Ivan (Vanta) Voitski, her son 
 Michael Astroff, a doctor 
 
 Ilia (Waffles) Telegin, an impoverished landowner 
 JIarina, an old nurse 
 A Workman 
 
 The scene is laid on Seeebrakoff's country place 
 
UNCLE VANYA 
 ACT I 
 
 A country house on a terrace. In front of it a garden. In an 
 avenue of trees, under an old poplar, stands a table set for 
 tea, with a samovar, etc. Some benches and chairs stand 
 near the table. On one of them is lying a guitar. A ham- 
 mock is swung near the table. It is three o'clock in the 
 afternoon of a cloudy day. 
 
 Marina, a quiet, grey-chaired, little old woman, is sitting at the 
 table knitting ar'stocking. 
 ■ AsTROFF is walking up and down near her. 
 
 Marina. [Pouring some tea into a glass] Take a little tea, 
 my son. 
 
 Astroff; [Takes the glass from her unwillingly] Somehow, I 
 don't seem to want any. 
 
 Marina. Then will you have a little vodka instead.? 
 
 Astroff. No, I don't drink vodka every day, and besides, 
 it is too hot now. [A pause] Tell me, nurse, how long have 
 we known each other? 
 
 Marina. [Thoughtfully] Let me see, how long is it? Lord 
 — help me to remember. You first came here, into our 
 parts — let me think — when was it? Sonia's mother was 
 still alive — it was two winters before she died; that was 
 eleven years ago — [thoughtfully] perhaps more. 
 
 Astroff. Have I changed much since then? 
 
 Marina. Oh, yes. You were handsome and young then, 
 and now you are an old man and not handsome any more. 
 You drink, too. 
 
 15 
 
16 UNCLE VAN Y A act i 
 
 AsTBOFF. Yes, ten years have made me another man. And 
 why? Because I am overworked. Nurse, I am on my feet 
 from dawn till dusk. I know no rest; at night I tremble 
 under my blankets for fear of being dragged out to visit 
 some one who is sick; I have toiled without repose or a day's 
 freedom since! have known you; could I help growing old.? 
 And then, existence is tedious, anyway; it is a senseless, dirty 
 business, this life, and goes heavily. Every one about here is 
 silly, and after living with them for two or three years one 
 grows silly oneself. It is inevitable. [Twisting his mous- 
 tache] See what a long moustache I have grown. A foolish, 
 long moustache. Yes, I am as silly as the rest, nurse, but 
 not as stupid; no, I have not grown stupid. Thank God, 
 my brain is not addled yet, though my feelings have grown 
 numb. I ask nothing, I need nothing, I love no one, imless 
 it is yourself alone. [He kisses her head] I had a nurse just 
 like you when I was a child. 
 
 Mabina. Don't you want a bite of something to eat.'' 
 AsTHOFF. No. During the third week of Lent I went to 
 the epidemic at Malitskoi. It was eruptive typhoid. The 
 peasants were all lying side by side in their huts, and the 
 calves and pigs were running about the floor among the sick. 
 Such dirt there was, and smoke! Unspeakable! I slaved 
 among those people all day, not a crumb passed my lips, but 
 when I got home there was still no rest for me; a switchman 
 was carried in from the railroad; I laid him on the operating 
 table and he went and died in my arms under chloroform, 
 and then my feelings that should have been deadened awoke 
 again, my conscience tortured me as if I had killed the man. 
 I sat down and closed my eyes — like this — and thought: will 
 our descendants two hundred years from now, for whom we 
 are breaking the road, remember to give us a kind word? 
 No, nurse, they will forget. 
 
ACT I UNCLEVANYA 17 
 
 Makina. Man is forgetful, but God remembers. 
 
 AsTROFF. Thank you for that. You have spoken the truth. 
 Enter Voitski /rom the house. He has been asleep after 
 dinner and looks rather dishevelled. He sits dovm on 
 the bench and straightens his collar. 
 
 VoiTSKi. H'm. Yes. [A pattse] Yes. 
 
 AsTROFF. Have you been asleep.' 
 
 VoiTSKi. Yes, very much so. [He yavms] Ever since the 
 Professor and his wife have come, our daily life seems to have 
 jumped the track. I sleep at the wrong time, drink wine, and 
 eat all sorts of messes for luncheon and dinner. It isn't 
 wholesome. Sonia and I used to work together and never 
 had an idle moment, but now Sonia works alone and I only 
 eat and drink and sleep. Something is wrong. 
 
 Marina. [Shaking her head] Such a confusion in the house! 
 The Professor gets up at twelve, the samovar is kept boiling 
 all the morning, and everything has to wait for him. Before 
 they came we used to have dinner at one o'clock, like every- 
 body else, but now we have it at seven. The Professor sits 
 up all night writing and reading, and suddenly, at two o'clock, 
 there goes the bell! Heavens, what is that? The Professor 
 wants some tea! Wake the servants, light the samovar! 
 Lord, what disorder! 
 
 AsTROFF. Will they be here long? 
 
 VoiTSKi. A hundred years! The Professor has decided to 
 make his home here. 
 
 Marina. Look at this now! The samovar has been on the 
 table for two hours, and they are all out walking ! — 
 
 VoiTSKi. All right, don't get excited; here they come. 
 
 Voices are heard approaching. Serebrakoff, Helena, 
 Sonia, and Telegin come in from the depths of the 
 garden, returning from their walk. 
 
 Serebrakoff. Superb ! Superb ! What beautiful views ! 
 
18 UNCLEVANYA acti 
 
 Telegin. They are wonderful, your Excellency. 
 
 SoNiA. To-morrow we, shall go into the woods, shall we, 
 papa? 
 
 VoiTSKi. Ladies and gentlemen, tea is ready. 
 
 Sekebrakoff. Won't you please be good enough to send 
 my tea into the library? I still have some work to finish. 
 
 SoNiA. I am sure you will love the woods. 
 
 Helena, Serebrakopf, and Sonia go into the house. 
 Telegin sits down at the table beside Mardja. 
 
 VoiTSKi. There goes our learned scholar on a hot, sultry 
 day like this, in his overcoat and goloshes and carrying an 
 umbrella! 
 
 Astroff. He is trying to take good care of his health. 
 
 VoiTSKi. How lovely she is! How lovely! I have never 
 in my life seen a more beautiful woman. 
 
 Telegin. Do you know, Marina, that as I walk in the 
 fields or in the shady garden, as I look at this table here, my 
 heart swells with unbounded happiness. The weather is en- 
 chanting, the birds are singing, we are all living in peace and 
 contentment — what more could the soul desire? 
 
 [Takes a glass of tea. 
 
 VoiTSKi. [Dreaming] Such eyes — a glorious woman! 
 
 AsTBOFF. Come, Ivan, tell us something. 
 
 VoiTSKi. [Indolently] What shall I tell you? 
 
 Astroff. Haven't you any news for us? 
 
 VoiTSKi. No, it is all stale. I am just the same as usual, 
 or perhaps worse, because I have become lazy. I don't do 
 anything now but croak like an old raven. My mother, the 
 old magpie, is still chattering about the emancipation of 
 woman, with one eye on her grave and the other on her— 
 learned books, in which she is always looking for the dawn 
 of a new life. 
 
ACT I UNCLEVANYA 19 
 
 AsTROFF. And the Professor? 
 
 VoiTSKl. The Professor sits in his library from morning 
 till night, as usual — 
 
 "Straining the mind, wrinkling the brow. 
 We write, write, write. 
 Without respite 
 Or hope of praise in the future or now." 
 
 Poor paper! He ought to write his autobiography; he would 
 make a really splendid subject for a book! Imagine it, the 
 life of a retired professor, as stale as a piece of hardtack, tor- 
 tured by gout, headaches, and rheumatism, his liver bursting 
 with jealousy and envy, living on the estate of his first wife, 
 although he hates it, because he can't afford to live in town. 
 He is everlastingly whining about his hard lot, though, as a 
 matter of fact, he is extraordinarily lucky. He is the son of 
 a common deacon and has attained the professor's chair, 
 become the son-in-law of a senator, is called "your Excel- 
 lency," and so on. But I'll tell you something; the man has 
 been writiag on art for twenty-five years, and he doesn't 
 know the very first thing about it. For twenty-five years he 
 has been chewing on other men's thoughts about realism, 
 naturalism, and all such foolishness; for twenty-five years he 
 has been reading and writing things that clever men have 
 long known and stupid ones are not interested in; for twenty- 
 five years he has been making his imaginary mountains out 
 of molehills. And just think of the man's self-conceit and 
 presumption all this time! For twenty -five years he has 
 been masquerading in false clothes and. has now retired, ab- 
 solutely unknown to any living soul; and yet see him! stalk- 
 ing across the earth like a demi-god ! ^ 
 
 AsTHOFF. I believe you envy him. 
 
 VoiTSKi. Yes, I do. Look at the success he has had with 
 
20 UNCLEVANYA acti 
 
 women! Don Juan himself was not more favoured. His 
 first wife, who was my sister, was a beautiful, gentle being, 
 as pure as the blue heaven there above us, noble, great- 
 hearted, with more admirers than he has pupils, and she 
 loved him as only beings of angelic purity can love those who 
 are as pure and beautiful as themselves. His mother-in- 
 law, my mother, adores him to this day, and he still inspires 
 a sort of worshipful awe in her. His second wife is, as you 
 see, a brilliant beauty; she married him in his old age and 
 has surrendered all the glory of her beauty and freedom to 
 him. Why.? What for.? 
 
 AsTROFF. Is she faithful to him? 
 
 VoiTSKi. Yes, unfortunately she is. 
 
 AsTROFF. Why "unfortunately".? ' 
 
 VoiTSKi. Because such fidelity is false and unnatural, root 
 and branch. It sounds well, but there is no logic in it. It 
 is thought immoral for a woman to deceive an old husband ^ 
 whom she hates, but quite moral for her to strangle her poor 
 youth in her breast and banish every vital desire from her 
 heart. 
 
 Telegin. [In a tearful voice] Vanya, I don't like to hear 
 you talk so. Listen, Vanya; every one who betrays husband 
 or wife is faithless, and could also betray his country. 
 
 VoiTSKi. [Crossly] Turn off the tap, Wafiles. 
 
 Telegin. No, allow me, Vanya. My wife ran away with 
 a lover on the day after our wedding, because my exterior 
 was unprepossessing. I have never failed in my duty since 
 then. I love her and am true to her to this day. I help her 
 all I can and have given my fortune to educate the daughter 
 of herself and her lover. I have forfeited my happiness, but 
 I have kept my pride. And she.? Her youth has fled, her 
 beauty has faded according to the laws of nature, and her 
 lover is dead. What has she kept.? 
 
ACT I UNCLE VAN Y A 21 
 
 Helena and Sonia come in; after them comes Mme. 
 VoiTSKAYA carrying a hook. She sits down and be- 
 gins to read. Some one hands her a glass of tea which 
 she drinks loithout looking up. 
 
 Sonia. [Hurriedly, to the nurse] There are some peasants 
 
 waiting out there. Go and see what they want. I shall 
 
 pour the tea. [Pours out some glasses of tea. 
 
 Marina goes out. Helena takes a glass and sits 
 
 drinking in the hammock. 
 
 AsTROPF. I have come to see your husband. You wrote 
 me that he had rheumatism and I know not what else, and 
 that he was very ill, but he appears to be as lively as a cricket. 
 
 Helena. He had a fit of the blues yesterday evening and 
 complained of pains in his legs, but he seems all right again 
 to-day. 
 
 AsTROFP. And I galloped over here twenty miles at break- 
 neck speed! No matter, though, it is not the first time. 
 Once here, however, I am going to stay until to-morrow, and 
 at any rate sleep quantum satis. 
 
 Sonia. Oh, splendid! You so seldom spend the night with 
 us. Have you had dinner yet? 
 
 ASTBOPF. No. 
 
 Sonia. Good. So you will have it with us. We dine at 
 seven now. [Drinks her tea] This tea is cold ! 
 
 Telegin. Yes, the samovar has grown cold. 
 
 B^LENA. Don't mind. Monsieur Ivan, we will drinkjcold 
 tea, then. 
 
 Telegin. I beg your pardon, my name is not Ivan, but 
 Ilia, ma'am — Ilia Telegin, or Waffles, as I am sometimes 
 called on account of my pock-marked face. I am Sonia's 
 godfather, and his Excellency, your husband, knows me very 
 well. I now live with you, ma'am, on this estate, and per- 
 
22 UNCLEVANYA acti 
 
 haps you will be so good as to notice that I dine with you 
 every day. 
 
 SoNiA. He is our great help, our right-hand man. [Ten- 
 derly] Dear godfather, let me pour you some tea. 
 
 Mme. Voitskata. Oh! Oh! 
 
 SoNiA. What is it, grandmother.? 
 
 Mme. Voitskaya. I forgot to tell Alexander — I have lost 
 my memory — I received & letter to-day from Paul Alexevitch 
 in Kharkoff. He has sent me a new pamphlet. 
 
 AsTBOFF. Is it interesting? 
 
 Mme. Voitskaya. Yes, but strange. He refutes the very 
 theories which he defended seven years ago. It is appalling! 
 
 VoiTSKi. There is nothing appalling about it. Drink 
 your tea, mamma. 
 
 Mme. Voitskaya. It seems you never want to listen to 
 what I have to say. Pardon me, Jean, but you have changed 
 so in the last year that I hardly know you. You used to 
 be a man of settled convictions and had an illuminating 
 personality 
 
 VoiTSKi. Oh, yes. I had an illuminating personality, 
 which illuminated no one. [A patise] I had an illuminating 
 personality! You couldn't say anything more biting. I 
 am forty-seven years old. rtlntil last year I endeavoured, as 
 you do now, to blind my eyes by your pedantry to the truths 
 of lifej But now — Oh, if you only knew! If you knew 
 how I lie awake at night, heartsick and angry, to think 
 how stupidly I have wasted my time when I might have 
 been winning" frolnTife" everything which my old age now 
 forbids. 
 
 SoNlA. Uncle Vanya, how dreary! 
 
 Mme. Voitskaya. [To her son] You speak as if your former 
 convictions were somehow to blame, but you yourself, not 
 they, were at fault. You have forgotten that a conviction, 
 
ACT I UNCLEVANYA 23 
 
 in itself, is nothin f^ t^"* " '^''"'^ letter. You should Jxave 
 done somethings 
 
 VoiTSKi. Done something! Not every man is capable of 
 being a writer perpetuum mobile like your Herr Professor. 
 Mme. Voitskaya. What do you mean by that? 
 SoNiA. [Imploringly] Mother! Uncle Vanya! I entreat 
 you! 
 
 VoiTSKi. I am silent. I apologise and am silent. [A pause. 
 _ Helena. What a fine day! Not too hot. [A pause. 
 
 VoiTSKi. A fine day to hang oneself. 
 
 Telegin tunes the guitar. Mabina appears near the 
 house, calling the chickens. 
 
 — Marina. Chick, chick, chick! 
 
 SoNlA. What did the peasants want, nurse? 
 Marina. The same old thing, the same old nonsense. 
 Chick, chick, chick! 
 SoNiA. Why are you calling the chickens? 
 
 — Marina. The speckled hen has disappeared with her 
 chicks. I am afraid the crows have got her. 
 
 Telegin plays a polka. All listen in silence. Enter 
 Workman. 
 
 Workman. Is the doctor here? [To Astroff] Excuse me, 
 sir, but I have been sent to fetch you. 
 
 Astroff. Where are you from? 
 
 Workman. The factory. 
 
 Astroff. [Annoyed] Thank you. There is nothing for it, 
 then, but to go. [Loo/cing around him for his cap] Damn it, 
 this is annoying! 
 
 Sonia. Yes, it is too bad, really. You must come back 
 to dinner from the factory. 
 
 Astroff. No, I won't be able to do that. It will be too 
 late. Now where, where — [To the Workman] Look here, 
 my man, get me a glass of vodka, will you? [The Workman 
 
M UNCLEVANYA acti 
 
 goes out] Where — where — [Finds his cap] One of the charac- 
 ters in OstroS's plays is a man with a long moustache and 
 short wits, like me. However, let me bid you good-bye, 
 ladies and gentlemen. [To Helena] I should be really de- 
 lighted if you would come to see me some day with Miss 
 Sonia. My estate is small, but if you are interested in 
 such things I should like to show you a nursery and seed- 
 bed whose like you will not find within a thousand miles of 
 here. My place is surrounded by government forests. The 
 forester is old and always ailing, so I superintend almost all 
 the work myself. 
 
 Helena. I have always heard that you were very fond 
 of the woods. Of course one can do a great deal of good by 
 helping to preserve them, but does not that work interfere 
 with your real calling? 
 
 AsTROFF. God alone knows what a man's real calling is. 
 
 Helena. And do you find it interesting? 
 
 AsTEOFP. Yes, very. 
 
 VoiTSKi. [Sarcastically] Oh, extremely! 
 
 Helena. You are still young, not over thirty-six or seven, 
 I should say, and I suspect that the woods do not interest 
 you as much as you say they do. I should think you would 
 find them monotonous. 
 
 Sonia. No, the work is thrilling. Dr. Astroff watches 
 over the old woods and sets out new plantations every year, 
 and he has already received a diploma and a bronze medal. 
 If you will listen to what he can tell you, you will agree with 
 him entirely. He says that forests are the ornaments of the 
 earth, that they teach mankind to understand beauty and 
 attune his mind to lofty sentiments. Forests temper a stern 
 climate, and in countries where the climate is milder, less 
 strength is wasted in the battle with nature, and the people 
 are kind and gentle. The mhabitants of such countries are 
 
ACT I UNCLEVANYA 25 
 
 handsome, tractable, sensitive, graceful in speech and ges- 
 ture. Their philosophy is joyous, art and science blossom 
 among them, their treatment of women is full of exquisite 
 nobility 
 
 VoiTSKi. [Laughing] Bravo! Bravo! All that is very pretty, 
 but it is also unconvincing. So, my friend [To Asthoff}-- 
 you must let me go on burning firewood in my stoves and 
 building my sheds of planks. 
 
 AsTKOPF. You can burn peat in your stoves and build 
 your sheds of stone. Oh, I don't object, of course, to cut- 
 ting wood from necessity, but why destroy the forests? The 
 woods of Russia are trpmbling under the blows of the axe. 
 Millions of trees have perished. The homes of the wild 
 animals and birds have been desolated; the rivers are shrink- 
 ing, and many beautiful landscapes are gone forever. And 
 why? Because men are too lazy and stupid to stoop down 
 and pick up their fuel from the ground. [To Helena] Am 
 I not right, Madame? Who but a stupid barbarian could 
 burn so much beauty in his stove and destroy that which he 
 cannot make? Man is endowed with reason and the power 
 to create, so. that he may increase that which has been given 
 him, but until now he has not created, but demolished. The 
 forests are disappearing, the rivers are running dry, the 
 game is exterminated, the climate is spoiled, and the earth 
 becomes poorer and uglier every day. [To Voitski] I read 
 irony in your eye; you do not take what I am saying seriously, 
 and — ^and — after all, it may very well be nonsense. But 
 when I pass peasant-forests that I have preserved from the 
 axe, or hear the rustling of the young plantations set out 
 with my own hands, I feel as if I had had some small share 
 in improving the climate, and that if mankind is happy a 
 thousand years from now I will have been a little bit re- 
 sponsible for their happiness. When I plant a little birch 
 
26, UNGLEVANYA acti 
 
 tree and then see it budding into young green and swaying 
 in the wind, my heart swells with pride and I — [Sees the 
 Workman, who is bringing him a glass of vodka on a tray] 
 however— [He drinks] I must be oflE. Probably it is all 
 nonsense, anyway. Good-bye. 
 
 He goes toward the house. Sonia takes his arm and goes 
 vnth him. 
 
 Sonia. When are you coming to see us again? 
 
 AsTROFP. I can't say. 
 
 Sonia. In a month.'' 
 
 AsTROFF and Sonia go into the house. Helena and 
 VoiTSKi walk over to the terrace. 
 
 Helena. You have behaved shockingly again. Ivan, what 
 sense was there in teasing your mother and talking about 
 perpetuum mobile f And at breakfast you quarreled with 
 Alexander again. Really, your behaviour is too petty. 
 
 VoiTSKi. But if I hate him? 
 
 Helena. You hate Alexander without reason; he is like 
 every one else, and no worse than you are. 
 
 VoiTSia. If you could only see your face, your gestures! 
 Oh, how tedious your life must be. 
 
 Helena. It is tedious, yes, and dreary! You all abuse 
 my husband and look on me with compassion; you think, 
 "Poor woman, she is married to an old man." How well I 
 understand your compassion! As Astroff said just now, see 
 how you thoughtlessly destroy the forests, so that there will 
 soon be none left. So you also destroy mankind, and soon 
 fidelity and purity and self-sacrifice will have vanished with 
 the woods. Why cannot you look calmly at a woman unless 
 she is yours? Because, the doctor was right, you are all 
 possessed by a devil of destruction; you have no mercy on 
 the woods or the birds or on women or on one another. 
 
 VoiTSKi. I don't like your philosophy. 
 
ACT I UNCLEVANYA 27 
 
 Helena. That doctor has a sensitive, weary face — an in- 
 teresting face. Sonia evidently Hkes him, and she is in love 
 with him, and I can understand it. This is the third time 
 he has been here since I have come, and I have not had a 
 real talk with him yet or made much of him. He thinks I 
 am disagreeable. Do you know, Ivan, the reason you and 
 I are such friends? I think it is because we are both lonely 
 and unfortunate. Yes, unfortunate. Don't look at me in 
 that way, I don't like it. 
 
 VoiTSKi. How can I look at you otherwise when I love 
 you? You are my joy, my life, and my youth. I know that 
 my chances of being loved in return are infinitely small, do 
 not exist, but I ask nothing of you. Only let me look at you, 
 listen to your voice 
 
 Helena. Hush, some one will overhear you. 
 
 [They go toward the house. 
 
 VoiTSKi. [Following her] Let me speak to you of my love, 
 do not drive me away, and this alone will be my greatest 
 happiness ! 
 
 Helena. Ah!__Th]s _is ^gony ! 
 
 Telegin strikes the strings of his guitar and plays 
 a polka: Mme. Voitskaya viritet something on the 
 leaves of her pamphlet. 
 
 The curtain falls. 
 
ACT II 
 
 The dining-room of Sebebrakopf's home. It is night. The 
 tapping of the Watchman's roMle is heard in the garden. 
 Sebebbakoff is dozing in an arm-chair by an open win- 
 dow and Helena is sitting beside him, also half asleep. 
 
 Serebeakoff. [Rousing himself] Who is here? Is it you, 
 Sonia? 
 
 Helena. It is I. 
 
 Sebebeakoff. Oh, it is you, Nelly. This pain is intol- 
 erable. 
 
 Helena. Your shawl has slipped down. [She wraps up his 
 legs in the shawl] Let me shut the window. 
 
 Sebebeakoff. No, leave it open; I am suffocating, f" 
 dreamt just now that my left leg belonged to some one else, 
 and it hurt so that I woke. I don't believe this is gout, it 
 is more like rheumatism. What time is it? ~ 
 
 Helena. Half past twelve. [A pause. 
 
 Sebebeakoff. I want you to look for Batushka's works 
 in the library to-morrow. I think we have him. 
 
 Helena. What is that? 
 
 Sebebeakoff. Look for Batushka to-morrow morning; we 
 used to have him, I remember. Why do I find it so hard 
 to breathe? 
 
 Helena. You are tired; this is the second night you have 
 had no sleep. 
 
 Sebebeakoff. They say that Turgenieff got angina of the 
 heart from gout. I am afraid I am getting angina too. 
 Oh, damn this horrible, accursed old age! Ever since I have 
 
aCth UNCLEVANYA 29 
 
 been old I have been hateful to myself, and I am sure, hate- 
 ful to you all as well. 
 
 Helena. You speak as if we were to blame for your being 
 old. 
 
 SebebrAkopf. I am more hateful to you than to any one. 
 Helena gets up and walks away from him, sitting down 
 at a distance. 
 
 Seeebeakoff. You are quite right, of course. I am not 
 an idiot; I can understand you. You are young and healthy 
 and beautiful, and longing for life, and I am an old dotard, 
 almost a dead man already. Don't I know it? Of course 
 I see that it is foolish for me to live so long, but wait! I shall 
 soon set you all free. My life cannot drag on much longer. 
 
 Helena. You are overtaxing my powers of endurance. 
 Be quiet, for God's sake! 
 
 Seeebeakoff. It appears that, thanks to me, everybody's 
 power of endurance is being overtaxed; everybody is mis- 
 erable, only I am blissfully triumphant. Oh, yes, of course! 
 
 Helena. Be quiet! You are torturing me. 
 
 Seeebeakoff. I torture everybody. Of course. 
 
 Helena. [Wee-ping] This is unbearable! Tell me, what is 
 it you want me to do? 
 
 Seeebeakoff. Nothing. 
 
 Helena. Then be quiet, please. 
 
 Seeebeakoff. It is funny that everybody listens to Ivan 
 and his old idiot of a mother, but the moment I open my lips 
 you all begin to feel ill-treated. You caa't even stand the 
 sound of my voice. Even if I am hateful, even if I am a 
 selfish tyrant, haven't I the right to be one at my age? 
 Haven't I deserved it? Haven't I, I ask you, the right to 
 be respected, now that I am old? 
 
 Helena. No one is disputing your rights. [The window 
 slams in the mnd\ The wind is rising, I must shut the window. - 
 
30 UNCLEVANYA acth 
 
 [She shuts it] We shall have rain in a momeat. Your rights 
 have never been questioned by anybody. 
 
 The Watchman in the garden sounds his rattle. 
 
 Sbbebrakoff. I have spent my life working in the inter- 
 ests of learning. I am used to my library and the lecture 
 hall and to the esteem and admiration of my colleagues. 
 Now I suddenly find myself plunged in this wilderness, con- 
 demned to see the same stupid people from morning till 
 night and listen to their futile conversation. I want to live; 
 I long for success and fame and the stir of the world, and 
 here I am in exile! Oh, it is dreadful to spend every mo- 
 ment grieving for the lost past, to see the success of others 
 and sit here with nothing to do but to fear death. I cannot 
 stand it! It is more than I can bear. And you will not 
 even forgive me for being old! 
 
 Helena. Wait, have patience; I shall be old myself in 
 four or five years. 
 
 SoNiA comes in. 
 
 SoNiA. Father, you sent for Dr. Astroflf, and now when he 
 comes you refuse to see him. It is not nice to give a man so 
 much trouble for nothing. 
 
 SEKEBKAKorr. What do I care about your Astroff.' He 
 understands medicine about as well as I understand astron- 
 omy. 
 
 SoNiA. We can't send for the whole medical faculty, can 
 we, to treat your gout.'' 
 
 Seeebrakoff. I won't talk to that madman! 
 
 SoNiA. Do as you please. It's all the same to me. 
 
 [She sits down. 
 
 — Serebbakoff. What time is it.? 
 
 — Helena. One o'clock. 
 
 --. Seeebrakoff. It is stifling in here. Sonia, hand me that 
 bottle on the table. 
 
Acrn UNCLEVANYA 31 
 
 SoNiA. Here it is. [She hands him a bottle of medicine. 
 
 Serebrakoff. [Crossly] No, not that one! Can't you un- 
 derstand me? Can't I ask you to do a thing? 
 
 SoNiA. Please don't be captious with me. Some people 
 may like it, but you must spare me, if you please, because 
 I don't. Besides, I haven't the time; we are cutting the hay 
 to-morrow and I must get up early. 
 
 VoiTSKi comes in dressed in a long govm and carrying 
 a candle. 
 
 VoiTSKi. A thunderstorm is coming up. [The lightning 
 flashes] There it is! Go to bed, Helena and Sonia. I have 
 come to take your place. 
 
 Serebbakoff. [Frightened] No, no, no! Don't leave me 
 alone with him! Oh, don't. He will begin to lecture me. 
 
 VoiTSKi. But you must give them a little rest. They have 
 not slept for two nights. 
 
 Serebrakoff. Then let them go to bed, but you go away 
 too! Thank you. I implore you to go. For the sake of 
 our former friendship do not protest against going. We will 
 talk some other time 
 
 VoiTSKi. Our former friendship! Our former 
 
 Sonia. Hush, Uncle Vanya! 
 
 Serebrakoff. [To his wife] My darling, don't leave me 
 alone with him. He will begin to lecture me. 
 
 VoiTSKi. This is ridiculous. 
 
 Marina comes in carrying a candle. 
 
 Sonia. You must go to bed, nurse, it is late. 
 
 Marina. I haven't cleared away the tea things. Can't 
 go to bed yet. 
 
 Serebrakoff. No one can go to bed. They are all worn 
 out, only I enjoy perfect happiness. 
 
 Marina. [Goes up to Serebrakoff and speaks tenderly] 
 What's the matter, master? Does it hurt? My own legs 
 
32 UNCLE VAN Y A act ii 
 
 are aching too, oh, so badly. [Arranges his shawl about his 
 legs] You have had this illness such a long time. Sonia's 
 dead mother used to stay awake with you too, and wear 
 herself out for you. She loved you dearly. [A pause] Old 
 people want to be pitied as much as young ones, but nobody 
 cares about them somehow. [She kisses Sebebbakoff's 
 shoulder] Come, master, let me give you some linden-tea and _ 
 warm your poor feet for you. I shall pray to God for you. 
 
 Serebbakoff. [Touched] Let us go, Marina. 
 
 Mabixa. My own feet are aching so badly, oh, so badly! 
 [She and Sonia lead Sehbbbakoff out] Soma's mother used 
 to wear herself out with sorrow and weeping. You were 
 still little and foolish then, Sonia. Come, come, master. 
 Sebebbakoff, Sonia and Maeina go out. 
 
 Helena. I am absolutely exhausted by him, and can 
 hardly stand. 
 
 VoiTSKi. You are exhausted by him, and I am exhausted 
 by my own self. I have not slept for three nights. 
 
 Helena. Something is wrong in this house. Your mother 
 hates everything but her pamphlets and the professor; the 
 professor is vexed, he won't trust me, and fears you; Sonia 
 is angry with her father, and with me, and hasn't spoken to 
 me for two weeks; I am at the end of my strength, and have 
 come near bursting into tears at least twenty times to-day. 
 Something is wrong in this house. 
 
 VoiTSKi. Leave speculating alone. 
 
 Helena. You are cultured and intelligent, Ivan, and you 
 ! surely understand that the world is not destroyed by villains 
 and conflagrations, but_bxliate and malice and all this spite- 
 ful tattling. It is your duty to make peace, and not to growl 
 at everything. 
 
 VoiTSKi. Help me first to make peace with myself. My 
 darling! [Seizes her hand. 
 
ACTn UNCLE VAN Y A 33 
 
 Helena. Let go! [She drags her hand away] Go away! 
 
 VoiTSKi. Soon the rain will be over, and all nature will 
 sigh and awake refreshed. Only I am not refreshed by the 
 storm. Day and night the thought haunts me like a fiend, 
 that my life is lost for ever. My past does not count, be- 
 cause I frittered it away on trifles, and the present has so 
 terribly miscarried! What shall I do with my life and my 
 love? What is to become of them? This wonderful feeling 
 of mine will be wasted and lost as a ray of sunlight is lost 
 ^that falls into a dark chasm, and my life will go with it. 
 
 Helena. I ana as it were benumbed when you speak to me 
 of your love, and I don't know how to answer you. Forgive 
 me, I have nothing to say to you. [She tries to go out] Good- 
 night! 
 
 VoiTSKi. [Barring the way] If you only knew how I am 
 tortured by the thought that beside me in this house is an- 
 other life that is being lost forever — it is yours! What are 
 you waiting for? What accursed philosophy stands in your 
 way? Oh, understand, understand 
 
 Helena. [Looking at him intently] Ivan, you are drunk! 
 
 VoiTSKi. Perhaps. Perhaps. 
 
 Helena. Where is the doctor? 
 
 VoiTSKi. In there, spending the night with me. Perhaps 
 I am drunk, perhaps I am; nothing is impossible. 
 
 Helena. Have you just been drinking together? Why 
 do you do that? 
 
 VoiTSKi. Because in that way I get a taste of life. Let me 
 do it, Helena! 
 
 Helena. You never used to drink, and you never used to 
 talk so much. Go to bed, I am tired of you. 
 
 VoiTSKi. [Falling on his knees before her] My sweetheart, 
 my beautiful one 
 
34 UNCLEVANYA acth 
 
 Helena. [Angrily] Leave me alone! Really, this has be- 
 come too disagreeable. 
 
 Helena goes out. A pause. 
 
 VoiTSKi. [Alone] She is gone! I met her first ten years 
 ago, at her sister's house, when she was seventeen and I was 
 thirty-seven. Why did I not fall in love with her then 
 and propose to her? It would have been so easy! And 
 now she would have been my wife. Yes, we would both 
 have been waked to-night by the thunderstorm, and she 
 would have been frightened, but I would have held her in 
 my arms and whispered: "Don't be afraid! I am here." 
 Oh, enchanting dream, so sweet that I laugh to think of it. 
 [He laughs] But my God! My head reels! Why am I so 
 old? Why won't she understand me? I hate all that rhetoric 
 of hers, that morality of indolence, that absurd talk about 
 the destruction of the world — [A pause] Oh, how I have 
 been deceived ! For years I have worshipped that miserable 
 gout-ridden professor. Sonia and I have squeezed this es- 
 tate dry for his sake. We have bartered our butter_ and 
 curds and peas like misers, and have never kept a morsel for 
 ourselves, so that we could scrape enough pennies together 
 to send to him. I was proud of him and of his learning; I re- 
 ceived all his words and writings as inspired, and now? Now 
 he has retired, and what is the total of his life? A blank ! He 
 is absolutely unknown, and his fame has burst like a soap- 
 bubble. I have been deceived; I see that now, basely deceived. 
 AsTROFF comes in. He has his coat on, but is vnthovi 
 his waistcoat or collar, and is slightly drunk. Tele- 
 gin follows him, carrying a guitar. 
 
 AsTKOFF. Play! 
 
 Telegin. But every one is asleep. 
 
 AsTHOPF. Play! 
 
 Telegin begins to play softly. 
 
ACT II UNCLE VAN Y A 35 
 
 AsTROFF. Are you alone here? No women about? 
 
 [Sings with his arms akimbo. 
 
 "The hut is cold, the fire is dead; 
 Where shall the master lay his head?" 
 
 The thunderstorm woke me. It was a heavy shower. What 
 time is it? 
 
 VoiTSKi. The devil only knows. 
 
 AsTROFF. I thought I heard Helena's voice. 
 
 VoiTSKi. She was here a moment ago. 
 
 AsTROFF. What a beautiful woman! [Looking at the medi- 
 cine bottles on the tahb] Medicine, is it? What a variety we 
 have; prescriptions from Moscow, from Kharkoff, from 
 Tula! Why, he has been pestering all the towns of Russia 
 with his gout! Is he ill, or simply shamming? 
 
 VoiTSKi. He is really ill. 
 
 AsTROFF. What is the matter with you to-night? You 
 seem sad. Is it because you are sorry for the professor? 
 
 VoiTSKl. Leave me alone. 
 
 AsTROFF. Or in love with the professor's wife? 
 
 VoiTSKl. She is my friend. 
 
 AsTROFF. Already? 
 
 VoiTSKi. What do you mean by "already"? 
 
 AsTROFF. A woman can only become a man's friend after 
 having first been his acquaintance and then his beloved — 
 then she becomes his friend. ~^ 
 
 VoiTSKi. What vulgar philosophy! 
 
 AsTROFF. What do you mean? Yes, I must confess I am 
 getting vulgar, but then, you see, I am drunk. I usually 
 only drink like this once a month. At such times my audac- 
 ity and temerity know no bounds. I feel capable of any- 
 thing. I attempt the most difficult operations and do them 
 magnificently. The miist brilliant plans for the future take 
 
36 UNCLE VAN Y A acta 
 
 shape in my head. I am no longer a poor fool of a doc- 
 tor, but mankind's greatest benefactor. I evolve my own 
 system of philosophy and all of you seem to crawl at my 
 feet dike so many insects or microbes. [To Telegin] Play, 
 Waffles! 
 
 Telegin. My dear boy, I would with all my heart, but 
 do listen to reason; everybody in the house is asleep. 
 
 AsTROFF. Play! 
 
 Telegin plays softly. 
 
 AsTEOFF. I want a drink. Come, we still have some 
 brandy left. And then, as soon as it is day, you will come 
 home with me. [He sees Sonia, who comes in at that moment. 
 
 AsTBOPF. I beg your pardon, I have no collar on. 
 
 [He goes out quickly, followed by Telegin. 
 
 Sonia. Uncle Vanya, you and the doctor have been drink- 
 ing! The good fellows have been getting together! It is 
 all very well for him, he has always done it, but why do you 
 follow his example.? It looks dreadfully at your age. 
 
 VoiTSKi. Age has nothing to do with it. When real life 
 is wanting one must create an illusion. It is better than 
 nothing. 
 
 Sonia. Our hay is all cut and rotting in these daily rains, 
 and here you are busy creating illusions ! You have given up 
 the farm altogether. I have done all the work alone imtil 
 I am at the end of my strength — [Frightened] Uncle! Your 
 eyes are full of tears! 
 
 VoiTSKi. Tears? Nonsense, there are no tears in my 
 eyes. You looked at me then just as your dead mother used 
 to, my darling — [He eagerly kisses her face and hands] My 
 sister, my dearest sister, where are you now? Ah, if you 
 only knew, if you only knew! 
 
 Sonia. If she only knew what, Uncle? 
 
Acrn UNCLEVANYA 37 
 
 VoiTSKi. My heart is bursting. It is awful. No matter, 
 though. I must go. [He goes out. 
 
 SoNiA. [Knocks at the door] Dr. Astroff! Are you awake.? 
 Please come here for a minute. 
 
 AsTRorF. [Behind the door] In a moment. 
 
 He appears in a fern seconds. He has put on his collar 
 and waistcoat. 
 
 AsTBOFF. What do you want? 
 
 SoNiA. Drink as much as you please yourself, if you don't 
 find it revolting, but I implore you not to let my uncle do it. 
 It is bad for him. 
 
 AsTKOFF. Very well; we won't drink any more. I am 
 going home at once. That is settled. It will be dawn by 
 the time the horses are harnessed. 
 
 SoNiA. It is still raining; wait till morning. 
 
 AsTHOFF. The storm is blowing over. This is only the 
 edge of it. I must go. And please don't ask me to come 
 and see your father any more. I tell him he has gout, and 
 he says it is rheumatism. I tell him to lie down, and he sits 
 up. To-day he refused to see me at all. 
 
 SoNiA. He has been spoilt. [She looks in the sideboard] 
 Won't you have a bite to eat? 
 
 AsTKOFF. Yes, please. I believe I will. 
 
 SoNiA. I love to eat at night. I am sure we shall find 
 something in here. They say that he has made a great many 
 conquests in his life, and that the women have spoiled him. 
 Here is some cheese for you. 
 
 [They stand eating by the sideboard. 
 
 AsTKOFF. I haven't eaten anything to-day. Your father 
 has a very diflSicult nature. [He takes a bottle oiit of the side- 
 board] May I? [He pours himself a glass of vodka] We are 
 alone here, and I can speak frankly. Do you know, I could 
 not stand living in this house for even a month? This atmos- 
 
38 UNCLEVANYA acth 
 
 phere would stifle me. There is your father, entirely ab- 
 sorbed in his books, and his gout; there is your Uncle Vanya 
 ■with his hypochondria, your grandmother, and finally, your 
 step-mother 
 
 SoNiA. What about her? 
 
 AsTBOFP. A human being should be entirely beautiful : the 
 face, the clothes, the mind, the thoughts. Your step-mother 
 is, of course, beautiful to look at, but don't you see.? She 
 does nothing but sleep arid eat and walk and bewitch us, and 
 that is all. She has no responsibilities, everything is done 
 for her — am I not right.'' And an idle life can never be a pure 
 one. [A paiise] However, I may be judging her too severely. 
 Like your Uncle Vanya, I am discontented, and so we are 
 both grumblers. 
 
 SoNiA. Aren't you satisfied with life? 
 
 AsTHOFP. I like life as life, but I hate and despise it in a 
 little Russian country village, and as far as my own personal 
 life goes, by heaven ! there is absolutely no redeeming feature 
 about it. Haven't you noticed if you are riding through a 
 dark wood at night and see a little light shining ahead, how 
 you forget your fatigue and the darkness and the sharp twigs 
 that whip, your face? I work, that you know — as no one else 
 in the country works. Fate beats me on without rest; at 
 times I suffer unendurably and I see no light ahead. I have 
 no hope; I do not like people. It is long since I have loved 
 any one. 
 
 SoNiA. You love no one? 
 
 AsTBOFF. Not a soul. I only feel a sort of tenderness for 
 your old nurse for old-times' sake. The peasants are all 
 alike; they are stupid and live in dirt, and the educated peo- 
 ple are hard to get along with. One gets tired of them. All 
 our good friends are petty and shallow and see no farther than 
 their own noses; in one word, they are dull. Those that have 
 
ACTn UNCLEVANYA 39 
 
 brains are hysterical, devoured with a mania for self-analysis. 
 They whine, they hate, they pick faults everywhere with un- 
 healthy sharpness. They sneak up to me sideways, look at 
 me out of a comer of the eye, and say: "That man is a luna- 
 tic," "That man is a wind-bag." Or, if they don't know what 
 else to label me with, they say I am strange. I like the woods ; 
 that is strange. I don't eat meat; that is strange, too. Sim- 
 ple, natural relations between man and man or man and 
 nature do not exist. [He tries to go out; Sonia prevents him. 
 
 SoNiA. I beg you, I implore you, not to drink any more! 
 
 AsTROFF. Why not? 
 
 Sonia. It is so unworthy of you. You are well-bred, your 
 voice is sweet, you are even — more than any one I know — 
 handsome. Why do you want to resemble the common peo- 
 ple that drink and play cards? Oh, don't, I beg you! You 
 always say that people do not create anything, but only de- 
 stroy what heaven has given them. Why, oh, why, do you 
 destroy yourself? Oh, don't, I implore you not to! I en- 
 treat you! 
 
 AsTROFF. [Gives her his hand] I won't drink any more. 
 
 Sonia. Promise me. 
 
 AsTROFF. I give you my word of honour. 
 
 Sonia. [Squeezing his hand] Thank you. 
 
 AsTHOFF. I have done with it. You see, I am perfectly 
 sober again, and so I shall stay till the end of my life. [He 
 looks at his watch] But, as I was saying, life holds nothing for 
 me; my race is run. I am old, I am tired, I am trivial; my 
 sensibilities are dead. I could never attach myself to any 
 one again. I love no one, and — never shall! geaut^alone 
 has_the_poww Jojtouch me still. I am deeply moved by it. 
 Helena could turn my head in a -day if she wanted to, but 
 
 that is not love, that is not affection 
 
 [He shudders and covers his face vrith his hands. 
 
40 UNCLEVANYA ACin 
 
 SoNiA. AVhat is it? 
 
 AsTBOFF. Nothing. During Lent one of my patients died 
 under chloroform. 
 
 SoNiA. It is time to forget that. [A pawe] Tell me, doc- 
 tor, if J ha.d a friend or a younger sister, and if you knew that 
 she, well — loved you, what would you do.' 
 
 AsTBOFF. [Shrugging his shoulders] I don't know. I don't 
 think I should do anything. I should make her understand 
 that I could not return her love — however, my mind is not 
 bothered about those things now. I must start at once if I 
 am ever to get ofE. Good-bye, my dear girl. At this rate 
 we shall stand here talking till morning. [He shakes hands 
 with her] I shall go out through the sitting-room, because I 
 am afraid your uncle might detain me. [He goes out. 
 
 SoNlA. [4Zorae] Not a word! His heart and soul are still 
 locked from me, and yet for some reason I am strangely 
 happy. I wonder why? [She laughs with pleasure] I told him 
 that he was well-bred and handsome and that his voice was 
 sweet. Was that a mistake? I can still feel his voice vibrat- 
 ing in the air; it caresses me. [Wringing her hands] Oh! 
 how terrible it is to be plain! I am plain, I know it. As I 
 came out of church last Sunday I overheard a woman say, 
 "She is a dear, noble girl, but what a pity she is so ugly!" 
 So uglyX 
 
 Helena comes in and throws open the window. 
 
 Helena. The storm is over. What delicious air! [A pause] 
 Where is the doctor? 
 
 SoNLA.. He has gone. [A pause. 
 
 Helena. Sonia! 
 
 SoNiA. Yes? 
 
 Helena. How much longer are you going to sulk at me? 
 We have not hurt each other. Why not be friends? We 
 have had enough of this. 
 
ACTH UNCLEVANYA 41 
 
 SoNiA. I myself — [She embraces Helena] Let us make 
 peace. 
 
 Helena. With all my heart. [They are both moved. 
 
 SoNiA. Has papa gone to bed? 
 
 Helena. No, he is sitting up in the drawing-room. Heaven 
 knows what reason you and I had for not speaking to each 
 other for weeks. [Sees the open sideboard] Who left the side- 
 board open? 
 
 SoNLA. Dr. AstroflE has just had supper. 
 
 Helena. There is some wine. Let us seal our friendship. 
 
 SoNiA. Yes, let us. 
 
 Helena. Out of one glass. [She fills a wine-glass] So, we 
 are friends, are we? 
 
 SoNLA.. Yes. [Th£y drink and kiss each other] I have long 
 wanted to make friends, but somehow, I was ashamed to. 
 
 [She weeps. 
 
 Helena. Why are you crying? 
 
 SoNLA. I don't know. It is nothing. 
 
 Helena. There, there, don't cry. [She weeps] Silly! Now 
 I am crying too. [A pause] You are angry with me because 
 I seem to have married your father for his money, but don't 
 believe the gossip you hear. I swear to you I married him 
 for love. I was fascinated by his fame and learning. I know 
 now that it was not real love, but it seemed real at the time. 
 I am innocent, and yet your clever, suspicious eyes have been 
 punishing me for an imaginary crime ever since my marriage. 
 
 SoNiA. Peace, peace! Let us forget the past. 
 
 Helena. You must not look so at people. It is not be- 
 coming to you. You must trust people, or life becomes im- 
 possible. 
 
 SoNLA.. Tell me truly, as a friend, are you happy? 
 
 Helena. Truly, no. 
 
42 UNCLE VAN Y A act n 
 
 SoNiA. I knew it. One more question: do you wish your 
 husband were young? 
 
 Helena. What a child you are! Of course I do. Go on, 
 ask something else. 
 
 SoNiA. Do you like the doctor.? 
 Helena. Yes, very much indeed. 
 
 SoNiA. [Laughing] I have a stupid face, haven't I? He 
 has just gone out, and his voice is still in my ears; I hear his 
 step; I see his face in the dark window. Let me say jJl I 
 have in my heart! But no, I cannot speak of it so loudly. 
 I am ashamed. Come to my room and let me tell you there. 
 I seem foolish to you, don't I.' Talk to me of him. 
 Helena. What can I say.? 
 
 SoNiA. He is clever. He can do everything. He can cure 
 the sick, and plant woods. 
 
 /Helena. It is not a question of medicine and woods, my 
 
 dear, he is a man of genius. Do you know what that means.? 
 
 At means he is brave, profound, and of clear insight. He 
 
 / plants a tree and his mind travels a thousand years into the 
 
 / future, and he sees visions of the happiness of the human 
 
 I race. People like him are rare and should be loved. What 
 
 j if he does drink and act roughly at times.? Aman of genius 
 
 I can not be a saint in Russ ia. There he lives, cut off from the 
 
 I world by cold and storm and endless roads of bottomless 
 
 j mud, surrounded by a rough people who are crushed by 
 
 poverty and disease, his life one continuous struggle, with 
 
 never a day's respite; how can a man live like that for forty 
 
 years and keep himself sober and unspotted.? [Kissing 
 
 Sonia] I wish you happiness with all my heart; you deserve 
 
 it. [She gets up] As for me, I am a worthless, futile woman. 
 
 I have always been futile; in music, in love, in my husband's 
 
 house — in a word, in everything. When you come to think 
 
 of it, Sonia, I am really very, very unhappy. [Walks ex- 
 
ACTu UNCLEVANYA 43 
 
 dtedly up and down] Happiness can never exist for me in 
 this world. Never. Why do you laugh.'' 
 
 SoNiA. [Laughing and covering her face tvith her hands] I 
 am so happy, so happy! 
 
 Helena. I want to hear music. I might play a little. 
 
 SoNiA. Oh, do, do! [She embraces her] I could not possi- 
 bly go to sleep now. Do play! 
 
 Helena. Yes, I will. Your father is still awake. Music 
 irritates him when he is ill, but if he says I may, then I shall 
 play a little. Go, Sonia, and ask him. 
 
 SoNiA. Very well. 
 
 [She goes out. The Watchman's rattle is heard in the 
 garden. 
 
 Helena. It is long since I have heard music. And now, I 
 shall sit and play, and weep like a fool. [Speaking out of the 
 vnndow] Is that you rattling out there, Ephim? 
 
 Voice of the Watchman. It is I. 
 
 Helena. Don't make such a noise. Your master is ill. 
 
 Voice of the Watchman. I am going away this minute. 
 
 [Whistles a tune. 
 
 Sonia. [Covies back] He says,/no. 
 
 The curtain falls. 
 
ACT III 
 
 The drawing-room of Serebeakoff's house. There are three 
 doors: one to the right, one to the left, and one in the cen- 
 tre of the room. Voitski and Sonia are sitting down. 
 Helena is walking up and down, absorbed in thought. 
 
 Voitski. We were asked by the professor to be here at 
 one o'clock. [Looks at his watch] It is now a quarter to one. 
 It seems he has some communication to make to the world. 
 
 Helena. Probably a matter of business. 
 
 ,VoiT8Ki. He never had any business. He writes twaddle, 
 grumbles, and eats his heart out with jealousy; that's all 
 he does. 
 
 Sonia. [Reproachfully] Uncle! 
 
 Voitski. All right. I beg your pardon. [He points to 
 Helena] Look at her. Wandering up and down from sheer 
 idleness. A sweet picture, really. 
 
 Helena. I wonder you are not bored, droning on in the' 
 same key from morning till night. [Despairingly] I am dying 
 of this tedium. What shall I do ^ 
 
 Sonia. [Shrugging her shoulders] There is plenty to do if 
 you would. 
 
 Helena. For instance.? 
 
 Sonia. You could help run this place, teach the children, 
 care for the sick — isn't that enough? Before you and papa 
 came, Uncle Vanya and I used to go to market ourselves to 
 deal in flour. 
 
 Helena. I don't know anything about such things, and 
 besides, they don't interest me. It is only in novels that 
 
 ii 
 
ACT in UNCLEVANYA 45 
 
 women go out and teach and heal the peasants; how can I 
 suddenly begin to do it? 
 
 SoNiA. How can you live here and not do it? Wait 
 awhile, you will get used to it all. [Embraces her] Don't be 
 sad, dearest. [Laughing] You feel miserable and restless, and 
 can't seem to fit into this lite, and your restlessness is catch- 
 ing. Look at Uncle Vanya, he does nothing now but haunt 
 you like a shadow, and I have left my work to-day to come 
 here and talk with you. I am getting lazy, and don't want 
 to go on with it. Dr. AstrofI hardly ever used to come here; 
 it was all we could do to persuade him to visit us once a 
 month, and now he has abandoned his forestry and his 
 practice, and comes every day. You must be a witch. 
 
 VoiTSKi. Why should you languish here? Come, my 
 dearest, my beauty, be sensible! The blood of a Nixey runs 
 in your veins. Oh, won't you let yourself be one? Give your 
 nature the reins for once in your life; fall head over ears in 
 love with some other water sprite and plunge down head 
 first into a deep pool, so that the Herr Professor and all of 
 us may have our hands free again. 
 
 Helena. [Angrily] Leave me alone! How cruel you are! 
 
 [She tries to go out. 
 
 VoiTSBCi. [Preventing her] There, there, my beauty, I apolo- 
 gise. [He Msses her hand] Forgive me. 
 
 Helena. Confess that you would try the patience of an 
 angel. 
 
 VoiTSKi. As a peace offering I am going to fetch some 
 flowers which I picked for you this morning: some autumn 
 roses, beautiful, sorrowful roses. [He goes out. 
 
 SoNiA. Autumn roses, beautiful, sorrowful roses ! 
 
 \EKe and Helena stand looking out of the vnndow. 
 
 Helena. September already! How shall we live through 
 the'long winter here? [A pause] Where is the doctor? 
 
46 UNCLE VAN Y A actih 
 
 SoNiA. He is writing in Uncle Vanya's room. I am glad 
 Uncle Vanya has gone out, I want to talk to you about 
 something. 
 
 Helena. About what.' 
 
 SoNiA. About what.!* 
 
 [She lays her head on Helena's breast. 
 
 Helena. [Stroking her hair] There, there, that will do. 
 Don't, Sonia. 
 
 SoNLA. I am ugly! 
 
 Helena. You have lovely hair. 
 
 Sonia. Don't .say that! [She turns to look at herself in the 
 glass] No, when a woman is ugly they always say she has 
 beautiful hair or eyes. / I have loved him now for six years; 
 I have loved him more than one loves one's mother. I seem 
 to hear him beside me every moment of the day. I feel the 
 pressure of his hand on mine. If I look up, I seem to see 
 him coming, and as you see, I run to you to talk of him. He 
 is here every day now, but he never looks at me, he does 
 not notice my presence. It is a gony. _ I have absolutely no 
 hope, no, no hope. Oh, my God! Give me strength to 
 endure. I prayed all last night. I often go up to him and 
 speak to him and looE^ into his eyes. My pride is gone. I 
 am not mistress of myself. Yesterday I told Uncle Vanya. 
 I couldn't control myself, and all the servants know it. 
 Every one knows that I love him. 
 
 Helena. Does he? 
 
 Sonia. No, he never notices me. 
 
 Helena. [Thoughtfully] He is a strange man. Listen. 
 Sonia, will you allow me to speak to him.'' I shall be care- 
 ful, only hint. [A -pause] Really, to be in uncertainty all these 
 years! Let me do it! 
 
 Sonia nods an affirmative. 
 
 Helena. Splendid! It will be easy to find out whether 
 
ACTin UNCLEVANYA 47 
 
 he loves you or not. Don't be ashamed, sweetheart, don't 
 worry. I shall be careful; he will not notice a thing. We 
 only want to find out whether it is yes or no, don't we? [A 
 pause] And if it is no, then he must keep away from here, 
 is that so.? 
 
 SoNiA nods. 
 
 Helena. It will be easier not to see him any more. We 
 won't put off the examination an instant. He said he had 
 a sketch to show me. Go and tell him at once that I want 
 to see him. 
 
 SoNiA. [In great excitement] Will you tell me the whole 
 truth.? 
 
 Helena. Of course I will. I am sure that no matter what 
 it is, it will be easier for you tojaear than this uncertainty. 
 Trust to me, dearest. % 1||p 
 
 SoNiA. Yes, yes. I shall say that you want to see his 
 sketch. [She starts out, but stops near the door and looks back] 
 No, it is better not to know — and yet — there may^ be hope. 
 
 Helena. What do you say? 
 
 SoNiA. Nothing. [She goes out. 
 
 Helena. [Alone] There is no greater sorrow than to 
 know another's secret when you cannot help them. [In deep 
 thought] He is obviously not in love with her, but why 
 shouldn't he marry her? She is not pretty, but she is so 
 clever and pure and good, she would make a splendid wife 
 for a country doctor of his years. [A pause] I can under- 
 stand how the poor child feels. She lives here in this des- 
 perate loneliness with no one around her except these colour- 
 less shadows that go mooning about talking nonsense and 
 knowing nothing except that they eat, druik, and sleejp, 
 Among them appears from time to time this Dr. Astroff, so 
 different, so handsome, so interesting, so charming. I^JL- 
 like seeing the moon rise on a dark night. Oh, to surrender 
 
48 UNCLE VAN Y A act m 
 
 oneself to his embrace! To lose oneself in his arms! I am 
 a little in love with him myself! Yes, I am lonely without 
 him, and when I think of him I smile. That Uncle Vanya 
 says I have the blood of a Nixey in my veins: "Give rein to 
 your nature for once in your life!" Perhaps it is right that 
 /I should. Oh, to be free as a bird, to fly away from all your 
 sleepy faces and your talk and forget that you have existed 
 at all! But I am a coward, I am afraid; my conscience tor- 
 ments me. He comes here every day now. I can guess 
 why, and feel guilty already; I should like to fall on my 
 knees at Sonia's feet and beg her forgiveness, and weep. 
 AsTROFF comes in carrying a portfolio. 
 
 AsTROFF. How do you Ao^ [Shakes hands with her] Do you 
 want to see my sketch? 
 
 Helena. Yes, you promised to show me what you had 
 been doing. Have you time now.' 
 
 AsTROFP. Of course I have! 
 
 He lays the portfolio on the table, takes out the sketch and 
 fastens it to the table vnth thumb-tacks. 
 
 AsTROFF. Where were you born? 
 
 Helena. [Helping him] In St. Petersburg. 
 
 AsTROFF. And educated? 
 
 Helena. At the Conservatory there 
 
 AsTROFF. You don't find this life very interesting, I dare 
 say? 
 
 Helena. Oh, why not? It is true I don't know the coun- 
 try very well, but I have read a great deal about it. 
 
 AsTROFP. I have my own desk there in Ivan's room. 
 When I am absolutely too exhausted to go on I drop every- 
 thing and rush over here to forget myself in this work for 
 an hour or two. Ivan and Miss Sonia sit rattling at their 
 counting-boards, the cricket chirps, and I sit beside them 
 and paint, feeling warm and peaceful. But I don't permit 
 
ACT in UNCLEVANYA 49 
 
 myself this luxury very often, only once a month. [Pointing 
 to the picture] Look there! That is a map of our country 
 as it was fifty years ago. The green tints, both dark and 
 light, represent forests. Half the map, as you see, is covered 
 with it. Where the green is striped with red the forests 
 were inhabited by elk and wild goats. Here on this lake, 
 lived great flocks of swans and geese and ducks; as the old 
 men say, there was a power of birds of every kind. Now 
 they have vanished like a cloud. Beside the hamlets and 
 villages, you see, I have dotted down here and there the 
 various settlements, farms, hermit's caves, and water-mills. 
 This country carried a great many cattle and horses, as you 
 can see by the quantity of blue paint. For instance, see how 
 thickly it lies in this part; there were great herds of them 
 here, an average of three horses to every house. [A pause] 
 Now, look lower down. This is the country as it was twenty- 
 five years ago. OnlyaJ^jrd-ef-thc-^ia^ is green now with 
 forests. XEere are no ^oate_left_and no el^ The blue paint 
 is lighter, and so on, and so on. . Now we come to the third 
 part; our country as it appears to-day. We still see spots 
 of green, but not much. The elk, the swans, the black- 
 cock have disappeared. It is, on the whole, the picture of 
 a regular and slow decline which it will evidently only take 
 about ten or fifteen more years to complete. You may per- 
 haps object that it is the march of progress, that the old 
 order must give place to the new, and you might be right if 
 roads had been run through these ruined woods, or if fac- 
 tories and schools had taken their place. The people then 
 would have become better educated and healthier and richerj^ 
 but as it is, we have nothing of the sort. We have the same\^ 
 swamps and mosquitoes; the same disease and want; the 
 typhoid, the diphtheria, the burning villages. We are con- 
 fronted by the degradation of our country, brought on by 
 
so UNCLEVANYA act in 
 
 the fierce struggle for existence of the human race. It is 
 the consequence of the ignorance and unconsciousness of 
 starving, shivering, sick humanity that, to save its children, 
 instinctively snatches at everything that can warm it and 
 still its hunger. So it destroys everything it can lay its 
 hands on, without a thought for the morrow. And almost 
 everything has gone, and nothing has, been created to take 
 its place. [Coldly] But I see by your face that I am not in- 
 teresting you. 
 
 Helena. I know so little about such things! 
 
 AsTROPF. There. is nothing to know. It simply isn't in- 
 teresting, that's all. 
 
 Helena. Frankly, my thoughts were elsewhere. Forgive 
 me! I want to submit you to a little examination, but I am 
 embarrassed and don't know how to begin. 
 
 AsTHOPF. An examination.? 
 
 Helena. Yes, but quite an innocent one. Sit down. 
 [They sit down] It is about a certain young girl I know. Let 
 us discuss it like honest people, like friends, and then forget 
 what has passed between us, shall we.' 
 
 AsTROPF. Very well. 
 
 Helena. It is about my step-daughter, Sonia. Do you 
 like her? 
 
 AsTROFP. Yes, I respect her. 
 
 Helena. Do you like her — as a woman? 
 
 AsTROPF. [Slowly] No. 
 
 Helena. One more word, and that will be the last. You 
 have not noticed anything.? 
 
 AsTROFF. No, nothing. 
 
 Helena. [Talcing his hand] You do not love her. I see 
 that in your eyes. She is sufiFering. You must realise that, 
 and not come here any more, 
 i AsTROPP. My sun has set, yes, and then I haven't the 
 
ACTHi UNCLEVANYA 51 
 
 time. [Shrugging his shoulders] Where shall I find time for 
 such things? [He is embarrassed. 
 
 Helena. Bah! What an unpleasant conversation! lam 
 as out of breath as if I had been running three miles uphill. 
 Thank heaven, that is over! Now let us forget everything 
 as if nothing had been said. You are sensible. You under- 
 stand. [A •pause] I am actually blushing. 
 
 AsTRorF. If you had spoken a month ago I might per- 
 haps have considered it, but now — [He shrugs his shoulders] 
 Of course, if she is suffering — but I cannot understand why 
 you had to put me through this examination. [He searches 
 her face with his eyes, and shakes his finger at her] Oho, you 
 are wily! 
 
 Helena. What does this mean? 
 
 AsTRorr. [Laughing] You are a wily one! I admit that 
 Sonia is suffering, but what does this examination of yours 
 ' mean? [He prevents her from retorting, and goes on quickly] 
 Please don't put on such a look of surprise; you know per- 
 fectly well why I come here every day. Yes, you know per- 
 fectly why and for whose sake I come! Oh, my sweet tigress! 
 don't look at me in that way; I am an old bird! 
 
 Helena. [Perplexed] A tigress? I don't understand you. 
 
 AsTRorF. Beautiful, sleek tigress, you must have your 
 victims ! For a whole month I have done nothing but seek 
 you eagerly. I have thrown over everything for you, and 
 you love to see it. Now then, I am sure you knew all this 
 without putting me through your examination. [Crossing 
 his arms and bowing his head] I surrender. Here you have 
 me — now, eat me. 
 
 Helena. You have gone mad! 
 
 AsTBOFF. You are afraid! 
 
 Helena. I am a better and stronger woman than you 
 think me. Good-bye. [She tries to leave the room. 
 
52 UNCLE VAN Y A actiii 
 
 AsTROFF. Why good-bye? Don't say good-bye, don't 
 waste words. Oh, how lovely you are — what hands! 
 
 [He kisses her hands. 
 
 Helena. Enough of this ! [She frees her hands] Leave the 
 room! You have forgotten yourself. 
 
 AsTHOFF. Tell me, tell me, where can we meet to-morrow? 
 [He puts his arm around her] Don't you see that we must 
 meet, that it is inevitable? 
 
 He kisses her. Voitski comes in carrying a bunch of 
 roses, and stops in the doorway. 
 
 Helena. [Without seeing Voitski] Have pity! Leave me, 
 [Lays her head on Astkofp's shoulder] Don't! 
 
 [She tries to break away from, him. 
 
 AsTROFF. [Holding her by the waist] Be in the forest to- 
 morrow at two o'clock. Will you? Will you? 
 
 Helena. [Sees Voitski] Let me go! [Goes to the vnndow 
 deeply embarrassed] This is appalling! 
 
 Voitski. [Throws the flowers on a chair, and speaks in great 
 excitement, wiping his face with his handkerchief] Nothing — 
 yes, yes, nothing. 
 
 AsTROFF. The weather is fine to-day, my dear Ivan; the 
 morning was overcast and looked like rain, but now the 
 sun is shining again. Honestly, we have had a very fine 
 autumn, and the wheat is looking fairly well. [Puts his 
 map back into the portfolio] But the days are growing 
 short. 
 
 Helena. [Goes quickly up to Voitski] You must do your 
 best; you must use all your power to get my husband and 
 myself away from here to-day! Do you hear? I say, this 
 very day! 
 
 Voitski. [Wiping his face] Oh! Ah! Oh! All right! 
 I — ^Helena, I saw everything! 
 
Acrm UNCLEVANYA 53 
 
 Helena. [In great agitation] Do you hear me? I must 
 leave here this very day! 
 
 Sekebrakoff, Sonia, Marina, and Telegin come in. 
 
 Telegest. I am not very well myself, your Excellency. 
 I have been limping for two days, and my head 
 
 Sekebrakoff. Where are the others? I hate this house. 
 It is a regular labyrinth. Every one is always scattered 
 through the twenty-six enormous rooms; one never can find 
 a soul. [Rings] Ask my wife and Madame Voitskaya to come 
 here! 
 
 Helena. I am here abeady. 
 
 Sekebrakoff. Please, all of you, sit down. 
 
 SoNLA. [Goes up to Helena and asks anxiously] What did 
 he say? 
 
 Helena. I'll tell you later. 
 
 Sonia. You are moved. [Loohing quickly and inquiringly 
 into her face] I understand; he said he would not come here 
 any more. [A pause] Tell me, did he? 
 Helena nods. 
 
 Sekebrakoff. [To Telegin] One can, after all, become 
 reconciled to being an invalid, but not to this country life. 
 The ways of it stick in my throat and I feel exactly as if I 
 had been whirled ofif the earth and landed on a strange planet. 
 Please be seated, ladies and gentlemen. Sonia! [Sonia does 
 not hear. She is standing with her head hawed sadly forward 
 on her hreast] Sonia! {A pause] She does not hear me. 
 [To Marina] Sit down too, nurse. [Marina sits down and 
 begins to knit her stocking] I crave your indulgence, ladies 
 and gentlemen; hang your ears, if I may say so, on the peg 
 of attention. [He laughs. 
 
 VoiTSKi. [Agitated] Perhaps you do not need me — may I 
 be excused? 
 
 Sekebrakoff. No, you are needed now more than any one. 
 
54 UNCLEVANYA act in 
 
 VoiTSKi. What is it you want of me? 
 
 Serebrakoff. You — but what are you angry about? If 
 it is anything I have done, I ask you to forgive me. 
 
 VoiTSKi. Oh, drop that and come to business; what do 
 you want? 
 
 Mme. Voitskaya comes in. 
 
 Sebebrakoff. Here is mother. Ladies and gentlemen, I 
 shall begin. I have asked you to assemble here, my friends, 
 in order to discuss a very important matter. I want to 
 ask you for your assistance and advice, and knowing your 
 unfailing amiability I think I can count on both. I am a 
 book-worm and a scholar, and am unfamiliar with practical 
 affairs. I cannot, I find, dispense with the help of well- 
 informed people such as you, Ivan, and you, Telegin, and 
 you, mother. The truth is, manet omnes una nox, that is 
 to say, our lives are in the hands of God, and as I am old and 
 ill, I realise that the time has come for me to dispose of my 
 property in regard to the interests of my family. My life 
 is nearly over, and I am not thinking of myself, but I have 
 a young wife and daughter. [A 'pause] I cannot continue 
 to live in the country; we were not made for country life, 
 and yet we cannot afford to live in town on the income de- 
 rived from this estate. We might sell the woods, but that 
 would be an expedient we could not resort to every year. 
 We must find some means of guaranteeing to ourselves a 
 certain more or less fixed yearly income. With this object 
 in view, a plan has occurred to me which I now have the 
 honour of presenting to you for your consideration. I shall 
 only give you a rough outline, avoiding all details. Our 
 estate does not pay on an average more than two per cent 
 on the money invested in it. I propose to sell it. If we then 
 invest our capital in bonds, it will earn us four to five per 
 cent, and we should probably have a surplus over of several 
 
ACTin UNCLE VANYA 55 
 
 thousand roubles, with which we could buy a summer cot- 
 tage in Finland 
 
 VoiTSKi. Hold on! Repeat what you just said; I don't 
 think I heard you quite right. 
 
 Serebkakoff. I said we would invest the money in bonds 
 and buy a cottage in Finland with the surplus. 
 
 VoiTSKi. No, not Finland — you said something else. 
 
 Serebbakoff. I propose to sell this place. 
 
 VoiTSKi. Aha! That was it! So you are going to sell the 
 place? Splendid. The idea is a rich one. And what do you 
 propose to do with my old mother and me and with Sonia here? 
 
 Serebkakoff. That will be decided in due time. We 
 can't do everything at once. 
 
 VoiTSKi. Wait! It is clear that until this moment I have 
 never had a grain of sense in my head. I have always been 
 stupid enough to think that the estate belonged to Sonia. 
 My father bought it as a wedding present for my sister, 
 and I foolishly imagined that as our laws were made for 
 Russians and not Turks, my sister's estate would come down 
 to her child. 
 
 Sbrebrakoff. Of course it is Sonia's. Has any one de- 
 nied it? I don't want to sell it without Sonia's consent; on 
 the contrary, what I am doing is for Sonia's good. 
 
 VoiTSKi. This is absolutely incomprehensible. Either I 
 have gone mad or — or 
 
 Mme. Voitskaya. Jean, don't contradict Alexander. 
 Trust to him; he knows better than we do what is right and 
 what is wrong. 
 
 VoiTSKi. I shan't. Give me some water. [He drinks] Go 
 ahead! Say anything you please — anything! 
 
 Serebkakoff. I can't imagine why you are so upset. I 
 don't pretend that my scheme is an ideal one, and if you all 
 object to it I shall not insist. [A pause. 
 
56 UNCLEVANYA act in 
 
 Telegin. [With embarrassment] I not only nourish feel- 
 ings of respect toward learning, your Excellency, but I am 
 also drawn to it by family ties. My brother Gregory's 
 wife's brother, whom you may know; his name is Con- 
 stantine Lakedemonoff, and he used to be a magistrate — 
 
 VoiTSKi. Stop, Waffles. This is business; wait a bit, we 
 will talk of that later. [To Serebbakoft] There now, ask 
 him what he thinks; this estate was bought from his uncle. 
 
 Sbbebbakoff. Ah! Why should I ask questions.'' What 
 good would it do? 
 
 VoiTSKi. The price was ninety-five thousand roubles. My 
 father paid seventy and left a debt of twenty-five. Now 
 listen! This place could never have been bought had I not 
 renounced my inheritance in favour of my sister, whom I 
 deeply loved — and what is more, I worked for ten years like 
 an ox, and paid off the debt. 
 
 Serebhakoff. I regret ever having started this conver- 
 sation. 
 
 VoiTSKi. Thanks entirely to my own personal efforts, the 
 place is entirely clear of debts, and now, when I have grown 
 old, you want to throw me out, neck and crop! 
 
 Serebhakoff. I can't imagine what you are driving at. 
 
 VoiTSKi. For twenty-five years I have managed this place, 
 and have sent you the returns from it like the most honest 
 of servants, and you have never given me one single word 
 of thanks for my work, not one — neither in my youth nor 
 now. You allowed me a meagre salary of five hundred roubles 
 a year, a beggar's pittance, and have never even thought of 
 adding a rouble to it. 
 
 Serebrakoff. What did I know about such things, 
 Ivan? I am not a practical man and don't understand them. 
 You might have helped yourself to all you wanted. 
 
 VoiTSKi. Yes; Why did I not steal? Don't you all despise 
 
ACT in UNCLE VAN Y A 57 
 
 me for not stealing, when it would have been only justice? 
 And I should not now have been a beggar! 
 
 Mme. Voitskaya. [Sternly] Jean! 
 
 Telegin. [Agitated] Vanya, old man, don't talk in that 
 way. Why spoil such pleasant relations? [He embraces him] 
 Do stop! 
 
 VoiTSKi. For twenty-five years 1 have been sitting here 
 with my mother like a mole in a burrow. Our every thought 
 and hope was yours and yours only. By day we talked with 
 pride of you and your work, and spoke your name with ven- 
 eration; our nights we wasted reading the books and papers 
 which my soul now loathes. 
 
 Telegin. Don't, Vanya, don't. I can't stand it. 
 
 Serebbakopf. [Wrathfully] What under heaven do you 
 want, anyway? 
 
 VoiTSKi. We used to think of you as almost superhuman, 
 but now the scales have fallen from my eyes and I see you 
 as you are! You write on art without knowing anything 
 about it. Those books of yours which I used to admire are 
 not worth one copper kopeck. You are a hoax! 
 
 Sebebrakoff. Can't any one make him stop? I am going! 
 
 Helena. Ivan, I command you to stop this instant! Do 
 you hear me? 
 
 VoiTSKi. I refuse! [Serebrakopf tries to get out of the 
 room, but Voitski bars the door] Wait! I have not done yet! 
 You have wrecked my life. I have never lived. My best 
 years have gone for nothing, have been ruined, thanks to 
 you. You are my most bitter enemy! 
 
 Telegin. I can't stand it; I can't stand it. I am going. 
 
 [He goes out in great excitement. 
 
 Sekebrakoff. But what do you want? What earthly 
 right have you to use such language to me? Ruination! 
 If this estate is yours, then take it, and let me be ruined! 
 
58 UNCLEVANYA Acim 
 
 Helena. I am going away out of this hell this minute. 
 [Shrieks] This is too much! 
 
 VoiTSKi. My life has been a failure. I am clever and 
 brave and strong. If I had lived a normal life I might have 
 become another Schopenhauer or Dostoieffski. I am losing 
 my head! I am going crazy! Mother, I am in despair! 
 Oh, mother! 
 
 Mme. Voitskata. [Sternly] Listen, Alexander! 
 
 SoNiA falls on her knees beside the nurse and nestles 
 against her. 
 
 SoNiA. Oh, nurse, nurse! 
 
 VoiTSKi. Mother! What shall I do.? But no, don't 
 speak! I know what to do. [To Sebebrakoff] And you 
 will understand me! 
 
 He goes out through the door in the centre of the room 
 and Mme. Voitskaya follows him. 
 
 Sehebhakoff. Tell me, what on earth is the matter.'' 
 Take this lunatic out of my sight! I cannot possibly live 
 under the same roof with him. His room [He points to the 
 centre door] is almost next door to mine. Let him take him- 
 self off into the village or into the wing of the house, or I 
 shall leave here at once. I cannot stay in the same house 
 with him. 
 
 Helena. [To her husband] We are leaving to-day; we 
 must get ready at once for our departure. 
 
 Sehebhakoff. What a perfectly dreadful man! 
 
 SoNiA. [On her knees beside the nurse and turning to her 
 father. She speaks with emotion] You must be kind to us, 
 papa. Uncle Vanya and I are so unhappy! [Controlling her 
 despair] Have pity on us. Remember how Uncle Vai^a and 
 Granny used to copy and translate your books for you 
 every night— every, every night. Uncle Vanya has toiled 
 without rest; he would never spend a penny on us, we sent 
 
ACTiu UNCLE VANYA 59 
 
 it all to you. We have not eaten the bread of idleness. I 
 am not saying this as I should like to, but you must under- 
 stand us, papa, you must be merciful to us. 
 
 Helena. [Very excited, to her husband] For heaven's sake, 
 Alexander, go and have a talk with him — explain! 
 
 Serebrakoff. Very well, I shall have a talk with him, 
 but I won't apologise for a thing. I am not angry with 
 him, but you must confess that his behaviour has been 
 strange, to say the least. Excuse me, I shall go to him. 
 
 [He goes out through the certtre door. 
 
 Helena. Be gentle with him; try to quiet him. 
 
 [She follows him out. 
 
 SoNiA. [Nestling nearer to Marina] Nurse, oh, nurse! \ 
 
 Marina. It's all right, my baby. When the geese have 
 cackled they will be still again. First they cackle and then 
 they stop. / 
 
 SoNiA. Nurse! 
 
 Marina. You are trembling all over, as if you were freez- 
 ing. There, there, little orphan baby, God is merciful. A 
 little linden-tea, and it will all pass away. Don't cry, my 
 sweetest. [Looking angrily at the door in the cerdre oj the room] 
 See, the geese have all gone now. The devil take them! 
 A shot is heard. Helena screams behind the scenes. 
 Sonia shuddders. 
 
 Marina. Bang! What's that? 
 
 Serebrakoff. [Comes in reeling with terror] Hold him! 
 hold him! He has gone mad! 
 
 Helena and Voitski are seen struggling in the doorway. 
 
 Helena. [Trying to vyrest the revolver from him] Give it 
 to me; give it to me, I tell you! 
 
 Voitski. Let me go, Helena, let me go! [He frees himself 
 and rushes in, looking everywhere for Serebrakoff] Where 
 is he? Ah, there he is! [He shoots at him. A pause] I didn't 
 
60 UNCLEVANYA actui 
 
 get him? I missed again? [Furiously] Damnation! Dam- 
 nation! To hell with him! 
 
 He flings the revolver on the floor, and drops helpless into 
 a chair. Serebrakoff stands as if stupefied. Hel- 
 ena leans against the wall, almost fainting. 
 Helena. Take me away! Take me away! I can't stay 
 here^T:! can't! ~~ 
 
 VoiTSKi. [In despair] Oh, what shall I do? What shall 
 I do? 
 
 SoNiA. [Softly] Oh, nurse, nurse! 
 
 The curtain falls. 
 
 A. \ 
 
ACT IV 
 
 Voitski'b bedroom, which is also his office. A table stands near 
 the vnndow; on it are ledgers, letter scales, and papers of 
 every description. Near by stands a smaller table belong- 
 ing to AsTBorF, toith his paints and drawing materials. 
 On the wall hangs a cage containing a starling. There is 
 also a map of Africa on the wall, obviously of no use to any- 
 body. There is a large sofa covered with buckram. A 
 door to the left leads into an inner room; one to the right 
 leads into the front hall, and before this door lies a mat for 
 the peasants with their muddy boots to stand on. It is an 
 autumn evening. The silence is profound. Telegin and 
 Mahina are sitting facing one another, winding wool. 
 
 Telegin. Be quick, Marina, or we shall be called away 
 to say good-bye before you have finished. The carriage has 
 already been ordered. 
 
 Makina. [Trying to wind more quickly] I am a little tired. 
 
 Telegest. They are going to EZharkoS to live. 
 
 Mahina. They do well to go. 
 
 Telegin. They have been frightened. The professor's 
 wife won't stay here an hour longer. "If we are going at 
 all, let's be off," says she, "we shall go to Kharkoff and 
 look about us, and then we can send for our things." They 
 are travelling light. It seems, Marina, that fate has decreed 
 for them not to live here. 
 
 Marina. And quite rightly. What a storm they have 
 just raised! It was shameful! 
 
 61 
 
62 UNCLE VAN Y A act iv 
 
 Tblegin. It was indeed. The scene was worthy of the 
 brush of Aibazofski. 
 
 Maeina. I wish I'd never laid eyes on them. [A pause] 
 Now we shall have things as they were again: tea at eight, 
 dinner at one, and supper in the evening; everything in order " 
 as decent folks, as Christians like to have it. [Sighs] It is a 
 long time since I have eaten noodles. 
 
 Telegin. Yes, we haven't had noodles for ages. [A pause] 
 Not for ages. As I was going through the village this morn- 
 ing, Marina, one of the shop-keepers called after me, "Hi! 
 you hanger-on!" I felt it bitterly. 
 
 Mabina. Don't pay the least attention to them, master; 
 we are all dependents on God. You and Sonia and all of 
 us. Every one must work, no one can sit idle. Where is 
 Sonia? 
 
 Telegin. In the garden with the doctor, looking for Ivan. 
 They fear he may lay violent hands on himself. 
 
 Mabina. Where is his pistol.'' 
 
 Telegin. [Whispers] I hid it in the cellar. 
 VoiTSKi and Astrofp come in. 
 
 VoiTSKi. Leave me alone! [To Marina and Telegin] Go 
 away! Go away and leave me to myself, if but for an 
 hour. I won't have you watching me like this! 
 
 Telegin. Yes, yes, Vanya. [He goes out on tiptoe. 
 
 Marina. The gander cackles; ho! ho! ho! 
 
 [She gathers up her wool and goes out. 
 
 VoiTSKi. Leave me by myself! 
 
 AsTROFF. I would, with the greatest pleasure. I ought 
 to have gone long ago, but I shan't leave you until you have 
 returned what you took from me. 
 
 VoiTSKi. I took nothing from you. 
 
 AsTROFF. I am not jesting, don't detain me, I really must go. 
 
 VoiTSKl. I took nothing of yours. 
 
ACT IV UNCLEVANYA 63 
 
 AsTHOFF. You didn't? Very well, I shall have to wait 
 a little longer, and then you will have to forgive me if I re- 
 sort to force. We shall have to bind you and search you. 
 I mean what I say. 
 
 VoiTSKi. Do as you please. [A pawe] Oh, to make such 
 a fool of myself! To shoot twice and miss him both times! 
 I shall never forgive myself. 
 
 AsTROFF. When the impulse came to shoot, it would have 
 been as well had you put a bullet through your own head. 
 
 VoiTSKi. [Shrugging his shoulders] Strange! I attempted 
 murder, and am not going to be arrested or brought to trial. 
 That means they think me mad. [With a bitter laugh] Me! 
 I am mad, and those who hide their worthlessness, their dul- 
 ness, their crying heartlessness behind a professor's mask, 
 are sane! Those who marry old men and then deceive them 
 under the noses of all, are sane! I saw you kiss her; I saw 
 you in each other's arms! 
 
 AsTROFF. Yes, sir, I did kiss her; so there. 
 
 [He puts his thumh to his nose. 
 
 VoiTSKi. [His eyes on the door] No, it is the earth that is 
 mad, because she still bears us on her breast. 
 
 AsTROFF. That is nonsense. 
 
 VoiTSKi. Well.'' Am I not a madman, and therefore irre- 
 sponsible? Haven't I the right to talk nonsense? 
 
 AsTROFF. This is a farce! You are not mad; you are sim- 
 ply a ridiculous fool. I used to think every fool was out of 
 his senses, but now I see that lack of sense is a man's normal 
 state, and you are perfectly normal. 
 
 VoiTSKi. [Covers his face vnth his hands] Oh! If you knew 
 how ashamed I am! These piercing pangs of shame are like 
 nothing on earth. [In an agonised voice] I can't endure 
 them! [He leans against the table] What can I do? What 
 can I do? 
 
64 UNCLEVANYA activ 
 
 AsTEOFF. Nothing. 
 
 VoiTSKi. You must tell me something! Oh, my God! 
 I am forty-seven years old. I may live to sixty; I still have 
 I thirteen years before me; an ^ternity! How shall I be able 
 to endure life for thirteen years? What shall I do? How 
 can I fill them? Oh, don't you see? [He presses Astroff's 
 hand convulsively] Don't you see, if only I could live the rest 
 of my life in some new way! If I could only wake some still, 
 bright morning and feel that life had begun again; that the 
 past was forgotten and had vanished like smoke. [He weeps] 
 Oh, to begin life anew! Tell me, tell me how to begin. 
 
 AsTROFF. [Crossly] What nonsense! What sort of a new 
 life can you and I look forward to? We can have no hope. 
 
 VoiTSKi. None? 
 
 AsTROPF. None. Of that I am convinced. 
 ^^oiTSKi. Tell me what to do. [He puts his hand to his 
 meart] I feel such a burning pain here. 
 / AsTHOFF. [Shouts angrily] Stop! [Then, more gently] It 
 // may be that posterity, which will despise us for our blind 
 and stupid lives, will find some road to happiness; but we — 
 you and I — ^have but one hope, the hope that we may be 
 visited by visions, perhaps by pleasant ones, as we lie rest- 
 ing in our graves. [Sighing] Yes, brother, there were only 
 two respectable^ intelligent men in this county, you and I. 
 Ten years or so of this life of ours, this miserable life, have 
 sucked us under, and we have become as contemptible and 
 petty as the rest. But don't try to talk me out of my pur- 
 pose! Give me what you took from me, will you? 
 
 VoiTSKi. I took nothing from you. 
 
 AsTROFF. You took a little bottle of morphine out of my 
 medicine-case. [A pause] Listen! If you are positively de- 
 termined to make an end to yourself, go into the woods and 
 shoot yourself there. Give up the morphine, or there will 
 
ACT IV UNCLE VAN Y A 65 
 
 be a lot of talk and guesswork; people will think I gave it 
 to you. I don't fancy having to perform a post-mortem 
 on you. Do you think I should find it interesting? 
 SoNiA comes in. 
 
 VoiTSKi. Leave me alone. 
 
 AsTKOFP. [To Sonia] Sonia, your uncle has stolen a bot- 
 tle of morphine out of my medicine-case and won't give it 
 up. Tell him that his behaviour is — well, unwise. I haven't 
 time, I must be going. 
 
 Sonia. Uncle Vanya, did you take the morphine.'' 
 
 AsTBOFF. Yes, he took it. [A pause] I am absolutely sure. 
 
 Sonia. Give it up! Why do you want to frighten us.' 
 [Tenderly] Give it up, Uncle Vanya! My misfortune is per- 
 haps even greater than yours, but I am not plunged in de- 
 spair. I endure my sorrow, and shall endure it until my 
 life comes to a natural end. You must endure yours, too. 
 [A pause] Give it up! Dear, darling Uncle Vanya. Give 
 it up! [She weeps] You are so good, I am sure you will have 
 pity on us and give it up. You must endure your sorrow. 
 Uncle Vanya; you must endure it. 
 
 VoiTSKi takes a bottle from the drawer of the table and 
 hands it to Astroff. 
 
 VoiTSKi. There it is! [To Sonia] And now, we must get 
 to work at once; we must do something, or else I shall not 
 be able to endure it. 
 
 Sonia. Yes, yes, to work! As soon as we have seen them 
 oflf we shall go to work. [She nervously straightens out the pa- 
 pers on the table] Everything is in a muddle! 
 
 AsTHOFF. [Putting the bottle in his case, which he straps 
 together] Now I can be off. 
 Helena comes in. 
 
 Helena. Are you here, Ivan? We are starting in a mo- 
 ment. Go to Alexander, he wants to speak to you. 
 
66 UNCLE VAN Y A act iv 
 
 SoNiA. Go, Uncle Vanya. [She takes Voitski's arm] Come, 
 you and papa must make peace; that is absolutely necessary. 
 SoNiA and Voitski go out. 
 
 Helena. I am going away. [She gives Astroff her hand\ 
 Good-bye. 
 
 AsTBOFF. So soon? 
 
 Helena. The carriage is waiting. 
 
 Astroff. Good-bye. 
 
 Helena. You promised me you would go away yourself 
 to-day. 
 
 Astroff. I have not forgotten. I am going at once. [A 
 •pause] Were you frightened.' Was it so terrible? 
 
 Helena. Yes. 
 
 Astroff. Couldn't you stay? Couldn't you? To-mor- 
 row — in the forest 
 
 Helena. No. It is all settled, and that is why I can 
 look you so bravely in the face. Our departure is fixed. 
 One thing I must ask of youi don't think too badly of me; 
 I should like you to respect me. 
 
 Astroff. Ah! [With an impatient gesture] Stay, I implore 
 you! Confess that there is nothing for you to do in this 
 world. You have no object in life; there is nothing to oc- 
 cupy your attention, and sooner or later your feelings must 
 master you. It is inevitable. It would be better if it hap- 
 pened not in Kharkoff or in Kursk, but here, in nature's 
 lap. It would then at least be poetical, even beautiful. 
 Here you have the forests, the houses half in ruins that 
 Turgenieff writes of. 
 
 Helena. How comical you are! I am angry with you 
 and yet I shall always remember you with pleasure. You 
 are interesting and original. You and I will never meet 
 again, and so I shall tell you — why should I conceal it? — 
 that I am just a little in love with you. Come, one more 
 
ACTiv UNCLE VANYA 67 
 
 last pressure of our hands, and then let us part good friends. 
 Let us not bear each other any ill will. 
 
 AsTHOFF. [Pressing her hand] Yes, go. [Thoughtfully] You 
 seem to be sincere and good, and yet there is something 
 strangely disquieting about all your personality. No sooner 
 did you arrive here with your husband than every one whom 
 you found busy and actively creating something was forced 
 to drop his work and give himself up for the whole summer 
 to your husband's gout and yourself. You and he have 
 infected us with your idleness. I have been swept off my 
 feet; I have not put my hand to a thing for weeks, during 
 which sickness has been running its course unchecked among 
 the people, and the peasants have been pasturing their cattle 
 in my woods and young plantations. Go where you will, 
 you and your husband will always carry destruction in your 
 train. I am joking of course, and yet I am strangely sure 
 that had you stayed here we should have been overtaken 
 by the most immense desolation. I would have gone to 
 my ruin, and you — you would not have prospered. So go! 
 E finita la comedia! 
 
 Helena. [Snatching a pencil off Asteoff's table, and hid- 
 ing it with a quick rnovement] I shall take this pencil for 
 memory! 
 
 AsTROFF. How strange it is. We meet, and then sud- 
 denly it seems that we must part forever. That is the way 
 in this world. As long as we are alone, before Uncle Vanya 
 comes in with a bouquet — allow me — to kiss you good-bye 
 — may I.'' [He kisses her on the cheek] So! Splendid! 
 
 Helena. I wish you every happiness. [She glances about 
 her] For once in my life, I shall! and scorn the consequences! 
 [She kisses him impetuously, and they quickly part] I must go. 
 
 AsTBOFF. Yes, go. If the carriage is there, then start at 
 once. [They stand listening. 
 
68 UNCLE VAN Y A act iv 
 
 AsTROPF. E finita! 
 
 VoiTSKi, Sekebrakoff, Mme. Voitskata v)ith her 
 book, Telegin, and Sonia come in. 
 Sebebrakoff. [To Voitski] Shame on him who bears 
 malice for the past. I have gone through so much in the last 
 few hours that I feel capable of writing a whole treatise on 
 the conduct of life for the instruction of posterity. I gladly 
 accept ypur apology, and myself ask your forgiveness. 
 
 [He kisses Voitski three times. 
 
 Helena embraces Sonia. 
 
 Sebebrakoff. [Kissing Mme. Voitskata's hand] Mother! 
 
 Mme. Voitskata. [Kissing him] Have your picture taken, 
 
 Alexander, and send me one. You know how dear you are 
 
 to me. 
 
 Telegin. Good-bye, your Excellency. Don't forget us. 
 Sebebrakoff. [Kissing his daughter] Good-bye, good-bye 
 all. [Shaking hands with Astroff] Many thanks for your 
 pleasant company. I have a deep regard for your opinions 
 and your enthusiasm, but let me, as an old man, give one 
 word of advice at parting: do something, my friend! Wojk! 
 Do something! [They all bow] Good luck to you all. 
 
 [He goes out followed by Mme. Voitskata and Sonia. 
 Voitski. [Kissing Helena's hand fervently] Good-bye — 
 forgive me. I shall never see you again! 
 Helena. [Touched] Good-bye, dear boy. 
 
 She lightly kisses his head as he bends over her hand, and 
 goes out. 
 Astroff. Tell them to bring my carriage around too, 
 Waffles. 
 
 Telegin. All right, old man. 
 
 Astroff and Voitski are left behind alone. Astroff 
 collects his paints and drawing materials on the table 
 and packs them away in a box. 
 
ACT IV UNCLE VAN Y A 69 
 
 AsTROFF. Why don't you go to see them off? 
 VoiTSKi. Let them go! I — I can't go out there. I feel 
 too sad. I must~g6 to work on something at once. To 
 work! To work! 
 
 He rummages through his papers on the table. A pause. 
 
 The tinkling of bells is heard as the horses trot away. 
 
 AsTROFF. They Jbave gpnej The professor, I suppose, is 
 
 glad to go. He couldn't be tempted back now by a fortune. 
 
 Marina comes in. 
 
 Marina. They have gone. 
 
 [She sits down in an arm-chair and knits her stocking. 
 SoNiA comes in wiping her eyes. 
 SoNiA. They have gone. God be with them. [To her uncle] 
 And now. Uncle Vanya, let us do s omething! 
 VoiTSKi. To work! To work! 
 
 SoNiA. It is long, long, since you and I have sat together 
 at this table. [She lights a lamp on the table] No ink! [She 
 takes the inkstand to the cupboard and fills it from an ink- 
 bottle] How sad it is to see them go ! 
 
 Mme. Voitskaya comes slowly in. 
 Mme. Voitskaya. They have_gone. 
 
 She sits down and at once becomes absorbed in her book. 
 
 SoNiA siis down at the table and looks through an 
 
 account book. 
 
 SoNiA. First, Uncle Vanya, let us write up the accounts. 
 
 They are in a dreadful state. Come, begin. You take one 
 
 and I will take the other. 
 
 VoiTSKi. In account with [They sit silently wriMng. 
 
 Marina. [Yawning] The sand-man has come. 
 AsTROFF. How still it is. Their pens scratch, the cricket 
 sings; it is so warm and comfortable. I hate to go. 
 
 [The tinkling, cf bells is heard. 
 AsTROFF. My carriage has come. There now remains but 
 
70 UNGLE VANYA act iv 
 
 to say good-bye to you, my friends, and to my table here, 
 and then — away! [He puis the map into the portfolio. 
 
 Mabina. Don't hurry away; sit a little longer with us. 
 
 AsTKOFF. Impossible. 
 
 VoiTSKi. [Writing] And carry forward from the old debt 
 
 two seventy-five 
 
 WoHKMAN comes in. 
 
 WoHKMAN. Your carriage is waiting, sir. 
 
 AsTBOFF. All right. [He hands the Workman his medicine- 
 case, portfolio, and box] Look out, don't crush the portfoUo! 
 
 Workman. Very well, sir. 
 
 SoNiA. When shall we see you again? 
 
 AsTROFF. Hardly before next summer. Probably not this 
 winter, though, of course, if anything should happen you 
 will let me know. [He shakes hands vyith them] Thank you 
 for your kindness, for your hospitality, for everything! [He 
 goes up to Marina and kisses her head] Good-bye, old nurse! 
 
 Marina. Are you going without your tea? 
 
 AsTBOFF. I don't want any, nurse. 
 
 Marina. Won't you have a drop of vodka? 
 
 AsTBOFF. [Hesitatingly] Yes, I might. 
 Marina goes aid. 
 
 AsTBOFF. [After a pause] My off-wheeler has gone lame 
 for some reason. I noticed it yesterday when Peter was 
 taking him to water. 
 
 VoiTSKi. You should have him re-shod. 
 
 AsTBOFF. I shall have to go around by the blacksmith's 
 on my way home. It can't be avoided. [He stands looking 
 up at the map of Africa hanging on the wall] I suppose it b 
 roasting hot in Africa now. 
 
 VoiTSKi. Yes, I suppose it is. 
 
 Mabina com^s hack carrying a tray on which are a glass 
 of vodka and a piece of bread. 
 
ACT IV UNCLE VAN Y A 71 
 
 Makina. Help yourself. 
 
 AsTHOFF drinks. 
 Marina. To your good health! [She hows deeply] Eat 
 your bread with it. 
 
 AsTROFF. No, I like it so. And now, good-bye. [To 
 Marina] You needn't come out to see me off, nurse. 
 
 He goes out. Sonia follows him with a candle to light 
 him to the carriage. Marina sits down in her arm- 
 chair. 
 VoiTSKi. [Writing] On the 2d of February, twenty pounds 
 of butter; on the 16th, twenty pounds of butter again. Buck- 
 wheat flour — [A pause. Bells are heard tinkling. 
 Marina. He has gpn.e. [A pause. 
 SoNiA comes in and sets the candle-stick on the table. 
 Sonia. He has gone. 
 VoiTSKi. [Adding and writing] Total, fifteen — twenty-five — 
 
 Sonia sits down and begins to write. 
 Marina. [Yawning] Oh, ho! The Lord have mercy. 
 
 Telegin com^s in on tiptoe, sits down near the door, 
 and begins to tune his guitar. 
 VoiTSKi. [To Sonia, stroking her hair] Oh, my child, I am 
 so miserable; if you only knew how miserable I am! 
 
 Sonia. What can we do.? We roust live our lives. [A 
 pause] Yes, we shall live, Uncle Vanya. We shall live 
 through the long prScession of days before us, and through 
 the long evenings; we shall patiently bear the trials that fate 
 imposes on us; we shall work_ior others without rest, both 
 now and when we are old; and when our last hour comes 
 we shall meet it humbly, and there, beyond the grave, we 
 shall say that we have suffered and wept, that our life was 
 bitter, and God will have pity on us. Ah, then dear, dear 
 Uncle, we shall see that bright and beautiful life; we shall 
 rejoice and look back upon our sorrow here; a tender smile 
 
72 UNCLE VAN Y A act iv 
 
 — and — we shall rest. I have faith. Uncle, fervent, pas- 
 sionate faith. [SoNiA kneels down before her uncle and lays 
 her head on his hands. She speaks in a weary voice] We shall 
 rest. [Tblegin ylays softly on the guitar] We shall rest. We 
 shall hear the angels. We shall see heaven shining like a 
 jewel. We shall see all evil and all our pain sink away in 
 the great compassion that shall enfold the world. Our life 
 will be as peaceful and tender and sweet as a caress. I have 
 faith; I have faith. [She wipes away her tears] My poor, 
 poor Uncle Vanya, jou are crying! [Weeping] You have 
 never known what happiness was, but wait. Uncle Vanya, 
 wait! We shall rest. [She embraces him] We shall rest. 
 [The Watchman's rattle is heard in the garden; Telegin 
 plays softly; Mme. Voitskaya writes something on the margin 
 of her pamphlet; Marina knits her stocking] We shall rest. 
 
 The curtain slowly falls. 
 
IVANOFF 
 A PLAY 
 
CHARACTERS 
 
 Nicholas Ivanoff, perpetual member of the Council of Peas- 
 ant Affairs 
 
 Anna, his wife. NSe Sarah Ahram^on 
 
 Matthew Shabelski, a count, uncle of Ivanoff 
 
 Paul Lebedieff, President of the Board of the Zemstvo 
 
 Zinaida, his toife 
 
 Sasha, their daughter, twenty years old 
 
 LvoFF, a young government doctor 
 
 Martha Babakina, a young widow, owner of an estate and 
 daughter of a rich merchant 
 
 Kosich, an exciseman 
 
 Michael Borkin, a distant relative of Ivanoff, and manager 
 of his estate 
 
 AvDOTiA Nazabovna, an old woman 
 
 George, lives with the Lebedieffs 
 
 First Guest 
 
 Second Guest 
 
 Third Guest 
 
 Fourth Guest 
 
 Peter, a servant of Ivanoff 
 
 Gabriel, a servant of Lebedieff 
 
 Guests of both sexes 
 
 The play takes place in one of the provinces of central Russia 
 
IVANOPF 
 ACT I 
 
 The garden of Ivanoff's country place. On the left is a terrace 
 and thefagade of the house. One window is open. Below 
 the terrace is a broad semicircular lawn, from which paths 
 lead to right and left into a garden. On the right are several 
 garden benches and tables. A lamp is burning on one of 
 the tables. It is evening. As the curtain rises sounds of 
 the piano and violoncello are heard. 
 
 IvANOFF is sitting at a table reading. 
 
 BoBKiN, in top-boots and carrying a gun, comes in from the 
 rear of the garden. He is a little tipsy. As he sees 
 IvANOFF he comes toward him on tiptoe, and when he 
 comes opposite him he stops and points th? gun at his face. 
 
 IvANOFF. [Catches sight of Borkin. Shudders and jumps 
 to his feet] Misha! What are you doing? You frightened me! 
 I can't stand your stupid jokes when I am so nervous as 
 this. And having frightened me, you laugh! [He sits down. 
 
 BoRKiN. [Laughing loudly] There, I am sorry, really. I 
 won't do it again. Indeed I won't. [Takes off his cap] How 
 hot it is! Just think, my dear boy, I have covered twelve 
 miles in the last three hours. I am worn out. Just feel 
 how my heart is beating. 
 
 IvANOFF. [Goes on reading] Oh, very well. I shall feel it 
 later! 
 
 BoRKiN. No, feel it now. [He takes Ivanoff's hand and 
 presses it against his breast] Can you feel it thumping? That 
 means that it is weak and that I may die suddenly at any 
 moment. Would you be sorry if I died? 
 
 75 
 
76 IVANOFF ACT I 
 
 IvANOFF. I am reading now. I shall attend to you later. 
 
 BoRKiN. No, seriously, would you be sorry if I died? 
 Nicholas, would you be sorry if I died? 
 
 IvANOFP. Leave me alone! 
 
 BoRKm. Come, tell me if you would be sorry or not. 
 
 IvANOFF. I am sorry that you smell so of vodka, Misha, 
 it is disgusting. 
 
 BoRKTV. Do I smell of vodka? How strange! And yet, 
 it is not so strange after all. I met the magistrate on the 
 road, and I must admit that we did drink about eight glasses 
 together. Strictly speaking, of course, drinking is very 
 harmful. Listen, it b harmful, isn't it? Is it? Is it? 
 
 IvANOFF. This is unendurable! Let me warn you, Misha, 
 that you are going too far. 
 
 BoHKiN. Well, well, excuse me. Sit here by yourself 
 then, for heaven's sake, if it amuses you. [Gets up and goes 
 away] What extraordinary people one meets in the world. 
 They won't even allow themselves to be spoken to. [He 
 comes hack] Oh, yes, I nearly forgot. Please let me have 
 eighty-two roubles. 
 
 IvANOFF. Why do you want eighty-two roubles? 
 1 BoRKiN. To pay the workmen to-morrow. 
 I IvANOFP. I haven't the money. 
 
 BoRKEsr. Many thanks. [Angrily] So you haven't the 
 money! And yet the workmen must be paid, mustn't 
 they? 
 
 IvANot'P. I don't know. Wait till my salary comes in 
 on the first of the month. 
 
 BoRKiN. How is it possible to discuss anything with a 
 man like you? Can't you understand that the workmen 
 are coming to-morrow morning and not on the first of the 
 month? 
 
ACT I I V A N O F F 77 
 
 IvANOFF. How can I help it? I'll be hanged if I can do 
 anything about it now. And what do you mean by this 
 irritating way you have of pestering me whenever I am 
 trying to read or write or 
 
 BoRKiN. Must the workmen be paid or not, I ask you? 
 But, good gracious! What is the use of talking to you! 
 [Waves his hand] Do you think because you own an estate tj'- 
 you can command the whole world? With your two thou-| 
 sand acres and your empty pockets you are like a man who! 
 has a cellar full of wine and no corkscrew. I have sold the 
 oats as they stand in the field. Yes, sir! And to-morrow 
 I shall sell the rye and the carriage horses. [He stamps up 
 and down] Do you think I am going to stand upon ceremony 
 with you? Certainly not! I am not that kind of a man! 
 Anna appears at the open window. 
 
 Anna. Whose voice did I hear just now? Was it yours, 
 Misha? Why are you stamping up and down? 
 
 BoEKiN. Anybody who had anything to do with your 
 Nicholas would stamp up and down. 
 
 Anna. Listen, Misha! Please have some hay carried onto 
 the croquet lawn. 
 
 BoBKiN. [Waves his hand] Leave me alone, please! 
 
 Anna. Oh, what manners! They are not becoming to 
 you at all. If you want to be liked by women you must 
 never let them see you when you are angry or obstinate. [To 
 her husband] Nicholas, let us go and play on the lawn in the 
 hay! 
 
 TvANOFF. Don't you know it is bad for you to stand at the 
 open window, Annie? [Calls] Shut the window, Uncle! 
 
 [The window is shvtfrom the inside. 
 
 BoEKiN. Don't forget that the interest on the money you 
 owe Lebedieff must be paid in two days. 
 
78 IVANOFF " act i 
 
 I IvANOFF. I haven't forgotten it. I am going over to see 
 LebedieS to-day and shall ask him to wait 
 
 [He looks at his watch. 
 
 BoRKiN. When are you going? 
 
 IvANOPF. At once. 
 
 BoRKiN. Wait! Wait! Isn't this Sasha's birthday? So 
 it is! The idea of my forgetting it. What a' memory I have. 
 [Jumps about] I shall go with you! [Sings] I shall go, I shall 
 go! Nicholas, old man, you are the joy of my life. If you 
 were not always so nervous and cross and gloomy, you and 
 I could do great things together. I would do anything for 
 you. Shall I marry Martha Babakina and give you half 
 her fortune? That is, not half, either, but all — take it all! 
 
 IvANOFF. Enough of this nonsense! 
 
 BoRKiN. No, seriously, shan't I marry Martha and halve 
 the money with you? But no, why should I propose it? 
 How can you understand? [Angrily] You say to me: "Stop 
 talking nonsense!" You are a good man and a clever one, 
 but you haven't any red, blood in, you r veins or any — well, 
 enthusiasm. Why, if you wanted to, you and I could cut 
 a dash together that would shame the devil himself. If 
 you were a normal man instead of a morbid hypochondriac 
 we would have a million in a year. For instance, if I had 
 twenty-three hundred roubles now I could make twenty 
 thousand in two weeks. You don't believe me? You think 
 it is all nonsense? No, it isn't nonsense. Give me twenty- 
 three hundred roubles and let me try. Ofsianoff is selling 
 a strip of land across the river for that price. If we buy 
 this, both banks will be ours, and we shall have the right to 
 build a dam across the river. Isn't that so? We can say 
 that we intend to build a mill, and when the people on the 
 river below us hear that we mean to dam the river they 
 will, of course, object violently and we shall say: If you don't 
 
ACT I I V A N O F F 79 
 
 want a dam here you will have to pay to get us away. Do 
 you see the result? The factory would give us five thousand 
 roubles, Korolkoff three thousand, the monastery five thou- 
 sand more 
 
 IvANOFF. All that is simply idiotic, Misha. If you don't 
 want me to lose my temper you must keep your schemes to 
 yourself. 
 
 BoBKiN. [Sits down at the table] Of course! I knew how 
 it would be! You never will act for yourself, and you tie 
 my hands so that I am helpless. 
 
 Enter Shabelski and Lvoff. 
 
 Shabelski. The only difference between lawyers and 
 doctors is that lawyers simply rob you, whereas doctors 
 both rob you and kill you. I am no^ referring to any one 
 present. [Sits dovm on the bench] They are all frauds and 
 swindlers. Perhaps in Arcadia you might find an excep~ 
 tion to the general rule and yet — I have treated thousands 
 of sick people myself in my life, and I have never met a doc- 
 tor who did not seem to me to be an unmistakable scoundrel. 
 
 BoBKiN. [To Ivanoff] Yes, you tie my hands and never 
 do anything for yourself, and that is why you have no money. 
 
 Shabelski. As I said before, I am not referring to any one 
 here at present; there may be exceptions though, after all — 
 
 [He yawns. 
 
 Ivanoff. [Shuts his hook] What have you to tell me, 
 doctor? 
 
 Lvoff. [Looks toward the window] Exactly what I said 
 this morning: she must go to the Crimea at once. 
 
 [Walks up and down. 
 
 Shabelski. [Bursts out laughing] To the Crimea! Why 
 don't you and I set up as doctors, Misha? Then, if some 
 Madame Angot or Ophelia finds the world tiresome and 
 begins to cough and be consumptive, all we shall have to 
 
80 I V A N O F F ACT I 
 
 do will be to write out a prescription according to the laws 
 of medicine: that is, first, we shall order her a young doctor, 
 and then a journey to the Crimea. There some fascinating 
 young Tartar 
 
 IvANOFF. [Interrupting] Oh, don't be coarse! [To Lvoff] 
 It takes money to go to the Crimea, and even if I could af- 
 ford it, you know she has refused to go. 
 
 Lvoff. Yes, she has. [A -pause. 
 
 BoBKiN'. Look here, doctor, is Anna really so ill that she 
 absolutely must go to the Crimea.'' 
 
 Lvoff. [Looking toward the window] Yes, she has con- 
 sumption. 
 
 BoRKEsr. Whew! How sad! I have seen in her face for 
 some time that she could not last much longer. 
 
 Lvoff. Can't you speak quietly? She can hear every- 
 thing you say. [A pause. 
 I BoHKiN. [Sighing] The life of man is like a flower, bloom- 
 I ing so gaily in a field. Then, along comes a goat, he eats 
 I it, and the flower is gone ! 
 
 Shabelski. Oh, nonsense, nonsense. [Yawning] Everything 
 is a fraud and a swindle. [A pause. 
 
 BoRKiN. Gentlemen, I have been trying to tell Nicholas 
 how he can make some money, and have submitted a 
 brilliant plan to him, but my seed, as usual, has fallen on 
 barren soil. Look what a sight he is now : dull, cross, bored, 
 peevish 
 
 Shabelski. [Gets up and stretches himself] You are always 
 inventing schemes for everybody, you clever fellow, and tell- 
 ing them how to live; can't you tell me something? Give me 
 some good advice, you ingenious yovmg man. Show me a 
 good move to make. 
 
 BoRKiN. [Getting up] I am going to have a swim. Good- 
 bye, gentlemen. [To Shabelski] There are at least twentv 
 
ACT I IVANOFF 81 
 
 good moves you could make. If I were you I should have 
 twenty thousand roubles in a week. 
 
 [He goes out; Shabeiski follows him. 
 
 Shabelski. How would you do it? Come, explain. 
 
 BoEKiN. There is nothing to explain, it is so simple. [Com- 
 ing back] Nicholas, give me a rouble. 
 
 IvANOFF siUnily hands him the m/mey^ 
 
 BoBKiN. Thanks. Shabelski, you still hold some trump 
 cards. 
 
 Shabelski follows him out. 
 
 Shabelski. Well, what are they? 
 
 BoRKiN. If I were you I should have thirty thousand 
 roubles and more in a week. [They go out together. 
 
 IvANOFF. [After a pav^e] Useless people, useless talk, and I j(f ' 
 the necessity of answering stupid questions, have wearied V 
 me so, doctor, that I am ill. I have become so irritable [ 
 and bitter that I don't know myself. My head aches for : 
 days at a time. I hear a ringing in my ears, I can't sleep, 
 and yet there is no escape from it aU, absolutely none. 
 
 LvoFF. Ivanoff, I have something serious to speak to you 
 about. 
 
 Ivanoff. What is it? 
 
 LvoFF. It is about your wife. She refuses to go to the 
 Crimea alone, but she would go with you. 
 
 Ivanoff. [Thoughtfully] It would cost a great deal for us 
 both to go, and besides, I could not get leave to be away 
 for so long. I have had one holiday already this year. 
 
 LvoFF. Very well, let us admit that. Now to proceed. 
 The best cure for consumption is absolute peace of mind, 
 and your wife has none whatever. She is forever excited 
 by your behaviour to her. Forgive me, I am excited and am 
 going to speak frankly. Your treatment of her is killing 
 her. [A pause] Ivanoff, let me believe better things of you. 
 
8% I V A N O F F ACT I 
 
 IvANOFF. What you say is true, true. I must be terribly 
 guilty, but my mind is confused. My will seems to be par- 
 alysed by a kind of stupor; I can't understand myself or 
 any one else. [Looks toward the window] Come, let us take a 
 walk, we might be overheard here. [They get up] My dear 
 friend, you should hear the whole story from the beginning 
 if it were not so long and complicated that to tell it would 
 take all night. [They walk up and down] Anna is a splendid, 
 an exceptional woman. She has left her faith, her parents, 
 and her fortune for my sake. If I should demand a hun- 
 dred other sacrifices, she would consent to every one without 
 the quiver of an eyelid. Well, I am not a remarkable man 
 in any way, and have sacrificed nothing. However, the 
 story is a long one. In short, the whole point is, my dear 
 doctor — [Confused] that I married her for love and promised 
 to love her forever, and now after five years she loves me 
 still and I — [He waves his hand] Now, when you tell me 
 she is dying, I feel neither love nor pity, only a sort of lone- 
 liness and weariness. To all appearances this must seem 
 horrible, and I cannot understand myself what is happening 
 to me. [They go out. 
 
 Shabblski comes in. 
 
 Shabelski. [Laughing] Upon my word, that man is no 
 scoundrel, but a great thinker, a master-mind. He deserves 
 a memorial. He is the essence of modern ingenuity, and 
 combines in himself alone the genius of the lawyer, the 
 doctor, and the financier. [He sits down on the lowest step of 
 the terrace] And yet he has never finished a course of studies 
 in any college; that is so surprising. What an ideal scoun- 
 drel he would have made if he had acquired a little culture 
 and mastered the sciences! "You coiild. make twenty thou- 
 sand roubles in a week," he said. "You still hold the ace of 
 trumps: it is your title." [Laughing] He said I might get a 
 
ACTi IVANOFF 83 
 
 rich girl to marry me for it! [Anna opens the window and 
 looks down\ "Let me make a match between you and 
 Martha," says he. Who is this Martha? It must be that 
 Balabalkina — Babakalkina woman, the one that looks like a 
 laundress. 
 
 Anna. Is that you. Count? 
 
 Shabelski. What do you want? 
 Anna laughs. 
 
 Shabelski. [With a Jewish accent] Vy do you laugh? 
 
 Anna. I was thinking of something you said at dinner, do 
 you remember? How was it — a forgiven thief, a doctored 
 horse 
 
 Shabelski. A forgiven thief, a doctored horse, and a 
 Christianised Jew are all worth the same price. 
 
 Anna. {Laughing] You can't even repeat the simplest 
 saying without ill-nature. You are a most malicious old 
 man. [Seriously] Seriously, Count you are extremely dis- 
 agreeable, and very tiresome and painful to live with. You 
 are always grumbling and growling, and everybody to you 
 is a blackguard and a scoundrel. Tell me honestly. Count, 
 have you ever spoken well of any one? 
 
 Shabelski. Is this an inquisition? 
 
 Anna. We have lived under this same roof now for five 
 years, and I have never heard you speak kindly of people, 
 or without bitterness and derision. What harm has the 
 world done to you? Is it possible that you consider your- 
 self better than any one else? 
 
 Shabelski. Not at all. I think we are all of us scoundrels 
 and hypocrites. I myself am a degraded old man, and as 
 useless as a cast-off shoe. I abuse myself as much as any 
 one else. I was rich once, and free, and happy at times, 
 but now I am a dependent, an object of charity, a joke to the 
 world. When I am at last exasperated and defy them, they 
 
84 I V A N O F F act i 
 
 Kanswer me with a laugh. When I laugh, they shake their 
 1 heads sadly and say, "The old man has gone mad." But 
 loftenest of all I am unheard and unnoticed by every one. 
 / Anna. [Quietly] Screaming again. 
 ! Shabelski. Who is screaming? 
 
 Anna. The owl. It screams every evening. 
 
 Shabelski. Let it scream. Things are as bad as they 
 can be already. [Stretches himself] Alas, my dear Sarah! If 
 I could only win a thousand or two roubles, I should soon 
 show you what I could do. I wish you could see me! I 
 should get away out of this hole, and leave the bread of 
 charity, and should not show my nose here again until the 
 last judgment day. 
 
 Anna. What would you do if you were to win so much 
 money? 
 
 Shabelski. [Thoughtfully] First I would go to Moscow to 
 hear the Gipsies play, and then — ^then I should fly to Paris 
 and take an apartment and go to the Russian Church. 
 
 Anna. And what else? 
 
 Shabelski. I would go and sit on my wife's grave for 
 days and days and think. I would sit there until I died. 
 My wife is buried in Paris. [A pause. 
 
 Anna. How terribly dull this is! Shall we play a duet? 
 
 Shabelski. As you like. Go and get the music ready. 
 
 [Anna goes oui 
 IvANOFF and Lvoff appear in one of the paths. 
 
 IvANOF^v-My-deac-fnend^y-Qij left college last year, and 
 .you are still young and brave. Being thirty-five years old, 
 I have the right to advise you. Don't marry a Jewess or 
 a bluestocking or a woman who is queer in any way. Choose 
 some nice, common-place girl without any strange and 
 startling points in her character. Plan your life for quiet; 
 \^ the greyer and more monotonous you can make the back- 
 
ACT I I V A N O F P 85 
 
 ground, the better. My dear boy, do not try to fight alone 
 against thousands; do not tilt with windmills; do not dash 
 yourself against the rocks. And, above all, may you be 
 spared the so-called rational life, all wild theories and im- 
 passioned talk. Everything is in the hands of God,jQ_shut 
 y ourself up in jiwir_shell and do your best. That is the 
 ple asant, hon gst,, healthy way to~nve;- Butrtlre life I have 
 chosen has been so tiring, oh, so tiring! So full of mistakes, 
 of injustice and stupidity! [Catches sight of Shabelski, and 
 speaks angrily] There you are again, Uncle, always under 
 foot, never letting one have a moment's quiet talk! 
 
 Shabelski. [In a tearful voice] Is there no refuge any- 
 where for a poor old devil like me? 
 
 [He jumps up and runs into the house. 
 
 IvANOFP. Now I have offended him! Yes, my nerves 
 have certainly gone to pieces. I must do something about 
 it, I must 
 
 LvoFF. [Excitedly] Ivanoff, I have heard all you have to 
 say and — ^and — I am going to speak frankly. You have 
 shown me in your voice and manner, as well as in your 
 words, the most heartless egotism and pitiless cruelty. Your 
 nearest friend is dying simply because she is near you, her 
 days are numbered, and you can feel such indifference that you 
 go about giving advice and analysing your feelings. I cannot! 
 say all Ishould like to; I have not the gift of words, but — but' 
 I can at least say that you are deeply antiga^eticto^me. 
 
 Ivanoff. I suppose I am. As an onlooker, of course' 
 you see me more clearly than I see myself, and your judg- 
 ment of me is probably right. No doubt I am terribly 
 guilty. [lAstens] I think I hear the carriage coming. I must 
 get ready to go. [He goes toward the house and then stops] You 
 dislike me, doctor, and you don't conceal it. Your sincerity 
 does you credit. [He goes into the house. 
 
86 IVANOFF acti 
 
 LvoFF. [Alone] What a confoundedly disagreeable char- 
 acter! I have let another opportunity slip without speak- 
 ing to him as I meant to, but I simply cannot talk calmly 
 to that man. The moment I open my mouth to speak I 
 feel such a commotion and suffocation here [He puts his 
 hand on his breast] that my tongue sticks to the roof of my 
 mouth. Oh, I loathe that Tartuflfe, that unmitigated ras- 
 cal, with all my heart! There he is, preparing to go driving 
 in spite of the entreaties of his unfortunate wife, who adores 
 him and whose only happiness is his presence. She im- 
 plores him to spend at least one evening with her, and he 
 cannot even do that. Why, he might shoot himself in de- 
 spair if he had to stay at home! Poor fellow, what he wants 
 are new fields for his villainous schemes. Oh, I know why 
 you go to Lebedieff's every evening, IvanoEE! I know. 
 
 Enter Ivanoff, in hat and coat, Anna, and Shabelski. 
 
 Shabelski. Look here, Nicholas, this is simply barbarous. 
 You go away every evening and leave us here alone, and 
 we get so bored that we have to go to bed at eight o'clock. 
 It is a scandal, and no decent way of living. Why can you 
 go driving if we can't.'' Why.' 
 
 Anna. Leave him alone, Count. Let him go if he wants to. 
 
 Ivanoff. How can a sick woman like you go anywhere? 
 You know you have a cough and must not go out after sun- 
 set. Ask the doctor here. You are no child, Annie, you 
 must be reasonable. And as for you, what would you do 
 with yourself over there.' 
 
 Shabelski. I am ready to go anywhere: into the jaws of 
 a crocodile, or even into the jaws of hell, so long as I don't 
 have to stay here. I am horribly bored. I am stupefied 
 by this dullness. Every one here is tired of me. You leave 
 me at home to entertain Anna, but I feel more like scratch- 
 ing and biting her. 
 
ACT I I V A N O F F 87 
 
 Anna. Leave him alone. Count. Leave him alone. Let 
 him go if he enjoys himself there. 
 
 IvANOFF. What does this mean, Annie? You know I am 
 not going for pleasure. I must see Lebedieff about the 
 money I owe him. 
 
 Anna. I don't see why you need justify yourself to me. 
 Go ahead! Who is keeping you? 
 
 IvANOFF. Heavens! Don't let us bite one another's heads 
 off. Is that really unavoidable? 
 
 Shabblski. [Tearfully] Nicholas, my dear boy, do please 
 take me with you. I might possibly be amused a little by 
 the sight of all the fools and scoundrels I should see there. 
 You know I haven't been off this place since Easter. 
 
 IvANOFF. [Exasperated] Oh, very well!. Come along then! 
 How tiresome you all are! 
 
 Shabblski. I may go? Oh, thank you! [Takes him gaily 
 by the arm and leads him aside] May I wear your straw hat? 
 
 Ivanoff. You may, only hurry, please. 
 Shabblski runs into the house. 
 
 Ivanoff. How tired I am of you all! But no, what am 
 I saying? Annie, my manner to you is insufferable, and 
 it never used to be. Well, good-bye, Annie. I shall be back 
 by one. 
 
 Anna. Nicholas! My dear husband, stay at home to-night! 
 
 Ivanoff. [Excitedly] Darling, sweetheart, my dear, un- 
 happy one, I implore you to let me leave home in the even- 
 ings. I know it is cruel and unjust to ask this, but let me do 
 you this injustice. It is such torture for me to stay. As 
 soon as the sun goes down my soul is overwhelmed by the 
 most horrible despair. Don't ask me why; I don't know; 
 I swear I don't. This dreadful melancholy torments me 
 here, it drives me to the Lebedieff's and there it grows worse 
 
88 IVANOFF acti 
 
 than ever. I rush home; it still pursues me; and so I am 
 tortured all through the night. It is breaking my heart. 
 
 Anna. Nicholas, won't you stay? We will talk together 
 as we used to. We will have supper together and read after- 
 ward. The old grumbler and I have learned so many duets to 
 play to you. [She kisses him. Then, after a pause] I can't 
 imderstand you any more. This has been going on for a year 
 now. What has changed you. so.? 
 
 IvANOFF. I don't know. 
 
 Anna. And why don't you want me to go driving with 
 you in the evening? 
 
 IvANOPF. As you insist on knowing, I shall have to tell 
 you. It is a little cruel, but you had best understand. When 
 this melancholy fit is on me I begin to dislike you, Annie, '' 
 and at such times I must escape from you. In short, I 
 simply have to leave this house. 
 
 Anna. Oh, you are sad, are you? I can understand that! 
 Nicholas, let me tell you something: won't you try to sing 
 and laugh and scold as you used to? Stay here, and we will 
 drink some liqueur together, and laugh, and chase away 
 this sadness of yoiu-s in no time. Shall I sing to you? Or 
 shall we sit in your study in the twilight as we used to, while 
 you tell me about your sadness? J caiLJead such sufferi ng ' 
 in your eyes! Let me look into them and weep, and our 
 hearts will both be lighter. [She laughs and cries at once] 
 Or is it really true that the flowers return with every spring, 
 but lost happiness never returns? Oh, is it? Well, go 
 then, go! 
 
 IvANOFF. Pray for me, Annie! [He goes; then stops and 
 thinks for a moment] No, I can't do it. [Ivanoff goes out. 
 
 Anna. Yes, go, go — [Sits down at the table. 
 
 LvoFF. [Walking up and down] Make this a rule. Madam: 
 as soon as the sun goes down you must go indoors and not 
 
ACT I I V A N O F F 89 
 
 come out again until morning. The damp evening air is bad 
 for you. 
 
 Anna. Yes, sir! 
 
 LvOFF. What do you mean by "Yes, sir"? I am speak' 
 ing seriously. 
 
 Anna. But I don't want to be serious. [She coughs. 
 
 LvoFF. There now, you see, you are coughing abeady. 
 Shabelski comes out of the hoitse in his hat and coat. 
 
 Shabeiski. Where is Nicholas? Is the carriage here yet? 
 [Goes quickly to Anna and kisses her hand] Good-night, my 
 darling! [Makes a face and speaks with' a Jewish accent] I 
 beg your bardon! [He goes quickly out. 
 
 LvoFF. Idiot! 
 ' A pause; the sounds of a concertina are heard in the 
 
 distance. 
 
 Anna. Oh, how lonely it is! The coachman and the 
 cook are having a little ball in there by themselves, and I — 
 I am, as it were, abandoned. Why are you walking about. 
 Doctor? Come and sit down here. 
 
 LvoFF. I can't sit down. [A pause. 
 
 Anna. They are playing "The Sparrow" in the kitchen. 
 [She sings] 
 
 "Sparrow, Sparrow, where are you? 
 On the moimtain drinking dew." 
 
 [A pause] Are your father and mother living. Doctor? 
 
 LvoFF. My mother is living; my father is dead. 
 
 Anna. Do you miss your mother very much? 
 
 LvoFF. I am too busy to miss any one. 
 
 Anna. [Laughing] The flowers return with every spring, 
 but lost happiness never returns. I wonder who taught me 
 that? I think it was Nicholas himself. [Listens] The owl is 
 hooting again. 
 
90 I V A N O F F ACT I 
 
 LvoPF. Well, let it hoot. 
 
 Anna. I have begun to think, Doctor, that fate has cheated 
 me. Other people who, perhaps, are no better than I am are 
 happy and have not had to pay for their happiness. But 
 I have paid for it all, every moment of it, and such a price! 
 Why should I have to pay so terribly? Dear friend, you 
 are all too considerate and gentle with me to tell me the 
 truth; but do you think I don't know what is the matter 
 with me.' I know perfectly well. However, this isn't a 
 pleasant subject — [With a Jeioish accent] "I beg your bar- 
 don!" Can you tell funny stories.'' 
 
 LvoFF. No, I can't. 
 
 Anna. Nicholas can. I am beginning to be surprised, too, 
 at the injustice of people. Why do they return hatred 
 for love, and answer truth with lies.? Can you tell me how 
 much longer I shall be hated by my mother and father? They 
 live fifty miles away, and yet I can feel their hatred day and 
 night, even in my sleep. And how do you account for the 
 sa dness of N icholas? He says that he only dislikes me in the 
 evening, when the fit is on him. I understand that, and can 
 tolerate it, but what if he should come to dislike me al- 
 together? Of course that is impossible, and yet — no, no, I 
 mustn't even imagine such a thing. [Sings] 
 
 I "Sparrow, Sparrow, where are you?" 
 
 I 
 
 [She shudders] What fearful thoughts I have! You are not 
 married, Doctor; there are many things that you cannot 
 understand. 
 
 LvoFF. You say you are surprised, but — but it is you who 
 surprise me. Tell me, explain to me how you, an honest and 
 intelligent woman, almost a saint, could allow yourself to be 
 so basely deceived and dragged into this den of bears? Why 
 are you here? What have you in common with such a cold 
 
ACT I I V A N F F 91 
 
 and heartless — but enough of your husband ! What have you 
 in common with these wicked and vulgar surroundings? 
 With that eternal grumbler, the crazy and decrepit Count? 
 With that swindler, that prince of rascals, Misha, with his 
 fool's face? Tell me, I say, how did you get here? 
 
 Anna. [Laughing] That is what he used to say, long ago, 
 oh, exactly! Only his eyes are larger than yours, and when 
 he was excited they used to shine like coals — go on, go on! 
 
 LvoFT. [Gets up and waves his hand] There is nothing more 
 to say. Go into the house. 
 
 Anna. You say that Nicholas is not what he should be, 
 that his faults are so and so. How can you possibly un- 
 derstand him? How can you learn to know any one in six 
 months? He is a wonderful man, Doctor, and I am sorry you 
 could not have known him as he was two or three years ago. 
 He is depressed and silent now, and broods all day without) 
 doing anything, but he was splendid then. I fell in love with \ 
 him at first sight. [Laughing] I gave one look and was caught' 
 like a mouse in a trap! So when he asked me to go with him 
 I cut every tie that bound me to my old life as one snips the 
 withered leaves from a plant. But things are different now. 
 Now he goes to the LebedieS's to amuse himself with other 
 women, and I sit here in the garden and listen to the owls, 
 [The Watchman's rattle is heard] Tell me, Doctor, have you 
 any brothers and sisters? 
 
 LvoFF. No. 
 Anna sobs. 
 
 LvoFF. What is it? What is the matter? 
 
 Anna. I can't stand it. Doctor, I must go.. 
 
 LvoFF. Where? 
 
 Anna. To him. I am going. Have the horses harnessed. 
 
 [She runs into the hov^e. 
 
 LvOFF. No, I certainly cannot go on treating any one 
 
92 IVANOFF acti 
 
 under these conditions. I not only have to do it for noth- 
 ing, but I am forced to endure this agony of mind besides. 
 N&, no, I can't stand it. I have had enough of it. 
 
 [He goes into the house. 
 
 The curtain faUa. 
 
ACT II 
 
 Ths draioing-room, of Lebedieft's house. In the centre is a 
 door leading into a garden. Doors open out of the room to 
 the right and left. The room is furnished with valuable old 
 furniture, which is carefully -protected by linen covers. The 
 walls are hung with pictures. The room is lighted by can- 
 delabra. ZiNAiDA is sitting on a sofa; the elderly guests are 
 sitting in arm-chairs on either hand. The young guests 
 are sitting about the room on small chairs. Kosich, 
 AvDOTiA Nazakovna, Geokge, and others are playing 
 cards in the background. Gabriel is standing near the 
 door on the right. The maid is passing sweetmeats about 
 on a tray. During the entire act guests come and go from 
 the garden, through the room, out of the door on the left, and 
 back again. Enter Martha through the door on the right. 
 She goes toward Zinaida. 
 
 ZiNAiDA. [Gaily] My dearest Martha! 
 
 Martha. How do you do, Zinaida? Let me congratulate 
 
 you on your daughter's birthday. 
 Zinaida. Thank you, my dear; I am delighted to see you. 
 How are you? 
 
 Martha. Very well indeed, thank you. [She sits down on 
 the sofa] Good evening, young people! 
 The younger guests get up and bow. 
 First Guest. [Laughing] Young people indeed! Do you 
 call yourself an old person? 
 
 Martha. [Sighing] How can I make any pretense to 
 youth now? 
 
 93 
 
94 I V A N F F act n 
 
 First Guest. What nonsense! The fact that you are a 
 widow means nothing. You could beat any pretty girl you 
 chose at a canter. 
 
 Gabriel brings Martha some tea. 
 
 ZiNAiDA. Why do you bring the tea in like that? Go and 
 fetch some jam to eat with it! 
 
 Martha. No thank you; none for me, don't trouble your- 
 self. [-4 pame. 
 
 First Guest. [To Martha] Did you come through 
 Mushkine on your way here? 
 
 Martha. No, I came by way of Spassk. The road is 
 better that way. 
 
 First Guest. Yes, so it is. 
 
 KosiCH. Two in spades. 
 
 George. Pass. 
 
 Avdotia. Pass. 
 
 Second Guest. Pass. 
 
 Martha. The price of lottery tickets has gone up again, 
 my dear. I have never known such a state of affairs. The 
 first issue is already worth two hundred and seventy and 
 the second nearly two hundred and fifty. This has never 
 happened before. 
 
 ZiNAiDA. How fortunate for those who have a great many 
 tickets! 
 
 Martha. Don't say that, dear; even when the price of 
 tickets is high it does not pay to put one's capital into them. 
 
 ZiNAiDA. Quite true, and yet, my dear, one never can tell 
 what may happen. Providence is sometimes kind. 
 
 Third Guest. My impression is, ladies, that at present 
 capital is exceedingly unproductive. Shares pay very small 
 dividends, and speculating is exceedingly dangerous. As I 
 understand it; the capitalist now finds himself in a more crit- 
 ical position than the man who 
 
Acrn IVANOFF 95 
 
 Martha. Quite right. 
 
 First Guest yavms. 
 Martha. How dare you yawn in the presence of ladies? 
 First Guest. I beg your pardon! It was quite an acci- 
 dent. 
 
 ZiNAiDA gets up and goes out through the door on the right. 
 George. Two in hearts. 
 Second Guest. Pass. 
 KosiCH. Pass. 
 
 Martha. [Aside] Heavens! This is deadly! I shall die of 
 ennui. 
 
 Enter Zinaida and Lebedieff through the door on the 
 right. 
 Zinaida. Why do you go ofiF by yourself like a prima donna.? 
 Come and sit with our guests! 
 
 [She sits down in her former place. 
 Lebedieff. [Yavming] Oh, dear, our sins are heavy! [He 
 catches sight of Martha] Why, there is my little sugar-plum! 
 How is your most esteemed highness? 
 Martha. Very well, thank you. 
 
 Lebedieff. Splendid, splendid! [He sits down in an arm- 
 chair] Quite right — Oh, Gabriel! 
 
 Gabriel brings him a glass of vodka and a tumbler of wa- 
 ter. He empties the glass of vodka and sips the water. 
 First Guest. Good health to you! 
 
 Lebedieff. Good health is too much to ask. I am con- 
 tent to keep death from the door. [To his wife] Where is the 
 heroine of this occasion, Zuzu? 
 
 KosiCH. [In a plaintive voice] Look here, why haven't we 
 taken any tricks yet? [He jumps up] Yes, why have we lost 
 this game entirely, confound it? 
 
 Avdotia. [Jumps up angrily] Because, friend, you don't 
 know how to play it, and have no right to be sitting here at 
 
96 I V A N O F F act u 
 
 all. What right had you to lead from another suit? Haven't 
 you the ace left? [They both leave the table and run forward. 
 
 KosiCH. [In a tearful voice] Ladies and gentlemen, let me 
 explain! I had the ace, king, queen, and eight of diamonds, 
 the ace of spades and one, just one, little heart, do you under- 
 stand? Well, she, bad luck to her, she couldn't make a little 
 slam. I said one in no-trumps * 
 
 AvDOTiA. [Interrupting him] No, I said one in no-trumps; 
 you said two in no-trumps 
 
 KosicH. This is unbearable! Allow me — you had — I had 
 — you had — [To Lebedieff] But you shall decide it, Paul: 
 I had the ace, king, queen, and eight of diamonds 
 
 Lebedieff. [Puts his fingers into his ears] Stop, for heaven's 
 sake, stop! 
 
 AvDOTiA. [Yelling] I said no-trumps, and not he! 
 
 KosiCH. [Furiously] I'll be damned if I ever sit down to 
 another game of cards with that old cat! 
 
 He rushes into the garden. The Second Gvest follows 
 him. Geobge is left alone at the table. 
 
 AvDOTiA. Whew! He makes my blood boil! Old cat, 
 indeed! You're an old cat yourself! 
 
 Martha. How angry you are, aunty!/ 
 
 AvDOTiA. [Sees Martha and claps her hands] Are you 
 here, my darling? My beauty! And was I blind as a bat, 
 and didn't see you? Darling child! [She kisses her and sits 
 down beside her] How happy this makes me! Let me feast 
 my eyes on you, my milk-white swan! Oh, oh, you have be- 
 witched me! 
 
 Lebedieff. Why don't you find her a husband instead of 
 singing her praises? 
 
 Avdotia. He shall be found. I shall not go to my grave 
 
 before I have found a husband for her, and one for Sasha too. 
 
 *The game played is vint, the national card-game of Russia and the 
 direct ancestor of auction bridge, with which it Is almost identical. 
 
ACT n I V A N O F F 97 
 
 I shall not go to my grave — [She sighs] But where to find 
 these husbands nowadays? There sit some possible bride- 
 grooms now, huddled together like a lot of half -drowned rats! 
 
 Third Guest. A most unfortimate comparison! It is my 
 belief, ladies, that if the young men of our day prefer to re- 
 main single, the fault lies not with them, but with the existing 
 social conditions. 
 
 Lebedieff. Come, enough of that! Don't give us any 
 more philosophy; I don't like it! 
 
 Enter Sasha. She goes up to her father. 
 
 Sasha. How can you endure the stufify air of this room 
 when the weather is so beautiful? 
 
 Zinaida. My dear Sasha, don't you see that Martha is here? 
 
 Sasha. I beg your pardon. 
 
 [She goes up to Martha and shakes hands. 
 
 Martha. Yes, here I am, my dear little Sasha, and proud 
 to congratulate you. [They kiss each other\ Many happy re- 
 turns of the day, dear! 
 
 Sasha. Thank you! [She goes and sits down by her father. 
 
 Lebedieff. As you were saying, Avdotia Nazarovna, hus- 
 bands are hard to find. I don't want to be rude, but I must 
 say that the young men of the present are a dull and poky lot, 
 poor fellows! They can't dance or talk or drink as they 
 should do. 
 
 Avdotia. Oh, as far as drinking goes, they are all experts. 
 Just give them — give them 
 
 Lebedieff. Simply to drink is no art. A horse can drink. 
 No, it must be done in the right way. In my young days we 
 used to sit and cudgel our brains all day over our lessons, but 
 as soon as evening came we would fly oflE on some spree and 
 keep it up till dawn. How we used to dance and flirt, and 
 drink, too! Or sometimes we would sit and chatter and dis- 
 cuss everything under the sun until we almost wagged our 
 
98 I V A N O F F act n 
 
 \ tongues off. But now — [He waves his hand] Boys are a puz- 
 
 1 zle to me. They are not willing either to give a candle to 
 
 God or a pitchfork to the devil! There is only one young 
 
 fellow in the country who is worth a penny, and he is married. 
 
 [Sighs] They say, too, that he is going crazy. 
 
 Martha. Who is he? 
 
 Lebediefp. Nicholas Ivanoff. 
 
 Martha. Yes, he is a fine fellow, only [Makes a face] he 
 is very unhappy. 
 
 Zinaida. How could he be otherwise, poor boy! [She sighs] 
 He made such a bad mistake. When he married that Jewess 
 of his he thought of course that her parents would give away 
 whole mountains of gold with her, but, on the contrary, on 
 the day she became a Christian they disowned her, and Ivanoff 
 has never seen a penny of the money. He has repented of 
 his folly now, but it is too late. 
 
 Sasha. Mother, that is not true! 
 
 Martha. How can you say it is not true, Sasha, when we 
 all know it to be a fact? WTiy did he have to marry a Jewess? 
 He must have had some reason for doing it. Axe Russian 
 girls so scarce? No, he made a mistake, poor fellow, a sad 
 mistake. [Excitedly] And what on earth can he do with her 
 now? Where could she go if he were to come home some day 
 and say: "Your parents have deceived me; leave my house 
 at once!" Her parents wouldn't take her back. She might 
 find a place as a house-maid if she had ever learned to work, 
 which she hasn't. He worries and worries her now, but the 
 Count interferes. If it had not been for the Count, he would 
 have worried her to death long ago. 
 
 Avdotia. They say he shuts her up in a cellar and stuffs 
 her with garlic, and she eats and eats until her very soul 
 reeks of it. [Laughter. 
 
 Sasha. But, father, you know that isn't true! 
 
Acrn IVANOFF 99 
 
 Lebedieff. What if it isn't, Sasha? Let them spin yarns 
 if it amuses them. [He calls] Gabriel! 
 
 Gabriel brings him another glass of vodka and a glass 
 of water. 
 
 ZmAiDA. His misfortmies have almost ruined him, poor 
 man. His affairs are in a frightful condition. If Borkin did 
 not take such good charge of his estate he and his Jewess 
 would soon be starving to death. [She sighs] And what anx- 
 iety he has caused us! Heaven only knows how we have 
 suffered. Do you realise, my dear, that for three years he 
 has owed us nine thousand roubles.' 
 
 Mabtha. [Horrified] Nine thousand! 
 
 ZiNAiDA. Yes, that is the sum that my dear Paul has under- 
 taken to lend him. He never knows to whom it is safe to lend 
 money and to whom it is not. I don't worry about the prin- 
 cipal, but he ought to pay the interest on his debt. 
 
 Sasha. [Hotly] Mamma, you have already discussed this 
 subject at least a thousand times! 
 
 ZiXAiDA. What difference does it make to you? Why 
 should you interfere.'' 
 
 Sasha. What is this mania you all have for gossiping about 
 a man who has never done any of you any harm.'' Tell me, 
 what harm h^ he done you? 
 
 Third Guest. Let me say two words. Miss Sasha. I 
 esteem Ivanoff, and have always found him an honourable 
 man, but, between ourselves, I also consider him an adven- 
 turer. 
 
 Sasha. I congratulate you on your opinion ! 
 
 Third Guest. In proof of its truth, permit me to present 
 to you the following facts, as they were communicated to me 
 by his secretary, or shall I say rather, by his factotum, Borkin. 
 Two years ago, at the time of the cattle plague, he bought 
 some cattle and had them insured— 
 
100 I V A N O F F ACT n 
 
 ZiNAiDA. Yes, I remember hearing of that. 
 
 Third Guest. He had them insured, as you understand, 
 and then inoculated them with the disease and claimed the 
 insurance. 
 
 Sasha. Oh, what nonsense, nonsense, nonsense! No one 
 bought or inoculated any cattle! The story was invented by 
 Borkin, who then went about boasting of his clever plan. 
 Ivanoff would not forgive Borkin for two weeks after he heard 
 of it. He is only guilty of a weak character and too great 
 faith in humanity. He can't make up his mind to get rid of 
 that Borkin, and so all his possessions have been tricked 
 and stolen from him. Every one who has had anything to 
 do with Ivanoff has taken advantage of his generosity to 
 grow rich. 
 
 Lebedieff. Sasha, you little firebrand, that will do! 
 
 Sasha. Why do you all talk like this.? This eternal sub- 
 ject of IvanoflE, Ivanoff, and always Ivanoff has grown insuf- 
 ferable, and yet you never speak of anything else. [She goes 
 toward the door, then stops and comes back] I am surprised, [To 
 the young men] and utterly astonished at your patience, young 
 men! How can you sit there like that.'' Aren't you bored? 
 Why, the very air is as duU as ditchwater! Do, for heaven's 
 sake say something; try to amuse the girls a little; move about! 
 Or if you can't talk of anything except Ivanoff, you might 
 laugh or sing or dance 
 
 Lebedieff. [Laughing] That's right, Sasha! Give them 
 a good scolding. 
 
 Sasha. Look here, will you do me a favour? If you refuse 
 to dance or sing or laugh, if all that is tedious, then let me beg 
 you, implore you, to summon all your powers, if only for this 
 once, and make one witty or clever remark. Let it be as im- 
 pertinent and malicious as you like, so long as it is funny and 
 original. Won't you perform this miracle, just once, to sur- 
 
ACT n I V A N O F F 101 
 
 prise us and make us laugh? Or else you might think of some 
 little thing which you could all do together, something to 
 make you stir about. Let the girls admire you for once in 
 their lives! Listen to me! I suppose you want them to like 
 you? Then why don't try to make them do it? Oh, dear! 
 There is something wrong with you all! You are a lot of 
 sleepy stick-in-the-muds! I have told you so a thousand } 
 times and shall always go on repeating it; there is something 1 
 wrong with every one of you; something wrong, wrong, wrong ! I 
 Enter Ivanoff and Shabelski through the door on the 
 right. 
 
 Shabelski. Who is making a speech here? Is it you, 
 Sasha? [He laughs and shakes hands with her] Many happy 
 returns of the day, my dear child. May you live as long as 
 possible in this life, but never be born again! 
 
 ZnsTAiDA. [Joyfully] My dear Count! 
 
 Lebedieff. Who can this be? Not you. Count? 
 
 Shabelski. [Sees Zinaida and Martha sitting side by side] 
 Two gold mines side by side! What a pleasant picture it 
 makes! [He shakes hands with Zinaida] Good evening, Zuzu! 
 [Shakes hands with Martha] Good evening. Birdie! 
 
 Zinaida. I am charmed to see you, Count. You are a rare 
 visitor here now. [Calls] Gabriel, bring some tea! Please sit 
 down. 
 
 She gets up and goes to the door and hack, evidently much 
 preoccupied. Sasha sits down in her former place. 
 Ivanoff silently shakes hands with every one. 
 
 Lebedieff. [To Shabelski] What miracle has brought you 
 here? You have given us a great surprise. Why, Count, 
 you're a rascal, you haven't been treating us right at all. 
 [Leads him forward by the hand] Tell me, why don't you 
 ever come to see us now? Are you offended? 
 
 Shabelski. How can I get here to see you? Astride a 
 
102 I V A N O F F ACT n 
 
 broomstick? I have no horses of my own, and Nicholas won't 
 take me with him when he goes out. He says I must stay at 
 home to amuse Sarah. Send your horses for me and I shall 
 come with pleasure. 
 
 Lebediepp. [With a wave of the hand] Oh, that is easy to 
 say! But Zuzu would rather have a fit than lend the 
 horses to any one. My dear, dear old friend, you are more 
 to me than any one I know! You and I are survivors of those 
 good old days that are gone forever, and you alone bring back 
 to my mind the love and longings of my lost youth. Of 
 1 course I am only joking, and yet, do you know, I am almost 
 ( in tears.'' 
 
 Shabelski. Stop, stop! You smell like the air of a wine 
 cellar. 
 
 Lebediepp. Dear friend, you cannot imagine how lonely 
 I am without my old companions! I could hang myself! 
 [Whispers] Zuzu has frightened all the decent men away with 
 her stingy ways, and now we have only this riff-raff, as you 
 see: Tom, Dick, and Harry. However, drink your tea. 
 
 ZiNAiDA. [Anxiously, to Gabriel] Don't bring it in like 
 that! Go fetch some jam to eat with it! 
 
 Shabelski. [Laughing loudly, to Ivanoff] Didn't I tell you 
 so.? [To Lebedieff] I bet him driving over, that as soon as 
 we arrived Zuzu would want to feed us with jam! 
 
 ZiNAiDA. Still joking. Count! [She sits down. 
 
 Lebedieff. She made twenty jars of it this year, and how 
 else do j^ou expect her to get rid of it? 
 
 Shabelski. [Sits down near the table] Are you still adding 
 to the hoard, Zuzu? You will soon have a million, eh? 
 
 ZiNAiDA. [Sighing] I know it seems as if no one could be 
 richer than we, but where do they think the money comes 
 from? It is all gossip. 
 
 Shabelski. Oh, yes, we all know that ! We know how badly 
 
ACT n I V A N O F F 103 
 
 you play your cards! Tell me, Paul, honestly, have you 
 saved up a million yet? 
 
 Lebediepp. I don't know. Ask Zuzu. 
 
 Shabelski. [To Martha] And my plump little Birdie 
 here will soon have a million too ! She is getting prettier and 
 plumper not only every day, but every hour. That means 
 she has a nice little fortune. 
 
 Martha. Thank you very much, your highness, but I 
 don't like such jokes. 
 
 Shabelski. My dear little gold mine, do you call that a 
 joke? It was a wail of the soul, a cry from the heart, that 
 burst through my lips. My love for you and Zuzu is im- 
 mense. [Gaily] Oh, rapture! Oh, bliss! I cannot look at 
 you two without a madly beating heart! 
 
 ZiNAiDA. You are still the same, Count. [To George] Put 
 out the candles please, George. [George gives a start. He 
 puis out the candles and sits down again] How is your wife, 
 Nicholas? 
 
 IvANOFF. She is very ill. The doctor said to-day that she 
 certainly had consumption. 
 
 ZiNAiDA. Really? Oh, how sad! [She sighs] And we are 
 aJLso fond of her! '.' t-f'^ 
 
 Shabelski. What frasn you all talk! That story was in- 
 vented by that sham doctor, and is nothing but a trick of his. 
 He wants to masquerade as an J^sculapius, and so has started 
 this consumption theory. Fortunately her husband isn't 
 jealous. [IvANOFF malces an impatient gesture] As for Sarah, I 
 wouldn't trust a word or an action of hers. I have made a 
 point all my life of mistrusting all doctors, lawyers, and 
 women. They are shammers and deceivers. 
 
 Lebedieff. [To Shabelski] You are an extraordinary 
 person, Matthew! You have mounted this misanthropic 
 hobby of yours, and you ride it through thick and thin like a 
 
104 I V A N O F F ACT n 
 
 lunatic. You are a man like any other, and yet, from the way 
 you talk one would imagine that you had the pip, or a cold in 
 the head. 
 
 Shabelski. Would you have me go about kissing every 
 rascal and scoundrel I meet? 
 
 Lebedieff. Where do you find all these rascals and scoun- 
 drels? 
 
 Shabelski. Of course I am not talking of any one here 
 present, nevertheless 
 
 Lebedieff. There you are again with your "nevertheless." 
 All this is simply a fancy of yours. 
 
 Shabelski. A fancy? It is lucky for you that you have 
 no knowledge of the world! 
 
 Lebedieff. My knowledge of the world is this: I must 
 'j sit here prepared at any moment to have death come knocking 
 Jl at the door. That is my knowledge of the world. At our 
 { age, brother, you and I can't afford to worry about knowl- 
 [ edge of the world. So then — [He calls] Oh, Gabriel! 
 
 Shabelski. You have had quite enough already. Look 
 at your nose. 
 
 Lebedieff. No matter, old boy. I am not going to be 
 married to-day. 
 
 ZiNAiDA. Doctor Lvoff has not been here for a long time. 
 He seems to have forgotten us. 
 
 Sasha. That man is one of my aversions. I can't stand 
 his icy sense of honour. He can't ask for a glass of water or 
 smoke a cigarette without making a display of his remarkable 
 honesty. Walking and talking, it is written on his brow: 
 "I am an honest man." He is a great bore. 
 
 Shabelski. He is a narrow-minded, conceited medico. 
 [Angrily] He shrieks like a parrot at every step: "Make way 
 for honest endeavour!" and thinks himself another St. Francis. 
 Everybody is a rascal who doesn't make as much noise as he 
 
ACT n I V A N O F F 105 
 
 does. As for his penetration, it is simply remarkable ! If a 
 peasant is well ofif and lives decently, he sees at once that he 
 must be a thief and a scoimdrel. D I wear a velvet coat and 
 am dressed by my valet, I am a rascal and the valet is my 
 slave. There is no place in this world for a man like him. I 
 am actually afraid of him. Yes, indeed, he is likely, out of a 
 sense of duty, to insult a man at any moment and to call him 
 a knave. 
 
 IvANOFF. I am dreadfully tired of him, but I can't help 
 liking him, too, he is so sincere. 
 
 Shabelski. Oh, yes, his sincerity is beautiful! He came 
 up to me yesterday evening and remarked absolutely apropos 
 of nothing: "Count, I have a deep aversion to you!" It isn't 
 as if he said such things simply, but they are extremely 
 pointed. His voice trembles, his eyes ilash, his veins swell. 
 Confound his infernal honesty! Supposing I am disgusting 
 and odious to him? What is more natural.'' I know that I 
 am, but I don't like to be told so to my face. I am a worth- 
 less old man, but he might have the decency to respect my 
 grey hairs. Oh, what stupid, heartless honesty! 
 
 LEBBDiEFr. Come, come, you have been young yourself, 
 and should make allowances for him. 
 
 Shabelski. Yes, I have been young and reckless; I have 
 played the fool in my day and have seen plenty of knaves and 
 scamps, but I have never called a thief a thief to his face, or 
 talked of ropes in the house of a man who had been hung. I 
 knew how to behave, but this idiotic doctor of yours would 
 think himself in the seventh heaven of happiness if fate would 
 allow him to pull my nose in public in the name of morality 
 and human ideals. 
 
 Lebedieff. Young men are all stubborn and restive. I 
 had an uncle once who thought himself a philosopher. He 
 would fill his house with guests, and after he had had a drink 
 
106 I V A N O F F ACT n 
 
 he would get up on a chair, like this, and begin: "You igno- 
 ramuses! You powers of darkness! This is the dawn of a 
 new life!" And so on and so on; he would preach and 
 preach 
 
 Sasha. And the guests? 
 
 Lebediefp. They would just sit and listen and go on drink- 
 ing. Once, though, I challenged him to a duel, challenged 
 my own imcle! It came out of a discussion about Sir Francis 
 Bacon. I was sitting, I remember, where Matthew is, and 
 my uncle and the late Gerasim Nilitch were standing over 
 there, about where Nicholas is now. Well, Gerasim Nilitch 
 
 propounded this question 
 
 Enter Boekin. He is dressed like a dandy and carries 
 a parcel under his arm. He comes in singing and skip- 
 ping through the door on the right. A murmur of ap- 
 proval is heard. 
 
 The Girls. Oh, Michael Borkin! 
 
 Lebedieff. Hallo, Misha! 
 
 Shabelski. The soul of the company! 
 
 BoBKiN. Here we are! {He runs up to Sasha] Most noble 
 Signorina, let me be so bold as to wish to the whole world 
 many happy returns of the birthday of such an exquisite 
 flower as you! As a token of my enthusiasm let me presume 
 to present you with these fireworks and this Bengal fire of my 
 own manufacture. {He hands her the parcel] May they illumi- 
 nate the night as brightly as you illuminate the shadows of 
 this dark world. {He spreads them out theatrically before her. 
 
 Sasha. Thank you. 
 
 Lebediefp. {Laughing loudly, to Ivanofp] Why don't you 
 send this Judas packing.? 
 
 BoRKiN. {To Lebediefp] My compliments to you, sir. 
 {To Ivanofp] How are you, my patron? {Sings] Nicholas 
 voUa, hey ho hey! {He greets everybody in turn] Most highly 
 
ACT n I V A N O F F 107 
 
 honoured Zinaida! Oh, glorious Martha! Most ancient 
 Avdotia! Noblest of Counts! 
 
 Shabelski. [Laughing] The life of the company ! The mo- 
 ment he comes in the air feels livelier. Have you noticed it? 
 
 BoKKiN. Whew! I am tired! I believe I have shaken 
 hands with everybody. Well, ladies and gentlemen, haven't 
 you some little tid-bit to tell me; something spicy? [Speaking 
 quickly to Zxnaioa] Oh, aunty! I have something to tell you. 
 As I was on my way here — [To Gabriel] Some tea, please 
 Gabriel, but without jam — as I was on my way here I saw 
 some peasants down on the river-bank pulling the bark off 
 the trees. Why don't you lease that meadow? 
 
 Lebedibff. [To Ivanoff] Why don't you send that Judas 
 away? 
 
 Zinaida. [Startled] Why, that is quite true! I never 
 thought of it. 
 
 BoRKiN. [Swinging his arms] I can't sit still! What tricks 
 shall we be up to next, aunty? I am all on edge, Martha, 
 absolutely exalted. [He sings] 
 
 "Once more I stand before thee!" 
 
 Zinaida. Think of something to amuse us, Misha, we are 
 all bored. 
 
 BoKKiN. Yes, you look so. What is the matter with 
 you all? Why are you sitting there as solemn as a jury? 
 Come, let us play something; what shall it be? Forfeits? 
 Hide-and-seek? Tag? Shall we dance, or have the fire- 
 works? 
 
 The Gibls. [Clapping their hands] The fireworks! The 
 fireworks! [They run into the garden. 
 
 Sasha. [To Ivanoff] What makes you so depressed to- 
 day? " > 
 
108 I V A N O F F ACT n 
 
 IvANOFF. My head aches, little Sasha, and then I feel 
 bored. 
 
 Sasha. Come into the sitting-room with me. 
 
 They go out through the door on the right. All the gtiegts 
 go into the garden and Zinaida and Lebedieff are 
 left alone. 
 
 Zinaida. That is what I like to see! A young man like 
 Misha comes into the room and in a minute he has everybody 
 laughing. [She puts ovt the large lamp] There is no reason the 
 candles should burn for nothing so long as they are all in the 
 garden. [She blows out the candles. 
 
 Lebedieff. [Following her] We really ought to give our 
 guests something to eat, Zuzu ! 
 
 Zinaida. What crowds of candles; no wonder we are 
 thought rich. 
 
 Lebedieff. [Still following her] Do let them have some- 
 thing to eat, Zuzu; they are young and must be hungry by 
 now, poor things — Zuzu! 
 
 Zinaida. The Count did not finish his tea, and all that 
 sugar has been wasted. [Goes out through the door on the left. 
 
 Lebedieff. Bah! [Goes out into the garden. 
 
 Enter Ivanoff and Sasha through the door on the right. 
 
 IvANOFF. This is how it is, Sasha: I used to work hard and 
 think hard, and never tire; now, I neither do anything .nor 
 think anything, and I am weary, body and soul. I feel I am 
 terribly to blame, my conscience leaves me no peace day or 
 night, an d yet I ca n't see clearly exactly what my mistakes 
 are. And now comes my wife's illness, our poverty, this 
 eternal backbiting, gossiping, chattering, that foolish Bor- 
 kin— My home has become unendurable to me, and to live 
 there is worse than torture. Frankly, Sasha, the presence of 
 my wife, who loves me, has become unbearable. You are an 
 gld friend, little Sasha, you will not be angry with me for 
 
ACT u I V A N O F F 109 
 
 speaking so openly. I came to you to be eheeied, but I am 
 bored here too, something urges me home again. Forgive 
 me, I shall slip away at once. 
 
 Sasha. I can understand your trouble, Nicholas. You are 
 unhappy because you are lonely. You need some one at your 
 side whom you can love, someone who understands you. 
 
 IvANOFF. What an idea, Sasha! Fancy a crusty old bad- 
 ger like myself starting a love aSair! Heaven preserve me 
 from such misfortune! No, my little sage, this is not a case 
 for romance. The fact is, I can endure all I have to suffer: 
 sadness, sickness of mind, ruin, the loss of my wife, and my 
 lonely, broken old age, but I cannot, I will not, endure the 
 contempt I have for myself! I am nearly killed by shame 
 when I think that a strong, healthy man like myself has be- 
 come — oh, heaven only knows what — by no means a Man- 
 fred or a Hamlet! There are some unfortunates who feel 
 flattered w'hen people call them Hamlets and cynics, but to 
 me it is an insult. It wounds my pride and I am tortured 
 by shame and suffer agony. 
 
 Sasha. [Laughing through her tears] Nicholas, let us run 
 away to America together! 
 
 Ivanoff. I haven't the energy to take such a step as that, 
 and besides, in America you — ■ [They go toward the door iTito 
 the garden] As a matter of fact, Sasha, this is not a good place 
 for you to live. When I look about at the men who surround 
 you I am tertified for you; whom is there you could marry? 
 Your only chance will be if some passing lieutenant or student 
 steals your heart and carries you away. 
 
 Enter Zinaida through the door on the right with a jar 
 of jam. 
 
 Ivanoff. Excuse me, Sasha, I shall join you in a minute. 
 Sasha goes out into the garden. 
 
 Ivanoff. [To Zinaida] Zinaida, may I ask you a favour? 
 
no I V A N F F ACT n 
 
 ZiNAiDA. What is it? 
 
 IvANOFF. The fact is, you know, that the interest on my 
 note is due day after to-morrow, but I should be more than 
 obliged to you if you will let me postpone the payment of it, 
 or would let me add the interest to the capital. I simply 
 cannot pay it now; I haven't the money. 
 
 ZiNAiDA. Oh, Ivanoff, how could I do such a thing? Would 
 it be business-like? No, no, don't ask it, don't torment an 
 unfortunate old woman. 
 
 IvANOFF. I beg your pardon. [He go^s out into the garden. 
 
 ZiNAiDA. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! What a fright he gave me! 
 I am trembling all over. [Goes out through the door on the right. 
 Enter Kosich through the door on the left. He walks 
 across the stage. 
 
 Kosich. I had the ace, king, queen, and eight of diamonds, 
 the ace of spades, and one, just one little heart, and she — 
 — may the foul fiend fly away with her, — she couldn't make 
 a little slam I 
 
 Goes out through the door on the right. Enter from the 
 garden Avdotia and First Guest. 
 
 AvDOTiA. Oh, how I should like to get my claws into her, 
 the miserable old miser! How I should like it! Does she 
 think it a joke to leave us sitting here since five o'clock with- 
 out even offering us a crust to eat? What a house! What 
 management! 
 
 First Guest. I am so bored that I feel like beating my 
 head against the wall. Lord, what a queer lot of people! I 
 shall soon be howling like a wolf and snapping at them from 
 hunger and weariness. 
 
 Avdotia. How I should like to get my claws into her, the 
 old sinner! 
 
 First Guest. I shall get a drink, old lady, and then home 
 I go ! I won't have anything to do with these belles of yours. 
 
ACTH IVANOFF 111 
 
 How the devil can a man think of love who hasn't had a drop 
 to drink since dinner? 
 
 AvDOTiA. Come on, we will go and find something. 
 
 First Guest. Sh! Softly! I think the brandy is in the 
 sideboard in the dining-room. We will find George! Sh! 
 They go out through the door on the left. Enter Anna 
 and LvoFF through the door on the right. 
 
 Anna. No, they will be glad to see us. Is no one here? 
 Then they must be in the garden. 
 
 LvoFF. I should like to know why you have brought me 
 into this den of wolves. This is no place for you and me; 
 honourable people should not be subjected to such influences 
 as these. 
 
 Anna. Listen to me, Mr. Honourable Man. When you are 
 escorting a lady it is very bad manners to talk to her the 
 whole way about nothing but your own honesty. Such be- 
 haviour may be perfectly honest, but it is also tedious, to say 
 the least. Never tell a woman how good you are; let her find 
 it out herself. My Nicholas used only to sing and tell stories 
 when he was young as you are, and yet every woman knew 
 at once what kind of a man he was. 
 
 LvoFF. Don't talk to me of your Nicholas; I know all 
 about him! 
 
 Anna. You are a very worthy man, but you don't know 
 anything at all. Come into the garden. He never said: "I 
 am an honest man; these surroundings are too narrow for 
 me." He never spoke of wolves' dens, called people bears or 
 vultures. He left the animal kingdom alone, and the most 
 I have ever heard him say when he was excited was: "Oh, 
 how unjust I have been to-day!" or "Annie, I am sorry for 
 
 that man." That's what he would say, but you 
 
 Anna and Lvoff go out. Enter Avdotia and Fihst 
 Guest through the door on the left. 
 
112 I V A N O F F ACT n 
 
 First Guest. There isn't any in the dining-room, so it 
 must be somewhere in the pantry. We must find George. 
 Come this way, through the sitting-room. 
 
 AvDOTiA. Oh, how I should like to get my claws into her! 
 
 They go out through the door on the right. Martha and 
 
 BoKKiN run in laughing from the garden. Shabelski 
 
 comes mincing behind them, laughing and rubbing his 
 
 hands. 
 
 Martha. Oh, I am so bored! [Laughs loudly] This is 
 deadly! Every one looks as if he had swallowed a poker. I 
 am frozen to the marrow by this icy dullness. [She skips 
 about] Let us do something! 
 
 BoRKiN catches her by the waist and kisses her cheek. 
 
 Shabelski. [Laughing and snapping his fingers] Well, I'U 
 be hanged! [Cackling] Really, you know! 
 
 Martha. Let go! Let go, you wretch! What will the 
 Count think.? Stop, I say! 
 
 BoRKiN. Angel! Jewel! Lend me twenty-three hundred 
 roubles. 
 
 Martha. Most certainly not! Do what you please, but 
 I'll thank you to leave my money alone. No, no, no! Oh, 
 let go, will you.'' 
 
 Shabelski. [Mincing around them] The little birdie has 
 its charms! [Seriously] Come, that will do! 
 
 BoRKlN. Let us come to the point, and consider my propo- 
 sition frankly as a business arrangement. Answer me hon- 
 estly, without tricks and equivocations, do you agree to do it 
 or not? Listen to me; [Pointing to Shabelski] he needs 
 money to the amount of at least three thousand a year; 
 you need a husband. Do you want to be a Countess? 
 
 Shabelski. [Laughing loudly] Oh, the cynic! 
 
 BoRKiN. Do you want to be a Countess or not? 
 
 Martha. [Excitedly] Wait a minute; really, Misha, these 
 
ACT n I V A N F F 113 
 
 things aren't done in a second like this. If the Count wants 
 to marry me, let him ask me himself, and — and — I don't 
 see, I don't understand — all this is so sudden 
 
 BoBKiN. Come, don't let us beat about the bush; this is a 
 business arrangement. Do you agree or not.? 
 
 Shabelski. {Chuckling and rubbing his hands] Supposing 
 I do marry her, eh? Hang it, why shouldn't I play her this 
 shabby trick? What do you say, little puss? [He kisses her 
 cheek] Dearest chick-a-biddy! 
 
 Martha. Stop ! Stop ! I hardly know what I am doing. 
 Go away! No — don't go! 
 
 BoRKiN. Answer at once: is it yes or no? We can't stand 
 here forever. 
 
 Martha. Look here. Count, come and visit me for three 
 or four days. It is gay at my house, not like this place. 
 Come to-morrow. [To Borkin] Or is this all a joke? 
 
 BoRKiN. [Angrily] How could I joke on such a serious sub- 
 ject? 
 
 Martha. Wait! Stop! Oh, I feel faint! A Countess! 
 I am fainting, I am falling! 
 
 Borkin and Shabelski laugh and catch her by the arms. 
 They kiss her cheeks and lead her out through the door 
 on the right. Ivanoff and Sasha run in from the 
 garden. 
 
 IvANOFF. [Des-perately clutching his head] It can't be true! 
 Don't Sasha, don't! Oh, I implore you not to! 
 
 Sasha. I love you madly. Without you my life can have 
 no meaning, no happiness, no hope. 
 
 IvANOFF. Why, why do you say that? What do you mean? 
 Little Sasha, don't say it! 
 
 Sasha. You were the only joy of my childhood; I loved you 
 body and soul then, as myself, but now^ Oh, I love you, 
 Nicholas! Take me with you to the ends of the earth, wher- 
 
114 I V A N O F F ACTii 
 
 ever you wish; but for heaven's sake let us go at once, or I 
 shall die. 
 
 IvANOFF. [Shaking with wild laughter] What is this? Is it 
 the beginning for me of a new life? Is it, Sasha? Oh, my 
 happiness, my joy! [He draws her to him] My freshness, my 
 youth! 
 
 Enter Anna from the garden. She sees her husband and 
 Sasha, and stops as if petrified. 
 IvANOFF. Oh, then I shall live once more? And work? 
 IvANOFF and Sasha kiss each other. After the kiss 
 they look around and see AjimA.. 
 IvANOFF. [With horror] Sarah! 
 
 The curtain falls. 
 
ACT III 
 
 Library in Ivanofp's house. On the walls hang maps, pictures, 
 guns, pistols, sickles, whips, etc. A loriting-tablei On it 
 lie in disorder knicJc-knaclcs, papers, books, parcels, and 
 several revolvers. Near the papers stand a lamp, a decanter 
 of vodka, and a plate of salted herrings. Pieces of bread and 
 cucumber are scattered about. Shabelski and Lebediefp 
 are sitting at the writing-table. Bokkin is sitting astride a 
 chair in the middle of the room,. Peter is standing near 
 the door. ' 
 
 Lebedieff. The policy of France is clear and definite; the 
 French know what they want: it is to skin those German 
 sausages, but the Germans must sing another song; France 
 is not the only thorn in their flesh. 
 
 Shabelski. Nonsense! In my opinion the Germans are 
 cowards and the French are the same. They are showing 
 their teeth at one another, but you can take my word for it, 
 they will not do more than that; they'll never fight! 
 
 BoBKiN. Why should they fight? Why all these con- 
 gresses, this arming and expense? Do you know what I 
 would do in their place? I would catch all the dogs in the 
 kingdom and inoculate them with Pasteur's serum, then I 
 would let them loose in the enemy's country, and the enemies 
 would all go mad in a month. 
 
 Lebedieff. [Laughing] His head is small, but the great 
 ideas are hidden away in it like fish in the sea! 
 
 Shabelski. Oh, he is a genius. 
 
 Lebedieff. Heaven help you, Misha, you are a funny 
 115 
 
116 IVANOFF ACTin 
 
 chap. [He stops laughing] But how is this, gentlemen? Here 
 we are talking Germany, Germany, and never a word about 
 vodka! Repetatur! [He fills three glasses] Here's to you all! 
 [He drinks and eats] This herring is the best of all relishes. 
 
 Shabblski. No, no, these cucumbers are better; every 
 wise man since the creation of the world has been trying to 
 invent something better than a salted cucumber, and not one 
 has succeeded. [To Peteb] Peter, go and fetch some more 
 cucumbers. And Peter, tell the cook to make four little 
 onion pasties, and see that we get them hot. 
 Peter goes out. 
 
 Lebedieff. Caviar is good with vodka, but it must be 
 prepared with skill. Take a quarter of a pound of pressed 
 caviar, two little onions, and a little olive oil; mix them to- 
 gether and put a slice of lemon on top — so! Lord! The very 
 perfume would drive you crazy! 
 
 BoRKiN. Roast snipe are good too, but they must be cooked 
 right. They should first be cleaned, then sprinkled with 
 bread crumbs, and roasted until they will crackle between the 
 teeth — crunch, crunch! 
 
 Shabelski. We had something good at Martha's yester- 
 day: white mushrooms. 
 
 Lebedieff. You don't say so! 
 
 Shabblski. And they were especially well prepared, too, 
 with onions and bay-leaves and spices, you know. When the 
 dish was opened, the odour that floated out was simply intoxi- 
 cating ! 
 
 Lebedieff. What do you say, gentlemen? Repetatur! 
 [He drinks] Good health to you! [He looks at his watch] I 
 must be going. I can't wait for Nicholas. So you say Mar- 
 tha gave you mushrooms? We haven't seen one at home. 
 Will you please tell me. Count, what plot you are hatching, 
 that takes you to Martha's so often? 
 
ACT in 
 
 IVANOFF 117 
 
 Shabeiski. [Nodding at Bobkin] He wants me to marry 
 her. 
 
 Lbbedieff. Wants you to marry her! How old are you? 
 
 Shabelski. Sixty-two. 
 
 Lebediefp. Really, you are just the age to marry, aren't 
 you? And Martha is just suited to you! 
 
 BoRKiN. This is not a question of Martha, but of Martha's 
 money. 
 
 Lebedieff. Aren't you moonstruck, and don't you want 
 the moon too? 
 
 Shabelski. Borkin here is quite in earnest about it; the 
 clever fellow is sure I shall obey orders, and marry Martha. 
 
 Borkin. What do you mean? Aren't you sure yourself? 
 
 Shabelski. Are you mad? I never was sure of anything. 
 Bah! 
 
 BoEKiN. Many thanks! I am much obliged to you for 
 the information. So you are trying to fool me, are you? 
 First you say you will marry Martha and then you say you 
 won't; the devil only knows which you really mean, but I 
 have given her my word of honour that you will. So you 
 have changed your mind, have you? 
 
 Shabelski. He is actually in earnest; what an extraordi- 
 nary man! 
 
 BoBKiN. [Losing his temper] If that is how you feel about 
 it, why have you turned an honest woman's head? Her 
 heart is set on your title, and she can neither eat nor sleep for 
 thinking of it. How can you make a jest of such things? 
 Do you think such behaviour is honourable? 
 
 Shabelski. [Snapping his fingers] Well, why not play her 
 this shabby trick, after all? Eh? Just out of spite? I shall 
 certainly do it, upon my word I shall! What a joke it will be! 
 Enter Lvofp. 
 
118 IVANOFF ACTiii 
 
 Lebedieff. We bow before you, ^Esculapius! [He shakes 
 hands with Lvopf and sings] 
 
 "Doctor, doctor, save, oh, save me, 
 I am scared to death of dying! " 
 
 LvoFF. Hasn't IvanoflF come home yet? 
 
 Lebedieff. Not yet. I have been waiting for him myself 
 for over an hour. 
 
 LvoFF walks impatiently up and down, 
 
 Lebedieff. How is Anna to-day.' 
 
 LvoFF. Very ill. 
 
 Lebedieff. [Sighing] May one go and pay one's respects 
 to her? 
 
 LvoFF. No, please don't. She is asleep, I believe. 
 
 Lebedieff. She is a lovely, charming woman. [Sighing] 
 The day she fainted at our house, on Sasha's birthday, I saw 
 that she had not much longer to live, poor thing. Let me 
 see, why did she faint? When I ran up, she was lying on the 
 floor, ashy white, with Nicholas on his knees beside her, and 
 Sasha was standing by them in tears. Sasha and I went 
 about almost crazy for a week after that. 
 
 Shabelski. [To Lvoff] Tell me, most honoured disciple of 
 science, what scholar discovered that the frequent visits of 
 a young doctor were beneficial to ladies suffering from affec- 
 tions of the chest? It is a remarkable discovery, remarkable! 
 Would you call such treatment Allopathic or Homeopathic? 
 LvoFP tries to answer, but makes an impatient gesture 
 instead, and walks out of the room,. 
 
 Shabelski. What a withering look he gave me! 
 
 Lebedieff. Some fiend must prompt you to say such 
 things! Why did you offend him? 
 
 Shabelski. [Angrily] Why does he tell such lies? Con- 
 
ACT in 
 
 IVANOFF 119 
 
 sumption! No hope! She is dying! It is nonsense, I can't 
 abide him! 
 
 Lebbdieff. What makes you think he is lying? 
 
 Shabelski. [Gets up and walks up and dovm] I can't bear 
 to think that a living person could die like that, suddenly, 
 without any reason at all. Don't let us talk about it! 
 KosiCH runs in panting. 
 
 KosiCH. Is IvanoflF at home? How do you do? [He shakes 
 hands quickly all round] Is he at home? 
 
 BoHKiN. No, he isn't. 
 
 KosiCH. [Sits down and jumps up again] In that case I 
 must say good-bye; I must be going. Business, you know. 
 I am absolutely exhausted; run oflF my feet! 
 
 Lebedieff. Where did you blow in from? 
 
 KoBiCH. From Barabanoff's. He and I have been play- 
 ing cards all night; we have only just stopped. I have been 
 absolutely fleeced; that BarabanoflF is a demon at cards. [In 
 a tearful voice] Just listen to this: I had a heart and he [He 
 turns to BoRKiN, who jumps away from him] led a diamond, 
 and I led a heart, and he led another diamond. Well, he 
 didn't take the trick. [To Lebedieff] We were playing three 
 in clubs. I had the ace and queen, and the ace and ten of 
 spades 
 
 Lebedieff. [Stopping up his ears] Spare me, for heaven's 
 sake, spare me! 
 
 KosiCH. [To Shabelski] Do you understand? I had the 
 ace and queen of clubs, the ace and ten of spades 
 
 Shabelski. [Pushes him away] Go away, I don't want to 
 listen to you! 
 
 KosiCH. When suddenly misfortune overtook me. My ace 
 of spades took the first trick 
 
 Shabelski. [Snatching up a revolver] Leave the room, or 
 I shall shoot! 
 
120 I V A N O F F ACT ra 
 
 KosiCH. [Waving his hands] What does this mean? Is 
 this the Australian bush, where no one has any interests in 
 common? Where there is no public spirit, and each man 
 lives for himself alone? However, I must be oflf. My time 
 is precious. [He shakes hands ivith IiEbevieff] Pass! 
 
 General laughter. Kosich goes out. In the doorway he 
 runs into Avdotia. 
 
 AvDOTiA. [Shrieks] Bad luck to you, you nearly knocked 
 me down. 
 
 All. Oh, she is always everywhere at once! 
 
 Avdotia. So this is where you all are? I have been look- 
 ing for you all over the house. Good-day to you, boys ! 
 
 [She shakes hands wiih everybody. 
 
 Lebbdieff. What brings you here? 
 
 Avdotia. Business, my son. [To Shabelski] Business con- 
 nected with your highness. She commanded me to bow. 
 [She hows] And to inquire after your health. She told me to 
 say, the little birdie, that if you did not come to see her this 
 evening she would cry her eyes out. Take him aside, she 
 said, and whisper in his ear. But why should I make a secret 
 of her message? We are not stea,ling chickens, but arranging 
 an affair of lawful love by mutual consent of both parties. 
 And now, although I never drink, I shall take a drop under 
 these circumstances. 
 
 Lebedieff. So shall I. [He -pours ovi the vodka\ You must 
 be immortal, you old magpie! You were an old woman when 
 1 first knew you, thirty years ago. 
 
 Avdotia. I have lost count of the years. I have buried 
 three husbands, and would have married a fourth if any one 
 had wanted a woman without a dowry. I have had eight 
 children. [She takes up the gla^s] Well, we have begun a good 
 work, may it come to a good end ! They will live happily ever 
 
ACT m I V A N O F F 121 
 
 after, and we shall enjoy their happiness. Love and good 
 luck to them both! [She drinks] This is strong vodka! 
 
 Shabelski. [Laughing loudly, to Lebedieff] The funny 
 thing is, they actually think I am in earnest. How strange! 
 [He gets up] And yet, Paul, why shouldn't I play her this 
 shabby trick? Just out of spite? To give the devil some- 
 thing to do, eh, Paul? 
 
 Lebedieff. You are talking nonsense, Count. You and I 
 must fix our thoughts on dying now; we have left Martha's 
 money far behind us; our day is over. 
 
 Shabelski. No, I shall certainly marry her; upon my word, 
 I shall! 
 
 Enter Ivanoff and Lvoff. 
 
 LvoFF. Will you please spare me five minutes of your time? 
 
 Lebedieff. Hallo, Nicholas! [He goes to meet Ivanoff] 
 How are you, old friend? I have been waiting an hour for 
 you. 
 
 AvDOTiA. [Bows] How do you do, my son? 
 
 Ivanoff. [Bitterly] So you have turned my library into a 
 bar-room again, have you? And yet I have begged you all a 
 thousand times not to do so! [He goes up to the table] There, 
 you see, you have spilt vodka all over my papers and scat- 
 tered crumbs and cucumbers everywhere! It is disgusting! 
 
 Lebedieff. I beg your pardon, Nicholas. Please forgive 
 me. I have something very important to speak to you about. 
 
 BoRKiN. So have I. 
 
 Lvoff. May I have a word with you? 
 
 Ivanoff. [Pointing to Lebedieff] He wants to speak to 
 me; wait a minute. [To Lebedieff] Well, what is it? 
 
 Lebedieff. [To the others] Excuse me, ladies and gentle- 
 men, I want to speak to him in private. 
 
 Shabelski goes out, followed by Avdotia, Bohkin, and 
 
 LVOFP. 
 
122 I V A N F F act m 
 
 IVANOFF. Paul, you may drink yourself as much as you 
 choose, it is your weakness, but I must ask you not to make 
 my uncle tipsy. He never used to drink at all; it is bad for 
 him. 
 
 Lebediefp. [Startled] My dear boy, I didn't know that! 
 I wasn't thinking of him at all. 
 
 IvANOFF. If this old baby should die on my hands the 
 blame would be mine, not yours. Now, what do you want.' 
 
 [A pause. 
 
 Lebedieff. The fact is, Nicholas — I really don't know how 
 I can put it to make it seem less brutal — Nicholas, I am 
 ashamed of myself, I am blushing, my tongue sticks to the 
 roof of my mouth. My dear boy, put yourself in my place; 
 remember that I am not a free man, I am as putty in the hands 
 of my wife, a slave — forgive me ! 
 
 IvANOFF. What does this mean.? 
 
 Lebedieff. My wife has sent me to you; do me a favour, 
 be a friend to me, pay her the interest on the money you 
 owe her. Believe me, she has been tormenting me and going 
 for me tooth and nail. For heaven's sake, free yourself 
 from her clutches! 
 
 IvANOFF. You know, Paul, that I have no money now. 
 
 Lebedieff. I know, I know, but what can I do.? She 
 won't wait. If she should sue you for the money, how could 
 Sasha and I ever look you in the face again.? 
 
 IvANOFP. I am ready to sink through the floor with shame, 
 Paul, but where, where shall I get the money.? Tell me, 
 where? There is nothing I can do but to wait until I sell my 
 wheat in the autumn. 
 
 Lebedieff. [ShrieJcs] But she won't wait! [A pause. 
 
 IvANOFF. Your position is very delicate and unpleasant, 
 but mine is even worse. [He walks up and down in deep thmigkt] 
 I am at my wit's end, there i§ nothing I ?aji sell now. 
 
ACT m I V A N O F F 123 
 
 Lebedieff. You might go to Mulbach and get some monej' 
 from him; doesn't he owe you sixty thousand roubles? 
 IvANOFF makes a despairing gesture. 
 
 Lebedieff. Listen to me, Nicholas, I know you will be 
 angry, but you must forgive an old drunkard like me. This 
 is between friends; remember I am your friend. We were 
 students together, both Liberals; we had the same interests 
 and ideals; we studied together at the University of Moscow. 
 It is our Alma Mater. [He takes out his purse] I have a pri- 
 vate fund here; not a soul at home knows of its existence. 
 Let me lend it to you. [He takes out the money and lays it on 
 the table] Forget your pride; this is between friends! I should 
 take it from you, indeed I should! [A pau^e] There is the 
 money, one hundred thousand roubles. Take it; go to her 
 yourself and say: "Take the money, Zinaida, and may you 
 choke on it." Only, for heaven's sake, don't let her see by 
 your manner that you got it from me, or she would certainly 
 go for me, with her old jam! [He looks intently into Ivanoff's 
 face] There, there, no matter. [He quickly takes up the money 
 and stuffs it back into his pocket] Don't take it, I was only 
 joking. Forgive me! Are you hurt? 
 IvANOFF waves his hand. 
 
 Lebedieff. Yes, the truth is — [He sighs] This is a time 
 of sorrow and pain for you. A man, brother, is_ like a samo- 
 var; he cannot always stand coolly on a shelf; hot coals will 
 be dropped into him some day, and then — fizz! The com- 
 parison is idiotic, but it is the best I can think of. [Sighing] 
 Misfortunes wring the soul, and yet I am not worried about 
 you, brother. Wheat goes through the mill, and comes out 
 as flour, and you will come safely through your troubles; but I 
 am annoyed, Nicholas, and angry with the people around you. 
 The whole countryside is buzzing with gossip; where does it 
 all start? They say you will be soon arrested for your debts. 
 
124 I V A N O F F aci in 
 
 that you are a bloodthirsty murderer, a monster of cruelty, a 
 robber. 
 
 IvANOFF. All that is nothing to me; my head is aching. 
 
 Lebedieff. Because you think so much. 
 
 IvANOFP. I never think. 
 
 Lebedieff. Come, Nicholas, snap your fingers at the whole 
 thing, and drive over to visit us. Sasha loves and under- 
 stands you. She is a sweet, honest, lovely girl; too good to 
 be the child of her mother and me ! Sometimes, when I look 
 at her, I cannot believe that such a treasure could belong to 
 a fat old drunkard like me. Go to her, talk to her, and let her 
 cheer you. She is a good, true-hearted girl. 
 
 IvANOFF. Paul, my dear friend, please go, and leave me 
 alone. 
 
 Lebedieff. I understand, I understand! [He glances at his 
 watch] Yes, I understand. [He lasses Ivanoff] Good-bye, I 
 must go to the blessing of the school now. [He goes as far as 
 the door, then stops] She is so clever! Sasha and I were talk- 
 ing about gossiping yesterday, and she flashed out this epi- 
 gram: "Father," she said, "fire-flies shine at night so that the 
 night-birds may make them their prey, and good people are 
 made to be preyed upon by gossips and slanderers." What 
 do you think of that.' She is a genius, another George Sand! 
 
 Ivanoff. [Stopping him as he goes ovt] Paul, what is the 
 matter with me? 
 
 Lebedieff. I have wanted to ask you that myself, but I 
 must confess I was ashamed to. I don't know, old chap. 
 Sometimes I think your troubles have been too heavy for you, 
 and yet I know you are not the kind to give in to them; you 
 would not be overcome by misfortune. It must be some- 
 thing else, Nicholas, but what it may be I can't imagine. 
 
 Ivanoff. I can't imagine either what the matter is, unless 
 — and yet no — [A paicse] Well, do you see, this is what I 
 
ACT m I V A N F F 125 
 
 wanted to say. I used to have a workman Called Simon, you 
 remember him. Once, at threshing-time, to show the girls 
 how strong he was, he loaded himself with two sacks of rye, 
 and broke his back. He died soon after. I think I have 
 broken my back also. First I went to school, then to the 
 university, then came the cares of this estate, all my plans — I 
 did not believe what others did; did not marry as others did; 
 I worked passionately, risked everything; no one else, as you 
 know, threw their money away to right and left as I did. So 
 I heaped the burdens on my back, and it broke. We are a ll 
 heroes at twenty, ready to attack anything, to do everything, 
 and atTtT virtJz-aja-arnrTi-oi J,. useless me nTTHowT^h. how do 
 you account for this weariness? However, I may be quite ' 
 wrong; go away, Paul, I am boring you. 
 
 Lebedieff. I know what is the matter with you, old man : 
 you got out of bed on the wrong side this morning. 
 
 IvANOFF. That is stupid, Paul, and stale. Go away! 
 
 Lebedieff. It is stupid, certainly. I see that myself now. 
 I am going at once. [Lebedieff goes out. 
 
 Ivanoff. [Alone] I am a worthless, miserable, useless man. 
 Only a man equally miserable and suffering, as Paul isTcould 
 love or esteem me now. Good God! How I loathe myself! 
 How bitterly I hate my voice, my hands, my thoughts, these 
 clothes, each step I take! How ridiculous it is, how disgust- 
 ing! Less than a year ago I was healthy and strong, full of 
 pride and energy and enthusiasm. I worked with these hands 
 here, and my words could move the dullest man to tears. 
 I could weep with sorrow, and grow indignant at the sight of 
 wrong. I could feel the glow of inspiration, and understand 
 the beauty and romance of the silent nights which I used to 
 watch through from evening until dawn, sitting at my work- 
 table, and giving up my soul to dreams. I believed in a bright 
 future then, and looked into it as trustfully as a child looks 
 
 r/ 
 
126 I V A N O F F act m 
 
 into its mother's eyes. And now, oh, it is terrible! I am 
 tired and without hope; I spend my days and nights in idle- 
 ness; I have no control over my feet or brain. My estate is 
 ruined, my woods are falling under the blows of the axe. [He 
 weeps] My neglected land looks up at me as reproachfully as 
 an orphan. I expect nothing, am sorry for nothing ; my whole 
 soul trembles at the thought of each new day. And what can 
 I think of my treatment of Sarah? I promised her love and 
 happiness forever; I opened her eyes to the promise of a fu- 
 ture such as she had never even dreamed of. She believed 
 me, and though for five years I have seen her sinking under 
 the weight of her sacrifices to me, and losing her strength in 
 her struggles with her conscience, God knows she has never 
 given me one angry look, or uttered one word of reproach. 
 What is the result.? That I don't love her! Why? Is it 
 possible? Can it be true? I can't understand. She is suf- 
 fering; her days are numbered; yet I fly like a contemptible 
 coward from her white face, her sunken chest, her pleading 
 eyes. Oh, I am ashamed, ashamed! [A pause] Sasha, a 
 young girl, is sorry for me in my misery. She confesses to me 
 that she loves me; me, almost an old man! Whereupon I lose 
 my head, and exalted as if by music, I yell : " Hurrah for a new 
 life and new happiness!" Next day I believe in this new life 
 and happiness as little as I believe in my happiness at home. 
 What is the matter with me? What is this pit I am wallowing 
 in? What is the cause of this weakness? What does this 
 nervousness come from? If my sick wife wounds my pride, 
 if a servant makes a mistake, if my gun misses fire, I lose my 
 temper and get violent and altogether unlike myself. I can't, 
 I can't understand it; the easiest way out would be a bullet 
 through the head! 
 Enter Lvopf. 
 Lvorr. I must have an explanation with you, Ivanoff. 
 
ACT ni I V A N O F F 127 
 
 IvANOFF. If we are going to have an explanation every 
 day, doctor, we shall neither of us have the strength to 
 stand it. 
 
 LvoFF. Will you be good enough to hear me? 
 
 IvANOFF. I have heard all you have told me every day, and 
 have failed to discover yet what you want me to do. 
 
 LvoFF. I have always spoken plainly enough, and only an 
 utterly heartless and cruel man could fail to understand me. 
 
 IvANOPF. I know that my wife is dying; I know that I have 
 sinned irreparably; I know that you are an honest man. 
 What more can you tell me? 
 
 LvoFF. The sight of human cruelty maddens me. The 
 woman is dying and she has a mother and father whom she 
 loves, and longs to see once more before she dies. They know 
 that she is dying and that she loves them still, but with dia- 
 bolical cruelty, as if to flaunt their religious zeal, they refuse 
 to see her and forgive her. You are the man for whom she 
 has sacrificed her home, her peace of mind, everything. Yet 
 you unblushingly go gadding to the Lebedieffs' every evening, 
 for reasons that are absolutely unmistakable! 
 
 IvANOFF. Ah me, it is two weeks since I was there! 
 
 LvoFF. [Not listening to him] To men like yourself one 
 must speak plainly, and if you don't want to hear what I have 
 to say, you need not listen. I always call a spade a spade; 
 the truth is, you want her to die so that the way may be 
 cleared for your other schemes. Be it so; but can't you wait? 
 If, instead of crushing the life out of your wife by your heart- 
 less egoism, you let her die naturally, do you think you would 
 lose Sasha and Sasha's money? Such an absolute Tartuffe 
 as you are could turn the girl's head and get her money a year 
 from now as easily as you can to-day. Why are you in such 
 a hurry? Why do you want your wife to die now, instead of 
 in a month's time, or a year's? 
 
128 I V A N O F F act ni 
 
 IvANOFF. This is torture! You are a very bad doctor if 
 you think a man can control himself forever. It is all I can 
 do not to answer your insults. 
 
 LvoFF. Look here, whom are you trying to deceive? 
 Throw off this disguise ! 
 
 IvANOFF. You who are so clever, you think that nothing 
 in the world is easier than to understand me, do you.'' I mar- 
 ried Annie for her money, did I.' And when her parents 
 wouldn't give it to me, I changed my plans, and am now 
 hustling her out of the world so that I may marry another 
 woman, who will bring me what I want.'' You think so, do 
 you? Oh, how easy and simple it all is! But you are mis- 
 taken, doctor; in each one of us there are too many springs, 
 too many wheels and cogs for us to judge each other by first 
 impressions or by two or three external indications. I can- 
 not understand you, you cannot understand me, and neither 
 of us can understand himself. A man may be a splendid doc- 
 tor, and at the same time a very bad judge of human nature; 
 you will admit that, unless you are too self-confident. 
 
 LvoFF. Do you really think that your character is so mys- 
 terious, and that I am too stupid to tell vice from virtue? 
 
 IvANOFF. It is clear that we shall never agree, so let me beg 
 you to answer me now without any more preamble: exactly 
 what do you want me to do? [Angrily] What are you after, 
 anyway? And with whom have I the honour of speaking? 
 With my lawyer, or with my wife's doctor? 
 
 LvoFF. I am a doctor, and as such I demand that you 
 change your conduct toward your wife; it is killing her. 
 
 IvANOFF. What shall I do? Tell me! If you understand 
 me so much better than I understand myself, for heaven's 
 sake tell me exactly what to do! 
 
 LvoFF. In the first place, don't be so unguarded in your 
 behaviour. 
 
ACT m I V A N O F F 129 
 
 IvANOFF. Heaven help me, do you mean to say that you 
 understand yourself? [He drinks some water] Now go away; 
 I am guilty a thousand times over; I shall answer for my sins 
 before God; but nothing has given you the right to torture me 
 daily as you do. 
 
 LvoFF. Who has given you the right to insult my sense of 
 honour? You have maddened and poisoned my soul. Before 
 I came to this place I knew that stupid, crazy, deluded people 
 existed, but I never imagined that any one could be so crimi- 
 nal as to turn his mind deliberately in the direction of wicked- 
 ness. I loved and esteemed humanity then, but since I have 
 known you — ■ — 
 
 IvANOFF. I have heard all that before. 
 
 LvoFF. You have, have you? 
 
 He goes out, shrugging his shoulders. He sees Sasha, 
 who comes in at this moment dressed for riding. 
 
 LvoFF. Now, however, I hope that we can understand one 
 another! 
 
 IvANOFF. [Startled] Oh, Sasha, is that you? 
 
 Sasha. Yes, if is I. How are you? You didn't expect 
 me, did you? Why haven't you been to see us? 
 
 IvANOFF. Sasha, this is really imprudent of you! Your 
 coming will have a terrible effect on my wife! 
 
 Sasha. She won't see me; I came in by the back entrance; 
 I shall go in a minute. I am so anxious about you. Tell me, 
 are you well? Why haven't you been to see us for such a 
 long time? 
 
 IvANOFF. My wife is offended already, and almost dying, 
 and now you come here; Sasha, Sasha, this is thoughtless and 
 unkind of you. 
 
 Sasha. How could I help coming? It is two weeks since 
 you were at our house, and you have not answered my let- 
 ters. I imagined you suffering dreadfully, or ill, or dead. I 
 
130 IVANOFF Acrm 
 
 have not slept for nights. I am going now, but first tell me 
 that you are well. 
 
 IvANOFF. No, I am not well. I am a torment to myself, 
 and every one torments me without end. I can't stand it! 
 And now you come here. How morbid and unnatural it all 
 is, Sasha. I am terribly guilty. 
 
 Sasha. What dreadful, pitiful speeches you make! So 
 you are guilty, are you.'' Tell me, then, what is it you have 
 done? 
 
 IvANOFF I don't know; I don't know! 
 
 Sasha. That is no answer. Every sinner should know 
 what he is guilty of. Perhaps you have been forging money.? 
 
 IvANOFF. That is stupid. 
 
 Sasha. Or are you guilty because you no longer love your 
 wife? Perhaps you are, but no one is master of his feelings, 
 and you did not mean to stop loving her. Do you feel guilty 
 because she saw me telling you that I love you? No, that 
 cannot be, because you did not want her to see it 
 
 IvANOFF. [Interrupting her] And so on, and so on! First 
 you say I love, and then you say I don't; that I am not master 
 of my feelings. All these are commonplace, worn-out senti- 
 ments, with which you cannot help me. 
 
 Sasha. It is impossible to talk to you. [She looks at a pic- 
 ture on the wall] How well those dogs are drawn ! Were they 
 done from life? 
 
 IvANOFF. Yes, from life. And this whole romance of ours 
 is a tedious old story; a man loses heart and begins to go down 
 in the world; a girl appears, brave and strong of heart, and 
 gives him a hand to help him to rise again. Such situations 
 are pretty, but they are only found in novels and not in reil'> 
 life. 
 
 Sasha. No, they are found in real life too. 
 
 IvANOFF. Now I see how well you understand real life! 
 
ACTin I V A N O F F 131 
 
 My sufferings seem noble to you; you imagine you have dis- 
 covered in me a second Hamlet; but my state of mind in all 
 its phases is only fit to furnish food for contempt and derision. 
 My contortions are ridiculous enough to make any one die of 
 laughter, and you want to play the guardian angel; you want I 
 to do a noble deed and save me. Oh, how I hate myself 
 to-day! I feel that this tension must soon be relieved in some 
 way. Either I shall break something, or else 
 
 Sasha. That is exactly what you need. I/Ct yourself go! 
 Smash something; break it to pieces; give a yell! You are 
 angry with me, it was foolish of me to come here. Very well, 
 then, get excited about it; storm at me; stamp your feet! 
 Well, aren't you getting angry? 
 
 IvANOPF. You ridiculous girl! 
 
 Sasha. Splendid! So we are smiling at last! Be kind, do 
 me the favour of smiling once more! 
 
 IvANOrF. [Laughing] I have noticed that whenever you start 
 reforming me and saving my soul, and teaching me how to be 
 good, your face grows naive, oh so naive, and your eyes grow 
 as wide as if you were looking at a comet. Wait a moment; 
 your shoulder is covered with dust. [He brushes her shoulder] 
 A naive man is nothing better than a fool, but you women 
 contrive to be naive in such a way that in you it seems sweet, 
 and gentle, and proper, and not as silly as it really is. What 
 a strange way you have, though, of ignoring a man as long as 
 he is well and happy, and fastening yourselves to him as soon 
 as he begins to whine and go down-hill ! Do you actually think 
 it is worse to be the wife of a strong man than to nurse some 
 whimpering invalid? 
 
 Sasha. Yes, it is worse. 
 
 IvANOFF. Why do you think so? [Laughing loudly] It is a 
 good thing Darwin can't hear what you are saying! He 
 would be furious with you for degrading the human race. 
 
132 I V A N F F act m 
 
 Soon, thanks to your kindness, only invalids and hypochon- 
 driacs will be born into the world. 
 
 Sasha. There are a great many things a man cannot under- 
 stand. Any girl would rather love an unfortunate man than 
 a fortunate one, because every girl would like to do something 
 by loving. A man has his work to do, and so for him love is 
 kept in the background. To talk to his wife, to walk with 
 her in the garden, to pass the time pleasantly with her, that is 
 all that love means to a man. But for us, love means life. I 
 love you ; that means that I dream only of how I shall cure you 
 of your sadness, how I shall go with you to the ends of the 
 earth. If you are in heaven, I am in heaven; if you are in the 
 pit, I am in the pit. For instance, it would be the greatest 
 happiness for me to write all night for you, or to watch all 
 night that no one should wake you. I remember that three 
 years ago, at threshing time, you came to us all dusty and 
 sunburnt and tired, and asked for a drink. When I brought 
 you a glass of water you were already lying on the sofa and 
 sleeping like a dead man. You slept there for half a day, and 
 all that time I watched by the door that no one should disturb 
 you. How happy I was ! The more a girl can do, the greater 
 her love will be; that is, I mean, the more she feels it. 
 
 IvANOFF. The love that accomplishes things — hm — that 
 is a fairy tale, a girl's dream; and yet, perhaps it is as it should 
 be. [He shrugs his shoulders] How can I tell.? [Gaily] On my 
 honour, Sasha, I really am quite a respectable man. Judge 
 for yourself: I have always liked to discuss things, but I have 
 never in my life said that our women were corrupt, or that 
 such and such a woman was on the down-hill path. I have 
 always been grateful, and nothing more. No, nothing more. 
 Dear child, how comical you are ! And what a ridiculous 
 old stupid I am! I shock all good Christian folk, and go 
 about complaining from morning to night. [He laughs and 
 
ACTin 
 
 I V A N F F 133 
 
 then leaves her suddenly] But you must go, Sasha; we have for- 
 gotten ourselves. 
 
 Sasha. Yes, it is time to go. Good-bye. I am afraid that 
 that honest doctor of yours will have told Anna out of a sense 
 of duty that I am here. Take my advice: go at once to your 
 wife and stay with her. Stay, and stay, and stay, and if it 
 should be for a year, you must still stay, or for ten years. It 
 is your duty. You must repent, and ask her forgiveness, and 
 weep. That is what you ought to do, and the great thing is 
 not to forget to do right. 
 
 IvANOFF. Again I feel as if I were going crazy; again! 
 
 Sasha. Well, heaven help you! You must forget me en- 
 tirely. In two weeks you must send me a line and I shall be 
 
 content with that. But I shall write to you 
 
 BoBKiN looks in at the door. 
 
 BoRKiN. Ivanoff, may I come in.' [He sees Sasha] I beg 
 your pardon, I did not see you. Bonjour! [He bows. 
 
 Sasha. [Enibarrassef^ How do you do? 
 
 BoBKiN. You are plumper and prettier than ever. 
 
 Sasha. [To Ivanoff] I must go, Nicholas, I must go. 
 
 [She goes out. 
 
 BoRKiN. What a beautiful apparition! I came expecting 
 prose and found poetry instead. [Sings] 
 
 "You showed yourself to the world as a bird " 
 
 Ivanoff walks excitedly wp and down. 
 BoHKiN. [Sits down] There is something in her, Nicholas, 
 that one doesn't find in other women, isn't there? An elfin 
 strangeness. [He sighs] Although she is without doubt the 
 richest girl in the country, her mother is so stingy that no one 
 will have her. After her mother's death Sasha will have the 
 whole fortune, but until then she will only give her ten 
 thousand roubles and an old flat-iron, and to get that she 
 will have to humble herself to the ground. [He feels in his 
 
134 I V A N O F F ACT m 
 
 -pockets] Will you have a smoke? [He affers Ivanopf his 
 cigarette case] These are very good. 
 
 IvANOFF. [Comes toward Borkin stifled wiih rage] Leave 
 my house this instant, and don't you ever dare to set foot in 
 it again! Go this instant! 
 
 BoRKm gets up and drops his cigarette. 
 
 IvANOFF. Go at once! 
 
 BoKKiN. Nicholas, what do you mean? Why are you so 
 angry? 
 
 IvAXOFF. Why! Where did you get those cigarettes? 
 Where? You think perhaps that I don't know where you 
 take the old man every day, and for what purpose? 
 
 BoREiN. [Shrugs his shoulders] What business is it of yours? 
 
 IvANOFF. You blackguard, you! The disgraceful rumours 
 that you have been spreading about me have made me dis- 
 reputable in the eyes of the whole countryside. You and I 
 have nothing in common, and I ask you to leave my house 
 this instant. 
 
 BoBKiN. I know that you are saying all this in a moment 
 of irritation, and so I am not angry with you. Insult me as 
 much as you please. [He picks up his cigarette] It is time, 
 though, to shake oflf this melancholy of yours; you're not a 
 schoolboy. 
 
 IvANOFF. What did I tell you? [Shuxidering] Are you mak- 
 ing fun of me? 
 
 ErUer Anna. 
 
 BoBKXN. There now, there comes Anna! I shall go. 
 
 Ivanoff stops near the table and stands with his head 
 bowed. 
 
 Anna. [After a pav^e] What did she come here for? What 
 did she come here for, I ask you? 
 
 Ivanoff. Don't ask me, Annie. [A pause] I am terribly 
 
ACTin 
 
 IVANOFF 135 
 
 guilty. Think of any punishment you want to inflict on me; 
 I can stand anything, but don't, oh, don't ask questions! 
 
 Anna. [Angrily] So that is the sort of man you are.'' Now 
 I understand you, and can see how degraded, how dishon- 
 ourable you are! Do you remember that you came to me 
 once and lied to me about your love.? I believed you, and left 
 my mother, my father, and my faith to follow you. Yes, you 
 lied to me of goodness and honour, of your noble aspirations 
 and I believed every word 
 
 IvANOFF. I have never lied to you, Annie. '' 
 
 Anna. I have lived with you five years now, and I am tired 
 and ill, but I have always loved you and have never left you 
 for a moment. You have been my idol, and what have you 
 done? All this time you have been deceiving me in the most 
 dastardly way 
 
 IvANOFF. Annie, don't say what isn't so. I have made 
 mistakes, but I have never told a lie in my life. You dare not 
 accuse me of that! 
 
 Anna. It is all clear to me now. You married me because 
 you expected my mother and father to forgive me and give 
 you my money; that is what you expected. 
 
 IvANOFF. Good Lord, Annie! If I must suffer like this, I 
 must have the patience to bear it. [He begins to weep. 
 
 Anna. Be quiet! When you found that I wasn't bringing 
 you any money, you tried another game. Now I remember 
 and understand everything. [She begins to cry] You have 
 never loved me or been faithful to me — never! 
 
 IvANOFF. Sarah! That is a lie! Say what you want, but 
 don't insult me with a lie ! 
 
 Anna. You dishonest, degraded man ! You owe money to 
 Lebedieff, and now, to escape paying your debts, you are try- 
 ing to turn the head of his daughter and betray her as you 
 have betrayed me. Can you deny it.? 
 
136 I V A N F F act m 
 
 IvANOFF. [Stifled with rage] For heaven's sake, be quiet! 
 I can't answer for what I may do ! I am choking with rage, 
 and I — I might insult you ! 
 
 Anna. I am not the only one whom you have basely de- 
 ceived. You have always blamed Borkin for all your dis- 
 honest tricks, but now I know whose they are. 
 
 IvANOFF. Sarah, stop at once and go away, or else I shall 
 say something terrible. I long to say a dreadful, cruel thing. 
 [He shrieks] Hold your tongue, Jewess! 
 
 Anna. I won't hold my tongue! You have deceived me 
 too long for me to be silent now. 
 
 Ivanoff. So you won't be quiet.' [Be struggles with him- 
 self] Go, for heaven's sake! 
 
 Anna. Go now, and betray Sasha! 
 
 Ivanoff. Know then that you — are dying! The doctor 
 told me that you are dying. 
 
 Anha. [Sits down and speaks in a low voice] When did he 
 say so? [A pause. 
 
 Ivanoff. [Clutches his head unth both hands] Oh, how 
 guilty I am — how guilty! [He sola, 
 
 The curtain falls. 
 
 About a year passes between the third and fourth acts. 
 
ACT IV 
 
 A sitting-room in Lebediept's house. In the middle of the wall 
 at the back of the room is an arch dividing the sitting-room 
 from the ball-room. To the right and left are doors. Some 
 old bronzes are placed about the room; family portraits are 
 hanging on the walls. Everything is arranged as if for some 
 festivity. On the piano lies a violin; near it stands a violon- 
 cello. During the entire act guests, dressed as for a ball, 
 are seen walking about in the ball-room. 
 
 Enter LyoFF, looking at his watch. 
 LvoFF. It is five o'clock. The ceremony must have begun. 
 First the priest will bless them, and then they will be led to 
 the church to be married. Is this how virtue and justice 
 triumph? Not being able to rob Sarah, he has tortured her 
 to death; and now he has found another victim whom he will 
 deceive until he has robbed her, and then he will get rid of her 
 as he got rid of poor Sarah. It is the same old sordid story. 
 [A pause] He will live to a fine old age in the seventh heaven 
 of happiness, and will die with a clear conscience. No, 
 Ivanoff, it shall not be! I shall drag your villainy to light! 
 And when I tear oflF that accursed mask of yours and show you 
 to the world as the blackguard you are, you shall come plung- 
 ing down headfirst from your seventh heaven, into a pit so 
 deep that the devil himself will not be able to drag you out of 
 it! I am a man of honour; it is my duty to interfere in such 
 cases as yours, and to open the eyes of the blind. I shall 
 fulfil my mission, and to-morrow will find me far away from 
 
 137 
 
138 I V A N F F ACTiv 
 
 this accursed place. [Thoughtfully] But what shall I do? To 
 have an explanation with Lebedieflf would be a hopeless task. 
 Shall I make a scandal, and challenge IvanofiP to a duel? I 
 am as excited as a child, and have entirely lost the power of 
 planning anything. What shall I do? Shall I fight a duel? 
 Enter Kosich. He goes gaily up to Lvofp. 
 
 KosiCH. I declared a little slam in clubs yesterday, and 
 made a grand slam! Only that man BarabanoS spoilt the 
 whole game for me again. We were playing — well, I said 
 "No trumps" and he said "Pass." "Two in clubs;" he 
 passed again. I made it two in hearts. He said "Three in 
 clubs," and just imagine, can you, what happened? I de- 
 clared a little slam and he never showed his ace! If he had 
 showed his ace, the villain, I should have declared a grand 
 slam in no trumps! 
 
 LvoFF. Excuse me, I don't play cards, and" so it is impos- 
 sible for me to share your enthusiasm. When does the cere- 
 mony begin? 
 
 Kosich. At once, I think. They are now bringing Zuzu 
 to herself again. She is bellowing like a bull; she can't bear 
 to see the money go. 
 
 LvoFF. And what about the daughter? 
 
 Kosich. No, it is the money. She doesn't like this affair 
 anyway. He is marrying her daughter, and that means he 
 won't pay his debts for a long time. One can't sue one's 
 son-in-law. 
 
 Maktha, very much dressed up, struts across the stage 
 past LvoFF and Kosich. The latter bursts otit laugh- 
 ing behind his hand. Maktha looks around. 
 
 Maktha. Idiot! 
 
 Kosich digs her in the ribs and laughs loudly. 
 
 Martha. Boor! 
 
 Kosich. [Laughing] The woman's head has been turned. 
 
ACT IV I V A N O F F 1S9 
 
 Before she fixed her eye on a title she was like any other 
 woman, but there is no coming near her now! [Angrily] A 
 boor, indeed! 
 
 LvoFF. [Excitedly] Listen to me; tell me honestly, what do 
 you think of IvanofI? 
 
 KosiCH. He's no good at all. He plays cards like a lunatic. 
 This is what happened last year during Lent : I, the Count, 
 Borkin and he, sat down to a game of cards. I led a 
 
 LvoFF [Interrupting him] Is he a good man.'' 
 
 KosiCH. He? Yes, he's a good one! He and the Count are 
 a pair of trumps. They have keen noses for a good game. 
 First, IvanoflE set his heart on the Jewess, then, when his 
 schemes failed in that quarter, he turned his thoughts toward 
 Zuzu's money-bags. I'll wager you he'll ruin Zuzu in a year. 
 He will ruin Zuzu, and the Count will ruin Martha. They 
 will gather up all the money they can lay hands on, and live 
 happily ever after! But, doctor, why are you so pale to-day? 
 You look like a ghost. 
 
 LvoFF. Oh, it's nothing. I drank a little too much yes- 
 terday. 
 
 Enter Lebbdieff loith Sasha. 
 
 Lebedieff. We can have our talk here. [To Lvoff and 
 Kosich] Go into the ball-room, you two old fogies, and talk 
 to the girls. Sasha and I want to talk alone here. 
 
 Kosich. [Snapping his fingers enthusiastically as he goes by 
 Sasha] What a picture! A queen of trumps! 
 
 Lebedieff. Go along, you old cave-dweller; go along. 
 Kosich and Lvoff go out. 
 
 Lebedieff. Sit down, Sasha, there — [He sits down and 
 looks about him] Listen to me attentively and with proper 
 respect. The fact is, your mother has asked me to say this, 
 do you understand? I am not speaking for myself. Your 
 mother told me to speak to you. 
 
140 IVANOPF ACT IV 
 
 Sasha. Papa, do say it briefly! 
 
 Lebediepf. When you are married we mean to give you 
 fifteen thousand roubles. Please don't let us have any discus- 
 sion about it afterward. Wait, now! Be quiet! That is 
 only the beginning. The best is yet to come. We have 
 allotted you fifteen thousand roubles, but in consideration of 
 the fact that Nicholas owes your mother nine thousand, that 
 sum will have to be deducted from the amount we mean to 
 give you. Very well. Now, beside that 
 
 Sasha. Why do you tell me a'l this? 
 
 Lebediepf. Your mother told me to. 
 
 Sasha. Leave me in peace! If you had any respect for 
 yourself or me you could not permit yourself to speak to me 
 in this way. I don't want your money ! I have not asked for 
 it,. and never shall. 
 
 Lebediefp. What are you attacking me for? The two rats 
 in Gogol's fable sniffed first and then ran away, but you attack 
 without even sniffing. 
 
 Sasha. Leave me in peace, and do not offend my ears with 
 your two-penny calcu'ations. 
 
 Lebediepf. [Losing his temper] Bah! You all, every one 
 of you, do all you can to make me cut my throat or kill some- 
 body. One of you screeches and fusses all day and counts 
 every penny, and the other is so clever and humane and eman- 
 cipated that she cannot understand her own father! I offend 
 your ears, do I? Don't you realise that before I came here 
 to offend your ears I was being torn to pieces over there, [He 
 points to the door] literally drawn and quartered? So you 
 cannot understand? You two have addled my brain till I am 
 utterly at my wits' end; indeed I am! [He goes toward the door, 
 and stops] I don't like this business at all; I don't like any 
 thing about you 
 
 Sasha. What is it, especially, that you don't like? 
 
ACT IV I VAN OFF 141 
 
 Lebedibff. Everything, everything! 
 
 Sasha. What do you mean by everything? 
 
 Lbbedieff. Let me explain exactly what I mean. Every- 
 thing displeases me. As for your marriage, I simply can't 
 abide it. [He goes up to Sasha and speaks caressingly] Forgive 
 me, little Sasha, this marriage may be a wise one; it may be 
 honest and not misguided, nevertheless, there is something 
 about the whole affair that is not right; no, not right! You 
 are not marrying as other girls do; you are young and fresh 
 and pure as a drop of water, and he is a widower, battered and 
 worn. Heaven help him. I don't understand him at all. 
 [He kisse» Ms daughter] Forgive me for saying so, Sasha, but 
 I am sure there is something crooked about this affair; it is 
 making a great deal of talk. It seems people are saying that 
 first Sarah died, and then suddenly Ivanoff wanted to marry 
 you. [Quickly] But, no, I am like an old woman; I am gos- 
 siping like a magpie. You must not listen to me or any one, 
 only to your own heart. 
 
 Sasha. Papa, I feel myself that there is something wrong 
 about my marriage. Something wrong, yes, wrong! Oh, if 
 you only knew how heavy my heart is; this is unbearable! I 
 am frightened and ashamed to confes this; Papa darling, you 
 must help me, for heaven's sake. Oh, can't you tell me what 
 I should do? 
 
 Lebedieff. What is the matter, Sasha, what is it? 
 
 Sasha. I am so frightened, more frightened than I have 
 ever been before. [She glances around her] I cannot under- 
 stand him now, and I never shall. He has not smiled or 
 looked straight into my eyes once since we have been engaged. 
 He is forever complaining and apologising for something; 
 hinting at some crime he is guilty of, and trembling. I am so 
 tired ! There are even moments when I think — ^I think — that 
 I do not love him as I should, and when he comes to see us, or ' 
 
142 I V A N F F act iv 
 
 talks to me, I get so tired ! What does it mean, dear father? 
 I am afraid. 
 
 Lebedieff. My darling, my only child, do as your old 
 father advises you; give him up! 
 
 Sasha. [Frightened] Oh! How can you say that? 
 
 Lebedieff. Yes, do it, little Sasha! It will make a scan- 
 dal, all the tongues in the country will be wagging about it, 
 but it is better to live down a scandal than to ruin one's life. 
 
 Sasha. Don't say that, father. Oh, don't. I refuse to 
 listen! I must crush such gloomy thoughts. He is good and 
 unhappy and misunderstood. I shall love him and learn to 
 understand him. I shall set him on his feet again. I shall 
 do my duty. That is settled. 
 
 Lebedieff. This is not your duty, but a delusion 
 
 Sasha. We have said enough. I have confessed things to 
 you that I have not dared to admit even to myself. Don't 
 speak about this to any one. Let us forget it. 
 
 Lebedieff. I am hopelessly puzzled, and either my mind 
 is going from old age or else you have all grown very clever, 
 but I'll be hanged if I understand this business at all. 
 Enter Shabelski. 
 
 Shabelski. Confound you all and myself, too! This is 
 maddening ! 
 
 Lebedieff. What do you want? 
 
 Shabelski Seriously, I must really do something horrid 
 and rascally, so that not only I but everybody else will be dis- 
 gusted by it. I certainly shall find something to do, upon my 
 word I shall! I have already told Borkin to announce that I 
 am to be married. [He laughs] Everybody is a scoundrel and 
 I must be one too! 
 
 Lebedieff. I am tired of you, Matthew. Look here, man, 
 you talk in such a way that, excuse my saying so, you will soon 
 find yourself in a lunatic asylum! 
 
ACT IV I V A N O F F 143 
 
 Shabelski. Could a lunatic asylum possibly be worse than 
 this house, or any other? Kindly take me there at once. 
 Please do! Everybody is wicked and futile and worthless 
 and stupid; I am an object of disgust to myself, I don't be- 
 lieve a word I say 
 
 Lebedieff. Let me give you a piece of advice, old man; fill 
 your mouth full of tow, light it, and blow at everybody. Or, 
 better still, take your hat and go home. This is a wedding, 
 we all want to enjoy ourselves and you are croaking like a 
 raven. Yes, really. 
 
 Shabelski kans on the piano and begins to sob. 
 
 Lebedieff. Good gracious, Matthew, Count ! What is it, 
 dear Matthew, old friend.' Have I offended you? There, 
 forgive me; I didn't mean to hurt you. Come, drink some 
 water. 
 
 Shabelski. I don't want any water. [Raises his head. 
 
 Lebedieff. What are you crying about? 
 
 Shabelski. Nothing in particular; I was just crying. 
 
 Lebedieff. Matthew, tell me the truth, what is it? What 
 has happened? 
 
 Shabelski. I caught sight of that violoncello, and — and — 
 I remembered the Jewess. 
 
 Lebedieff. What an unfortunate moment you have chosen 
 to remember her. Peace be with her! But don't think of 
 her now. 
 
 Shabelski. We used to play duets together. She was a 
 beautiful, a glorious woman. 
 Sasha sobs. 
 
 Lebedieff. What, are you crying too? Stop, Sasha! 
 Dear me, they are both howling now, and I — and I— Do go 
 away; the guests will see you! 
 
 Shabelski. Paul, when the sun is shining, it is gay even in 
 
144 I V A N O F F ACT IV 
 
 a cemetery. One can be cheerful even in old age if it is lighted 
 by hope; but I have nothing to hope for — not a thing! 
 
 Lebedieff. Yes, it is rather sad for you. You have no 
 children, no money, no occupation. Well, but what is there 
 to be done about it.? [To Sasha] What is the matter with you, 
 Sasha.'' 
 
 Shabelski. Paul, give me some money. I will repay you 
 in the next world. I would go to Paris and see my wife's 
 grave. I have given away a great deal of money in my life, 
 half my fortune indeed, and I have a right to ask for some 
 now. Besides, I am asking a friend 
 
 Lebedieff. [Embarrassed] My dear boy, I haven't a pen- 
 ny. All right though. That is to say, I can't promise any- 
 thing, but you understand — very well, very well. [Aside] 
 This is agony! 
 
 Enter Martha. 
 
 Martha. Where ^ my partner.'' Count, how dare you 
 leave me alone.'' You are horrid! 
 
 [She taps Shabelski on the arm with her fan. 
 
 Shabelski. [Impatiently] Leave me alone! I can't abide 
 you! 
 
 Martha. [Frightened] How? What.? 
 
 Shabelski. Go away! 
 
 Martha. [Sinks into an arm-chair] Oh! Oh! Oh! 
 
 [She bursts into tears. 
 Enter Zinaida crying. 
 
 ZiNAiDA. Some one has just arrived; it must be one of the 
 ushers. It is time for the ceremony to begin. 
 
 Sasha. [Imploringly] Mother! 
 
 Lebedieff. Well, now you are all bawling. What a quar- 
 tette! Come, come, don't let us have any more of this damp- 
 ness! Matthew! Martha! If you go on like this, I — I — 
 shall cry too. [Bursts into tears] Heavens ! 
 
ACT IV I V A N O F F 145 
 
 ZiNAiDA. If you don't need your mother any more, if you 
 are determined not to obey her, I shall have to do as you want, 
 and let you have my blessing. 
 
 Enter Ivanopp, dressed in a long coat, with gloves on. 
 
 Lebediefp. This is the finishing touch! What do you want? 
 
 Shabelski. Why are you here? 
 
 IvANOFF. I beg your pardon, you must allow me to speak 
 to Sasha alone. 
 
 Lebedibff. The bridegroom must not come to see the 
 bride before the wedding. It is time for you to go to the 
 church. 
 
 Ivanoff. Paul, I implore you. 
 
 Lebedieff shrugs his shoulders. Lebedieff, Zinaida, 
 Shabelski, and Martha go out. 
 
 Sasha. [Sternly] What do you want? 
 
 Ivanoff. I am choking with anger; I cannot speak calmly. 
 Listen to me; as I was dressing just now for the wedding, I 
 looked in the glass and saw how grey my temples were. 
 Sasha, this must not be ! Let us end this senseless comedy 
 before it is too late. You are young and pure; you have all 
 your life before you, but I 
 
 Sasha. The same old story; I have heard it a thousand 
 times and I am tired of it. Go quickly to the church and 
 don't keep everybody waiting! 
 
 Ivanoff. I shall go straight home, and you must ejcplain to 
 your family somehow that there is to be no wedding. Explain 
 it as you please. It is time we came to our senses. I have 
 been playing the part of Hamlet and you have been playing 
 the part of a noble and devoted girl. We have kept up the 
 farce long enough. 
 
 Sasha. [Losing her temper] How can you speak to me like 
 that? I won't have it. 
 
 Ivanoff. But I am speaking, and will continue to speak. 
 
 \ 
 
146 I V A N O F F act iv 
 
 Sasha. What do you mean by coming to me like this? 
 Your melancholy has become absolutely ridiculous ! 
 
 IvANOFF. No, this is not melancholy. It is ridiculous, is 
 it? Yes, I am laughing, and if it were possible for me to laugh 
 at myself a thousand times more bitterly I should do so and 
 set the whole world laughing, too, in derision. A fierce light 
 has suddenly broken over my soul; as I looked into the glass 
 just now, I laughed at myself, and nearly went mad with 
 shame. [He laughs] Melancholy indeed! Noble grief! Un- 
 controllable sorrow! It only remains for me now to begin to 
 write verses ! Shall I mope and complain, sadden everybody 
 I meet, confess that my manhood has gone forever, that I 
 have decayed, outlived my purpose, that I have given myself 
 up to cowardice and am bound hand and foot by this loath- 
 some melancholy? Shall I confess all this when the sun is 
 shining so brightly and when even the ants are carrying their 
 little burdens in peaceful self -content? No, thanks. Can I 
 endure the knowledge that one will look upon me as a fraud, 
 while another pities me, a third lends me a helping hand, or, 
 worst of all, a fourth listens reverently to my sighs, looks 
 upon me as a new Mahomet, and expects me to expound a 
 new religion every moment? No, thank God for the pride 
 and conscience he has left me still. On my way here I 
 laughed at myself, and it seemed to me that the flowers and 
 birds were laughing mockingly too. 
 
 Sasha. This is not anger, but madness ! 
 
 IvANOFF. You think so, do you? No, I am not mad. I 
 see things in their right light now, and my mind is as clear as 
 your conscience. We love each other, but we shall never be 
 married. It makes no difference how I rave and grow bitter 
 ^,by myself, but I have no right to drag another down with me. 
 My melancholy robbed my wife of the last year of her life. 
 Since you have been engaged to me you have forgotten how 
 
ACT IT I V A N O F F 147 
 
 to laugh and have aged five years. Your father, to whom 
 life was always simple and clear, thanks to me, is now unable 
 to understand anybody. Wherever I go, whether hunting 
 or visiting, it makes no difference, I carry depression, dul- 
 ness, and discontent along with me. Wait! Don't interrupt 
 me! I am bitter and harsh, I know, but I am stifled with 
 rage. I cannot speak otherwise. I have never lied, and I \ 
 never used to find fault with my lot, but since I have begun to 
 complain of everything, I find fault with it involuntarily, and | 
 against my will._ When I murmur at my fate every one who 
 hears me is seized with the same disgust of life and begins to \ 
 grumble too. And what a strange way I have of looking at \ 
 things ! Exactly as if I were doing the world a favour by living j 
 in it. Oh, I am contemptible. - 
 
 Sasha. Wait a moment. From what you have just said, 
 it is obvious that you are tired of your melancholy mood, and 
 that the time has come for you to begin life afresh. How 
 splendid! 
 
 IvANOFF. I don't see anything splendid about it. How can 
 I lead a new life.'' I am lost forever. It is time we both 
 understood that. A new life indeed! 
 
 Sasha. Nicholas, come to your senses. How can you say 
 you are lost? What do you mean by such cynicism? No, I 
 won't listen to you or talk with you. Go to the church! 
 
 IvANOFF. I am lost! 
 
 Sasha. Don't talk so loud; our guests will hear you! 
 
 IvANOFF. If an intelligent, educated, and healthy man be- 
 gins to complain of his lot and go down-hill, there is nothing 
 for him to do but to go on down until he reaches the bottom 
 — there is no hope for him. Where could my salvation come 
 from? How can I save myself? I cannot drink, because it 
 makes my head ache. I never could write bad poetry. I 
 cannot pray for strength and see anything lofty in the Ian- 
 
148 I V A N F F act iv 
 
 guor of my soul. Laziness is laziness and weakn ess weak - 
 ness. I can find no othe r nam es-JoT-them. I am lost; I am 
 lost; there is no doubt of that. [Looking around] Some one 
 might come in; listen, Sasha, if you love me you must help 
 me. Renounce me this minute; quickly! 
 
 Sasha. Oh, Nicholas! If you only knew how you are tor- 
 turing me ; what agony I have to endure for your sake ! Good, 
 thoughtful friend, judge for yourself; can I possibly solve 
 such a problem? Each day you put some horrible problem 
 before me, each one more difficult than the last. I wanted 
 to help you with my love, but this is martyrdom ! 
 
 IvANOFT. And when you are my wife the problems will be 
 harder than ever. Understand this: it is not love that is 
 urging you to take this step, but the obstinacy of an honest 
 nature. You have undertaken to reawaken the man in me, 
 and to save me in the face of every difficulty, and you are 
 flattered by the hope of achieving your object. You are will- 
 ing to give up now, but you are prevented from doing it by a 
 feeling that is a false one. Understand yourself! 
 
 Sasha. What strange, wild reasoning! How can I give 
 you up now? How can I? You have no mother, or sister, 
 or friends. You are ruined; your estate has been destroyed; 
 every one is speaking ill of you ^ 
 
 IvANOPP. It was foolish of me to come here; I should have 
 
 done as I wanted to , 
 
 Enter Lebedieff. 
 
 Sasha. [Running to her falher]'Pa,thev\ He has rushed over 
 here like a madman, and is torturing me! He insists that I 
 should refuse to marry him; he says he doesn't want to 
 drag me down with him. Tell him that I won't accept his 
 generosity. I know what I am doing! 
 
 Lebedieff. I can't understand a word of what you are 
 saying. What generosity? 
 
ACT IV I V A N O F F 149 
 
 IvANOFF. This marriage is not going to take place. 
 
 Sasha. It is going to take place. Papa, tell him that it 
 is going to take place. 
 
 Lebedieff. Wait! Wait! What objection have ygu to 
 the marriage? 
 
 IvANOFF. I have explained it all to her, but she refuses to 
 understand me. 
 
 Lebedieff. Don't explain it to her, but to me, and explain 
 it so that I may understand. God forgive you, Nicholas, you 
 have brought a great deal of darkness into our lives. _I Jeel 
 as if I were living in a museum; I look about me and don't 
 understand anything I see. This is torture. What on earth 
 can an old man like me do with you? Shall I challenge you 
 to a duel? 
 
 IvANOFF. There is no need of a duel. All you need is a 
 head on your shoulders and a knowledge of the Russian lan- 
 guage. 
 
 Sasha. [Walks up and dovm in great excitement] This is 
 ' dreadful, dreadful ! Absolutely childish. 
 
 Lebedieff. Listen to me, Nicholas; from your point of 
 view what you are doing is quite right and proper, accord- 
 ing to the rules of psychology, but I think this affair is a scan- 
 dal and a great misfortune. I am an old man; hear me out 
 for the last time. This is what I want to say to you: calm 
 yourself; look at things simply, as every one else does; this 
 is a simple world. The ceiling is white; your boots are black; 
 . sugar is sweet. You love Sasha and she loves you. If you 
 love her, stay with her; if you don't, leave her. We shan't 
 blame you. It is all perfectly simple. You are two healthy, 
 intelligent, moral young people; thank God, you both have 
 food and clothing — what more do you want? What if you 
 have no money? That is no great misfortune — happiness 
 is not bought with wealth. Of course your estate is mort- 
 
150 I V A N F F ACT IV 
 
 gaged, Nicholas, as I know, and you have no money to pay 
 the interest on the debt, but I am Sasha's father. I under- 
 stand. Her mother can do as she likes — if she won't give 
 any money, why, confound her, then she needn't, that's all! 
 Sasha has just said that she does not want her part of it. As 
 for your principles, Schopenhauer and all that, it is all folly. 
 I have one hundred thousand roubles in the bank. [Looking 
 around him] Not a soul in the house knows it; it was my 
 grandmother's money. That shall be for you both. Take 
 
 it, give Matthew two thousand 
 
 [The guests begin to collect in the ball-room. 
 
 IvANOFP. It is no use discussing it any more, I must act as 
 my conscience bids me. 
 
 Sasha. And I shall act as my conscience bids me — you 
 may say what you please; I refuse to let you go! I am going 
 to call my mother. 
 
 LBBEDiEPr. I am utterly puzzled. 
 
 IvANorF. Listen to me, poor old friend. I shall not try to 
 explain myself to you. I shall not tell you whether I am 
 honest or a rascal, healthy or mad; you wouldn't understand 
 I me. I was young once; I have been eager and sincere and 
 intelligent. I have loved and hated and believed as no one 
 else has. I have worked and hoped and tilted against wind- 
 mills with the strength of ten — not sparing my strength, not 
 knowing what life was. I shouldered a load that broke my 
 back. I drank, I worked, I excited myselfj^ my energy knew 
 no-bounds. ~ Tell me, could I have done otherwise.'' There 
 are so few of us and so much_to^Oj_so much to do! And see 
 how cruelly fate has_reveng«dJierself on me, who fought with 
 her so_ bravely! I am a broken man. I am old at thirty. I 
 have submitted myself to old age. With a heavy head and 
 a sluggish mind, weary, used up, discouraged, without faith 
 or love or an object in life, I wander like a shadow among 
 
ACT IV 
 
 I V A N O F F 151 
 
 other men, not knowing why I am alive or what it is that I 
 
 want. Love seems to me. to be folly, caresses false. I see 
 
 ■ no sense in working or playing, and all passionate speeches 
 
 seem insipid and tiresome. So I carry my sadness with me 
 
 wherever I go; a cold weariness, a discontent, a horror of life. 
 
 Yes, I am lost for ever and ever. Before you stands a man 
 
 , who at thirty-five is disillusioned, wearied by fruitless efforts, 
 
 I burning with shame, and mocking at his own weakness. Oh, 
 
 how_my_^ride_rebels against it all! What mad fury chokes 
 
 me ! [He staggers] I am staggering — my strength is failing me. 
 
 Where is Matthew.'' Let him take me home. 
 
 [Voices from the ball-room] The best man has arrived! 
 Enter Shabelski. 
 Shabelski. In an old worn-out coat — without gloves! 
 How many scornful glances I get for it! Such silly jokes and 
 vulgar grins ! Disgusting people. 
 
 Enter Borkin quickly. He is carrying a bunch of flowers 
 and is in a dress-coat. He wears a flower in his but- 
 tonhole. 
 BoKKiN. This is dreadful! Where is he.' [To Ivanoff] 
 They have been waiting for you for a long time in the church, 
 and here you are talking philosophy! What a funny chap 
 you are. Don't you know you must not go to church with 
 the bride, but alone, with me? I shall then come back for 
 her. Is it possible you have not understood that? You cer- 
 tainly are an extraordinary man ! 
 Enter Lvoff. 
 LvoFF. [To Ivanoff] Ah! So you are here? [Loudly] 
 Nicholas Ivanoff, I denounce you to the world as a scoundrel ! 
 Ivanoff. [Coldly] Many thanks! 
 
 BoRKiN. [To Lvoff] Sir, this is dastardly! I challenge 
 you to a duel! 
 Lvoff. Monsieur Borkin, I count it a disgrace not only to 
 
152 I V A N F F ACT IV 
 
 fight with you, but even to talk to you! Monsieur Ivanoff, 
 however, can receive satisfaction from me whenever he 
 chooses ! 
 
 Shabelski. Sir, I shall fight you! 
 
 Sasha. [To Lvoff] Why, oh why, have you insulted him? 
 Gentlemen, I beg you, let him tell me why he has insulted 
 him. 
 
 Lvoff. Miss Sasha, I have not insulted him without cause. 
 I came here as a man of honour, to open your eyes, and I beg 
 you to listen to what I have to tell you. 
 
 Sasha. What can you possibly have to tell me? That you 
 are a man of honour? The whole world knows it. You had 
 better tell me on your honour whether you understand what 
 you have done or not. You have come in here as a man of 
 honour and have insulted him so terribly that you have nearly 
 killed me. When you used to follow him like a shadow and 
 almost keep him from living, you were convinced that you 
 were doing your duty and that you were acting like a man of 
 honour. When you interfered in his private affairs, maligned 
 him and criticised him; when you sent me and whomever else 
 you could, anonymous letters, you imagined yourself to be 
 an honourable man ! And, thinking that that too was hon- 
 ourable, you, a doctor, did not even spare his dying wife 
 or give her a moment's peace from your suspicions. And no 
 matter what violence, what cruel wrong you committed, you 
 still imagined yourself to be an unusually honourable and 
 clear-sighted man. 
 
 Ivanoff. [Laughing] This is not a wedding, but a parlia- 
 ment! Bravo! Bravo! 
 
 Sasha. [To Lvoff] Now, think it over! Do you see what 
 sort of a man you are, or not? Oh, the stupid, heartless peo- 
 ple! [Takes Ivanoff by the hand] Come away from here, 
 Nicholas! Come, father, let us go! 
 
ACT IV I V A N O F F 153 
 
 IvANOFF. Where shall we go? Wait a moment. I shall 
 soon put an end to the whole thing. My youth is awake in 
 me again; the former Ivanoff is here once more. 
 
 [He takes ovi a revolver. 
 
 Sasha. {Shrieking] I know what he wants to do! Nicho- 
 las, for God's sake! 
 
 Ivanoff. I have been slipping down-hill long enough. 
 Now, halt! It is time to know what honour is. Out of the 
 way! Thank you, Sasha! 
 
 Sasha. [Shrieking] Nicholas! For God's sake hold him! 
 
 Ivanoff. Let go! [He rushes aside, and shoots himself^ 
 
 The curtain jaUs. 
 
THE SEA-GULL 
 
 f_ A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS 
 
CHARACTERS 
 
 Ihina Abkadina, an actress 
 
 CoNSTANTiNE Tbeplieff, her son 
 
 Peter Sobin, her brother 
 
 Nina Zakietchnaya, a young girl, the daughter o/ a rich 
 
 landowner 
 Ilia Shamraeff, the manager of Sorin's estate 
 Paulina, his wife 
 Masha, their daughter 
 Boris Trigorin, an author 
 Eugene Dorn, a doctor 
 SmoN Medvtedenko, a schoolmaster 
 3ii.caB, a workman 
 A Cook 
 A^Maidsebvant 
 
 The scene is laid on Sorin's estate. Two years elapse be- 
 tween the third and fourth acts. 
 
THE SEA-GULL 
 ACT I 
 
 The scene is laid in the park on Sorin's estate. A broad avenue 
 of trees leads away from the audience toward a lake which 
 lies lost in the depths of the park. The avenue is obstructed 
 by a rough stage, temporarily erected for the performance of 
 amateur theatricals, and which screens the lake from view. 
 There is a dense growth of bushes to the left and right of the 
 stage. A few chairs and a little table are placed in front 
 of the stage. The sun has just set. Jacob and some other 
 workmen are heard hammering and coughing on the stage 
 behind the lowered curtain. 
 
 Masha and Medviedenko come in from the left, returning from 
 a walk. 
 
 Medviedenko. Why do you always wear mourning? 
 
 Masha. I dress in black to match my life. I am unhappy. 
 
 Medviedenko Why should you be tmhappy.'' [Thinking 
 it over] I don't understand it. You are healthy, and though 
 your father is not rich, he has a good competency. My life 
 is far harder than yours. I only have twenty-three roubles a 
 month to live on, but I don't wear mourning. [They sit dovm. 
 
 Masha. Happiness does not depend on riches; poor men 
 are often happy. 
 
 Medviedenko. In theory, yes, but not in reality. Take 
 my case, for instance; my mother, my two sisters, my little 
 brother and I must all live somehow on my salary of twenty- 
 
 157 
 
158 THE SEA-GULL act i 
 
 three roubles a month. We have to eat and drink, I take it. 
 You wouldn't have us go without tea and sugar, would you? 
 Or tobacco? Answer me that, if you can. 
 
 Masha. [Looking in the direction of the stage] The play will 
 soon begin. 
 
 Medviedenko. Yes, Nina Zarietchnaya is going to act in 
 TreplieflE's play. They love one another, and their two souls 
 will unite to-night in the effort to interpret the same idea by 
 different means. There is no ground on which your soul and 
 mine can meet. I love you. Too restless and sad to stay at 
 home, I tramp here every day, six miles ^and back, to be met 
 only by your indifference. I am poor, my family is large, you 
 can have no inducement to marry a man who cannot even find 
 sufficient food for his own mouth. 
 
 Masha. It is not that. [She takes snuff] I am touched by 
 your affection, but I cannot return it, that is all. [She offers 
 him the snuff-box] Will you take some? 
 
 Medviedenko. No, thank you. [A pav^e. 
 
 Masha. The air is sultry; a storm is brewing for to-night. 
 You do nothing but moralise or else talk about money. To 
 you, poverty is the greatest misfortune that can befall a man, 
 but I think it is a thousand times easier to go begging in rags 
 than to — You wouldn't understand that, though. 
 
 SoRiN leaning on a cane, and Trepliepf come in. 
 
 SoEiN. For some reason, my boy, country life doesn't suit 
 me, and I am sure I shall never get used to it. Last night I 
 went to bed at ten and woke at nine this morning, feeling as 
 if, from oversleep, my brain had stuck to my skull. [Laughing] 
 And yet I accidentally dropped off to sleep again after dinner, 
 and feel utterly done up at this moment. It is like a night- 
 mare. 
 
 Treplieff. There is no doubt that you should live in town. 
 [He catches sight of Masha and Medviedenko] You shall be 
 
ACT I THE SEA-GULL 159 
 
 called when the play begins, my friends, but you must not 
 stay here now. Go away, please. 
 
 SoRiN. Miss Masha, will you kindly ask your father to 
 leave the dog unchained? It howled so last night that my 
 sister was unable to sleep. 
 
 Masha. You must speak to my father yourself. Please 
 excuse me; I can't do so. [To Medviedenko] Come, let 
 us go. 
 
 Medviedenko. You will let us know when the play begins? 
 Masha and Medviedenko go out. 
 
 SoHiN. I foresee that that dog is going to howl all night 
 again. It is always this way in the country; I have never 
 been able to live as I like here. I come down for a month's 
 holiday, to rest and all, and am plagued so by their nonsense 
 that I long to escape after the first day. [Laughing],! have 
 always been glad to get away from this place, but I have been 
 retired now, and this was the only place I had to come to. 
 Willy-nilly, one must live somewhere. 
 
 Jacob. [To Trbplieff] We are going to take a swim, Mr 
 Constantine. 
 
 TBEPLiErF. Very well, but you must be back in ten min- 
 utes. 
 
 Jacob. We will, sir. 
 
 Treplieff. [Looking at the stage] Just like a real theatre '. 
 See, there we have the curtain, the foreground, the back- 
 ground, and all. No artificial scenery is needed. The eye 
 travels direct to the lake, and rests on the horizon. The cur- 
 tain will be raised as the moon rises at half-past eight. 
 
 SOBIN. Splendid! 
 
 Tkeplieff. Of course the whole effect will be ruined if 
 Nina is late. She should be here by now, but her father and 
 stepmother watch her so closely that it is like stealing her 
 from a prison to get her away from home. [He straightens 
 
160 THE SEA-GULL acti 
 
 Sobin's collar] Your hair and beard are all on end. Oughtn't 
 you to have them trimmed? 
 
 SoBiN. [Smoothing his beard] They are the tragedy of my 
 existence. Even when I was young I always looked as if I 
 were drunk, and all. Women have never liked me. [Sitting 
 dovm] Why is my sister out of temper? 
 
 Theplieff. Why? Because she is jealous and bored. [Sit- 
 ting down beside Soein] She is not acting this evening, but 
 Nina is, and so she has set herself against me, and against the 
 performance of the play, and against the play itself, which she 
 hates without ever having read it. 
 
 SoRiN. [Laughing] Does she, really? 
 
 Theplieff. Yes, she is furious because Nina is going to 
 have a success on this little stage. [Looking at his watch] My 
 mother is a psychological curiosity. Without doubt brilliant 
 and talented, capable of sobbing over a novel, of reciting all 
 Nekrasoff's poetry by heart, and of nursing the sick like an 
 angel of heaven, you should see what happens if any one 
 begins praising Duse to her! She alone must be praised and 
 written about, raved over, her marvellous acting in "La Dame 
 aux Camelias" extolled to the skies. As she cannot get all 
 that rubbish in the country, she grows peevish and cross, and 
 thinks we are all against her, and to blame for it all. She is 
 superstitious, too. She dreads burning three candles, and 
 fears the thirteenth day of the month. Then she is stingy. 
 I know for a fact that she has seventy thousand roubles in 
 a bank at Odessa, but she is ready to burst into tears if you 
 ask her to lend you a penny. 
 
 SoHiN. You have taken it into your head that your mother 
 dislikes your play, and the thought of it has excited you, and 
 all. Keep calm; your mother adores you. 
 
 Theplieff. [Pulling a flower to pieces] She loves me, loves 
 me not; loves — loves me not; loves — loves me not! [Laugh- 
 
ACT I THE SEA-GULL 161 
 
 ing] You see, she doesn't love me, and why should she? She 
 likes life and love and gay clothes, and I am already twenty- 
 five years old; a sufficient reminder to her that she is no longer 
 young. When I am away she is only thirty-two, in my pres- 
 ence she is forty-three, and she hates me for it. She knows, 
 too, that I despise the modern stage. She adores it, and 
 imagines that she is working on it for the benefit of humanity 
 and her sacred art, but to me thei^heatre is merely the vehicle 
 of convention and prejndipp, When the curtain rises on that 
 little three-walled room, when those mighty geniuses, those 
 high-priests of art, show us people in the act of eating, drink- 
 ing, loving, walking, and wearing their coats, and attempt to 
 extract a moral from their insipid talk; when plajrwrights give 
 us under a thousand different guises the same, same, same old 
 stuflf, then I must needs run from it, as Maupassant ran from 
 the Eiffel Tower that was about to crush him by its vulgarity. 
 
 SoHiN. But we can't do without a theatre. 
 
 Tbepliefp. No, but we must have it under a new form. 
 If we can't do that, let us rather not have it at all. [LooJcing 
 at his watch] I love my mother, I love her devotedly, but I 
 think she leads a stupid life. She always has this man of let- 
 ters of hers on her mind, and the newspapers are always fright- 
 ening her to death, and I am tired of it. Plain, human egoism 
 sometimes speaks in my heart, and I regret that my mother 
 is a famous actress. If she were an ordinary woman I think I 
 should be a happier man. What could be more intolerable and 
 foolish than my position. Uncle, when I find myself the only 
 nonentity among a crowd of her guests, all celebrated authors 
 and artists? I feel that they only endure me because I am 
 her son. Personally I am nothing, nobody. I pulled through 
 my third year at college by the skin of my teeth, as they say. 
 I have neither money nor brains, and on my passport you may 
 read' that I am simply a citizen of Kiev. So was my father. 
 
16% THE SEA-GULL act i 
 
 but he was a well-known actor. When the celebrities that 
 frequent my mother's drawing-room deign to notice me at 
 all, I know they only look at me to measure my insignificance; 
 I read their thoughts, and suffer from humiliation. 
 
 SoRiN. Tell me, by the way, what is Trigorin like? I can't 
 understand him, he is always so silent. 
 
 Tbeplieff. Trigorin is clever, simple, well-mannered, and 
 a little, I might say, melancholic in disposition. Though still 
 under forty, he is surfeited with praise. As for his stories, 
 they are — how shall I put it? — ^pleasing, full of talent, but if 
 you have read Tolstoi or Zola you somehow don't enjoy 
 Trigorin. 
 
 SoBiN. Do you know, my boy, I like literary men. I once 
 passionately desired two things : to marry, and to become an 
 author. I have succeeded in neither. It must be pleasant 
 to be even an insignificant author. 
 
 Treplieff. [Listening] I hear footsteps! [He embraces his 
 uncle] I cannot live without her; even the sound of her foot- 
 steps is music to me. I am madly happy. [He goes quickly 
 to meet Nina, who comes in at that moment] My enchantress ! 
 My girl of dreams! 
 
 Nina. [Excitedly] It can't be that I am late? No, I am 
 not late. 
 
 Tbeplieff. [Kissing her hands] No, no, no! 
 
 Nina. I have been in a fever all day, I was so afraid my 
 father would prevent my coming, but he and my stepmother 
 have just gone driving. The sky is clear, the moon is rising. 
 How I hurried to get here! How I urged my horse to go 
 faster and faster! [Laughing] I am so glad to see you! 
 
 [She shakes hands with Sokin. 
 
 SoRiN. Oho! Your eyes look as if you had been crying. 
 You mustn't do that. 
 
 Nina. It is nothing, nothing. Do let us hurry. I must go 
 
ACT I THE SEA-GULL 163 
 
 in half an hour. No, no, for heaven's sake do not urge me to 
 stay. My father doesn't know I am here. 
 
 Trbpuepf. As a matter of fact, it is time to begin now. I 
 must call the audience. 
 
 SoRiN. Let me call them — and all — ^I am going this minute. 
 [He goes toward the right, begins to sing " The Two Grenadiers, " 
 then stops.] I was singing that once when a fellow-lawyer 
 said to me: "You have a powerful voice, sir." Then he 
 thought a moment and added, " But it is a disagreeable one ! " 
 
 [He goes out laughing. 
 
 Nesta. My father and his wife never will let me come here; 
 they call this place Bohemia and are afraid I shall become an 
 actress. But this lake attracts me as it does the gulls. My 
 heart is full of you. [She glances abdut her. 
 
 TRBPLiEFr. We are alone. 
 
 Nina. Isn't that some one over there? 
 
 Treplibff. No. [They kiss one another. 
 
 Nina. What is that tree? 
 
 Treplieff. An elm. 
 
 Nina. Why does it look so dark? 
 
 Treplieff. It is evening; everything looks dark now. 
 Don't go away early, I implore you. 
 
 Nina. I must. 
 
 Treplieff. What if I were to follow you, Nina? I shall 
 stand in your garden all night with my eyes on your window. 
 
 Nina. That would be impossible; the watchman would see 
 you, and Treasure is not used to you yet, and would bark. 
 
 Treplieff. I love you. 
 
 Nina. Hush! 
 
 Treplieff. [Listening to approaching footsteps] Who is that? 
 Is it you, Jacob? 
 
 Jacob. [On the stage] Yes, sir. 
 
164 THE SEA-GULL acti 
 
 Tbeplieff. To your places then. The moon is rising; the 
 play must commence. 
 
 Nina. Yes, sir. 
 
 Treplieff. Is the alcohol ready? Is the sulphur ready.? 
 There must be fumes of sulphur in the air when the red eyes 
 shine out. [To Nina] Go, now, everything is ready. Are you 
 nervous? 
 
 Nina. Yes, very. I am not so much afraid of your mother 
 as I am of Trigorin. I am terrified and ashamed to act be- 
 fore him; he is so famous. Is he young? 
 
 Tbeplieff. Yes. 
 
 Nina. What beautiful stories he writes ! 
 
 Tbeplieff. [Coldli/] I have never read any of them, so I 
 can't say. 
 
 NmA. Your play is very hard to act; there are no living 
 characters in it. 
 
 Tbeplieff. Living characters! Life must be represe nted 
 not as it_isi_but_as it ought to be; as it appears in dreams. 
 
 Nina. There is so little action; it seems more like a recita- 
 tion. I think love should always come into every play. 
 
 Nina and Tbeplieff go up onto the little stage; Paulina 
 and DoBN come in. 
 
 Pattlina. It is getting damp. Go back and put on your 
 goloshes. 
 
 DoBN. I am quite warm. 
 
 Paulina. You never will take care of yourself; you are 
 quite obstinate about it, and yet you are a doctor, and know 
 quite well that damp air is bad for you. You like to see me 
 suffer, that's what it is. You sat out on the terrace all yes- 
 terday evening on purpose. 
 
 DoBN. [Sings] 
 
 "Oh, tell me not that youth is wasted." 
 
ACTi THE SEA-GULL 165 
 
 Paulina. You were so enchanted by the conversation of 
 Madame Arkadina that you did not even notice the cold. 
 Confess that you admire her. 
 
 DoEN. I am fifty-five years old. 
 
 Pauuna. a trifle. That is not old for a man. You have 
 kept your looks magnificently, and women still like you. 
 
 DoEN. What are you trying to tell me.'' 
 
 Paulina. You men are all ready to go down on your knees 
 to an actress, all of you. 
 
 DoRN. [Sings] 
 
 "Once more I stand before thee." 
 
 It is only right that artists should be made much of by so- 
 ciety and treated diEFerently from, let us say, merchants. 
 It is a kind of idealism. 
 
 Paulina. When women have loved you and thrown them- 
 selves at your head, has that been idealism? , 
 
 DoRN. [Shrugging his shoulders] I can't say. There has 
 been a great deal that was admirable in my relations with 
 women. In me they liked, above all, the superior doctor. 
 Ten years ago, you remember, I was the only decent doctor 
 they had in this part of the country — and then, I have always 
 acted like a man of honour. 
 
 Paulina. [Seizes his hand] Dearest! 
 
 DoEN. Be quiet! Here they come. 
 
 Aekadina comes in on Sorin's arm; also Trigorin, 
 Shamraeff, Medvibdenko, and Masha. 
 
 Shamraeff. She acted most beautifully at the Poltava 
 Fair in 1873 ; she was really magnificent. But tell me, too, 
 where Tchadin the comedian is now? He was inimitable as 
 Rasplueff, better than Sadofski. Where is he now? 
 
 Aekadina. Don't ask me where all those antediluvians 
 are! I know nothing about them. [She sits down. 
 
166 THE SEA-GULL acti 
 
 Shambaeff. [Sighing] Pashka Tchadin! There are none 
 left like him. The stage is not what it was in his time. There 
 were sturdy oaks growing on it then, where now but stumps 
 remain. 
 
 DoKN. It is true that we have few dazzling geniuses these 
 days, but, on the other hand, the average of acting is much 
 higher. 
 
 Shambaeff. I cannot agree with you; however, that is a 
 matter of taste, de gustihus. 
 
 Enter Tsepueff from behind the stage. 
 
 Ahkadina. When will the play begin, my dear boy? 
 
 Tbeplieff. In a moment. I must ask you to have pa- 
 tience. 
 
 Akeadina. [Quoting from Hamlet] My son, 
 
 "Thou turn'st mineeyesintomy very soul; 
 And there I see such black grained spots 
 As will not leave their tinct." 
 
 [A horn is hlovm behind the stage. 
 Treplieff. Attention, ladies and gentlemen! The play 
 is about to begin. [A pause] I shall commence. [He taps the 
 door tuith a stick, and speaks in a loud voice] O, ye time- 
 honoured, ancient mists that drive at night across the surface 
 of this lake, blind you our eyes with sleep, and show us in 
 our dreams that which will be in twice ten thousand years ! 
 
 SoRiN. There won't be anything in twice ten thousand 
 years. 
 
 Tkeplieff. Then let them now show us that nothingness. 
 Abkadina. Yes, let them — we are asleep. 
 
 The curtain rises. A vista opens across the lake. The 
 moon hangs low above the horizon and is reflected in 
 the water. Nina, dressed in white, is seen seated on 
 a great rock. 
 
ACT I THE SEA-GULL 167 
 
 Nina. All men and beasts, lions, eagles, and quails, horned 
 stags, geese, spiders, silent fish that inhabit the waves, star- 
 fish from the sea, and creatures invisible to the eye — in one 
 word, life — all, all life, completing the dreary round imposed 
 upon it, has died out at last. A thousand years have passed 
 since the earth last bore a living creature on her breast, and 
 the unhappy moon now lights her lamp in vain. No longer 
 are the cries of storks heard in the meadows, or the drone 
 of beetles in the groves of limes. All is cold, cold. All is void, 
 void, void. All is terrible, terrible — [A pause] The bodies of 
 all living creatures have dropped to dust, and eternal matter 
 has transformed them into stones and water and clouds; but 
 their spirits have flowed together into one, and that great 
 world-soul am I! In me is the spirit of the great Alexander, 
 the spirit of Napoleon, of CsBsar, of Shakespeare, and of the 
 tiniest leech that swims. In me the consciousness of man 
 has joined hands with the instinct of the animal; I understand 
 all, all, all, and each life lives again in me. 
 
 [The wUl-o-the-wisps flicker ovi along the lake shore.] 
 
 Abkadina. [Whispers] What decadent rubbish is this.? 
 
 Tkeplieff. [Imploringly] Mother! 
 
 Nina. I am alone. Once in a hundred years my lips are 
 opened, my voice echoes mournfully across the desert earth, 
 and no one hears. And you, poor lights of the marsh, you 
 do not hear me. You are engendered at sunset in the putrid 
 mud, and flit wavering about the lake till dawn, unconscious, 
 unreasoning, unwarmed by the breath of life. Satan, father 
 of eternal matter, trembling lest the spark of life should glow 
 in you, has ordered an unceasing movement of the atoms that 
 compose you, and so you shift and change for ever. I, the 
 spirit of the universe, I alone am immutable and eternal. [A 
 pause] Like a captive in a dungeon deep and void, I know not 
 where I am, nor what awaits me. One thing only is not Lid- 
 
168 THE SEA-GULL act i 
 
 den from me: in my fierce and obstinate battle with Satan, the 
 source of the forces of matter, I am destined to be victorious 
 in the end. Matter and spirit will, then be one.^.la.'StJli 
 glorious harmony, and the reign of freedom will begin on 
 earth. Buifthis can only come to pass by slow degrees, when 
 after countless aeons the moon and earth and shining Sirius 
 himself shall fall to dust. Until that hour, oh, horror! hor- 
 ror! horror! [A pause. Two glowing red points are seen shin- 
 ing across the lake] Satan, my mighty foe, advances; I see his 
 dread and lurid eyes. 
 
 Arkadina. I smell sulphur. Is that done on purpose? 
 
 Tkeplieff. Yes. 
 
 Abkadina. Oh, I see; that is part of the effect. 
 
 Tbeplieff. Mother! 
 
 Nina. He longs for man 
 
 Paulina. [To Dorn] You have taken off your hat again! 
 Put it on, you will catch cold. 
 
 Arkadina. The doctor has taken off his hat to Satan, 
 father of eternal matter 
 
 Treplieff. [Loudly and angrily] Enough of this! There's 
 an end to the performance. Down with the curtain! 
 
 Arkadina. Why, what are you so angry about? 
 
 Treplieff. [Stamping his foot] The curtain; down with it! 
 [The curtain falls] Excuse me, I forgot that only a chosen few 
 might write plays or act them. I have infringed the mo- 
 nopoly. I — I 
 
 He would like to say more, but waves his hand instead, 
 and goes out to the left. 
 
 Arkadina. What is the matter with him? 
 
 Soein. You should not handle youthful egoism so roughly, 
 sister. 
 
 Arkadina. What did I say to him? 
 
ACT I THE SEA-GULL 169 
 
 SoKiN. You hurt his feelings. 
 
 Aekadina. But he told me himself that this was all in fun, 
 so I treated his play as if it were a comedy. 
 
 SoHiN. Nevertheless 
 
 Arkadina. Now it appears that he has produced a master- 
 piece, if you please! I suppose it was not meant to amuse us 
 at all, but that he arranged the performance and fumigated 
 us with sulphur to demonstrate to us how plays should be 
 written, and what is worth acting. I am tired of him. No 
 one could stand his constant thrusts and sallies. He is a 
 wilful, egotistic boy. 
 
 SoRiN. He had hoped to give you pleasure. 
 
 Arbcadina. Is that so? I notice, though, that he did not 
 choose an ordinary play, but forced his decadent trash on us. 
 I am willing to listen to any raving, so long as it is not meant 
 seriously, but in showing us this, he pretended to be introduc- 
 ing us to a new form of art, and inaugurating a new era. In 
 my opinion, there was nothing new about it, it was simply an 
 exhibition of bad temper. 
 
 Trigorin. Everybody must write as he feels, and as best 
 he may. 
 
 Arkadina. Let him write as he feels and can, but let him 
 spare me his nonsense. 
 
 DoRN. Thou art angry, O Jove! 
 
 Arkadina. I am a woman, not Jove. [She lights a cigarette] 
 And I am not angry, I am only sorry to see a young man fool- 
 ishly wasting his time. I did not mean to hurt him. 
 
 Medviedenko. No one has any ground for separating life 
 from matter, as the spirit may well consist of the union of 
 material atoms. [Excitedly, to Trigorin] Some day you 
 should write a play, and put on the stage the life of a 
 schoolmaster. It is a hard, hard life. 
 
 Arkadina. I agree with you, but do not let us talk about 
 
170 THE SEA-GULL act i 
 
 plays or atoms now. This is such a lovely evening. Listen 
 to the singing, friends, how sweet it sounds. 
 
 Paulina. Yes, they are singing across the water. [A 'pause. 
 
 Abkadina. [To Teigorin] Sit down beside me here. Ten 
 or fifteen years ago we had music and singing on this lake 
 almost all night. There are six houses on its shores. All 
 was noise and laughter and romance then, such romance! 
 The young star and idol of them all in those days was this 
 man here, [Nods toward Dorn] Doctor Eugene Dorn. He is 
 fascinating now, but he was irresistible then. But my con- 
 science is beginning to prick me. Why did I hurt my poor 
 boy? I am uneasy about him. [Loudly] Constantine! Con- 
 stantine! 
 
 Masha. Shall I go and find him? 
 
 Ahkadina. If you please, my dear. 
 
 Masha. [Goes off to the left, calling] Mr. Constantine! Oh, 
 Mr. Constantine! 
 
 Nina. [Comes in from behind the stage] I see that the play 
 
 will never be finished, so now I can go home. Good evening. 
 
 [She kisses Arkadina and Paulina. 
 
 SoHiN. Bravo! Bravo! 
 
 Arkadina. Bravo! Bravo! We were quite charmed by 
 your acting. With your looks and such a lovely voice it is 
 a crime for you to hide yourself in the country. You must 
 be very talented. It is your duty to go on the stage, do you 
 hear me? 
 
 Nina. It is the dream of my life, which will never come 
 true. 
 
 Arkadina. Who knows? Perhaps it will. But let me 
 present Monsieur Boris TrigorLn. 
 
 Nina. I am delighted to meet you. [Emharrassed\ I have 
 read all your books. 
 
 Arkadina. [Drawing Nina down beside her] Don't be 
 
ACT I THE SEA-GULL 171 
 
 afraid of him, dear. He is a simple, good-natured soul, even 
 if he is a celebrity. See, he is embarrassed himself. 
 
 DoRN. Couldn't the curtain be raised now? It is depress- 
 ing to have it down. 
 
 Shambaepf. [Loudly] Jacob, my man! Raise the curtain! 
 
 Nina. [To Trigokin] It was a curious play, wasn't it? 
 
 Tkigorin. Very. I couldn't understand it at all, but I 
 watched it with the greatest pleasure because you acted with 
 such sincerity, and the setting was beautiful. [A patcse] There 
 must be a lot of fish in this lake. 
 
 Nina. Yes, there are. 
 
 Tbigorin. I love fishing. I know of nothing pleasanter 
 than to sit on a lake shore in the evening with one's eyes on 
 a floating cork. 
 
 Nina. Why, I should think that for one who has tasted the 
 joys of creation, no other pleasure could exist. 
 
 Arkadina. Don't talk like that. He always begins to 
 flounder when people say nice things to him. 
 
 Shamraepv. I remember when the famous Silva was sing- 
 ing once in the Opera House at Moscow, how delighted we 
 all were when he took the low C. Well, you can imagine our 
 astonishment when one of the church cantors, who happened 
 to be sitting in the gallery, suddenly boomed out: "Bravo, 
 Silva!" a whole octave lower. Like this: [In a deep bass voice] 
 "Bravo, Silva!" The audience was left breathless. [Aparise. 
 
 DoRN. An angel of silence is flying oyer our heads. /^ 
 
 Nina. I must go. Good-bye. 
 
 Arkadina. Where to? Where must you go so early? We 
 shan't allow it. 
 
 Nina. My father is waiting for me. 
 
 Arkadina. How cruel he is, really. [They kiss each other] 
 Then I suppose we can't keep you, but it is very hard indeed 
 to let you go. 
 
172 THE SEA-GULL acti 
 
 Nesta. If you only knew how hard it is for me to leave you 
 all. 
 
 Aekadina. Somebody must see you home, my pet. 
 
 Nina. [Startled] No, no! 
 
 SoKiN. [Imploringly] Don't go! 
 
 Nina. I must. 
 
 SoRiN. Stay just one hour more, and all. Come now, 
 really, you know. 
 
 Nina. [Struggling against her desire to stay; through her 
 tears] No, no, I can't. 
 
 [She shakes hands vnth him and quickly goes out. 
 
 Arkadina. An unlucky girl! They say that her mother 
 left the whole of an immense fortune to her husband, and 
 now the child is penniless because the father has already 
 willed everything away to his second wife. It is pitiful. 
 
 DoBN. Yes, her papa is a perfect beast, and I don't mind 
 saying so — it is what he deserves. 
 
 SoHiN. [Rubbing his chilled hands] Come, let us go in; the 
 night is damp, and my legs are aching. 
 
 Abkadina. Yes, you act as if they were turned to stone; 
 you can hardly move them. Come, you unfortunate old man. 
 
 [She takes his arm. 
 
 Shamraeff. [Offering his arm to his vrife] Permit me, 
 madame. 
 
 SoBiN. I hear that dog howling again. Won't you please 
 have it unchained, ShamraefiE? 
 
 Shambaeff. No, I really can't, sir. The granary is full 
 of millet, and I am afraid thieves might break in if the dog 
 were not there. [Walking beside Medviedenko] Yes, a whole 
 octave lower: "Bravo, Silva!" and he wasn't a singer either, 
 just a simple church cantor. 
 
 Medviedenko. What salary does the church pay its 
 singers? [AU go out except Dobn. 
 
ACT I THE SEA-GULL 173 
 
 DoRN. I may have lost my judgment and my wits, but I 
 must confess I liked that play. There was something in it. 
 When the girl spoke of her solitude and the Devil's eyes 
 gleamed across the lake, I felt my hands shaking with ex- 
 citement. It was so fresh and naive. But here he comes; 
 let me say something pleasant to him. 
 Treplieff comes in. 
 
 Trepliefp. All gone already? 
 
 DoRN. I am here. 
 
 Treplieff. Masha has been yelling for me all over the 
 park. An insufferable creature. 
 
 DoRN. Constantine, your play delighted me. It was 
 strange, of course, and I did not hear the end, but it made a 
 deep impression on me. You have a great deal of talent, and 
 must persevere in your work. 
 
 Treplieff seizes his hand and squeezes it hard, then 
 kisses him impetuously. 
 
 DoKN. Tut, tut! how excited you are. Your eyes are full 
 of tears. Listen to me. You chose your subject in the 
 realm of abstract thought, and you did quite right. A work 
 of art should invariably embody some lofty idea. Only that 
 which is seriously meant can ever be beautiful. How pale 
 you are! 
 
 Treplieff. So you advise me to persevere? 
 
 DoRN. Yes, but use your talent to express only deep and 
 eternal truths. I have led a quiet life, as you know, and am 
 a contented man, but if I should ever experience the exal- 
 tation that an artist feels during his moments of creation, I 
 think I should spurn this material envelope of my soul and 
 everything connected with it, and should soar away into 
 heights above this earth. 
 
 Treplieff. I beg your pardon, but where is Nina? 
 
 DoHN. And yet another thing: every work of art should 
 
174 THE SEA-GULL act i 
 
 have a definite object in view. You should know why you 
 are writing, for if you follow the road of art without a goal 
 before your eyes, you will lose yourself, and your genius will 
 be your ruin. 
 
 Trepueff. [Impetiumsly] Where is Nina? 
 
 DoBN. She has gone home. 
 
 Treplieff. [In despair] Gone home? What shall I do? 
 I want to see her; I must see her! I shall follow her. 
 
 DoHN. My dear boy, keep quiet. 
 
 Treplieff. I am going. I must go. 
 Masha eoTnes in. 
 Masha. Your mother wants you to come in, Mr. Con- 
 stantine. She is waiting for you, and is very uneasy. 
 
 Treplieff. Tell her I have gone away. And for heaven's 
 sake, all of you, leave me alone ! Go away ! Don't follow me 
 about! 
 
 DoRN. Come, come, old chap, don't act like this; it isn't 
 kind at all. 
 
 Treplieff. [Through his tears] Good-bye, doctor, and 
 thank you. 
 
 Treplieff goes out. 
 
 DoRN. [Sighing] Ah, youth, youth! 
 __Ma.sha. It is always "Youth, youth," when there is 
 nothing else to be said. 
 
 ^-~-„jSAe^=<S^""'37tM^ DoRN takes the snuff-box out of her 
 hands and flings it into the bushes. 
 
 DoEN. Don't do that, it is horrid. [A pause] I hear music 
 in the house. I must go in. 
 
 Masha. Wait a moment. 
 
 DoRN. What do you want? 
 
 Masha. Let me tell you again. I feel like talking. [She 
 grows more and more excited] I do not love my father, but my 
 heart turns to you. For some reason, I feel with all my soul 
 
ACTi THE SEA-GULL 175 
 
 that you are near to me. Help me! Help me, or I shall do 
 something foolish and mock at my life, and ruin it. I am 
 at the end of my strength. 
 
 DoRN. What is the matter? How can I help you? 
 
 Masha. I am in agony. No one, no one can imagine how 
 I suffer. [She lays her head on his shoulder and speaks softly] 
 I love Constantine. 
 
 DoRN. Oh, how excitable you all are! And how much 
 love there is about this lake of spells! [Tenderly] But what 
 can I do for you, my child? What? What? , 
 
 The curtain faUs. 
 
ACT II 
 
 The lawn in front of Sokin's house. The house stands in the 
 background, on a broad terrace. The lake, brightly reflect- 
 ing the rays of the sun, lies to the left. There are flower- 
 beds here and there. It is noon; the day is hot. Arka- 
 DiNA.DoBN, and Masha are sitting on a bench on the lawn, 
 in the shade of an old linden. An open book is lying on 
 Dobn's knees. 
 
 Abkadina. [To Masha] Come, get up. [They both get up] 
 Stand beside me. You are twenty-two and I am almost 
 twice your age. Tell me, Doctor, which of us is the younger 
 looking? 
 
 DoEN. You are, of course. 
 
 Abkadina. You see! Now why is it.' Because I work; 
 my heart and mind are always busy, whereas you never move 
 off the same spot. You don't live. It is a maxim of mine 
 never to look into the future. I never admit the thought of 
 old age or death, and just accept what comes to me. 
 
 Masha. I feel as if I had been in the world a thousand 
 years, and I trail my life behind me like an endless scarf. 
 Often I have no desire to live at all. Of course that is foolish. 
 One ought to pull oneself together and shake off such non- 
 sense. 
 
 DoBN. [Sings softly] 
 
 "Tell her, oh flowers—" 
 
 Abkadina. And then I keep myself as correct-looking as 
 an Englishman. I am always well-groomed, a^ the saying 
 
 176 
 
Acrn THE SEA-GULL 177 
 
 is, and carefully dressed, with my hair neatly arranged. Do 
 you think I should ever permit myself to leave the house half- 
 dressed, with untidy hair? Certainly not! I have kept my 
 looks by never letting myself slump as some women do. [She 
 puts her arms akimbo, and walks up and down on the lawn] 
 See me, tripping on tiptoe like a fifteen-year-old girl. 
 
 DoBN. ■ I see. Nevertheless, I shall continue my reading. 
 [He takes up his book] Let me see, we had come to the grain- 
 dealer and the rats. 
 
 Arkadina. And the rats. Go on. [She aits down] No, give 
 me the book, it is my turn to read. [She takes the book and 
 looks for the place] And the rats. Ah, here it is. [She reads] 
 "It is as da|jgfirousJo£-socie±jL.±ct,aitract and indulge authors 
 as it i s for griain-dealers to raise xats™ in ..their granaries. Yet 
 society loves authors. And so, when a woman has found one 
 whom she wishes to make her own, she lays siege to him by 
 indulging and flattering him." That may be so in France, 
 but it certainly is not so in Russia. We do not carry out a 
 programme like that. With us, a woman is usually head over;^.^^ 
 ears in love with ai^autiM> before she attempts to lay siege ■ ^ 
 to him. You have an example before your eyes, in me and ~-^ ^ 
 Trigorin. 
 
 SoRiN comes in leaning on a cane, with Nina beside him. 
 Medvibdenko /oZZow*, pushing an arm-chair. 
 
 SoRiN. [In a caressing voice, as if speaking to a child] So we 
 are happy now, eh? We are enjoying ourselves to-day, are 
 we? Father and stepmother have gone away to Tver, and 
 we are free for three whole days! 
 
 Nina. [Sits down beside Arkadina, and embraces her] I am 
 so happy. I belong to you now. 
 
 SoKiN. [Sits down in his arm-chair] She looks lovely to-day. 
 
 Abkadina. Yes, she has put on her prettiest dress, and 
 looks sweet. That was nice of you. [She kisses Nina] But 
 
178 THE SEA-GULL act n 
 
 we mustn't praise her too much; we shall spoil her. Where 
 is Trigorin? 
 
 Nina. He is fishing ofif the wharf. 
 
 Abkadina. I wonder he isn't bored. 
 
 [She begins to read again. 
 
 Nina. What are you reading? 
 
 Arkadina. "On the Water," by Maupassant. [She reads 
 a few lines to herself] But the rest is neither true nor interest- 
 ing. [She lays down the book] I am uneasy about my son. 
 Tell me, what is the matter with him? Why is he so dull 
 and depressed lately? He spends all his days on the lake, 
 and I scarcely ever see him any more. 
 
 Masha. His heart is heavy. [Timidly, to Nina] Please re- 
 cite something from his play. 
 
 Nina. [Shrugging her shoulders] Shall I ? Is it so inter- 
 esting? 
 
 Masha. [With suppressed rapture] When he recites, his 
 eyes shine and his face grows pale. His voice is beautiful 
 and sad, and he has the ways of a poet. 
 SoRiN begins to snore. 
 
 DoBN. Pleasant dreams! 
 
 Abkadina. Peter! 
 
 SoBiN. Eh? 
 
 Arkadina. Are you asleep? 
 
 SoRiN. Not a bit of it. [A pause. 
 
 Abkadina. You don't do a thing for your health, brother, 
 but you really ought to. 
 
 DoRN. The idea of doing anything for one's health at 
 sixty-five! 
 
 SoBiN. One still wants to live at sixty-five. 
 
 DoEN. [Crossly] Ho! Take some camomile tea. 
 
 Abkadina. I think a journey to some watering-place would 
 be good for him. 
 
ACTH THE SEA-GULL 179 
 
 DoRN. Why, yes; he might go as well as not. 
 
 Abkadina. You don't understand. 
 
 DoEN. There is nothing to understand in this case; it is 
 quite clear. [A pause. 
 
 Medviedenko. He ought to give up smoking. 
 
 SoEiN. What nonsense! 
 
 DoRN. No, that is not nonsense. Wine and tobacco de- 
 stroy the individuality. After a cigar or a glass of vodka 
 you are no longer Peter Sorin, but Peter Sorin plus somebody 
 else. Your ego breaks in two: you begin to think of yourself 
 in the third person. 
 
 Sorin. It is easy for you to condemn smoking and drink- 
 ing; you have known what life is, but what about me? I 
 have served in the Department of Justice for twenty-eight 
 years, but I have never lived, I have never had any expe- 
 riences. You are satiated with life, and that is why you have 
 an inclination for philosophy, but I want to live, and that is 
 why I drink my wine for dinner and smoke cigars, and all. 
 
 DoRN. One must take life seriously, and to take a cure 
 at sixty-five and regret that one did not have more pleasure 
 in youth is, forgive my saying so, trifling. 
 
 Masha. It must be lunch-time. [She walks away languidly, 
 with a dragging step} My foot has gone to sleep. 
 
 DoHN. She is going to have a couple of drinks before lunch. 
 
 Sorin. The poor soul is unhappy. 
 
 DoRN. That is a trifle, your honour. 
 
 Sorin. You judge her like a man who has obtained all he 
 wants in life. 
 
 Arkadina. Oh, what could be duller than this dear tedium 
 of the country? The air is hot and still, nobody does any- 
 thing but sit and philosophise about life. It is pleasant, my 
 friends, to sit and listen to you here, but I had rather a thou- 
 
180 THE SEA-GULL actu 
 
 sand times sit alone in the room of a hotel learning a r61e by 
 heart. 
 
 Nina. [With enthusiasm] You are quite right. I under- 
 stand how you feel. 
 
 SoRiN. Of course it is pleasanter to live in town. One can 
 sit in one's library with a telephone at one's elbow, no one 
 comes in without being first announced by the footman, the 
 streets are full of cabs, and all 
 
 DoKN. [Sings] 
 
 "Tell her, oh flowers—" 
 Shamraeff comes in, followed by Paulina. 
 
 Shambaeff. Here they are. How do you do? [He kisses 
 Arkadina's hand and then Nina's] I am delighted to see you 
 looking so well. [To Arkadina] My wife tells me that you 
 mean to go to town with her to-day. Is that so? 
 
 Abkadesta. Yes, that is what I had planned to do. 
 
 Shamraeff. Hm — ^that is splendid, but how do you in- 
 tend to get there, madam? We are hauling rye to-day, and 
 all the men are busy. What horses would you take? 
 
 Arkadina. What horses? How do I know what horses we 
 shall have? 
 
 SoRiN. Why, we have the carriage horses. 
 
 Shamraeff. The carriage horses! And where am I to 
 find the harness for them? This is astonishing! My dear 
 madam, I have the greatest respect for your talents, and 
 would gladly sacrifice ten years of my life for you, but I can- 
 not let you have any horses to-day. 
 
 Arkadina. But if I must go to town? What an extraor- 
 dinary state of affairs! 
 
 Shamraeff. You do not know, madam, what it is to run 
 a farm. 
 
 Arkadina. [In a burst of anger] That is an old story! 
 Under these circumstances I shall go back to Moscow this 
 
Acrn THE SEA-GULL 181 
 
 very day. Order a carriage for me from the village, or I shall 
 go to the station on foot. 
 
 Shamraeff. [Losing his temper] Under these circumstances 
 I resign my position. You must find yourself another man- 
 ager. [He goes out. 
 
 Abkadina. It is like this every summer: every summer I 
 am insulted here. I shall never set foot here again. 
 
 She goes out to the left, in the direction of the wharf. In 
 a few minutes she is seen entering the hou^e, followed 
 by Trigokin, who carries a bucket and fishing-rod. 
 
 SoRiN. [Losing his temper] What the deuce did he mean 
 by his impudence? I want all the horses brought here at 
 once! 
 
 Nina. [To Paulina] How could he refuse anything to 
 Madame Arkadina, the famous actress? Is not every wish, 
 every caprice even, of hers, more important than any farm 
 work? This is incredible. 
 
 Paulina. [In despair] What can I do about it? Put 
 yourself in my place and tell me what I can do. 
 
 SoRiN. [To Nina] Let us go and find my sister, and all beg 
 her not to go. [He looks in the direction in which Shamraeff 
 went out] That man is insufferable; a regular tyrant. 
 
 Nina. [Preventing him from getting up] Sit still, sit still, 
 and let us wheel you. [She and Medviedenko push the chair 
 before them] This is terrible! 
 
 Soein. Yes, yes, it is terrible; but he won't leave. I shall 
 have a talk with him in a moment. 
 
 [They go out. Only Dorn and Paulina are left. 
 
 DoEN. How tiresome people are! Your husband deserves 
 to be thrown out of here neck and crop, but it will all end by 
 this old granny Sorin and his sister asking the man's pardon. 
 See if it doesn't. 
 
 Paulina. He has sent the carriage horses mto the fields 
 
182 THE SEA-GULL act n 
 
 too. These misunderstandings occur every day. If you 
 only knew how they excite me! I am ill; see! I am trem- 
 bling all over! I cannot endure his rough ways. [Imploringly] 
 Eugene, my darling, my beloved, take me to you. Our time 
 is short; we are no longer young; let us end deception and 
 concealment, even though it is only at the end of our lives. 
 
 [A pause. 
 
 DoRN. I am fifty-five years old. It is too late now for me 
 to change my ways of living. 
 
 Paulina. I know that you refuse me because there are 
 other women who are near to you, and you cannot take every- 
 body. I understand. Excuse me — I see I am only bothering 
 you. 
 
 Nina is seen near the house picking a bunch of flowers. 
 
 DoRN. No, it is all right. 
 
 Paulina. I am tortured by jealousy. Of course you are 
 a doctor and cannot escape from women. I understand. 
 
 DoRN. [To Nina, who comes toward him] How are things 
 in there? 
 
 Nina. Madame Arkadina is crying, and Sorin is having an 
 attack of asthma. 
 
 DoRN. Let us go and give them both some camomile tea. 
 
 Nina. [Hands him the hunch of flowers] Here are some 
 flowers for you. 
 
 DoRN. Thank you. [He goes into the house. 
 
 Paulina. [Following him] What pretty flowers! [As they 
 reach the house she says in a low voice] Give me those flowers! 
 Give them to me! 
 
 DoRN hands her the flowers; she tears them to pieces and 
 flings them away. They both go into the house. 
 
 Nina. [Alone] How strange to see a famous actress weep- 
 ing, and for such a trifle! Is it not strange, too, that a famous 
 author should sit fishing all day? He is the idol of the public. 
 
ACTu THE SEA-GULL 183 
 
 the papers are full of him, his photograph is for sale every- 
 where, his works have been translated into many foreign 
 languages, and yet he is overjoyed if he catches a couple of 
 minnows. I always thought famous people were distant and 
 proud; I thought they despised the common crowd which 
 exalts riches and birth, and avenged themselves on it by daz- 
 zling it with the inextinguishable honour and glory of their 
 fame. But here I see them weeping and playing cards and 
 flying into passions like everybody else. 
 
 Treplieff comes in without a hat on, carrying a gun 
 „. and, aAe ad sea-gull. 
 
 Treplieff. Are you alone here? 
 
 Nina. Yes. 
 
 Treplieff lays the sea-gull at her feet. 
 
 Nina. What do you mean by this.' 
 
 Treplieff. I was base enough to-day to kill this gull. I 
 lay it at your feet. 
 
 Nina. What is happening to you? 
 
 \She picks up the gull and stands looking at it. 
 
 Treplieff. [After a pause] So shall I soon end my own life. 
 
 Nina. You have changed so that I fail to recognise you. 
 
 Treplieff. Yes, I have changed since the time when I 
 ceased to recognise you. You have failed me; your look is 
 cold; you do not like to have me near you. 
 
 Nina. You have grown so irritable lately, and you talk so 
 darkly and symbolically that you must forgive me if I fail to 
 follow you. I am too simple to understand you. 
 
 Treplieff. All this began when my play failed so dis- 
 mally. A woman never can forgive failure. I have burnt 
 the manuscript to the last page. Oh, if you could only 
 fathom my unhappiness! Your estrangement is to me ter- 
 rible, incredible; it is as if I had suddenly waked to find this 
 
184 THE SEA-GULL act n 
 
 lake dried up and sunk into the earth. You say you are too 
 simple to understand me; but, oh, what is there to under- 
 stand? You disliked my play, you have no faith in my 
 powers, you already think of me as commonplace and worth- 
 less, as many are. [Stamping his foot] How well I can under- 
 stand your feelings! And that understanding is to me like 
 a dagger in the brain. May it be accursed, together with my 
 stupidity, which sucks my life-blood like a snake! [He sees 
 Thigorin, who approaches reading a book] There comes real 
 genius, striding along like another Hamlet, and with a book, 
 too. [Mockingly] "Words, words, words." You feel the 
 warmth of that sun already, you smile, your eyes melt and 
 glow liquid in its rays. I shall not disturb you. 
 
 [He goes out. 
 
 Teigorin. [Making notes in his book] Takes snuff and 
 drinks vodka; always wears black dresses; is loved by a school- 
 teacher— 
 
 Nina. How do you do? 
 
 Tbigoein. How are you. Miss Nina? Owing to an un- 
 foreseen development of circumstances, it seems that we are 
 leaving here to-day. You and I shall probably never see each 
 other again, and I am sorry for it. I seldom meet a young 
 and pretty girl now; I can hardly remember how it feels to be 
 nineteen, and the young girls in my books are seldom living 
 characters. I should like to change places with you, if but 
 for an hour, to look out at the world through your eyes, and 
 so find out what sort of a little person you are. 
 
 Nina. And I should like to change places with you. 
 
 Trigokin. Why? 
 
 Nina. To find out how a famous genius feels. What is it 
 like to be famous? What sensations does it give you? 
 
 Tbigorin. What sensations? I don't believe it gives any. 
 [Thoughtfully] Either you exaggerate my fame, or else, if it 
 
ACTH THE SEA-GULL 185 
 
 exists, all I can say is that one simply doesn't feel fame in any 
 way. 
 
 Nina. But when you read about yourself in the papers? 
 
 Tkigohin. If the critics praise me, I am happy; if they 
 condemn me, I am out of sorts for the next two days. 
 
 Nina. This is a wonderful world. If you only knew how 
 I envy you! Jifel'-'araborniojdifferent destinies. Some dully 
 drag a weary, useless life behind them, lost in the crowd, un- 
 happy, while to one out of a million, as to you, for instance, 
 comes a bright destiny full of interest and meaning. You 
 are lucky. 
 
 Trigorin. I, lucky? [He shrugs his shoulders] H-m — I hear 
 you talking about fame, and happiness, and bright destinies, 
 and those fine words of yours mean as much to me — forgive 
 my saying so — as sweetmeats do, which I never eat. You 
 are very young, and very kind. 
 
 Nina. Your life is beautiful. 
 
 Trigorin. I see nothing especially lovely about, it. [He 
 looks at his watch] Excuse me, I must go at once, and begin 
 writing again. I am in a hurry. [He laughs] You have 
 stepped on my pet corn, as they say, and I am getting excited, 
 and a little cross. Let us discuss this bright and beautiful 
 life of mine, though. [After a few moments' thought] Violent 
 obsessions sometimes lay hold of a man : he may, for instance, 
 think day and night of nothing but the moon. I have such 
 a moon. \ Day and night I am held in the grip of one beset- 
 ting thought, to write, write, write! Hardly have I finished 
 one book than something urges me to write another, and then 
 a third, and then a fourth — I write ceaselessly. I am, as it 
 were, on a treadmill. I hurry for ever from one story to an- 
 other, and can't help myself. Do you see anything bright 
 and beautiful in that? Oh, it is a wild life! Even now. 
 thrilled as I am by talking to you, I do not forget for an 
 
186 THE SEA-GULL act n 
 
 instant that an unfinished story is awaiting me. My eye falls 
 on that cloud there, which has the shape of a grand piano; I 
 instantly make a mental note that I must remember to men- 
 tion in my story a cloud floating by that looked like a grand 
 piano. I smell heliotrope; I mutter to myself: a sickly smell, 
 the colour worn by widows; I must remember that in writing 
 my next description of a summer evening. I catch an idea 
 in every sentence of yours or of my own, and hasten to lock 
 all these treasures in my literary store-room, thinking that 
 some day they may be useful to me. As soon as I stop work- 
 ing I rush oflE to the theatre or go fishing, in the hope that I 
 may find oblivion there, but no ! Some new subject for a story 
 is sure to come rolling through my brain like an iron cannon- 
 ball. I hear my desk calling, and have to go back to it and 
 begin to write, write, write, once more. And so it goes for 
 everlasting. I cannot escape myself, though I feel that I am 
 consuming my life. To prepare the honey I feed to unknown 
 crowds, I am doomed to brush the bloom from my dearest 
 flowers, to tear them from their stems, and trample the roots 
 that bore them under foot. Am I not a madman? Should 
 I not be treated by those who know me as one mentally 
 diseased? Yet it is always the same, same old story, till I 
 begin to think that all this praise and admiration must be a 
 deception, that I am being hoodwinked because they know 
 I am crazy, and I sometimes tremble lest I should be grabbed 
 from behind and whisked off to a lunatic asylum. The best 
 years of my youth were made one continual agony for me by 
 my writing. A young author, especially if at first he does 
 not make a success, feels clumsy, ill-at-ease, and superfluous 
 in the world. His nerves are all on edge and stretched to the 
 point of breaking; he is irresistibly attracted to literary and 
 artistic people, and hovers about them unknown and unno- 
 ticed, fearing to look them bravely in the eye, like a man with 
 
Acin THE SEA-GULL 187 
 
 a passion for gambling, whose money is all gone. I did not 
 know my readers, but for some reasom I imagined they were 
 distrustful and unfriendly; I was mortally afraid of the public, 
 and when my first play appeared, it seemed to me as if all the 
 dark eyes in the audience were looking at it with enmity, and 
 all the blue ones wit^ cold indifference. Oh, how terrible it 
 was! What agony! 'I 
 
 Nina. But don't your inspiration and the act of creation 
 give you monuents of lofty happiness? 
 
 Thigokin^ Yes. Writing is a pleasure to me, and so is 
 reading the proofs, but no sooner does a book leave the press ' 
 than it becomes odious to me; it is not what I meant it to be;/ 
 I made a mistake to write it at all; I am provoked and dis-j 
 couraged. Then the public reads it and says: "Yes, it is 
 clever and pretty, but not nearly as good as Tolstoi," or "It 
 is a lovely thing, but not as good as Turgenieff's 'Fathers and 
 Sons,'" and so it will always be. To my dying day I shall 
 hear people say: "Clever and pretty; clever and pretty," and 
 nothing more; and when I am gone, those that knew me will 
 say as they pass my grave: "Here lies Trigojan, a clever 
 writer, but he was not as good as TurgeniefF." I 
 
 Nina. You must excuse me, but I decline to understand 
 what you are talking about. The fact is, you have been 
 spoilt by your success. 
 
 Tbigorin. What success have I had? I have never pleased 
 myself; as a wmer, I do not like myself at all. The trouble/ 
 is that I am made giddy, as it were, by the fumes of my brain,; 
 and often hardly know what I am writing^ I love this lake, 
 these trees, the blue heaven; nature's voice speaks to me and 
 wakes a feeling of passion in my heart, and I am overcome 
 by an uncontrollable desire to write. But I am not only a 
 painter of landscapes, I am a man of the city besides. I love 
 my country, too, and her people; I feel that, as a writer, it is 
 
188 THE SEA-GULL act u 
 
 my duty to speak of their sorrows, of their future, also of 
 science, of the rights of man, and so forth. So I write on 
 every subject, and the public hounds me on all sides, some- 
 times in anger, and I race and dodge like a fox with a pack of 
 hounds on his trail. I see life and knowledge flitting away 
 before me. I am left behind them like a peasant who has 
 missed his train at a station, and finally I come back to the 
 conclusion that all I am fit for is to describe landscapes, and 
 that whatever else I attempt rings abominably false. 
 
 Nina. You work too hard to realise the importance of 
 your writings. What if you are discontented with yourself.'' 
 To others you appear a great and splendid man. If I were a 
 writer like you I should devote my whole life to the service 
 of the Russian people, knowing at the same time that their 
 welfare depended orl' their power to rise to the heights I had 
 attained, and the people should send me before them in a 
 chariot of triumph. 
 
 Teigohin. In a chariot.'' Do you think I am Agamemnon.' 
 
 {They both smile. 
 
 Nina. For the bliss of being a writer or an actress I could 
 endure want, and disillusionment, and the hatred of my 
 friends, and the pangs of my own dissatisfaction with my- 
 self; but I should demand in return fame, real, resounding 
 fame! [She covers her face vrith her hands] Whew! My head 
 reels! 
 
 The Voice op Abkadina. [From inside the house] Boris! 
 Boris! 
 
 Thigohin. She is calling me, probably to come and pack, 
 but I don't want to leave this place. [His eyes rest on the lake] 
 What a blessing such beauty is ! 
 
 Nina. Do you see that house there, on the far shore? 
 
 Trigobin. Yes. 
 
 Nina. That was my dead mother's home. I was born 
 
Acrn THE SEA-GULL 189 
 
 there, and have lived all my life beside this lake. I know 
 every little island in it. 
 
 Tkigorest. This is a beautiful place to live. [He catches 
 sight of the dead sea-gull] What is that.' 
 Nina. A gull. Constantine shot it. 
 
 Trigoein. What a lovely bird! Really, I can't bear to 
 go away. Can't you persuade Irina to stay? 
 
 [He writes something in his note-hook. 
 Nina. What are you writing? 
 
 Thigorin. Nothing much, only an idea that occurred to 
 me. {He puis the hook hack in his pocket] An idea for a short 
 story. A young girl grows up on the shores of a lake, as you 
 have. She loves the lake as the gulls do, and is as happy 
 and free as they. But a man see s her who chances to come '^ 
 tha t way, and he destroys h er out of idleness, as this gull ) 
 her e has been destroyed. ~' ' 
 
 [A Tpause. Arkadina appears at one of the windows. 
 Arkadina. Boris! Where are you? 
 Thigorin. I am coming this minute. 
 
 He goes toward the house, looking hack at Nina. Ar- 
 kadina remains at the window. 
 Thigorin. What do you want? 
 Arkadina. We are not going away, after all. 
 
 Thigorin goes into the house. Nina comes forward and 
 stands lost in thought. 
 Nina. It is a dream! 
 
 The curtain faUa. 
 
I\ 
 
 a 
 
 ^_Jh^ 
 
 ACT III 
 
 The dining-room of Sobin's house. Doors open out of it to the 
 right and left. A table stands in the centre of the room. 
 Trunks and boxes encumber the floor, and preparations for 
 departure are evident. Trigokin is sitting at a table eating 
 his breakfast, and Masha is standing beside him. 
 
 Masha. I am telling you all these things because you write 
 books and they may be useful to you. I tell you honestly, 
 I should not have lived another day if he had wounded himself 
 fatally. Yet I am courageous; I have decided to tear this 
 love of mine out of my heart by the roots. 
 
 Trigorin. How will you do it? 
 
 Masha. By marrying Medviedenko. 
 
 Trigoein. The school-teacher.? 
 
 Masha. Yes. 
 
 Trigorin. I don't see the necessity for that. 
 
 Masha. Oh, if you knew what it is to love without hope 
 for years and years, to wait for ever for something that will 
 nsver come! I shall not marry for love, but marriage will at 
 least be a change, and will bring new cares to deaden the 
 memories of the past. Shall we have another drink? 
 
 Trigorin. Haven't you had enough? 
 
 Masha. Fiddlesticks ! [She fills a glass] Don't look at me 
 with that expression on your face. Women drink oftener 
 than you imagine, but most of them do it in secret, and not 
 openly, as I do. They do indeed, and it is always either vodka 
 or brandy. [They touch glasses] To your good health! You 
 are so easy to get on with that I am sorry to see you go. 
 
 {They drink. 
 190 
 
Acrm THE SEA-GULL 191 
 
 Trigobin. And I am sorry to leave. 
 
 Masha. You should ask her to stay. 
 
 Trigobin. She would not do that now. Her son has been 
 behaving outrageously. First he attempted suicide, and now 
 I hear he is going to challenge me to a duel, though what his 
 provocation may be I can't imagine. He is always sulking 
 and sneering and preaching about a new form of art, as if the 
 field of art were not large enough to accommodate both old 
 and new without the necessity of jostling. 
 
 Masha. It is jealousy. However, that is none of my busi- 
 ness. [A pause. Jacob walks through the room carrying a 
 trunk; Nina comes in and stands by the loindow] That school- 
 teacher of mine is none too clever, but he is very good, poor 
 man, and he loves me dearly, and I am sorry for him. How- 
 ever, let me say good-bye and wish you a pleasant journey. 
 Remember me kindly in your thoughts. [She shakes hands 
 vyith him] Thanks for your goodwill. Send me your books, 
 and be sure to write something in them; nothing formal, but 
 simply this: "To Masha, who, forgetful of her origin, for 
 some unknown reason is living in this world." Good-bye. 
 
 [She goes out. 
 
 Nina. [Holding out her closed hand to Trigobin] Is it odd 
 or even? 
 
 Teigorin. Even. 
 
 Nina. [With a sigh] No, it is odd. I had only one pea in 
 my hand. I wanted to see whether I was to become an 
 actress or not. If only some one would advise me what to do! 
 
 Triqorin. One cannot give advice in a case like this. 
 
 [A pause. 
 
 Nina. We shall soon part, perhaps never to meet again. I 
 should like you to accept this little medallion as a remem- 
 brance of me. I have had your initials engraved on it, and 
 
192 THE SEA-GULL Acrm 
 
 on this side is the name of one of your books: "Days and 
 Nights." 
 
 Teigsobin. How sweet of you ! [He kisses the medallion] It 
 is a lovely present. 
 
 Nina. Think of me sometimes. 
 
 Tkigorin. I shall never forget you. I shall always remem- 
 ber you as I saw you that bright day — do you recall it?— a^ 
 weskago, when you wore your light dress, and we talked to- 
 getner, and the white sea-gull lay on the bench beside us. 
 
 Nina. [Lost in thought] Yes, the sea-gull. [A paiise] I beg 
 
 you to let me see you alone for two minutes before you go. 
 
 She goes out to the left. At the same moment Arkadina 
 
 comes in from the right, followed by Sorin in a long 
 
 coat, with his orders on his breast, and by Jacob, who 
 
 \ is busy packing. 
 
 Arkadina. Stay here at home, you poor old man. How 
 could you pay visits with that rheumatism of yours? [To 
 Trigorin] Who left the room just now, was it Nina? 
 
 Trigorin. Yes. 
 
 Arkadina. I beg your pardon; I am afraid we interrupted 
 you. [She sits doion] I think everything is packed. I am 
 absolutely exhausted. 
 
 Trigorin. [Reading the inscription on the medallion] "Days 
 and Nights, page 121, lines 11 and 12." 
 
 Jacob. [Clearing the table] Shall I pack your fishing-rods, 
 too, sir? 
 
 Trigorin. Yes, I shall need them, but you can give my 
 books away. 
 
 Jacob. Very well, sir. 
 
 Trigorin. [To himself] Page 121, lines 11 and 12, [To 
 Arkadina] Have we my books here in the house? 
 
 Arkadina. Yes, they are in my brother's library, in the 
 corner cupboard. 
 
ACTm THE SEA-GULL 193 
 
 Trigokin. Page 121 — [He goes out. 
 
 SoRiN. You are going away, and I shall be lonely without 
 you. 
 
 Akkadina. What would you do in town? 
 
 SoBiN. Oh, nothing in particular, but somehow — [He 
 laughs] They are soon to lay the corner-stone of the new 
 court-house here. How I should like to leap out of this 
 minnow-pond, if but for an hour or two ! I am tired of lying 
 here like an old cigarette stump. I have ordered the carriage 
 for one o'clock. We can go away together. 
 
 Arkadina. [After a pause] No, you must stay here. Don't 
 be lonely, and don't catch cold. Keep an eye on my boy. 
 Take good care of him; guide him along the proper paths. 
 [A pause] I am going away, and so shall never find out why 
 Constantine shot himself, but I think the chief reason was 
 jealousy, and the sooner I take Trigorin away, the better 
 
 SoRiN. There were — how shall I explain it to you? — other 
 reasons besides jealousy for his act. Here is ajJfijjgjLyoung 
 chap living in the depths of the country, without money or 
 position, with no f jj ij ^ure a,hea d of him, and with nothing to do. 
 He is ashamed and afraid of being so idle. I am devoted to 
 him and he is fond of me, but nevertheless he feels that he is 
 useless here, that he is little more than a dependent in this 
 house. Jt is the pride in him . 
 
 Arkadina. He is a misery to me! [Thoughtfully] He might 
 possibly enter the army. 
 
 SoBiN. [Gives a whistle, and then speaks wUh hesitation] It 
 seems to me that the beSt thing for him would be if you were 
 to let him have a little money. For one thing, he ought to 
 be allowed to dress like a human being. See how he looks! 
 Wearing the same little old coat that he has had for three 
 years, and he doesn't even possess an overcoat! [Laughing] 
 And it wouldn't hurt the youngster to sow a few wild 
 
194 T H E S E A - G U L L act m 
 
 oats; let him go abroad, say, for a time. It wouldn't cost 
 much. 
 
 Ahkadina. Yes, but — However, I think I might manage 
 about his clothes, but I couldn't let him go abroad. And no, 
 I don't think I can let him have his clothes even, now. [De- 
 cidedly] I have nomonevjit presen t. 
 SokiN laughs. 
 
 Arkadina. I haven't indeed. 
 
 SoKiN. [Whistles] Very well. Forgive' me, darling; don't 
 be angry. You are a noble, generous woman! 
 
 Ai3.KAT>iNA.\[Weeping] I really haven't the money. 
 
 SoRiN. If I pad any money of course I should let him have 
 some myself, but I haven't even a penny. The farm manager 
 takes my pension from me and puts it all into the farm or into 
 cattle or bees, and in that way it is always lost for ever. The 
 bees die, the cows die, they never let me have a horse. 
 
 Ahkadina. Of course I have some money, but I am an 
 actress and my expenses for dress alone are enough to bank- 
 rupt me. 
 
 SoRiN. You are a dear, and I am very fond of you, indeed 
 I am. But something is the matter with me again. [He 
 staggers] I feel giddy. [He leans against the tahU] I feel faint, 
 and all. 
 
 Arkadina. [Fn'gtewe<^ JPete r ! [She tries to support him] 
 Peter! dearest! [She calh]"^^ Help! 
 
 Treplieff and Medviedenko come in; Treplieff 
 has a bandage around his head. 
 
 Arkadina. He is fainting! 
 
 SoRiN. I am all right. [He smiles and drinks some water] 
 It is all over now. 
 
 Treplieff. [To his mother] Don't be frightened, mother, 
 these attacks are not dangerous; my uncle often has them 
 now. [To his uncle] You must go and lie down. Uncle. 
 
ACTin THE SEA-GULL 195 
 
 SoRiN. Yes, I think I shall, for a few minutes. I am going 
 to Moscow all the same, but I shall lie down a bit before I 
 start. [He goes out leaning on his cane. 
 
 Medviedenko. [Giving him his arm] Do you know this 
 riddle? On four legs in the morning; on two legs at noon; 
 and on three legs in the evening? 
 
 SoBiN. [Laughing] Yes, exactly, and on one's back at 
 night. Thank you, I can walk alone. 
 
 Medviedenko. Dear me, what formality! 
 ! \ ,. M_J'"— ' [He and &asm go Old. 
 
 Arkadina. He gave me a dreadful fright. 
 
 Teepliefp. It is not good for him to live in the country. 
 Mother, if you would only untie your purse-strings for once, 
 and lend him a thousand roubles! He could then spend a 
 whole year in town. 
 
 Arkadina. I have no money. I am an actress and not 
 a banker. [A pause. 
 
 Trepliepf. Please change my bandage for me, mother, 
 you do it so gently. 
 
 Arkadina goes to the cupboard and takes out a box of 
 bandages and a bottle of iodoform. 
 
 Arkadina. The doctor is late. 
 
 Theplieff. Yes, he promised to be here at nine, and now 
 it is noon already. 
 
 Arkadina. Sit down. [She takes the bandage off his head] 
 You look as if you had a turban on. A stranger that was in 
 the kitchen yesterday asked to what nationality you belonged. 
 Your wound is almost healed. [She kisses his head] You won't 
 be up to any more of these silly tricks again, will you, when 
 I am gone? 
 
 Tbepueff. No, mother. I did that in a moment of insane 
 despair, when I had lost all control over myself. It will never 
 happen again. [He kisses her hand] Your touch is golden. I 
 
196 THE SEA-GULL act in 
 
 remember when you were still acting at the State Theatre, 
 long ago, when I was still a little chap, there was a fight one 
 day in our court, and a poor washerwoman was almost beaten 
 to death. She was picked up unconscious, and you nursed 
 her till she was well, and bathed her children in the washtubs. 
 Have you forgotten it? 
 
 Abkadina. Yes, entirely. [She puts on a new bandage. 
 
 Treplieff. Two ballet dancers lived in the same house, 
 and they used to come and drink coffee with you. 
 
 Aekadina. I remember that. 
 
 Tebplieff. They were very pious. [A pause] I love you 
 again, these last few days, as tenderly and trustingly as I did 
 as a child. I have no one left me now but you. Why, why 
 do you let yourself be controlled by that man? 
 
 Abkadina. You don't understand him, Constantine. He 
 has a wonderfully noble personality. 
 
 Tbeplieff. Nevertheless, when he has been told that I 
 wish to challenge him to a duel his nobility does not prevent 
 him from playing the coward. He is about to beat an igno- 
 minious retreat. 
 
 Abkadina. What nonsense! I have asked him myself 
 to go. 
 
 Tbeplieff. A noble personality indeed! Here we are 
 almost quarrelling over him, and he is probably in the garden 
 laughing at us at this very moment, or else enlightening Nina's 
 mind and trying to persuade her into thinking him a man of 
 genius. 
 
 Abkadina. You enjoy saying unpleasant things to me. I 
 have the greatest respect for that man, and I must ask you 
 not to speak ill of him in my presence. 
 
 Tbeplieff. I have no respect for him at all. You want 
 me to think him a genius, as you do, but I refuse to lie: his 
 books make me sick. 
 
ACT in THE SEA-GULL 197 
 
 Ahkadina. You envy him. There is nothing left for peo- 
 ple with no talent and mighty pretensions to do but to criti- 
 cise those who are really gifted. I hope you enjoy the con- 
 solation it brings. 
 
 Theplieff. [With irony] Those who are really gifted, in- 
 deed! [Angrily] I am cleverer than any of you, if it comes to 
 that! [He tears the bandage off his head] You are the slaves of 
 convention, you have seized the upper hand and now lay 
 down as law everything that you do; all else you strangle and 
 trample on. I refuse to accept your point of view, yours and 
 his, I refuse! i 
 
 Arkadina. That is the talk of a decadent. 
 
 Trepliefp. Go back to your beloved stage and act the 
 miserable ditch-water plays you so much admire! 
 
 Arkadina. I never acted in a play like that in my life. 
 You couldn't write even the trashiest music-hall farce, you 
 idle good-for-nothing! 
 
 Trepuepp. Miser! 
 
 Arkadesta. Rag-bag! 
 
 Trepliefp sits dovm and begins to cry softly. 
 
 Arkadina. {Walking up and dovm in great excitement] Don't 
 cry! You mustn't cry! [She bursts into tears] You really 
 mustn't. [She kisses his forehead, his cheeks, his head] My 
 darling chUd, forgive me. Forgive your wicked mother. 
 
 Trepliefp. [Embracing her] Oh, if you could only know 
 what it is to have lost everything under heaven! She does 
 not love me. I see I shall never be able to write. Every hope 
 has deserted me. 
 
 Arkadina. Don't despair. This will all pass. He is going 
 away to-day, and she will love you once more. [She wipes 
 away his tears] Stop crying. We have made peace again. 
 
 Trepliefp. [Kissing her hand] Yes, mother. 
 
198 THE SEA-GULL Acrin 
 
 Abkadina. [Tenderly] Make your peace with him, too. 
 Don't fight with him. You surely won't fight.'' 
 
 Thepueff. I won't, but you must not insist on my seeing 
 him agaia, mother, I couldn't stand it. [Tbigorin comes in] 
 There he is; I am going. [He quickly puts the medicines away 
 in the cupboard] The doctor will attend to my head 
 
 Thigorin. [Looking through the pages of a book] Page 121, 
 lines 11 and 12; here it is. [He reads] "If at any time you 
 should have need of my life, come and take it." 
 
 Treplieff picks up the bandage off the floor and goes out. 
 
 Abkadina. [Looking at her watch] The carriage will soon 
 be here. 
 
 Tbigorin. [To himself] If at any time you should have 
 need of my life, come and take it. 
 
 Abkadina. I hope your things are all packed. 
 
 Trigoein. [Impatiently] Yes, yes. [In deep thought] Why 
 do I hear a note of sadness that wrings my heart in this cry 
 of a pure soul? If at any time you should have need of my 
 life, come and take it. [To Arkadina] Let us stay here one 
 more day! 
 
 Abkadina shakes her head. 
 
 Trigorin. Do let us stay! 
 
 Abkadina. I know, dearest, what keeps you here, but you 
 must control yourself. Be sober; your emotions have intoxi- 
 cated you a little. 
 
 Tbigobin. You must be sober, too. Be sensible; look upon 
 what has happened as a true friend would. [Taking her hand] 
 You are capable of self-sacrifice. Be a friend to me and re- 
 lease me! 
 
 Abkadina. [In deep excitement] Are you so much in love? 
 
 Tbigobin. I am irresistibly impelled toward her. It may 
 be that this is just what I need. 
 
ACT in THE SEA-GULL 199 
 
 Akkadina. What, the love of a country girl? Oh, how 
 little you know yourself! 
 
 Trigorin. People sometimes walk in their sleep, and so 
 I feel as if I were asleep, and dreaming of her as I stand here 
 talking to you. My imagination is shaken by the sweetest 
 and most glorious visions. Release me! 
 
 Ahkadina. [Shvddering] No, no! I am only an ordinary 
 woman; you must not say such things to me. Do not tor- 
 ment me, Boris; you frighten me. 
 
 Trigorin. You could be an extraordinary woman if you 
 only would. Love alone can bring happiness on earth, love 
 the enchanting, the poetical love of youth, that sweeps away 
 the sorrows of the world. I had no time for it when I was 
 young and struggling with want and laying siege to the liter- 
 ary fortress, but now at last this love has come to me. I see 
 it beckoning; why should I fly? 
 
 Abkadina. [With anger] You are mad! 
 
 Trigorin. Release me. 
 
 Abkadina. You have all conspired together to torture 
 me to-day. [She weeps. 
 
 Trigorin. [Clutching his head desperately] She doesn't un- 
 derstand me! She won't understand me! 
 
 Abkadina. Am I then so old and ugly already that you can 
 talk to me like this without any shame about another woman? 
 [She embraces and kisses him] Oh, you have lost your senses ! 
 My splendid, my glorious friend, my love for you is the last 
 chapter of my life. [She falls on her knees] You are my pride, 
 my joy, my light. [She embraces his knees] I could never en- 
 dure it should you desert me, if only for an hour; I should go 
 mad. Oh, my wonder, my marvel, my king! 
 
 Trigorin. Some one might come in. [He helps her to rise. 
 
 Abkadina. Let them come! I am not ashamed of my love. 
 [She kisses his hands] My jewel! My despair! You want 
 
200 THE SEA-GULL Acrni 
 
 to do a foolish thing, but I don't want you to do it. I shan't 
 let you do it! [She laughs] You are mine, you are mine! This 
 forehead is mine, these eyes are mine, this silky hair is mine. 
 All your being is mine. You are so clever, so wise, the first 
 of all living writers; you are the only hope of your country. 
 You are so fresh, so simple, so deeply humourous. You can 
 bring out every feature of a man or of a landscape in a single 
 line, and your characters live and breathe. Do you think 
 that these words are but the incense of flattery.? Do you 
 think I am not speaking the truth? Come, look into my eyes ; 
 look deep; do you find lies there.? No, you see that I alone 
 know how to treasure you. I alone tell you the truth. Oh, 
 my very dear, you will go with me? You will.'' You will not 
 forsake me? 
 
 Tbiqohin. I have no will of my own; I never had. I am 
 too indolent, too submissive, too phlegmatic, to have any. 
 Is it possible that women like that.? Take me. Take me 
 away with you, but do not let me stir a step from your side. 
 
 Aekadina. [To herself] Now he is mine! [Carelessly, as if 
 nothing unusual had happened] Of course you must stay here 
 if you really want to. I shall go, and you can follow in a 
 week's time. Yes, really, why should you hurry away.? 
 
 Trigohin. Let us go together. 
 
 Akkadina. As you like. Let us go together then. [A pause. 
 Tbigokin writes something in his note-book] What are you 
 writing? 
 
 Trigorin. a happy expression I heard this morning: "A 
 grove oLmajdenpineaJ.' It may be useful. [He yavms] So 
 we are really off again, condemned once more to railway car- 
 riages, to stations and restaurants, to Hamburger steaks and 
 endless arguments! 
 
 Shamraeff comes in. 
 
 Shamhaeff. I am sorry to have to inform you that your 
 
ACTjra, THE SEA-GULL 201 
 
 carriage is at the door. It is time to start, honoured madam, 
 the train leaves at two-five. Would you be kind enough, 
 madam, to remember to inquire for me where Suzdaltzeff 
 the actor is now? Is he still alive, I wonder? Is he well? 
 He and I have had many a jolly time together. He was in- 
 imitable in "The Stolen Mail." A tragedian called Izmailoff 
 was in the same company, I remember, who was also quite 
 remarkable. Don't hurry, madam, you still have five min- 
 utes. They were both of them conspirators once, in the same 
 melodrama, and one night when in the course of the play they 
 were suddenly discovered, instead of saying "We have been 
 trapped!" IzmailofiF cried out: "We have been rapped!" [He 
 laughs] Rapped! 
 
 While he has been talking Jacob has been busy with the 
 trunks, and the maid has brought Abkadina her hat, 
 coat, parasol, and gloves. The cook looks hesitatingly 
 through the door on the right, and finally comes into 
 the room. Pauuna comes in. Medviedenko comes 
 in. 
 Paulina. [Presenting Abkadina toith a little basket] Here 
 are some plums for the journey. They are very sweet ones. 
 You may want to nibble something good on the way. 
 Abkadina. You are very kind, Paulina. 
 Paulina. Good-bye, my dearie. If things have not been 
 quite as you could have wished, please forgive us. 
 
 [She weeps. 
 Abkadina. It has been delightful, delightful. You mustn't 
 cry. 
 
 SoBiN comes in through the door on the left, dressed in 
 
 a long coat with a cape, and carrying his hat and cane. 
 
 He crosses the room. 
 
 SoEiN. Come, sister, it is time to start, unless you want to 
 
 miss the train. I am going to get into the carriage. [He goes out. 
 
^ 
 
 202 THE SEA-GULL acthi 
 
 Medviedenko. I shall walk quickly to the station and see 
 you ofP there. [He goes out. 
 
 Arkadina. Good-bye, all! We shall meet again next sum- 
 mer if we live. [The maid, servant, Jacob, and the cook kiss her 
 hand] Don't forget me. [She gives the cook a rouble] There is 
 a rouble for all three of you. 
 
 The Cook. Thank you, mistress; a pleasant journey to 
 you. 
 
 Jacob. God bless you, mistress. 
 
 Shamhaeff. Send us a line to cheer us up. [To Thigoein] 
 Good-bye, sir. 
 
 Arkadina. Where is Constantine.? Tell him I am start- 
 y ing. I must say good-bye to hini. [To Jacob] Igavethecook 
 a rouble for all three of you. 
 £)jij All go Old through the door on the right. The stage re- 
 mains empty. Sounds of farewell are heard. The 
 maid comes running back to fetch the basket of plums 
 which has been forgotten. Trigorin comss back. 
 
 Trigobin. I had forgotten my cane. I think I left it 
 on the terrace. [He goes toward the door on the right and meets 
 Nina, who comes in at thai moment] Is that you? We are off. 
 
 Nina. I knew we should meet again. [With emotion] I have 
 come to an irrevocable decision, the die is cast: I am going on 
 the stage. I am deserting my father and abandoning every- 
 thing. I am beginning life anew. I'am going, as you are, to 
 Moscow. We shall meet there. 
 
 Trigorin. [Glancing about him] Go to the Hotel Slavianski 
 Bazar. Let me know as soon as you get there. I shall be at 
 the Grosholski House in Moltchanofka Street. I must go 
 now. [A pause. 
 
 Nina. Just one more minute! 
 
 Trigorin. [In a low voice] You are so beautiful! What 
 
ACTui THE SEA-GULL 203 
 
 bliss to think that I shall see you again so soon ! [She sinks 
 on his breast] I shall see those glorious eyes again, that won- 
 derful, ineffably tender smile, those gentle features with their 
 expression of angelic purity ! My darling ! [A prolonged kiss. 
 
 The curtain falls. 
 
 Two years elapse betioeen the third and fourth aet*. 
 
'' 
 /-'' 
 
 'r.h^ 
 
 f^ 
 
 ACT IV 
 
 A sitting-room, in Sorin's house, which has been converted into 
 a writing-room for Tebplieff. To the right and left are 
 doors leading into inner rooms, and in the centre is a glass 
 door opening onto a terrace. Besides the usual furniture 
 of a sitting-room there is a writing-desk in the right-hand 
 corner of the room. There is a Turkish divan near the door 
 on the left, and shelves full of books stand against the walls. 
 Books are lying scattered about on the window-sills and 
 chairs. It is evening. The room is dimly lighted by a 
 shaded lamp on a table. The vnnd moans in the tree tops 
 and whistles down the chimney. The watchman in the 
 garden is heard sounding his rattle. Medviedenko and 
 Masha come in. . 
 
 Masha. {Calling Teepueff] Mr. Constantine, where are 
 you? [Looking about her] There is no one here. His old uncle 
 is forever asking for Constantine, and can't live without him 
 for an instant. 
 
 Medviedenko. He dreads being left alone. [Listening to 
 the wind] This is a wild night. We have had this storm for 
 two days. 
 
 Masha. [Turning up the lamp] The waves on the lake are 
 enormous. 
 
 Medviedenko. It is very dark in the garden. Do you 
 know, I think that old theatre ought to be knocked down. 
 It is still standing there, naked and hideous as a skeleton, 
 with the curtain flapping in the wind. I thought I heard a 
 voice weeping in it as I passed there last night. 
 
 204 
 
ACT IV THE SEA-GULL 205 
 
 Masha. What an idea! [A pause. 
 
 Medviedenko. Come home with me, Masha. 
 Masha. {Shaking her head] I shall spend the night here. 
 Medviedenko. {Imploringly] Do come, Masha. The baby 
 must be hungry. 
 
 Masha. Nonsense, Matriona will feed it. [A pause. 
 
 Medviedenko. It is a pity to leave him three nights with- 
 out his mother. 
 
 Masha. You are getting too tiresome. You used some- 
 times to talk of other things besides home and the baby, 
 home and the baby. That is all I ever hear from you now. 
 Medviedenko. Come home, Masha. 
 Masha. You can go home if you want to. 
 Medviedenko. Your father won't give me a horse. 
 Masha. Yes, he will; ask him. 
 
 Medviedenko. I think I shall. Are you coming home 
 to-morrow? 
 Masha. Yes, yes, to-morrow. 
 
 She takes snuff. Treplieff and Pauuna come in. 
 Thbplieff is carrying some pillows and a blanket, and 
 Paulina is carrying sheets and pillow cases. They 
 lay them on the divan, and Treplieff goes and sits 
 down at his desk. 
 Masha. Who is that for, mother? 
 
 Paulina. Mr. Sorin asked to sleep in Constantine's room 
 to-night. 
 
 Masha. Let me make the bed. 
 
 She makes the bed. Paulina goes up to the desk and 
 looks at the manuscripts lying on it. [A pause. 
 
 Medviedenko. Well, I am going. Good-bye, Masha. 
 [He kisses his wife's hand] Good-bye, mother. 
 
 {He tries to kiss his mother-in-law's hand. 
 
206 T H E S E A - G U L L act iv 
 
 Paulina. [Crossly] Be oflF, in God's name! 
 
 Trbplieff shakes hands with him in silence, and Med- 
 viEDENKO goes out. 
 Paulina. [Looking at the mamiscripts] No one ever dreamed, 
 Constantine, that you would one day turn into a real author. 
 The magazines pay you well for your stories. [She strokes his 
 Jiair.] You have grown handsome, too. Dear, kind Constan- 
 tine, be a little nicer to my Masha. 
 
 Masha. [StUl making the bed] Leave him alone, mother. 
 Paulina. She is a sweet child. [A ■pause] A woman, Con- 
 stantine, asks only for kind looks. I know that from ex- 
 perience. 
 
 Teepliepf gets up from his desk and goes out without 
 a word. 
 Masha. There now! You have vexed him. I told you 
 not to bother him. 
 
 Paulina. I am sorry for you, Masha. 
 Masha. Much I need your pity ! 
 
 Paulina. My heart aches for you. I see how things are, 
 and understand. 
 
 Masha. You see what doesn't exist. Hopeless love is only 
 found in novels. It is a trifle; all one has to do is to keep a 
 tight rein on oneself, and keep one's head clear. Love must 
 be plucked out the moment it springs up in the heart. My 
 husband has been promised a school in another district, and 
 when we have once left this place I shall forget it all. I shall 
 tear my passion out by the roots. 
 
 [The notes of a melancholy waltz are heard in the dis- 
 tance. 
 Paulina. Constantine is playing. That means he is sad. 
 
 Masha silently waltzes a few turns to the music. 
 Masha. The great thing, mother, is not to have him con- 
 
ACT IV THE SEA-GULL 207 
 
 tinually in sight. If my Simon could only get his remove I 
 should forget it all in a month or two. It is a trifle. 
 
 DoBN and Medviedenko come in through the door on 
 the left, wheeling Sorin in an arm-chair. 
 
 Medviedenko. I have six mouths to feed now, and flour 
 is at seventy kopecks. 
 
 DoKN. A hard riddle to solve! 
 
 Medviedenko. It is easy for you to make light of it. You 
 are rich enough to scatter money to your chickens, if you 
 waisj^. 
 "* DoKN. \You think I am rich? My friend, after practising 
 for thirty years, during which I could not call my soul my 
 own for one minute of the night or day, I succeeded at last in 
 scraping together one thousand roubles, all of which went, not 
 long ago, in a trip which I took abroad. I haven't a penny. 
 
 Masha. [To her husband] So you didn't gp home after all? 
 
 Medviedenko. [Apologetically] How can I go home when 
 they won't give me a horse? 
 
 Masha. [Under her breath, with bitter anger] Would I might 
 never see your face again ! 
 
 Sorin in his chair is wheeled to the left-hand side of the 
 room. Paulina, Masha, and Dorn sit down beside 
 him. Medviedenko stands sadly aside. 
 
 Dorn. What a lot of changes you have made here! You 
 have turned this sitting-room into a library. 
 
 Masha. Constantine likes to work in this room, because 
 from it he can step out into the garden to meditate whenever 
 he feels like it. [The watchman's rattle is heard. 
 
 Sorest. Where is my sister? 
 
 Dorn. She has gone to the station to meet Trigorin. She 
 will soon be back. 
 
 SoRTN. I must be dangerously ill if you had to send for my 
 sister. [He falls silent for a mmnent] A nice business this is! 
 
208 THE SEA-GULL act iv 
 
 Here I am dangerously ill, and you won't even give me any 
 medicine. 
 
 DoBN. What shall I prescribe for you? Camomile tea? 
 Soda? Quinine? 
 
 SoBiN. Don't inflict any of your discussions on me again. 
 [He nods toward the sofa] Is that bed for me? 
 
 Pauijna. Yes, for you, sir. 
 
 SoRiN. Thank you. 
 
 DoBN. [Sings] "The moon swims in the sky to-night." 
 
 SoBiN. I am going to give Constantine an idea for a story. 
 It shall be called "The Man Who Wished — L' Homme qui 
 a voulu." When I was young, I wished to become an author; 
 I failed. I wished to be an orator; I speak abominably, 
 [Exciting himself] with my eternal "and all, and all," drag- 
 ging each sentence on and on until I sometimes break out 
 into a sweat all over. I wished to marry, and I didn't; I 
 wished to live in the city, and here I am ending my days in 
 the country, and all. 
 
 DoEN. You wished to become State Councillor, and — you 
 are one! 
 
 SoRiN. [Laughing] I didn't try for that, it came of its own 
 accord. 
 
 DoEN. Come, you must admit that it is petty to cavil at 
 life at sixty-two years of age. 
 
 SoEnf. You are pig-headed! Can't you see I want to live? 
 
 DoBN. That is futile. Nature has commanded that every 
 life shall come to an end. 
 
 SoElN. You speak like a man who is satiated with life. 
 Your thirst for it is quenched, and so you are calm and in- 
 different, but even you dread death. 
 
 DoEN. The fear of death is an animal passion which must 
 be overcome. Only those who believe in a future life and 
 tremble for sins committed, can logically fear death; but you. 
 
ACTiT THE SEA-GULL 209 
 
 for one thing, don't believe in a future life, and for another, 
 you haven't committed any sins. You have served as a, 
 Councillor for twenty-five years, that is all. 
 
 SoRiN. [Laughing] Twenty-eight years ! 
 ^ Treplieff comes in and sits dovm on a stool at SoRm's 
 
 i feet. M.A.SB.A. fixes her eyes on his face and never once 
 
 — , tears them away. 
 
 "^DoRN. We are keeping Constantine from his work. — 
 
 Treplieff. No matter. [A pause. 
 
 Medviedenko. Of all the cities you visited when you were 
 abroad. Doctor, which one did you like the best? 
 
 DoRN. Genoa. 
 
 Treplieff. Why Genoa? 
 
 DoRN. Because there is such a splendid crowd in its streets. 
 When you leave the hotel in the evening, and throw yourself 
 into the heart of that throng, and move with it without aim 
 or object, swept along, hither and thither, their life seems to 
 be yours, their soul flows into you, and you begin to believe at 
 last in a great world spirit, like the one in your play that Nina 
 Zarietchnaya acted. By the way, where is Nina now? Is sha 
 well? 
 
 Treplieff. I believe so. 
 
 DoRN. I hear she has led rather a strange life; what hap- 
 pened? 
 
 Trepuefp. It is a long story. Doctor. 
 
 DoBN. Tell it shortly. [A pause. 
 
 Treplieff. She ran away from home and joined Trigorin; 
 you know that? 
 
 DoRN. Yes. 
 
 Treplieff. She had a child that died. Trigorin soon tired 
 of her and returned to his former ties, as might have been 
 expected. He had never broken them, indeed, but out of 
 weakness of character had always vacillated between the 
 
210 THE SEA-GULL activ 
 
 two. As far as I can make out from what I have heard, 
 Nina's domestic life has not been altogether a success. 
 
 DoRN. What about her acting? 
 
 Trepueff. I believe she made an even worse failure of 
 that. She made her debut on the stage of the Summer 
 Theatre in Moscow, and afterward made a tour of the country 
 towns. At that time I never let her out of my sight, and 
 wherever she went I followed. She always attempted greab 
 and diflScult parts, but her delivery was harsh and monoto- 
 nous, and her gestures heavy and crude. She shrieked and 
 died well at times, but those were but moments. 
 
 DoRN. Then she really has a talent for acting.? 
 
 Treplieff. I never could make out. I believe she has. 
 I saw her, but she refused to see me, and her servant would 
 never admit me to her rooms. I appreciated her feelings, 
 and did not insist upon a meeting. [A pause] What more can 
 I tell you.' She sometimes writes to me now that I h^ve come 
 home, such clever, sympathetic letters, full of warm feeling. 
 She never complains, but I can tell that she is profoundly un- 
 happy; not a line but speaks to me of an aching, breaking nerve. 
 She has one strange fancy; she always signs herself "The 
 Sea-gull." The mUler in "Rusalka" called himself "The 
 Crow," and so she repeats in all her letters that she is a sea- 
 gull. She is here now. 
 
 DoHN. What do you mean by "here?" 
 
 Treplieff. In the village, at the inn. She has been there 
 for five days. I should have gone to see her, but Masha here 
 went, and she refuses to see any onel Some one told me 
 she had been seen wandering in the fields a mile from here 
 yesterday evening. 
 
 Medviedenko. Yes, I saw her. She was walking away 
 from here in the direction of the village. I asked her why 
 she had not been to see us. She said she would come. 
 
ACT IV THE SEA-GULL 211 
 
 Treplieff. But she won't. [A pause] Her father and step- 
 mother have disowned her. They have even put watchmen 
 all around their estate to keep her away. [He goes with the 
 doctor toward the desk] How easy it is. Doctor, to be a philos- 
 opher on paper, and how difficult in real life! 
 
 SoHiN. She was a beautiful girl. Even the State Council- 
 lor himself was in love with her for a time. 
 DoHN. You old Lovelace, you! 
 
 Shamraeff's laugh is heard. 
 Paulina. They are coming back from the station. 
 li/'^-\ T re plieff. Yes, I hear my mother's voic,g._^ — ■ 
 
 Arkadina and Trigorin coTne in, followed by Sham- 
 
 RAEFF. 
 
 Shamraeff. We all grow old and wither, my lady, while 
 you alone, with your light dress, your gay spirits, and your 
 grace, keep the secret of eternal youth. 
 
 Arkadina. You are still trying to turn my head, you tire- 
 some old man. 
 
 Trigorin. [To Sorin] How do you do, Peter? What, still 
 ill.' How silly of you! [With evident pleasure, as he catches 
 sight of Masha] How are you, Miss Masha? 
 
 Masha. So you recognised me? [She shakes hands with 
 him. 
 
 Trigorin. Did you marry him? 
 
 Masha. Long ago. 
 
 Trigorin. You are happy now? [He bows to Dorn and 
 Medviedenko, and then goes hesitatingly toward Treplieff] 
 Your mother says you have forgotten the past and are no 
 longer angry with me. 
 
 Treplieff gives him his hand. 
 
 Arkadina. [To her son] Here is a magazine that Boris has 
 brought you with your latest story in it. 
 
212 THE SEA-GULL activ 
 
 Tbeplieff. [To Tkigobin, as he takes the magazine] Many 
 thanks; you are very kind. 
 
 Trigorin. Your admirers all send you their regards. 
 Every one in Moscow and St. Petersburg is interested in you, 
 and all ply me with questions about you. They ask me what 
 you look like, how old you are, whether you are fair or dark. 
 For some reason they all think that you are no longer young, 
 and no one knows who you are, as you always write under an 
 assumed name. You are as great a mystery as the Man in 
 the Iron Mask. 
 
 Trepliepf. Do you expect to be here long? 
 Trigorin. No, I must go back to Moscow to-morrow. I 
 am finishing another novel, and have promised something to 
 a magazine besides. In fact, it is the same old business. 
 
 During their conversation Arkadina and Paulina have 
 put up a card-table in the centre of the room; Sham- 
 RAEFF lights the candles and arranges the chairs, then 
 fetches a box of lotto from the cupboard. 
 
 Trigorin. The weather has given me a rough welcome. 
 The wind is frightful. If it goes down by morning I shall go 
 fishing in the lake, and shall have a look at the garden and 
 the spot — do you remember.'' — where your play was given. 
 I remember the piece very well, but should like to see again 
 where the scene was laid. 
 
 Masha. [To her father] Father, do please let my husband 
 have a horse^ He ought to go home. 
 
 Shamraepf. [Angrily] A horse to go home with! [Sternly] 
 You know the horses have just been to the station. I can't 
 send them out again. 
 
 Masha. But there are other horses. [Seeing that her father 
 remains silent] You are impossible! 
 
 Medviedenko. I shall go on foot, Masha. 
 
ACT IV THE SEA-GULL 213 
 
 Paulina. [With a sigh] On foot in this weather? [She takes 
 a seat at the card-table] Shall we begin? 
 
 Medviedenko. It is only six miles. Good-bye. [He kisses 
 his loife's hand] Good-bye, mother. [His mother-in-law gives 
 him her hand uniDillingly] I should not have troubled you 
 all, but the baby — [He bows to every one] Good-bye. 
 
 [He goes out with an apologetic air. 
 Shamraeff. He will get there all right, he is not a major- 
 general. 
 
 Paulina. Come, let us begin. Don't let us waste time, 
 we shall soon be called to supper. 
 
 Shamraeff, Masha, and Dohn sit down at the card- 
 table. 
 Abkadina. [To Tbigorin] When the long autumn even- 
 ings descend on us we while away the time here by plajdng 
 lotto. Look at this old set; we used it when our mother 
 played with us as children. Don't you want to take a hand 
 in the game with us until supper time? [She and Tbigorin sit 
 dovm at the table] It is a monotonous game, but it is all right 
 when one gets used to it. 
 
 [She deals three cards to each oj the players. 
 Tbeplieff. [Looking through the pages of the magazine] He 
 has read his own story, and hasn't even cut the pages of mine. 
 He lays the magazine on his desk and goes toward the door 
 on the right, stopping as he passes his mother to give her 
 a kiss. 
 Arkadina. Won't you play, Constantine? 
 Tbeplieff. No, excuse me please, I don't feel like it. I am 
 going to take a turn through the rooms. [He goes out. 
 
 Masha. Are you all ready? I shall begin: twenty-two. 
 Arkadina. Here it is. - ,- 
 
 Masha. Three. -> - 
 
 DoBN. Right. 
 
214 THE SEA-GULL act iv 
 
 Masha. Have you put down three? Eight. Eigbty-one. 
 Ten. 
 
 Shamraeff. Don't go so fast. 
 
 Akkadina. Could you believe it.? I am still dazed by the 
 reception they gave me in Kharkoff. 
 
 , Masha. Thirty-four. 
 
 [The notes of a melancholy waltz are heard. 
 
 Arkadina. The students gave me an ovation; they sent 
 me three baskets of flowers, a wreath, and this thing here. 
 
 She unclasps a brooch from her breast and lays it on 
 the table. 
 
 Shamraeff. There is something worth while! 
 
 Masha. Fifty. 
 
 DoRN. Fifty, did you say.' 
 
 Arkadina. I wore a perfectly magnificent dress; I am. no 
 fool when it comes to clothes. 
 
 Paulina. Constantine is playing again; the poor boy is sad. 
 
 Shamraeff. He has been severely criticised in the papers. 
 — Masha. Seventy-seven. 
 
 Arkadina. They want to attract attention to him. 
 
 Trigorin. He doesn't seem able to make a success, he 
 can't somehow strike the right note. There is an odd vague- 
 ness about his writings that sometimes verges on delirium. 
 He has never created a single living character. 
 ^-.^Masha. Eleven. 
 
 Arkadina. Are you bored, Peter.? [A pause] He is asleep. 
 
 DoRN. The Councillor is taking a nap. 
 
 Masha. Seven. Ninety. 
 
 Trigorin. Do you think I should write if I lived in such a 
 place as this, on the shore of this lake? Never! I should 
 overcome my passion, and give my life up to the catching of 
 fish. 
 
 Masha. Twenty-eight. 
 
ACT IV 
 
 THE SEA-GULL 215 
 
 Trigorin. And if I caught a perch or a bass, what bliss it 
 would be! 
 
 DoRN. I have great faith in Constantine. I know there is 
 something in him. He thinks in images; his stories are vivid 
 and full of colour, and always aflPect me deeply. It is only a 
 pity that he has no definite object in view. He creates im- 
 pressions, and nothing more, and one cannot go far on im- 
 pressions alone. Are you glad, madam, that you have an 
 author for a son? 
 
 Arkadesm.. Just think, I have never read anything of his; 
 I never have time. 
 
 Masha. Twenty-six. 
 
 Treplieff comes in quietly and sits down at his table. 
 
 Shamraeff. [To Trigorin] We have something here that 
 belongs to you, sir. 
 
 Trigorin. What is it? 
 
 Shamraeff. You told me to have the sea-gull stuffed that 
 Mr. Constantine killed some time ago. 
 
 Trigorin. Did I? [Thoughtfully] I don't remember. 
 
 Masha. Sixty-one. One. 
 
 Trepueff throws open the window and stands listening. 
 
 Treplieff. How dark the night is ! I wonder what makes 
 me so restless. 
 
 Arkadina. Shut the window, Constantine, there is a 
 ■A 
 draught here. 
 
 Treplieff shuts the window. 
 
 Masha. Ninety-eight. 
 
 Trigorin. See, my card is full. 
 
 Arkadina. [Gaily] Bravo! Bravo! 
 
 Shamraeff. Bravo! 
 
 Arkadina. Wherever he goes and whatever he does, that 
 man always has good luck. [She geU up] And now, come to 
 supper. Our renowned guest did not have any dinner to-day. 
 
216 THE SEA-GULL activ 
 
 We can continue our game later. [To her son] Come, Con- 
 stantine, leave your writing and come to supper. 
 
 Tkepliepf. I don't want anything to eat, mother; I am 
 not hungry. 
 
 Abkadina. As you please. [She wakes Sorin] Come to 
 supper, Peter. [She takes Shamrabff's arm] Let me tell you 
 about my reception in Kharkoff. 
 
 Paulina blows out the candles on the table, then she and 
 DoRN roll Sobin's chair out of the room, and all go out 
 through the door on the left, except Treplieff, who is 
 left alone. Treplieff prepares to write. He runs 
 his eye over what he has already toritten. 
 Treplieff. I have talked a great deal about new forms of 
 art, but I feel myself gradually slipping into the beaten track. 
 [He reads] "The placard cried it from the wall — a pale face 
 in a frame of dusky hair" — cried — frame — that is stupid. 
 [He scratches out what he has loritten] I shall begin again from 
 the place where my hero is wakened by the noise of the rain, 
 but what follows must go. This description of a moonlight 
 night is long and stilted. Trigorin has worked out a process 
 of his own, and descriptions are easy for him. He writes that 
 the neck of a broken bottle lying on the bank glittered in the 
 moonlight, and that the shadows lay black under the mill- 
 wheel. There you have a moonlight night before your eyes, 
 but I speak of the shimmering light, the twinkling stars, the 
 distant sounds of a piano melting into the still and scented air, 
 and the result is abominable. [A pause] The conviction is 
 gradually forcing itself upon me that good literature is not a 
 question of forms new or old, but of ideas that must pour 
 freely from the author's heart, without his bothering his head 
 about any forms whatsoever. [A knock is heard at the window 
 nearest the table] What was that.'' [He looks out of the window] 
 I can't see anything. [He opens the glass door and looks out into 
 
ACTiv THE SEA-GULL 217 
 
 the garden] I heard some one run down the steps. [He calls] 
 Who is there? [He goes out, and is heard walking quickly along 
 the terrace. In a few minutes he comes back with Nina Zaeie- 
 tchnaya] Oh, Nina, Nina! 
 
 Nina lays her head on Tbeplieff's breast and stifles 
 her sobs. 
 
 Teepueff. [Deeply moved] Nina, Nina! It is you — you! 
 I felt you would come; all day my heart has been aching for 
 you. [He takes off her hat and cloak] My darling, my beloved 
 has come back to me! We mustn't cry, we mustn't cry. 
 
 Nina. There is some one here. 
 
 Treplieff. No one is here. 
 
 Nina. Lock the door, some one might come. 
 
 Treplieff. No one will come in. 
 
 Nina. I know your mother is here. Lock the door. 
 
 Trepueff locks the door on the right and comes back to 
 Nina. 
 
 Treplieff. There is no lock on that one. I shall put a 
 chair against it. [He puts an arm-chair against the door] Don't 
 be frightened, no one shall come in. 
 
 Nina. [Gazing intently into his face] Let me look at you. 
 [She looks about her] It is warm and comfortable in here. This 
 used to be a sitting-room. Have I changed much? 
 
 Treplieff. Yes, you have grown thinner, and your eyes 
 are larger than they were. Nina, it seems so strange to see 
 you! Why didn't you let me go to you? Why didn't you 
 come sooner to me? You have been here nearly a week, I 
 know. I have been several times each day to where you live, 
 and have stood like a beggar beneath your window. 
 
 Nina. I was afraid you might hate me. I dream every 
 night that you look at me without recognising me. I have 
 been wandering about on the shores of the lake ever since 
 
218 THE SEA-GULL act iv 
 
 I came back. I have often been near your house, but I have 
 never had the courage to come in. Let us sit down. [They 
 sit clown] Let us sit down and talk our hearts out. It is so 
 quiet and warm in here. Do you hear the wind whistling 
 outside.? As TurgeniefE says, "Happy is he who can sit at 
 night under the root of his home, who has a warm corner in 
 which to take refuge." I am a sea-gull — and yet — no. [She 
 passes her hand across her forehead] What was I saying? Oh, 
 yes, TurgenieflF. He says, "and God help all houseless wan- 
 derers." [She sobs. 
 
 Treplieff. Nina! You are crying again, Nina! 
 
 Nina. It is all right. I shall feel better after this. I have 
 not cried for two years. I went into the garden last night to 
 see if our old theatre were still standing. I see it is. I wept 
 there for the first time in two years, and my heart grew 
 lighter, and my soul saw more clearly again. See, I am not 
 crying now. [She takes his hand in hers] So you are an author 
 now, and I am an actress. We have both been sucked into 
 the whirlpool. My life used to be as happy as a child's; I 
 used to wake singing in the morning; I loved you and dreamt 
 of fame, and what is the reality? To-morrow morning early 
 I must start for Eltz by train in a third-class carriage, with a 
 lot of peasants, and at Eltz the educated trades-people will 
 pursue me with compliments. It is a rough life. 
 
 Treplieff. Why are you going to Eltz? 
 
 Nina. I have accepted an engagement there for the winter. 
 It is time for me to go. 
 .._.«-_^rBEPLiEFr. Nina, I have cursed you, and hated you, and 
 torn up your photograph, and yet I have known every min- 
 ute of my life that my heart and soul were yours for ever. To 
 cease from loving you is beyond my power. I have suffered 
 continually from the time I lost you and began to write, and 
 , my life has been almost unendurable. My youth was sud- 
 
ACT IV T H E S E A - G U L L 219 
 
 denly plucked from me then, and I seem now to have lived in 
 this world for ninety years. I have called out to you, I have 
 kissed the ground you walked on, wherever I looked I have 
 seen your face before my eyes, and the smile that had illu- 
 mined for me the best years of my life. 
 
 Nina. [Despairingly] Why, why does he talk to me like 
 this? 
 
 Thepliefp. I am quite alone, unwarmed by any attach- 
 ment. I am as cold as if I were living in a cave. Whatever 
 I write is dry and gloomy and harsh. Stay here, Nina, I be- 
 seech you, or else let me go away with you. 
 Nina quickly puts on her coat and hat. 
 
 Treplieff. Nina, why do you do that? For God's sake, 
 Nina! [He watches her as she dresses. A pause. 
 
 Nina. My carriage is at the gate. Do not come out to see 
 me oflF. I shall find the way alone. [Weeping] Let me have 
 some water. 
 
 Tbeplieff hands her a glass of water. 
 
 Treplieff. Where are you going? 
 
 Nina. Back to the village. Is your mother here? 
 
 Treplieff. Yes, my uncle fell ill on Thursday, and we 
 telegraphed for her to come. 
 
 Nina. Why do you say that you have kissed the ground 
 I walked on? You should kill me rather. [She bends over the 
 table] I am so tired. If I could only rest — ^rest. [She raises 
 her head] I am a sea-gull — no — no, I am an actress. [She hears 
 Arkadina and Trigorin laughing in the distance, runs to the 
 door on the left and looks through the keyhole] He is there too. 
 [She goes back to Treplieff] Ah, well — no matter. He does 
 not believe in the theatre; he used to laugh at my dreams, 
 so that little by little I became down-hearted and ceased to 
 believe in it too. Then came all the cares of love, the con- 
 
220 THE SEA-GULL act iv 
 
 tinual anxiety about my little one, so that I soon grew trivial 
 and spiritless, and played my parts without meaning. I 
 never knew what to do with my hands, and I could not walk 
 properly or control my voice. You cannot imagine the state 
 of mind of one who knows as he goes through a play how ter- 
 ribly badly he is acting. I am a sea-gull — no — ^no, that is not 
 what I meant to say. Do you remember how you shot a sea- 
 gull once.'' A man chanced to pass that way and destroyed 
 it out of idleness. That is an idea for a short story, but 
 it is not what I meant to say. [She passes her hand across her 
 forehead] What was I saying? Oh, yes, the stage. I have 
 changed now. Now I am a real actress. I act with joy, 
 with exaltation, I am intoxicated by it, and feel that I am 
 superb. I have been walking and walking, and thinking and 
 thinking, ever since I have been here, and I feel the strength 
 of my spirit growing in me every day. I know now, I under- 
 stand at last, Constantine, that for us, whether we write or 
 act, it is not the honour and glory of which I have dreamt 
 that is important, it is the strength to endure. One must 
 know how to bear one's cross, and one must have faith. I 
 believe, and so do not sufiFer so much, and when I think of 
 my calling I do not fear life. 
 
 Trepuepf. [Sadly] You have found your way, you know 
 where you are going, but I am still groping in a chaos of 
 phantoms and dreams, not knowing whom and what end I 
 am serving by it all. I do not believe in anything, and' I do 
 not know what my calling is. 
 
 Nina. [Listening] Hush! I must go. Good-bye. When 
 I have become a famous actress you must come and see me. 
 Will you promise to come? But now — [She takes his hand] 
 it is late. I can hardly stand. I am fainting. I am hungry. 
 
 THEPLiErF. Stay, and let me bring you some supper. 
 
 Nina. No, no — and don't come out, I can find the way 
 
ACT IV THE SEA-GULL 221 
 
 alone. My carriage is not far away. So she brought him 
 back with her? However, what difference can that make 
 to me? Don't tell Trigorin anything when you see him. I 
 love him — ^I love him even more than I used to. It is an idea 
 for a short story. I love him — ^I love him passionately — I 
 love him to despair. Have you forgotten, Constantine, how 
 pleasant the old times were? What a gay, bright, gentle, 
 pure life we led? How a feeling as sweet and tender as a 
 flower blossomed in our hearts? Do you remember, [She 
 recites] "All men and beasts, lions, eagles, and quails, horned 
 stags, geese, spiders, silent fish that inhabit the waves, starfish 
 from the sea* and creatures invisible to the eye — in one word, 
 life — all, all life, completing the dreary round set before it, 
 has died out at last. A thousand years have passed since the 
 earth last bore a living creature on its breast, and the unhappy 
 moon now lights her lamp in vain. No longer are the cries 
 of storks heard in the meadows, or the drone of beetles in 
 
 the groves of limes " 
 
 She embraces Treplieff impetuously and runs out onto 
 
 the terrace. 
 Treplieff. [After a pause] It would be a pity if she were 
 seen in the garden. My mother would be distressed. 
 
 He stands for several minutes tearing up his manuscripts 
 
 and throwing them under the table, then unlocks the door 
 
 on the right and goes out. 
 DoBN. [Trying to force open the door on the left] Odd! This 
 door seems to be locked. [He com^s in and puts the chair back 
 in its former place] This is like a hurdle race. 
 
 Abka-Dina and Pauuna come in, followed by Jacob 
 
 carrying some bottles; then corns Masha, Shamraeff, 
 
 and Tbigokin. 
 Aekadina. Put the claret and the beer here, on the 
 
J 
 
 222 THE SEA-GULL act iv 
 
 table, so that we can drink while we are playing. Sit 
 down, friends. 
 
 Paulina. And bring the tea at once. 
 
 She lights the candles and takes her seat at the card-table. 
 Shamkaeff leads Trigoein to the cupboard. 
 
 Shamraeff. Here is the stuffed sea-gull I was telling you 
 about. [He takes the sea-gull out of the cupboard] You told me 
 to have it done. 
 
 Tkigokin. [Looking at the bird] I don't remember a thing 
 j about it, not a thing. [A shot is heard. Every one jumps. 
 
 Ahkadina. [Frightened] What was that? 
 
 DoRN. Nothing at all; probably one of my medicine bot- 
 tles has blown up. Don't worry. [He goes out through the door 
 on the right, and comes back in a few moments] It is as I thought, 
 a flask of ether has exploded. [He sings] 
 
 "Spellbound once more I stand before thee." 
 
 Arkadina. [Sitting down at the table] Heavens! I was really 
 frightened. That noise reminded me of — [She covers her 
 face with her hands] Everything is black before my eyes. 
 
 DoBN. [Looking through the pages of a magazine, to Tbi- 
 ' gorin] There was an article from America in this magazine 
 t about two months ago that I wanted to ask you about, 
 among other things. [He leads Trigorin to the front of the 
 stage] I am very much interested in this question. [He lowers 
 his voice and whispers] You must take Madame Arkadina 
 away from here; what I wanted to say was, that Constantine 
 has shot himself. 
 
 The curtain falls. 
 
THE SWAN SONG 
 
CHARACTERS 
 
 Vasili Svietlovidoff, a comedian, 68 years old 
 NiKiTA IvANiTCH, o prompter, an old man 
 
 i 
 
THE SWAN SONG 
 
 The scene is laid on the stage of a country theatre, at night, 
 after the play. To the right a row of rough, unj>airded doors lead- 
 ing into the dressing-rooms. To the left and in the background 
 the stage is encumbered with all sorts of rubbish. In the middle 
 of the stage is an overturned stool. 
 
 SviETLOViDOFF. [With a candle in his hand, comes out of 
 a dressing-room and laughs] Well, well, this is funny ! Here's 
 a good joke! I fell asleep in my dressing-room when the play 
 was over, and there I was calmly snoring after everybody else 
 had left the theatre. Ah! I'm a foolish old man, a poor old 
 dodderer! I have been drinking again, and so I fell asleep 
 in there, sitting up. That was clever! Good for you, old 
 boy! [Calls] Yegorka! Petrushka! Where the devil are you? 
 Petrushka! The scoundrels must be asleep, and an earth- 
 quake wouldn't wake them now! Yegorka! [Picks up the 
 stool, sits down, and puts the candle on the floor] Not a sound! 
 Only echos answer me. I gave Yegorka and Petrushka each 
 a tip to-day, and now they have disappeared without leaving 
 a trace behind them. The rascals have gone off and have 
 probably locked up the theatre. [Turns his head about] I'm 
 drunk! Ugh! The play to-night was for my benefit, and 
 it is disgusting to think how much beer and wine I have poured 
 down my throat in honour of the occasion. Gracious! My 
 body is burning all over, and I feel as if I had twenty tongues 
 in my mouth. It is horrid ! Idiotic! This poor old sinner is 
 
 225 
 
THE SWAN SONG 
 
 drunk again, and doesn't even know what he has been cele- 
 brating! Ugh! My head is splitting, I am shivering all 
 over, and I feel as dark and cold inside as a cellar! Even if 
 I don't mind ruining my health, I ought at least to remember 
 my age, old idiot that I am! Yes, my old age! It's no use! 
 I can play the fool, and brag, and pretend to be young, but 
 my life is really over now, I kiss my hand to the sixty-eight 
 years that have gone by; I'll never see them again! I have 
 drained the bottle, only a few little drops are left at the bot- 
 tom, nothing but the dregs. Yes, yes, that's the case, Vasili, 
 old boy. The time has come for you to rehearse the part of 
 a mummy, whether you like it or not. Death is on its way to 
 you. [Stares ahead of him] It is strange, though, that I have 
 been on the stage now for forty-five years, and this is the first 
 time I have seen a theatre at night, after the lights have been 
 put out. The first time. [Walks up to the foot-lights] How 
 dark it is! I can't see a thing. Oh, yes, I can just make out 
 the prompter's box, and his desk; the rest is in pitch darkness, 
 a black, bottomless pit, like a grave, in which death itself 
 might be hiding. . . . Brr. . . . How-€^-4t-4*! The wind 
 blows out of the empty theatre as though out of a stone flue. 
 What a place for ghosts! The shivers are running up and 
 down my back. [Calls] Yegorka! Petrushka! Where are 
 you both? What on earth makes me think of such gruesome 
 things here? I must give up drinking; I'm an old man, I 
 shan't live much longer. At sixty-eight people go to church 
 and prepare for death, but here I am — heavens! A profane 
 old drunkard in this fool's dress — I'm simply not fit to 
 look at. I must go and change it at once. . . . This is a 
 dreadful place, I should die of fright sitting here all night. 
 [Goes toward his dressing-room; at the same time Nikita Ivan- 
 itch in a long white coat comes out of the dressing-room at the 
 farthest end of the stage. Svietlovidoff sees Ivanitch — 
 
THESWANSONG 227 
 
 shrieks iidth terror and steps back] Who are you? What? 
 What do you want? [Stamps his foot] Who are you? 
 
 IVANITCH. It is I, sir. 
 
 SviETLoviDOFF. Who are you? 
 
 IvANiTCH. [Comes slowly toward him] It is I, sir, the 
 prompter, Nikita Ivanitch. It is I, master, it is I! 
 
 SviETLOViDorF. [Sinks helplessly onto the stool, breathes 
 heavily and tremhles violently] Heavens! Who are you? It 
 is you . . . you Nikitushka? What . . . what are you 
 doing here? 
 
 Ivanitch. I spend my nights here in the dressing-rooms. 
 Only please be good enough not to tell Alexi Fomitch, sir. I 
 have nowhere else to spend the night; indeed, I haven't. 
 
 SviETLoviDOFP. Ah! It is you, Nikitushka, is it? Just 
 think, the audience called me out sixteen times; they brought 
 me three wreathes and lots of other things, too; they were all 
 wild with enthusiasm, and yet not a soul came when it was all 
 over to wake the poor, drunken old man and take him home. 
 And I am an old man, Nikitushka! I am sixty-eight years 
 old, and I am ill. I haven't the heart left to go on. [Falls on v 
 Ivanitch's neck and weeps] Don't go away, Nikitushka; I 
 am old and helpless, and I feel it is time for me to die. Oh, 
 it is dreadful, dreadful! 
 
 Ivanitch. [Tenderly and TespectfvMy] Dear master! it is 
 time for you to go home, sir! 
 
 SviETLOViDOFF. I won't go home; I have no home — none! 
 none! — none! 
 
 Ivanitch. Oh, dear! Have you forgotten where you live? 
 
 Syietlovidoff. I won't go there. I won't! I am all alone 
 there. I have nobody, Nikitushka! No wife — no children. 
 I am like the wind blowing across the lonely fields. I shall 
 die, and no one will remember me. It is awful to be alone 
 
THE SWAN SONG 
 
 — no one to cheer me, no one to caress me, no one to help 
 me to bed when I am drunk. Whom do I belong to? Who 
 needs me? Who loves me? Not a soul, Nikitushka. 
 
 IvANiTCH. [Weeping] Your audience loves you, master. 
 
 SviETLOViDOFF. My audience has gone home. They are 
 all asleep, and have forgotten their old clown. No, nobody 
 needs me, nobody loves me; I have no wife, no children. 
 
 IvANiTCH. Oh, dear. Oh, dear! Don't be so unhappy about 
 it. 
 
 SviETLOViDOFP. But I am a man, I am still alive. Warm, 
 red blood is tingling in my veins, the blood of noble ancestors. 
 I am an aristqcrat^jkitushk a; I served in the army, jn the 
 artillery, before I fell as low as this, and what a fine young_ 
 chap I was ! Handsome, daring, eager ! Where has it all gone? 
 What has become of those old daysj' There's the pit that 
 has swallowed them all ! I remember it all now. Forty-five 
 years of my life lie buried there, and what a life, Nikitushka! 
 I can see it as clearly as I see your face : the ecstasy of youth, 
 faith, passion, the love of women — women, Nikitushka! 
 
 IvANiTCH. It is time you went to sleep, sir. 
 
 SviETLOViDorF. When I first went on the stage, in the first 
 glow of passionate youth, I remember a woman loved me for 
 my acting. She was beautiful, graceful as a poplar, young, 
 innocent, pure, and radiant as a summer dawn. Her smile 
 coiJd charm away the darkest night. I remember, I stood 
 before her once, as I am now standing before you. She had 
 never seemed so lovely to me as she did then, and she spoke 
 to me so with her eyes — such a look! I shall never forget it, 
 no, not even in the grave; so tender, so soft, so deep, so bright 
 and young! Enraptured, intoxicated, I fell on my knees 
 before her, I begged for my happiness, and she said: "Give 
 up the stage!" Give up the stage! Do you understand? 
 She could love an actor, but marry him — never! I was act- 
 
THESWANSONG 229 
 
 ing that day, I remember — I had a foolish, clown's part, 
 and as I acted, I felt my eyes being opened; I saw that the 
 worship of the art I had held so sacred was a delusion and 
 an empty dream; that I was a slave, a fool, the plaything of 
 the idleness of strangers. I understood my audience at last, 
 and since that day I have not believed in their applause, or 
 in their wreathes, or in their enthusiasm. Yes, Nikitushka! 
 The people applaud me, they buy my photograph, but I am 
 a stranger to them. They don't know me, I am as the dirt 
 beneath their feet. They are willing enough to meet me . . . 
 but allow a daughter or a sister to marry me, an outcast, 
 never! I have no faith in them, [sinks onto the stool] no faith 
 in them. 
 
 IvANiTCH. Oh, sir! you look dreadfully pale, you frighten 
 me to death! Come, go home, have mercy on me! 
 
 SviETLOviDOPF. I saw through it all that day, and the 
 knowledge was dearly bought. Nikitushka! After that . . . 
 when that girl . . . well, I began to wander aimlessly about, 
 living from day to day without looking ahead. I took the 
 parts of buffoons and low comedians, letting my mind go to 
 wreck. Ah! but I was a great artist once, till little by little 
 I threw away my talents, played the motley fool, lost my 
 looks, lost the power of expressing myself, and became in the i 
 end a Merry Andrew instead of a man. I have been swal- 
 lowed up in that great black pit. I never felt it before, but^ j 
 to-night, when I woke up,IlaakB'ihadi, and there behind me / 
 lay sixty-eight years. I have just found out what it is to be / 
 old! It is all over . . . [sobs] . . . all ovpr. 
 
 IvANiTCHTTHefeTthere, dear master! Be quiet . . . gra- 
 cious! [Calls] Petrushka! Yegorka! 
 
 SviETLOViDOFF. But what a genius I was! You cannot 
 imagine what power I had, what eloquence; how graceful I 
 was, how tender; how many strings [beats his breast] quivered 
 
g30 THESWANSONG 
 
 in this breast! It chokes me to think of it! Listen now, 
 wait, let me catch my breath, there; now listen to this: 
 
 "The shade of bloody Ivan now returning 
 Fans through my lips rebellion to a flame, 
 I am the dead Dimitri ! In the burning 
 Boris shall perish on the throne I claim. 
 Enough! The heir of Czars shall not be seen 
 Kneeling to yonder haughty Polish Queen!"* 
 
 Is that bad, eh? [Quickly] Wait, now, here's something from 
 King Lear. The sky is black, see? Rain is pouring down, 
 thunder roars, lightning — zzz zzz zzz — splits the whole sky, 
 and then, listen: 
 
 -%' 
 
 "Blow winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow! 
 You cataracts and hurricanoes spout 
 Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks! 
 You sulphurous thought-executing fires. 
 Vaunt-couriers of oak-cleaving thunderbolts. 
 Singe my white head! And thou, all shaking thunder. 
 Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world! 
 ' \ Crack nature's moulds, all germens spill at once 
 That make ungrateful man!" 
 
 [Impatiently] Now, the part of the fool. [Stamps his foot] 
 Come take the fool's part! Be quick, I can't wait! 
 IvAHiTCH. [Takes the part of the fool] 
 
 "O, Nuncle, court holy- water in a dry house is better 
 than this rain-water out o' door. Good Nuncle, in; ask thy 
 daughter's blessing: here's a night pities neither wise men 
 nor fools. " 
 
 * From " Boris Godunofl," by Pushkin. 
 
THESWANSONG 231 
 
 SviETliOVIDOrF. 
 
 "Rumble thy bellyful! spit, fire! spout, rain! 
 Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters; 
 I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness; 
 I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children." '' ' 
 
 Ah! there is strength, there is talent for you! I'm a great 
 artist! Now, then, here's something else of the same kind, 
 to bring back my youth to me. For instance, take this, from 
 Hamlet, I'll begin ... let me see, how does it go? Oh, yes, 
 this is it. {Takes the part of Hamlet] 
 
 "O! the recorders, let me see one. — To withdraw with 
 you. Why do you go about to recover the wind of me, as 
 if you would drive me into a toil?" 
 
 IvANiTCH. "O, my lord, if my duty be too bold, my love 
 is too unmannerly." 
 
 SviETLOViDOPF. "I do not well understand that. Will 
 you play upon this pipe? " 
 
 IvANiTCH. "My lord, I cannot." 
 
 SviETLOViDOFF. "I pray you." 
 
 IvANiTCH. "Believe me, I cannot." 
 
 SviETLOViDOFF. "I do beseech you." 
 
 IvANiTCH. "I know no touch of it, my lord." 
 
 SviBTLOViDOFF. "'Tis as easy as lying: govern these vent- 
 ages with your finger and thumb, give it breath with your 
 mouth, and it will discourse most eloquent music. Look you, 
 these are the stops." 
 
 IvANiTCH. "But these I cannot command to any utter- 
 ance of harmony: I have not the skill." 
 
 SviETLOViDOFF. "Why, look you, how unworthy a thing 
 you make of me. You would play upon me; you would seem 
 
THE SWAN SONG 
 
 to know my stops; you would pluck out the heart of my mys- 
 tery; you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of 
 my compass; and there is much music, excellent voice, in this 
 little organ, yet cannot you make it speak. S'blood! Do 
 you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe? Call 
 me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you 
 cannot play upon me!" [Laughs and clasps] Bravo! Encore! 
 Bravo! Where the devil is there any old age in that? I'm 
 not old, that is all nonsense, a torrent of strength rushes over 
 me; this is life, freshness, youth! Old age and genius can't 
 exist together. You seem to be struck dumb, Nikitushka. 
 Wait a second, let me come to my senses again. Oh! Good 
 Lord! Now then, listen! Did you ever hear such tender- 
 ness, such music? Sh! Softly; 
 
 "The moon had set. There was not any light. 
 Save of the lonely legion'd watch-stars pale 
 In outer air, and what by fits made bright 
 Hot oleanders in a rosy vale 
 
 Searched by the lamping fly, whose little spark ' 
 Went in and out, like passion's bashful hope." 
 
 [The noise of opening doors is heard] What's that? 
 
 IvANiTCH. There are Petrushka and Yegorka coming back. 
 Yes, you have genius, genius, my master. 
 
 SviETLOviDOFF. [Calls, turning toward the noise] Come 
 here to me, boys! [To Ivanitch] Let us go and get dressed. 
 I'm not old! All that is foolishness, nonsense! [Laughs 
 gaily] What are you crying for? You poor old granny, you, 
 what's the matter now? This won't do! There, there, this 
 won't do at all! Come, come, old man, don't stare so! 
 What makes you stare like that? There, there! [Ernbraces him 
 in tears] Don't cry! Where there is art and genius there can 
 
THESWANSONG 233 
 
 never be such things as old age or loneliness or sickness . . . 
 and death itself is half . . . [Weeps] No, no, Nikitushka! 
 It is all over for us now! What sort of a genius am I? I'm 
 like a squeezed lemon, a cracked bottle, and you — you are 
 the old rat of the theatre ... a prompter! Come on! [They 
 go] I'm no genius, I'm only fit to be in the suite of Fortin- 
 bras, and even for that I am too old. . . . Yes. . . . Do you 
 remember those lines from Othello, Nikitushka? 
 
 "Farewell the tranquil mind! Farewell content! 
 Farewell the plumed troops and the big wars 
 That make ambition virtue! O farewell! 
 Farewell the neighing steed and the shrill trump. 
 The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife. 
 The royal banner, and all quality. 
 Pride, pomp and circumstance of glorious war!" 
 
 IvANiTCH. Oh! You're a genius, a genius! 
 SviETLOViDOFF. And again this: 
 
 "Aw3,y! the moor is dark beneath the moon. 
 
 Rapid clouds have drunk the last pale beam of even: 
 
 Away! the gathering winds will call the darkness soon. 
 
 And profoundest midnight shroud the serene lights of heaven." 
 
 They go out together, the curtain falls slowly.