The Collected Works of Anton Chekhov. Anton Chekhov
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he will; ask him.
MEDVIEDENKO. I think I shall. Are you coming home tomorrow?
MASHA. Yes, yes, tomorrow.
She takes snuff. TREPLIEFF and PAULINA come in. TREPLIEFF 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 tonight.
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. Goodbye, Masha. [He kisses his wife’s hand] Goodbye, mother. [He tries to kiss his motherin-law’s hand.]
PAULINA. [Crossly] Be off, in God’s name!
TREPLIEFF shakes hands with him in silence, and MEDVIEDENKO goes out.
PAULINA. [Looking at the manuscripts] 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 hair.] You have grown handsome, too. Dear, kind Constantine, be a little nicer to my Masha.
MASHA. [Still making the bed] Leave him alone, mother.
PAULINA. She is a sweet child. [A pause] A woman, Constantine, asks only for kind looks. I know that from experience.
TREPLIEFF 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 distance.]
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 continually in sight. If my Simon could only get his remove I should forget it all in a month or two. It is a trifle.
DORN and MEDVIEDENKO come in through the door on the left, wheeling SORIN in an armchair.
MEDVIEDENKO. I have six mouths to feed now, and flour is at seventy kopecks.
DORN. 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 wanted to.
DORN. 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 go 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.]
SORIN. Where is my sister?
DORN. She has gone to the station to meet Trigorin. She will soon be back.
SORIN. I must be dangerously ill if you had to send for my sister. [He falls silent for a moment] A nice business this is! Here I am dangerously ill, and you won’t even give me any medicine.
DORN. What shall I prescribe for you? Camomile tea? Soda? Quinine?
SORIN. Don’t inflict any of your discussions on me again. [He nods toward the sofa] Is that bed for me?
PAULINA. Yes, for you, sir.
SORIN. Thank you.
DORN. [Sings] “The moon swims in the sky tonight.”
SORIN. 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,” dragging 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.
DORN. You wished to become State Councillor, and — you are one!
SORIN. [Laughing] I didn’t try for that, it came of its own accord.
DORN. Come, you must admit that it is petty to cavil at life at sixty-two years of age.
SORIN. You are pig-headed! Can’t you see I want to live?
DORN. That is futile. Nature has commanded that every life shall come to an end.
SORIN. You speak like a man who is satiated with life. Your thirst for it is quenched, and so you are calm and indifferent, but even you dread death.
DORN. 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, 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 down on a stool at SORIN’S feet. MASHA 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 she well?
TREPLIEFF. I believe so.
DORN. I hear she has led rather a strange life; what happened?
TREPLIEFF. It is a long story, Doctor.
DORN. 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 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?