The Collected Works of Anton Chekhov. Anton Chekhov
Читать онлайн книгу.
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 becoming to you. You must trust people, or life becomes impossible.
SONIA. Tell me truly, as a friend, are you happy?
HELENA. Truly, no.
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 all 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? It 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 race. People like him are rare and should be loved. What if he does drink and act roughly at times? A man of genius cannot be a saint in Russia. There he lives, cut off from the world by cold and storm and endless roads of bottomless 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 excitedly up and down] Happiness can never exist for me in this world. Never. Why do you laugh?
SONIA. [Laughing and covering her face with 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 possibly 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 window] 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. [Comes back] He says, no.
The curtain falls.
ACT III
The drawing-room of SEREBRAKOFF’S house. There are three doors: one to the right, one to the left, and one in the centre 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.
VOITSKI. 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 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 life, and your restlessness is catching. 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. Astroff 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.]
VOITSKI. [Preventing her] There, there, my beauty, I apologise. [He kisses 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!
[She and HELENA stand looking out of the window.]
HELENA. September already! How shall we live through the long winter here? [A pause] Where is the doctor?
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.
SONIA. 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 agony.