LITMIR.BIZ

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drinking, loving, walking, and wearing their coats, and attempt to extract a moral from their insipid talk; when playwrights give us under a thousand different guises the same, same, same old stuff, then I must needs run from it, as Maupassant ran from the Eiffel Tower that was about to crush him by its vulgarity.

      SORIN. But we can’t do without a theatre.

      TREPLIEFF. No, but we must have it under a new form. If we can’t do that, let us rather not have it at all. [Looking 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 letters of hers on her mind, and the newspapers are always frightening 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, 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.

      TREPLIEFF. 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.

      SORIN. 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 footsteps 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.

      TREPLIEFF. [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 SORIN.]

      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 in half an hour. No, no, for heaven’s sake do not urge me to stay. My father doesn’t know I am here.

      TREPLIEFF. 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.]

      NINA. 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 about her.]

      TREPLIEFF. We are alone.

      NINA. Isn’t that some one over there?

      TREPLIEFF. 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.

      TREPLIEFF. 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 before him; he is so famous. Is he young?

      TREPLIEFF. Yes.

      NINA. What beautiful stories he writes!

      TREPLIEFF. [Coldly] I have never read any of them, so I can’t say.

      NINA. Your play is very hard to act; there are no living characters in it.

      TREPLIEFF. Living characters! Life must be represented not as it is, but as it ought to be; as it appears in dreams.

      NINA. There is so little action; it seems more like a recitation. I think love should always come into every play.

      NINA and TREPLIEFF go up onto the little stage; PAULINA and DORN come in.

      PAULINA. It is getting damp. Go back and put on your goloshes.

      DORN. 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 yesterday evening on purpose.

      DORN. [Sings]

      “Oh, tell me not that youth is wasted.”

      PAULINA. You were so enchanted by the conversation of Madame Arkadina that you did not even notice the cold. Confess that you admire her.

      DORN. I am fifty-five years old.

      PAULINA. A trifle. That is not old for a man. You have kept your looks magnificently, and women still like you.

      DORN. 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 society and treated differently from, let us say, merchants. It is a kind of idealism.

      PAULINA. When women have loved you and thrown themselves 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!

      DORN. Be quiet! Here they come.

      ARKADINA comes in on SORIN’S arm; also TRIGORIN, SHAMRAEFF, MEDVIEDENKO, 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?

      ARKADINA. Don’t

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