Delphi Complete Works of Anton Chekhov (Illustrated) (428 page)

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 literary fortress, but now at last this love has come to me. I see it beckoning; why should I fly?

ARKADINA.
[With anger]
You are mad!

TRIGORIN. Release me.

ARKADINA. You have all conspired together to torture me to-day.
[She weeps.]

TRIGORIN. [Clutching his head desperately] She doesn’t understand me! She won’t understand me!

ARKADINA. 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 endure 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.]

ARKADINA. Let them come! I am not ashamed of my love.
[She kisses his hands]
My jewel! My despair! You want 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?

TRIGORIN. 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.

ARKADINA.
[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?

TRIGORIN. Let us go together.

ARKADINA. As you like. Let us go together then. [A pause. TRIGORIN writes something in his note-book] What are you writing?

TRIGORIN. A happy expression I heard this morning: “A grove of maiden pines.” It may be useful.
[He yawns]
So we are really off again, condemned once more to railway carriages, to stations and restaurants, to Hamburger steaks and endless arguments!

SHAMRAEFF comes in.

SHAMRAEFF. I am sorry to have to inform you that your 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 inimitable 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 minutes. 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!” Izmailoff 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 ARKADINA her hat, coat, parasol, and gloves. The cook looks hesitatingly through the door on the right, and finally comes into the room. PAULINA comes in. MEDVIEDENKO comes in.

PAULINA. [Presenting ARKADINA with 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.

ARKADINA. 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.]

ARKADINA. It has been delightful, delightful. You mustn’t cry.

SORIN 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.

SORIN. 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.]

MEDVIEDENKO. I shall walk quickly to the station and see you off there.
[He goes out.]

ARKADINA. Good-bye, all! We shall meet again next summer 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.

SHAMRAEFF. Send us a line to cheer us up.
[TO TRIGORIN]
Good-bye, sir.

ARKADINA. Where is Constantine? Tell him I am starting. I must say good-bye to him.
[To JACOB]
I gave the cook a rouble for all three of you.

All go out through the door on the right. The stage remains empty. Sounds of farewell are heard. The maid comes running back to fetch the basket of plums which has been forgotten. TRIGORIN comes back.

TRIGORIN. 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 that 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 everything. 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 bliss to think that I shall see you again so soon!
[She sinks on his breast]
I shall see those glorious eyes again, that wonderful, ineffably tender smile, those gentle features with their expression of angelic purity! My darling!
[A prolonged kiss.]

The curtain falls.

Two years elapse between the third and fourth acts.

ACT IV

A sitting-room in SORIN’S house, which has been converted into a writing-room for TREPLIEFF. 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 t he walls. Books are lying scattered about on the windowsills and chairs. It is evening. The room is dimly lighted by a shaded lamp on a table. The wind 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 TREPLIEFF]
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.

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 without his mother.

MASHA. You are getting too tiresome. You used sometimes 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 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 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.]

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 arm-chair.

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 to-night.”

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.