Plays by Anton Chekhov, Second Series

NATASHA. I’m so unaccustomed to meeting people! ANDREY. Oh your youth, your splendid, beautiful youth! My darling, don’t be so excited! Believe me, believe me... I’m so happy, my soul is full of love, of ecstasy.... They don’t see us! They can’t! Why, why or when did I fall in love with you--Oh, I can’t understand anything. My dear, my pure darling, be my wife! I love you, love you... as never before.... [They kiss.] [Two officers come in and, seeing the lovers kiss, stop in astonishment.] Curtain. ACT II [Scene as before. It is 8 p.m. Somebody is heard playing a concertina outside in’ the street. There is no fire. NATALIA IVANOVNA enters in indoor dress carrying a candle; she stops by the door which leads into ANDREY’S room.] NATASHA. What are you doing, Andrey? Are you reading? It’s nothing, only I.... [She opens another door, and looks in, then closes it] Isn’t there any fire.... ANDREY. [Enters with book in hand] What are you doing, Natasha? NATASHA. I was looking to see if there wasn’t a fire. It’s Shrovetide, and the servant is simply beside herself; I must look out that something doesn’t happen. When I came through the dining-room yesterday midnight, there was a candle burning. I couldn’t get her to tell me who had lighted it. [Puts down her candle] What’s the time? ANDREY. [Looks at his watch] A quarter past eight. NATASHA. And Olga and Irina aren’t in yet. The poor things are still at work. Olga at the teacher’s council, Irina at the telegraph office.... [Sighs] I said to your sister this morning, “Irina, darling, you must take care of yourself.” But she pays no attention. Did you say it was a quarter past eight? I am afraid little Bobby is quite ill. Why is he so cold? He was feverish yesterday, but to-day he is quite cold... I am so frightened! ANDREY. It’s all right, Natasha. The boy is well. NATASHA. Still, I think we ought to put him on a diet. I am so afraid. And the entertainers were to be here after nine; they had better not come, Audrey. ANDREY. I don’t know. After all, they were asked. NATASHA. This morning, when the little boy woke up and saw me he suddenly smiled; that means he knew me. “Good morning, Bobby!” I said, “good morning, darling.” And he laughed. Children understand, they understand very well. So I’ll tell them, Andrey dear, not to receive the entertainers. ANDREY. [Hesitatingly] But what about my sisters. This is their flat. NATASHA. They’ll do as I want them. They are so kind.... [Going] I ordered sour milk for supper. The doctor says you must eat sour milk and nothing else, or you won’t get thin. [Stops] Bobby is so cold. I’m afraid his room is too cold for him. It would be nice to put him into another room till the warm weather comes. Irina’s room, for instance, is just right for a child: it’s dry and has the sun all day. I must tell her, she can share Olga’s room. It isn’t as if she was at home in the daytime, she only sleeps here.... [A pause] Andrey, darling, why are you so silent? ANDREY. I was just thinking.... There is really nothing to say.... NATASHA. Yes... there was something I wanted to tell you.... Oh, yes. Ferapont has come from the Council offices, he wants to see you. ANDREY. [Yawns] Call him here. [NATASHA goes out; ANDREY reads his book, stooping over the candle she has left behind. FERAPONT enters; he wears a tattered old coat with the collar up. His ears are muffled.] ANDREY. Good morning, grandfather. What have you to say? FERAPONT. The Chairman sends a book and some documents or other. Here.... [Hands him a book and a packet.] ANDREY. Thank you. It’s all right. Why couldn’t you come earlier? It’s past eight now. FERAPONT. What? ANDREY. [Louder]. I say you’ve come late, it’s past eight. FERAPONT. Yes, yes. I came when it was still light, but they wouldn’t let me in. They said you were busy. Well, what was I to do. If you’re busy, you’re busy, and I’m in no hurry. [He thinks that ANDREY is asking him something] What? ANDREY. Nothing. [Looks through the book] To-morrow’s Friday. I’m not supposed to go to work, but I’ll come--all the same... and do some work. It’s dull at home. [Pause] Oh, my dear old man, how strangely life changes, and how it deceives! To-day, out of sheer boredom, I took up this book--old university lectures, and I couldn’t help laughing. My God, I’m secretary of the local district council, the council which has Protopopov for its chairman, yes, I’m the secretary, and the summit of my ambitions is--to become a member of the council! I to be a member of the local district council, I, who dream every night that I’m a professor of Moscow University, a famous scholar of whom all Russia is proud! FERAPONT. I can’t tell... I’m hard of hearing.... ANDREY. If you weren’t, I don’t suppose I should talk to you. I’ve got to talk to somebody, and my wife doesn’t understand me, and I’m a bit afraid of my sisters--I don’t know why unless it is that they may make fun of me and make me feel ashamed... I don’t drink, I don’t like public-houses, but how I should like to be sitting just now in Tyestov’s place in Moscow, or at the Great Moscow, old fellow! FERAPONT. Moscow? That’s where a contractor was once telling that some merchants or other were eating pancakes; one ate forty pancakes and he went and died, he was saying. Either forty or fifty, I forget which. ANDREY. In Moscow you can sit in an enormous restaurant where you don’t know anybody and where nobody knows you, and you don’t feel all the same that you’re a stranger. And here you know everybody and everybody knows you, and you’re a stranger... and a lonely stranger. FERAPONT. What? And the same contractor was telling--perhaps he was lying--that there was a cable stretching right across Moscow. ANDREY. What for? FERAPONT. I can’t tell. The contractor said so. ANDREY. Rubbish. [He reads] Were you ever in Moscow? FERAPONT. [After a pause] No. God did not lead me there. [Pause] Shall I go? ANDREY. You may go. Good-bye. [FERAPONT goes] Good-bye. [Reads] You can come to-morrow and fetch these documents.... Go along.... [Pause] He’s gone. [A ring] Yes, yes.... [Stretches himself and slowly goes into his own room.] [Behind the scene the nurse is singing a lullaby to the child. MASHA and VERSHININ come in. While they talk, a maidservant lights candles and a lamp.] MASHA. I don’t know. [Pause] I don’t know. Of course, habit counts for a great deal. After father’s death, for instance, it took us a long time to get used to the absence of orderlies. But, apart from habit, it seems to me in all fairness that, however it may be in other towns, the best and most-educated people are army men. VERSHININ. I’m thirsty. I should like some tea. MASHA. [Glancing at her watch] They’ll bring some soon. I was given in marriage when I was eighteen, and I was afraid of my husband because he was a teacher and I’d only just left school. He then seemed to me frightfully wise and learned and important. And now, unfortunately, that has changed. VERSHININ. Yes... yes. MASHA. I don’t speak of my husband, I’ve grown used to him, but civilians in general are so often coarse, impolite, uneducated. Their rudeness offends me, it angers me. I suffer when I see that a man isn’t quite sufficiently refined, or delicate, or polite. I simply suffer agonies when I happen to be among schoolmasters, my husband’s colleagues. VERSHININ. Yes.... It seems to me that civilians and army men are equally interesting, in this town, at any rate. It’s all the same! If you listen to a member of the local intelligentsia, whether to civilian or military, he will tell you that he’s sick of his wife, sick of his house, sick of his estate, sick of his horses.... We Russians are extremely gifted in the direction of thinking on an exalted plane, but, tell me, why do we aim so low in real life? Why? MASHA. Why? VERSHININ. Why is a Russian sick of his children, sick of his wife? And why are his wife and children sick of him? MASHA. You’re a little downhearted to-day. VERSHININ. Perhaps I am. I haven’t had any dinner, I’ve had nothing since the morning. My daughter is a little unwell, and when my girls are ill, I get very anxious and my conscience tortures me because they have such a mother. Oh, if you had seen her to-day! What a trivial personality! We began quarrelling at seven in the morning and at nine I slammed the door and went out. [Pause] I never speak of her, it’s strange that I bear my complaints to you alone. [Kisses her hand] Don’t be angry with me. I haven’t anybody but you, nobody at all.... [Pause.] MASHA. What a noise in the oven. Just before father’s death there was a noise in the pipe, just like that. VERSHININ. Are you superstitious? MASHA. Yes. VERSHININ. That’s strange. [Kisses her hand] You are a splendid, wonderful woman. Splendid, wonderful! It is dark here, but I see your sparkling eyes. MASHA. [Sits on another chair] There is more light here. VERSHININ. I love you, love you, love you... I love your eyes, your movements, I dream of them.... Splendid, wonderful woman! MASHA. [Laughing] When you talk to me like that, I laugh; I don’t know why, for I’m afraid. Don’t repeat it, please.... [In an undertone] No, go on, it’s all the same to me.... [Covers her face with her hands] Somebody’s coming, let’s talk about something else. [IRINA and TUZENBACH come in through the dining-room.] TUZENBACH. My surname is really triple. I am called Baron Tuzenbach-Krone-Altschauer, but I am Russian and Orthodox, the same as you. There is very little German left in me, unless perhaps it is the patience and the obstinacy with which I bore you. I see you home every night. IRINA. How tired I am! TUZENBACH. And I’ll come to the telegraph office to see you home every day for ten or twenty years, until you drive me away. [He sees MASHA and VERSHININ; joyfully] Is that you? How do you do. IRINA. Well, I am home at last. [To MASHA] A lady came to-day to telegraph to her brother in Saratov that her son died to-day, and she couldn’t remember the address anyhow. So she sent the telegram without an address, just to Saratov. She was crying. And for some reason or other I was rude to her. “I’ve no time,” I said. It was so stupid. Are the entertainers coming to-night? MASHA. Yes. IRINA. [Sitting down in an armchair] I want a rest. I am tired. TUZENBACH. [Smiling] When you come home from your work you seem so young, and so unfortunate.... [Pause.] IRINA. I am tired. No, I don’t like the telegraph office, I don’t like it. MASHA. You’ve grown thinner.... [Whistles a little] And you look younger, and your face has become like a boy’s. TUZENBACH. That’s the way she does her hair. IRINA. I must find another job, this one won’t do for me. What I wanted, what I hoped to get, just that is lacking here. Labour without poetry, without ideas.... [A knock on the floor] The doctor is knocking. [To TUZENBACH] Will you knock, dear. I can’t... I’m tired.... [TUZENBACH knocks] He’ll come in a minute. Something ought to be done. Yesterday the doctor and Andrey played cards at the club and lost money. Andrey seems to have lost 200 roubles. MASHA. [With indifference] What can we do now? IRINA. He lost money a fortnight ago, he lost money in December. Perhaps if he lost everything we should go away from this town. Oh, my God, I dream of Moscow every night. I’m just like a lunatic. [Laughs] We go there in June, and before June there’s still... February, March, April, May... nearly half a year! MASHA. Only Natasha mustn’t get to know of these losses. IRINA. I expect it will be all the same to her. [CHEBUTIKIN, who has only just got out of bed--he was resting after