The sea-gull
the greatest pleasure because you acted with such sincerity, and the
setting was beautiful. [A pause] There must be a lot of fish in this
lake.
NINA. Yes, there are.
TRIGORIN. I love fishing. I know of nothing pleasanter than to sit on a
lake shore in the evening with one’s eyes on a floating cork.
NINA. Why, I should think that for one who has tasted the joys of
creation, no other pleasure could exist.
ARKADINA. Don’t talk like that. He always begins to flounder when people
say nice things to him.
SHAMRAEFF. I remember when the famous Silva was singing once in the
Opera House at Moscow, how delighted we all were when he took the low C.
Well, you can imagine our astonishment when one of the church cantors,
who happened to be sitting in the gallery, suddenly boomed out: “Bravo,
Silva!” a whole octave lower. Like this: [In a deep bass voice] “Bravo,
Silva!” The audience was left breathless. [A pause.]
DORN. An angel of silence is flying over our heads.
NINA. I must go. Good-bye.
ARKADINA. Where to? Where must you go so early? We shan’t allow it.
NINA. My father is waiting for me.
ARKADINA. How cruel he is, really. [They kiss each other] Then I suppose
we can’t keep you, but it is very hard indeed to let you go.
NINA. If you only knew how hard it is for me to leave you all.
ARKADINA. Somebody must see you home, my pet.
NINA. [Startled] No, no!
SORIN. [Imploringly] Don’t go!
NINA. I must.
SORIN. Stay just one hour more, and all. Come now, really, you know.
NINA. [Struggling against her desire to stay; through her tears] No, no,
I can’t. [She shakes hands with him and quickly goes out.]
ARKADINA. An unlucky girl! They say that her mother left the whole of an
immense fortune to her husband, and now the child is penniless because
the father has already willed everything away to his second wife. It is
pitiful.
DORN. Yes, her papa is a perfect beast, and I don’t mind saying so--it
is what he deserves.
SORIN. [Rubbing his chilled hands] Come, let us go in; the night is
damp, and my legs are aching.
ARKADINA. Yes, you act as if they were turned to stone; you can hardly
move them. Come, you unfortunate old man. [She takes his arm.]
SHAMRAEFF. [Offering his arm to his wife] Permit me, madame.
SORIN. I hear that dog howling again. Won’t you please have it
unchained, Shamraeff?
SHAMRAEFF. No, I really can’t, sir. The granary is full of millet, and
I am afraid thieves might break in if the dog were not there. [Walking
beside MEDVIEDENKO] Yes, a whole octave lower: “Bravo, Silva!” and he
wasn’t a singer either, just a simple church cantor.
MEDVIEDENKO. What salary does the church pay its singers? [All go out
except DORN.]
DORN. I may have lost my judgment and my wits, but I must confess I
liked that play. There was something in it. When the girl spoke of her
solitude and the Devil’s eyes gleamed across the lake, I felt my hands
shaking with excitement. It was so fresh and naive. But here he comes;
let me say something pleasant to him.
TREPLIEFF comes in.
TREPLIEFF. All gone already?
DORN. I am here.
TREPLIEFF. Masha has been yelling for me all over the park. An
insufferable creature.
DORN. Constantine, your play delighted me. It was strange, of course,
and I did not hear the end, but it made a deep impression on me. You
have a great deal of talent, and must persevere in your work.
TREPLIEFF seizes his hand and squeezes it hard, then kisses him
impetuously.
DORN. Tut, tut! how excited you are. Your eyes are full of tears. Listen
to me. You chose your subject in the realm of abstract thought, and you
did quite right. A work of art should invariably embody some lofty idea.
Only that which is seriously meant can ever be beautiful. How pale you
are!
TREPLIEFF. So you advise me to persevere?
DORN. Yes, but use your talent to express only deep and eternal truths.
I have led a quiet life, as you know, and am a contented man, but if I
should ever experience the exaltation that an artist feels during his
moments of creation, I think I should spurn this material envelope of my
soul and everything connected with it, and should soar away into heights
above this earth.
TREPLIEFF. I beg your pardon, but where is Nina?
DORN. And yet another thing: every work of art should have a definite
object in view. You should know why you are writing, for if you follow
the road of art without a goal before your eyes, you will lose yourself,
and your genius will be your ruin.
TREPLIEFF. [Impetuously] Where is Nina?
DORN. She has gone home.
TREPLIEFF. [In despair] Gone home? What shall I do? I want to see her; I
must see her! I shall follow her.
DORN. My dear boy, keep quiet.
TREPLIEFF. I am going. I must go.
MASHA comes in.
MASHA. Your mother wants you to come in, Mr. Constantine. She is waiting
for you, and is very uneasy.
TREPLIEFF. Tell her I have gone away. And for heaven’s sake, all of you,
leave me alone! Go away! Don’t follow me about!
DORN. Come, come, old chap, don’t act like this; it isn’t kind at all.
TREPLIEFF. [Through his tears] Good-bye, doctor, and thank you.
TREPLIEFF goes out.
DORN. [Sighing] Ah, youth, youth!
MASHA. It is always “Youth, youth,” when there is nothing else to be
said.
She takes snuff. DORN takes the snuff-box out of her hands and flings it
into the bushes.
DORN. Don’t do that, it is horrid. [A pause] I hear music in the house.
I must go in.
MASHA. Wait a moment.
DORN. What do you want?
MASHA. Let me tell you again. I feel like talking. [She grows more and
more excited] I do not love my father, but my heart turns to you. For
some reason, I feel with all my soul that you are near to me. Help me!
Help me, or I shall do something foolish and mock at my life, and ruin
it. I am at the end of my strength.
DORN. What is the matter? How can I help you?
MASHA. I am in agony. No one, no one can imagine how I suffer. [She lays
her head on his shoulder and speaks softly] I love Constantine.
DORN. Oh, how excitable you all are! And how much love there is about
this lake of spells! [Tenderly] But what can I do for you, my child?
What? What?
The curtain falls.
ACT II
_The lawn in front of SORIN’S house. The house stands in the background,
on a broad terrace. The lake, brightly reflecting the rays of the sun,
lies to the left. There are flower-beds here and there. It is noon;
the day is hot. ARKADINA, DORN, and MASHA are sitting on a bench on the
lawn, in the shade of an old linden. An open book is lying on DORN’S
knees_.
ARKADINA. [To MASHA] Come, get up. [They both get up] Stand beside me.
You are twenty-two and I am almost twice your age. Tell me, Doctor,
which of us is the younger looking?
DORN. You are, of course.
ARKADINA. You see! Now why is it? Because I work; my heart and mind are
always busy, whereas you never move off the same spot. You don’t live.
It is a maxim of mine never to look into the future. I never admit the
thought of old age or death, and just accept what comes to me.
MASHA. I feel as if I had been in the world a thousand years, and I
trail my life behind me like an endless scarf. Often I have no desire
to live at all. Of course that is foolish. One ought to pull oneself
together and shake off such nonsense.
DORN. [Sings softly]
“Tell her, oh flowers--”
ARKADINA. And then I keep myself as correct-looking as an Englishman. I
am always well-groomed, as the saying is, and carefully dressed, with my
hair neatly arranged. Do you think I should ever permit myself to leave
the house half-dressed, with untidy hair? Certainly not! I have kept my
looks by never letting myself slump as some women do. [She puts her arms
akimbo, and walks up and down on the lawn] See me, tripping on tiptoe
like a fifteen-year-old girl.
DORN. I see. Nevertheless, I shall continue my reading. [He takes up his
book] Let me see, we had come to the grain-dealer and the rats.
ARKADINA. And the rats. Go on. [She sits down] No, give me the book, it
is my turn to read. [She takes the book and looks for the place] And
the rats. Ah, here it is. [She reads] “It is as dangerous for society to
attract and indulge authors as it is for grain-dealers to raise rats
in their granaries. Yet society loves authors. And so, when a woman
has found one whom she wishes to make her own, she lays siege to him
by indulging and flattering him.” That may be so in France, but it
certainly is not so in Russia. We do not carry out a programme like
that. With us, a woman is usually head over ears in love with an author
before she attempts to lay siege to him. You have an example before your
eyes, in me and Trigorin.
SORIN comes in leaning on a cane, with NINA beside him. MEDVIEDENKO
follows, pushing an arm-chair.
SORIN. [In a caressing voice, as if speaking to a child] So we are happy
now, eh? We are enjoying ourselves to-day, are we? Father and stepmother
have gone away to Tver, and we are free for three whole days!
NINA. [Sits down beside ARKADINA, and embraces her] I am so happy. I
belong to you now.
SORIN. [Sits down in his arm-chair] She looks lovely to-day.
ARKADINA. Yes, she has put on her prettiest dress, and looks sweet. That
was nice of you. [She kisses NINA] But we mustn’t praise her too much;
we shall spoil her. Where is Trigorin?
NINA. He is fishing off the wharf.
ARKADINA. I wonder he isn’t bored. [She begins to read again.]
NINA. What are you reading?
ARKADINA. “On the Water,” by Maupassant. [She reads a few lines to
herself] But the rest is neither true nor interesting. [She lays down
the book] I am uneasy about my son. Tell me, what is the matter with
him? Why is he so dull and depressed lately? He spends all his days on
the lake, and I scarcely ever see him any more.
MASHA. His heart is heavy. [Timidly, to NINA] Please recite something
from his play.
NINA. [Shrugging her shoulders] Shall I? Is it so interesting?
MASHA. [With suppressed rapture] When he recites, his eyes shine and his
face grows pale. His voice is beautiful and sad, and he has the ways of
a poet.
SORIN begins to snore.
DORN. Pleasant dreams!
ARKADINA. Peter!
SORIN. Eh?
ARKADINA. Are you asleep?
SORIN. Not a bit of it. [A pause.]
ARKADINA. You don’t do a thing for your health, brother, but you really
ought to.
DORN. The idea of doing anything for one’s health at sixty-five!
SORIN. One still wants to live at sixty-five.
DORN. [Crossly] Ho! Take some camomile tea.
ARKADINA. I think a journey to some watering-place would be good for
him.
DORN. Why, yes; he might go as well as not.
ARKADINA. You don’t understand.
DORN. There is nothing to understand in this case; it is quite clear.
MEDVIEDENKO. He ought to give up smoking.
SORIN. What nonsense! [A pause.]
DORN. No, that is not nonsense. Wine and tobacco destroy the
individuality. After a cigar or a glass of vodka you are no longer Peter
Sorin, but Peter Sorin plus somebody else. Your ego breaks in two: you
begin to think of yourself in the third person.
SORIN. It is easy for you to condemn smoking and drinking; you have
known what life is, but what about me? I have served in the Department
of Justice for twenty-eight years, but I have never lived, I have never
had any experiences. You are satiated with life, and that is why you
have an inclination for philosophy, but I want to live, and that is why
I drink my wine for dinner and smoke cigars, and all.
DORN. One must take life seriously, and to take a cure at sixty-five
and regret that one did not have more pleasure in youth is, forgive my
saying so, trifling.
MASHA. It must be lunch-time. [She walks away languidly, with a dragging
step] My foot has gone to sleep.
DORN. She is going to have a couple of drinks before lunch.