The Complete Plays

IVANOV, FINAL VERSION

The acceptance of Ivanov at the Alexandra Theatre made revisions all the more urgent. Chekhov’s friend, the millionaire publisher Aleksey Suvorin, kept advising him to beef up the character of Sasha, especially now that the star actress Mariya Savina was to play her. So Chekhov added Sasha to the attackers in Act Four, and had Ivanov taking active measures in his own defense. Moreover, Suvorin insisted on misreading the central protagonist, which constrained Chekhov to write long expository speeches, explanations, confessions, and acts of contrition to counter preconceptions of heroism and villainy. He gave his hero a long monologue about dreams of becoming the young Ivanov once more. “If Ivanov turns out looking like a cad or a superfluous man, and the doctor is a great man . . . then, obviously, my play won’t come off, and there can be no talk of a production” (to Suvorin, December 30, 1888). (See Variants to First Version.)

Doctor Lvov also needed revising. In traditional drama, doctors were raisonneurs, whose sagacious moralizing clued the audience into the way to think about the characters. Lvov, however, does not heal breaches; he creates them through his purblind and self-righteous assumptions. In this respect, he much resembles Gregers Werle in Ibsen’s The Wild Duck, who, in his quixotic attempt to strip away illusions, destroys the lives of those around him. Chekhov’s task was to make sure that Lvov did not come across either as an objective spokesman or a fatuous prig. As he wrote to Suvorin, “Such persons are necessary, and for the most part sympathetic. To draw them as caricatures, even in the interests of the stage, is dishonorable and serves no purpose” (December 30, 1888).

Rehearsals for the Petersburg production went badly, despite a strong cast, and Chekhov was dissatisfied with the comic actor Vladimir Davydov, who played the lead in a monotonous style to indicate seriousness. Even though the opening night was a huge success, Chekhov sneaked away, regarding the ovation as a binge that would later give him a severe hangover. He continued to revise Ivanov, dropping one comic character, Dudkin, and, in general, toning down the farcical elements. Chekhov intended to “sum up everything that’s been written so far about whining and languishing people, and in my Ivanov put an end to such writing” (to Suvorin, January 7, 1889). A third version appeared in 1889, with more explanations between Lvov and Anna, and the removal of Ivanov’s monologue in the last act. Even then, Chekhov was not content and kept tinkering with it until 1901.

Chekhov never managed to eliminate the mannerisms of boulevard drama that vitiated the subtlety of his concept. The Act Two curtain, with a consumptive wife intruding on her husband in the arms of another woman, is effective claptrap; at least we are spared the fainting that is described in the next act. Scenes of vituperation rise, in the best melodrama manner, to one consummate insult. “Kike bitch,” Ivanov screams at Anna in his ugliest moment; “Bastard” (or “Cad,” “Bounder”—podiets is too dated to be translated easily) is the summation of Lvov’s contempt for Ivanov. Chekhov was to handle the slanging-match between Arkadina and Treplyov in The Seagull more dexterously. Even the final suicide is, as the critic Aleksandr Kugel opined, “a sacrifice made by Chekhov’s soul to the god of theatrical gimmickry,” literally ending the play with a bang. It may have been copied directly from Luka Antropov’s popular comedy-melodrama Will-o’-the-Wisps (1873).

For a modern audience, the anti-Semitic slurs are a problem. The Jews were the largest and most persecuted minority in the Russian Empire, officially segregated into an area of Western and Southern Russia known as the Pale of Settlement. Seen as aliens, they were severely limited as to education and profession, as well as residence, heavily taxed, and often subjected to the periodic massacres known as pogroms. Although Chekhov privately used the slighting term zhid (“Yid,” “kike”) without thinking twice about it, at a time when anti-Semitism was public policy, his tolerance and lack of prejudice were exceptional. His fiction is filled with admirable or sympathetic Jewish characters. Two years before he wrote Ivanov, he may have proposed marriage to Yevdokiya Éfros, a Jew who refused to convert to Russian Orthodoxy. Later on, her husband, the lawyer Yefim Konovitser, became one of many Jews on friendly terms with Chekhov, among them the painter Isaak Levitan. In 1898, Chekhov broke with his close friend and associate Suvorin because the publisher’s newspapers supported the anti-Semitic faction in the Dreyfus affair.

Anna is a familiar literary type, the noble, self-sacrificing Jewess descended from Ivanhoe’s Rebecca of York, who, in nineteenth-century fiction, drama, and opera, is nobler than her “race” and usually dies or converts for love of a Christian. Ivanov is shown married to a Jew as a token of his quixotic social idealism. It is akin to a white South African marrying a Zulu woman in protest against apartheid. The revulsion Ivanov feels for Anna is part and parcel of his general loss of ideals. The comedown from his once noble if unrealistic stance to his present moral torpor is revealed at the end of Act Three when he insults her.

Within the conventional framework, a Chekhovian sense of atmospherics is beginning to emerge. He knew well the resonance that derived from a properly chosen setting, and structured the play to alternate between private and public life. We first see Ivanov alone, seated in a natural surrounding against the background of his house. He is outside it, because it represents to him a suffocating prison to be escaped. The primal image of an isolated Ivanov is almost immediately shattered by Borkin with his gun. The unused firearm of the opening will be recalled in the gunshot that ends the play.

As if to exacerbate the incursions into his privacy, Ivanov flees to a more peopled spot, the party at the Lebedevs’. But there the guests are already yawning at the very boredom he hoped to avoid. Act Two begins in a crowd of people, some so anonymous as to be designated merely as First Guest, Second Guest, etc. Even before Ivanov and Shabelsky appear, their lives are trotted out as slander and conjecture; Ivanov’s innermost motives are distorted, and his most intimate action here, the embrace of Sasha, is intruded upon by the worst possible witness, his wife.

Act Three returns to Ivanov’s study, which ought to be his sanctum, but is, as the stage direction makes clear, a jumble, a visual metaphor for the disorder of his existence. His papers, presumably the products of his brain and the instruments of his labor, lie cheek by jowl with food and drink, consumed by others who expatiate on gastronomy. Coming as it does after Anna’s melodramatic discovery, this interlude strikes the note of triviality and neutralizes what might otherwise be overly theatrical. It is Chekhov’s way of cooling overheated actions by pairing them with the banal. Ivanov himself seems aware of this, for he resents the intrusion of his workaday friends on his moping. Their commentary reduces his soul searching to cheap and obvious motives.

“It’s like living in Australia,” says Kosykh, evoking the provincial barbarity where vast expanses stretch between estates, and yet privacy is impossible. The last act interweaves public and private worlds as the wedding party prepares for benediction before going to church. The event could not be more conspicuous, despite the personal nature of the conjugal bond, and the characters have difficulty finding a quiet corner in which to unburden their minds. Ivanov’s entrance is regarded as a tactless invasion, a bridegroom seeing the bride before the ceremony, and his self-destruction is enacted before a crowd of horrified onlookers.

IVANOV

И‚aнo‚

Drama in Four Acts

FINAL VERSION

[Bracketed footnote numerals refer to footnotes in Ivanov, First Version.]

CHARACTERS

IVANOV, NIKOLAY ALEKSEEVICH, Permanent member of the Council for Peasant Affairs^[1

ANNA PETROVNA, his wife, born Sarra Abramson^[2]

SHABELSKY, MATVEY SEMYONOVICH, Count, his maternal uncle

LEBEDEV, PAVEL KIRILLYCH, Chairman of the Rural Board^[3]

ZINAIDA SAVISHNA, his wife

SASHA, the Lebedevs’ daughter, 20

LVOV, YEVGENY KONSTANTINOVICH, a young country doctor^[4]

BABAKINA, MARFA YEGOROVNA, a young widow, landowner, daughter of a rich merchant

KOSYKH, DMITRY NIKITICH, a tax collector

BORKIN, MIKHAIL MIKHAILOVICH, a distant relative of Ivanov and manager of his estate

AVDOTYA NAZAROVNA, an old woman of no fixed profession

YEGORUSHKA, a poor relation of the Lebedevs

FIRST GUEST

SECOND GUEST

THIRD GUEST

FOURTH GUEST

PYOTR, Ivanov’s manservant

GAVRILA, the Lebedevs’ manservant

GUESTS of both sexes

MANSERVANTS

The action takes place in one of the districts^[5] of Central Russia.

ACT ONE

A garden on Ivanov’s estate. Left, the facade of a house with a veranda. One of the windows is open. In front of the veranda is a broad, semicircular expanse, with paths leading straight ahead and to the left, to the garden. At the right, little garden settees and tables. A lamp is lit on one of the latter. Evening is drawing on. At the rise of the curtain one can hear a duet for piano and cello being practiced in the house.

I

IVANOV and BORKIN.

IVANOV is sitting at a table, reading a book. BORKIN, wearing heavy boots and carrying a rifle, appears at the bottom of the garden; he is tipsy; after he spots Ivanov, he tiptoes up to him and, when he has come alongside him, aims the gun in his face.

IVANOV (on seeing Borkin, shudders and jumps up). Misha, God knows what . . . you scared me . . . I’m jittery enough as it is, but you keep playing these stupid jokes . . . (Sits.) He scared me, so he’s pleased with himself . . .

BORKIN (roars with laughter). Right, right . . . sorry, sorry. (Sits beside him.) I won’t do it any more, no more . . . (Takes off his vizored cap.) It’s hot. Would you believe, sweetheart, I’ve covered over ten miles in something like three hours . . . I’ve knocked myself out . . . Just feel my heart, the way it’s pounding . . .

IVANOV (reading). Fine, later . . .

BORKIN. No, feel it right now. (Takes his hand and puts it on his chest.) You hear it? Boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom. That means I’ve got heart trouble. Any minute I could keel over and die. Say, would you be sorry if I died?

IVANOV. I’m reading . . . later . . .

BORKIN. No, seriously, would you be sorry if I suddenly up and died? Niko-lay Alekseevich, would you be sorry if I died?

IVANOV. Stop pestering me!

BORKIN. Dear boy, tell me, would you be sorry?

IVANOV. I’m sorry that you reek of vodka. It’s disgusting, Misha.

BORKIN (laughs). I really reek? I can’t believe it . . . Actually, I can believe it. At Plesniki I ran into the coroner, and the two of us, I must admit, knocked back about eight drinks a piece. Fundamentally, drinking is very bad for your health. Tell me, is it really bad for a person’s health? Is it bad for you?

IVANOV. This is unbearable, for the last time . . . Get it through your head, Misha, that this teasing . . .

BORKIN. Right, right . . . sorry, sorry! . . . Take it easy, sit down . . . (Gets up and walks away.) Incredible people, you’re not even allowed to talk. (Comes back.) Oh, yes! I almost forgot . . . Let’s have it, eighty-two rubles! . . .

IVANOV. What eighty-two rubles?

BORKIN. To pay the workmen tomorrow.

IVANOV. I haven’t got it.

BORKIN. Thank you very kindly! (Mimics him.) I haven’t got it . . . After all, don’t the workmen have to be paid? Don’t they?

IVANOV. I don’t know. I haven’t got anything today. Wait till the first of the month when I get my salary.^[6]

BORKIN. Just try and have a conversation with characters like this! . . . The workmen aren’t coming for their money on the first of the month, but tomorrow morning!

IVANOV. What am I supposed to do about it now? Go on, saw me in half, nag at me . . . And where you did you pick up this revolting habit of pestering me whenever I’m reading, writing or . . .

BORKIN. What I’m asking you is: do the workmen get paid or not? Eh, what’s the use of talking to you! . . . (Waves his hand in dismissal.) Landowners too, the hell with ‘em, lords of creation . . . Experimental farming methods . . . Nearly three hundred acres of land and not a penny in their pocket . . . It’s like a wine cellar without a corkscrew. I’ll go and sell the carriage-horses tomorrow! Yes, sir! . . . I sold the oats while they were still standing in the field, tomorrow I’ll go and sell the rye. (Strides up and down the stage.) You think I’ll wait for an invitation? Do you? Well, no sir, you’re not dealing with that sort of person . . .

II

The same, SHABELSKY (offstage), and ANNA PETROVNA.

SHABELSKY’s voice from the window: “It’s impossible to play with you . . . You’ve no more ear than a gefilte fish, and your touch is a disgrace.”

ANNA PETROVNA (appears in the open window). Who was talking out here just now? Was it you, Misha? Why are you stamping around like that?

BORKIN. Talk to your Nicolas-voila^[7] and it’d get you stamping too.

ANNA PETROVNA. Listen, Misha, have them bring some hay to the croquet lawn.

BORKIN (waves his hand in dismissal). Leave me alone, please . . .

ANNA PETROVNA. Really, what a tone to take . . . That tone of voice doesn’t suit you at all. If you want women to love you, never get angry with them and don’t act self-important . . . (to her husband.) Nikolay, let’s turn somersaults in the hay! . . .

IVANOV. Anyuta, it’s bad for your health to stand in an open window. Go in, please . . . (Shouts.) Uncle, shut the window!

The window is shut.

BORKIN. Don’t forget, day after tomorrow, the interest has to be paid to Lebedev.

IVANOV. I remember. I’ll be at Lebedev’s today and I’ll ask them to postpone it . . . (Looks at his watch.)

BORKIN. When are you going over there?

IVANOV. Right now.

BORKIN (quickly). Hold on, hold on! isn’t today, I think, Shurochka’s birthday? . . . Well, well, well, well . . . And me forgetting all about it . . . What a memory, eh? (Skips.) I’ll go, I’ll go . . . (Sings.) I’ll go . . . I’ll go for a swim, chew some paper, take three drops of ammonia,^[8] and it’s off to a fresh start . . . Darling, Nikolay Alekseevich, sweetie-pie, love of my life, you’re always a nervous wreck, no kidding, you’re whining, constantly melancholeric,^[9] and yet you and I, no kidding, could get a hell of a lot of things done together! I’m ready to do anything for you . . . You want me to marry Marfusha Babakina for your sake? Half the dowry is yours . . . I mean, not half, but all of it, take all of it! . . .

IVANOV. If you’re going to talk rot . . .

BORKIN. No, seriously, no kidding, you want me to marry Marfusha? Go fifty-fifty in the dowry . . . But why am I talking to you? As if you understood me? (Mimics him.) “If you’re going to talk rot.” You’re a good man, an intelligent man, but you haven’t got an ounce of, what d’y’call it, you know, get up and go. If only you’d do things in a big way, raise a little hell . . . You’re a neurotic, a crybaby, but if you were a normal man, you could make a million in a year’s time. For instance, if I had two thousand three hundred rubles right now, in two weeks I’d have twenty thousand. You don’t believe me? You think I’m talking nonsense? No, it’s not nonsense . . . Just give me two thousand three hundred rubles, and in a week I’ll show you twenty thousand. On the other side of the river Ovsyanov is selling a strip of land, just across from us, for two thousand three hundred rubles. If we buy that strip, we’ll own both sides of the riverbank. And if we own both sides, you understand, we have the right to dam the river. Get it? We could put up a mill, and as soon as we announce that we want to build a dam, everyone who lives downstream will kick up a fuss, and right away we go kommen Sie hier,^[10] if you don’t want a dam, pay up. Get it? Zarev’s factory will pay us five thousand, Korolkov three thousand, the monastery will pay five thousand . . .

IVANOV. It’s all hocus-pocus, Misha . . . If you want us to stay friends, keep it to yourself.

BORKIN (sits at the table). Of course! . . . I knew it! You won’t do anything yourself, and you tie my hands . . .

III

The same, SHABELSKY, and LVOV.

SHABELSKY (coming out of the house with Lvov). Doctors are just like lawyers, the sole difference being, lawyers only rob you, while doctors rob you and kill you . . . Present company excepted. (Sits on a little settee.) Quacks, charlatans . . . Perhaps in some Utopia you can come across an exception to the general rule, but . . . over the course of a lifetime I’ve squandered about twenty thousand and never met a single doctor who didn’t strike me as a barefaced impostor.

BORKIN (to Ivanov). Yes, you won’t do anything yourself and you tie my hands. That’s why we don’t have any money . . .

SHABELSKY. I repeat, present company excepted . . . There may be exceptions, although, even so . . . (Yawns.)

IVANOV (closing the book). Doctor, what have you got to say?

LVOV (with a glance at the window). The same thing I said this morning: she has to go to the Crimea at once. (Walks up and down the stage.)

SHABELSKY (bursts out laughing). The Crimea! . . . Why don’t you and I, Misha, hang out a shingle as medicos? It’s so easy . . . A woman sneezes or coughs because she’s bored, some Madame Angot or Ophelia,’^[11] quick, take a scrap of paper and prescribe along scientific principles: first, a young doctor, then a trip to the Crimea, in the Crimea a strapping Tatar . . .

IVANOV (to the Count). Ah, stop pestering, you pest! (To Lvov.) To go to the Crimea you need money. Suppose I find it, she definitely refuses to take the trip . . .

LVOV. Yes, she does.

Pause.

BORKIN. Say, Doctor, is Anna Petrovna really so seriously ill that she has to go to the Crimea?

LVOV (with a glance at the window). Yes, tuberculosis.

BORKIN. Psss! . . . that’s no good . . . For some time now I’ve noticed from her face that she wasn’t long for this world.

LVOV. But . . . don’t talk so loudly . . . you can be heard in the house . . .

Pause.

BORKIN (sighing). This life of ours . . . Human life is like a posy, growing gloriously in a meadow, a goat comes along, eats it, end of posy . . .

SHABELSKY. Nonsense, nonsense and more nonsense! . . . (Yawns.) Nonsense and monkey shines.

Pause.

BORKIN. Well, gentlemen, I keep trying to teach Nikolay Alekseevich how to make money. I’ve let him in on one wonderful idea, but my pollen, as usual, has fallen on barren ground. You can’t hammer anything into him . . . Look at him: melancholy, spleen, tedium, depression, heartache . . .

SHABELSKY (rises and stretches). You’re a brilliant thinker, you come up with something for everyone, you teach everyone how to live, but you’ve never taught me a single thing . . . Teach me, Mr. Know-it-all, show me the way to get ahead . . .

BORKIN (rises). I’m going for a swim . . . Good-bye, gentlemen . . . (to the Count.) You’ve got twenty ways to get ahead . . . If I were in your shoes, I’d make about twenty thousand in a week. (Going.)

SHABELSKY (goes after him). What’s the gimmick? Come on, teach me.

BORKIN. There’s nothing to teach. It’s very easy . . . (Returns.) Nikolay Alek-seevich, give me a ruble!

IVANOV silently gives him the money.

Merci! (To the Count.) You’ve still got a handful of aces.

SHABELSKY (going after him). Well, what are they?

BORKIN. In your shoes, in a week I’d make about thirty thousand, if not more. (Exits with the Count.)

IVANOV (after a pause.) Pointless people,^[13] pointless talk, the pressing need to answer stupid questions, Doctor, it’s all wearied me to the point of illness. I’ve become irritable, touchy, impatient, so petty that I don’t know what I am any more. Whole days at a time my head aches, I can’t sleep, ringing in my ears . . . And there’s absolutely nowhere to escape to . . . Absolutely nowhere . . .

LVOV. Nikolay Alekseevich, I have to have a serious talk with you.

IVANOV. Talk away.

LVOV. It’s concerning Anna Petrovna. (Sits.) She won’t consent to go to the Crimea, but she might if you went with her.

IVANOV (after thinking about it). If we were to go together, we’d need money. Besides, they certainly wouldn’t give me a leave of absence. I’ve already taken one leave this year . . .

LVOV. Let’s assume that’s true. Now, moving on. The most important treatment for tuberculosis is absolute peace and quiet, and your wife doesn’t have a moment’s peace. She’s constantly upset by the way you treat her. Excuse me, I’m concerned and I’ll speak bluntly. Your behavior is killing her.

Pause.

Nikolay Alekseevich, give me some cause to think better of you!

IVANOV. It’s all true, true . . . I’m probably terribly to blame, but my mind’s messed up, my soul is mired in a kind of indolence, and I can’t seem to understand myself. I don’t understand other people or myself. (With a glance at the window.) They can hear us, let’s go, let’s take a walk.

Gets up.

My dear friend, I should tell you the story from the very beginning. But it’s long and so complicated that I wouldn’t finish before morning.

They walk.

Anyuta is a remarkable, an exceptional woman . . . For my sake she converted to my religion, cast off her father and mother, turned her back on wealth, and if I’d demanded another hundred sacrifices, she would have made them, without blinking an eye. Well, sir, there nothing at all remarkable about me and I made no sacrifices at all. Though it’s a long story . . . The whole gist of it, dear Doctor (hesitates), is . . . to make a long story short, I married when I was passionately in love and swore love everlasting, but . . . five years have gone by, she’s still in love with me, while I . . . (Splays his hands in a gesture of futility) Now you’re going to tell me that she’ll die soon, but I don’t feel any love or pity, just a sort of void, weariness. Anyone looking at me from the outside would probably think this is awful; I don’t understand myself what’s going on inside me . . .

They go off down a garden path.

IV

SHABELSKY, then ANNA PETROVNA.

SHABELSKY (enters, roaring with laughter). Honest to God, he’s not a crook, he’s a visionary, a virtuoso! Ought to put up a monument to him. He’s a thorough blend of modern pus in all its variety: lawyer, doctor, speculator, accountant. (Sits on a low step of the veranda.) And yet he seems never to have gone to school anywhere, that’s what’s amazing . . . What a brilliant criminal he probably would have been, if he’d picked up a bit of culture, the liberal arts! “In a week,” he says, “you could have twenty thousand. You’ve got a handful of aces,” he says, “your title as Count.” (Roars with laughter.) “Any girl with a dowry would marry you” . . .

ANNA PETROVNA opens the window and looks down.

“Want me to make a match between you and Marfusha?” he says. Qui est ce que c est Marfusha?^[14] Ah, that Balabalkina creature . . . Babakalkina . . . the one that looks like a washerwoman.

ANNA PETROVNA. Is that you, Count?

SHABELSKY. What’s that?

ANNA PETROVNA laughs.

(In a Jewish accent.) Vot you should leffing at?

ANNA PETROVNA. I was remembering a certain saying of yours. Remember, you said it at dinner? A thief unchastised, a horse . . . How did it go?

SHABELSKY. A kike baptized, a thief unchastised, a horse hospitalized are not to be prized.

ANNA PETROVNA (laughs). You can’t even make a simple play on words without malice. You’re a malicious person. (Seriously.) Joking aside, Count, you are very malicious. Living with you is depressing and terrifying. You’re always grumbling, grousing, you think everyone’s a scoundrel and a villain. Tell me, Count, frankly: have you ever said anything nice about anyone?

SHABELSKY. What sort of cross-examination is this!

ANNA PETROVNA. You and I have been living together under the same roof for five years now, and never once have I heard you speak of people neutrally, without sarcasm or sneering. What harm have people done you? Do you think you’re better than everyone else?

SHABELSKY. I certainly don’t think that. I’m the same blackguard and swine in man’s clothing^[15] as everyone else. Mauvais ton, an old has-been. I always have a bad word for myself too. Who am I? What am I? I was rich, independent, somewhat happy, and now . . . a parasite, a freeloader, a dislocated buffoon. If I get indignant, if I express disdain, people laugh in my face; if I laugh, they shake their heads at me sadly and say: the old man’s off his rocker . . . Most of the time, though, they don’t listen to me, take no notice of me . . .

ANNA PETROVNA (calmly). Screeching again . . .

SHABELSKY. Who’s screeching?

ANNA PETROVNA. The owl. It screeches every evening.

SHABELSKY. Let it screech. Things can’t get worse than they already are. (Stretches.) Ah, my dearest Sarra, just let me win one or two hundred thousand, and then watch me kick up my heels! . . . You wouldn’t see me for dust. I’d run away from this dump, from freeloading, and I wouldn’t set foot here till doomsday . . .

ANNA PETROVNA. And just what would you do if you won?

SHABELSKY (after a moment’s thought). First of all I’d go to Moscow and listen to gypsy music. Then . . . then I’d scamper off to Paris. I’d rent an apartment, attend the Russian church . . .

ANNA PETROVNA. What else?

SHABELSKY. I’d spend whole days sitting by my wife’s grave, lost in thought. I would sit at her grave like that till I kicked the bucket.

Pause.

ANNA PETROVNA. That’s awfully depressing. Shall we play another duet or something?

SHABELSKY. All right. Get out the music.

ANNA PETROVNA exits.

V

SHABELSKY, IVANOV, and LVOV.

IVANOV (appearing on the path with Lvov). Dear friend, you got your degree only last year, you’re still young and vigorous, but I’m thirty-five. I have the right to give you advice. Don’t marry Jewish girls or neurotics or intellectuals, but pick out something ordinary, drab, without flashy colors or extraneous sounds. Generally speaking, match your life to a standard pattern. The grayer and more monotonous the background, the better. My dear man, don’t wage war singlehandedly against thousands, don’t tilt at windmills, don’t run headlong into walls . . . God forbid you go in for any experimental farming methods, alternative schools, impassioned speeches . . . Shut yourself up in your shell and go about your petty, God-given business. That’s more comfortable, more authentic, more healthy. Whereas the life I’ve led, what a bore! Ah, what a bore! . . . So many mistakes, injustices, so much absurdity . .¹ (On seeing the Count, annoyed.) You’re always spinning around in front of us, uncle, you never let me have a moment’s privacy!

SHABELSKY (in a tearful voice). Damn it all, there’s no place for me anywhere. (Jumps up and goes into the house.)

IVANOV (shouts after him). There, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. (To Lvov.) Why did I have to insult him? No, I’m definitely going to pieces. Got to get a grip on myself. Got to . . .

LVOV (overwrought). Nikolay Alekseevich, I’ve been listening to you and . . . and, excuse me, I’ll speak frankly, no beating about the bush. Your voice, your intonations, let alone your words, are so full of heartless egotism, such cold cruelty . . . A person near and dear to you is perishing because she is near to you, her days are numbered, while you . . . you cannot love, you take walks, hand out advice, strike poses . . . I cannot find a way to express it, I haven’t got the gift of gab, but . . . but I find you deeply repugnant! . . .

IVANOV. Could be, could be . . . A third party might have a clearer picture . . . It’s quite possible that you do understand me . . . I’m probably very, very much at fault . . . (Lends an ear.) I think the horses have been brought round. I have to go and change . . . (He walks to the house and stops.) Doctor, you don’t like me and you don’t conceal the fact. It does your heart credit. (Exits into the house.)

LVOV (alone). This damned temper of mine . . . Again I missed my chance and didn’t talk to him the way I should . . . I can’t talk to him coolly and calmly! No sooner do I open my mouth and say a single word, when something here (points to his chest) starts to choke up, goes in reverse, and my tongue cleaves to the roof of my mouth. I hate this Tartuffe,^[16] this puffed-up swindler, most heartily . . . Now he’s going out . . . His unhappy wife’s one pleasure is his being near her, she breathes through him, pleads with him to spend at least one night with her, and he . . . he cannot . . . For him, you see, the house is stifling and claustrophobic. If he spent even one night at home, he’d put a bullet through his brain from sheer ennui! Poor fellow . . . he needs wide open spaces, so he can perpetrate some more underhanded acts . . . Oh, I know why you ride over to those Lebedevs every night! I know!

VI

LVOV, IVANOV (in a hat and overcoat), SHABELSKY, and ANNA PETROVNA.

SHABELSKY (coming out of the house with Ivanov and Anna Petrovna). Really, Nicolas, this is inhuman! You go out every night by yourself, and leave us all on our own. Bored stiff, we go to bed at eight o’clock. This is an abomination, not life! How come you can go out and we can’t? How come?

ANNA PETROVNA. Count, leave him alone! Let him go, let him . . .

IVANOV (to his wife). Well, where would you, a sick woman, go? You’re sick and you mustn’t go out of doors after sundown . . . Ask the doctor here. You’re not a child, Anyuta, you have to be sensible . . . (To the Count.) And why should you go out?

SHABELSKY. I’d go to blue blazes, I’d crawl down a crocodile’s gullet rather than stay here. I’m bored! I’m petrified with boredom! Everybody’s sick and tired of me. You leave me at home so she won’t be bored on her own, and I’ve nagged her to death, chewed her to pieces!

ANNA PETROVNA. Leave him alone, Count, leave him! Let him go if it gives him pleasure.

IVANOV. Anya, why take that tone? You know I don’t go there for pleasure! I have to discuss the terms of the loan.

ANNA PETROVNA. I don’t understand why you feel the need to make excuses? Go ahead! Who’s keeping you here?

IVANOV. Friends, let’s not devour one another! Is this absolutely necessary?

SHABELSKY (in a tearful voice). Nicolas, dear boy, do please take me with you! I’ll get an eyeful of those crooks and idiots and, maybe, have some fun. Honestly, I haven’t been anywhere since Easter!

IVANOV (annoyed). All right, let’s go! I’m sick and tired of the lot of you!

SHABELSKY. Really? Well, merci, merci . . . (Merrily takes him by the arm and leads him aside.) May I wear your straw hat?

IVANOV. You may, only hurry up, for pity’s sake!

The COUNT runs into the house.

How sick and tired I am of the lot of you! But what am I saying, my friends? Anya, I’m speaking to you in an impossible tone. This is something new for me. Well, good-bye, Anya, I’ll be back by one.

ANNA PETROVNA. Kolya, darling, do stay home!

IVANOV (excited). My sweetest, my dearest, unhappy woman, for pity’s sake don’t keep me from going out at night. It’s cruel, unfair on my part, but let me commit this injustice! The house weighs on me like lead! As soon as the sun goes down my mind starts to be poisoned by tedium. Such tedium! Don’t ask why it’s like that. I don’t know myself. I swear to the God we believe in, I don’t know! I’m gloomy here, and when you go to the Lebedevs, it’s even worse there; you come back from there, it’s still gloomy here, and so it goes all night long . . . It’s totally hopeless! . . .

ANNA PETROVNA. Kolya . . . then you should stay here! We’ll talk about things, the way we used to . . . We’ll have some supper together, we’ll read . . . The grouch and I practiced lots of duets for you . . . (Embraces him.) Do stay!

Pause.

I don’t understand you. This has been going on all year long. Why have you changed?

IVANOV. I don’t know, I don’t know . . .

ANNA PETROVNA. And why don’t you want me to go out with you in the evenings?

IVANOV. If you must know, then, I suppose I can tell you. It’s rather cruel to talk this way, but it’s best to get it out . . . When I’m tormented by tedium, I . . . I start to stop loving you. At times like that I run away from you. In short, I have to get out of the house.

ANNA PETROVNA. Tedium? I understand, I understand . . . You know what, Kolya? You should try, as you used to, to sing, laugh, lose your temper . . . Stay here, we’ll laugh, have some homemade cordial, and we’ll chase away your tedium in a minute. Would you like me to sing something? Or we’ll go, sit in your study, in the shadows, the way we used to, and you can tell me about your tedium . . . Your eyes are filled with such pain! I’ll gaze into them and cry, and we’ll both feel better. . . . (Laughs and cries.) Or, Kolya, how does it go? The flowers return every spring, but joy never does?^[17] Am I right? Well, go on, go on . . .

IVANOV. Pray to God for me, Anya! (He goes, stops and thinks.) No, I can’t. (He exits.)

ANNA PETROVNA. Go on . . . (Sits at the table.)

LVOV (paces up and down the stage). Anna Petrovna, make yourself a rule: as soon as the clock strikes six, you have to go to your room and not come out until morning. The evening damp is bad for your health.

ANNA PETROVNA. Your wish is my command, sir.

LVOV. What’s “your wish is my command, sir” supposed to mean! I’m talking seriously.

ANNA PETROVNA. But I don’t want to be serious. (Coughs.)

LVOV. There, you see, you’re coughing already . . .

VII

LVOV, ANNA PETROVNA, and SHABELSKY.

SHABELSKY (comes out of the house in hat and overcoat). Where’s Nikolay? Have the horses been brought round? (Goes quickly and kisses Anna Petro-vna’s hand.) Good night, lovely lady! (Makes a face.) Gevalt!^[18] Excusink me, pliss! (Rapid exit.)

LVOV. Buffoon!

Pause; the distant strains of a concertina are heard.

ANNA PETROVNA. How boring! . . . Out there the coachmen and the cooks are having a dance, while I . . . I’m like some thing that’s been discarded . . . Yevgeny Konstantinovich, why are you pacing back and forth? Come over here, sit down! . . .

LVOV. I can’t sit down.

Pause.

ANNA PETROVNA. They’re playing “The Goldfinch” in the kitchen. (Sings.) “Goldfinch, goldfinch, where have you been? Drinking vodka on the hills so green?”

Pause.

Doctor, are your father and mother still alive?

LVOV. My father’s dead, my mother’s alive.

ANNA PETROVNA. Do you miss your mother?

LVOV. I’ve no time to miss anyone.

ANNA PETROVNA (laughs). The flowers return every spring, but joy never does. Who quoted that line to me? God help my memory . . . I think Nikolay quoted it. (Lends an ear.) The owl is screeching again!

LVOV. Then let it screech.

ANNA PETROVNA. Doctor, I’m beginning to think that Fate has dealt me a losing hand. Most people, who may be no better than I am, lead happy lives and never pay for their happiness. But I have paid for everything, absolutely everything! . . . And at such a cost! Why am I being charged such high interest? . . . My dear man, you’re always so solicitous of me, you’re so tactful, you’re afraid to tell me the truth, but you think I don’t know what sort of illness I have? I know all too well. Still, it’s boring to talk about . . . (in a Jewish accent.) Excusink me, pliss! Do you know how to tell funny stories?

LVOV. I don’t.

ANNA PETROVNA. Nikolay knows how. And I’m starting to wonder so much at the unfairness of people: why don’t they reciprocate love for love, why do they pay back truth with lies? Tell me: how long will my father and mother go on hating me? They live nearly forty miles from here, but I can feel their hatred, night and day, even in my dreams. And what can you prescribe to make sense of Nikolay’s tedium? He says he stops loving me only in the evenings, when he’s gnawed by tedium. I can understand that and put up with it, but imagine if he’s fallen out of love with me completely! Of course, that’s impossible, but what if all of a sudden? No, no, I mustn’t even think about it. (Sings.) “Goldfinch, goldfinch, where have you been?” (Shudders.) The horrible thoughts I have! . . . Doctor, you’re not a family man, so you can’t understand a lot of this . . .

LVOV. You wonder . . . (He sits beside her.) No, I wonder, wonder at you! Now, explain, spell it out for me, how could you, an intelligent, honorable, almost saintly woman, have let yourself be so brazenly tricked and dragged into this nest of screech owls? Why are you here? What do you have in common with this cold, heartless . . . but let’s leave your husband out of it!—what do you have in common with this vacuous, vulgar milieu? Oh, good God in heaven! . . . this constantly grumbling, decrepit, insane count, this creepy super-swindler Misha, making his vile faces . . . Explain to me, what are you doing here? How did you end up here?

ANNA PETROVNA (laughs). That’s exactly the way he used to talk . . . Word for word . . . But his eyes are bigger, and when he used to talk about something with enthusiasm, they’d be like glowing coals . . . Keep talking, keep talking!

LVOV (rises and waves his hand in dismissal). What am I supposed to talk about? Please go inside . . .

ANNA PETROVNA. You say that Nikolay’s this and that, six of one, half of a dozen of the other. How do you know this? Can you really analyze a person in six months’ time? Doctor, he’s a remarkable man, and I’m sorry that you didn’t get to know him two or three years ago. Now he’s depressed, taciturn, doens’t do anything, but in the past . . . Such splendor! . . . I fell in love with him at first sight. (Laughs.) One glimpse of him and I was caught in the mousetrap, snap! He said: let’s go . . . I cut myself off from everything, you know, the way people snip off withered leaves with a scissors, and I went . . .

Pause.

And now it’s different . . . Now he goes to the Lebedevs, to be entertained by other women, while I . . . sit in the garden and listen to the owl screeching. . . .

The WATCHMAN taps.^[19]

Doctor, don’t you have any brothers?

LVOV. No.

ANNA PETROVNA sobs.

Well, what is it now? What’s wrong with you?

ANNA PETROVNA (rises). I can’t help it, Doctor, I’m going to go over there . . .

LVOV. Over where?

ANNA PETROVNA. Where he is . . . I’ll drive over there . . . Have them harness the horses . . . (Runs into the house.)

LVOV. No, I definitely refuse to practice under such conditions! It’s not bad enough that they don’t pay me a penny, but they also turn my feelings inside-out! . . . No, I refuse! Enough is enough! . . . (Goes into the house.)

Curtain

ACT TWO

A reception room in the Lebedevs’ house; there is an entry directly into the garden; doors right and left. Antique, expensive furniture. A chandelier, candelabrums, and pictures, all under dustcovers.^[20]

I

ZINAIDA SAVISHNA, FIRST GUEST, SECOND GUEST, THIRD GUEST, KOSYKH, AVDOTYA NAZAROVNA, YEGORUSHKA, GAVRILA, MAID-SERVANT, OLD LADY GUESTS, YOUNG LADIES, and BABAKINA.

ZINAIDA SAVISHNA is sitting on a sofa. On both sides of her in armchairs are OLD LADY GUESTS; on straight chairs the YOUNG PEOPLE. In the distance, near the entry to the garden, people are playing cards;^[21] among the players: KOSYKH, AVDOTYA NAZAROVNA, and YEGORUSHKA. GAVRILA is standing by the door at right; the MAID-SERVANT is handing round a tray of sweetmeats. Throughout the whole act guests circulate from the garden to the door at right and back again. BABAKINA enters through the door at right and heads for Zinaida Savishna.

ZINAIDA SAVISHNA (delighted). Sweetheart, Marfa Yegorovna . . .

BABAKINA. How are you, Zinaida Savishna! I’m honored to congratulate you on your birthday girl . . .

They exchange kisses.

God bless . . .

ZINAIDA SAVISHNA. Thank you, sweetheart, I’m pleased to see you . . . Well, how are you feeling?

BABAKINA. Thanks ever so for asking. (Sits next to the sofa.) How are you, young people!

The GUESTS rise and how.

FIRST GUEST (laughs). Young people . . . Are you so old?

BABAKINA (sighing). What would we be doing among the youngsters?

FIRST GUEST (laughs respectfully). For heaven’s sake, how can you . . . You may be what’s called a widow, but you could give a nine-point handicap to any young woman.

GAVRILA serves Babakina from a teatray.

ZINAIDA SAVISHNA (to Gavrila). Why are you serving it like that? You should bring some preserves. Gooseberry or something . . .

BABAKINA. Don’t go to the trouble, thanks ever so . . .

Pause.

FIRST GUEST. Did you come by way of Mushkino, Marfa Yegorovna? . . .

BABAKINA. No, Zamishche. The road’s better there.

FIRST GUEST. True enough, ma’am.

KOSYKH. Two spades.

YEGORUSHKA. Pass.

AVDOTYA NAZAROVNA. Pass.

SECOND GUEST. Pass.

BABAKINA. Lottery tickets, Zinaida Savishna sweetheart, have gone right through the roof again.^[22] Have you ever heard of such a thing: the first drawing already costs two hundred and seventy, and the second well nigh two hundred and fifty . . . Never heard of anything like it . . .

ZINAIDA SAVISHNA (sighs). It’s all very well for those who’ve got a lot of them . . .

BABAKINA. Don’t you think so, sweetheart; they may cost a lot, but they make an unprofitable investment for your capital. The insurance alone will be the death of you.

ZINAIDA SAVISHNA. That’s so, but all the same, my dear, you go on hoping . . . (Sighs.) God is merciful . . .

THIRD GUEST. The way I see it, mesdames, I consider that at the present time it’s very unprofitable to have capital at all. Gilt-edged securities may earn very small dividends, but putting money in circulation is extremely risky. As I understand it, mesdames, the man who has capital at the present time is in a more precarious situation than the man who, mesdames . . .

BABAKINA (sighs). That’s so true!

The FIRST GUEST yawns.

How can a person yawn in the presence of ladies!

FIRST GUEST. Pardon, mesdames, it was an accident.

ZINAIDA SAVISHNA gets up and exits through the door at right; a prolonged silence.

YEGORUSHKA. Two diamonds.

AVDOTYA NAZAROVNA. Pass.

SECOND GUEST. Pass.

KOSYKH. Pass.

BABAKINA (aside). Good Lord, it’s so boring, you could drop dead!

II

The same, ZINAIDA SAVISHNA, and LEBEDEV.

ZINAIDA SAVISHNA (entering from the door right with Lebedev, quietly). Why are you planted out there? What a prima donna! Sit with the guests. (Sits in her former place.)

LEBEDEV (yawns). Ugh, forgive us sinners! (On seeing Babakina.) Good Lord, our pot of jam is sitting here! Our Turkish delight! (Greets her.) How is your most precious little self?

BABAKINA. Thanks ever so.

LEBEDEV. Well, hallelujah! . . . Hallelujah! (Sits in an armchair.) Well, well . . . Gavrila!

GAVRILA serves him a shot of vodka and a glass of water. He drinks the vodka and chases it down with water.

FIRST GUEST. Your very good health! . . .

LEBEDEV. What do you mean, good health! . . . I haven’t croaked yet, and I’m thankful for that. (To his wife.) Zyuzyushka, where’s our birthday girl?

KOSYKH (tearfully). Tell me, for heaven’s sake: well, how come we didn’t take a single trick? (Leaps up.) Well, then why did we lose, damn it all to hell!

AVDOTYA NAZAROVNA (leaps up, angrily). Because, my good man, if you don’t know how to play, don’t sit in. Since when are you entitled to lead somebody else’s suit? That’s how you got stuck with that pickled ace of yours!

They both run out from behind the table.

KOSYKH (in a tearful voice). If I may, my friends . . . I was holding diamonds: ace, king, queen, jack and eight low cards, ace of spades, and one, you understand, one lousy little heart, and she, for some damn reason, couldn’t call a little slam! . . . I bid no trumps . . .

AVDOTYA NAZAROVNA (interrupting). I’m the one who bid no trumps! You bid: two no trumps . . .^[23]

KOSYKH. This is a disgrace! . . . If I may . . . you had . . . I had . . . you had . . . (To Lebedev.) Now you be the judge, Pavel Kirillych . . . I was holding diamonds: ace, king, queen, jack, and eight low cards . . .

LEBEDEV (covers up his ears). Stop, do me a favor . . . stop . . .

AVDOTYA NAZAROVNA (shouts). I was the one who bid: no trumps!

KOSYKH (fiercely). Call me a villain and an outcast if I ever sit down to play with that old barracuda again! (Quickly exits into the garden.)

The SECOND GUEST follows him out; YEGORUSHKA remains at the table.

AVDOTYA NAZAROVNA. Oof! . . . He’s got me all overheated. . . . Stickleback! . . . Barracuda yourself!

BABAKINA. Well, now you’ve gone and lost your temper, Granny!

AVDOTYA NAZAROVNA (on seeing Babakina, throws up her hands). My honey-bun, my beauty! . . . She’s here, and, blind as a biddy, I didn’t see her . . . Sweetie-pie . . . (Kisses her on the shoulder and sits beside her.) What a treat! Let me take a good look at you, my snow-white swan! Poo, poo, poo . . . evil eye begone!^[24]

LEBEDEV. Well, now she’s wound up . . . You’d better find her a bridegroom . . .

AVDOTYA NAZAROVNA. And I will! I won’t go quiet to my grave, with all my sins on my head, until I get her married and your Sanichka too! I won’t go quiet . . . (Deep sigh.) Only there now, where are you to find bridegrooms nowadays? There they sit, these bridegrooms of ours, as crestfallen as drenched roosters! . . .

THIRD GUEST. An extremely feeble simile. The way I look at it, mesdames, if young people nowadays prefer a celibate life, the guilty party is, so to speak, social conditions . . .

LEBEDEV. Now, now! . . . no philosophizing! . . . I don’t care for it! . . .

III

The same and SASHA.

SASHA (enters and goes up to her father). Such splendid weather, and you’re sitting in here, ladies and gentlemen, in this stuffy air.

ZINAIDA SAVISHNA. Sashenka, don’t you see that Marfa Yegorovna is here?

SASHA. Sorry. (Goes to Babakina and greets her.)

BABAKINA. You’re getting to be quite standoffish, Sanichka, quite standoffish, haven’t paid me a single visit. (Exchanges kisses.) Congratulations, sweetheart . . .

SASHA. Thank you. (Sits next to her father.)

LEBEDEV. Yes, Avdotya Nazarovna, it’s hard to find bridegrooms nowadays. Not just bridegrooms—you can’t get a passable best man. The young people these days, no offense meant, have, God bless them, an off-taste, like leftovers reheated . . . Can’t dance or talk or have a serious drink with ‘em . . .

AVDOTYA NAZAROVNA. Well, drinking’s one thing they know all about, just let ‘em at it . . .

LEBEDEV. There’s no great trick to drinking, even a horse knows how to drink . . . No, I’m talking serious drinking! . . . In our time, used to be, you’d get worn out at lectures all day long, and as soon as it was dark, you’d go straight to wherever a fire was blazing and spin like a top till dawn came up . . . And you’d dance, and flirt with the young ladies, and that took knowhow. (Flicks himself on the throat.)^[25] Used to be, you’d blather and philosophize till your jaw came unhinged . . . But nowadays . . . (Waves his hand in dismissal.) I don’t understand . . . They’re wishy-washy, neither this nor that. In the whole district there’s only one decent fellow, and he’s married (sighs), and it looks like he’s starting to go crazy, too . . .

BABAKINA. Who’s that?

LEBEDEV. Nikolasha Ivanov.

BABAKINA. Yes, he’s a good man (makes a face), only so unhappy! . . .

ZINAIDA SAVISHNA. You said it, sweetheart, how can he be happy! (Sighs.) What a mistake he made, poor thing! He married his kike bitch^[26] and figured, poor thing, that her father and mother would heap mountains of gold on her, but it came out quite the opposite . . . From the time she converted, her father and mother wouldn’t have anything to do with her, cursed her . . . Not a penny did he get out of them. He’s sorry for it now, but it’s too late . . .

SASHA. Mama, that’s not true.

BABAKINA (heatedly). Shurochka, why isn’t it true? After all, everybody knows it. If it weren’t for gain, why else would he marry a Jew girl? Aren’t there plenty of Russian girls? He miscalculated, sweetheart, miscalculated . . . (Vigorously.) Lord, and now doesn’t he make it hot for her! Simply laughable. He’ll come home from somewhere and right away he goes: “Your father and mother cheated me! Get out of my house!” And where can she go? Father and mother won’t take her in, she could become a housemaid, but she wasn’t brought up to work . . . So he rags on her and rags on her, until the Count stands up for her. If it weren’t for the Count, he would have done her in long ago . . .

AVDOTYA NAZAROVNA. Besides that, sometimes he locks her up in the cellar with “Eat your garlic, you so-and-so” . . . She eats it and eats it, till she starts to stink from the inside out.

Laughter.

SASHA. Papa, that’s got to be another lie!

LEBEDEV. Well, so what? Let ‘em gossip if it keeps ‘em healthy . . . (Shouts.) Gavrila!

GAVRILA serves him vodka and water.

ZINAIDA SAVISHNA. So that’s why he’s ruined, poor thing. His business, sweetheart, has quite fallen off . . . If Borkin weren’t looking after the estate, there wouldn’t be anything for him and his kike bitch to eat. (Sighs.) As for us, sweetheart, the way we’ve suffered on account of him! . . . Suffered so much that only God can tell! Would you believe, my dear, for three years now, he’s owed us nine thousand!

BABAKINA (horrified). Nine thousand!

ZINAIDA SAVISHNA. Yes . . . It was that hubby dear of mine who arranged to lend it to him. He can’t tell the difference between someone you can lend to and someone you can’t. The principal I’ve given up on already, may it rest in peace, but I wish he’d pay the interest on time.

SASHA (heatedly). Mama, you’ve told us about this a thousand times already!

ZINAIDA SAVISHNA. What’s got into you? Why are you standing up for him?

SASHA (rises). But how can you have the heart to say such things about a man who never did you any harm? Why, what has he done to you?

THIRD GUEST. Aleksandra Pavlovna, if I may put in a word or two! I respect Nikolay Alekseich and always considered it an honor to know him, but, entre nous, he strikes me as a confidence trickster.

SASHA. Well, bully for you, if that’s how he strikes you.

THIRD GUEST. In evidence I proffer the following item, which was related to me by his attaché or, so to speak, cicerone² Borkin. Two years ago, during the cattle epidemic, he bought livestock, insured them . . .

ZINAIDA SAVISHNA. Yes, yes, yes! I remember that incident. I’ve heard about it too.

THIRD GUEST. Insured them, mind you, then infected them with cow-pox and collected the insurance money.

SASHA. Ah, that’s all nonsense! Nonsense! Nobody bought cattle and infected them! Borkin himself concocted that scheme and bragged about it all over the place. When Ivanov found out about it, Borkin had to beg his forgiveness for two weeks running. Ivanov’s only fault is that he’s a soft touch and doesn’t have the heart to kick Borkin out, his fault is that he trusts people too much! Everything he had has been filched and pilfered from him; because of his generous projects anyone who wanted could make a fortune out ofhim.

LEBEDEV. Shura’s a hothead! That’ll do!

SASHA. Why do they talk such nonsense about him? Ah, all this is boring, so boring! Ivanov, Ivanov, Ivanov—there’s no other topic of conversation. (Goes to the door and returns.) I’m amazed. (To the young people.) I am truly amazed at your patience, gentlemen! Aren’t you bored just sitting here this way? The very air is condensing with ennui! Say something, entertain the young ladies, show signs of life! Well, if all you can talk about is Ivanov, then laugh, sing, dance, something . . .

LEBEDEV (laughs). Tell ‘em off, tell ‘em off good and proper.

SASHA. Well, listen, just do me this favor! If you don’t want to talk, laugh, sing, if that’s all a bore, I beg you, I implore you, at least once in your life, out of curiosity, just as a surprise or a practical joke, gather your strength and suddenly think up something witty, brilliant, at least say something outrageous or obscene, so long as it’s funny and original! Or suddenly come up with something infinitesmal, barely perceptible, but the tiniest bit like an achievement, so that the ladies, at least once in their lives, might look at you and go “Aah!” Listen, you want to please the ladies, don’t you, then why don’t you make an effort to please them? Ah, gentlemen! You’re all wrong, wrong, wrong! . . . One look at you and the flies drop dead and the lamps go black with soot. Wrong, wrong! . . . I’ve told you a thousand times and I’ll go on telling you, that you’re all wrong, wrong, wrong! . . .

IV

The same, IVANOV, and SHABELSKY.

SHABELSKY (entering with Ivanov from the door at right). Who’s speechifying around here? You, Shurochka! (Roars with laughter and shakes her hand.) Congratulations, my angel, may God postpone your death and make sure you’re not reincarnated . . .

ZINAIDA SAVISHNA (gleefully). Nikolay Alekseevich, Count! . . .

LEBEDEV. Bah! Who do I see . . . Count! (Goes to meet him.)

SHABELSKY (on seeing Zinaida Savishna and Babakina, extends his arms in their direction). Two gold-mines on one sofa! A sight for sore eyes! (Greets them; to Zinaida Savishna.) How are you, Zyuzyushka! (To Babakina.) How are you, my little puff-ball! . . .

ZINAIDA SAVISHNA. I’m so pleased. You’re such an infrequent guest here, Count! (Shouts.) Gavrila, tea! Please, take a seat! (Gets up, exits through the door right and immediately returns, with an extremely preoccupied look.)

SASHA sits in her former seat. IVANOV silently exchanges greetings with everyone.

LEBEDEV (to Shabelsky). Where’ve you turned up from out of the blue? What wild horses have dragged you here? This is a surprise, or I’ll be damned . . . (Kisses him.) Count, you’re a real cutthroat! Respectable people don’t behave this way! (Takes him by the arm down to the footlights.) Why haven’t you visited us? Angry or something?

SHABELSKY. How am I supposed to visit you? Flying on a broomstick? I haven’t got horses of my own, and Nikolay won’t take me with him, makes me stay with Sarra so she won’t get bored. Send your own horses for me, and then I’ll pay you a visit . . .

LEBEDEV (waves his hand in dismissal). Oh sure! . . . Zyuzyushka would rather drop dead than use the horses. Old pal, dear man, you really are dearer and sweeter to me than all the rest of them! Of all the old-timers, you and I are the only ones left! “In you I love my bygone suff’rings, In you I love my wasted youth.”^[28] Joking aside, I could almost weep. (Kisses the Count.)

SHABELSKY. Cut it out, cut it out! You smell like a wine cellar . . .

LEBEDEV. Dear heart, you can’t imagine how bored I am without my friends! Ready to hang myself from tedium . . . (Quietly.) Zyuzyushka and her money-lending have driven away all the respectable people, there’s only Zulus left . . . these Dudkins,³ Budkins . . . Here, have some tea.

GAVRILA serves the Count tea.

ZINAIDA SAVISHNA (worried, to Gavrila). Well, how are you serving it? You should bring some preserves . . . Gooseberry or something . . .

SHABELSKY (roars with laughter; to Ivanov). There, didn’t I tell you? (to Lebedev.) I made a bet with him on the way that, as soon as we got here, Zyuzyushka would immediately offer us gooseberry preserves . . .

ZINAIDA SAVISHNA. Count, you’re still the same scoffer . . . (Sits.)

LEBEDEV. Twenty kegs they made of it, how else can you get rid of the stuff?

SHABELSKY (sitting beside the table). Still saving up, Zyuzyushka? Well now, are you a millionaire yet, eh?

ZINAIDA SAVISHNA (with a sigh). Yes, if you judge by appearances, nobody’s richer than we are, but where’s the money coming from? Nothing but talk . . .

SHABELSKY. Well, yes, yes! . . . we know! . . . “We know how badly you play checkers”^[29] . . . (to Lebedev.) Pasha, tell me on your honor, have you saved up a million?

LEBEDEV. For heaven’s sake, I don’t know. You’d better ask Zyuzyushka . . .

SHABELSKY (to Babakina). And my pudgy little puff-ball is soon going to have a little million! Good grief, she’s getting prettier and plumper not by the day, but by the hour! That’s what it means to have lots of dough . . .

BABAKINA. Thanks ever so, your highness, only I don’t like being made fun of.

SHABELSKY. My dearest gold-mine, how am I making fun of you? It’s simply a cry from the heart, a spontaneous overflow of feelings that finds issue at my lips . . . I love you and Zyuzyushka infinitely . . . (Merrily.) Excitement! . . . Ecstasy! I can’t gaze on either one of you indifferently . . .

ZINAIDA SAVISHNA. You’re just the same as ever. (To Yegorushka.) Yego-rushka, put out the candles! Why do you let them burn for no reason, if you’re not playing?

YEGORUSHKA is startled; puts out the candles and sits down.

(To Ivanov.) Nikolay Alekseevich, how is your lady wife getting on?

IVANOV. Badly. Today the doctor definitely confirmed that she has tuberculosis . . .

ZINAIDA SAVISHNA. You don’t say so? What a pity! . . . (Sighs.) We’re all so fond of her.

SHABELSKY. Hogwash! . . . It’s not tuberculosis, just medical quackery, hocus-pocus. Æsculapius^[30] wants to hang around, so he comes up with tuberculosis. Luckily the husband’s not the jealous type. (IVANOV makes a gesture of impatience.) As for Sarra herself, I don’t trust a single one of her words or movements. In my whole life I’ve never trusted doctor or lawyers or women. Hogwash, quackery, and hocus-pocus!

LEBEDEV (to Shabelsky). You’re an incredible character, Matvey! . . . You put on this misanthrope act and show it off like a retarded kid with a new toy. You’re as human as anyone else, but once you start talking, it’s as if your tongue were spewing poison or you had a hacking cough . . . Yes, honest to God!

SHABELSKY. What am I supposed to do, be lovey-dovey with swindlers and scoundrels, I suppose?

LEBEDEV. Just where do you see swindlers and scoundrels?

SHABELSKY. Present company excepted, of course, but . . .

LEBEDEV. There’s that “but” of yours . . . This is all an act.

SHABELSKY. An act . . . You’re lucky you don’t have any sort of world view.

LEBEDEV. Why should I have a world view? I sit, expecting to drop dead any minute. That’s my world view. You and I, my boy, haven’t got time to concoct world views. That’s how it goes . . . (Shouts.) Gavrila!

SHABELSKY. You’ve Gavrila-ed it up enough already . . . Look how red your nose has got! . . .

LEBEDEV (drinks). Never mind, dear heart . . . I’m not going to get married today.

ZINAIDA SAVISHNA. It’s been a long time since Dr. Lvov paid us a call. He’s quite forgotten us.

SASHA. My pet peeve. A sense of decency on two legs. He can’t ask for some water or smoke a cigarette without showing off his exceptional decency. Walking or talking, it’s tattooed on his forehead: I am a decent person! It’s boring to have him around.

SHABELSKY. Narrow-minded, straitlaced sawbones! (Mocks him.) “Clear the way for precious honest toil!” He squawks at every step like a parrot, and thinks he’s actually a second Dobrolyubov.⁴ Anyone who doesn’t squawk is a low-life. His views are wonderful in their profundity. If a peasant is well-off and lives like a human being, that means he’s a low-life, money-grubbing exploiter.⁵1 wear a velvet jacket, and a valet helps me dress—I’m a low-life too and a slave owner.⁶ So decent, so decent that decency is oozing from every pore! He can’t find a place good enough for him. He’s got me scared . . . Honest to God! . . . Look at him sideways, out of a sense of duty he’ll punch you in the snoot or call you a low-life.

IVANOV. He has been awfully hard to take, but all the same I like him, there’s something sincere about him.

SHABELSKY. A pretty sort of sincerity! Last night he walks up to me and out of the blue: “Count, I find you deeply repugnant!” Thank you very kindly! And it’s not done simply, but tendentiously: his voice quavers, and his eyes blaze, and his knees knock together . . . To hell with his stilted sincerity! So he thinks I’m repulsive, nasty, that’s natural enough . . . So do I, but why say it to my face! I may be a trashy person, but, after all, be that as it may, I’ve got gray hairs . . . Untalented, insensitive decency!

LEBEDEV. Well, well, well! . . . I guess you’ve been young once yourself and can understand.

SHABELSKY. Yes, I was young and foolish, in my time I played Chatsky,⁷ unmasking villains and swindlers, but never in my life did I call a thief a thief to his face or mention the rope in the hanged man’s house. I was well bred. But this dim-witted sawbones of ours would feel he had reached the pinnacle of his mission, seventh heaven, if fate gave him the chance, in the name of principles and humane ideals, to bash me in the snoot in public or hit me below the belt.

LEBEDEV. All young people have their quirks. I had an uncle who was a follower of Hegel⁸. . . he used to invite a houseful of guests, get drunk, stand on a chair and go: “You’re ignoramuses! You’re going to Hell! A new dawn awaits!” Blah-blah, blah-blah, blah-blah . . . He’d keep telling them off . . .

SASHA. What did the guests do?

LEBEDEV. Nothing . . . They’d listen and go on drinking. Once, though, I challenged him to a duel . . . My own uncle. All on account of Francis Bacon.⁹ I remember I was sitting, God help my memory, just the way Matvey is, and my uncle and the late Gerasim Nilych were standing over there, roughly where Nikolasha is . . . Well, sir, Gerasim Nilych asks me, dear friend, a question . . .

V

The same and BORKIN.

BORKIN, dressed foppishly, holding a package, skipping and humming, enters from the door at right. A murmur of approval.

Together

YOUNG LADIES

. Mikhail Mikhailovich!

LEBEDEV

.

Michel Michelich

! Do my ears deceive me . . .

SHABELSKY

. The life of the party!

BORKIN. Here I am again! (Runs over to Sasha.) Noble signorina, I make so bold as to congratulate the universe on the birth of such a marvelous blossom as yourself . . . As a token of my delight, I venture to present you (hands over the package) with fireworks and Bengal lights^[32] of my own making. May they light up the night just as you brighten the shadows of this kingdom of darkness. (Theatrical bow.)

SASHA. Thank you.

LEBEDEV (roars with laughter, to Ivanov). Why don’t you fire this Judas?

BORKIN (to Lebedev). Pavel Kirillich! (To Ivanov.) My patron . . . (Sings.) Nicolas-voilä, ho-hi-ho! (Goes round to everyone.) The most respected Zinaida Savishna . . . The most divine Marfa Yegorovna . . . The most venerable Avdotya Nazarovna. The most highnessy Count . . .

SHABELSKY (roars with laughter). The life of the party . . . Hardly in the door and the mood’s lifted. Have you noticed?

BORKIN. Oof, I’m worn out . . . I think I’ve greeted everyone. Well, what’s new, ladies and gentlemen? Nothing special, that hits you over the head? (Vigorously to Zinaida Savishna.) Ah, listen, mamma dear . . . As I’m riding over here just now . . . (To Gavrila.) Let me have some tea, Gavrusha, only no gooseberry preserves! (To Zinaida Savishna.) As I’m riding over here just now, peasants on the riverbank were stripping bark from your willow bushes. Why don’t you lease out your willow bushes?

LEBEDEV (to Ivanov). Why don’t you fire this Judas?

ZINAIDA SAVISHNA (alarmed). Why, that’s perfectly true, it never crossed my mind!

BORKIN (does calisthenics with his arms). I can’t sit still . . . Mamma dear, anything special we can turn our hand to? Marfa Yegorovna, I’m in good form . . . I’m in tiptop shape. (Sings.) “Once again I stand before you . . .”^[33]

ZINAIDA SAVISHNA. Organize something, otherwise we’ll die of boredom.

BORKIN. Ladies and gentlemen, why these long faces? They’re sitting around like jurymen in a box! . . . Let’s come up with something. What would you enjoy? Truth or dare, jump-rope, tag, dancing, fireworks? . . .

YOUNG LADIES (clap their hands). Fireworks, fireworks! (They run into the garden.)

SASHA (to Ivanov). Why are you so boring today?

IVANOV. My head aches, Shurochka, and I’m bored . . .

SASHA. Let’s go into the drawing-room.

They go out the door at right; everyone goes into the garden, except ZINAIDA SAVISHNA and LEBEDEV.

ZINAIDA SAVISHNA. That’s my idea of a young man: the minute he arrives, everyone cheers up. (Turns down the big lamp.) Since they’re all in the garden, there’s no need to leave lights burning. (Puts out the candles.)

LEBEDEV (following her). Zyuzyushka, we have to give the guests something to eat . . .

ZINAIDA SAVISHNA. Look at all these candles . . . no wonder people think we’re rich. (Puts them out.)

LEBEDEV (following her). Zyuzyushka, for heaven’s sake, you should give people something to eat . . . They’re young, they must be starving by now, poor things . . . Zyuzyushka . . .

ZINAIDA SAVISHNA. The Count didn’t finish his tea. A waste of perfectly good sugar.

LEBEDEV. Drat! . . . (They go into the garden.)

V I

IVANOV and SASHA.

SASHA (entering with Ivanov from the door at right). Everyone’s gone into the garden.

IVANOV. That’s the way things are, Shurochka. I used to work a lot and think a lot, and never get tired; now I don’t do anything or think about anything, and I’m exhausted, body and soul. Day and night my conscience bothers me, I feel that I’m deeply at fault, but where that fault lies, I can’t figure out. And then there’s my wife’s illness, lack of money, the constant grumbling, gossip, pointless talk, that stupid Borkin . . . My home has become loathsome to me, living in it is worse than torture. I tell you frankly, Shurochka, something else that’s become unbearable for me is the company of my wife, who loves me. You are an old friend and you won’t mind if I’m frank. I came to your place to have some fun, but I’m bored here too, and my home pulls me back again. Forgive me, I’ll leave right away, nice and quietly.

SASHA. Nikolay Alekseevich, I understand you. You’re unhappy because you’re lonely. You need someone close to you to love you and understand you. Only love can reinvigorate you.

IVANOV. Well, is that so, Shurochka! All we need is for an old dead duck like me to embark on a new love affair! God keep me from such a disaster! No, Miss Know-it-all, it’s got nothing to do with love affairs. I tell you, as God is my judge, I’ll put up with all of it: the tedium and neurosis and penni-lessness and loss of my wife and premature old age and loneliness, but what I will not put up with, will not endure is making a mockery of myself. I am dying of shame to think that I, a strong, healthy man, have turned into a Hamlet or a Manfred,¹⁰ or a pointless person . . . what the hell is going on! Some pathetic types are flattered when you call them Hamlets or pointless, but for me it’s a disgrace. It wounds my pride, shame overwhelms me, and I suffer . . .

SASHA (joking, through tears). Nikolay Alekseevich, run away with me to America.

IVANOV. I feel too listless to cross that threshold, and you come up with America . . . (They walk to the entry to the garden.) Actually, Shura, it must be hard for you to go on living here! When I look at the people around you, it terrifies me: which of them will you marry? The only hope is for some passing lieutenant or university student to abduct you and elope . . .

VII

The same and ZINAIDA SAVISHNA.

ZINAIDA SAVISHNA comes out of the door at left with a jar of preserves.

IVANOV. Sorry, Shurochka, I’ll catch up with you . . .

SASHA exits into the garden.

Zinaida Savishna, forgive me, I’ve come here with a request . . .

ZINAIDA SAVISHNA. What’s the matter, Nikolay Alekseevich?

IVANOV (hesitates). The fact is, you see, the day after tomorrow is the date my note falls due. I’d be very much obliged if you could offer an extension or let me add the interest to the principal. At the moment I have absolutely no money . . .

ZINAIDA SAVISHNA (alarmed). Nikolay Alekseevich, how can this be? What kind of a system is this? No, don’t even think of such a thing, for heaven’s sake, don’t torment an unhappy woman like me . . .

IVANOV. Sorry, sorry . . . (Goes into the garden.)

ZINAIDA SAVISHNA. Pooh, good heavens, how he upset me! . . . I’m trembling all over . . . trembling . . . (Goes out the door at right.)

VIII

KOSYKH.

KOSYKH (enters at the door left and crosses the stage). I was holding spades: ace, king, queen, jack, eight low spades, ace, and one . . . one puny little heart and she, damn her to hell, can’t call one little slam! (Exits through door at right.)

IX

AVDOTYA NAZAROVNA and FIRST GUEST

AVDOTYA NAZAROVNA (enters from the garden with First Guest). How I’d like to tear her to shreds, the tightwad . . . how I’d like to tear her to shreds! Is this a joke, I’m sitting here from five o’clock, she could at least offer me a little rusty herring . . . What a house! . . . What entertainment! . . .

FIRST GUEST. It’s so boring, you could simply bang your head against the wall! What people, God have mercy! . . . The boredom and hunger could make you howl like a wolf and start gnawing on people . . .

AVDOTYA NAZAROVNA. How I could tear her to shreds, sinner that I am!

FIRST GUEST. I’ll have a drink, old girl, and then — off home! And I don’t need any of your brides. How the hell can a man think of love if he hasn’t had a nip since lunch?

AVDOTYA NAZAROVNA. We’ll go, have a look around, or something . . .

FIRST GUEST. Ssh! . . . Nice and quiet! I think there’s some schnapps in the dining room, in the sideboard. We’ll worm it out of Yegorushka . . . Ssh!

They go out through the door at left.

X

ANNA PETROVNA and LVOV (enter through the door at right.)

ANNA PETROVNA. Never mind, they’ll be delighted. Nobody here. They must be in the garden.

LVOV. Now, why, I ask you, did you bring me here to these vultures? It’s no place for you and me. Decent people shouldn’t have anything to do with such surroundings!

ANNA PETROVNA. Listen, Mr. Decent Person! It isn’t nice to escort a lady and the whole way talk about nothing but your decency! It may be decent but, to put it mildly, it’s boring. Never talk to women about your own virtues. Let them find them out for themselves. My Nikolay, when he was your age, did nothing but sing songs and tell shaggy dog stories when women were around, and yet they all knew what sort of a man he was.

LVOV. Oh, don’t talk to me about your Nikolay, I understand him only too well!

ANNA PETROVNA. You’re a good man, but you don’t understand a thing. Let’s go into the garden. He never made comments like: “I’m a decent person! I’m stifling in these surroundings! Vultures! An owl’s nest! Crocodiles!” He left the menagerie alone, and when he did occasionally get upset, the only thing I’d hear from him would be: “Ah, how unjust I was today!” or “Anyuta, I feel sorry for that fellow!” That’s how he used to be, but you . . .

They go out.

XI

AVDOTYA NAZAROVNA and FIRST GUEST.

FIRST GUEST (entering from the door at left). It’s not in the dining room, so I bet it’s somewhere in the pantry. We’ve got to worm it out of Yegorushka. Let’s go through the drawing-room.

AVDOTYA NAZAROVNA. How I’d like to tear her to shreds! . . .

They go out through the door at right.

XII

BABAKINA, BORKIN, and SHABELSKY.

BABAKINA and BORKIN run in from the garden, laughing; behind them, laughing and rubbing his hands, minces SHABELSKY.

BABAKINA. Such boredom! (Roars with laughter.) Such boredom! They all walk and sit around as if they’d swallowed a poker! All my bones are numb with boredom. (Skips about.) Have to limber up!

BORKIN takes her round the waist and kisses her on the cheek.

SHABELSKY (roars with laughter and snaps his fingers). I’ll be damned! (Wheezes.) In a manner of speaking . . .

BABAKINA. Let go, take your hands away, you shameless creature, or else God knows what the Count will think! Leave me alone!

BORKIN. Love of my life, red carbuncle of my heart! . . . (Kisses her.) Lend me two thousand three hundred rubles! . . .

BABAKINA. N-O — no. . Anything else, but when it comes to money—thanks ever so . . . No, no, no! . . . Ah, take your hands off me!

SHABELSKY (minces near them). Little puff-ball . . . She has her charms . . .

BORKIN (seriously). That’s enough. Let’s talk business. Let’s consider things objectively, in a business-like way. Answer me straight, without equivocation or hocus-pocus: yes or no? Listen to me! (Points to the Count.) He needs money, a minimal income of three thousand a year. You need a husband. Want to be a countess?

SHABELSKY (roars with laughter). A wonderful cynic!

BORKIN. Want to be a countess? Yes or no?

BABAKINA (upset). You’re making this up, Misha, honestly . . . And people don’t do business this way, off the cuff like this . . . If the Count cares to, he can himself or . . . or I don’t know how this suddenly, all at once . . .

BORKIN. Now, now, don’t confuse the issue! It’s a business deal . . . Yes or no?

SHABELSKY (laughing and rubbing his hands). Actually, how about it? Damn it, should I really commit this dirty deed myself? Eh? Little puff-ball. . . . (Kisses Babakina on the cheek.) Superb! . . . A tasty little pickle! . . .

BABAKINA. Leave off, leave off, you’ve quite upset me . . . Go away, go away! . . . No, don’t go away!

BORKIN. Quickly! Yes or no! Time’s running out . . .

BABAKINA. You know what, Count? You drive over to my place on a visit for two or three days . . . We’ll have fun there, not like here . . . Drive over tomorrow . . . (To Borkin.) No, you were joking, weren’t you?

BORKIN (angrily). Now who’d start joking about serious business?

BABAKINA. Leave off, leave off . . . Ah, I feel faint! I feel faint! A countess . . . I feel faint! . . . I’m falling . . .

BORKIN and the COUNT, laughing, take her by the arms and, kissing her on the cheeks, lead her out the door at right.

XIII

IVANOV, SASHA, then ANNA PETROVNA.

IVANOV and SASHA run in from the garden.

IVANOV (clutching his head in despair). It can’t be! Don’t, don’t, Shurochka! . . . Ah, don’t!

SASHA (passionately). I love you madly . . . Without you there’s no meaning to my life, no happiness and joy! For me, you’re everything . . .

IVANOV. What for, what for! My God, I don’t understand a thing . . . Shurochka, don’t do this!

SASHA. In my childhood you were my only joy; I loved you and your soul, like myself, and now . . . I love you, Nikolay Alekseevich . . . With you anywhere to the ends of the earth, wherever you want, even the grave, only, for God’s sake, soon, otherwise I’ll suffocate . . .

IVANOV (bursts into peals of happy laughter). What is this? Does this mean starting life over from the beginning? Shurochka, does it? . . . Happiness is mine for the taking! (Draws her to him.) My youth, my prime . . .

ANNA PETROVNA from the garden and, on seeing her husband and SASHA, stops as if rooted to the spot.

Does it mean coming to life? Does it? Back to an active role again?

Kiss. After they kiss, IVANOV and SASHA look around and see Anna Petrovna.

(in horror.) Sarra!

Curtain

ACT THREE

Ivanov’s study. Desk, covered with an unruly sprawl of papers, books, official letters, knickknacks, revolvers; alongside the papers, a lamp, a carafe of vodka, a plate of herring, pieces of bread, and pickled gherkins. On the wall regional maps, pictures, shotguns, pistols, sickles, riding crops, and so on. it is midday.

I

SHABELSKY, LEBEDEV, BORKiN, and PYOTR.

SHABELSKY and LEBEDEV are sitting on either side of the desk. BORKiN is center stage astride a chair. PYOTR is standing by the door.

LEBEDEV. France has a clear and well-defined policy . . . The French know what they want. They need to give the Krauts a good thrashing and that’ll be that, while Germany, my boy, is singing a very different tune. Germany has plenty of other irons in the fire besides France . . .

SHABELSKY. Hogwash! . . . In my opinion, the Germans are cowards and so are the French . . . They give each other the finger behind their backs. Believe me, it won’t go beyond giving each other the finger. They won’t fight.^[36]

BORKIN. The way I see it, why fight? What’s the point of all these arms buildups, conferences, defense budgets? You know what I’d do? I’d get together all the dogs in the whole nation, infect them with a good dose of Pasteur’s rabies^[37] and let ‘em loose behind enemy lines. All the combatants would be raving mad within a month.

LEBEDEV (laughs). That head may not look all that large, but it swarms with big ideas, countless multitudes of ‘em, like fishes in the sea.

SHABELSKY. A virtuoso!

LEBEDEV. God bless you, you’re good for a laugh, Michel Michelich! (Stops laughing.) Well, gentlemen, “only warlike talk is heard, but as for vodka, not a word.”^[38] Repetatur!^[39] (Fills three shot-glasses.) Our good health!

They drink and take a snack.

A little bit of herring, the appetizer of all appetizers.

SHABELSKY. Well, no, gherkin’s better . . . Learned men have been pondering from the dawn of time and never come up with anything cleverer than a pickled gherkin. (To Pyotr.) Pyotr, go and get more gherkins and tell ‘em in the kitchen to bake four onion tarts. And see that they’re hot.

PYOTR exits.

LEBEDEV. Another good thing to eat with vodka is caviar. Only how? Got to use your head . . . Take a quarter pound of pressed caviar, two bulbs of green onion, olive oil, mix it all up and, you know, like this . . . a little lemon juice on top . . . To die for! You could go crazy from the smell alone.

BORKIN. Another nice thing to chase down vodka is fried smelts. Only you’ve got to know how to fry them. You’ve got to gut them, then roll them in fine breadcrumbs and fry them crisp, so they crunch between your teeth . . . cru-cru-cru . . .

SHABELSKY. Yesterday at Babakina’s there was a good appetizer—button mushrooms.

LEBEDEV. No kidding . . .

SHABELSKY. Only prepared some special way. You know, with onion, bay leaf, all sorts of spices. As soon as they took the lid off the saucepan, it gave off a vapor, an aroma . . . sheer rapture.

LEBEDEV. How about it? Repetatur, gentlemen!

They drink.

Our health. (Looks at his watch.) I don’t think I can wait till Nikolasha shows up. It’s time for me to go. At Bababkina’s, you say, they served mushrooms, but you have yet to see a mushroom at our place. Would you like to tell me, Count, why the hell you spend so much time at Marfutka’s?

SHABELSKY (nods at Borkin). That one, he wants to marry me off to her . . .

LEBEDEV. Marry? . . . How old are you?

SHABELSKY. Sixty-two.

LEBEDEV. Just the age for getting married. And Marfutka’s the ideal mate for you.

BORKIN. It’s got nothing to do with Marfutka, but with Marfutka’s coin of the realm.

LEBEDEV. Which is what you’re after: Marfutka’s coin of the realm . . . You want some green cheese from the moon as well?

BORKIN. As soon as the man’s married, he’ll line his poches,^[40] then you’ll see green cheese. You’ll be drooling for it.

SHABELSKY. Bless my soul, he’s really serious. This genius is convinced that I’m obeying his orders and getting married . . .

BORKIN. How else? Didn’t you already agree to it?

SHABELSKY. You’re out of your mind . . . When did I agree to it? Pss . . .

BORKIN. Thank you . . . Thank you very much! So this means you’re going to let me down? One minute he’s getting married, the next he’s not . . . who the hell can tell the difference, and I’ve already given my word of honor! So you’re not getting married?

SHABELSKY (shrugs his shoulders). He’s serious . . . A wonderful fellow!

BORKIN (exasperated). In that case, what was the point of getting a respectable woman all hot and bothered? She’s frantic to be a countess, can’t sleep, can’t eat. . . . Is that a laughing matter? . . . Is that the decent thing to do?

SHABELSKY (snaps his fingers). What then, what if I actually do commit this dirty deed all by myself? Eh? For spite? I’ll go and commit the dirty deed. Word of honor . . . Might be fun!

Enter LVOV.

II

The same and LVOV.

LEBEDEV. Our regards to Æsculapius . . . (Gives Lvov his hand and sings.) “Doctor, save me, my dear fellow, thoughts of death turn me quite yellow . . .”^[41-

LVOV. Nikolay Alekseevich still isn’t here?

LEBEDEV. Well, no, I’ve been waiting for him for over an hour.

LVOV impatiently paces up and down the stage.

Dear boy, how is Anna Petrovna?

LVOV. In a bad way.

LEBEDEV (sighs). May I go and convey my respects?

LVOV. No, please, don’t. I think she’s sleeping . . .

Pause.

LEBEDEV. An attractive woman, a splendid woman . . . (Sighs.) On Shu-rochka’s birthday, when she fainted at our place, I stared into her face and that’s when I realized that she hasn’t long to live, poor thing. I can’t understand why she took a turn for the worse just then. I run in, lo and behold: she’s white as a sheet, lying on the floor, Nikolasha is kneeling beside her, white as well, Shurochka’s all in tears. The whole of the next week, Shurochka and I went around in a daze.

SHABELSKY (to Lvov). Tell me, my respected apostle of science, which scientist discovered that the most salutary thing for chest ailments is private visits from a young physician? It’s a great discovery! Truly great! How would you classify it: as allopathy or homeopathy?^[42]

LVOV is about to reply, but makes a scornful gesture and exits.

If looks could kill. . . .

LEBEDEV. You’re giving your tongue a workout! Why did you insult him?

SHABELSKY (irritated). And why does he lie to me? Tuberculosis, no hope, she’s dying . . . He’s lying! I can’t stand it!

LEBEDEV. What makes you think he’s lying?

SHABELSKY (rises and walks around). I cannot abide the thought that a living human being suddenly, for no reason at all, can up and die. Let’s change the subject!

III

LEBEDEV, SHABELSKY, BORKIN, and KOSYKH.

KOSYKH (runs in, panting). Is Nikolay Alekseevich at home? Good afternoon! (Quickly shakes everyone’s hand.) At home?

BORKIN. He is not.

KOSYKH (sits and jumps up). In that case, good-bye! (Drinks a glass of vodka and has a quick bite.) I’ll move on . . . Business . . . I’m exhausted . . . I can barely stand on my feet . . .

LEBEDEV. What wind has blown you here?

KOSYKH. I’ve been at Barabanov’s. We were playing whist all night long and only just finished . . . I lost every last thing . . . That Barabanov plays like a shoemaker! (In a tearful voice.) Just you listen: I was holding hearts the whole time . . . (Turns to Borkin, who jumps away from him.) He leads diamonds, I go hearts again, he goes diamonds . . . Well, not one trick. (To Lebedev.) We try to take four clubs. I’ve got an ace, queen, and four more clubs, ace, ten, and three more spades . . .

LEBEDEV (covers his ears). Spare me, spare me, for Christ’s sake, spare me!

KOSYKH (to the Count). You know what I mean: ace, queen, and four more clubs, ace, ten, three more spades . . .

SHABELSKY (pushing him away with his hands). Go away, I don’t want to hear it!

KOSYKH. And suddenly, of all the bad luck: the ace of spades was trumped first round.

SHABELSKY (grabs a revolver off the desk). Get out of here or I’ll shoot!

KOSYKH (waves his hand in dismissal). What the hell . . . Can’t a man even talk to people? It’s like living in Australia: no common interests, no solidarity . . . Every man lives on his own . . . Anyway, I’ve got to go . . . it’s time. (Takes his cap.) Time is money . . . (Gives Lebedev his hand.) Pass! . . .

Laughter.

KOSYKH leaves and bumps into Avdotya Nazarovna in the doorway.

IV

SHABELSKY, LEBEDEV, BORKIN, and AVDOTYA NAZAROVNA.

AVDOTYA NAZAROVNA (cries out). Blast you, you’ve knocked me off my feet!

EVERYONE. Ah-ah-ah! . . . The unavoidable! . . .

AVDOTYA NAZAROVNA. Here they are, I’ve been looking for them all over the house. Good afternoon, my fine feathered friends, greetings, greetings . . . (Greets them.)

LEBEDEV. What’s she doing here?

AVDOTYA NAZAROVNA. Business, my good sir! (To the Count.) Business on your behalf, your grace. (Bows.) I was told to give you my regards and ask after your health . . . And she, my baby-doll, told me to say that if you don’t come this evening, she will cry her little eyes out. “So,” she says, “my dear, take him aside and whisper secretly in his ear.” But why secretly? We’re all friends here. And in a case like this, we’re not robbing the henhouse, it’s by law and by love, by mutual agreement. Never, for all my sins, do I touch a drop, but in a case like this I’ll have a drink!

LEBEDEV. And so will I. (Pours.) And you, you old crow, you’re still going strong. I’ve known you for well nigh thirty years and you’ve always been old . . .

AVDOTYA NAZAROVNA. I’ve lost count of the years . . . Two husbands I’ve buried, I would have taken a third, but nobody’ll have you without a dowry. Eight children I’ve had, more or less . . . (Takes a glass.) Well, God grant we’ve embarked on a successful venture, God grant it ends in success! May they live long and prosper, and may we behold them and rejoice! May they abide in harmony and love . . . (Drinks.) Pretty strong vodka!

SHABELSKY (roaring with laughter, to Lebedev). But, do you realize, the strangest thing of all is that they take it seriously, as if I . . . Wonderful! (Rises.) Or else, actually, Pasha, should I commit this dirty deed on my own? For spite . . . new tricks for an old dog, as they say! Eh, Pasha? No kidding . . .

LEBEDEV. You’re talking drivel, Count. Our concern, yours and mine, my boy, is to be mindful of our deaths, for Marfutka and her coin of the realm have passed you by long ago . . . Our time is over.

SHABELSKY. No, I will do the deed! Word of honor, I’ll do the deed!

Enter IVANOV and LVOV.

V

The same, IVANOV, and LVOV.

LVOV. Please grant me just five minutes.

LEBEDEV. Nikolasha! (Goes to meet Ivanov and kisses him.) Good afternoon, my dear friend . . . I’ve been waiting for you a whole hour.

AVDOTYA NAZAROVNA (bows). Good afternoon, my dear sir!

IVANOV (bitterly). Gentlemen, once again you’ve turned my study into a barroom! . . . I’ve asked each and every one of you a thousand times not to do it . . . (Walks over to the desk.) There, look, you’ve spilled vodka on the papers . . . crumbs . . . pickles . . . it’s really disgusting!

LEBEDEV. Sorry, Nikolasha, sorry . . . Forgive us. You and I, dear friend, have some very important business to talk over. . . .

BORKIN. So do I.

LVOV. Nikolay Alekseevich, may I have a word with you?

IVANOV (points to Lebedev). He’s the one who needs me. Wait, you’re next . . . (To Lebedev.) What’s on your mind?

LEBEDEV. Gentlemen, I’d like to speak in private. Please . . .

The COUNT exits with AVDOTYA NAZAROVNA, followed by

BORKIN, then LVOV.

IVANOV. Pasha, you can drink as much as you like, it’s your funeral, but please don’t let my uncle drink.^[43] He never drank at my house before. It’s bad for him.

LEBEDEV (alarmed). My dear boy, I didn’t know . . . I didn’t even notice . . .

IVANOV. God forbid, but if that old baby should die, you’re not the one who’ll feel bad, I am . . . What do you want?. . . .

LEBEDEV. You see, my dear friend. I don’t know how to begin, so that it doesn’t sound so heartless . . . Nikolasha, I’m embarrassed, I’m blushing, my tongue’s twisted, but, dear boy, put yourself in my place, bear in mind that I’m a man under orders, a flunky, a doormat . . . Do forgive me . . .

IVANOV. What do you mean?

LEBEDEV. The wife sent me . . . Do me a favor, be a friend, pay her the interest! You wouldn’t believe how she’s nagged, worn me down, tortured the life out of me! Get her off your back, for heaven’s sake! . . .

IVANOV. Pasha, you know I haven’t got any money right now.

LEBEDEV. I know, I know, but what am I to do? She won’t wait. If she sues you for defaulting, how can Shurochka and I look you in the face again?

IVANOV. I’m embarrassed myself. Pasha, I’d be glad if the earth swallowed me up, but . . . but where am I get it? Teach me, where? The only thing left is to wait for autumn when I can sell the wheat.

LEBEDEV (shouts). She won’t wait!

Pause.

IVANOV. Your position is an unpleasant one, a delicate one, but mine’s even worse. (Walks and thinks.) And one can’t come up with anything . . . There’s nothing left to sell . . .

LEBEDEV. You should ride over to Mühlbach, ask him, after all he owes you sixteen thousand.

IVANOV waves his hand in hopeless dismissal.

Here’s how it is, Nikolasha . . . I know you’ll start swearing, but . . . respect an old boozehound! Between friends . . . Regard me as a friend . . . You and I are both students, liberals . . . Mutual ideas and interests . . . Both alumni of Moscow U. . . . Alma mater . . . (Takes out his wallet.) I’ve got some money stashed away, not a soul at home knows about it. Take a loan . . . (Takes out money and puts it on the desk.) Pocket your pride, and take it for friendship’s sake . . . I’d take it from you, word of honor . . .

Pause.

There it is on the desk: one thousand one hundred. You ride over there today and hand it to her in person. “There you are,” say, “Zinaida Savishna, I hope it chokes you!” Only don’t give any clue that you borrowed it from me, God forbid! Otherwise I’ll never hear the end of it from Gooseberry Preserves! (Stares into Ivanov’s face.) There, there, don’t be like that! (Quickly takes the money off the desk and puts it in his pocket.) Don’t! I was joking . . . Forgive me, for Christ’s sake!

Pause.

Your heart is aching?

IVANOV waves his hand in dismissal.

Yes, business. . . . (Sighs.) A time of grief and sorrow has come to you. A man, my good friend, is like a samovar. It doesn’t always stand in a shady spot on the shelf, but sometimes it’s heated with burning coals: psh . . . psh! That simile isn’t worth a damn, well, let someone smarter come up with a better one . . . (Sighs.) Misery hardens the heart. I don’t feel sorry for you, Nikolasha, you’ll land on your feet, the pain will lessen but I’m offended, my boy, and annoyed by other people . . . Do me a favor, tell me what’s the reason for all this gossip? There’s so much gossip circulating about you in the district, my boy, watch out, our friend the district attorney might pay you a visit . . . You’re a murderer and a blood-sucker and a thief and a traitor . . .

IVANOV. It’s all rubbish, now I’ve got a headache.

LEBEDEV. All because you think too much.

IVANOV. I don’t think at all.

LEBEDEV. Well, Nikolasha, don’t you give a damn about all that and come and see us. Shurochka’s fond of you, she understands and appreciates you. She’s a decent, good person, Nikolasha. Nothing like her mother and father, but I guess some young fellow came passing by . . . I look at her sometimes, pal, and I can’t believe that a bottle-nosed drunkard like me has such a treasure. Drop by, talk to her about clever things and — it’ll cheer you up. She’s an honest, sincere person . . .

Pause.

IVANOV. Pasha, dear man, leave me alone . . .

LEBEDEV. I understand, I understand . . . (Hastily looks at his watch.) I understand. (Kisses Ivanov.) Good-bye. I still have to go to the dedication of a school.^[45] (Goes to the door and stops.) A clever girl . . . Yesterday Shurochka and I started talking about the gossip. (Laughs.) And she blurted out an aphorism: “Papa dear,” she says, “glowworms glow in the dark only to make it easier for night birds to see them and eat them, and good people exist so that there can be slander and gossip.” How do you like that? A genius, a George Sand!^[46

IVANOV. Pasha! (Stops him.) What’s wrong with me?

LEBEDEV. I’ve been meaning to ask you about that, yes, but I confess I was too shy. I don’t know, pal! On the one hand, I had the impression that you’ve been suffering all kinds of bad luck, on the other hand, I know that you’re not that sort of fellow, that you . . . You wouldn’t let trouble get you down. It’s something else, Nikolasha, but what it is — I don’t understand.

IVANOV. I don’t understand either. The way I see it, it’s either . . . although, no!

Pause.

You see, here’s what I was about to say. I used to have a workman, Semyon, you remember him. Once, at threshing time, he wanted to show off his strength to the farm girls, hoisted two sacks of rye on to his back and got a hernia. He died soon after. The way I see it, I’ve got my own personal hernia. High school, university, then farming, district schools, projects . . . I didn’t believe the same things as other people, I didn’t marry like other people, I’d get enthused, I’d take risks, I’d throw away money, as you well know, right, left and center, I was happy and miserable like no one else in the whole district. Those were all my sacks of rye, Pasha . . . I hoisted a load on my back, and my back caved in. At the age of twenty we’re all heroes, we take it all on, can do it all, and by thirty we’re already worn out, good for nothing at all. How else can you explain this lassitude? But, maybe I’m wrong . . . Wrong, wrong! . . . God bless you, Pasha, you must be sick and tired of me.

LEBEDEV (briskly). You know what? Your surroundings, my boy, have got you down!

IVANOV. That’s stupid, Pasha, and stale. Get out!

LEBEDEV. It really is stupid. Now I can see for myself it’s stupid. I’m going, I’m going! . . . (Exits.)

VI

IVANOV, then LVOV.

IVANOV. No-good, pathetic, insignificant, that’s the kind of man I am. You have to be an equally pathetic, broken-down, flabby-faced drunk, like Pasha, to go on loving and respecting me. How I despise myself, my God! How profoundly I hate my voice, my walk, my hands, my clothes, my thoughts. Well, isn’t this ridiculous, isn’t this offensive? Barely a year’s gone by since I was healthy and strong, I was hale and hearty, indefatigable, impassioned, worked with these very hands, talked so that even ignoramuses were moved to tears, was capable of weeping when I saw misery, feel outraged when I encountered evil. I knew the meaning of inspiration, I knew the splendor and poetry of quiet nights, when from dusk to dawn you sit at your desk or beguile your mind with dreams. I had faith, I gazed into the future as into the eyes of a loving mother . . . And now, oh, my God! I’m weary, I have no faith, I waste days and nights in idleness. They don’t obey me, brains or hands or feet. The estate goes to rack and ruin, the forests topple beneath the axe. (Weeps.) My land stares at me like an orphan. I have no expectations, no compassion for anything, my mind quakes in fear of the day to come . . . And this business with Sarra? I swore everlasting love, I promised happiness, I opened before her eyes a future she had never dreamed of. She believed in it. For the past five years all I could see was how she was flickering out under the weight of her sacrifices, how she was growing exhausted struggling with her conscience, but, God knows, not a single black look at me or word of reproach . . . And then what? I fell out of love with her . . . How? Why? What for? I don’t understand. Here she is suffering, her days are numbered, while I, like the lowest of cowards, run away from her pale face, sunken chest, imploring eyes . . . Shameful, shameful!

Pause.

Sasha, a mere girl, is affected by my misfortunes. She declares her love for me, almost an old man, and I get intoxicated, forget about everything in this world, enchanted as if by music, and I shout: “A new life! Happiness!” But the next day I believe as little in this life and happiness as I do in fairies . . . What’s wrong with me? What abyss am I pushing myself into? What is the source of this debility of mine? What has become of my nerves? My sick wife has only to wound my vanity or a servant-girl get something wrong, or a gun misfire, and I turn rude, nasty, a different person entirely . . .

Pause.

I don’t understand, I don’t understand, I don’t understand! I simply feel like blowing my brains out! . . .

LVOV (enters). I’ve got to have it out with you, Nikolay Alekseevich!

IVANOV. If we were to have it out every day, Doctor, we’d be too debilitated for anything else.

LVOV. Will you be so good as to listen to me?

IVANOV. I listen to you every day and so far I can’t understand a thing: what do you personally want from me?

LVOV. I speak clearly and firmly, and the only person who could fail to understand me is one without a heart.

IVANOV. My wife is facing death, that I know; I have unpardonably wronged her, that I also know; you’re a decent, upright man, I know that too! What more do you want?

LVOV. I am outraged by human cruelty . . . A woman is dying. She has a father and mother whom she loves and would like to see before she dies; they know perfectly well that she will die soon and that she goes on loving them, but, damn their cruelty, they evidently want Jehovah to see how steadfast they are in their religion; they still go on cursing her! You, the man for whom she sacrificed everything—her religion and her parents’ home and her peace of mind, — in the most blatant manner and with the most blatant intentions you head over to those Lebedevs every day!

IVANOV. Oh, I haven’t been there for two weeks now . . .

LVOV (not listening to him). People such as you have to be spoken to bluntly, with no beating around the bush, and if you don’t like what I have to say, then don’t listen! I’m used to calling things by their rightful names . . . You need this death in order to carry out new feats of valor, all right, but can’t you at least wait? If you were to let her die in the natural scheme of things, without stabbing her with your barefaced cynicism, would the Lebedevs and their dowry disappear? Not now, but in a year or two, you, a wonderful Tartuffe, will manage to turn a young girl’s head and make off with her dowry just the same as now . . . Why are you in such a hurry? Why do you need your wife to die now, and not in a month or a year’s time?

IVANOV. This is excruciating . . . Doctor, you’re a really bad physician if you suppose that a man can control himself forever. It’s taking the most appalling willpower not to reply to your insults.

LVOV. That’s enough, who are you trying to fool? Drop the mask.

IVANOV. Clever man, think of this: in your opinion, nothing’s easier than understanding me! Right? I married Anna to get a big dowry . . . I didn’t get the dowry, I missed the mark, and now I’m driving her to her grave, in order to marry another woman and get that dowry . . . Right? How simple and uncomplicated . . . A man is such a simple and unsophisticated machine . . . No, Doctor, each of us has far more cogs, screws and valves in him than to enable us to judge one another on first impressions or a few outward signs. I don’t understand you, you don’t understand me, we don’t understand one another. You may be an excellent general practitioner— and still have no understanding of people. Don’t be so smug and look at it my way.

LVOV. Do you really think that you’re so unfathomable, that I am so brainless that I can’t tell the difference between disgraceful behavior and decent behavior?

IVANOV. Obviously, you and I will never find common ground . . . For the last time I ask you, and, please answer without more ado, what do you personally want from me? What do you hope to achieve? (Annoyed.) And whom have I the honor of addressing: the Counsel for my prosecution or my wife’s physician?

LVOV. I am a physician, and, as a physician, I demand that you change your way of life . . . It is killing Anna Petrovna!

IVANOV. But what am I to do? What? If you understand me better than I understand myself, then tell me in no uncertain terms: what am I to do?

LVOV. At least, don’t act so openly.

IVANOV. Oh, my God! Do you really understand yourself? (Drinks water.) Leave me alone. I’m a thousand times at fault, I’ll answer for it before God, but no one has entitled you to torture me on a daily basis . . .

LVOV. And who has entitled you to insult my truth-telling, by insulting my person? You have worn me down and poisoned my mind. Until I wound up in this district, I could deal with the fact that stupid, inane, self-deluded people existed, but I never believed there were criminal types who consciously, deliberately used their intelligence to do evil . . . I respected and loved people, but once I came in contact with you . . .

IVANOV. I’ve heard this before!

LVOV. Have you indeed? (On seeing SASHA enter; she is in a riding habit.) Now, I hope, we understand one another perfectly well! (Shrugs his shoulders and exits.)

VII

IVANOV and SASHA.

IVANOV (alarmed). Shura, is that you?

SASHA. Yes, it is. Good afternoon. Weren’t you expecting me? Why haven’t you been to see us for so long?

IVANOV. Shura, for God’s sake, this is inconsiderate! Your coming here might have a dreadful effect on my wife.

SASHA. She won’t see me. I came in the back way. I’ll go right away. I was worried: are you all right? Why haven’t you been to see us for so long?

IVANOV. My wife’s upset even without this, she’s almost dying, and you ride over here. Shura, Shura, this is frivolous and inhuman!

SASHA. What am I supposed to do? You haven’t been to see us for two weeks, don’t answer letters. I was in agony. I imagined you suffering here unbearably, ill, dead. I didn’t get a single night’s sleep . . . I’ll go right away . . . At least tell me, are you well?

IVANOV. No, I’ve been tormenting myself, people torment me nonstop . . . I’m at the end of my rope! And now you too! This is so sick, so abnormal! Shura, so much of this is my fault, my fault!

SASHA. You really do like to say horrible, heartbreaking things! Your fault? Really? Your fault? Well, then, tell me: how so?

IVANOV. I don’t know, I don’t know . . .

SASHA. That’s no answer. Every sinner ought to know how he’s sinned. Have you printed counterfeit money or something?

IVANOV. That’s not funny.

SASHA. Your fault you fell out of love with your wife? That may be, but a man isn’t master of his feelings, you didn’t want to fall out of love. Your fault that she saw us in a loving embrace? No, you didn’t want her to see . . .

IVANOV (interrupting). Et cetera, et cetera . . . Fell in love, fell out of love, no master of my feelings,—these are all clichés, platitudes, they’re no help . . .

SASHA. It’s tiresome to talk to you. (Looks at a picture.) How well that dog is painted! Is it done from life?

IVANOV. From life. And our whole love affair is a trite cliché: he was downhearted and had lost his bearings. She showed up, strong and bold in spirit, and offered him a helping hand. It’s beautiful, but it resembles truth only in novels, not in life. . . .

SASHA. It’s the same in life.

IVANOV. I see you have a sophisticated knowledge of life! My whining inspires you with reverent awe, you imagine you’ve discovered a second Hamlet in me, but, so far as I’m concerned, this psychosis of mine, and all its symptoms, can serve only as rich material for comedy and nothing else! People should burst out laughing, split their sides at my affectations, but for you — it’s a cry for help! Come to my rescue, do a valiant deed! Ah, I really am hard on myself today! I feel that today’s nervous tension will come to a head somehow . . . Either I’ll break something or . . .

SASHA. That’s right, that’s right, that’s just what you need. Break something, smash or scream. You’re angry with me, I’ve done something stupid, by deciding to come here. Well, then take it out on me, bawl me out, stamp your feet. Well? Start losing your temper . . .

Pause.

Well?

IVANOV. Silly girl.

SASHA. Excellent! I do believe we’re smiling! Be good, deign to smile once more!

IVANOV (laughs). I’ve noticed: whenever you try to rescue me and teach me to see sense, common sense, you get a look on your face that’s naive, incredibly naive, and your eyes open wide, as if you were staring at a comet. Hold still, your shoulder’s covered with dust. (Wipes the dust off her shoulder.) A naive man is a fool. But you women manage to be naive so that it comes across as charming and wholesome and affectionate and not so foolish as it might seem. How do you pull that off? When a man is healthy, strong and cheerful, you ignore him, but as soon as he starts sliding downhill and bemoaning his fate, you cling to him. Is it really worse to be the wife of a strong, courageous man, than to be the nursemaid of some sniveling loser?

SASHA. Much worse!

IVANOV. Why is that? (Laughs loudly.) Darwin¹¹ didn’t know about that, or else he would have given you hell! You’re undermining the human race. Thanks to you soon earth will breed nothing but bellyachers and psychopaths.

SASHA. Men just don’t get it. Every girl prefers a loser to a success, because every girl is attracted by active love . . . Don’t you get it? Active. Men are involved in business and so they shove love far into the background. Talk to his wife, walk around the garden with her, pass the time pleasantly, weep at her grave—that’s all. But for us love is life itself. I love you, that means that I dream about how I’ll cure you of tedium, how I’ll go with you to the ends of the earth . . . You’re in the clouds, I’m in the clouds; you’re in the dumps, I’m in the dumps. For instance, for me it would be a great joy to stay up nights copying out your papers or to keep watch all night so that no one wakes you, or to walk with you a hundred miles on foot. I remember, three years ago, at threshing time, you once dropped in on us all covered in dust, sunburnt, exhausted, and asked for a drink. I brought you a glass, and you were already stretched out on the sofa, dead to the world. You slept in our house for half a day, and the whole time I stood outside the door and made sure that no one came in. And it made me feel so good! The harder the work, the greater the love, I mean, you understand, the more deeply felt it is.

IVANOV. Active love . . . Hm . . . It’s an aberration, a young girl’s fancies, or, maybe, that’s how things ought to be . . . (Shrugs his shoulders.) Who the hell knows! (Cheerfully.) Shura, word of honor, I am a respectable man! . . . Judge for yourself: I have always loved to philosophize, but never in my life have I said: “our women are depraved” or “a woman’s taken the road to perdition.” For heaven’s sake, I was only grateful and nothing more! Nothing more! My little girl, my pretty, what fun you are! While I, what a ridiculous numbskull! I upset good Christians, bemoan my fate for days on end. (Laughs.) Boo-hoo! boo-hoo! (Quickly walks away from her.) But go away, Sasha! We’ve been forgetting . . .

SASHA. Yes, it’s time to go. Good-bye! I’m afraid that your decent doctor out of a sense of duty will report to Anna Petrovna that I’m here. Listen to me: go to your wife right now and sit, sit, sit . . . If you have to sit for a year, sit for a year. Ten years—sit ten years. Do your duty. And grieve, and ask her forgiveness, and weep — that’s how it ought to be. But the main thing is, don’t neglect business.

IVANOV. I’ve got that old feeling, as if I’ve been gorging on toadstools. All over again!

SASHA. Well, God bless you! You can stop thinking about me! In two weeks or so you’ll drop me a line, and I’ll be grateful for it. And I’ll write to you . . .

BORKIN looks in at the door.

VIII

The same and BORKIN.

BORKIN. Nikolay Alekseevich, may I? (On seeing Sasha.) Sorry, I didn’t see . . . (Enters.) Bonjour! (Bows.)

SASHA (embarrassed). How do you do . . .

BORKIN. You’ve got plumper, prettier . . .

SASHA (to Ivanov). I’m leaving now, Nikolay Alekseevich . . . I’m leaving. (Exits.)

BORKIN. A vision of loveliness! I came about prose, and ran into poetry . . . (Sings.) “Thou didst appear, like a bird flown towards the light . . .”^[47]

IVANOV paces up and down the stage in agitation.

(Sits.) There’s something about her, Nicolas, a certain something that other women haven’t got. Am I right? Something special . . . fantastical . . . (Sighs.) Actually, the richest eligible girl in the whole district, but her dear mama is such a sourpuss that no one wants to make a match. When she dies everything will go to Shurochka, but until she dies she’ll give ten thousand or so, a curling iron and a flat iron, and even then she’ll make you beg for it on your knees. (Rummages in his pockets.) Let’s smoke a de-los-majoros.^[48] Care for one? (Offers his cigar case.) They’re not bad . . . Quite smokeworthy.

IVANOV (walks over to Borkin, choked with rage). Don’t set foot in my house another minute! Not another minute!

BORKIN rises a bit and drops the cigar.

Not another minute!

BORKIN. Nicolas, what does this mean? What are you angry about?

IVANOV. What about? Where did you get those cigars? Do you think I don’t know where you take the old man every day and what for?

BORKIN (shrugs his shoulders). What’s it got to do with you?

IVANOV. You’re such a crook! Your vulgar schemes, which you broadcast through the whole district, have made me a dishonest man in people’s eyes! We’ve got nothing in common, and I ask you to leave my home this very minute! (Walks quickly.)

BORKIN. I know that you’re saying all this out of irritation, and therefore I won’t be angry with you. Insult me as much as you like . . . (Picks up the cigar.) It’s time you gave up this melancholy routine. You’re no schoolboy . . .

IVANOV. What did I tell you? (Trembling.) Are you playing games with me?

Enter ANNA PETROVNA.

IX

The same and ANNA PETROVNA.

BORKIN. Well, look, Anna Petrovna’s here . . . I’m going. (Exits.)

IVANOV stops beside the desk and stands, his head bowed.

ANNA PETROVNA (after a pause). Why did she come here just now?

Pause.

I’m asking you: why did she come here?

IVANOV. Don’t question me, Anyuta . . .

Pause.

I’m much at fault. Think up whatever punishment you want, I’ll bear it, but . . . don’t question me . . . I haven’t got the strength to talk.

ANNA PETROVNA (angrily). Why was she here?

Pause.

Ah, so that’s what you’re like! Now I understand you. Finally I see what sort of man you are. Dishonorable, vile . . . You remember, you came and lied to me, saying you loved me . . . I believed it and left father, mother, religion and followed you . . . You lied to me about truth, goodness, your honorable intentions, I believed every word . . .

IVANOV. Anyuta, I never lied to you . . .

ANNA PETROVNA. I lived with you for five years, I broke down and sickened at the idea that I’d renounced my faith, but I loved you and never left you for a single minute . . . You were my idol . . . and now what? All this time you’ve been deceiving me in the most shameless manner . . .

IVANOV. Anyuta, don’t tell falsehoods. I was mistaken, yes, but I’ve never lied in my life . . . You don’t dare reproach me for that . . .

ANNA PETROVNA. Now it’s all come out . . . You married me and thought my father and mother would forgive me, give me money . . . That’s what you thought.

IVANOV. Oh my God! Anyuta, to try my patience like this! (Weeps.)

ANNA PETROVNA. Be quiet! When you realized there was no money, you came up with a new game . . . Now I remember it all and I understand. (Weeps.) You never loved me and were never faithful to me . . . Never!

IVANOV. Sarra, that’s a lie! . . . Say what you want, but don’t insult me with lies . . .

ANNA PETROVNA. Dishonorable, vile man . . . You owe Lebedev money, and now, in order to squirm out of your debt, you want to turn his daughter’s head, deceive her the way you did me. Is that a falsehood?

IVANOV (choking). Shut up, for God’s sake! I can’t answer for myself . . . I’m choking with rage, and I . . . I’m liable to insult you . . .

ANNA PETROVNA. You always were a shameless deceiver, and not just of me . . . You pinned all those underhanded actions on Borkin, but now I know whose they really are . . .

IVANOV. Sarra, shut up, get out, or else I’ll say something I’ll regret! It’s all I can do to keep from calling you something horrible, humiliating . . . (Shouts.) Shut up, you kike bitch!

ANNA PETROVNA. I will not shut up . . . Too long you’ve been deceiving me, for me to be able to keep silent . . .

IVANOV. So you won’t shut up? (Struggles with himself.) For God’s sake . . .

ANNA PETROVNA. Now go and cheat the Lebedev girl . . .

IVANOV. Then know that you . . . will die soon . . . The doctor told me that you’ll die soon . . .

ANNA PETROVNA (sits down, her voice faltering). When did he say that?

Pause.

IVANOV (clutching his head). It’s all my fault! God, it’s all my fault! (Sobs.)

Curtain

Nearly a year goes by between Acts Three and Four.

ACT FOUR

One of the drawing-rooms in the Lebedevs’ house. In front an arch separating the drawing-room from a reception room, doors at right and left. An antique bronze, family portraits. Decorations for a party. An upright piano, on it a violin, a cello beside it. Throughout the whole act, guests walk through the reception room, dressed for a ball.

I

LVOV.

LVOV (enters, looks at his watch.) Five o’clock. I suppose the benedictions-will begin any time now . . . They’ll give the benediction and drive off to the wedding. There you have it, the triumph of virtue and truth! He didn’t manage to rob Sarra, so he tortured her to death and drove her to her grave, now he’s found another girl. He’ll play the hypocrite with this one too, until he cleans her out and, once he’s done that, lays her where poor Sarra is lying. The same old mercenary story . . .

Pause.

In seventh heaven, a happy man, he’ll live beautifully to a ripe old age, and die with a clear conscience. No, I’ll strip you bare! When I rip that damned mask off you and everyone learns what kind of bird you are, I’ll make you fly down from seventh heaven into such a pit the foul fiend himself won’t be able to yank you out of it! I’m a decent person, it’s my job to step forward and make the blind to see. I’ll do my duty and tomorrow clear out of this damned district! (Thoughtfully.) But how can I go about it? Spelling it out to the Lebedevs is a waste of time. Challenge him to a duel? Make a scene? My God, I’m as flustered as a little kid and I’ve completely lost the ability to analyze the situation. How do I do it? A duel?

LVOV and KOSYKH.

KOSYKH (enters, gleefully to Lvov). Yesterday I called a little slam in clubs, and took a grand slam. Only again that Barabanov spoiled the whole shebang for me! We play. I bid: no trumps. He goes pass. Two no trumps. He goes pass. I go two diamonds . . . three clubs . . . and imagine, can you imagine: I call a slam, and he doesn’t show his ace. If he’d shown his ace, the bastard, I could have called a grand slam in no-trumps.

LVOV. Excuse me, I don’t play cards, and so I can’t share your enthusiasm. Will the benediction be soon?

KOSYKH. I guess so, soon. They’re trying to bring Zyuzyushka round. She’s wailing like a banshee, she’s upset over the dowry.

LVOV. And not over her daughter?

KOSYKH. Dowry. And she’s ticked off. If he gets married, it means he doesn’t have to pay back the debt. You can’t very well sue your son-in-law for defaulting.

III

The same and BABAKINA.

BABAKINA (overdressed, pompously crosses the stage between Lvov and Kosykh; the latter bursts out laughing up his sleeve; she looks round). Idiot!

KOSYKH touches her waist with his finger and roars with laughter.

Peasant! (Exits.)

KOSYKH (roaring with laughter). The dame’s gone off her rocker! Until she started angling for a title, she was a dame like any dame, but now you can’t come near her. (Mimics her.) Peasant!

LVOV (upset). Listen, tell me truly, what do you think of Ivanov?

KOSYKH. A waste of time. He plays like a shoemaker. Last year, during Lent, there was this thing. We sit down to play: me, the Count, Borkin and him. It’s my deal . . .

LVOV (interrupting). Is he a good man?

KOSYKH. What, him? A rogue male! A chiseler like nobody’s business. He and the Count are two of a kind. They’ve got a knack for sniffing out where dirty work is to be done. Came to a dead end with the Jew girl, had to eat crow, but now he’s worming his way into Zyuzyushka’s strongboxes. I’ll bet, or may I be triply damned, in a year’s time he’ll have Zyuzyushka on the streets. He’ll do it to Zyuzyushka, and the Count’ll do it to Babakina. They’ll snatch the cash and live happily ever after, getting richer and richer. Doctor, why are you so pale today? You look a fright.

LVOV. Never mind, that’s how it is. I had too much to drink yesterday.

IV

The same, LEBEDEV, and SASHA.

LEBEDEV (entering, with Sasha). Let’s talk in here. (To Lvov and Kosykh.) Go into the other room, you Zulus, and join the young ladies. We have to talk in private.

KOSYKH (as he passes Sasha, snaps his finger in ecstasy). Pretty as a picture! The Queen of Trumps!

LEBEDEV. Pass by, caveman, pass by!

LVOV and KOSYKH leave.

Sit down, Shurochka, that’s right . . . (Sits and looks round.) Listen carefully and with due respect. Here’s the thing: your mother insisted that I inform you of the following . . . You understand? I’m not talking on my own behalf, but your mother insisted.

SASHA. Papa, cut it short!

LEBEDEV. You have been granted a dowry of fifteen thousand silver rubles. That’s that . . . See that there are no arguments later on! Hold on, be quiet! That’s only for starters, here comes the main course. You’ve been granted fifteen thousand, but, since Nikolay Alekseevich owes your mother nine thousand, a deduction is being made from your dowry . . . Well now, ma’am, after that, in addition . . .

SASHA. Why are you telling me this?

LEBEDEV. Your mother insisted!

SASHA. Leave me alone! If you had the slightest respect for me or yourself, you wouldn’t let yourself talk to me this way. Do I need your dowry! I didn’t ask for it then and don’t ask for it now!

LEBEDEV. What are you taking it out on me for? In Gogol’s play the two rats at least sniffed around first, and only then went away,^[51] while you, my emancipated lady, don’t bother sniffing around, you just take it out on me!

SASHA. Do leave me alone, don’t humiliate my ears with your nickle-and-diming!

LEBEDEV (flaring up). Fooey! The way you’re all carrying on, I’ll end up sticking a knife in myself or cutting somebody else’s throat! That one sets up a fearful howl all the livelong day, nagging, pestering, pinching pennies, while this one, an intelligent, humane, damn it all, emancipated woman, can’t understand her own father! I’m humiliating her ears! Well, before coming here to insult your ears, out there (points to the door) I was being cut up into little pieces, drawn and quartered. She can’t understand! The two of you have got my head swimming, you’ve mixed me all up . . . oh, you! (Goes to the door and stops.) I don’t like it. I don’t like anything about you!

SASHA. What don’t you like?

LEBEDEV. I don’t like any of it! Any of it!

SASHA. Any of what?

LEBEDEV. So now I’m supposed to pull up a chair and start telling you a story. I don’t like anything about it, and I don’t want to be at your wedding! ((Walks over to Sasha, affectionately.) You’ll forgive me, Shurochka, maybe your getting married is clever, honorable, uplifting, highly principled, but something about it isn’t right, it isn’t right! It isn’t like other marriages. You’re young, fresh, pure as a pane of glass, beautiful, whereas he’s a widower, worn to a shadow, to a nub. And I can’t figure him out, God bless him. (Kisses his daughter.) Shurochka, forgive me, but something smells rotten. There’s already a lot of talk. About how Sarra died at his place, then suddenly for some reason he wanted to marry you . . . (Vigorously.) Anyway, I’m being an old biddy, an old biddy. I’m as biddified as an old hoop-skirt . . . Don’t listen to me. Don’t listen to anybody but yourself.

SASHA. Papa, I feel myself that it’s wrong . . . Wrong, wrong, wrong. If only you knew how hard it is for me! Unbearable! It’s awkward and painful to me to confess this. Papa, darling, snap me out of this, for God’s sake . . . teach me what to do.

LEBEDEV. Such as what? What?

SASHA. I’m more frightened than ever! (Looks around.) I feel as if I don’t understand him and never will. The whole time we were engaged, not once did he smile, not once did he look directly into my eyes. Constant complaints, remorse over something, hints at some vague fault, trembling . . . I got tired of it. There are even moments when I feel as if I . . . I don’t love him as intensely as I should. And when he rides over here or talks to me, I start to get bored. What does all this mean, Papa dear? It’s terrifying!

LEBEDEV. My little dove, my only child, listen to your old father. Call it off!

SASHA (alarmed). What do you mean, what do you mean?

LEBEDEV. Honestly, Shurochka. There’ll be a scandal, the whole district will start wagging their tongues, but, after all, it’s better to live through a scandal than destroy your whole life.

SASHA. Don’t say that, don’t say that, Papa! I won’t listen to you. One must fight off these gloomy thoughts. He’s a good, unhappy, misunderstood man; I will love him, I will understand him, I will set him on his feet. I will carry out my mission. It’s settled!

LEBEDEV. That’s not a mission, it’s a psychosis.

SASHA. That’s enough. I confessed to you something I didn’t want to confess even to myself. Don’t tell anyone. Let’s forget it.

LEBEDEV. I don’t understand a thing. Either I’ve got obtuse in my old age or you all have become so very clever, but, even if you cut my throat, I still don’t understand a thing.

V

The same and SHABELSKY.

SHABELSKY (entering). To hell with everybody, myself included! It’s exasperating!

LEBEDEV. What’s got into you?

SHABELSKY. No, seriously, come what may, I’ll have to pull off something on my own so low-down, so vulgar that not only I, but everyone will be nauseated. And I will do the dirty deed. Word of honor. I’ve already told Borkin to announce my engagement today. (Laughs.) Everyone’s a low-life, so I’ll be a low-life too.

LEBEDEV. I’m fed up with you! Listen, Matvey, keep talking like that and they’ll throw you in the, excuse the expression, booby hatch.

SHABELSKY. And why should a booby hatch be any worse than an escape hatch or a nuthatch? Do me a favor, throw me in there right now. You’d be doing me a favor. They’re all such petty little, insignificant little, untalented little creatures, I’m a contemptible creature myself, I don’t believe a word I say . . .

LEBEDEV. You know what, my boy? Put a fuse in your mouth, light it and breathe fire at people. Or better yet: here’s your hat, there’s the door. There’s a wedding going on here, everybody’s celebrating, while you caw-caw like a crow. Yes, honestly. . . .

SHABELSKY leans on the piano and sobs.

Good grief! . . . Matvey! . . . Count! . . . What’s wrong with you? Dear heart, my love . . . my angel . . . Have I offended you? Well, forgive me, old hound that I am . . . Forgive a drunkard . . . Have some water . . .

SHABELSKY. Don’t want any. (Raises his head.)

LEBEDEV. What are you crying for?

SHABELSKY. No reason, just because . . .

LEBEDEV. No, Matvey, don’t lie . . . what for? What’s the reason?

SHABELSKY. I caught a glimpse of that cello and . . . and I remembered the little Jew-girl. . . .

LEBEDEV. Oh boy, what a time you picked to remember! May she rest in peace, bless her, but this is no time for reminiscing . . .

SHABELSKY. We would play duets together . . . A wonderful, superb woman!

SASHA sobs.

LEBEDEV. What, you too? Will you stop it? Lord, they’re both bawling, while I . . . I . . . At least get out of here, the guests will see!

SHABELSKY. Pasha, when the sun shines, it’s cheerful even in a graveyard. When there’s hope, then it’s good even to be old. But I haven’t got a hope, not one single one!

LEBEDEV. Yes, you’re really in a bad way . . . You’ve got no children, no money, no occupation . . . Well, that’s the way it goes. (To Sasha.) But what’s your problem?

SHABELSKY. Pasha, give me some money. We’ll settle up in the next world. I’ll go to Paris, I’ll take a look at my wife’s grave. In my lifetime I’ve given away plenty, I squandered half my fortune, and so I’ve got the right to ask. Besides, I’m asking it from a friend . . .

LEBEDEV (dismayed). Dear heart, I haven’t got a penny! But, all right, all right! I mean, I’m not promising, but you understand . . . fine, fine! (Aside.) They’ve tortured me to death!

VI

The same, BABAKINA, and then ZINAIDA SAVISHNA.

BABAKINA (enters). Now where is my escort? Count, how dare you leave me alone? Ooh, you’re a disgrace! (Strikes the Count on the arm with her fan.)

SHABELSKY (squeamishly). Leave me alone! I hate you!

BABAKINA (dumbfounded). What . . . Huh? . . .

SHABELSKY. Please get away from me.

BABAKINA (drops into an armchair). Ah! (Weeps.)

ZINAIDA SAVISHNA (enters, weeping). Someone’s arrived . . . I think it’s the best man. It’s time for the benediction . . . (Sobs.)

SASHA (pleading). Mamma!

LEBEDEV. Now they’ve all started blubbering! A quartet! Will you please turn off the waterworks! Matvey! . . . Marfa Yegorovna! . . . Look, now I . . . I’ve started crying . . . (Weeps.) Good grief!

ZINAIDA SAVISHNA. If you don’t need a mother, if you’re disobedient . . . then do whatever you like, you have my blessing . . .

Enter IVANOV; he is wearing a tailcoat and gloves.

VII

The same and IVANOV.

LEBEDEV. That’s all we need! What’s up!

SASHA. Why are you here?

IVANOV. Sorry, ladies and gentlemen, let me talk to Sasha alone.

LEBEDEV. It isn’t proper for the groom to drop in on the bride! It’s time for you to be at the church!

IVANOV. Pasha, please

LEBEDEV shrugs his shoulders; he, ZINAIDA SAVISHNA, the COUNT, and BABAKINA leave.

VIII

IVANOV and SASHA.

SASHA (sternly). What do you want?

IVANOV. I’m choking with spite, but I can speak calmly. Listen. Just now I was getting dressed for the ceremony, I looked at myself in the mirror and the hair at my temples . . . was gray. Shura, we mustn’t! Shura, while it’s not too late, we should call off this mindless farce . . . You’re young, pure, you’ve got your life ahead of you, while I . . .

SASHA. None of this is new, I’ve already heard it a thousand times and I’m sick and tired of it! Go to the church, don’t keep people waiting.

IVANOV. I’ll go home right now, and you can explain to your folks that there won’t be any wedding. Tell them anything. It’s time we came to our senses. I was playing Hamlet, and you the high-minded damsel — we’ve had enough of it.

SASHA (flaring up). What sort of tone is this? I’m not listening.

IVANOV. But I’m speaking and I’ll go on speaking.

SASHA. Why did you come here? Your whining is becoming ridiculous.

IVANOV. No, I have stopped whining! Ridiculous? Yes, I am ridiculous. And if I could make myself a thousand times more ridiculous and get the whole world to laugh, I’d do it! I stared at myself in the mirror—and it was as if a bullet shot me in my conscience! I laughed at myself and nearly went out of my mind with shame. (Laughs.) Melancholy! Justifiable tedium! Unreasoning grief! The only thing I left out is writing poetry. To whine, to bemoan my fate, to drive everyone to distraction, to proclaim that the zest in life has been squandered forever, that I’ve got rusty, outlived myself, that I’ve given in to faintheartedness and am stuck up to my ears in this foul melancho-lia,—to proclaim this, when the sun is shining brightly, when even the ants are hauling their loads and pleased with themselves,—thanks but no thanks! To see how some consider you a charlatan, others pity you, yet others stretch out a helping hand, a fourth group — the worst of all — heed your groans, regard you as a second Mohammed, and wait for you to preach them a new religion any minute now. No, thank God, I still have pride and conscience! On the way over here, I laughed at myself, and I felt as if I need the birds to laugh at me, the trees to laugh . . .

SASHA. This isn’t spite, but insanity!

IVANOV. You think so? No, I’m not insane. Now I see things in their true light, and my mind is as clear as your conscience. We love each other, but our wedding cannot be! I can rant and rave and mope as much as I please, but I have no right to ruin other people! With my whining I poisoned the last year of my wife’s life. While you’ve been my fiancée, you’ve lost the ability to laugh and aged five years. Your father, for whom everything in life was clear, thanks to me can’t understand people any more. If I go to a gathering, a party, a hunt, wherever I go I bring along boredom, depression, dissatisfaction. Hold on, don’t interrupt! I’m being impetuous, frantic, but, excuse me, spite chokes me, and I cannot speak any other way. I never used to lie, never used to run down life, but, ever since I became a grumbler, involuntarily, without noticing it myself, I do run it down, rail at fate, complain, and everyone who hears me is infected with a distaste for life and also starts running it down! And what a tone! As if I were doing Nature a favor by living. Who the hell do I think I am!

SASHA. Hold on . . . What you’ve just said means that you’re fed up with whining and it’s time to begin a new life! . . . That’s wonderful! . . .

IVANOV. I don’t see anything wonderful about it. And what’s this new life? I’m a hopeless goner! It’s time we both understood that. New life!

SASHA. Nikolay, come to your senses! What makes you think you’re a goner? What is this cynicism? No, I don’t want to talk or listen . . . Go to the church!

IVANOV. A goner!

SASHA. Don’t shout that way, the guests will hear!

IVANOV. If a reasonably intelligent, educated, and healthy man for no apparent reason starts to bemoan his fate and go downhill, then he’s already on the skids without a brake, and there’s no escape for him! Well, where’s my escape? To what? I can’t drink—wine gives me a headache; I don’t know how to write bad poetry, I can’t romanticize my feeblemindedness and treat it as something sublime. Debility is debility, weakness is weakness— I have no other names for them. I’m a goner, a goner—and it’s not worth discussing! (Look around.) They might interrupt us. Listen. If you love me, help me. Right this minute, call it off without delay! Quick . . .

SASHA. Oh, Nikolay, if you only knew how you’ve worn me out! How you’ve broken my heart! You’re a good, intelligent man, so judge: well, can you set these tasks? Every single day, there’s a task, each one more difficult than the last . . . I wanted love to be active, not agonizing.

IVANOV. And when you become my wife, the tasks will be even more complex. Call it off! Understand, it’s not love speaking through you, but the obstinacy of an honest nature. You set yourself the goal, come what may, of resurrecting the man in me, rescuing me, you flattered yourself that you would do a deed of valor . . . Now you’re ready to retreat, but you’re prevented by a false feeling. Don’t you see!

SASHA. What strange, savage logic you use! Well, can I call it off? How can I call it off? You don’t have a mother, sisters, friends . . . You’re a wreck, your estate’s been plundered, the people around you speak ill of you . . .

IVANOV. I did something stupid coming here. I should have done what I intended . . .

Enter LEBEDEV.

IX

The same and LEBEDEV.

SASHA (runs to meet her father). Papa, for God’s sake, he ran over here like a madman and is torturing me! He insists that I call it off, he doesn’t want to ruin me. Tell him that I want no part of his magnanimity! I know what I’m doing.

LEBEDEV. I can’t figure this out . . . What magnanimity?

IVANOV. There will be no wedding!

SASHA. There will! Papa, tell him there will be a wedding!

LEBEDEV. Hold on, hold on! . . . Why don’t you want there to be a wedding?

IVANOV. I’ve explained why to her, but she refuses to understand.

LEBEDEV. No, don’t explain it to her, but to me, and explain it so that I can understand! Ah, Nikolay Alekseevich! God be your judge! You’ve filled our lives with so much murk and gloom I feel as if I’m living in a chamber of horrors: no matter where I look, I don’t understand a thing . . . It’s sheer agony . . . Well, what do you ask me, an old man, to do with you? Challenge you to a duel or what?

IVANOV. No duels are called for. All that’s called for is to have a brain in one’s head and understand plain Russian.

SASHA (walks up and down the stage in agitation). This is horrible, horrible! Just like a child!

LEBEDEV. There’s nothing left but to throw up your hands and that’s it. Listen, Nikolay. In your opinion, everything you’re doing is clever, subtle, in accordance with all the rules of psychology, but in my opinion, it’s a scandal and a disaster. Listen to me, an old man, one last time! Here’s what I have to say to you: calm your mind! Look at things simply, the way everybody else does! In this world everything is simple. The ceiling is white, boots are black, sugar is sweet. You love Sasha, she loves you. If you love her, stick around, if you don’t, go away, we won’t hold any grudges. This is simple enough, isn’t it! You’re both healthy, intelligent, moral, and well fed, thank God, and clothed . . . What more do you need? No money? Big deal! Money doesn’t bring happiness . . . Of course, I understand . . . your estate is mortgaged, you’ve got nothing to pay the interest with, but I’m a father, I understand . . . Mother can do as she likes, God bless her; she won’t give money—who needs it? Shurochka says you don’t need the dowry. Principles, Schopenhauer^[53] . . . It’s all nonsense . . . I’ve got ten thousand stashed in the bank . . . (Looks around.) Not a dog in this house knows about it . . . It’s Granny’s . . . It’s for the two of you . . . Take it, only one condition with the money: give Matvey two thousand or so . . .

GUESTS gather in the reception room.

IVANOV. Pasha, this conversation is going nowhere. I act as my conscience dictates.

SASHA. And I act as my conscience dictates. You can say what you like, I won’t let you go. Papa, the benediction right now! I’m going to get Mamma . . . (Exits.)

X

IVANOV and LEBEDEV.

LEBEDEV. I don’t understand a thing . . .

IVANOV. Listen, you poor old soul . . . To explain to you who I am — decent or contemptible, sane or psychopath, I won’t even begin. I couldn’t get it through your thick skull. I was young, overenthusiastic, sincere, reasonably intelligent; I loved, hated and had beliefs different from everyone else’s, I worked and hoped for ten men, tilted at windmills, banged my head against walls; without calculating my strength, or reasoning, or knowing life, I hoisted a load on my back, which immediately snapped my spine and strained my sinews; I rushed to consume my one and only youth, I got drunk, got enthused, worked hard; knew no moderation. And tell me: could it be any other way? After all, there aren’t many of us and there’s plenty of work to be done, plenty! God, what plenty! And here’s how life, my adversary, takes its cruel revenge! I wore myself out! Thirty years and the hangover has already set in, I’m old, I already go around in a dressing gown.¹² With a heavy head and an indolent mind, worn out, overtaxed, broken, faithless, loveless, aimless, like a shadow, loitering around people, I don’t know: who am I, why am I alive, what do I want? And I’ve started thinking that love is absurd, caresses are cloying, there’s no meaning to hard work, songs and impassioned speeches are vulgar and stale. And wherever I go I bring along tedium, cold boredom, dissatisfaction, distaste for life . . . I’m a hopeless goner! Before you stands a man of thirty-five who’s always exhausted, disenchanted, crushed by the insignificance of what he’s accomplished; he’s burning up with shame, scoffs at his own weakness . . . Oh, how pride mutinies within me, how fury chokes me! (Swaying.) Look how I’ve worn myself out! I’m even staggering . . . I’ve got weak. Where’s Matvey? Let him take me home.

VOICES IN THE RECEPTION ROOM: “The best mans here!”

XI

The same, SHABELSKY, BORKIN, and then LVOV and SASHA.

SHABELSKY (entering). In somebody else’s shabby dress coat . . . with no gloves . . . and for that reason all those sneering looks, stupid jokes, vulgar smiles . . . Disgusting pygmies!

BORKIN (enters quickly with a bouquet; he’s in a tailcoat with a best-man’s favor in his buttonhole). Oof! Where is he? (To ivanov.) They’ve been waiting for you at the church for a long time and here you are talking philosophy. What a comedian! Honest to God, a comedian! After all, you’re not supposed to ride with the bride, but separately with me, then I drive back from the church and pick up the bride. Can’t you even get that right? Positively a comedian!

LVOV (enters, to ivanov). Ah, you’re here? (Loudly.) Nikolay Alekseevich Ivanov, I declare in the hearing of everyone, that you are a bastard!

IVANOV (coldly). Thank you kindly.

General consternation.

BORKIN (to Lvov). My good sir, this is an outrage! I challenge you to a duel!

LVOV. Mister Borkin, I consider it degrading to talk to you, let alone fight you! But Mister Ivanov may receive satisfaction, if he so desires.

SHABELSKY. Dear sir, I’ll fight with you!

SASHA (to Lvov). Why? Why did you insult him? Gentlemen, please, make him tell me: why?

LVOV. Aleksandra Pavlovna, I did not insult him without sufficient reason. I came here as a decent person to open your eyes, and I beg you to hear me out.

SASHA. What can you say? That you’re a decent person? The whole world knows that! You’d better tell me out of your clear conscience: do you understand what you’ve done or don’t you? You came in here just now, Mr. Decent Person, and flung a horrible insult at him, which nearly killed me; in the past, when you dogged him like a shadow, and kept him from living, you were convinced that you were doing your duty, that you are a decent person. You meddled in his private life, badmouthed him and ran him down wherever you could, peppered me and all my friends with anonymous letters, — and all the time you thought you were being a decent person. With the idea that it’s decent, you, a doctor, didn’t even spare his sick wife or give her a moment’s peace with your suspicions. And whatever viciousness, whatever nasty act of cruelty you commit, you’ll go on thinking that you are an exceptionally decent and progressive person!

IVANOV (laughing). This isn’t a wedding, it’s a debating society! Bravo, bravo!

SASHA (to Lvov). So think about that now; do you understand what you’ve done or don’t you? Narrow-minded, heartless people! (Takes Ivanov by the arm.) Let’s get out of here, Nikolay! Father, let’s go!

IVANOV. Where are we to go? Hold on, I’ll put an end to this right now! Youth has re-awakened in me, the original Ivanov has found his voice! (He pulls out a revolver.)

SASHA (screams). I know what he wants to do! Nikolay, for heaven’s sake!

IVANOV. I’ve been on the skids too long, now it’s time to call a halt! Time to know when you’ve worn out your welcome! Step aside! Thank you, Sasha!

SASHA (cries out). Nikolay, for heaven’s sake! Stop him!

IVANOV. Leave me alone!

He runs off to the side and shoots himself.

Curtain

VARIANTS TO

Ivanov, Final Version

Variants from the censor’s copy of 1889, the journal Northern Herald (Severny Vestnik), and Plays (1897).

ACT ONE

page 462 / Replace: first, a young doctor, then a trip to the Crimea, in the Crimea a strapping Tatar . . .

with: first a young doctor, then a trip to the Crimea, in the Crimea a strapping Tatar, on the way back a private train compartment with some dandy, who has lost all his money but is sweet . . . (Censor 1889)

ACT TWO

page 476 / Replace: The FIRST GUEST yawns.

with: FIRST GUEST (to the young lady beside him). What, ma’am?

YOUNG LADY. Tell me a story.

FIRST GUEST. What am I supposed to tell you?

YOUNG LADY. Well, something funny.

FIRST GUEST. Funny? (After a moment’s thought.) A man came up to another man and sees—there’s a dog sitting there, you understand. (Laughs.) So he asks, “What’s your dog’s name?” And the other man says, “Liqueurs.” (Roars with laughter.) Liqueurs . . . Get it? Like-yours . . .

YOUNG LADY. Like?

FIRST GUEST. Liqueurs.

YOUNG LADY. There’s nothing funny about that.

THIRD GUEST. That’s an old joke . . . (Yawns.) (Censor 1889)

page 477 / Replace:(Quickly exits into the garden.)

with: (Quickly exits to the terrace and stops near the card table. To Yegorushka.) How much did you put down? What did you put down? Wait . . . thirty-eight multiplied by eight . . . makes . . . eight times eight . . . Ah, the hell with it! . . . (Goes into the garden.) (Censor 1889)

page 485 / After: I’m a low-life too and a slave owner. — Nikolay doesn’t stay home nights—he’s a low-life too: it means he tortures his wife so as to put her in her grave and marry a rich woman. (Censor 1889)

page 488 / After: A waste of perfectly good sugar. — I’ll take it away, and let Matryona finish it. (Censor 1889)

ACT THREE

page 494 / Replace: A virtuoso!

with: A virtuoso . . . every day he generates thousands of projects, tears the stars out of the sky, but never makes a profit . . . He never has a penny in his pocket . . .

LEBEDEV. Art for art’s sake . . . (Censor 1889; Northern Herald)

page 498 / After the stage direction: Laughter. —

LEBEDEV. Why, he’s so addicted to card playing, the dear heart, that instead of good-bye he says pass . . . (Censor 1889; Northern Herald)

page 499 / After: (Greets them.) — I went through all the rooms, and there’s that doctor, like he’s been eating loco-weed, he bugged his eyes at me, and — “What’ya want? Get outta here . . . You’ll give the patient a turn,” he says . . . As if it’s that easy . . . (Censor 1889)

page 502 / After: a George Sand! — I thought only Borkin had great ideas in his head, but now it seems . . . I’m going, I’m going . . . (Exits.) (Censor 1889)

page 503 / After: farming, district schools, projects, — speeches, cheese-making that failed, a stud farm, magazine articles, plenty of mistakes . . . (Censor 1889])

page 503 / Replace: At the age of twenty . . . how else can you explain this lassitude?

with: All us Russians at twenty and twenty-five don’t get excited in moderation, we plunge into the fire and mindlessly squander our strength, and nature punishes us for this cruelly: at thirty we’re already old and worn out. (Censor 1889; Northern Herald)

page 504 / After: brains or hands or feet — as if it weren’t Ivanov inside me, but an old, sick horse . . . (Censor 1889)

page 507 / After: Have you indeed? — Well, if it’s come to that, then know that I love your wife! I love her as intensely as I hate you! That’s my right and that’s my privilege! When I first saw her torment, my heart couldn’t stand it and . . . (Censor 1889; Northern Herald)

page 508 / After: do a valiant deed! — The distinguishing feature of young Russian women is always the fact that they can’t tell the difference between a good painting and a caricature. (Censor 1889)

page 509 / After: but bellyachers and psychopaths — Ah, my little crackpot! What are you laughing at? You’re too young to teach me and save me. Little crackpot!

SASHA. If you don’t mind, what a thing to say! Really, this won’t do at all!

IVANOV. You are, my little crackpot!

SASHA. Can we do without the sarcasm?

IVANOV (shaking his head). We cannot!

SASHA. All right then! We know how to punish you. How about getting a move on! (Shoves his shoulder, then pulls him by the arm with all her might.) Move! Lord, what a heavy lummox! Get a move on, Oblomov!

IVANOV. No, I won’t stir from this spot. The likes of you, dear girl, won’t get me to budge. You can try with all your might and even send for your dear mamma to help! No, madam, it takes far more strength. A whole houseful of widows and a girl’s boarding school won’t move me from this spot.

SASHA. Oof, I’m out of breath . . . I wish you were an empty vessel!

IVANOV. There now, you shameless hussy, that’ll teach you to save people! Oh you . . . dark-eyed thing! (Censor 1889; Northern Herald)

page 509 / After: Nothing more! — Eh, feed me to the wolves, if only I could fumigate the sniveling brat out of myself, I might be a real man! Watch out, here comes the train! (Chases Sasha.) Choo-choo!

SASHA (jumps on to the sofa). Get away, get away, get away!

IVANOV. Oh frailty, thy name is woman! (Roars with laughter.) (Censor 1889; Northern Herald)

page 509 / After: what a ridiculous numbskull! — You know, in the reeds along the Dnieper there nests a certain bird — a grayish, very sullen, pitiful little thing, and it’s called a bittern. It sits all day in the reeds, dolefully going: boo-hoo! boo-hoo! Like a cow locked up in a barn. That’s what I’m like. I sit by myself in the reeds and (Censor 1889)

ACT FOUR

page 516 / After: I’m not talking on my own behalf, but your mother insisted. — Listen. Since the best man hasn’t got here yet and since we still haven’t spoken the benediction over you, to avoid any misunderstanding, you should know once and for all that we . . . I mean not we, but your mother . . . (Censor 1889)

page 522 / After: wherever I go I bring along boredom, depression, dissatisfaction — My life has become loathsome to me, but that alone does not give me the right to leach the color out of other people’s lives. (Censor 1889)

page 522 / After: I have no other names for them — So wherein lies my salvation? Tell me, in love? That’s an old gimmick! Love is that extra stab in the back; it complicates spiritual uplift, it adds a new tedium to tedium. Winning two hundred thousand? The same thing. Stimulating and uplifting my spirit can be achieved only by heaven itself, but the stimulation is followed by the hangover, and my spirit falls even lower than before. You must understand this and not hide from yourself! Our old friend, depression, has only one salvation, and, unfortunately, we are too intelligent for that salvation. (Censor 1889; Northern Herald; Plays)

page 523 / After: You don’t have a mother, sisters, friends . . . — Alone, alone, like an orphan. Whom shall I throw you at? (Censor 1889; Northern Herald; Plays)

page 523 / After: I should have done what I intended . . . — This is all I wanted . . . (Shows a revolver and hides it again.) It’s easier to kill myself than to ruin your life. But I thought that you would listen to common sense and . . .

SASHA. Hand over the revolver!

IVANOV. I won’t.

SASHA. Hand it over, I tell you!

IVANOV. Sasha, I have too much love for you and too much anger for small talk. I’m asking you to call it off! It’s a final demand in the name of fairness, humane feeling! (Censor 1889)

page 525 / Replace: I was young . . . fury chokes me!

with: I’ll ask you only about one thing. If once in your life you encountered a young man, ardent, sincere, no fool, and you see that he loves, hates and believes not as everyone else does, works and hopes for ten, makes an unusual marriage, tilts at windmills, bangs his head against the wall, if you see how he has hoisted a load which snaps his spine and strains his sinews, then say to him: don’t hasten to squander your strength on youth alone, preserve it for your whole life; get drunk, get excited, work, but be temperate, otherwise fate will punish you cruelly! At thirty you will already have a hangover and you will be old. With a heavy head, with an indolent soul, worn out, broken down, without faith, without love, without a goal, like a shadow, you will loiter amidst people and not know: who are you? why are you alive? what do you want? And it will seem to you that love is rubbish, affection cloying, that there’s no sense in hard work, that songs and passionate speeches are vulgar and stale. And wherever you go, everywhere you will bring with you longing, cold boredom, dissatisfaction, revulsion to life, and there will be no salvation for you. Ruined irrevocably! You’ll say, how before you there stood a man of thirty-five already impotent, disappointed, crushed by his insignificant accomplishment, how he burned with shame in your eyes, was mocked for his weakness, how pride was aroused in him, and how stupidly he ended up! How this raving choked him! (Censor 1889; Northern Herald)

page 526 / After: Positively a comedian! —

SASHA. It doesn’t matter, we’ll all go together right now. (Takes Ivanov by the arm.) Let’s go!

IVANOV. An energetic individual! (Laughs.) I’m marrying a drill sergeant . . . (Censor 1889)

NOTES

1 “What my Ivanov says to Doctor Lvov is said by a worn-out, haggard man; on the contrary, a man must constantly if not crawl out, then peep out of his shell, and he must grapple with ideas all his life, otherwise it’s not a life, but an existence” (Chekhov to his brother Mikhail, March 5, 1901).

2 Italian: a guide who shows antiquities. The pretentious Third Guest is misusing foreign words.

3 Dudkin (Mr. Bagpipe), “son of a rich factory-owner,” was a character in the first version of Ivanov. Chekhov cut Dudkin from the script in the interests of a more serious play, and divided his lines between First and Third Guests.

4 Nikolay Aleksandrovich Dobrolyubov (1836–1861), liberal critic and journalist, who had a great influence over Russian youth in the 1860s. His article (“The Kingdom of Darkness”) on Ostrovsky’s plays suggested that Russia was in thrall to conservative, domestic tyranny; the term crops up in Borkin’s compliments in the next scene.

5 Kulak, literally, fist, applied to sharp-dealing, tight-fisted tradesmen and rich peasants.

6 Since the serfs were not emancipated until 1861, Shabelsky probably had owned serfs in his youth.

7 Chatsky is the leading character in Griboedov’s comedy Woe from Wit (1821–1823), a young gentleman returned from abroad who is disgusted by the hypocrisy of Moscow society. The society, in turn, decides, on the basis of his anti-social behavior, that he is mad.

8 A follower of the German philosopher G. W. F. Hegel (1770–1831), whose systematic dialectics rejected irrationality.

9 Francis Bacon (1561–1626), empirical philosopher and natural scientist, who insisted on facts. Bacon’s experiential approach is at the farthest pole from Hegel’s abstractions.

10 Manfred, the hero of Lord Byron’s eponymous poem, a romantic outlaw who, with the help of magic, controls the spirits of nature. The poem greatly influenced Pushkin and Lermontov.

11 The English scientist Charles Darwin (1809–1882) argued that in natural selection the female of a species chooses for reproduction the strongest or most capable male.

12 A reference to Oblomov, the protagonist of Goncharov’s eponymous novel of 1859, an indolent landowner who spends his days in a dressing gown, lolling on a sofa, incapable of making a decision.