Plays by Anton Chekhov, Second Series

OLGA. That’s good. I’m glad.

IRINA. Is he old?

TUZENBACH. Oh, no. Forty or forty-five, at the very outside. [Plays softly] He seems rather a good sort. He’s certainly no fool, only he likes to hear himself speak.

IRINA. Is he interesting?

TUZENBACH. Oh, he’s all right, but there’s his wife, his mother-in-law, and two daughters. This is his second wife. He pays calls and tells everybody that he’s got a wife and two daughters. He’ll tell you so here. The wife isn’t all there, she does her hair like a flapper and gushes extremely. She talks philosophy and tries to commit suicide every now and again, apparently in order to annoy her husband. I should have left her long ago, but he bears up patiently, and just grumbles.

SOLENI. [Enters with CHEBUTIKIN from the dining-room] With one hand I can only lift fifty-four pounds, but with both hands I can lift 180, or even 200 pounds. From this I conclude that two men are not twice as strong as one, but three times, perhaps even more…

CHEBUTIKIN. [Reads a newspaper as he walks] If your hair is coming out… take an ounce of naphthaline and hail a bottle of spirit… dissolve and use daily… [Makes a note in his pocket diary] When found make a note of! Not that I want it though… [Crosses it out] It doesn’t matter.

IRINA. Ivan Romanovitch, dear Ivan Romanovitch!

CHEBUTIKIN. What does my own little girl want?

IRINA. Ivan Romanovitch, dear Ivan Romanovitch! I feel as if I were sailing under the broad blue sky with great white birds around me. Why is that? Why?

CHEBUTIKIN. [Kisses her hands, tenderly] My white bird…

IRINA. When I woke up to-day and got up and dressed myself, I suddenly began to feel as if everything in this life was open to me, and that I knew how I must live. Dear Ivan Romanovitch, I know everything. A man must work, toil in the sweat of his brow, whoever he may be, for that is the meaning and object of his life, his happiness, his enthusiasm. How fine it is to be a workman who gets up at daybreak and breaks stones in the street, or a shepherd, or a schoolmaster, who teaches children, or an engine-driver on the railway… My God, let alone a man, it’s better to be an ox, or just a horse, so long as it can work, than a young woman who wakes up at twelve o’clock, has her coffee in bed, and then spends two hours dressing… Oh it’s awful! Sometimes when it’s hot, your thirst can be just as tiresome as my need for work. And if I don’t get up early in future and work, Ivan Romanovitch, then you may refuse me your friendship.

CHEBUTIKIN. [Tenderly] I’ll refuse, I’ll refuse…

OLGA. Father used to make us get up at seven. Now Irina wakes at seven and lies and meditates about something till nine at least. And she looks so serious! [Laughs.]

IRINA. You’re so used to seeing me as a little girl that it seems queer to you when my face is serious. I’m twenty!

TUZENBACH. How well I can understand that craving for work, oh God! I’ve never worked once in my life. I was born in Petersburg, a chilly, lazy place, in a family which never knew what work or worry meant. I remember that when I used to come home from my regiment, a footman used to have to pull off my boots while I fidgeted and my mother looked on in adoration and wondered why other people didn’t see me in the same light. They shielded me from work; but only just in time! A new age is dawning, the people are marching on us all, a powerful, health-giving storm is gathering, it is drawing near, soon it will be upon us and it will drive away laziness, indifference, the prejudice against labour, and rotten dullness from our society. I shall work, and in twenty-five or thirty years, every man will have to work. Every one!

CHEBUTIKIN. I shan’t work.

TUZENBACH. You don’t matter.

SOLENI. In twenty-five years’ time, we shall all be dead, thank the Lord. In two or three years’ time apoplexy will carry you off, or else I’ll blow your brains out, my pet. [Takes a scent-bottle out of his pocket and sprinkles his chest and hands.]

CHEBUTIKIN. [Laughs] It’s quite true, I never have worked. After I came down from the university I never stirred a finger or opened a book, I just read the papers… [Takes another newspaper out of his pocket] Here we are… I’ve learnt from the papers that there used to be one, Dobrolubov [Note: Dobroluboy (1836-81), in spite of the shortness of his career, established himself as one of the classic literary critics of Russia], for instance, but what he wrote – I don’t know… God only knows… [Somebody is heard tapping on the floor from below] There… They’re calling me downstairs, somebody’s come to see me. I’ll be back in a minute… won’t be long… [Exit hurriedly, scratching his beard.]

IRINA. He’s up to something.

TUZENBACH. Yes, he looked so pleased as he went out that I’m pretty certain he’ll bring you a present in a moment.

IRINA. How unpleasant!

OLGA. Yes, it’s awful. He’s always doing silly things.

MASHA.

“There stands a green oak by the sea.
And a chain of bright gold is around it…
And a chain of bright gold is around it…”

[Gets up and sings softly.]

OLGA. You’re not very bright to-day, Masha. [MASHA sings, putting on her hat] Where are you off to?

MASHA. Home.

IRINA. That’s odd…

TUZENBACH. On a name-day, too!

MASHA. It doesn’t matter. I’ll come in the evening. Good-bye, dear. [Kisses MASHA] Many happy returns, though I’ve said it before. In the old days when father was alive, every time we had a name-day, thirty or forty officers used to come, and there was lots of noise and fun, and to-day there’s only a man and a half, and it’s as quiet as a desert… I’m off… I’ve got the hump to-day, and am not at all cheerful, so don’t you mind me. [Laughs through her tears] We’ll have a talk later on, but good-bye for the present, my dear; I’ll go somewhere.

IRINA. [Displeased] You are queer…

OLGA. [Crying] I understand you, Masha.

SOLENI. When a man talks philosophy, well, it is philosophy or at any rate sophistry; but when a woman, or two women, talk philosophy – it’s all my eye.

MASHA. What do you mean by that, you very awful man?

SOLENI. Oh, nothing. You came down on me before I could say… help! [Pause.]

MASHA. [Angrily, to OLGA] Don’t cry!

[Enter ANFISA and FERAPONT with a cake.]

ANFISA. This way, my dear. Come in, your feet are clean. [To IRINA] From the District Council, from Mihail Ivanitch Protopopov… a cake.

IRINA. Thank you. Please thank him. [Takes the cake.]

FERAPONT. What?

IRINA. [Louder] Please thank him.

OLGA. Give him a pie, nurse. Ferapont, go, she’ll give you a pie.

FERAPONT. What?

ANFISA. Come on, gran’fer, Ferapont Spiridonitch. Come on. [Exeunt.]

MASHA. I don’t like this Mihail Potapitch or Ivanitch, Protopopov. We oughtn’t to invite him here.

IRINA. I never asked him.

MASHA. That’s all right.