[Enter on Right NATALYA PETROVNA, arm in arm with RAKITIN.]
NATALYA PETROVNA [to SCHAAF]. Ah! Adam Ivanitch! Are you going fishing? SCHAAF. Yes, madam. NATALYA PETROVNA. Where's Kolya?
SCHAAF. With Lizaveta Bogdanovna . . . the music lesson.
NATALYA PETROVNA. Ah! [Looking round.] You are alone here?
SCHAAF. Yes.
NATALYA PETROVNA. You haven't seen Alexey Nikolai then?
SCHAAF. No, madam.
NATALYA PETROVNA [after a pause]. We'll go with you, Adam Ivanitch, shall we? We'll look on while you fish.
SCHAAF. I am very glad.
RAKITIN [aside to NATALYA PETROVNA]. What possesses you?
NATALYA PETROVNA. Come along, come along, beau ténébreux.
[All three go out on Right.]
KATYA [cautiously raising her head above the raspberries]. They've gone. . . . [Comes out, stops for a little and ponders.] That German! . . . [Sighs and begins picking raspberrits again, singing in a low voice.]
'No fire is burning, no ember is glowing, But the wild heart is glowing, is burning.'
Yes, Matvey Yegoritch is right! [Goes on singing.]
'But the wild heart is glowing, is burning, Not for father dear, not for mother dear. . . .'
What big raspberries! . . . [Goes on singing.]
'Not for father dear, not for mother dear.' How hot it is! Stifling. . . . [Goes on singing.]
'Not for father dear, not for mother dear, It glows and it burns for. . . .'
[Suddenly turns round; is quiet and half hides behind the bushes. From Left BELIAYEV and VERA come in; BELIAYEV has a kite in his hand.]
BELIAYEV [as he passes the raspberries, to KATYA]. Why have you stopped, Katya? [Sings.]
'It glows and it burns for a maiden so fair.'
KATYA [blushing]. That's not how we sing it.
BELIAYEV. How then? [KATYA laughs and does not answer.'] What are you doing? Picking raspberries? Let
us taste them.
KATYA [giving him the basket]. Take them all.
BELIAYEV. Why all? . . . Vera Alexandrovna, won't you have some? [VERA takes some from the basket, and he does so too.] Well, that's enough. [Is giving back the basket
to KATYA.]
KATYA [putting back his hand]. Take them, take them
all.
BELIAYEV. No, thanks, Katya. [Gives her the basket.] Thank you. [To VERA.] Vera Alexandrovna, let's sit down on this seat. You see [Showing the kite] we must fasten the tail on. You'll help me. [They go and sit down on the seat. BELIAYEV puts the kite in her hands.] That's it. Mind now, hold it straight. [Begins to tie on the tail.] What's the matter?
VERA. I can't see you. BELIAYEV. Why must you see me? VERA. I mean I want to see how you fix the tail on. BELIAYEV. Oh--wait a minute. [Arranges the kite so that she can see him.] Katya, why aren't you singing? Sing. [After a brief interval KATYA begins singing in a low voice.] VERA. Tell me, Alexey Nikolaitch, do you sometimes fly kites in Moscow too?
BELIAYEV. I've no time for kites in Moscow! Hold the string, that's right. Do you suppose we've nothing else to do in Moscow?
VERA. What do you do in Moscow?
BELIAYEV. What do we do? We study, listen to the professors.
VERA. What do they teach you?
BELIAYEV. Everything.
VERA. I expect you're a very good student. Better than all the rest.
BELIAYEV. No, I'm not very good. Better than all the rest, indeed! I'm lazy.
VERA. Why are you lazy?
BELIAYEV. Goodness knows! I was born so, apparently.
VERA [after a pause]. Have you any friends in Moscow?
BELIAYEV. Of course. ... I say, this string isn't strong enough.
VERA. And are you fond of them?
BELIAYEV. I should think so. Aren't you fond of your friends?
VERA. I haven't any.
BELIAYEV. I meant the girls you know.
VERA [slowly]. Yes.
BELIAYEV. I suppose you have some girl-friends?
VERA. Yes . . . only I don't know why ... for some time past I've not thought much about them. ... I haven't even answered Lisa Moshnin, though she begged me to in her letter.
BELIAYEV. How can you say you have no friends . . . what am I?
VERA [with a smile]. Oh, you ... that's a different thing. [After a pause], Alexey Nikolaitch.
BELIAYEV. Well?
VERA. Do you write poetry?
BELIAYEV. No. . . . Why?
VERA. Oh, nothing. [After a pause] A girl in our school used to write poetry.
BELIAYEV [pulling the knot with his teeth]. Did she? Was it good?
VERA. I don't know. She used to read it to us, and we cried.
BELIAYEV. What did you cry for?
VERA. Pity. We were all so sorry for her.
BELIAYEV. Were you educated in Moscow?
VERA. Yes, at Madame Beauluce's school in Moscow. Natalya Petrovna took me away last year.
BELIAYEV. Are you fond of Natalya Petrovna?
VERA. Yes, she's so kind. I'm very fond of her.
BELIAYEV [with a smile]. And you're afraid of her, I bet.
VERA [also with a smile]. A little.
BELIAYEV [after a pause]. And who sent you to school?
VERA. Natalya Petrovna's mother. I grew up in her house. I'm an orphan.
BELIAYEV [letting his hands fall]. You're an orphan? And you don't remember your father or your mother?
VERA. No.
BELIAYEV, My mother is dead too. We are both motherless. Well we must put up with it! We mustn't be down-hearted for all that.
VERA. They say orphans quickly make friends with one another.
BELIAYEV [looking into her eyes]. Do they? And do you think so?
VERA [looks into his eyes with a smile]. I think they do.
BELIAYEV [laughs and sets to work on the kite again]. I should like to know how long I've been in these parts.
VERA. This is the twenty-eighth day.
BELIAYEV. What a memory you have! Well, here's the kite finished. Look what a tail! We must go and fetch Kolya.
KATYA [Coming up to him with the basket]. Won't you have some more raspberries?
BELIAYEV. No, thanks, Katya. [KATYA goes off without speaking.]
VERA. Kolya's with Lizaveta Bogdanovna.
BELIAYEV. How absurd to keep a child indoors in this weather!
VERA. Lizaveta Bogdanovna would only be in our way. . .
BELIAYEV. But I'm not talking about her. . . .
VERA [hurriedly]. Kolya couldn't come with us without her. . . . She was praising you ever so yesterday, though.
BELIAYEV. Really?
VERA. Don't you like her?
BELIAYEV. Oh, I don't mind her. Let her enjoy her snuff, bless the woman. Why do you sigh?
VERA [after a pause]. I don't know. How clear the sky is!
BELIAYEV. Does that make you sigh? [A silence.] Perhaps you are depressed?
VERA. Depressed? No! I never know myself why I sigh. . . . I'm not depressed at all. On the contrary . . . [A pause.] I don't know.... I think I can't be quite well. Yesterday I went upstairs to fetch a book--and all at once, fancy, on the staircase, I sat down and began to cry. Goodness knows why, and my tears kept on coming into my eyes for a long while afterwards. . . . What's the meaning of it? And yet I am quite happy.