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 estce que c est Marfusha?14 Ah, that . . . Balabalkina creature . . . Babakalkina . . . the one that looks like a washerwoman and blows her nose like a cab driver . . . .
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? (Coughs.) 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 clothing15 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). I? 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 embassy 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. My wife is buried in Paris . . .
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 . . . (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.)