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 . . .