VOINITSKY. But they’ve got to get some rest! This is the second night they’ve had no sleep.
SEREBRYAKOV. Let them go to bed, but you go away too. Thank you. I implore you. For the sake of our former friendship, don’t protest. We’ll talk later.
VOINITSKY. Our former friendship . . . I admit this is news to me.
YELENA ANDREEVNA. Be quiet, Georges.
SEREBRYAKOV. My dear, don’t leave me alone with him! He’ll talk me blue in the face!
VOINITSKY. This is starting to get ridiculous.
KHRUSHCHOV’s voice offstage: “They’re in the dining room? This way? Please have them see to my horse!”
The doctor’s come.
IV
The same and KHRUSHCHOV.
KHRUSHCHOV. How do you like this weather? The rain kept on my tail, and I barely got away from it. Good evening. (Exchanges greetings.)
SEREBRYAKOV. Excuse us for troubling you. I didn’t ask for this at all.
KHRUSHCHOV. There, there, it doesn’t matter! But what have you been getting up to, Aleksandr Vladimirovich? Aren’t you ashamed to be under the weather? Dear, dear, that’s naughty! What’s the matter with you?
SEREBRYAKOV. Why do doctors always talk in that condescending tone of voice?
KHRUSHCHOV (laughs). Well, you shouldn’t be so observant. (Gently.) Let’s go to bed. You’re not comfortable here. In bed you’ll be warmer and more peaceful. Let’s go . . . I’ll examine you there and . . . and everything will be all right.
YELENA ANDREEVNA. Listen to him, Sasha, go on.
KHRUSHCHOV. If it hurts you to walk, we’ll carry you there in this armchair.
SEREBRYAKOV. Never mind, I can do it . . . I can walk . . . (Gets up.) Only they’ve troubled you for nothing.
KHRUSHCHOV and SONYA take him under the arms.
Besides, I’m not a great believer in . . . pharmaceuticals. Why are you escorting me? I can do it myself. (Exits with KHRUSHCHOV and SONYA.)
V
YELENA ANDREEVNA and VOINITSKY.
YELENA ANDREEVNA. I’ve worried myself sick over him. Can hardly stand on my feet.
VOINITSKY. He makes you sick and I make me sick. This is the third night now I haven’t slept.
YELENA ANDREEVNA. There’s something oppressive about this house. Your mother hates everything except her pamphlets and the Professor; the Professor is irritable, won’t trust me, is afraid of you; Sonya’s nasty to her father, nasty to me and won’t talk to me; you hate my husband and openly despise your mother; I’m a nuisance, irritable and today some twenty times I was ready to burst into tears . . . In short, it’s all-out war. I keep asking myself, what’s the point of this war, what’s it for?
VOINITSKY. Let’s drop the philosophizing!
YELENA ANDREEVNA. There’s something oppressive about this house. Georges, you’re an educated, intelligent man, I should think you’d understand that the world is being destroyed not by criminals, not by fires, but by underhanded hatred, enmity between decent people, all this petty bickering, which goes unnoticed by those who refer to our house as a haven for highbrows. Help me to bring everyone together! I haven’t got the strength to do it on my own.
VOINITSKY. First bring the two of us together! My darling . . . (Clutches her hand.)
YELENA ANDREEVNA. Stop it! (Extricates her hand.) Go away!
VOINITSKY. Any moment now the rain will end, and everything in nature will be refreshed and breathe easy. I’ll be the only thing not refreshed by the storm. Day and night, like an incubus, the idea chokes me that my life has been wasted irretrievably. I’ve got no past, it’s been stupidly squandered on trivialities, and the present is horrible in its absurdity. Here, take my life and my love; what am I to do with them? My better feelings are fading away for no reason at all, like a sunbeam trapped at the bottom of a mineshaft, and I’m fading along with them . . .
YELENA ANDREEVNA. Whenever you talk to me about your love, it’s as if I go numb and don’t know what to say. Forgive me, there’s nothing I can say to you. (About to go.) Good-night!
VOINITSKY (blocks her path). And if only you had any idea how I suffer at the thought that right beside me in this house another life is fading away— yours! What are you waiting for? What damned philosophizing stands in your way? Face the fact that the highest morality does not consist of clapping your youth in irons and trying to stifle your zest for life . . .
YELENA ANDREEVNA (stares fixedly at him). Georges, you’re drunk!
VOINITSKY. Could be, could be . . .
YELENA ANDREEVNA. Is Fyodor Ivanovich in your room?
VOINITSKY. He’s spending the night in my room. Could be, could be. Anything could be!
YELENA ANDREEVNA. So you were drinking heavily today? What for?
VOINITSKY. It makes me feel alive somehow . . . Don’t stop me, Hélène!
YELENA ANDREEVNA. You never used to drink and you never used to talk as much as you do now. Go to bed! You’re boring me. And tell your friend Fyodor Ivanych that he doesn’t stop pestering me, I shall take measures. Go on!
VOINITSKY (clutching her hand). My darling . . . wonderful woman!
Enter KHRUSHCHOV.
VI
The same and KHRUSHCHOV.
KHRUSHCHOV. Yelena Andreevna, Aleksandr Vladimirovich is asking for you.
YELENA ANDREEVNA (extricating her hand from Voinitsky). Right away! (Exits.)
KHRUSHCHOV (to Voinitsky). There’s nothing sacred to you! You and the dear lady who just left should bear in mind that her husband was once the husband of your sister and that a young girl is living with you under the same roof! Your affair is already the talk of the whole district. What a disgrace! (Goes out to his patient.)
VOINITSKY (alone). She left . . .
Pause.
Ten years ago I met her at my poor sister’s. Then she was seventeen and I was thirty-seven. Why didn’t I fall in love with her then and propose to her? After all it could have been! And now she’d be my wife . . . Yes . . . Now both of us would be awakened by the storm; she’d be frightened by the thunder and I’d hold her in my arms and whisper, “Don’t be afraid, I’m here.” Oh, marvelous thoughts, wonderful, it makes me laugh . . . but, my God, the thoughts are snarled up in my head . . . Why am I old? Why doesn’t she understand me? Her speechifying, indolent morality, indolent drivel about destroying the world — it’s profoundly hateful to me . . .
Pause.
Why was I born so nasty? How I envy that bad boy Fyodor or that idiotic Wood Goblin! They’re spontaneous, sincere idiots . . . They don’t suffer this damned, poisonous irony . . .
Enter FYODOR IVANOVICH, wrapped in a blanket.
VII
VOINITSKY and FYODOR IVANOVICH.