TREPLYOV. I do respect your independence, but you’ve got to let me be independent and treat that man any way I want.70 The highest refinement! You and I are at one another’s throats because of him, while he’s somewhere in the drawing-room or the garden, laughing at us . . . cultivating Nina, trying to persuade her once and for all that he’s a genius.
ARKADINA. You enjoy hurting my feelings. I respect that man and must ask you not to say nasty things about him to my face.
TREPLYOV. But I don’t respect him. You want me to treat him like a genius too. Well, pardon me, I cannot tell a lie, his writing makes me sick.
ARKADINA. That’s jealousy. People with no talent but plenty of pretentions have nothing better to do than criticize really talented people. It’s a comfort to them, I’m sure!
TREPLYOV (sarcastically). Really talented people! (Angrily.) I’m more talented than the lot of you put together, if it comes to that! (Tears the bandage off his head.) You dreary hacks hog the front-row seats in the arts and assume that the only legitimate and genuine things are what you do yourselves, so you suppress and stifle the rest! I don’t believe in any of you! I don’t believe in you or him!
ARKADINA. Mr. Avant-garde!. .
TREPLYOV. Go back to your darling theater and act in your pathetic, third-rate plays.
ARKADINA. I have never acted in that kind of play. Leave me out of it! You haven’t got what it takes to write a miserable vaudeville sketch. You bourgeois from Kiev! You panhandler!
TREPLYOV. You skinflint!
ARKADINA. You scarecrow! (TREPLYOV sits down and weeps quietly.) You nobody! (Walking up and down in agitation.) Don’t cry. You mustn’t cry . . .(She weeps.) Don’t do it . . . (She kisses his forehead, cheeks, head.) My darling boy, forgive me . . . Forgive your wicked mother. Forgive unhappy me.
TREPLYOV (embraces her). If only you knew! I’ve lost everything. She doesn’t love me, I can’t write any more . . . I’ve lost all hope . . .
ARKADINA. Don’t lose heart. Everything will turn out all right. He’ll be leaving soon, she’ll love you again. (Wipes away his tears.) There now. We’re friends again.
TREPLYOV (kisses her hands). Yes, Mama.
ARKADINA (tenderly). Make friends with him too. There’s no need for duels . . . Is there?
TREPLYOV. All right . . . Only, Mama, don’t make me see him again. It’s too hard for me . . . I can’t deal with it . . . (TRIGORIN enters.) There he is . . . I’m going . . . (He rapidly throws the first-aid kit into the cupboard.) The Doctor will do my bandage later on . . .
TRIGORIN (leafing through a book). Page 121 . . . lines 11 and 12 . . . Aha! . . . (Reads.) “If ever my life is of use to you, come and take it.”71
TREPLYOV picks the bandage up off the floor and exits.
ARKADINA (after a glance at her watch). The horses will be here soon.
TRIGORIN (to himself). If ever my life is of use to you, come and take it.
ARKADINA. You’ve got all your things packed, I hope?
TRIGORIN (impatiently). Yes, yes . . . (Musing.) How come this appeal from a pure spirit has sounded a note of sorrow and my heart aches so poignantly? . . . If ever my life is of use to you, come and take it. (To Arkadina.) Let’s stay just one more day! (ARKADINA shakes her head no.) Let’s stay!
ARKADINA. Darling, I know what’s keeping you here. But do show some self-control. You’re a little tipsy, sober up.
TRIGORIN. Then you be sober too, be understanding, reasonable, please, come to terms with this like a true friend . . . (Squeezes her hand.) You’re capable of sacrifice . . . Be my friend, let me go.
ARKADINA (extremely upset). You’re that far gone?
TRIGORIN. I’m attracted to her! Maybe this is just what I need.
ARKADINA. The love of some country girl? Oh, how little you know yourself!
TRIGORIN. Sometimes people walk in their sleep, look, I’m here talking to you, but it’s as if I’m asleep and seeing her in my dreams . . . I’ve succumbed to sweet, wonderful visions . . . Let me go.
ARKADINA (trembling). No, no . . . I’m an ordinary woman, you mustn’t talk to me that way . . . Don’t tease me, Boris . . . It frightens me.
TRIGORIN. If you try, you can be extraordinary. A love that’s young, charming, poetical, wafting me to a dream world — it’s the one and only thing on this earth that can bring happiness. I’ve never yet experienced a love like that . . . When I was young I had no time, I was hanging around publishers’ doorsteps, fighting off poverty . . . Now it’s here, this love, it’s come at last, luring me . . . What’s the point of running away from it?
ARKADINA (angrily). You’re out of your mind!
TRIGORIN. So what.
ARKADINA. You’ve all ganged up today to torture me! (Weeps.)
TRIGORIN (puts his head in his hands). She doesn’t understand! She refuses to understand!
ARKADINA. Am I now so old and ugly that men don’t think twice telling me about other women? (Embraces and kisses him.) Oh, you’ve gone crazy! My gorgeous, fabulous man . . . You’re the last chapter in my life story! (Kneels down.) My joy, my pride, my blessedness . . . (Embraces his knees.) If you desert me for even a single hour, I won’t survive. I’ll go out of my mind, my incredible, magnificent man, my lord and master . . .
TRIGORIN. Somebody might come in. (He helps her to rise.)
ARKADINA. Let them, I’m not ashamed of my love for you. (Kisses his hand.) My precious, headstrong man, you want to do something reckless, but I won’t have it, I won’t let you . . . (Laughs.) You’re mine . . . you’re mine . . . And this forehead is mine, and these eyes are mine, and this beautiful silky hair is mine too . . . You’re all mine. You’re so talented, clever, our greatest living writer, you’re Russia’s only hope . . . You’ve got so much sincerity, clarity, originality, wholesome humor . . . With a single stroke you can pinpoint the most vital feature in a person or a landscape, your characters are so alive. Oh, no one can read you without going into ecstasy! You think this is soft soap?72 Am I lying? Well, look into my eyes . . . look . . . Do I look like a liar? There, you see, I’m the only one who knows how to appreciate you; I’m the only one who tells you the truth, my darling, marvelous man . . . You will come? Won’t you? You won’t desert me?
TRIGORIN. I’ve got no will of my own . . . I never had a will of my own . . . Wishy-washy, spineless, always giving in — how can a woman find that attractive? Take me, carry me off, but don’t ever let me out of your sight . . .
ARKADINA (to herself). Now he is mine. (Casually, as if nothing had happened.) Of course, if you want to, you can stay. I’ll go by myself, and you can come later, in a week’s time. After all, what’s your rush?