TREPLYOV. That, Doctor, is a long story.
DORN. Then you shorten it.
Pause.
TREPLYOV. She ran away from home and went off with Trigorin. You know about that?
DORN. I do.
TREPLYOV. She had a baby. The baby died. Trigorin fell out of love with her and returned to his previous attachment, as might have been expected. In fact, he had never given up the previous one but, in his spineless way, somehow maintained both of them. So far as I can make out from my information, Nina’s private life has not been a roaring success.
DORN. And the stage?
TREPLYOV. Even worse, it would seem. She made her debut outside Moscow at a summer theater, then toured the provinces. In those days I was keeping track of her and for a while wherever she was, I was there too. She would tackle the big roles, but her acting was crude, tasteless, her voice singsong and her gestures wooden. There were moments when she showed some talent at screaming or dying, but they were only moments.
DORN. In other words, she does have some talent?
TREPLYOV. It was hard to tell. I suppose she has. I saw her, but she didn’t want to see me, and her maid wouldn’t let me into her hotel room. I understood her mood and didn’t insist on meeting. (Pause.) What else is there to tell you? Later, by the time I’d returned home, I would get letters from her. The letters were clever, affectionate, interesting; she never complained, but I felt that she was deeply unhappy; not a line but revealed frayed, strained nerves. And a somewhat deranged imagination. She would sign herself The Gull. In that play of Pushkin’s, the miller says that he’s a raven;79 that’s how she’d keep repeating in all her letters that she was a gull.80 She’s here now.
DORN. What do you mean here?
TREPLYOV. In town, at the railway hotel. About five days now she’s been staying in a room there. I’ve been to see her, and Marya Ilyinishna drove over, but she won’t receive anyone. Semyon Semyonych claims that yesterday after dinner he saw her in a field, a mile and a half from here.
MEDVEDENKO. Yes, I did see her. Heading for town. I bowed, asked her how come she didn’t pay us a visit. She said she would.
TREPLYOV. She won’t. (Pause.) Her father and stepmother have disowned her. They’ve set up watchmen all over so that she can’t even get near the estate. (Moves to the desk with the Doctor.) How easy, Doctor, to be a philosopher on paper and how hard it is in fact!
SORIN. Splendid girl she was.
DORN. What’s that again?
SORIN. Splendid girl, I said, she was. District Attorney Sorin was even a little bit in love with her for a while.
DORN. Old Casanova.81
SHAMRAEV’s laugh is heard.
POLINA ANDREEVNA. I think our folks are back from the station . . .
TREPLYOV. Yes, I hear Mama.
Enter ARKADINA, TRIGORIN, followed by SHAMRAEV.
SHAMRAEV (entering). We’re all growing old, weather-beaten by the elements, but you, dear lady, are just as young as ever . . . Colorful jacket, vivacity . . . grace . . .
ARKADINA. You want to put a hex on me again, you tiresome man!
TRIGORIN (to Sorin). Good evening, Pyotr Nikolaevich! How come you’re still under the weather? That’s not good! (Having seen Masha, jovially.) Marya Ilyinishna!
MASHA. You recognized me? (Shakes his hand.)
TRIGORIN. Married?
MASHA. Long ago.
TRIGORIN. Happy? (Exchanges bows with DORN and MEDVEDENKO, then hesitantly walks over to Treplyov.) Irina Nikolaevna said that you’ve let bygones be bygones and no longer hold a grudge.
TREPLYOV extends his hand to him.
ARKADINA (to her son). Look, Boris Alekseevich brought the magazine with your new story.
TREPLYOV (accepting the magazine, to Trigorin). Thank you. Very kind of you.
They sit down.
TRIGORIN. Your fans send you their best wishes. In Petersburg and Moscow, mostly, they’re starting to take an interest in you, and they’re always asking me about you. Standard questions: what’s he like, how old, dark or fair. For some reason they all think you’re not young any more. And nobody knows your real name, since you publish under a pseudonym. You’re a mystery, like the Man in the Iron Mask.82
TREPLYOV. You staying long?
TRIGORIN. No, tomorrow I think I’ll go to Moscow. Have to. I’m tripping over myself to finish a novella, and after that I’ve promised to contribute something to an anthology. In short—the same old story.
While they’re conversing, ARKADINA and POLINA ANDREEVNA put a card table in the middle of the room and open it up; SHAMRAEV lights candles, arranges chairs. They get a lotto set83 from a cupboard.
TRIGORIN. The weather’s given me a rude welcome. Ferocious wind. Tomorrow morning, if it’s calmed down, I’ll head out to the lake and do some fishing. By the way, I have to take a look round the garden and the place where — remember? — your play was performed. I’ve come up with a theme, just have to refresh my memory on the setting of the action.
MASHA (to her father). Papa, let my husband borrow a horse! He has to get home.
SHAMRAEV (mimicking). Horse . . . home . . .(Severely.) You saw yourself: they’ve just been to the station. They’re not to go out again.
MASHA. But there must be other horses . . . (Seeing that her father is not forthcoming, she waves her hand dismissively.) I don’t want anything to do with either of you . . .
MEDVEDENKO. I’ll go on foot, Masha. Honestly.
POLINA ANDREEVNA (sighs). On foot in weather like this . . . (Sits at the card table.) If you please, ladies and gentlemen.
MEDVEDENKO. It’s really only four miles in all . . . Good-bye . . . (Kisses his wife’s hand.) Good-bye, Mama dear. (His mother-in-law reluctantly extends her hand for him to kiss.) I wouldn’t have disturbed anybody, except that the baby . . . (Bows to them all.) Good-bye . . . (He exits apologetically.)
SHAMRAEV. Never fear, he’ll get there. He’s nobody special.
POLINA ANDREEVNA (raps on the table). If you please, ladies and gentlemen. Let’s not waste time, they’ll be calling us to supper soon.
SHAMRAEV, MASHA, and DORN sit at the table.
ARKADINA (to Trigorin). When the long autumn evenings draw on, they play lotto here. Come and have a look: the old-fashioned lotto set our late mother used to play with us when we were children. Wouldn’t you like to play a round with us before supper? (Sits at the table with Trigorin.) The game’s a bore, but once you get used to it, you don’t mind. (Deals three cards to each.)
TREPLYOV (leafing through the magazine). His own story he’s read, but on mine he hasn’t even cut the pages. (Puts the magazine on the desk, then starts for the door left; moving past his mother, he kisses her head.)